"Thin Places": Reconnecting Past, Present & Future

(This blogspot was originally published in 2013)

Over the last few weeks I have enjoyed reliving re-feeling some old memories. There are two reasons for this. One has been regularly taking the Wednesday lunchtime service Cross Street Chapel, while the minister Jane Barraclough has been recuperating from an operation. The second being the purchase of John Midgley’s book “Wednesday at the Oasis”. John’s book is based on a series of sermons, one for each week of the year, that he delivered at Cross Street while he was minister and I was a congregant there. What has been lovely is that as I have read them I have remembered many of them. These beautiful memories came flooding into my mind as I sat on the tram last Wednesday heading towards Cross Street.

I suspect that Cross Street is one of those “thin places” that the ancient Celts described. A place where there is only a very thin divide between the past, present and future. It certainly feels like that for me or at least it does when I go there on a Wednesday lunchtime. At such times and in this place I reconnect with my past and perhaps get a glimpse into the future which enables me to truly connect with the present. Oddly in those moments time actually feels very “thick”, in the sense that I experience it richly and deeply. In these moments I sense something beyond...

The last few weeks have allowed me to re-feel these memories; it has allowed me to remember them, to rebind my memories. When we remember we rebind our thoughts our memories together. It was not just in my mind though that I recalled these past events that are so vital to my life today. I have remembered through all my senses too; I have re-sensed these memories too. Now of course if I was to say that I re-sensed them you might think I was talking negatively about these memories; you might think that I was harbouring resentment towards my past. Well nothing could be further from the truth. It is another one of the quirks of the English language that the word for re-sensing something only really has a negative meaning. The word resentment comes from the French word “resentir” which meant to re-feel something. Well I’ve certainly been doing that these last few weeks, but not in a negative sense. Oh how I wish we had a word that meant the opposite of resentment, because that’s what I’ve been experiencing. As I sat on the tram last Wednesday I found myself smiling broadly as I remembered oh so much.

Now some may accuse me of being sentimental, nay nostalgic for the past and that this is futile, they may say that you’ve got to live in the present in the now. Now of course to some extent this is true, there is only the now to experience. That said if I’ve learnt anything in life I’ve learnt that you can only live in the present moment if you are peace with the past. You cannot live in the moment if you are plagued with resentment about the past, if re-feeling the past causes you pain.

Why you may well ask?

Well because if you disconnect emotionally from any aspect of your life you tend to disconnect from every aspect. If you are not feeling your past, you cannot feel the present.

Whenever I conduct a child blessing I like to use the following words by Dorothy Law Notte, during the ceremony.

Children learn what they live.
If a child lives with criticism, she learns to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight.
If a child lives with ridicule, she learns to be shy.
If a child lives with shame, he learns to feel guilt.
If a child lives with tolerance, she learns to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement, he learns with confidence.
If a child lives with praise, she learns to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice.
If a child lives with security, she learns to have faith.
If a child lives with approval, he learns to like herself.
If a child lives with acceptance, she learns to find love in the world. 

The early years of our lives are oh so important. If we are not taught how to love and respect and to connect, or if we are taught shame and hate for ourselves or others we can easily become desensitise both to ourselves and to the lives of others. This can lead to a total disconnection from life. It can lead to a sense of alienation that can be deeply destructive. I wonder how many folk wander around feeling unnoticed, as if they don’t belong, completely disconnected from life.

These thoughts bring to mind a quote by William James that a friend recently recounted to me.

"No more fiendish punishment could be devised, were such a thing physically possible, than that one should be turned loose in society and remain absolutely unnoticed by all members thereof. If no one turned around when we entered, answered when we spoke, or minded what we did, but if every person we met 'cut us dead', and acted as if we were non-existent things, a kind of rage and impotent despair would long well up in us, from which the cruellest torture would be relief."

A sense of disconnection and alienation is hell; I can think of no more accurate a description.

It’s amazing how powerful three little letters can be, “D I S” can completely change the meaning of something.

