William Stafford: "Listening"
My father could hear a little animal step,
or a moth in the dark against the screen,
and every far sound called the listening out
into places where the rest of us had never been.
More spoke to him from the soft wild night
than came to our porch for us on the wind;
we would watch him look up and his face go keen
till the walls of the world flared, widened.
My father heard so much that we still stand
inviting the quiet by turning the face,
waiting for a time when something in the night
will touch us too from that other place.
“How do I listen?”
How do I listen to others? As if everyone were my Master speaking to me his cherished last words.”
Words of the great Sufi mystic Hafiz. How do we listen in such a way? Well maybe it begins by listening like the father in William Stafford’s poem above, to be like someone who can listen for what they can hear, far off in the night, “from that other place.” Such people hear so much that they make me want to listen as well. So often in life it has been the example of how others listen and really hear that has inspired me to listen. That said I don’t always listen to others as if everyone were my master, sadly sometimes I don’t listen, or I find it hard to listen.
I have noticed in the last few weeks that I have found it a challenge to listen to others. As a result I have not been as effective as I would hope to be in my work. This is hardly surprising. I am grieving and hurting and deeply concerned for my nearest and deepest. I know well the power that grief has on myself and others being. I have been reminded of this over the last year or so as I have shared deeply with others in the grief group I lead, “The colours of grief: Our shared experience of love and loss”. They have been some of the most treasured moments of my own ministry as we have shared together our own experiences of love and loss, holding one another, listening to each other and beginning to bring some healing. Through our shared experience of suffering we have helped bring healing to one another. Through this deep communion of coming together in love and loss we have experienced what Richard Rohr has described as “dear compassion” which as he has observed “is formed much more by shared pain than by shared pleasure.” In these deeply intimate moments I have heard the Divine Love speak as I have listened with others with my heart open, as we have listened with “the ears of our hearts”.
I found listening particularly difficult at last week’s Unitarian General Assembly Annual Meetings. It was interesting that I found it less difficult engaging in group participation work, but found it impossible to listen to talks and particularly debate in the important business meetings. I tried, but found I just couldn’t sit and listen. So I took the wise move of taking care of myself, spending time in loving company and actually sitting and talking with others in smaller more intimate groups. I heard some beautiful things and was involved in some deeply moving conversations. The Friday morning, the day I delivered “The Anniversary Sermon” was a wonderful example of this. After sharing breakfast with Sue we remained at our table as others left for the buisness meeting. We sat down at 8am after sharing worship and did not move again until noon. Wow! What a beautiful four hours as different people passed by and stopped and shared with us. It was deeply healing, interesting and moving. I laughed and cried and shared, I also heard some pretty eccentric views too. These were Unitarians after all. It was a beautiful morning. Sue enjoyed it too and although the morning had started badly with an unpleasant encounter she met some beautiful and friendly people, with open hearts, minds and souls.
I enjoyed deeply what I heard all morning, I said very little actually. I heard everyone as if they were the Divine speaking to me his cherished last words. I know that it helped to heal something in my heart, it opened my heart and helped me share the anniversary sermon with my heart wide open. It was deeply connective and healing. I listened with the ear of my heart, I let those words sink into my being and as a result began to speak the language of the heart. From what I was told later, this connected with those in the congregation deeply.
The next day my colleague Mark Hutchinson sent the following reflection on my address:
It went by the title “A Danny Meditation”
How many statues
Stare out into the ocean
Wishing only to be
Somewhere else
Not seeing
Or hearing
Or listening
Hold each other
Be held
Not even realising
As the powerful tide is rising
How all statues that wish this way
Are never walking
Or listening
Or talking
Just disappearing
Each and every day.
Hold each other
Be held
This is your domain.
This is a world of pain and joy
For every girl every boy
Everything around and in between
We cannot stop the pain
Nor stem the rising tide
But we can listen
There are things to be said and seen.
Hold each other
Be held
This is your domain
Awaken a new dominion
A man two loving sisters holds
This man is held by them
Not wishing for another place
Despite the seething pain
Just to hold
And to be held.
Hold each other
Be held
This is your domain
Awaken a new dominion
Do your job.
Trusting statues
Talking listening holding,
Stepping back from the tide
Have laughed, sung and cried
And not once tried
To be away
From this very necessary day
In trust and love
Hold each other
Be held
From your domain
Awaken a new dominion
Do your job
Let us hold
Let us be held
Let us all
Do our job.
Mark listened and absorbed every word and created something beautiful from it. It has certainly touched me deeply. He seemed to be listening with his heart and responding with his heart. To me this is what it means to truly live religiously. It is to listen and to live with “dear compassion.”
To truly live religiously is to live in communion with one another, it is to live in “dear compassion”, this is about inviting others truly into our lives and I have come to understand that is about truly listening to each other with our hearts, with the ears of our hearts.
Listening is about invitation. It is about inviting the other into our lives; it is about making space for the other. This is not always easy to do especially when engaging in conversation.
As I have shared many times before “Listen with the ear of your heart”, is one of my ministerial mantras. It comes from “The Rule of Benedict” a set of ancient principles for monastic orders. The foundation of the rule is listening, deep attentive listening. It begins, “listen carefully, my child, to the instructions...and attend to them with the ear of your heart “.
This is no easy task. It is so easy to get wrapped up in so many other things, particularly our own pain and troubles. That said in order to make space for the other we do need to learn to listen; to listen “with the ear of our hearts”.
Ernest Hemingway once said "When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen."
How many of us can really say that we listen to one another? When we begin to converse do we take time to truly listen to what the other person is saying? Or are we merely waiting for our turn to make our point? When we engage with one another are we really attempting to make space for them or is it all about us? Is it about our need to be heard? Are we engaging with others in the hope that they will agree with us?
In “Forgotten Art of Deep Listening” Kay Lindahl asks us to:
“Think of the difference it would make if each of us felt really listened to when we spoke. Imagine the time it would save to be heard the first time around, instead of having to repeat ourselves over and over again. Envision a conversation in which each person is listened to with respect, even those whose views are different from ours. This is all possible in conversations of the heart, when we practice the sacred art of listening. It takes intention and commitment. We need to slow down to expand our awareness of the possibilities of deep listening. The simple act of listening to each other can transform all of our relationships. Indeed, it can transform the world, as we practice being the change we wish to see in the world.”
By listening we can begin to transform the world; by listening we begin to practise being the change we wish to see in the world.
Listening is about making space for the other, it is an invitation; an invitation to create true spiritual intimacy. Listening is one way to release ourselves from the treadmill of own ego centric little worlds. It can release us from hell.
Yes sometimes it is hard to listen, particularly when we are caught up in our own pain. It happens to all of us, it’s been happening to me of late. I thank God that I have not run and I have not tried to hide, I have simply let others share their time and space with me, to listen to me when I have been ready to speak my own pain and fear and love and truth.
I have lived faithfully, indeed I have lived religiously in intimate company with others. I have lived with others in “dear compassion”
To truly live religiously is to live in communion with one another, it is to live in “dear compassion”, it is about inviting others truly into our lives; it is about making space for the other. It’s about listening with our hearts, with the ears of hearts. It’s about living with others in “dear compassion”
Let us live in “dear compassion”.
There is something in the corner of my life, that I cannot quite see...and my reflections upon it
Showing posts with label Rule of St Benedict. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rule of St Benedict. Show all posts
Sunday, 15 April 2018
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Fellowship: Creating Sacred Space
Below is a link to a talk I delivered at R.E. Summer held at the Nightingale Centre at Great Hucklow in Derbyshire. It includes a short period of devotional worship at the beginning before the talk itself begins. Below the link is the full transcript of the talk.
http://www.hucklowsummerschool.org.uk/audio/ThemeTalk_DannyCrosby_22August2012.mp
Light Chalice
Welcome to this sacred space...here love dwells...you are most welcome
May we be reminded here of our highest aspirations, and be inspired to
bring our gifts of love and service to the altar of humanity.
May we know once again that we are not isolated beings but connected, in
mystery and miracle, to the universe, to this sacred space, to each other and
to God.
Let us begin our worship in the spirit of Love.
Hymn 24 “Come sing a song with me”
Prayer
I invite you now to join together in a time of prayer...
Oh Great Mystery, help us to experience you here in our
lives.
Help us to see you as you blow
through the branches of the great trees.
Help us to feel you as you gust through our fields and streets.
Help us to taste you on the breath of those we hold most dear.
(silence)
Be with us when we are afraid to delve within,
when we cannot face ourselves in the glass,
when we are paralysed by our guilt and our shame.
Sustain us as we open the windows to our hearts,
and stand before our world, exposed . . . but ready.
(silence)
God of love, open our eyes.
Help us to discover that we are not
who we thought that we were . . .
that we need not fear our natures.
(silence)
What lies at the centre of our being,
and all creation, is love.
(silence)
Love. . .unconditional. . .love...everlasting. . .love....love
Amen
Help us to see you as you blow
through the branches of the great trees.
