I don’t like Monday’s. Thankfully not in the same way as the character from the Boom Town Rats song. Still, it is not my favourite day, or doesn’t feel like it. I find Monday’s a bit of a chore, a challenge. I’m usually tired and find myself slogging through the day. Usually, after forcing my way through my gym routine, I am beginning to form ideas about what I will be exploring that week, I did this last Monday. Actually, the seed had been planted quite early the day before, although it had by Monday taken on a whole new life. I began my research, but was distracted by having to put together my latest contribution for “The Inquirer” and for the congregational calendars. I made a good start though and went to bed early that evening and slept.
Tuesday’s, I love. I wake early, alive and refreshed. Tuesday’s, tend to be inspirational days, ones when I am enlivened by everything. That said I am certain that none of Tuesday’s inspiration would be possible without Monday’s slog, so maybe the truly magic day is Monday. All day this last Tuesday my attention was focused on folks responses to crookedness and perceived imperfections. I arrived at my 7am meditation early, as folk were setting up. My friend Adrian told me one of the heaters had blown a fuse and wasn’t working. I knew it hadn’t, he just hadn’t tuned it on properly. My friend is an intelligent man and an engineer, but he couldn’t work out that the heater had two switches, to turn on. He is the second engineer I know who has been baffled by this in the last week. He then started talking about the need for laminated instructions and things needing to be really simple. I thought to myself, well it couldn’t be simpler. He then spent time trying to make everything about the get together perfect. Another friend arrived and felt the need to move the candles, so that they were perfectly in the centre of the room. I myself often feel the need to ensure there are more chairs than required, to widen the circle, my attempt to make things perfect, as well as ensuring the room is at the right temperature. We all have our little obsessions. Our hour together couldn’t have been better, but it was far from perfect. It was profoundly beautiful though.
Conversations about maths, or “math” have been floating around the ether of late. It is almost a God to be worshipped in the lives of some folk. Not for me. If life has shown me anything it is that it is not about simple equations, that will somehow resolve the chaotic nature of existence. Chaos rules it all. I had recently got involved online in a group called “The Unitarian Universalist Hysterical Society”, it is generally a light hearted group, although a majority of posts seem to be about three subjects, maths, cats and coffee. The post I responded to was suggesting that “math” was the meaning of life. It read as follows: “A couple of days ago when my math teacher asked “any questions”. I asked “What is the meaning of life”. She simply replied “The meaning of life is math.” Today we realised that in the alphabet “M” is the 13th letter, “A” is the 1st letter, “T” is the 20th letter and “H” is the 8th letter. 13+1+20+8 =42.
According to Douglas Adams in “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”, the meaning of life is 42. Now this is obviously him having satirical fun. It was funny seeing folk getting all excited by the letter making up “Math” 42. Well until myself and several others pointed out that Doulas Adams was British and thus would never have referred to mathematics as “math”, for him and anyone educated in Britain it is “Maths” and thus by this logic the meaning of life must be 61, which of course it is not. Life is not a mathematical equation and its meaning cannot be discerned this way, at least I find it hard to believe that it can be.
Now Tuesday, which was of course was the 22nd February 2022 was an exciting day for both mathematicians and numerologists, in fact throughout the world it was being labelled “Two’s Day”. According to many people It was the last day when we will witness the following sequence of numbers in a day 22/2/2022 or in America 2/22/2022 or as folk were posting 2/22/22. Now some were getting excited by the palindrome, whilst others by the idea that “the sequence had mystical powers believed to elevate energies in individuals lives, propelling them towards their dreams, desires and unfulfilled wishes.” The number 222 is an angel number and according to astrologers pivotal in shifting powers. I kept on hearing that 2.22 was the perfect time for doing this, but which one? 2am or 2pm or perhaps 10pm or 22.22 in the 24 hour clock. By the way you may find this shocking but many younger people today cannot read an analogue clock, only the 24hour one. It shocked me, I recall that learning to tell the time, by a clock, was one of the frsit things I learnt at school.