Those simple three letters “D I S” “dis” have been on my mind of late. It’s amazing how powerful those three letters, at least linguistically can be. To “dis” is to pull things apart, to tear asunder, to spoil. Think about words like dis-abling, dis-orientating, dis-ease, dis-appear, dis-connect, dis-miss. When we diss someone we are speaking badly of them we are rejecting them. To diss someone is to isolate them, to lock them outside of the gate, to reject them and if we ourselves diss life, then we reject life we denounce life, we hate life.

Have you ever felt disconnected from life? If so how did you reconnect? How do we help those who experience a sense of disconnection to reconnect?

Well for me this is the task of religion, perhaps its main task. The role of religion is to bind up the broken. One of religions root meanings is “religio” meaning to re-bind, to re-connect. Even those of us who were taught love and worth from our childhoods can still experience the need to rebind with all life, with love. We all feel excluded from love, from life from time to time, no matter how loving our lives may have been. This is why communal worship is so vital, it allows us to begin that process of reconnection.

Those early days at Cross Street, all those years ago, helped me so much. They helped me connect beyond myself, to something more than me. In worship I connected to a power greater than myself as well as the people I was in communion with. Paradoxically by doing so I was able to connect to the greater aspects of my true self and it was this that allowed me to connect with all life, with my past and potential future and to fully experience the present moment, the gift of life.

A few weeks after I began attending Cross Street I spent a few days back home in Yorkshire. One day I decided I wanted to retrace the footsteps of my child hood and revisited places that I use to play and do lots of things young lads do. It was one of the most beautiful and moving days of my life as I re-felt my childhood years. I re-felt some very painful memories and as I did I loosened up so much joy and happiness. It was one of those days that changed me forever. It was one of those days when I began to re-write my own history. It’s not that the pain and suffering disappeared it’s just that they began to be put into proper proportion with all the joy and happiness and love that had always been present, but that had somehow got lost.

I suspect that like Cross Street that little part of Birstall is one of those “thin places” that the Celts spoke of. Certainly when I walk around there today there seems to be only a very thin divide between the past, present and future and that which is beyond time and place. It certainly helps me to reconnect with my past and perhaps get a glimpse into the future which enables me to truly connect with the present. Ever since that day that I revisited my childhood my life has become richer and deeper in meaning.

I suspect that everyone has there own "thin places". I wonder where the "thin places" in your lives are. Places where you are able to fully connect with the past and therefore present and perhaps get a glimpse of the future, of the eternal. Why don't you think about and perhaps revisit and re-feel those experiences.

Holocaust Remembrance Day & some thoughts on mystery of humanity

Today 27^th January is International Holocaust Remembrance Day. It marks what can only be described as the most horrific period in human history. Not that the atrocities committed by the Nazi regime are unique. Sadly we can find examples of attempted genocide throughout human history.

January 27^th is marked as Holocaust Remembrance Day because it was on this day in 1945 that the largest death camp Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated by Soviet troops. It has been observed, on this day, in Britain since 2001, although other countries have chosen different dates. It was officially recognised by the United Nations General Assembly resolution 60/7, during 2005, to mark the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau. Today the world uniformly recognises the 27^th of January as Holocaust Remembrance Day.

And why do we mark this day? It is not just out of respect for the 6 million Jewish people, the 3 million Soviet prisoners of war, the 1 million Roma, the quarter of a million disabled, the 10,000 homosexuals and the many many more who were so brutally murdered. We mark is to say never again. Never again can this be allowed to happen. Well it seems that we have failed. Attempted Genocide still goes on and brutality towards one another continues and has continued ever since. Maybe not on the same industrial scale as under the Nazi regime, but it has continued; it has continued not only in other lands, far, far away but in our land too and to some extent in our very communities. It continues every time we dehumanize another, or ourselves. It happens every time we fail to recognise the sacredness of life, our own or that of others; for to commit such brutality requires a human being to fail to recognise the sacredness of another’s humanity and that of all life. It requires us to reduce ourselves or others to nothingness; it requires nihilism; it requires us to reduce life or at least the life of another into something without meaning. To destroy life without conscience requires a human being to reject the sacredness of life.