Help us to feel you as you gust through our fields and streets.
Help us to taste you on the breath of those we hold most dear.
(silence)
Be with us when we are afraid to delve within,
when we cannot face ourselves in the glass,
when we are paralysed by our guilt and our shame.
Sustain us as we open the windows to our hearts,
and stand before our world, exposed . . . but ready.
(silence)
God of love, open our eyes.
Help us to discover that we are not
who we thought that we were . . .
that we need not fear our natures.
(silence)
What lies at the centre of our being,
and all creation, is love.
(silence)
Love. . .unconditional. . .love...everlasting. . .love....love
Amen
Story
Once upon a time...long long ago...in Japan, a
woman prayed that God would show her the difference between heaven and hell.
She wanted to know whether there were fires in hell, and whether the people in
heaven sat around on clouds all day playing harps. She didn’t fancy going to either
place if that was all they had to offer.
She prayed so hard that God decided to answer her
prayer, and he sent an angel to give her a guided tour of both places...angels
are good like that...first she went to hell. It wasn’t hot at all; in fact it
looked quite pleasant. There were long tables laden with food of all kinds –
cooked meats, vegetables, fruit, delicious pies, and exotic desserts. “This
can’t be hell,” she thought. Then she looked at the people. They were sitting
some distance from the tables, and they were all miserable – emaciated, pale,
angry. Each of them had chopsticks fastened to their hands, but the chopsticks
were about three feet long and no matter how hard they tried, the people just
couldn’t get the food into their own mouths. They were groaning with hunger,
and frustration, and anger. “I’ve seen enough of this,” said the woman. “Show
me heaven...May I see heaven now?”
The angel took the woman to heaven. They didn’t
have far to go. It was just next door. It was almost the same as hell. There
were the same kind of tables, the same kind of food, and here too, the people
were sitting a little distance away from the tables with three-foot long
chopsticks fastened to their hands. But these people seemed happy. They were
rosy cheeked, and looked well fed. They were smiling and chatting merrily to
each other. They couldn’t put the food into their mouths either, but they had
discovered how to be fed and happy: they were feeding each other.
Hymn 200 “What does the Lord require?”
Theme Talk
Every Sunday Morning before beginning worship at Dunham Road I like to
look up at the ceiling above me. Have any of you been to Dunham Road Chapel? It
is so beautiful. There is so much that you can feast your eyes on, without
anything being in your face. Before I begin leading worship I like to look up
and offer a prayer; a prayer to remind me of why I am there; a prayer to remind
me of what I believe the purpose of worship is; a prayer to remind me of what
spiritual community is about; a prayer to remind me of what the purpose of
religion truly is. As I look up I feel like I am standing beneath the hull of a
great ship. Yes ok it’s one turned upside down. I’m cool with that as I’m
someone who is always searching for the un-commonsense as opposed to the
commonsense that I am told I should be seeking. Commonsense is so overrated,
where as un-commonsense is so rarely absorbed. I hope in some sense that this
talk will reveal some un-commonsense to you this morning. Why? Because I reckon it’s only through un-commonsense
that the Great Mystery truly reveals itself.
When I look up at the ceiling I feel Like I’m dangling down towards the
bottom of a great ship and when I then look up at the congregation I feel like
we are all in this ship together. We are sailing in this ship together. We do
not sail the ship alone. We are fellows in the same ship; we are journeying in
a fellowship. I do not see it as an Ark though, more a cruise ship really,
maybe it could be called a love boat. It is a fellowship of love, a fellowship
of the spirit even. Each week we journey together. Ok I may well steer the ship,
but I am not the navigator. After our weekly adventure, on our love boat, we go
back out into the world, we go our separate ways and hopefully carry that
spirit into our daily lives and into our world; to attempt to share some of
this uncommon sense in our own little worlds. We go our separate ways, but are united
in that spirit of love we have shared in our time together.
For the next half an hour or so I am going to attempt to steer you
through a journey that will explore these concepts of the fellowship of love,
of the fellowship of the sprit and hopefully when you leave you can perhaps
carry what you have heard into your lives and let it live and breathe through
you in your daily activities.
Earlier I shared with you the story “Heaven and Hell”. I first came
across it in Bill Darlison’s book “The Shortest Distance”. It’s a great tale
don’t you reckon? I have come across several other versions of it from other
traditions too. There is an almost identical version that is told from a Jewish
perspective. In this tale the chopsticks are replaced with spoons.
In the story Heaven and Hell appear exactly the same and yet they are
experienced oh so differently. In Hell all go hungry because everyone tries to feed
themselves only, they are purely self reliant. And yet in heaven they attempt
to feed one another and are therefore fed in abundance. To me this is as much
about the relationships as the food going into one another’s mouths. I believe
that we all possess an innate need to serve one another that if we do not do
this part of our natural humanity withers away and dies off. By not serving one
another we starve our souls.
I think that one of the greatest delusions of the modern era is the myth
of self reliance, this idea that as individuals we have all that we need and
that we do not need one another. Jeffrey Lockwood in his meditation “to ask is
to give” claims that:
“...One of the great blessings of travel is
to be put in a position of asking help from others, to be genuinely needful of
strangers. Our illusion of self-reliance evaporates as the unexpected and
unfamiliar merge into vulnerability. We offer the gift of authentic need, the
opportunity for deep trust. We express to another person the most humanizing
cross-cultural phrase: “Please help me.”...In our society, self-sufficiency is
heralded as a virtue, and chronic dependence on others can be degrading. But
never being asked to help another person is isolating, even dehumanizing. In a
culture that exalts autonomy, asking for help may be one of the greatest gifts
we offer. So much of life has become a calculation of costs and benefits; to
ask assistance is to create the opportunity for unconditional giving in raw,
spiritual defiance of economic rationality. We become mutually indebted without
expectation of repayment. Each person in the relationship becomes a giver and
receiver. Each one becomes more human. Each one has something to be thankful
for.”
There are several slightly different accounts in the Gospels of Jesus
feeding crowds of people. Now there is a real danger of losing the meaning
behind these tales by engaging in winding arguments about their factual
accuracy; to get hung up on a debate as to whether or not Jesus could feed the
thousands of people present with just a few fish and loaves. Is this really what
these stories are about? I do not think so. To get hung up on the factual
accuracy is to miss the whole point of the teaching behind the story.
Mythological tales are not about fact they are about revealing deeper universal
truths.
There is a line in one account from Mark’s gospel (Ch 8 vv 1-9) where we
hear the words “They ate and were filled”.
In this account Jesus had spent three days with the people he feeds. He
had not invited them to join him and therefore was certainly not obliged to
feed them. I am sure that the crowd were not expecting to be fed by the meagre
amount that the disciples brought, which was meant for them only. But what
happens? Well Jesus recognises the crowds hunger and the fact that they have
travelled a great distance to be with him, he expresses compassion for all of
them. He asks the crowd to sit down and to share a meal with him. He then
instructs the disciples to serve the people personally. The crowd eat and are
filled. Not because their bodies were filled to the brim, but because their
hunger was met in the most important way possible. What occurs is a true human
encounter between the disciples and the crowd; the people are served face to
face and are therefore truly loved and cared for. They had not only been
physically fed they had been personally served and therefore their humanity
recognised, each individuals hunger mattered.
From you I receive to you I give, together we share and from this we
live.
We
all thirst and hunger even in our seemingly materially abundant lives. We
cannot feed this hunger in isolation in self reliance it is only fed in that
relationship that occurs as we feed one another. This is fellowship to me.
Fellowship is what occurs in the relationship between the two. In this
relationship, in this space, we can know the Love of God.
We
all hunger for purpose and meaning. As Viktor Frankl pointed out we are driven
by a will to find meaning and purpose. I would go further and suggest that we
are also driven to find companionship in our increasingly isolated and
isolating culture. We need to serve one another, or our souls will starve. I
have discovered and I keep on discovering that our deepest pangs are not
satisfied by the food that is laid on the table but in the relationship that
occurs as we feed one another and as we drink from one another’s cup. This is
fellowship.
William
Wordsworth once wrote.
“There
are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct
pre-eminence retain
A renovating
virtue, whence–depressed
By false opinion
and contentious thought,
Or aught of
heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial
occupations, and the round
Of ordinary
intercourse–our minds
Are nourished and
invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which
pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates,
enables us to mount,
When high, more
high, and lifts us up when fallen.”
“Spots of time”
are moments in our lives that have the potential to change us forever. Moments when life not only feeds but truly nourishes us
on a deep, deep level, deeper than the marrow of our bones; moments when the
common becomes uncommon; moments when the veils we create ourselves seem to
slip away; moments when we seemingly see beyond the ordinary; moments when we
experience reality on a deeper level.
These “spots of
time” are sacred moments that are made holy by their mysterious ability to
nourish us and perhaps even repair us in body, mind, heart and soul. These
moments are so special because they seem so rare. I suspect that they are a
kind of grace; they seemingly come to us, from a place somewhere beyond
ourselves.