Now whatever the merits of all this. What was lovely was to see how energised many folk were by this sequence of numbers. Hopefully it will help them live more connected lives, whatever the merits of this time and day. I certainly felt some really special energy myself. All of life was speaking to me, but then it often does on Tuesdays. I certainly didn’t see anything perfect this last “Two’s Day”, nor do I think that maths or perfect number sequences can provide me with any answers to the meaning of life. I find my meaning by engaging fully in life, but doing so imperfectly. Last Tuesday was one of those days. Thank you.
I am imperfect in everything I do. No doubt anyone listening to will hear all kinds of errors. Several congregants have told me, that I am well known for some whopping typos. I know that Colleen, the Inquirer editor, has to do some editorial work on everything I write, and my social media posts can be hilariously full of typing errors. I am somewhat raggle taggle generally in life. I, could never paint inside the lines. My handwriting is dreadful. I am a nightmare to accompany when singing, sorry musicians, but I often like to go my own way. My ear will sometimes try to improve a hymn.
Here is a song of praise for everyone who can’t paint within the lines, for those who move a little awkwardly, out of perfect step, unable to keep a straight line. I love the blessed crookedness of life, not the attempt to make everything perfect. I adore the holy imperfections in everything, this is the real beauty and perhaps meaning in life. There are no perfect moments or days, only this moment and this day, let’s make the best of it. I want to encourage myself and others to keep stumbling along, no matter how falteringly, carrying our wounds and unashamed by our scars, to keep on making the beautiful mistakes. To limp on as wounded healers. You see there is a danger in purity in holding up the ideal, ideas of perfection. Things don’t need to always add up, there is no perfect sequences or systems. Chaos rules OK. So, let’s not be afraid to be our perfectly imperfect selves. Let’s keep on making the beautiful mistakes. Some of life’s biggest mistakes have led to something wonderful, if unexpectedly so.
I was recently chatting with Jeanette Podestta, from Queens Road, about her dad John’s ashes. They will be scattered in the Garden of Remembrance at Dunham Road. John Reece’s wife Phyl and both his parents Horace and Elsie are at Dunham Road, named on the nearly full wall there. I remembered that her mum Phyl and begun at Monton Unitarians and asked if that was where they were. Jeanette then said something that was both stunning and amusing. It seems that her mum’s family had become Unitarians “by mistake”. It was during the second world war and there were no signs up at the church signifying its denomination. Well, Monton Unitarian Church is a grand old building, more impressive than the local parish church and it appears that the family had mistaken it for this. That said it must have become a happy mistake as they found a home amongst the Unitarians.
It got me thinking about the mistakes me make, how they can actually lead to blessings, as we learn from them, and or they might lead us to new and wonderful experiences. I also smiled as I thought of Jeanette’s grandparents and a line from the film “Withnail and I” that came into my mind, “We’ve come on holiday by mistake”. It reminded of a sign on the door of the principal of the Unitarian College Rev Dr Anne Peat, that read “I have learnt so much from my mistakes, that I think I am going to make a few more.” It got me wondering about the dangers of seeking perfection, “straightness”, I much prefer the virtues of crookedness, after all as Leonard Cohen observed, it’s the cracks that let the light in. Beauty in life is found in the imperfections.
Sadly, though so many see something wrong in this crookedness, in our imperfection. "The philosopher Immanuel Kant once wrote, "Out of timber as crooked as that which man is made of, nothing perfectly straight can be carved." Now some take this to mean that there is something wrong with humanity, rather than that the beauty in life is created by the misshapen, the imperfect. Ok so we can’t create things that are perfectly straight, we can though create something less perfect, with curves and knotholes. I for one find this more beautiful than the apparent perfect. Even if we did create something perfect, it would not remain that way, one day it break or deteriorate. Surely this is where the beauty is in life’s finiteness, that nothing ever lasts forever.