I was sat trying to figure out how to approach this subject the other day. I was doing my usual broad sweep, looking at different angles of approach, when I remembered that the first Unitarian service I ever attended, some 8 years ago, must have been on or around Holocaust Remembrance Day. I know it was a cold Wednesday lunchtime in January, when I first walked through the entrance of Cross Street Chapel; I remember it like it had just happened; I can re-feel the whole experience now. It was at a time when so much was changing in my life and as a response I was attempting to make sense of things and exploring religious paths. I was looking for spiritual answers, because I knew that they did not lay in my former reductionist and materialist mindset. By the way I’ve not found the answers, unless the answer is to seek and to serve, which I suspect it might be.

I sat and listened intently and was touched deep down within the core of my being  by the minister John Midgely's short address. What sank into my soul was this idea that Germany had been overcome by a dark sickness, but that this was not unique to the German people. It could happen to any country and or any culture. I can think of no society or nation that has not committed atrocities against another and if not against others then against its own people. What I realised was that this darkness is in me as it is in everyone and everything, but it is not all that there is, goodness, love and compassion is present too. The key is to feed the love and not let the hate prevail. The basis of my own theology is that there is that of God in everything, but that this is not the only force at work. There is another force at work too and this force thrives on separation, on alienation. I see it at work whenever we separate each other whenever we see someone or something as lacking in worth and dignity. It operates whenever we make someone or something unwelcome; it works whenever we reject, whenever we refuse hospitality to someone or something; it operates whenever we lock someone or something outside of the city gates, including ourselves; it happens when we lose reverence for life itself.

Distrust and fear are deeply rooted within our psyche, within our culture. We do not trust one another, we are afraid of the stranger. Just think about how we greet each other. What do we do? We usually shake hands. Why do we do this? Well it stems from the middle ages. Back then we shook hands to check if our guest was carrying concealed weapons. It is not a greeting based on love, but one based on distrust. Only after they shook hands could the host sit comfortably with his guest. And what did the guest do as soon as he was poured a drink? He chinked his cup with that of his host. He did this to ensure that the host got some of his drink, therefore if he had been poisoned then so had his host.

Deep mistrust and suspicion is ingrained within our culture. Maybe this is why we find it difficult to welcome the stranger, to revere the other. We are taught to separate.

There must be another way, a way that does not encourage distrust. There is, the other way is reverence. The key is to learn to revere one another. After all we are all formed from the same substance and we have the same spirit running through us. Shakespeare expresses this so beautifully in Hamlet...

“What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!”

Hindu’s are taught to acknowledge one another reverentially whenever they meet. Their greeting ritual is not based on distrust it is based on reverence. They greet by bowing with hands joined together. They honour the sacred mystery they are encountering. This is the key I believe, this honouring of the sacred mystery in each of us.

We are all part of the one human family, the family of life. When we separate, we dehumanize, we fail to acknowledge one another’s sacred mystery. We are not all exactly the same we have different qualities, different characteristics, different gifts to offer as well as different needs. That said we are all made of the same substance, the very same substance that the whole universe is made of, or at least the matter we have knowledge of and I believe that the same spirit runs through all life. I do not personally believe it controls all of it, but it is certainly present, always there offering the lure of its love. It is our task to choose this love, because if we do not then we will begin to separate and alienate and I believe that it is this that causes the distrust and fear that leads to hatred and dehumanising violence.

The solution is simple, I believe, as solutions usually are. The solution is reverence, reverence for life itself. We need to offer welcome to everyone and everything including that which we find uncomfortable.

Today we remember the Holocaust and the millions that have been murdered by the hands of fear, distrust and hatred. Today we recommit to the ideal that we never let this happen again. We do so recognising that it happens all the time. And that it begins to happen again every time we separate one from another every time we fail to revere the sacred mystery of one another and the sacred mystery of life.

So let us begin again in love, by learning to revere one another and all that is life and beyond...

...It seems approapriate to end this blog with the following words by my colleague the recently retired Rev Cliff Reed 

"Marking the Holocaust"

I ask you now please to stand in solemn silence and remember the names that stand for genocide –

Auschwitz, Sobibor, Majdanek; Dachau, Buchenwald, Bergen-Belsen; the list goes on and on...

Tasmania, Wounded Knee, Armenia; Halabja, Bosnia, Rwanda; the list goes on and on...