Karen Armstrong
believes that we can create these “spots of time” in each other’s lives. That
small acts of kindness when we serve, feed, nourish one another can be spots
that have the potential to change people’s lives forever. Can you recall “spots of time” in your own lives,
those moments that lifted you up when once again you had fallen.
I
wonder if we could break off into pairs for a few minutes and perhaps think and
then share with each other moments in our lives, “spots of time” when someone
has done something for you, or given you a moment of their time from their
heart that has perhaps changed you, transformed you...a time when they have
enjoyed true fellowship with you. After we have perhaps shared with one another
we could come back together and perhaps if we would like to we could share with
all who are here...
Sharing time for 5mins
I
have served the good folk of Altrincham and Urmston for two years now. I feel
that we have got to know one another quite well during this time. From the
outset I made it a priority of mine to spend time talking, but above all else
listening, to them. During the worship we have shared I have encouraged
openness by allowing them to get to know me. Leading worship for me is about
communicating the language of the heart. An address should never be a lecture
that merely feeds the intellect. I hope to God this is not a lecture. This may
well have been a challenge for some folk, but was a deliberate decision on my
part in an attempt to give those present permission to be open with me. It was
an attempt to feed one another; it was an attempt to develop fellowship. I have
spent time with everyone connected with both congregations, visiting them in
their own homes and talking with them about many things. This has been a real
treasure to me, personally. We have some real gems hidden away in our
congregations. I cannot begin to express how deeply moved I have been by what
people have shared with me. Virtually every conversation has been littered with
moving stories of love, of pain, of grief and of faith. I have heard some of the
most incredible tales of personal spiritual experience, something I have a deep
interest in. I have rarely left someone’s home without feeling that my life has
been enhanced by the time we have just shared. I have felt welcomed into the
lives of the people within both communities and for that I am profoundly
grateful. They have fed me as I have fed them; they have given to me as I have
given to them. We have truly enjoyed fellowship together, in this deepening
relationship.
“Listen with the
ear of your heart”, has become one of my mantras. It comes from “The Rule of
Benedict” a set of ancient principles for monastic orders. The foundation of
the rule is listening, deep attentive listening. It begins, “listen carefully,
my child, to the instructions...and attend to them with the ear of your heart
“.
I see this as a key
component of fellowship, listening to one another “with the ear of our hearts”
and of course to speak the language of the heart. If we do we may just begin to
hear that uncommon sense spoken by that “Great Mystery”
A man approached Nasrudin and asked him, “how
does one become wise?”. To which Nasrudin replied: “listen attentively to wise
people when they speak. And when someone is listening to you, listening
attentively to what you are saying!”
Ah Mulla Nasrudin, the wise fool. The “Holy
Fool”. He spoke a lot of un-commonsense.
Ernest Hemingway once said "When people
talk, listen completely. Most people never listen."
Listening is about invitation. It is about
inviting the other into our lives; it is about ‘making place for the other’.
This is not always easy to do especially when engaging in conversation.
How many of us can really say that we listen
to one another? When we begin to converse do we take time to truly listen to
what the other person is saying? Or are we merely waiting for our turn to make
our point? When we engage with one another are we really attempting to make
space for them or is it all about us? Is it about our need to be heard? Are we in
fact engaging with others in the hope that they will agree with us?
In “Forgotten Art of Deep Listening” Kay Lindahl asks us to:
“Think of the difference it
would make if each of us felt really listened to when we spoke. Imagine the
time it would save to be heard the first time around, instead of having to
repeat ourselves over and over again. Envision a conversation in which each
person is listened to with respect, even those whose views are different from
ours. This is all possible in conversations of the heart, when we practice the
sacred art of listening. It takes intention and commitment. We need to slow
down to expand our awareness of the possibilities of deep listening. The simple
act of listening to each other can transform all of our relationships. Indeed,
it can transform the world, as we practice being the change we wish to see in
the world.”
By listening we can begin to
transform the world; by listening we begin to practise being the change we wish
to see in the world.
About nine years ago I met a
man in Oldham who changed my life, actually he saved my life. He taught me many
things one of which was how to listen. This began with practising noticing when
I wasn’t listening, when others were speaking. He taught me to observe when my
mind wandered off or to notice when I was listening how much of my time was
spent on working out what “brilliant” response I was going to make, in an
attempt to refute what the other person was saying. He taught me that when we
are listening to another we are extending ourselves to that person, we are
giving them a gift; a gift that we can both share in. In making space for the
other, we create a sacred space, we make space for God and we get a taste of
heaven.
He taught me that
when we listen to another we truly give of ourselves. Whereas when we only
appear to be listening and are in fact judging or comparing ourselves to them
we are in actual fact judging ourselves. He taught me that if we learn to
listen to others, without judgement, we can begin to learn to accept them for
who they truly are. By doing so we are learning to love them; by doing so we
give them the dignity to be themselves; by doing so we dignify ourselves; by
doing so we create a sacred space in that relationship between one another.
Now of course not
all the great sages come from Oldham. Those of ancient times taught similar
lessons to this ordinary man.
Karen Armstrong has
highlighted that human dialogue has tended “...to be aggressive, a tradition we
inherited from the ancient Greeks.” If we look at our world today we tend to
debate competitively, whether we are public figures or just talking in the
playground, the pub or through social media. Often when we are engaging in
conversation we are trying to trip one another up, or prove one another wrong.
How many of us can say that we are truly listening to one another?
Since ancient times
the great sages have offered solutions to this competitive and aggressive way
of communicating, but I’m not sure they have ever won out.
As Armstrong has
highlighted:
“The Socratic
dialogue was a spiritual exercise designed to produce a profound psychological
change in the participants - and because its purpose was that everybody should
understand the depth of his ignorance, there was no way that anybody could
win.” The key as Plato highlighted “...is to ‘make place for the other’ in his
mind and to listen intently and sympathetically to the ideas of his partners in
dialogue...” Can you imagine this happening during Prime Minister’s Question
Time today?
Other great sages
such as the Buddha and Confucius conducted discussions in a similar manner.
Confucius always developed his ideas in conversation. He did this because he
felt that to achieve ‘maturity’ required this kind of friendly interaction. The
Buddha taught his monks to converse kindly and courteously with one another.
His lay disciple King Pasenadi of Kosla observed the contrast between his Royal
Courts and the Buddha’s communities. In the courts everybody seemed to be
looking out for themselves and they were always quarrelsome. Where as he
observed that the monks were “...living together as uncontentiously as milk
with water and looking at one another with kind eyes...smiling, courteous,
sincerely happy...their minds remaining as gentle as wild dear.” They listened
to one another, they served one another and they showed reverence to one
another.
Listening is about
making space for the other, it is an invitation; an invitation to create true
spiritual intimacy. Listening is one way to release ourselves from the
treadmill of own ego centric little worlds. It can release us from hell.
Listening is a
loving practise and as such it requires discipline, it requires spirit and it
requires devotion. It begins by being aware, mindful, of when we do not listen
and re-committing to listening once again. It is one step towards living more
empathically, more compassionately with one another. This is not an overnight
matter. As Karen Armstrong herself says “...the attempt to become a
compassionate human being is a lifelong project. It is not achieved in an hour
or a day - or even in twelve steps. It is a struggle that will last until our
dying hour.”
It begins with
listening, by attempting to be the change we want to be. By truly listening,
‘with the ears of our hearts’ we can turn away from judgement toward empathy
and understanding, we can truly invite the other into our lives.
We
do not journey alone, we sail the ship of life together. I hope this little
boat trip that we have shared together this morning as opened you up to the
concept of fellowship, of the fellowship of the spirit. I hope that in some way
it is has shown how vital it is that we invite the other into our lives, how we
need one another and how vital it is that we truly give of ourselves to others
and let others truly give of themselves to us. Let’s feed one another from each
other’s hearts in our thoughts words and deeds.
It
all begins by listening with the ears of our hearts. By doing so we may just
begin to understand that un-common sense that is spoken through all of life, but
so rarely heard.
Amen
Blessing
I would like to end with a short blessing
Go
now in peace.
Deeply regard each other.
Truly listen to each other.
Speak what each of you must speak.
Be ready in any moment to disarm your own heart,
and always live as if a realm of love had begun.
Deeply regard each other.
Truly listen to each other.
Speak what each of you must speak.
Be ready in any moment to disarm your own heart,
and always live as if a realm of love had begun.
And
may the blessings of God be with us in all that we feel, all that we think, all
that we say and all that we do.
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Listening: Making Space for the Other
A man approached Nasrudin and asked him, “how
does one become wise?”. To which Nasrudin replied: “listen attentively to wise
people when they speak. And when someone is listening to you, listening
attentively to what you are saying!”
Ah Mulla Nasrudin, the wise fool. The “Holy
Fool”. We can learn so much from listening; we can learn so much from really
listening; we can learn so much from really listening not only to others, but
to ourselves too.
