The Odyssey: Xenia and the Art of Hospitality

In the last piece we explored Homer’s “The Odyssey” looking specifically at Odysseus’ journey home, his “Nostos”. Today I am exploring another central theme of the epic poem, this being “Xenia” or “Philoxenia”. What in Christopher Nolan’s recent blockbuster film based on “The Odyssey” is referred to as “Zeus’ Law”. “Xenia” has been translated to mean “guest friendship” or “Love of a stranger”.

We will explore Xenia’s parallels with other traditions, an example being hospitality in the Abrahamic ones. We will also explore ways to be both a good host and a good guest. Ways in which we may bring the spirit of Xenia alive in our current time and place.

In ancient Greece the concept of “Xenia” or “guest friendship” was something that a “virtuous person” would be expected to cultivate. It was developed from the ancient’s belief that gods visited humans and thus any guest may well be a god in disguise. One example found in “The Odyssey” is there right at the beginning of the epic, when Athena visits Odysseus’s son, Telemachus. Athena first appeared as Mentes, a family friend, and later as Mentor to encourage the young prince to search for his missing father. When Odysseus finally returns to Ithaca, Athena repeatedly visits him, altering his appearance into an old beggar so he can safely plan his revenge against the arrogant suitors. Another example would be Hermes being sent by Zeus to visit the nymph Calypso on her island to command her to release Odysseus, and later visits Odysseus himself to warn him about the witch.

You can see Xenia thread through “The Odyssey”. Virtually every encounter manifest as a test of it. There good and bad examples of being both a good host and guest. Examples of good hosts would be Nestor, Menelaus, the Phaeacians, as well as the swineherd Eumaeus. They welcome strangers with food, shelter, and gifts before they ask who they are. Their generosity reflects both good character and respect for Zeus Xenios, the protector of guests.

Now bad hosts and bad guests face consequences. The Cyclops Polyphemus rejects Xenia by imprisoning and eating his visitors, while the “Suitors” in Odysseus' palace abuse his hospitality by consuming his food, disrespecting his household, and plotting against his son.

The “Suitors” repeated violations of Xenia ultimately lead to their downfall when Odysseus returns and reclaims his home. Throughout the epic, Homer presents hospitality not as simple politeness, but as one of the foundations of a just and civilized society. It is painting an ideal by which a virtuous person ought to live. The obligation though is not just for the host, but also the guest, the visitor have their obligations too. In “The Odyssey” Xenia acts as the moral bedrock and a crucial testing ground for civilization. Xenia is understood as a sacred duty that holds civilization together.

King Alcinous and Queen Arete (The Phaeacians), portray the Xenia ideal. They welcome Odysseus when he washes ashore broken and nameless, feeding him, bathing him, and offering safe passage home before ever asking his identity. They embody the purest form of spiritual grace and civilized duty. Another example would be Nestor and Peisistratos. Odysseus son Telemachus visits Pylos, where Nestor’s son immediately offers a seat at the feast and ritual hospitality, acting as a mentoring ritual for Telemachus to learn the noble codes of the Greek world. These are the embodiment of perfect examples of Xenia being offered by the host.

Now a classic example of Xenia not being followed would be that of Polyphemus the Cyclops. The “Mythologist Joseph Campbell saw the Cyclops as the ultimate spiritual trap of raw, lawless force and ego. Polyphemus rejects the gods and the sacred laws of Xenia by immediately asking who Odysseus is in a hostile manner and instead of offering a guest-gift, he traps and eats the men. Not what you want from a host.

An example of guests not fulfilling their Xenia obligation would be the suitors in Ithaka. They occupy Odysseus’s home, consume his livestock and abuse his home. Again as Joseph Campbell highlighted “the suitors” represent an archetypal social decay and "xenia gone bad" that demands a violent reckoning.

You can find parallels to Xenia within many of the great religious traditions. Here is an example from Christianity, found in the book of Hebrews chapter 13 v2. 2Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Who is showing hospitality to these strangers in our very midst?”

Showing hospitality and caring for the vulnerable in society is a key aspect of the Judeo - Christian and Islamic traditions. You will find it deeply rooted in the Abrahamic faiths and virtually every other world religion too. Hospitality is an essential spiritual practice. It begins with an open heart and a generosity of spirit. It’s about recognising the good in life and in people, especially those in need. It’s about recognising ourselves in those very same people. It’s about being open and welcoming to all, wherever they have been, wherever they are going and wherever they find themselves now. Tibetan Buddhist monks great the strangers visiting their temples with “Welcome, friend, from what noble spiritual tradition do you come.” The Christian monastic tradition has a long held practise of taking in strangers and offering them sanctuary as if they were Christ, inspired by those very words from Hebrews. In so doing they are following the example of Jesus who mingled with all people, there was no one left outside the city gate, no untouchables. Hospitality to me seems to be the whole concept of “Kin-dom of Love” right here right now.

Sadly, our age has become characterised by distrust, there is a fear of the strange and the stranger. Hospitality is an antidote to this, to quote Joan Chittister “Hospitality is the way we come out of ourselves. It is the first step toward dismantling the barriers of the world. Hospitality is the way we turn a prejudiced world around one heart at a time.” The importance of welcoming the stranger is at the root of all the great faith traditions.

In ancient Greece the concept of “Xenia” or “guest friendship” was cultivated. Xenia came out of the ancients belief that gods visited humans and the fear that a guest may well be a god in disguise. You find similar stories in Middle-Eastern cultures also. One key story from Genesis is to key to the Abrahamic traditions. This story of Abraham’s guests has a moral to teach us all. The guests are revealed to be angels; in fact it is implied strongly that one may well be God himself. They tell the childless and aged Abraham and Sarah that they will have a son. They given the ultimate gift as a reward for showing hospitality to strangers in their land.

Being a gracious host is a primary requirement of Islam. The Qur’an 4. 36-37 reads:

“Be kind to parents.and near kins man, and to orphans, and to the needy, and to the neighbour who is of kin, and to the neighbour who is a stranger, and to the companion at your side, and to the traveller.”

Another classic example of duty to take care of the stranger is the parable of the “Good Samaritan” You may well recall that a Jewish man lay on the side of the road beaten bloody and dying. As he lay there a Jewish priest and an official of the temple both past him by and ignored him. Then a Samaritan came by, a despised enemy of the Israelites, and he looked after the man and paid for his shelter at a local inn. He welcomed the stranger. To me this is a classic example of Xenia in the Christian tradition.

Many of the great traditions have brought witnesses of light to humanity and they have often shone in the darkest of times. Many of the myths and folk tales talk of the importance of offering hospitality to the stranger. If we welcome the stranger without hope or reward, we will be rewarded way beyond our wildest dreams. This holds true, in my belief, whether or not they have supernatural powers. If we welcome the stranger, we will reap untold rewards. There is nothing new here, this is at the heart of “Xenia”, portrayed in the Odyssey.

It is not just about being a welcoming host though. To practice Xenia is also about being a good guest. At the heart of being a good guest is humility, think of Odysseys when he washes ashore at the Phaeacians. He accepts the help on offer and tells his story, he offers himself he recognises their interconnectedness, it is a grace filled encounter. In so doing he is fulfilling his Xenia, he is being a gracious guest.

It reminds me of the following contemporary piece “The Fine Art of the Good Guest” by Jeffrey Lockwood. It illustrates the importance of being a good guest and gratefully receiving what is on offer. Jeffrey Lockwood is suggesting that we should listen to what the host has to offer by graciously accepting his food or activities, however peculiar they may seem to us. This is Xenia and a wonderful example of it.

Here is Jeffrey’s offering.

“The Fine Art of the Good Guest” by Jeffrey Lockwood

The most important thing that I’ve learned in travelling to more than twenty countries is the art of being a guest. And I’m a particularly fine visitor at the supper table. I’ve consumed live fish in Inner Mongolia, not-quite-coagulated blood sausage on the Tibetan plateau, shredded pig’s ear in China, grilled lamb fat in Uzbekistan, horse steaks in Kazakhstan, vodka made from fermented mare’s milk in Siberia, vegemite in Australia, goat in Brazil, and snails in France. I don’t have an iron stomach, by any means, but I do have the will to be a virtuous visitor.

We are all visitors—even when we are home. Our time in any relationship or place is ultimately limited. We are passing through; nobody stays forever. How might we act if we consider ourselves guests in the lives of friends and family? Being a good guest is rather simple in principle but occasionally challenging in practice.