The names of places where humanity failed to be human. The names of places where we reached the depths.

We stand in solemn silence. We hear the words of the Kaddish spoken in memory of the millions dead, each one an individual, a murdered person.

We honour them as lost kin. We honour those who resisted evil. We honour the righteous of the nations. Would that we had been among them...

Amen

Seasonal Inspiration: Part 1

Over the last few weeks I’ve come across several pieces that have inspired me greatly. I have shared them in worship during this Advent Season. I thought I’d share some of them with you in this the first of two blogs...

The following was sent to me by a friend. I can't read it without it bringing a tear to my eye. I couldn't even listen to it being read out in worship without having the same effect...

“For the Man Who Hated Christmas” by Nancy Gavin

It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.
 

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas--oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it--overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.
 

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
 

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears.
 

It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.
 

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition--one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
 

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
 

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there.

You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.
 

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down the envelope.
 

Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.

The following inspired me to explore the two spirits that are present at Christmas as they are throughout the year. It is also inspired me to look at "Scrooge" as the Christmas archetype. He is the perfect embodiment of both spirits and I believe he speaks to all aspects of our shared humanity

“Two spirits at Christmas” by Max D Gaebler

There are really two spirits of Christmas, each very different from the other, yet both deeply ingrained in our celebrations of the season. and I suspect most of us have more of both within us than we ordinarily recognise.

The first, of course, is the one we usually talk about, the spirit of good will and peace. It is this spirit that bids us renew our hopes amid the gathering darkness, that kindles our generosity and our concerns, that attunes our ears to the ever-renewed angelic chorus.

But the second, equally inseparable from the observations of this season, is the spirit of Scrooge’s “Bah! Humbug!” We all know that hatred and distrust will not disappear from human relationships just because we say it ought to be so. We all know that peace on earth is lot more complicated than it sounds in the Christmas hymns. We all know that if the world and the lamb and the leopard and the kid, the calf and the young lion all got along with one another as famously as Isaiah prophesied that they would, then some of these animals would die of starvation.

What is comes down to is that we give voice at Christmas to extravagant hopes that are beyond the range of any possible fulfilment. They are, as we say in our more sober moments, unrealistic.

But the real question is whether this is so bad. Perhaps the part of wisdom is to accept this reminder of the gap between the real and the ideal for what it is, a spur not only to our hopes but to our imagination and energies. It would be foolish to ignore the element of wishful thinking in our Christmas hopes. But how unspeakably more foolish it would be if we were to accept present reality as the last word and to stop dreaming altogether.

Our hopes are bound, of course, to be disappointed, at least in part. So long as time endures we shall remain creatures in the making, somewhere this side of perfection. Yet there is always hope for moving beyond the tragic failures of the past – if not all the way, at least a few steps farther. Our hopes are forever bound to fall to ashes; yet out of the ashes there can always emerge new hope – again and again and yet again.

I love the following story which was sent to me by my friend and colleague Rev Gillian Peel. It got me thinking of my favourite Carol "In the bleak mid winter" and the line "what shall I give him, give my heart". It's not really about the gifts we give but the spirit in which we give. when we give from our hearts we receive all that our hearts could ever desire. The gift truly is in the giving

"Long Walk Part of Gift" by DAVID S. BLANCHARD

The best story I ever heard about gift-giving has nothing to do with Christmas, and everything to do with Christmas. It's about an African boy who wanted to give a gift to his teacher, who was going home to England. The child had no money and his options were few. The day before the teacher was to leave, the child brought her a huge seashell. The teacher asked the boy where he could have found such a shell. He told her there was only one spot where such extraordinary shells could be found, and when he named the place, a certain bay many miles away, the teacher was speechless.

"Why ... why, it’s gorgeous ... wonderful, but you shouldn't have gone all that way to get a gift for me." His eyes brightening, the boy answered, "Long walk part of gift."