Listening is about invitation. It is about
inviting the other into our lives; it is about making space for the other. This
is not always easy to do especially when engaging in conversation.
“Listen with the ear of your heart”, has become one of my
mantras. It comes from “The Rule of Benedict” a set of ancient principles for
monastic orders. The foundation of the rule is listening, deep attentive
listening. It begins, “listen carefully, my child, to the instructions...and
attend to them with the ear of your heart “.
This is no easy
task. It is so easy to get wrapped up in so many other things. That said in
order to make space for the other we do need to learn to listen; to listen
“with the ear of our hearts”.
Ernest Hemingway once said "When people
talk, listen completely. Most people never listen."
How many of us can really say that we listen
to one another? When we begin to converse do we take time to truly listen to
what the other person is saying? Or are we merely waiting for our turn to make
our point? When we engage with one another are we really attempting to make
space for them or is it all about us? Is it about our need to be heard? Are we
engaging with others in the hope that they will agree with us?
In “Forgotten Art of Deep Listening” Kay Lindahl asks us to:
“Think of the difference it
would make if each of us felt really listened to when we spoke. Imagine the
time it would save to be heard the first time around, instead of having to
repeat ourselves over and over again. Envision a conversation in which each
person is listened to with respect, even those whose views are different from
ours. This is all possible in conversations of the heart, when we practice the
sacred art of listening. It takes intention and commitment. We need to slow
down to expand our awareness of the possibilities of deep listening. The simple
act of listening to each other can transform all of our relationships. Indeed,
it can transform the world, as we practice being the change we wish to see in
the world.”
By listening we can begin to
transform the world; by listening we begin to practise being the change we wish
to see in the world.
There is an old Buddhist
proverb that roughly translates as “when the pupil is ready the teacher will
appear”. I can vouch for the truth in this statement. That said I can’t always
vouch for another well known cliché “first impressions count”. Looking back at
my life there have been times when first impressions really got in the way. My
first impressions have proved to be way wide of the mark at times.
I often talk of this wise man
I met in Oldham eight or nine years ago. Now when I first met him I did not
like him at all. I certainly didn’t want to listen to what he had to say. I
quickly built some barriers between us, barriers based purely on unfounded
fear. I’m extremely grateful that those barriers came a tumbling down because I
am pretty sure that if I hadn’t learnt to listen to what he had to say, I might not be here today. I am not understating things when I say that he
saved my life.
Of the many things that he
taught me one of the greatest was how to listen. This all began by practising
and noticing when I wasn’t listening, especially when others were talking. He
taught me to observe when my mind wandered off or to notice when I was
listening how much of my time was spent on working out what “brilliant” response
I was going to make, in an attempt to refute what the other person was saying.
He taught me that when we are listening to another we are extending ourselves
to that person, we are giving them a gift; a gift that we can both share in. In
making space for the other, we create a sacred space, we make space for God and
we get a taste of heaven.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
said “There is guidance for each of us, and by lowly listening, we shall hear
the right word”
When we listen to
others and when we truly listen to ourselves when others speak, as the “Holy
Fool” Nasruddin suggests, we may just uncover what the root of the things that
are troubling ourselves are and even better what the solution to these troubles
might be. As that wise man in Oldham taught me we can uncover what the problem
is, we can discover its root cause and we can cut it out and discard it and
move on with our lives. We can remove the barriers that are blocking us from
living the lives we would like to lead.
He taught me that
when we listen to another we truly give of ourselves. Whereas when we only
appear to be listening and are in fact judging or comparing ourselves to them
we are in actual fact judging ourselves. He taught me that if we learn to
listen to others, without judgement, we can begin to learn to accept them for
who they truly are. By doing so we are learning to love them; by doing so we
give them the dignity to be themselves; by doing so we dignify ourselves. We
create a sacred space in that relationship between one another.
Now of course not
all the great sages come from Oldham. Those of ancient times taught similar lessons
to this ordinary man. That said I am not sure that I could have accessed what
they taught eight or nine years ago. It required simple language from an ordinary man. He spoke the language of the heart and I was prepared to listen. I learnt a valuable lesson that day; I learnt that the language of the heart is universal, it can break down any barrier.
Karen Armstrong has
highlighted that human dialogue has tended “...to be aggressive, a tradition we
inherited from the ancient Greeks.” If we look at our world today we tend to debate
competitively whether we are public figures or just talking in the playground,
the pub or through social media. Often when we are engaging in conversation we
are trying to trip one another up, or prove one another wrong. How many of us
can truly say that we are truly listening to one another?
Since ancient times
the great sages have offered solutions to this competitive and aggressive way
of communicating, but I’m not sure they have ever won out.
As Armstrong has
highlighted:
“The Socratic
dialogue was a spiritual exercise designed to produce a profound psychological
change in the participants - and because its purpose was that everybody should
understand the depth of his ignorance, there was no way that anybody could
win.” The key as Plato highlighted “...is to ‘make place for the other’ in his
mind and to listen intently and sympathetically to the ideas of his partners in
dialogue...” Can you imagine this happening during Prime Minister’s Question
Time?
Other great sages
such as the Buddha and Confucius conducted discussions in a similar manner.
Confucius always developed his ideas in conversation. He did this because he
felt that in order for anyone to achieve ‘maturity’ required this kind of friendly
interaction. The Buddha taught his monks to converse kindly and courteously
with one another. His lay disciple King Pasenadi of Kosla observed the contrast
between his Royal Courts and the Buddha’s communities. In the courts everybody
seemed to be looking out for themselves and were always quarrelsome. Where as
he observed the monks were “...living together as uncontentiously as milk with
water and looking at one another with kind eyes...smiling, courteous, sincerely
happy...their minds remaining as gentle as wild dear.” They were showing
reverence to one another.
Listening is about
making space for the other, it is an invitation; an invitation to create true
spiritual intimacy. Listening is one way to release ourselves from the
treadmill of own ego centric little worlds. It can release us from hell.
Listening is a
loving practise and as such it requires discipline, it requires spirit and it
requires devotion. It begins by being aware, mindful, of when we do not listen
and re-committing to listening once again. It is one step towards living more
empathically, more compassionately with one another. This is a lifetime’s
project. As Karen Armstrong herself says “...the attempt to become a
compassionate human being is a lifelong project. It is not achieved in an hour
or a day - or even in twelve steps. It is a struggle that will last until our
dying hour.”
It begins with us
listening, by us attempting to be the change we want to see in the world. We can turn away
from judgement toward empathy and understanding, we can truly invite the other
into our lives.
Here is a link to a "Talking Head" reflection I recently recorded based on these ideas
Here is a link to a "Talking Head" reflection I recently recorded based on these ideas
Wednesday, 15 August 2012
My Story
Below is the a piece for the National Unitarian Fellowship's "Viewpoint" Issue 224. I thought I add it to my blog for those who do not receive "Viewpoint"...
I did not have a particularly religious upbringing. As a teenager I cannot claim to have been anti-religious either, I just didn’t see its relevance. I have always been interested in ideas, religious ones being one of many. That said from the age of 11, until my late twenties, I was more interested in political and perhaps philosophical ideas than anything else. Religion just seemed old hat, something from the past.
I grew up in the village of Birstall, in West Yorkshire. In the market square is a statue of Joseph Priestley. Priestley is one of the two founding fathers of British Unitarianism. He was also a major figure in its development in America. I attended the same school that he did, Batley Grammar. Of course we all knew about him but as a scientist, but not as a radical minister of religion. I never once remember any mention of this, as we were growing up. Although perhaps it was mentioned and the reason that it failed to register with me was because I just was not interested. We knew of Priestley the scientist, the man who discovered oxygen and invented soda water...or as we would often say “The man who invented oxygen”.
Throughout most of my life I had very little interest in religion. I was an agnostic who was verging on atheism, although I never quite took the leap of absolute disbelief. My late teens and early twenties were a mixture of hedonism, dark music and left wing politics. I was in a band and we thought we were going to change the world, oh the arrogance of youth. Meanwhile I worked in the civil service. In my mid twenties I came to Manchester and gained a degree in Politics and Modern History and soon after started work as a free-lance historian. It was during this time that Mr Priestley reared his head once again, due to his political radicalism. I hasten to add that even then I paid no attention to his religion.
This all began to change between the years 2002 and 2004 as things changed within me and my experiences of life external to me. This was brought on by my acceptance of and recovery from alcoholism. It was around this time that I began to experience what I know today as God. I had a life changing spiritual experience, I can think of no better way of describing what happened. As a result I began to explore different religions and spiritual groups. I discovered Unitarianism, almost by accident really, but became immediately interested. I soon discovered that there were congregations locally and after a bit more research I began attending Cross Street Chapel, in Manchester.
I can still remember the first service I attended, led by Rev John Midgley, it spoke powerfully to me. I also remember the warmth of the greeting that the handful of folk in attendance extended to me. I can still feel Peter Sampson's handshake as he passed me the hymn book, and gently spoke to me.