One begins by demanding nothing more than the bare elements of life and dignity, which every host is more than delighted to exceed. The good guest then simply allows the other person to be a good host—to share his gifts, to play her music, to tell his stories, to show her places, and to serve his foods. Finally, a guest should cultivate and express genuine gratitude. It need not be effusive or exorbitant, only sincere.

We might also think of ourselves as uninvited, but not unwelcome, guests of the planet. And I think the rules for being a good guest of the world are just the same: Ask little, accept what is offered, and give thanks.

I recently visited my mum and enjoyed some “Traditional Fish Chips”, cooked in “Beef Dripping”. I was chatting with a friend who is originally from Oxford and now lives in central Manchester. He told me about a “traditional fish chip shop found on Cross Street in the city. He mentioned sayings on the wall, one being a famous quotation by Milton Friedman stating, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch”. Suggesting there is a price to pay for everything. Personally, I have never found this to be true. I have received generosity and countless free meals throughout my life. I may not have acknowledged it at the time, but looking back so much has been given to me without any expectation of it being returned. I have of course given to others, even if it just my time throughout my life. The giving is not direct, paid back to those who gave to me, but indirect, it is for those in need. This to me is very much the spirit of Xenia.

Poet Philosopher David Whyte has spoken extensively of the abundance of free meals he has been given throughout his life. He says his life has been sustained by unexpected generosity, vulnerability, and the invisible help of strangers at crucial crossroads.

One powerfully and life changing example he often speaks of is when he survived a near fatal bout of dysentery in the Himalayas. He stumbled half dead into the home of Tibetan family he did not know. They took him in and nursed him with local provisions. They asked nothing in return. This was a life changing moment for Whyte, his life was never the same again and led to him feeding and nourishing the world with language and words. He moved from being a good guest to becoming a good host, in so doing he is fulfilling his Xenia.

This is exemplified in his poem “Loaves and Fishes”

“Loaves and Fishes” by David Whyte

This is not
the age of information.

This is not
the age of information.

Forget the news,
and the radio,
and the blurred screen.

This is the time of loaves
and fishes.

People are hungry,
and one good word is bread
for a thousand

Whyte’s philosophy suggests that our lives are not an isolated struggle, but a continuous, primal exchange where "one good word" or a shared meal acts as deep nourishment for the hungry. He views these gifts as reminders that we are fundamentally interconnected and that receiving grace gracefully is part of the conversational nature of life. To me this seems like a modern day embodiment of “Xenia”

“Xenia” begins by recognising that each encounter has divine potential within it. That we need to greet one another in such a way. This mutual reverence is portrayed beautifully in the following story, “The Strangers Gift”.

“The Strangers Gift”

There was once a village that had fallen on very hard times. The villages had once been very happy, and their community had been famous for its hospitality and friendliness, and the warmth with which it welcomed strangers.

But something had gone wrong in the village. People had begun to bicker with one another. Quarrels broke out for no apparent reason. Rivalry sprang up where once there had been friendship and trust. The chief of the village was very sad about this. He knew that the people would never be happy like this, but he could do nothing to restore the old times of harmony and peace. Strangers no longer wanted to visit the village. The people stopped caring for it. The village was falling into ruin.

But it happened that one day a stranger came by. He approached the village like one with a mission, as though he already knew what he would find there. And very soon, he met the village chief. He recognised the sad expression in his eyes, and the two were soon engaged in a serious conversation.

The village chief told the stranger about his feelings of despair, and his fears that soon the village would disintergarate. The stranger told the village chief that he might know a way to redeem the lost village, and restore it to a real community again.

“Tell me the secret,” The village chief begged the stranger.

“The secret is very simple,” the stranger said, by way of reply.

“The fact is, one of the villagers is actually the Messiah”

The village chief could hardly believe what he was hearing, yet the stranger had an air of authority about him that was irrefutable.

The stranger left, but the village chief couldn’t resist telling his closest friend what the stranger had told him. Soon the rumour ran through the village like wildfire.

“One of us is the Messiah! Can you believe it, somewhere, hidden among our number, the messiah is living.!”

Now deep down, the villagers were a godly folk who wanted things to be right in their community. The thought that the Messiah himself might be living among them, incognito, made them see things very differently. Could it be the baker? They wondered. Or the postman? Or the old lady who breeds chickens and sells eggs? Perhaps its old granny Riley, whom the children were in the habit of taunting because of her scarred old face. The speculation went on and on.

But the strange thing was that, after the stranger’s visit, things were never the same again. People began to treat each other with reverence. They lived like people who had a common purpose, and who were seeking for something very precious together, never quite knowing whether the treasure was actually right in front of them.

Before long, visitors began to come to the village, just to be part of the happy, holy atmosphere that prevailed there. The stranger never came back. He didn’t need to.

The stranger brought the greatest gift that the people of the village could have wished for, he taught them how to learn to revere one another. That the divine was in some sense in all of them and that if they cared and nurtured one another, as it did. Now of course he tricked them into this in some sense, but would they have listened if he’s just told them to do this?

But then isn’t that how the great stories work. They tell us one thing which often leads to something far more wonderful than could ever have imagined. Something that is found throughout “The Odyssey”.

“The Odyssey” is an ancient tale. It may seem far away and far fetched, but there at the heart is a universal message teaching how we should be with another. That we ought o treat each other as if we were Divine, with love honour and respect, to welcome the stranger as a friend, we just don’t yet know.

May we see in the face of our neighbour, who we do not know, the divine light that is in all things. May we both give and receive Xenia in all that we feel, all that we think, all that we say and all that we do.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "Blogspot"

The Odyssey: A Journey of Nostalgia

Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey”, is this summer’s blockbuster movie. Have you seen it. It is an ancient tale that has been told many times. It is a story told in poetic form and certainly not easy to recreate in any media, least of all the cinema. Even the written form we have translated today is probably not as it was originally told, as it was not written down in the time. Much like so much of these ancient tales, including the books of the Bible.


Nolan’s film has received rave reviews, but also criticism. Some have said that it is not historically accurate, although it is closer to the text than other adaptations and certainly some other so called historical tales. I will explore some of the themes here and will continue to explore what might be the central theme in the next video devotion, what is sometimes called “Zeus’ Law” or the concept of “Xenia” or “Philoxenia”. This is translated as “guest friendship” or “love of a stranger” and perhaps other spiritual themes.

“The Odyssey” is not history, it is mythology. It is taking us on a journey to reveal universal truth. A long and arduous journey, that for Odysseus took 10 years to finally get home. The journey from Troy, that is now in what is Northern Turkey, to the Island of Ithaka west of Northern Greece, should have taken only a few weeks. This journey like all journey’s was not a straight line and it is littered with mistakes and hopefully lessons. It was Odysseus pride in defeating the cyclops, that led to him being cursed by Poseidon, which caused many of his troubles. He had left Troy high on victory, returning a hero, full of Pride and Hubris. The clever hero. This was not the man who finally reached Ithaka 10 years later having lost all his men and lost everything, well except for this vision of home.

“The Odyssey” reminds me somewhat of Moses and the Israelites journeying towards the Promised Land, a journey that took 40 years (Meaning a lifetime), should have taken a matter of months. Now this was not a journey home, but for a new home. Odysseus just wanted to get home, much like the character played by Michael Douglas in “Falling Down”, or Steve Martin in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles”. Like so many other tales, ancient and modern. The Odyssey is the archetype for most of the stories told. It might be the original “Heroes Journey” depicted by Joseph Campbell.

“The Odyssey” is a tale told in poetic form. Here is a wonderful poem inspired by it, depicting the journey home. It offers a meaning at the heart of the ancient journey. One that may not be about the final goal, the ends that draw us out. Instead it is about the means by which we journey. It is an allegory of the beautiful journey.

“Ithaka”, by C. P. Cafavy

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn’t have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

“The Odyssey” is an archetype for the human journey, the call to adventure. Other examples might be Pilgrims Progress, Gulliver’s Travels, The Wizard of Oz, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Lord of the Rings the list goes on and on. Humanity’s canon is littered with folk tales and myths which teach us about this call to adventure, about the potential for both beauty and horror that is life.

Joseph Campbell spent years exploring these myths and stories believing that they possessed universal qualities that could help us understand how so often life calls us out to adventure, often at the least expected of moments.