Many cultures celebrate the beauty of imperfection. Such as carpets in the Islamic tradition, that deliberately have a fault woven into them. Japan, a culture that on its contemporary surface seems obsessed with detail and perfection, as the wonderful example of Wabi Sabi, which creates something beautiful out of the cracks in pottery. When I think of myself and the most beautiful people I know it is the cracks in the pot that make them so. I rejoice in my potty, crack pottedness, I trust you will rejoice with me.
Some Japanese robes, kimonos, have a design and purpose that is very different to clothing in other cultures, particularly in the west. They are plain and deliberately have imperfections sown into them, at least on the outside, and yet on the inside they are intricately beautiful and meticulously crafted. The purpose I suspect is to remind the wearer that the beauty lies within, too easily we are distracted by attempts to appear perfect, at least on the outside, whilst on the inside we feel that something is wrong. We are perfectly imperfect, cracked pots, both beautiful and somewhat worn and a little crooked by life. This though does not mean that there is something wrong with us at our core. Our task, I suspect, is to bring this to life. The cracks not only let the light in, thy let it out too. We have a purpose here. Let’s crack on.
Life is not a competition where we have to be number one. Life is about falling down many times, making numerous mistakes and helping one another become the best we can be, not for ourselves alone, but for all to share. I reckon if we were perfect, or appeared that way, we would be of little use to others, we would be completely and utterly unrelatable.
Perhaps this is something to think about, consider the mistakes you have made, how they have led to wonderful things. Perhaps the gifts that have grown from your woundedness, even brokenness at times. Where have you been led by these beautiful mistakes? What blessings have been unearthed later in life. Maybe places you have been or things you have done by mistake that have led to some kind of blessing. Perhaps what brought you here, both today and in the past. I bet it wasn’t the search for some perfect equation, although it may well have been a search to find meaning in life. The answer is not maths, or math and it certainly isn’t 42. The answer to meaning is in asking the question, it’s in seeking and it is in living with one another. All of the beautifully strange, the perfectly imperfect, people just like you and me.
So lets keep on walking the crooked mile. You never know we might just find a crooked six pence, upon the crooked stile
Tuesday’s, I love. I wake early, alive and refreshed. Tuesday’s, tend to be inspirational days, ones when I am enlivened by everything. That said I am certain that none of Tuesday’s inspiration would be possible without Monday’s slog, so maybe the truly magic day is Monday. All day this last Tuesday my attention was focused on folks responses to crookedness and perceived imperfections. I arrived at my 7am meditation early, as folk were setting up. My friend Adrian told me one of the heaters had blown a fuse and wasn’t working. I knew it hadn’t, he just hadn’t tuned it on properly. My friend is an intelligent man and an engineer, but he couldn’t work out that the heater had two switches, to turn on. He is the second engineer I know who has been baffled by this in the last week. He then started talking about the need for laminated instructions and things needing to be really simple. I thought to myself, well it couldn’t be simpler. He then spent time trying to make everything about the get together perfect. Another friend arrived and felt the need to move the candles, so that they were perfectly in the centre of the room. I myself often feel the need to ensure there are more chairs than required, to widen the circle, my attempt to make things perfect, as well as ensuring the room is at the right temperature. We all have our little obsessions. Our hour together couldn’t have been better, but it was far from perfect. It was profoundly beautiful though.
Conversations about maths, or “math” have been floating around the ether of late. It is almost a God to be worshipped in the lives of some folk. Not for me. If life has shown me anything it is that it is not about simple equations, that will somehow resolve the chaotic nature of existence. Chaos rules it all. I had recently got involved online in a group called “The Unitarian Universalist Hysterical Society”, it is generally a light hearted group, although a majority of posts seem to be about three subjects, maths, cats and coffee. The post I responded to was suggesting that “math” was the meaning of life. It read as follows: “A couple of days ago when my math teacher asked “any questions”. I asked “What is the meaning of life”. She simply replied “The meaning of life is math.” Today we realised that in the alphabet “M” is the 13th letter, “A” is the 1st letter, “T” is the 20th letter and “H” is the 8th letter. 13+1+20+8 =42.