I enjoyed every aspect of congregational life; getting to know people first within the congregation and eventually further afield. I spent months bending John’s ear about everything, as I did with most people. I joined the choir and an R.E. group and just became part of the place. I felt cared for, I felt loved and I felt welcomed.
Hospitality has to be the key to true religion, in practice. One of my favourite hymns is “All Are Welcome Here” it reads “All are welcome here...all are welcome to seek in spite of fear...to open wide to all our hearts...for all are welcome here.” To me this is the whole point of religion, to build communities of love that encourage that search for understanding and meaning, that search beyond the confines of our limited individual selves. I have certainly found that to be true of my chosen Unitarian faith, at its best at least; it encourages each of us as individuals to continue that search but to do so together, unconstrained. I felt welcomed and I was listened to during my time at Cross Street. I found a religious community where I could be myself, but not in isolation; I am certain I would not, could not have discovered so much alone. I did not realise then just how much I would need that community...
I was at work on Thursday morning, November 2nd 2006 to be precise, when I received a phone call from my dearest friend Claire. She told me her son Ethan had been killed on his way to school. I immediately left and went to Manchester Royal Infirmary. I loved Claire and Ethan more than anybody in the world, but today is not a time to talk about that. John my minister came to the hospital to be with us and the family and held us in prayer over Ethan’s broken little body. He was there for us over the next few months. I will never forget all that he did.
I left the hospital later that day and felt utterly alone and lost. Claire had gone with her family and Luke (Ethan’s dad) had gone with his family. John also had to go. So what did I do? Well the first thing I did was pray. That was not enough though I needed to be with people. So I rang up some of the Cross Street folk. Well several of them just happened to be up at our Oldham Chapel, I made my way there and spent the rest of the day with these people. They listened to me, fed me and looked after me. This continued over the next months and year really as I came to terms with everything, while attempting to be there for Claire. The people of my community were able to be there, in an unobtrusive manner while I came to terms with the horrors of all that had happened. I took some time off work and spent a lot of time with these different people. They loved me when I really needed it. I do not believe I would have come through it on my own. I am sure I would have survived I am just not so sure I would have done so without hardening my heart. They helped me keep my heart open.
It was coming to terms with all of this that drew me into ministry. I wanted to be part of and to attempt to build a community of loving compassion, of true hospitality that attempts to hold people and allow them to be who they really are in every aspect of life. At least that was and is my ambition.
I have now been with the good folk of Altrincham and Urmston for two years now and I feel that we have got to know one another quite well. From the outset I made it a priority of mine to spend time talking, but above all else listening, to them. During the worship we have shared I have encouraged openness by allowing them to get to know me. Worship for me must always be speak the language of the heart and not just feed the intellect. This may well have been a challenge for some folk, but was a deliberate decision on my part in an attempt to give those present permission to be open with me. I have pretty much spent time with everyone connected with both congregations, visiting them in their own homes and talking with them about many things. This has been a real treasure to me, personally. We have some real gems hidden away in our congregations. I cannot begin to express how deeply moved I have been by what people have shared with me. Virtually every conversation has been littered with moving stories of love, of pain, of grief and of faith. I have heard some of the most incredible tales of personal spiritual experience, something I have interest in. I have rarely left someone’s home without feeling that my life has been enhanced by the time we have just shared. I have felt welcomed into the lives of the people within both communities and for that I am profoundly grateful.
“Listen with the ear of your heart”, has become one of my mantras over the last few months. It comes from “The Rule of Benedict” a set of ancient principles for monastic orders, followed by many Christian and some Buddhist communities today. The foundation of the rule is listening, deep attentive listening. It begins, “listen carefully, my child, to the instructions...and attend to them with the ear of your heart “. What is required is deep listening, a concept proposed, in contemporary times, by the Dalai Lama.
This has become the foundation of my ministry, to “listen with the ear of my heart” and to encourage that in others. Of course I often fall short of this mark as I get wrapped up in many things, some important but many trivial. That is ok though, one of my other mantras is “progress not perfection”.
The reason I came into ministry is to keep open my own heart and to encourage others to do likewise.
Unitarian College Manchester recently asked me to answer the following question, in just a couple of sentences.
“What aspect(s) of your training or time at UCM has made the most significant or positive contribution to your work as a Unitarian minister?”
A difficult question and this is what I finally came up with.
“For me it has been about finding and refinding my voice. This happened throughout my training, where I continually found myself forming and reforming, while discovering ways to articulate this. This was difficult at times, but I know it has shaped me for the better."
My journey into ministry has been about finding and refinding my voice.
I now look back fondly on my early days of training, but at the time it was a struggle. I was thrown into several unfamiliar environments, while at the same time I had lost the security of my home congregation at Cross Street. The first few months were very painful as I struggled with my identity. I felt quite exposed and vulnerable at times. Everything I said and did seemed to be under scrutiny. It was tough, but then again so it should be. Thank God for prayer. It held me and it sustained me throughout this period, has it has for many years.
I had to go through this in order to discover and rediscover who I was. I had to examine and re-examine my faith and learn to articulate it. I also had to really listen to what others were saying, to know where they were coming from, to respect them as they were and to learn how to communicate with them. I had to find ways to walk in their shoes, while still remaining true to me.
The first few months were the most challenging, but by the Christmas of my first year things began to change. I found my voice. I was able to be myself and was able to begin to communicate this to others with more confidence. I felt increasingly at ease and less nervous and was able to speak my truth in love. I became less defensive and precious about my personal religious convictions. Put simply I began to loosen up. I found my voice.
The Unitarian tradition lays great emphasis on the word and the preaching of it. Ok today we may not place authority at the door of scripture, this has been replaced by the conscience of the individual. That said the preached word, articulated correctly is still central to our worship. Is this though the most important element?
Many people can speak well and articulately. I myself have had some training, but I know I will never be perfect and absolutely clear. I do not wish to be. I need to remain true to who I am, to speak my truth in love and in a language that hopefully others will understand. To truly minister people need to hear what my heart and soul has to say. I need to speak the language of the heart, but not from someone else’s book of life and experiences. No! These experiences must come from my own; otherwise how can I expect others to relate to what I have to say.
I hope that by continually finding my voice I am able to encourage others to do likewise and that they in turn continue to speak their truth in love. Isn’t that what ministry is all about?
Although I am a Unitarian minister I find myself being increasingly drawn to Universalism, in both its traditional and modern incarnations. I have fallen in love with the writing of Forrest Church. His “Cathedral of the World” metaphor speaks powerfully to me about how we experience the Divine.
Forrest asks us to imagine the whole of humanity standing under the ceiling of the cathedral of the world. Around this cathedral are millions of stained glass windows. There is a light outside of the cathedral shinning through all of the windows; this is the light of truth, the light of God. No one inside is able to stare at the light directly, we all see it passing through a stained glass window. Each of the windows distorts the light in some way; they only allow some of the light to pass through. Sometimes the light is refracted, by the tinted windows and occasionally it is blocked by the opaque aspects of each window. In some places the light is almost completely obscured.
This metaphor is an attempt to describe a 21st century Universalist theology, one that speaks powerfully to me. There is one light outside of the window but there are many windows through which we can get a glimpse of the light. Each window is unique in its own way; each window is different; but none gives us a perfect image of the light. Each window is representing different religions, different ideologies, different philosophies, different dogmas, different views about life, the universe, everything. The key is to understand that each window has been fashioned by human hands, often with great skill, imagination, beauty, intelligence and artfulness that said through no one window is the light seen perfectly.
From where we view our particular perspective on the light we can begin to believe that what we see is the absolute truth and that the light only shines through our window. That only our window offers the true representation of the light. That what others see through their window is false, even stupid and irrational. Forrest Church’s Universalism though is saying something very different. He is saying that each window conveys part of the truth and that no one window has a monopoly on the truth. He is echoing the words of the great twentieth century liberal theologian Paul Tillich who said “That which reveals also hides”.
I think it is important to accept that none of us ever glimpses the whole truth, no matter which window we are looking through. What is required is humility; genuine humility that teaches that we humans cannot know and understand everything. This is a good thing, because by genuinely accepting this we are opened up to a myriad of possibility that we probably believed were way beyond our capacity to experience.
The epistle Paul hints at this in his letter to the Corinthians (1ch 13), those beautiful words on love and charity. Here Paul gets to the very nature of humility when he says, “for now we see through a glass darkly”. He is making the point that even when our knowledge and understanding is not perfect, which I suspect, it never can be, we cannot go wrong if we follow love and charity as a guide. Love and charity are universal principles shinning through virtually every one of the windows that the light is pouring through, it seems that the only ones not preaching it are the ones who are trying to throw rocks through the windows that others experience the light through.
The light of Universalism continues to speak powerfully to me. The concept of one light and many windows that my great hero Forrest Church spoke so beautifully about, keeps me humble and therefore open. I accept that I will never know the absolute truth about everything or even anything and that this enables me to experience life in a way I could never have imagined. The one light of God or truth is reflected through a variety of windows, which none of us can see directly or perfectly.