Campbell identified four distinct stages of the journey. The first stage he named as “The Call to Adventure”. This he claimed is caused by discontent, which draws us out of the comfort of our lives to risk something new. For Odysseus it was the call for home after 10 years at war with Troy. The second he described as an initiation, where ordeals are faced that test someone’s mental and physical skills, you see Odysseus’ great skill and wit overcoming troubles and then his arrogance and hubris creating his troubles. The third stage is the time of revelation the discovery of truth and treasure. The truth for Odysseus is that he is humbled by his return home, he is stripped of his vainglory and has to rely on hospitality, he returns an old beggar man. The final stage is the return to one’s community, with wisdom gained and with treasure to share. This is Odysseus return home, back with family a different man, with stories to share. Here he fulfils his Nostos.

On our journeys through life there will be many obstacles that we meet along the way. No one’s life is a perfect smooth ride and I do not for one minute believe that it is meant to be this way. Life throws many obstacles at us that can blow us of course. The key is not to allow these troubles to rule or lives and to maintain the faith in life itself, that we will be able find the courage to come through the storms. There is also another key too, don’t carry your own monsters with you, just deal with what is there in front of you. I think one of lessons of “The Odyssey” is that most of the troubles were self created. Yes some were created by the God’s, but not all and even those were in response to Odysseus mistakes. In fact Odysseus was general favoured by the God’s, it is only Poseidon who turned against him, in his rage for blinding his son, the Cyclops Polyphemus. That said despite these very troubles what we have is the beautiful journey of life. As the end of the poem Ithaca reminds us...

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithaca means.

No one knows what the future holds it truly is unwritten, but we need not fear it. We do not have seers like Odysseus met on his journey. Such as the blind prophet of Thebes who Odysseus meets in Hades (The Underworld). Tiresias tells Odysseus how to return home, warns about dangers and predicts his peaceful death in old age. We don’t get that. If I had known what was coming in the last couple of weeks I may well have buried my head, but I have not. I have journeyed on with the help of beautiful friends.

Here’s another poem based on the hero of “The Odyssey”, by Tom Leonard, titled “Odysseus”

“Odysseus” by Tom Leonard

it took me so long to get back to who I am
why was I away so long why was the journey so tortuous
all those false masks against a backdrop narrative to do with authenticity

but now arriving back there is still much debris to clear
the clearer to see the point from which I started

that from which I set out confused in sundry identities at war with themselves
now to find calm on that setting-out point as the final destination

The call to return, especially to return home is a powerful one. This call though is not just about returning to a place, it is also about time; about returning to a time in life when everything was simpler and safer. I’m sure that this was Dorothy’s call in “The Wizard of Oz”.

This is the call of nostalgia. To return to the place of safety the place of paradise, where we are cared for and looked after. Nostalgia though is often blind and perhaps senseless. It can also be painful. Things are never quite as we remember them. Nostalgia is rooted in the Greek word “Nostos”, which is the central call of “The Odyssey”, this arduous journey by sea, full of adventure and trials and tribulations. “Nostos” is also Penelope’s yearning too, despite her never leaving the island.

Nostalgia is one of the central themes of “The Odyssey”. The problem is that things are never quite what we thought they were. Nostalgia in its original understanding meant “severe homesickness considered as a disease” from the German heimweh (home+woe) homesickness. It is rooted in the ancient Greek words “algos” meaning pain, Grief, distress and “nostos” meaning homecoming. Nostalgia is a painful homecoming. The call to return home is powerful and, at times, painful. It can cause a deep yearning ache in our hearts and souls. Isn’t this the call of Odysseus, through all his trials and tribulations.

The return home is not without pain. Sometimes you might be rejected on the first return. Think of Jack and his beans in the story “Jack and the Beanstalk.” Think of Jesus in Mark’s Gospel returning home and being rejected and almost mocked. As he said to his disciples ‘Prophets are not without honour, except in their home town, and among their own kin, and in their own house.’

Sometimes we might not be recognised when we return home, how painful can that be. We can feel like a stranger in our own land. Odysseus is not recognised on his return. He looks like a beggar stripped of all his vainglory. Only his old dying dog Argos recognises him, dropping his ears and wagging his tail. Odysseus weeps, but cannot go to his dog or his identity will be revealed. Argos has been neglected and left on a dirt heap. This powerfully symbolises the pain and neglect of Ithaka since Odysseus left. It is a heartbreaking moment. Argos his old loyal dog dies as Odysseus arrives home, safe in the knowledge of his return. This might be the most beautifully pure moment in the whole mythos. Maybe Argos is the real hero of the Odyssey.

Here is another poem inspired by “The Odyssey” Note that Ulysees mentioned in tin it is the Roman name for Odysseus.

"The Art of Poetry" By Jorge Luís Borges

To look at the river made of time and water
and remember that time is another river,
to know that we lose ourselves like the river
and that faces go by like the water.

To feel that wakefulness is another sleep
that dreams it is not dreaming and that the death
that our flesh fears is that death
every night that is called sleep.

To see in the day or in the year a symbol
of the days of mankind and of his years,
to change the outrage of the years
into a music, a rumor, and a symbol,

to see in death sleep, in sunset
a sad gold, such is the poetry
that is immortal and poor. Poetry
returns like dawn and sunset.

Sometimes in the evening a face
looks at us from the bottom of a mirror;
art should be like that mirror
that reveals our own face to us.

They tell that Ulysses, tired of wonders,
wept with love at the sight of his Ithaca,
green and humble. Art is that Ithaca
of green eternity, not of wonders.

It is also like the endless river
that passes and remains and is the mirror of one same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and is another, like the endless river.

In the “Art of poetry” Jorge Borges, like Joseph Campbell, recognised a common theme in all the great stories. In this poem he explores some of the great ancient Greek stories. One being Ulysses (which is the Latin translation of Odysseus) and his painful return to Ithaca. He also talks of the philosopher Heraclitus who suggested that we can never return to the same river. This is because water continual flows on and on and the water we step into is never quite the same, but also because we who stand in the river are not the same person either, life will have changed us too. Like the river our lives, go on and on, ever changing. The lesson is that it is not about yearning to return to some mythical ideal, but to fully experience the adventure, the beautiful journey as the poem by Constantine Cavafy, “Ithaca” suggests. This is the lesson of Homer’s Odyssey and perhaps all the great stories. The treasure is the journey itself.

Life is a journey and a beautiful one at that. One in which we are constantly turning and returning again and again and again. It is not always an easy one and one where there will be troubles and difficulties. There will be times when we will not be recognised and may not even recognise ourselves; there will be times when we will feel completely lost and won’t know where to turn for sanctuary. The key is to journey on and in the end we return from where we came. We though are not the same and neither is the place or anyone else.

Odysseus returned home a changed man. Humbled by the journey. Stripped down and older. He and Penelope were eventually reunited, along with his now adult son Telemachus. Odysseus this fulfilled his Nostos. The story, well that goes on, as our lives go on, for the journey is never ending.

I’m going to end this devotion, although there will be more on the Odyssey next time, with one final poem by the wonderful Mary Oliver. A poem titled “The Journey”

“The Journey”, by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

A Never-Ending Story: Beginning, Middle and End?

Forrest Church claimed that ”religion is our human response to being alive and having to die”.

We human beings are meaning makers. One way we try to make sense of it all, to find meaning, is through story. Religion at it’s best is about telling stories. Our personal stories and our stories about we as a people.

Our lives are made up of all kinds of stories, that tell us who we are. We connect with one another through the telling of these stories. We all have our stories and we love to hear stories. Stories come in a variety of form too. Poetry is often a kind of story. A good poet will see something and tell us a story through the art of poetry.

Here is wonderful example by Billy Collins, on the art of storytelling through poetry, “Aristotle”.

“Aristotle” by Billy Collins

This is the beginning.
Almost anything can happen.
This is where you find
the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land,
the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page.
Think of an egg, the letter A,
a woman ironing on a bare stage
as the heavy curtain rises.
This is the very beginning.
The first-person narrator introduces himself,
tells us about his lineage.
The mezzo-soprano stands in the wings.
Here the climbers are studying a map
or pulling on their long woolen socks.
This is early on, years before the Ark, dawn.
The profile of an animal is being smeared
on the wall of a cave,
and you have not yet learned to crawl.
This is the opening, the gambit,
a pawn moving forward an inch.
This is your first night with her,
your first night without her.
This is the first part
where the wheels begin to turn,
where the elevator begins its ascent,
before the doors lurch apart.