"Long walk part of gift." Most of the meaningful gifts we give to each other require some version of that "long walk." The long walk we sign on for with children, who need our patience, our wisdom, our honesty, and our trust more than we might first have imagined when their lives began. The long walk we share with our spouses, which takes us through uncharted, unexpected territories of sickness and health, richer and poorer, better and worse. The long walk we take with our friends when they are grieving the loss of someone they love, when they are ill, when they are discouraged. The long walk of feeling a sense of unity with those whom prosperity has left behind. The long walk of reconciliation with all that separates us from a deep sense of life’s great purpose and meaning. "Long walk part of gift."

When Christmas has been tidied up and packed away for another year, the gifts acknowledged, many already forgotten, the New Year stretches in front of us. What will get us through those months, with all that they may hold, will not be the things in the boxes. We must look to the hands of those who bought and wrapped and carried those gifts. With their gifts, they are telling us something too wonderful, perhaps too embarrassing, for words. They are telling us that, for us, they will take the long walk.
So when you open the box and find the socks, the bath salts, the fruitcake, the pot holder, or the seashell from a distant ocean, remember that it's not just "the thought" that counts. Remember too,
"long walk part of gift."

This follows a similar theme and makes the point that the value in the gift is in the love contained within it. I actually remember John preaching on this several years ago when he was my minister. “Poinsettia” by Rev John Midgley 

In recent years a plant, the poinsettia, has become a new symbol of Advent, because of its joyous red colour and the story associated with it.

It originates from Mexico where the associated legend is a miracle story, told to the children as part of the Festival of the Holy Journey, a re-enactment of the journey of Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem. It comes to its climax when the couple arrive in Bethlehem and find no room at the inn. For the Christmas Eve service the people of the towns and villages attend their church and bring gifts for the Christ child, as the three Wise Men did.

The story tells of Pepita, a poor Mexican girl who wanted to attend but had no gift to bring. As she walked slowly to the chapel with her cousin Pedro, her heart was filled with sadness rather than joy. “I am sure, Pepita, that even the most humble gift, if given in love, will be acceptable in His eyes,’ said Pedro to her, consolingly. Not knowing what else to do, Pepita knelt by the roadside and gathered a handful of common weeds, fashioning them into a small bouquet. Looking at the scraggy bunch, she felt more saddened and embarrassed than ever by the humbleness of her offering. She fought back a tear as she entered the small village chapel. All this was made worse by the jeering remarks of those who had bought much grander gifts.

As she approached the alter, she remembered Pedro’s kind words: “Even the most humble gift, if given in love, will be acceptable in His eyes.” She felt her spirit life as she knelt to lay the bouquet at the foot of the nativity scene.

Suddenly the leaves of the bouquet of weeds changed. They were transformed into blooms of brilliant red, and all who saw them were certain that they had witnessed a Christmas miracle, right before their eyes. From that day on, the bright red flowers were known as Flores de Noche Buena, Flowers of the Holy Night, for they bloomed each year during the Christmas season.

“Even the most humble gift, if given in love, will be acceptable”

Again this continues the same theme...how does Santa do it? Well because he fuelled by love...the gift is in the giving and the caring...We can be in top physical shape but that is of no use to us if we aren't in tip top spiritual shape...

“How does Santa do it” by Bruce T Marshall 

I came across a study conducted by psychologists from Harvard and Yale that may shed light on the age-old question. How does Santa Claus do it? How does he keep fit year after year despite a break-neck schedule?

In this study, two groups were told that the plant was theirs to take care of and that its fate would depend on their efforts. They also were told that they were competent men and women who should be making decisions for themselves.

People in the other group were told that their plants would be looked after by the nursing home staff just as the staff took care of them because, after all, they were in the home to be cared for.

Within a few weeks the researchers found a noticeable difference between the two groups. Those who cared for their own plant showed an increase in emotional and physical well-being and a visible increase in activity levels. Eighteen months later, the mortality rate of this group was only half that of the other.

A theme of the holiday season is giving. Giving of course, can become obligation and a cause of considerable stress, but it also enhances our lives as it connects us with others. We are reminded of those who are important to us and who depend on us. Our gifts are in thanks for those who keep us involved in life.

Santa Claus, after all, is overweight, smokes a pipe, and lives on a diet of mince pies and milk (whole milk at that). How does he do it?

It’s probably all that giving and caring – and those people depending on him – that keeps him such a healthy and happy old elf.