Universalism’s message of hope, of the everlasting love of God, also speaks to me. It brings Psalm 139 powerfully to the fore of my thinking, nothing and no one is beyond the reach of this eternal love. The dark and the light are both the same to this eternal love. We cannot escape it completely; we cannot flee from the range and reach of this eternal and universal love.
It is so easy to look at our world and just despair and give in and say we are doomed and lost in our own darkness. It is so easy to see life this way. Is this true though are we lost in despair? Is there no hope?
Tom Owen-Towle’s “The Gospel of Universalism: Hope, Courage and the Love of God” has helped me to understand that hope and despair share the same root, that they are joined together like Siamese twins. In the French language they share the same linguistic root; hope (espair) and despair (desespair).
Hospitality has to be the key to true religion, in practice. One of my favourite hymns is “All Are Welcome Here” it reads “All are welcome here...all are welcome to seek in spite of fear...to open wide to all our hearts...for all are welcome here.” To me this is the whole point of religion, to build communities of love that encourage that search for understanding and meaning, that search beyond the confines of our limited individual selves. I have certainly found that to be true of my chosen Unitarian faith, at its best at least; it encourages each of us as individuals to continue that search but to do so together, unconstrained. I felt welcomed and I was listened to during my time at Cross Street. I found a religious community where I could be myself, but not in isolation; I am certain I would not, could not have discovered so much alone. I did not realise then just how much I would need that community...
I was at work on Thursday morning, November 2nd 2006 to be precise, when I received a phone call from my dearest friend Claire. She told me her son Ethan had been killed on his way to school. I immediately left and went to Manchester Royal Infirmary. I loved Claire and Ethan more than anybody in the world, but today is not a time to talk about that. John my minister came to the hospital to be with us and the family and held us in prayer over Ethan’s broken little body. He was there for us over the next few months. I will never forget all that he did.
I left the hospital later that day and felt utterly alone and lost. Claire had gone with her family and Luke (Ethan’s dad) had gone with his family. John also had to go. So what did I do? Well the first thing I did was pray. That was not enough though I needed to be with people. So I rang up some of the Cross Street folk. Well several of them just happened to be up at our Oldham Chapel, I made my way there and spent the rest of the day with these people. They listened to me, fed me and looked after me. This continued over the next months and year really as I came to terms with everything, while attempting to be there for Claire. The people of my community were able to be there, in an unobtrusive manner while I came to terms with the horrors of all that had happened. I took some time off work and spent a lot of time with these different people. They loved me when I really needed it. I do not believe I would have come through it on my own. I am sure I would have survived I am just not so sure I would have done so without hardening my heart. They helped me keep my heart open.
It was coming to terms with all of this that drew me into ministry. I wanted to be part of and to attempt to build a community of loving compassion, of true hospitality that attempts to hold people and allow them to be who they really are in every aspect of life. At least that was and is my ambition.
I have now been with the good folk of Altrincham and Urmston for two years now and I feel that we have got to know one another quite well. From the outset I made it a priority of mine to spend time talking, but above all else listening, to them. During the worship we have shared I have encouraged openness by allowing them to get to know me. Worship for me must always be speak the language of the heart and not just feed the intellect. This may well have been a challenge for some folk, but was a deliberate decision on my part in an attempt to give those present permission to be open with me. I have pretty much spent time with everyone connected with both congregations, visiting them in their own homes and talking with them about many things. This has been a real treasure to me, personally. We have some real gems hidden away in our congregations. I cannot begin to express how deeply moved I have been by what people have shared with me. Virtually every conversation has been littered with moving stories of love, of pain, of grief and of faith. I have heard some of the most incredible tales of personal spiritual experience, something I have interest in. I have rarely left someone’s home without feeling that my life has been enhanced by the time we have just shared. I have felt welcomed into the lives of the people within both communities and for that I am profoundly grateful.
“Listen with the ear of your heart”, has become one of my mantras over the last few months. It comes from “The Rule of Benedict” a set of ancient principles for monastic orders, followed by many Christian and some Buddhist communities today. The foundation of the rule is listening, deep attentive listening. It begins, “listen carefully, my child, to the instructions...and attend to them with the ear of your heart “. What is required is deep listening, a concept proposed, in contemporary times, by the Dalai Lama.
This has become the foundation of my ministry, to “listen with the ear of my heart” and to encourage that in others. Of course I often fall short of this mark as I get wrapped up in many things, some important but many trivial. That is ok though, one of my other mantras is “progress not perfection”.
The reason I came into ministry is to keep open my own heart and to encourage others to do likewise.
Unitarian College Manchester recently asked me to answer the following question, in just a couple of sentences.
“What aspect(s) of your training or time at UCM has made the most significant or positive contribution to your work as a Unitarian minister?”
A difficult question and this is what I finally came up with.
“For me it has been about finding and refinding my voice. This happened throughout my training, where I continually found myself forming and reforming, while discovering ways to articulate this. This was difficult at times, but I know it has shaped me for the better."
My journey into ministry has been about finding and refinding my voice.
I now look back fondly on my early days of training, but at the time it was a struggle. I was thrown into several unfamiliar environments, while at the same time I had lost the security of my home congregation at Cross Street. The first few months were very painful as I struggled with my identity. I felt quite exposed and vulnerable at times. Everything I said and did seemed to be under scrutiny. It was tough, but then again so it should be. Thank God for prayer. It held me and it sustained me throughout this period, has it has for many years.
I had to go through this in order to discover and rediscover who I was. I had to examine and re-examine my faith and learn to articulate it. I also had to really listen to what others were saying, to know where they were coming from, to respect them as they were and to learn how to communicate with them. I had to find ways to walk in their shoes, while still remaining true to me.
The first few months were the most challenging, but by the Christmas of my first year things began to change. I found my voice. I was able to be myself and was able to begin to communicate this to others with more confidence. I felt increasingly at ease and less nervous and was able to speak my truth in love. I became less defensive and precious about my personal religious convictions. Put simply I began to loosen up. I found my voice.
The Unitarian tradition lays great emphasis on the word and the preaching of it. Ok today we may not place authority at the door of scripture, this has been replaced by the conscience of the individual. That said the preached word, articulated correctly is still central to our worship. Is this though the most important element?
Many people can speak well and articulately. I myself have had some training, but I know I will never be perfect and absolutely clear. I do not wish to be. I need to remain true to who I am, to speak my truth in love and in a language that hopefully others will understand. To truly minister people need to hear what my heart and soul has to say. I need to speak the language of the heart, but not from someone else’s book of life and experiences. No! These experiences must come from my own; otherwise how can I expect others to relate to what I have to say.
I hope that by continually finding my voice I am able to encourage others to do likewise and that they in turn continue to speak their truth in love. Isn’t that what ministry is all about?
Although I am a Unitarian minister I find myself being increasingly drawn to Universalism, in both its traditional and modern incarnations. I have fallen in love with the writing of Forrest Church. His “Cathedral of the World” metaphor speaks powerfully to me about how we experience the Divine.
Forrest asks us to imagine the whole of humanity standing under the ceiling of the cathedral of the world. Around this cathedral are millions of stained glass windows. There is a light outside of the cathedral shinning through all of the windows; this is the light of truth, the light of God. No one inside is able to stare at the light directly, we all see it passing through a stained glass window. Each of the windows distorts the light in some way; they only allow some of the light to pass through. Sometimes the light is refracted, by the tinted windows and occasionally it is blocked by the opaque aspects of each window. In some places the light is almost completely obscured.
This metaphor is an attempt to describe a 21st century Universalist theology, one that speaks powerfully to me. There is one light outside of the window but there are many windows through which we can get a glimpse of the light. Each window is unique in its own way; each window is different; but none gives us a perfect image of the light. Each window is representing different religions, different ideologies, different philosophies, different dogmas, different views about life, the universe, everything. The key is to understand that each window has been fashioned by human hands, often with great skill, imagination, beauty, intelligence and artfulness that said through no one window is the light seen perfectly.
From where we view our particular perspective on the light we can begin to believe that what we see is the absolute truth and that the light only shines through our window. That only our window offers the true representation of the light. That what others see through their window is false, even stupid and irrational. Forrest Church’s Universalism though is saying something very different. He is saying that each window conveys part of the truth and that no one window has a monopoly on the truth. He is echoing the words of the great twentieth century liberal theologian Paul Tillich who said “That which reveals also hides”.
I think it is important to accept that none of us ever glimpses the whole truth, no matter which window we are looking through. What is required is humility; genuine humility that teaches that we humans cannot know and understand everything. This is a good thing, because by genuinely accepting this we are opened up to a myriad of possibility that we probably believed were way beyond our capacity to experience.
The epistle Paul hints at this in his letter to the Corinthians (1ch 13), those beautiful words on love and charity. Here Paul gets to the very nature of humility when he says, “for now we see through a glass darkly”. He is making the point that even when our knowledge and understanding is not perfect, which I suspect, it never can be, we cannot go wrong if we follow love and charity as a guide. Love and charity are universal principles shinning through virtually every one of the windows that the light is pouring through, it seems that the only ones not preaching it are the ones who are trying to throw rocks through the windows that others experience the light through.