This is the middle.
Things have had time to get complicated,
messy, really. Nothing is simple anymore.
Cities have sprouted up along the rivers
teeming with people at cross-purposes—
a million schemes, a million wild looks.
Disappointment unshoulders his knapsack
here and pitches his ragged tent.
This is the sticky part where the plot congeals,
where the action suddenly reverses
or swerves off in an outrageous direction.
Here the narrator devotes a long paragraph
to why Miriam does not want Edward's child.
Someone hides a letter under a pillow.
Here the aria rises to a pitch,
a song of betrayal, salted with revenge.
And the climbing party is stuck on a ledge
halfway up the mountain.
This is the bridge, the painful modulation.
This is the thick of things.
So much is crowded into the middle—
the guitars of Spain, piles of ripe avocados,
Russian uniforms, noisy parties,
lakeside kisses, arguments heard through a wall—
too much to name, too much to think about.

And this is the end,
the car running out of road,
the river losing its name in an ocean,
the long nose of the photographed horse
touching the white electronic line.
This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade,
the empty wheelchair,
and pigeons floating down in the evening.
Here the stage is littered with bodies,
the narrator leads the characters to their cells,
and the climbers are in their graves.
t is me hitting the period
and you closing the book.
It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen
and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck.
This is the final bit
thinning away to nothing.
This is the end, according to Aristotle,
what we have all been waiting for,
what everything comes down to,
the destination we cannot help imagining,
a streak of light in the sky,
a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.

Way, way before the Jospeh Campbell outlined the eleven stages of the “Heroes Journey” and the wonderful Kurt Vonnegut illustrated the shape of stories, with practical beauty and humour, it was Aristotle who formulated the notion that a story must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Now of course we clever people who live today would say, well obviously. That said what goes without saying today, had to be said by someone in the first place and then repeated over and over again, just like any good story. The best stories are not heard the once, they are repeated again and again and again.

Phil Cousineau believes that stories save our souls. In “The Oldest Story in the World: A Mosaic of Meditations on the Secret Strength of Stories” he observed that this much he knew:

"Every day we have at least one gut-check moment. Every day we are asked, 'Do you want to hear a story?' A hundred times a day our deeper life awaits our signal that, yes, we are listening. Whether we are camped around a fire on the Comanche Moon trail, sitting in the literary salons of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas on the Rue des Fleurs in Paris, craning our necks during a Hollywood studio script meeting, cosseting our children by reading out loud to them from the great round of Harry Potter adventures, or trading old baseball stories in the stands with old teammates, we are responding to the blue longing in our restless souls to be carried away by the kind of story that makes life worth living.”

Our lives are made up of stories. This is what we do. We tell and we listen to stories. As the poet Muriel Rukeyser remarked 'The world is made up of stories, not atoms.'

Stories are not fact, they are not history, they are “Mythos”. They reveal a deeper universal “truth” that all people can connect to regardless of time and place. Mythos reveals a deeper “truth” about the human condition and nature of reality. They help us engage in the conversational nature of existence. A story is a deep conversation with life that enables us to connect more deeply to the meaning in life. Even good history is really about the telling of stories, it is not just prosaic fact. History comes alive by the telling of the stories within the events

Stories and story-telling have been distilling wisdom throughout the generations and I have no doubt that this will continue on into eternity. Yes, a good story has a beginning, a middle and end, Aristotle revealed this truth. The absolute truth is that as story ends, it goes on, it begins again. As Limahl sang it’s a “Neverending Story”.

Here is a never-ending story. It is taken from “Concentration and Compassion: More Stories from the World’s Spiritual Traditions” by my friend and retired colleague Rev Bill Darlison. It goes by the title

“The Endless Story”

In the Far East there was a great king called Calapha who had no work to do. Every day, and all day long, he sat on soft cushions and listened to stories. And no matter what the story was about, he never grew tired of hearing it, even though it was very long. “There is only one fault that I find with your story,” he often said: ‘It is too short.’

All the story-tellers in the world were invited to his palace, and some of them told tales that were very long indeed. But the king was always sad when a story was ended.

At last he sent word into every city and town and country place, offering a prize to anyone who should tell him and endless tale. He said, ‘To the man that will tell me a story which shall last forever, I will give Zaidee, my fairest daughter, for his wife; and I will make him my heir, and he shall be king after me.’

But this was not all. He added a very hard condition. “If any man shall try to tell such a story, and then fail, he shall have his head cut off.’

Zaidee was very pretty, and there were many young men in that country who were willing to do anything to win her. But none of them wanted to lose their heads, and so only a few tried for the prize.

One young man invented a story that lasted three months, but at the end of that time, he could think of nothing more. His fate was a warning to others, and it was a long time before another story-teller was so rash as to try the king’s patience.

But one day a stranger from the South came into the palace.
‘Great king,’ he said, ‘is it true that you offer a prize to the man who can tell a story that has no end?’
‘It is true,; said the king.
‘And shall this man have your fairest daughter for his wife, and shall he be your heir?’
‘Yes, if he succeeds,’ said the king. ‘But if he fails, he shall lose his head.’
‘Very well, then,’ said the stranger. ‘I have a pleasant story about locusts which I would like to relate.’
‘Tell it’ said the king. ‘I will listen to you.’
The story teller began his tale. ‘Once upon a time a certain king seized upon all the corn in his country, and stored it away in a strong granary. But a storm of locusts came over the land and saw where the grain had been put. After searching for many days they found on the east side of the granary a crevice that was just large enough for one locust to pass through at a time. So one locust went in and carried away a grain of corn; then another locust went in and carried away a grain of corn; then another locust went in and carried away a grain of corn.’
Day after day, week after week, the man kept on saying, ‘Then another locust went in and carried away a grain of corn.’
A month passed; a year passed. At the end of two years, the king said, ‘How much longer will the locust be going in and carrying away corn?’
‘O king! Said the story-teller, ‘they have as yet cleared only one small corner; and there are millions more grains of corn in the granary.’
‘Stop, Stop!’ cried the king, ‘You will drive me mad. I can listen to it no longer. Take my daughter; be my heir; rule my kingdom. But do not let me hear another word about those horrible locusts!’
And so the strange story-teller married Princess Zaidee, and he lived happily ever after in the land for many years. But his father-in-law, the king, had had enough of the endless stories.

One of my great pleasures is listening to people’s stories. I mentioned last week that I listened to 105 year old man tell his story. It was a beautiful experience as he spoke so eloquently, for 45 minutes, about his 70 years of recovery. He talked about many trials and tribulations as well as loves and joys he had experienced in such a long life. He spoke mainly about love and forgiveness. There seemed not a hint of regret and or pity in his voice. He shone like a light and had the most amazing skin. If you could manufacture what he had as a beauty company you would make a fortune. You cannot though. The feeling I got was of a man still looking forward to whatever story he still had to live. His story will one day end, but not just yet.

I was invited to share my story the other day. Afterwards a young man approached me and said he had heard my story before, even though we had ever met. As he listened to me he said he had heard my story before. Here was three years later a new person to recovery and heard my story from my moth. Apparently what he had heard had stayed with him and eventually prompted him to act. We came together that day and he heard and connected with it. I could have wept, but instead I just simply smiled.

Here is a classic parable from the New Testament on “Love and Forgiveness”, from Luke’s Gospel Chapter 15 vv 11-32

The Parable of the Prodigal and His Brother

11 Then Jesus[a] said, “There was a man who had two sons. 12 The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the wealth that will belong to me.’ So he divided his assets between them. 13 A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant region, and there he squandered his wealth in dissolute living. 14 When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that region, and he began to be in need. 15 So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that region, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. 16 He would gladly have filled his stomach[b] with the pods that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything. 17 But when he came to his senses he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! 18 I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ 20 So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. 21 Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’[c] 22 But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23 And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, 24 for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

25 “Now his elder son was in the field, and as he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. 26 He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. 27 He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has got him back safe and sound.’ 28 Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. 29 But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command, yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your assets with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ 31 Then the father[d] said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

The great sages like Jesus and the Buddha excelled in storytelling. They knew how to relate to and reach people, that a story could open them up, that it could put flesh on the word. Shaman and elders of other traditions shared this wisdom, as they told their tales around the campfires and gatherings. They drew their listeners to deeper visions of life with imagery and symbolism. The storyteller has always been with us and is with us today. Today everyone is a story teller. On social media we have our stories, they are designed to be shared. Like all classic tales, these stories are an interesting mixture of the good and bad, the negative and the positive, the light and dark.