According to Douglas Adams in “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”, the meaning of life is 42. Now this is obviously him having satirical fun. It was funny seeing folk getting all excited by the letter making up “Math” 42. Well until myself and several others pointed out that Doulas Adams was British and thus would never have referred to mathematics as “math”, for him and anyone educated in Britain it is “Maths” and thus by this logic the meaning of life must be 61, which of course it is not. Life is not a mathematical equation and its meaning cannot be discerned this way, at least I find it hard to believe that it can be.
Now Tuesday, which was of course was the 22nd February 2022 was an exciting day for both mathematicians and numerologists, in fact throughout the world it was being labelled “Two’s Day”. According to many people It was the last day when we will witness the following sequence of numbers in a day 22/2/2022 or in America 2/22/2022 or as folk were posting 2/22/22. Now some were getting excited by the palindrome, whilst others by the idea that “the sequence had mystical powers believed to elevate energies in individuals lives, propelling them towards their dreams, desires and unfulfilled wishes.” The number 222 is an angel number and according to astrologers pivotal in shifting powers. I kept on hearing that 2.22 was the perfect time for doing this, but which one? 2am or 2pm or perhaps 10pm or 22.22 in the 24 hour clock. By the way you may find this shocking but many younger people today cannot read an analogue clock, only the 24hour one. It shocked me, I recall that learning to tell the time, by a clock, was one of the frsit things I learnt at school.
Now whatever the merits of all this. What was lovely was to see how energised many folk were by this sequence of numbers. Hopefully it will help them live more connected lives, whatever the merits of this time and day. I certainly felt some really special energy myself. All of life was speaking to me, but then it often does on Tuesdays. I certainly didn’t see anything perfect this last “Two’s Day”, nor do I think that maths or perfect number sequences can provide me with any answers to the meaning of life. I find my meaning by engaging fully in life, but doing so imperfectly. Last Tuesday was one of those days. Thank you.
I am imperfect in everything I do. No doubt anyone listening to will hear all kinds of errors. Several congregants have told me, that I am well known for some whopping typos. I know that Colleen, the Inquirer editor, has to do some editorial work on everything I write, and my social media posts can be hilariously full of typing errors. I am somewhat raggle taggle generally in life. I, could never paint inside the lines. My handwriting is dreadful. I am a nightmare to accompany when singing, sorry musicians, but I often like to go my own way. My ear will sometimes try to improve a hymn.
Here is a song of praise for everyone who can’t paint within the lines, for those who move a little awkwardly, out of perfect step, unable to keep a straight line. I love the blessed crookedness of life, not the attempt to make everything perfect. I adore the holy imperfections in everything, this is the real beauty and perhaps meaning in life. There are no perfect moments or days, only this moment and this day, let’s make the best of it. I want to encourage myself and others to keep stumbling along, no matter how falteringly, carrying our wounds and unashamed by our scars, to keep on making the beautiful mistakes. To limp on as wounded healers. You see there is a danger in purity in holding up the ideal, ideas of perfection. Things don’t need to always add up, there is no perfect sequences or systems. Chaos rules OK. So, let’s not be afraid to be our perfectly imperfect selves. Let’s keep on making the beautiful mistakes. Some of life’s biggest mistakes have led to something wonderful, if unexpectedly so.