The light of Universalism continues to speak powerfully to me. The concept of one light and many windows that my great hero Forrest Church spoke so beautifully about, keeps me humble and therefore open. I accept that I will never know the absolute truth about everything or even anything and that this enables me to experience life in a way I could never have imagined. The one light of God or truth is reflected through a variety of windows, which none of us can see directly or perfectly.
Universalism’s message of hope, of the everlasting love of God, also speaks to me. It brings Psalm 139 powerfully to the fore of my thinking, nothing and no one is beyond the reach of this eternal love. The dark and the light are both the same to this eternal love. We cannot escape it completely; we cannot flee from the range and reach of this eternal and universal love.
It is so easy to look at our world and just despair and give in and say we are doomed and lost in our own darkness. It is so easy to see life this way. Is this true though are we lost in despair? Is there no hope?
Tom Owen-Towle’s “The Gospel of Universalism: Hope, Courage and the Love of God” has helped me to understand that hope and despair share the same root, that they are joined together like Siamese twins. In the French language they share the same linguistic root; hope (espair) and despair (desespair).
To live in hope, to live in faith that we all have that light etched into our DNA, is not to deny life’s difficulties and pain. Instead it is to see the realities of who and what we are and what our true potential can be, if we just nurture it correctly. All we have to do is let that light shine that is there within us all. This sounds simple, but it is far from easy. It requires consistent effort to allow that natural compassion to grow, develop and nurture. We have to do it though because otherwise the other parts of ourselves take over and we turn with indifference from life. The opposite of hope is not despair, it is indifference.
Last Autumn I was invited to participate in the 16thanniversary celebration of the Unitarian church of Maros St George, which is linked to Dunham road Unitarian Chapel Altrincham. During my visit there were three moments that touched my heart, which I would like to share with you here.
The first moment came towards the end of a day visiting several Unitarian communities in the region. It was in a small village called Icland - there is no other settlement in region whose name ends in land, the story goes that it was originally settled by people from Ireland or England – I walked up the hill towards the parish house and settled into a little schoolroom with a few adults and two teenage girls. For some reason images of Thomas Hardy novels came to mind as my eyes passed over the scene, none of the houses had running water, everyone had a well. The minister led a short religious education class; I was deeply moved by the conversation which followed, translated by my co-host Anna Maria. They talked about their struggles with the current economic climate and the importance of letting go of control and not becoming blocked off from God. The words of the serenity prayer came to my mind “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference” – if only we could all find the wisdom the know the difference. I was able to participate in the conversation; we spoke deep into one another's hearts. I left these people with the thought that I will probably never see them again, but also knowing that this dialogue would be etched on my soul for a long time to come. During the discussion I had I felt the presence of the spirit that I call God powerfully. I can picture the woman Elizabeth in my mind’s eye as she talked openly and eloquently of her struggles with life and faith...I had ears that could hear the language that she spoke, the language of the heart.
The next day we visited Tirgu Mures looking at local sites and spent some time in the Cultural Palace. I had noticed that I had struggled a little due to lack of space; I am someone who is use to a lot of time and space alone. I live a very busy life but do connect and reconnect alone, throughout the day. I could feel that I was missing this. I was able to sit quietly in the cultural palace, in the main auditorium. I looked up at the ceiling, which was incredible, and the space below in silence. After a while I began to hear the sounds of an orchestra and choir practising. I began to feel the beauty of the place and in the space and quietness I felt some barriers drop...it opened my heart and I was then able to connect to the heart of the place throughout the rest of the day...I can feel the gentle music now, it was barely a sound but something more than silence.
On the Saturday I was invited to preach and participate in Maros St George's anniversary service. Press had been invited. There was apparently a great deal of talk about mine and Carolyn’s visit. By now I was feeling a part of everything. I had got a real feel for the spirit of the place. It was beginning to really speak to me. I had learnt an important phrase for the Transylvanian’s this is Isten Aldjo, which means God bless. It is both a greeting and a farewell. I decided as people arrived I would greet them at the door, with these words. I was told afterwards that they thought that they had been greeted by a Hungarian and not an Englishman, as I spoke like a Hungarian. This meant a lot to me as I felt that I had now got truly into the spirit of the place. It was wonderful to participate in the service, to sing hymns in Hungarian and to be invited to preach, with Tamas, the minister, translating. I opened up my heart and I felt their love too. I also felt and witnessed the spirit that I know as God, flowing through all of this...less than a whisper, but somehow more than silence.
It was a wonderful and wonder filled trip, one I will reflect on for a long time to come. The language of the heart is a universal language that can break through any barrier, even fear and self protection. All that it requires is a little bit of faith and a whole lotta love; all that is required are ears that can listen and wisdom to know the difference...I’ve had a wonderful reminder of this during my time with Unitarian brothers and sisters in Transylvania.
It still amazes me how I am constantly discovering meaning, seemingly from nothing.
A few months ago Rev Jane Barraclough asked me to lead the Wednesday lunchtime service at Cross Street Chapel, seemingly no meaning there. A few days before the service it dawned on me that it was exactly seven years ago to the day that I had first entered Cross street chapel on a cold Wednesday lunchtime. Just a beautiful bit of synchronicity, or at least I saw it that way.
It was a wonderful and wonder filled day that seemed so rich in meaning. I loved listening to the little conversations on the tram on my way to Manchester. I enjoyed my walk around the city, watching all the people going about their business. I felt so connected, so in harmony with what was going on. Every snippet of conversation I overheard seemed to be addressed directly to me.
After the service I met a friend for coffee and shared what I’d been experiencing. I told her how I felt so excited and alive and that I seemed to be seeing meaning in everything. She looked at me and said “really, I see little meaning in anything; I’m pretty much sceptical about everything.” It made me pause and it also reminded me of the man I was just a few years ago. I saw little meaning in anything; I was pretty much sceptical about everything.
The conversation has been on my mind ever since. I saw no meaning because I was asleep to meaning it would seem. I was suffering from a kind of colour blindness and tone deafness. Something inside was locked in and therefore I could not experience all that I can today and as a result I denied the possibility that there could be a deeper richer meaning. My rational reflection on my experiences back then revealed nothingness and yet my rational reflections, on my current experiences, reveal a life that is rich in meaning. I hear music where I could not before; I see a myriad of colour that in the past was only grey; I experience that under lying meaning that was just an empty void in the past.
But what is meaning? And can it be discovered in what many see as the emptiness of life?
In “Man’s Search For Meaning” Viktor Frankl gives an account of his struggle to hold on to meaning while imprisoned in the Nazi death camps of the Second World War. He lost most of his family and friends in the camps and yet he never lost hope in humanity.
Frankl saw a spiritual dimension to human lives that went beyond the biological and psychological. He observed that the suppression of this transcendental quality was the root cause of our human malady. While imprisoned he developed what he named as “Logotherapy”. He believed that if we could unlock our “unconscious religiousness”, that we would liberate the spiritual dimensions of our lives and that this would enable us to recover the capacity to choose those values which give our lives worth and meaning.
Frankl claimed that meaning is discovered through creative and worthwhile activities and that even in the most horrific and terrifyingly hopeless situations we still have the capacity to choose our attitude towards whatever circumstances we are faced with. It is our response to life’s events that shapes our souls. As he himself said “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.”
I recently went to see the performance poet “Rodney Chris Paradox” during the show he told the story “Mr Pain”, which described a journey he had been on in search of meaning. It took him all over the world and came to an end in Mexico where he had an accident which led to him having half a leg amputated.
The poem describes how he developed immunity to pain killers. He is assigned a “pain team” who try every form of western medicine to fight off the excruciating agony, every attempt failed. He then called upon all he had learnt from all the eastern traditions, which again failed. Finally he screams out to God and enters the emptiness. Here in this place of nothingness he surrenders to the pain and accepts his lot. In this moment he was liberated from the agony, it no longer seemed to matter. By surrendering to it, it lost its power.
Everyone suffers pain in their lives and often there seems no justifiable reason for it. It just seems so unfair. None of us gets to choose our pain and suffering and none of us can avoid it. That said we can choose how we respond to it and pass those lessons on to one another. No one can take that away from us. It is perhaps our one and only true freedom. How we respond to life’s circumstances.
I have discovered that the real meaning in life emerges by trying to help others find meaning in their lives. This is why I became a minister of religion.
As a student minister I spent a year at our chapel in Oldham. Outside the chapel is a sign. It reads, “open to all who wish to worship with an open mind, in a spirit of freedom, reason and tolerance. We do not hold the same beliefs; rather each person is encouraged to develop his or her faith in a continuing search for truth.”
The Unitarian faith is ever evolving as we are evolving. It has its roots in the Liberal Christian Tradition, inspired by the life and teachings of Jesus. Our symbol, the chalice exemplifies this perfectly. It is a kind of cross, but an evolving one, with the flames reaching out much further to a place way beyond our imaginations.