The old stories were not just entertainment, they were trying to teach something about the nature of humanity and life itself, they had a kind of morality about them, an ethic a meaning,. Some say that today this narrative has almost disappeared.

Post-modernism would claim that today there is no longer one narrative. The French philosopher Jean-Francois Lyotard has defined post-modernism as ‘the death of metanarrative’. He claimed that we no longer have nor need the big stories ‘that tell us who we are, where we come from, and what we are called to do.’

Personally, I am not convinced by this argument as I do see universal qualities in all these tales. Whether it’s the one I hear from friends and family, or the one I see on the big screen, or the one I read in some ancient text. The stories may be told in different ways but they still connect us with one another through time and space. They do more than connect us though, they heal us, they renew us and spur us on to greater things. Regardless of when they were first told and by who they still have the capacity to tell us who we are, where we come from and what we are called to do.

Here's a favourite story from my favourite character, someone I can relate to.

“One afternoon, Nasruddin and his friend were sitting in a cafe, drinking tea and talking about life and love. His friend asked: ‘How come you never married?’

‘Well,’ said Nasruddin, ‘to tell you the truth, I spent my youth looking for the perfect woman. In Cairo I met a beautiful and intelligent woman, but she was unkind. Then in Baghdad, I met a woman who was a wonderful and generous soul, but we had no common interests. One woman after another would seem just right, but there would always be something missing. Then one day, I met her; beautiful, intelligent, generous and kind. We had very much in common. In fact, she was perfect!’

‘So, what happened?’ asked Nasruddin’s friend, ‘Why didn’t you marry her?’

Nasruddin sipped his tea reflectively. ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘it’s really the sad story of my life…. It seemed that she was looking for the perfect man…’ “

I love Nasruddin, the holy fool. You will find characters like him in most cultures. Through humour they reveal deep truths, ones that are too often hidden.

Humour is something that helps us through the great trials of life. Many of the great stories have laughter and humour within them. Sadly humour can be absent in the spiritual life, it ought not to be. There is something lacking in a spirituality that takes itself too seriously. The spiritual life can at times be perceived as an arid and serious world, utterly devoid of humour and lightness. Many of us look at the spiritual, the religious life, as if were a dose of rather distasteful medicine. We may well see the benefits of it, but aren’t sure we would like the way it tastes. We are frightened that it might actually reduce our experience of life. We can easily become too intense and earnest in our approach to spirituality; by doing so we can view laughter as sacrilegious and end up apologising for the freedom that it can breed. We should never apologise for experiencing joy and laughter. The spiritual life needs humour. There is humour in the ancient tales, so surely there is a place for it in our age. There is always room for Divine humour. “Life is too serious to be taken too seriously.”

As we come towards the end of this adventure in story I wonder what your story is. What is the story that speaks to you and of you? Where do you find yourself, what gives you the permission to simply be? What is your favourite story. Here is one of mine:

It comes from "Have a Little Faith" by Mitch Albom.

“A man seeks employment on a farm. He hands his letter of recommendation to his new employer. It reads simply, `He sleeps in a storm.’

The owner is desperate for help, so he hires the man.

Several week pass, and suddenly, in the middle of the night, a powerful storm rips through the valley.
Awakened by the swirling rain and howling wind, the owner leaps out of bed. He calls for his new hired hand, but the man is sleeping soundly.

So he dashes off to the barn. He sees, to his amazement, that the animals are secure with plenty of feed. He runs out to the field. He sees the bales of wheat have been bound and are wrapped in tarpaulins. He races to the silo. The doors are latched, and the grain is dry.

And then he understands.

`He sleeps in a storm.’

My friends, if we tend to the things that are important in life, if we are right with those we love and behave in line with our [beliefs], our lives will not be cursed with the aching throb of unfulfilled business. Our words will always be sincere, our embraces will be tight. We will never wallow in the agony of `I could have, I should have.’ We can sleep in a storm.

And when it’s time, our good-byes will be complete.”

In “Crow and Weasel” Barry Lopez said

“The stories people tell have a way of taking care of them. If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories in each other’s memory. This is how people care for themselves.”

I will continue to listen to the stories and when they come to me I will nurture them, I will take care of them and I will continue to give them away, we all need them. I ask that you do the same, because by doing so we will better take care of ourselves.

I will continue telling the tale and I will listen as you tell yours. For the story goes on and on. The story is never ending.

So I will leave you with a question to ponder. What is your story? What is the story that speaks to you and of you?

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "Blogspot"

Original Blessing: A Return to Love

“Blessing” by Barbara Pescan from “Morning Watch”

We spend so much time running from ourselves
Fleeing from what we know
about the goodness in our hearts
we think we can escape
the intelligence of our loving.

Imagine you are standing before a bodhisattva—
Jesus, Buddha, the first mother
it does not matter what you call the holy one—
he has dust on his shoes
chaff clings to her
the smells of being alive—
Shining from their faces is the beam of
all their questions
the compassion of their living

Can you see yourself through those eyes?
Can we know each other like this?
(We, who no longer believe in messiahs
can hardly believe in each other.)

Can we
know ourselves seen
and know each other this same way
until our restless hearts
learn to abide
in this knowing and this love?
Can we live in this gaze of blessing?

During the recent “Ministry in the Making” Rev Ant Howe, the principal tutor of Unitarian College, led an excellent workshop. His opening remarks chimed with concerns I often feel not just about colleagues, but an awful lot of people I meet and have met along the way of life. He observed how if he could have one super power it would be to help folk to see themselves as they truly are, the potential they have, what they are capable of being and becoming. I know myself how much it matters how we see ourselves, for how we see ourselves is how we will see all life. I am not merely talking about our physically being here, but in our hearts and souls.

What do you see when you look into the mirror, when you look into your own eyes? It matters you know, it really does.

It is said that if we could only live by The “Golden Rule of Compassion”, found at the heart and soul of all the great spiritual traditions states, in various forms, “do into others as you would have them do unto yourself”, then we might learn to live in love and peace with each other. It is certainly vital that when we look at each other we see a fellow human being and that we act with compassion towards one another. This would certainly be a good start, but there are some problems that stem from even the Golden Rule. I wonder sometimes if this is actually part of the problem; that we do live this way and for many of us this is where the trouble begins. I suspect that many folk see the world as they see themselves. The problem is how they see themselves and they see the world. That they see at the heart of themselves something or someone that is wrong at the core of their being. Therefore, they see this in the world around them.

The problem is that we see something wrong at the core of human nature.

During the introduction to his workshop Ant made reference to two pieces of Old Testament literature. The first from the first book of the Bible Genesis I v 27

27 So God created humans[e] in his image,
in the image of God he created them;[f]
male and female he created them.

He complimented this with the 8th Psalm V5

5 Yet you have made them a little lower than God[b]
and crowned them with glory and honor.

So not God’s, but formed in the image, a reflection, of the Divine. Born from love and with responsibility for the world and the people they share with the world, folk born from the same flesh and with the same spirit.

These verses suggest to me an “Original Blessing”, that humanity is formed in this, at least according to these foundational verses of scripture. If we saw this as foundational and then applied the Golden Rule, then certainly life would improve for all. The problem is that too often we do not. For too long the emphasis has been on what is seen as humanity’s fallen nature. This of course comes from the traditional understanding of second book of Genesis and the fall of humanity in the story of “Adam and Eve”. Of them eating from the forbidden tree of knowledge of Good and Evil and thus being cast out of paradise. From Augustine it has been understood, at least in orthodox Trinitarian Christinaity, that humanity is permanently stained and corrupted and can only be saved by the blood of the sacrifice of Jesus, through substitutional atonement. That the troubles of humanity and the troubles of life are due to our “Original Sin”.

Now of course this is an explanation for our troubles, but not one I share. We have the capacity for good, just as we have the capacity to cause great suffering. Depending on the eyes I look at life with, determines which one I believe.