I was recently chatting with Jeanette Podestta, from Queens Road, about her dad John’s ashes. They will be scattered in the Garden of Remembrance at Dunham Road. John Reece’s wife Phyl and both his parents Horace and Elsie are at Dunham Road, named on the nearly full wall there. I remembered that her mum Phyl and begun at Monton Unitarians and asked if that was where they were. Jeanette then said something that was both stunning and amusing. It seems that her mum’s family had become Unitarians “by mistake”. It was during the second world war and there were no signs up at the church signifying its denomination. Well, Monton Unitarian Church is a grand old building, more impressive than the local parish church and it appears that the family had mistaken it for this. That said it must have become a happy mistake as they found a home amongst the Unitarians.
It got me thinking about the mistakes me make, how they can actually lead to blessings, as we learn from them, and or they might lead us to new and wonderful experiences. I also smiled as I thought of Jeanette’s grandparents and a line from the film “Withnail and I” that came into my mind, “We’ve come on holiday by mistake”. It reminded of a sign on the door of the principal of the Unitarian College Rev Dr Anne Peat, that read “I have learnt so much from my mistakes, that I think I am going to make a few more.” It got me wondering about the dangers of seeking perfection, “straightness”, I much prefer the virtues of crookedness, after all as Leonard Cohen observed, it’s the cracks that let the light in. Beauty in life is found in the imperfections.
Sadly, though so many see something wrong in this crookedness, in our imperfection. "The philosopher Immanuel Kant once wrote, "Out of timber as crooked as that which man is made of, nothing perfectly straight can be carved." Now some take this to mean that there is something wrong with humanity, rather than that the beauty in life is created by the misshapen, the imperfect. Ok so we can’t create things that are perfectly straight, we can though create something less perfect, with curves and knotholes. I for one find this more beautiful than the apparent perfect. Even if we did create something perfect, it would not remain that way, one day it break or deteriorate. Surely this is where the beauty is in life’s finiteness, that nothing ever lasts forever.
Many cultures celebrate the beauty of imperfection. Such as carpets in the Islamic tradition, that deliberately have a fault woven into them. Japan, a culture that on its contemporary surface seems obsessed with detail and perfection, as the wonderful example of Wabi Sabi, which creates something beautiful out of the cracks in pottery. When I think of myself and the most beautiful people I know it is the cracks in the pot that make them so. I rejoice in my potty, crack pottedness, I trust you will rejoice with me.
Some Japanese robes, kimonos, have a design and purpose that is very different to clothing in other cultures, particularly in the west. They are plain and deliberately have imperfections sown into them, at least on the outside, and yet on the inside they are intricately beautiful and meticulously crafted. The purpose I suspect is to remind the wearer that the beauty lies within, too easily we are distracted by attempts to appear perfect, at least on the outside, whilst on the inside we feel that something is wrong. We are perfectly imperfect, cracked pots, both beautiful and somewhat worn and a little crooked by life. This though does not mean that there is something wrong with us at our core. Our task, I suspect, is to bring this to life. The cracks not only let the light in, thy let it out too. We have a purpose here. Let’s crack on.
Life is not a competition where we have to be number one. Life is about falling down many times, making numerous mistakes and helping one another become the best we can be, not for ourselves alone, but for all to share. I reckon if we were perfect, or appeared that way, we would be of little use to others, we would be completely and utterly unrelatable.
Perhaps this is something to think about, consider the mistakes you have made, how they have led to wonderful things. Perhaps the gifts that have grown from your woundedness, even brokenness at times. Where have you been led by these beautiful mistakes? What blessings have been unearthed later in life. Maybe places you have been or things you have done by mistake that have led to some kind of blessing. Perhaps what brought you here, both today and in the past. I bet it wasn’t the search for some perfect equation, although it may well have been a search to find meaning in life. The answer is not maths, or math and it certainly isn’t 42. The answer to meaning is in asking the question, it’s in seeking and it is in living with one another. All of the beautifully strange, the perfectly imperfect, people just like you and me.
So lets keep on walking the crooked mile. You never know we might just find a crooked six pence, upon the crooked stile
Below is a video devotion based
on the material in this "blogspot"
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