My personal faith is firmly grounded in the concept of self giving love. This is found in the liberal Christian tradition, but it is not exclusive to it. It is a universal principle found in most of the faith traditions. A flame burning in the cup of love is deeply symbolic of the roots from which we were formed, but the flames seem to indicate something more, something eternal, something way beyond the limits of human vision. There is freedom in the flames, there is wisdom yet to be unearthed in those flames and they reach beyond the limits of our human imagination. All of this is held the solid foundation of the cup of love; the solid base that sustains us as we reach further, to who knows where.
This is religion in its truest sense, this searching together, this working together, and this giving together. Each individual Unitarian adds to that flame and also takes from it. It is this continual communal search and struggle that is the rock, or the cup on which the Unitarian free religious faith lives.
Last Autumn I was invited to participate in the 16thanniversary celebration of the Unitarian church of Maros St George, which is linked to Dunham road Unitarian Chapel Altrincham. During my visit there were three moments that touched my heart, which I would like to share with you here.
The first moment came towards the end of a day visiting several Unitarian communities in the region. It was in a small village called Icland - there is no other settlement in region whose name ends in land, the story goes that it was originally settled by people from Ireland or England – I walked up the hill towards the parish house and settled into a little schoolroom with a few adults and two teenage girls. For some reason images of Thomas Hardy novels came to mind as my eyes passed over the scene, none of the houses had running water, everyone had a well. The minister led a short religious education class; I was deeply moved by the conversation which followed, translated by my co-host Anna Maria. They talked about their struggles with the current economic climate and the importance of letting go of control and not becoming blocked off from God. The words of the serenity prayer came to my mind “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference” – if only we could all find the wisdom the know the difference. I was able to participate in the conversation; we spoke deep into one another's hearts. I left these people with the thought that I will probably never see them again, but also knowing that this dialogue would be etched on my soul for a long time to come. During the discussion I had I felt the presence of the spirit that I call God powerfully. I can picture the woman Elizabeth in my mind’s eye as she talked openly and eloquently of her struggles with life and faith...I had ears that could hear the language that she spoke, the language of the heart.
The next day we visited Tirgu Mures looking at local sites and spent some time in the Cultural Palace. I had noticed that I had struggled a little due to lack of space; I am someone who is use to a lot of time and space alone. I live a very busy life but do connect and reconnect alone, throughout the day. I could feel that I was missing this. I was able to sit quietly in the cultural palace, in the main auditorium. I looked up at the ceiling, which was incredible, and the space below in silence. After a while I began to hear the sounds of an orchestra and choir practising. I began to feel the beauty of the place and in the space and quietness I felt some barriers drop...it opened my heart and I was then able to connect to the heart of the place throughout the rest of the day...I can feel the gentle music now, it was barely a sound but something more than silence.
On the Saturday I was invited to preach and participate in Maros St George's anniversary service. Press had been invited. There was apparently a great deal of talk about mine and Carolyn’s visit. By now I was feeling a part of everything. I had got a real feel for the spirit of the place. It was beginning to really speak to me. I had learnt an important phrase for the Transylvanian’s this is Isten Aldjo, which means God bless. It is both a greeting and a farewell. I decided as people arrived I would greet them at the door, with these words. I was told afterwards that they thought that they had been greeted by a Hungarian and not an Englishman, as I spoke like a Hungarian. This meant a lot to me as I felt that I had now got truly into the spirit of the place. It was wonderful to participate in the service, to sing hymns in Hungarian and to be invited to preach, with Tamas, the minister, translating. I opened up my heart and I felt their love too. I also felt and witnessed the spirit that I know as God, flowing through all of this...less than a whisper, but somehow more than silence.
It was a wonderful and wonder filled trip, one I will reflect on for a long time to come. The language of the heart is a universal language that can break through any barrier, even fear and self protection. All that it requires is a little bit of faith and a whole lotta love; all that is required are ears that can listen and wisdom to know the difference...I’ve had a wonderful reminder of this during my time with Unitarian brothers and sisters in Transylvania.
It still amazes me how I am constantly discovering meaning, seemingly from nothing.
A few months ago Rev Jane Barraclough asked me to lead the Wednesday lunchtime service at Cross Street Chapel, seemingly no meaning there. A few days before the service it dawned on me that it was exactly seven years ago to the day that I had first entered Cross street chapel on a cold Wednesday lunchtime. Just a beautiful bit of synchronicity, or at least I saw it that way.
It was a wonderful and wonder filled day that seemed so rich in meaning. I loved listening to the little conversations on the tram on my way to Manchester. I enjoyed my walk around the city, watching all the people going about their business. I felt so connected, so in harmony with what was going on. Every snippet of conversation I overheard seemed to be addressed directly to me.
After the service I met a friend for coffee and shared what I’d been experiencing. I told her how I felt so excited and alive and that I seemed to be seeing meaning in everything. She looked at me and said “really, I see little meaning in anything; I’m pretty much sceptical about everything.” It made me pause and it also reminded me of the man I was just a few years ago. I saw little meaning in anything; I was pretty much sceptical about everything.
The conversation has been on my mind ever since. I saw no meaning because I was asleep to meaning it would seem. I was suffering from a kind of colour blindness and tone deafness. Something inside was locked in and therefore I could not experience all that I can today and as a result I denied the possibility that there could be a deeper richer meaning. My rational reflection on my experiences back then revealed nothingness and yet my rational reflections, on my current experiences, reveal a life that is rich in meaning. I hear music where I could not before; I see a myriad of colour that in the past was only grey; I experience that under lying meaning that was just an empty void in the past.
But what is meaning? And can it be discovered in what many see as the emptiness of life?
In “Man’s Search For Meaning” Viktor Frankl gives an account of his struggle to hold on to meaning while imprisoned in the Nazi death camps of the Second World War. He lost most of his family and friends in the camps and yet he never lost hope in humanity.
Frankl saw a spiritual dimension to human lives that went beyond the biological and psychological. He observed that the suppression of this transcendental quality was the root cause of our human malady. While imprisoned he developed what he named as “Logotherapy”. He believed that if we could unlock our “unconscious religiousness”, that we would liberate the spiritual dimensions of our lives and that this would enable us to recover the capacity to choose those values which give our lives worth and meaning.
Frankl claimed that meaning is discovered through creative and worthwhile activities and that even in the most horrific and terrifyingly hopeless situations we still have the capacity to choose our attitude towards whatever circumstances we are faced with. It is our response to life’s events that shapes our souls. As he himself said “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.”
I recently went to see the performance poet “Rodney Chris Paradox” during the show he told the story “Mr Pain”, which described a journey he had been on in search of meaning. It took him all over the world and came to an end in Mexico where he had an accident which led to him having half a leg amputated.
The poem describes how he developed immunity to pain killers. He is assigned a “pain team” who try every form of western medicine to fight off the excruciating agony, every attempt failed. He then called upon all he had learnt from all the eastern traditions, which again failed. Finally he screams out to God and enters the emptiness. Here in this place of nothingness he surrenders to the pain and accepts his lot. In this moment he was liberated from the agony, it no longer seemed to matter. By surrendering to it, it lost its power.
Everyone suffers pain in their lives and often there seems no justifiable reason for it. It just seems so unfair. None of us gets to choose our pain and suffering and none of us can avoid it. That said we can choose how we respond to it and pass those lessons on to one another. No one can take that away from us. It is perhaps our one and only true freedom. How we respond to life’s circumstances.
I have discovered that the real meaning in life emerges by trying to help others find meaning in their lives. This is why I became a minister of religion.
As a student minister I spent a year at our chapel in Oldham. Outside the chapel is a sign. It reads, “open to all who wish to worship with an open mind, in a spirit of freedom, reason and tolerance. We do not hold the same beliefs; rather each person is encouraged to develop his or her faith in a continuing search for truth.”
The Unitarian faith is ever evolving as we are evolving. It has its roots in the Liberal Christian Tradition, inspired by the life and teachings of Jesus. Our symbol, the chalice exemplifies this perfectly. It is a kind of cross, but an evolving one, with the flames reaching out much further to a place way beyond our imaginations.
My personal faith is firmly grounded in the concept of self giving love. This is found in the liberal Christian tradition, but it is not exclusive to it. It is a universal principle found in most of the faith traditions. A flame burning in the cup of love is deeply symbolic of the roots from which we were formed, but the flames seem to indicate something more, something eternal, something way beyond the limits of human vision. There is freedom in the flames, there is wisdom yet to be unearthed in those flames and they reach beyond the limits of our human imagination. All of this is held the solid foundation of the cup of love; the solid base that sustains us as we reach further, to who knows where.
This is religion in its truest sense, this searching together, this working together, and this giving together. Each individual Unitarian adds to that flame and also takes from it. It is this continual communal search and struggle that is the rock, or the cup on which the Unitarian free religious faith lives.
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