I have felt sadness this week. I was shocked on Tuesday morning when I received a phone call from Liz Parkinson’s husband Neil to tell me that Liz had died suddenly on Monday. Now I know that Liz had lived with a variety of complex health issues for many years, but the news was still shocking. I have known Liz for over a dozen years and it has been wonderful having her become a member of the Altrincham congregation. She has given so much, especially keeping other physically isolated people connected from the Covid days until the last few days of her life. Liz found a home amongst our free religious tradition. She was always quite surprised by the freedom she was afforded, to explore her own faith, to find what she believed and didn’t believe. I remember a conversation I had with her a little while ago about suffering and faith and the rejection of the concept that anyone is born with the taint of sin and or wrongness. Something I know that she struggled with from an early age. Her daughter Lynne told that she found great healing and acceptance in our community and I know how much that meant to her and her family.

As I was thinking of Liz and her journey I was reminded of a conversation I had with another friend, who is herself on her own spiritual journey. It took place out walking and talking with Molly. We found ourselves walking in circles, side by side and sharing about our own journeys through life and our own understandings of faith and doubt.

We were talking about where this sense of wrongness we humans can feel at times comes from. Something we have both shared, something sadly so many do. Where does this rejection of life come from? We talked about the foundational stories in Genesis. Of course it is Mythos. It is not history to be argued over factual accuracy. Mythos is Universal Truth, the question to ask is does this speak to a deeper truth that we can find in ourselves, does it speak throughout time?

Now of course some reject the Bible as outdated and not only inaccurate but downright destructive. I do not, I think there is so much to engage with still. That said only in a symbolic sense. I explained to my friend how it actually begins with “Original Blessing”, in Genesis chapter one. This was the point that Ant was trying to make too. That God looked at his creation and saw that it was good. That life is a good thing, that we are formed from good, not wrong. There is no original sin, only original blessing, that blessing is formational, that life is formed from goodness. The concept of “Original Sin” was actually a creation of the later church, mainly Augustine and his self-loathing, Which I believe is a rejection of his own original blessing, something I can personally relate to at times, as sadly so many folk do. That the fall came after the blessing and that the spiritual journey is about returning to the blessing.

So it isn’t that there isn’t wrong, or suffering, sin in the world, it’s just that this is not the foundation, that we are born in and through “Original Sin”

The trouble begins in the understand of second creation story, in the Garden of Eden. That said if we look at this symbolically rather than literally there is so much beautiful mythos to be unearthed in this story too. The original human Adam meant born from the earth. Human, humus, humility all share same linguistic root, born from the earth, not God, but finite, limited, but beautiful. Yes we are born, but we also die. This is life.

Originally, we enjoy paradise, the fruits of life. There is no shame, no sense of wrongness no rejection of our lives, no destruction of ourselves and or others. We simply enjoy paradise. We have something else though. We want more, we seek more. This is where all creativity is born, but can also causes trouble. We are the only aspect of created life that experiences dissatisfaction. We want more.

So, we eat the forbidden fruit, we want the knowledge, we suffer Hubris. We lose that beautiful gift of innocence, we are cast out by a sense of shame, especially with our humanity. We leave paradise. We separate ourselves.

We can though return to love, to blessing, but the journey is long and arduous, not that we go anywhere. To quote Meister Eckhart, it could be of one inch, but a depth beyond any depth, layer upon layer. We return home, we go full circle, we don't go back on ourselves. We come home with treasure to share. This is the classic heroic journey. The truth of every great story, the Universal Mythos. The key is to return home to love. That though comes in later stories. I often think of the prodigal son here. With the boy returning home to the open arms of his father who greets him halfway, celebrates his return and embraces his son, with a kiss. An act of pure love. Can there be anything more intimate. It seems to me there is nothing considered wrong in this child born of love. Yet so often we do not feel we are formed from this, it is just so sad.

Now of course this is only my view of the mythos and it is certainly not orthodox in any way shape or form. My interpretation is life affirming, it celebrates life, the traditional view does not. As Joseph Campbell, that great mythologist, has said the orthodox interpretation is “a refusal to affirm life.” Life is seen as corrupt. It sees the serpent as the symbol that brought sin into the world and woman as the figure who handed the apple to man. As Campbell says “This identification of the woman with sin, of the serpent with sin, and thus of life with sin, is the twist the has been given to the whole story in the biblical myth and doctrine of the Fall.... I don't know of it [the idea of woman as sinner...in other mythologies] elsewhere.”

The traditional understanding sees life as the problem, especially human life and sees the female, the bringer of life, as the root of the trouble. How long have we all suffered as a result of this rejection of life and woman as central to it. We see it clearly today, it has not gone away, in fact if anything the trouble seems to be intensifying. For me the problem stems from this fear of life itself. Surely though life is good.

Sadly, it seems that so many folk are as afraid of life as we are of death. It seems to me that these ancient stories, in their essence at least, are trying to teach that death is in life as life is in death. This is the story of existence of which we are all a part of. Yet for me some reason we reject life in so many ways, we are frightened of being cast out of it, we crucify it, we torture it we persecute and distrust. We fear our own humanity, our mortality. We say there is no good in us and no good in the other. In so doing we do in fact treat others as we would wish to be treated. This is of course is not what the Golden Rule of Compassion was meant to be like. It was meant to help us see ourselves in the other, and other in ourselves and to act with love and compassion to all.

Ant made a vitally important point, one I agree with. It matters how we see ourselves and I firmly believe how we see ourselves will reflect on how we see others and the world. It certainly has in my life. I have at times in my life lived with feelings of self loathing, that there was something wrong with me. This a conversation I shared with my friend in Accrington recently as we shared childhood memories. I know I was told many times that people like me would not last long in this world. That I needed to be different kind of person a tougher one than I was. On dark days, when my mood is low I can feel like that again. I can believe that there is something wrong with me, at the core of me. I know I am not alone. Maybe this is not such a terrible thing as it does breed empathy in the heart of me, as I know many others can feel this way too.

I am not alone in these feelings. So many folk feel this way. Not everyone though. It can be hard for folk who have never felt this way to relate to those amongst us who have. It can make it difficult to understand if you have never felt this way.

It is only humanity that seems to be cursed with a sense of shame, maybe this is where the mythos of eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge is about. I certainly don’t see it in animals. As I watch Molly playing and loving and enjoying her existence, it’s the same with the other dogs too. They enjoy the fact that they live at all, it is a pure blessing.

I was chatting with someone the other day who was singing the joy the of living. They were telling me how they were going to the gym after work, enjoying the privilege of being alive. This is a person who has never suffered this sense of being wrong, at least this is what they tell me. They are a delight to be around, although they do tell me that they struggle to empathise with others and that it can make them both impatient and intolerant. This brings its own troubles. I know a sense of joy in my being mostly these days. I love to sing the joy of living in all its mystery. I also know the other feelings too and I do not forget, for it helps to breed empathy. If I never felt them I wonder if I would truly be able to do this work. It allows me serve and has enabled me to find my place in this world.

As I journey on, as I have done this week, despite sad feelings of grief and concern for others, I have remembered to keep on singing that joy of living. I have noticed that despite the very real suffering that is part of existence, both natural and that caused by our inhumanity, that there is music too. I have been thinking of Ant’s words to the new ministers. I have been remembering that life itself is a blessing, it is a privilege to be alive. Grief has remined me just how precious life is and how I get to share my life with some remarkable people. That we are born from “Original Blessing”. That this is our natural state, that too often we lose sight of this. We are all formed from the tree of life, the tree of renewal, the tree of re-birth. We need to recognise this. Sometimes this comes when we lose something or someone precious to us, somehow in this suffering we turn back home again, we return to paradise. We find wholeness once again, we recognise our own sacredness and that of others. We return to love and care compassion. We care for one another and we let others care for us too.

This I believe is how we are meant to live. It is certainly how I am meant to live. It is the only way that someone like me can live in this world.

I’m going to end with a bit of Mary Oliver, perhaps her best known poem “Wild Geese”

“Wild Geese” Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

May the Fourth Be With You: May the Love that Moves the Sun and the Other Stars, Be With Us All

May the Fourth be with you, and also with you. I am not being flippant, please do not misunderstand me. May that love that moves and connects all things, “the love that moves the sun and the other stars” as Dante described it, be with us all; may we recognise that this love is with us, in body, mind, heart, spirit and soul; may we recognise that this love is in everyone; may we recognise that this love is in everything; may we live this way, the way of love and if we do, then we will begin to build the land that will bind up broken.

Today, May the fourth, is Star Wars Day. It is a little play on the phrase “May the Force be With You”. Which is also a play on the phrase “May the Lord be with you”. “The Force” of course is at the heart of the “Star Wars” mythos The original Star Wars, which began at Episode IV “A New Hope”, is almost 50 years old. My mum loves to tell the story of us going to see it upon it’s release. I was 5 years old that Christmas 1977. She says I stood up staring at the screen in utter awe for the whole two hours. I did not speak and I did not move. This was probably sometime early in 1978, when it reached our local cinema. Interestingly I do not remember standing in awe, but I do remember my little sister having a similar reaction to E.T. Interestingly no one else remembers this. They say it was me and not her. I do wonder if what I remember is her, or my own experience. Memory can be a trickster. Who knows maybe I had some kind of outer body experience. I do know I was utterly enchanted by the film and the other two in the initial franchise. My brother was too and other science fiction. The other stuff did not have quite the same grip on me as Star Wars did. It wasn’t just the film, it was the spirt at the heart of it got into the soul of me. I felt so powerless as a child and here was a power, a good power as I saw it, that I could be a part of. Interestingly the later films had little or no impact on me. Science fiction in general too, but those first three Star Wars films did, as did the mythos. It was the time and place I suspect, both the films and me.

George Lucas the creator of Star Wars has said that his aim was to awaken something in young people with this film. In a 1999 interview with Time magazine, he reflected on the Star Wars “Mythos” stating:

“I see Star Wars as taking all the issues that religion represents and trying to distil them down into a more modern and easily accessible construct…I put the Force into the movie in order to try to awaken a certain kind of spirituality in young people – more a belief in God than a belief in any particular religious system. I wanted to make it so that young people would begin to ask questions about the mystery.”

Well as a child it certainly had that impact on me. I recall as a child going to church with my dad’s family, upto the age of about 11. Looking round at the images and listening to some of the words, whilst also playing out the “Star Wars” scenario in my heart and mind, including the phrase “May the Lord be with you”, which translated as “May the Force be with you.” Not that I ever discussed this, I never did. This was disappearing by the time that “The Return of the Jedi” came out in 1983 and I headed towards my teenage years. Something that would bubble under the surface, but was not much of a part of my outer life. It was still alive somewhere deep inside of me

George Lucas, in creating Star Wars, wanted to do more than merely entertain. He wanted to introduce young people like myself to spiritual teachings, to the universal mythos. As he said:

“I see ‘Star Wars’ as taking all the issues that religion represents and trying to distill them down into a more modern and accessible construct.” He was hugely influenced by the scholar of mythology Joseph Campbell, who believed that all cultures impart their values to the next generation through archetypal stories. Campbell believed that organised religion attempted the same, although always struggled to keep up with the times, stating that it must “catch up” to the “moral necessities of the here and now.” The struggle goes on.

Joseph Campbell’s book “A Hero of a Thousand Faces” is at the heart of Star Wars. Lucas had written two drafts of the story when he rediscovered this book, he had loved at school. It seems this was the missing piece. In “The New Hope” you can see all the various elements of “The Hero’s Journey”, that Campbell described - the awakening, the resistance to leaving home, supernatural help, leaving home, the training period where the young hero becomes strong, the battle with evil, the temptation to become evil, finding out that evil is part of you, (When Darth Vader tells Luke, “I am your father”), resisting your new training, losing your patience with the wisdom, choosing to fight rather than use the power of the mystery. It goes on and on. You also the archetype’s that Campbell described that “The Hero” meets along the way. “The Father” (Darth Vader), “The Goddess” (Leia), “The Mentor” (Obi Wan,) “The Oracle” (Yoda), “The Trickster” (Han Solo). “Star Wars” spoke to so many as it has continued to do so in the generations that have followed we Generation X’s. Of course I didn’t know any of this at the time, but “Star Wars” or was it “The Force” had me in its grip.

“The Force” was not strong in this little boy who felt so powerless in the world he was alive in, but it was certainly awake. As Obi Wan tells Luke “The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.” I responded to this as a little boy as did so many. Yes, ok I couldn’t lift an X-wing out of the swamp of Dagobah, but I did have a sense of something that would protect me. Something I would tap into as I wandered about often as young boy, feeling safe and protected from the world. There were many times during my teenage years when I would go off alone, feeling safe in my little bubble and wander around the towns and cities of West Yorkshire alone, not speaking to anyone, seemingly surrounded by some unknown force. Well at least that’s what it felt like. A force that had awoken as I stood up and stared at that cinema screen early in 1978.

Now many have claimed religious parallels with Lucas’ “Force”, this is not surprising. Many have seen both Buddhism and Taoism at its heart. Lucas has been called a “Buddhist/Methodist”, not that he himself has claimed any particular religion, preferring to describe himself as “spiritual”

Throughout the saga the dark side seems to constantly point to the dangers of attachment, a strongly Buddhist concept. Yoda, the Jedi master, this wise and cryptic creature with an impish quality is clearly based on some kind of Zen Buddhist teacher. Irvin Kirshner who directed “The Empire Strikes Back,” said of Yoda and the second film “I want to introduce some Zen here, because I don’t want the kids to walk away just thinking that everything is a shoot-‘em-up.” There are clearly a great deal of Buddhist teachings and symbolism in Star Wars. There are parallels with Taoism too. “The Force” itself seems similar to the Taoist concept of “chi”, the subtle stream of energy that animates the world.

What I see at the heart of the Star Wars mythos is my understanding of the Kingdom of God or as I have come to call it “Kin-dom of Love”. Earlier we heard the third saying from the none Canonical Gospel “The Gospel of Thomas” and a parallel saying from Luke’s Gospel

Saying 3 “The Gospel of Thomas” “Rather, the kingdom is inside of you, and it is outside of you. When you come to know yourselves, then you will become known, and you will realize that it is you who are the sons of the living father. But if you will not know yourselves, you dwell in poverty and it is you who are that poverty."

And from the Gospel of Luke Chapter 17 v 21 King James translation:

“21 Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you.”

“The Force” speaks powerfully to me of my understanding of panentheism; it speaks of an essence that is somehow more than life and yet it is present in all of life drawing us on but not controlling everything. Some have described this as the “Lure of Divine Love” that never leaves us; we just need to turn to it. The characteristics of which are both male and female and yet way beyond the limits of gender; way beyond the limit of time and space and human conceived constraints. When I think of God I think of a guiding loving hand that holds, guides and sustains and encourages you to be all that you can be. Not only for ourselves though, but to build that “Kin-dom of Love” for all. “The Force” for me is to be used to create good, whilst not being seduced into darkness.

Having said all that I am not sure I like the phrase “The Force” these days and there are elements to the mythos that trouble me too. I will not be putting Jedi, as my religion, on the next census The problem with it and for that matter some contemporary spirituality, as well as old style religion is the language. Words like “Power” and or “Force”, sound like having power over people, places and things and this troubles me. “The Force” needs to be understood as “Love”. At it’s heart it must be about love, certainly this is how I understand the “Kin-dom”, it can’t be about separating people, it has to be universal. Another issue with the “Star Wars” mythos, is the idea that “The Force” is strong in some and weak in others. I suppose you could translate that as faith. “The Force” can be the opposite of this, it could be a power that harms and destroys, as well as creates. It is important to recognise the darkness in life, something that is also in everything, in everyone. Something akin to what Carl Jung called “The Shadow”. “The Shadow” sounds very much like the “Dark Side” of “The Force”.

The spiritual paths that speak to me appear to be counter cultural, they are not really about force and power. They are actually about disarming violence. They are for building something, but not walls, no they are about building bridges, they are about disarming the forces of destruction and chaos, they are about connection not separation. Yes it is about defeating or overcoming darkness, but in so doing not becoming the very thing that is causing destruction. I do believe that is the very essence of the Star Wars mythos; at its heart this is what “The Force” is really about. Or at least his is what this 53 year old man believes now, just like that 5 year old boy did.

I remember as a little boy it was this that really spoke to me. This is what was at the heart of that little boy walking around feeling powerless in a world that utterly bewildered him. It has never left me, although I have lost sight of it for a while. I believe it is open to all of us. It is a beautiful and precious thing and needs to be deeply cared for and nurtured.

So, “May the Fourth be with you” “May the Force be With You” May that love that moves and connects all things, “the love that moves the sun and the other stars” as Dante described it, be with us all. May we recognise that this love is with us, in body, mind, heart, spirit and soul; may we recognise that this love is in everyone; may we recognise that this love is in everything. May we live this way, the way of love and if we do, then we will begin to build the land that will bind up broken.

May the Force be with you.

Please find below a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"

Being Visited by Journeymen: Entertaining Angels Without Knowing It

I had made plans to go to Dunham Massey with Molly and a friend on Tuesday morning. As it happened this didn’t work out as I planned. This happens a lot. Plans are made and then things don’t quite work out the way you would want them to. I went for coffee with some friends. The conversation wandered down a few cynical avenues and I left with a few negative thoughts wondering what I would do that day. I had no idea what to explore although there were thoughts of the God of Surprises floating about my mind. As I passed the market I noticed two “eccentrically” dressed women in black hats talking with a couple of people, I wondered who they were. I then went home, with thoughts of where to take Molly for her walk. I decided to go to the schoolroom first and prepare it for the “Living the Questions” group that evening. There was a knock on the door, Molly started barking. I opened the door and discovered the two women I had passed at the market. They introduced themselves as Jade (pronounced Jada) and Eva, telling me that they were “journeymen” and were looking for somewhere to shelter, to sleep for the night. They had been sleeping outside for several days as they were travelling around the country. They explained to me what a “Journey Man” was. I will explain in a moment. They both had staffs and some baggage which they carried. They left this gear in the schoolroom. I told them that room would be free from 9pm as we had a discussion group which they were welcome to join us for if they wished.

I was blown away by this amazing encounter and pleased my best laid plans had not gone the way I had wanted them to. The God of Surprises seemed well at work.

The Journeyman tradition dates back to the middle ages. When an apprentice had finished their apprenticeship with their master they were to go out on their wander, their waltz, their journey. They were to travel around working and learning from other masters before returning home better skilled. They were called journeymen as they travelled day by day. Journey coming from the French word Journier which meant your daily task or daily travel. They went out into the world living day by day on their journey living on their daily bread. They were to travel for at least three years and one day and could not return to be freemen of their trade until they had done so. The tradition continued until the post war years. The Nazi’s were opposed to it and it almost died off during the war years. Following the reunification of Germany the tradition has revived. Journeymen today are not only men. Jada is a woman and Eva identifies and non-binary.

I bumped into them both later in the day when out walking with Molly. I sat and talked with them a while and found out more about them. They came and joined us for “Living the Questions”. We did not explore the subject we had planned, instead we let Jade and Eva tell us about themselves and their experiences as Journeymen.

It was an incredible evening as they talked about their experiences on the journey. They must travel by hitching a ride and find some place to sleep each night. They are of course meant to work and learn their trades from other masters. Jade is a carpenter and Eva a leather craftsperson. Of course this is no longer allowed in the UK as they are European Union citizens. They explained their clothing and why it is designed as it is as well as the staffs they carry. They talked about how vital it is that they learn patience and understanding and not to get down even if they had wait hours for a lift. They talked about how the journey was helping them develop as people and to understand others. What struck me was how they could not be shy, they had to be courageous. How they had to be humble in asking for help and how they were offering to others an opportunity to be generous. They were like living angels to me as they seemed to bring out the generosity in people. They brought out so much joy in me and in some of us present. I cannot tell you how much the whole experience moved me. I asked them what had brought them to knock at my door. They said that they were talking with a couple of people at the market and they has said that they should try the minister at the Unitarian chapel, as you would find a friendly welcome there. I could have cried, this touched my heart deeply.

I could tell you so much more about these two incredible people who blessed us with their presence. They were heading towards the Lake District and then Edinburgh before travelling down the Yorkshire coast and to York before heading south. They slept the night in the school room and I said I would leave them to go when they felt ready in the morning. I am sure they will bless many more people on their journey. Neither would be returning home for a couple of years, but I know that when they do they will have so much treasure to share.

Earlier we heard an extract from the Hebrews chapter 13 vv 1-6. The line from the second verse has been resonating with me since Tuesday. 2Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Who is showing hospitality to these strangers in our very midst?”

This seems to me exactly what occurred on Tuesday. Jade and Eva were both offering and receiving hospitality wherever they go and they are blessing and bringing out blessings everywhere. I felt like we had entertained angels on Tuesday.

Showing hospitality and caring for the vulnerable in society is a key aspect of the Judeo - Christian and Islamic tradition. You will find it deeply rooted in the Abrahamic traditions and virtually every other world religion too. Hospitality is an essential spiritual practice. It begins with an open heart and a generosity of spirit. It’s about recognising the good in life and in people, especially those in need. It’s about recognising ourselves in those very same people. It’s about being open and welcoming to all, wherever they have been, where ever they are going and wherever they find themselves now. Tibetan Buddhist monks great the strangers visiting their temples with “Welcome, friend, from what noble spiritual tradition do you come.” The Christian monastic tradition has a long held practise of taking in strangers and offering them sanctuary as if they were Christ, inspired by those very words from Hebrews. In so doing they are following the example of Jesus who mingled with all people, there was no one left outside the city gate, no untouchables.

This ancient hospitality seems to be to be at the very core of the Journeyman tradition and something that is sadly dying out in our modern age. Hospitality to me seems to be the whole concept of “Kin-dom of Love” right here right now.

Sadly, our age has become characterised by distrust, there is a fear of the strange and the stranger. Tuesday reminded how important hospitality to strangers is. In so doing we offer true spiritual love and liberate ourselves from the bondages of selfishness and self-centredness. It sets us free. Jade and Eva seemed so free as they offered folk they met the opportunity to be generous. They reminded me of the following by Joan Chittister “Hospitality is the way we come out of ourselves. It is the first step toward dismantling the barriers of the world. Hospitality is the way we turn a prejudiced world around one heart at a time.” In listening to Jade and Eva’s adventures they seem the absolute incarnation of this amongst us. We were entertaining angels on Tuesday and they blessed the town of Altrincham, they certainly blessed me.

I was thinking of Jade and Eva on Wednesday after they left, as they headed to find a lift towards the lake district. I was wondering how long they would have to wait patiently before getting a ride. I thought about their journey, how they were “following their bliss”, how it is a classic example of Joseph Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey”.

Campbell described life as a call to adventure. Highlighting that human history is littered with stories and adventures inspired by the search for treasure and or wisdom - Stories such as Jason and the Argonauts or many of the other Greek tales, Pilgrims Progress, Gulliver’s Travels, The Wizard of Oz, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Lord of the Rings the list goes on and on – Humanity’s canon is littered with folk tales and myths which teach us about this call to adventure, about the potential for both beauty and horror that is life.

Joseph Campbell spent years exploring these myths and stories believing that they possessed universal qualities that could help us understand how so often life calls us out to adventure, often at the least expected of moments.

Campbell identified four distinct stages of the journey. The first stage he named as “The Call to Adventure”. This he claimed is caused by discontent, which draws us out of the comfort of our lives to risk something new. The second he described as an initiation, where ordeals are faced that test someone’s mental and physical skills. The third stage is the time of revelation the discovery of truth and treasure. The final stage is the return to one’s community, with wisdom gained and with treasure to share.

These adventures began and ended with a call. They began with a powerful call to adventure, but they also ended with an equally powerful call, to return home. Just think of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz and those immortal words as she clicked her ruby slippers “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.”

Surely this is what Jade and Eva were on. Isn’t this exactly what Journeymen do. Certainly as I listened to them they described how they were called out of the comfort of their lives, to seek meaning and adventure. How they faced many ordeals with heart and courage and how they were blessed by the people they met, how they learnt so much about themselves and life itself. How they left gifts wherever they went, bringing out a great deal of good in the world. They will eventually return home with gold to share.

On Monday I stepped into the chapels gardens and noticed 6 magpies. I have never seen six before. I told a friend about this and they said well you had better keep your eyes open for gold, because six magpies symbolise gold. Well, the very next day I discovered it in these two remarkable journeymen Jade and Eva. They blessed me and this town with their visit that day. They brought out the best in me and I trust that we left them with a good impression and stories to share on their adventure. I believe I encountered two angels that day.

What a journey.

Below is a video devotion based on the material in this "blogspot"