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

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

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

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

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

“Aristotle” by Billy Collins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Endless Story”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Parable of the Prodigal and His Brother

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he understands.

`He sleeps in a storm.’

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

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

In “Crow and Weasel” Barry Lopez said

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

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

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

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

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

Original Blessing: A Return to Love

“Blessing” by Barbara Pescan from “Morning Watch”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He complimented this with the 8th Psalm V5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wild Geese” Mary Oliver

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

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

Follow your bliss, become the hero: A Palm Sunday reflection

“Palm Sunday” marks the beginning of “Holy Week”, regarded as the most important in the whole Christian calendar. Now some will say what do these events, that seem impossible to believe in, have to do with we who live 2,000 years later? What relevance do they have to we who live today? How can we possibly believe in them? Well, I would say there is so much here to teach us about human living, about spiritual living actually. There is more to the Easter mythos than the historical accuracy or inaccuracy of the Biblical accounts. In fact to get lost in the detail of what did or didn’t actually happen is to miss the whole point of the mythos. “Mythos” isn’t about whether something is true in a historical sense; “Mythos” is more about deeper universal truth; “Mythos” is more about the human condition regardless of time or place. Another way to think of “Mythos” is to see them as a metaphor. Here Joseph Campbell explains what is meant by myth or metaphor:

“Half the people in the world think that the metaphors of their religious traditions, for example, are facts. And the other half contends that they are not facts at all. As a result we have people who consider themselves believers because they accept metaphors as facts, and we have others who classify themselves as atheists because they think religious metaphors are lies”…

Joseph Campbell taught that mythos are metaphors for human life. That they are eternal and universal tales that can teach us about our lives right here right now. He believed that by understanding these mysteries we can begin to understand who we truly are and what life is all about.

With this in mind I can find so much in the “Holy Week” narrative that does speak to me, but then again there is much in other traditions, both ancient, modern and post-modern that speak to me too. I am a Universalist in every sense of the word. That said “Holy Week” compels me to look more deeply at Jesus, his teachings as well has his passion and death and how that can bring meaning to mine and I hope your lives.

Central to the “Mythos” is this concept of love incarnating in human form. Now it seems clear that this occurred in the life of Jesus as it is told in the Gospels. My main argument with traditional Christian orthodoxy is the view that this occurred only in one form and at one point in human history. This I find impossible to accept. I only have to look at my life and I know I have experienced this love in the lives of so many other people. I believe that we all have the capacity to become channels of the divine in this life. We can all incarnate love through our very being. We can all become the light of the world. Sadly, all too often we fail to do so; all too often we fall short and we betray one another. This aspect of our humanity becomes all too clear in the narrative of Holy week.

On Palm Sunday, the beginning of “Holy Week”, Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on the back of a humble donkey or Colt and is received by the crowds waving palm branches and shouting “Hosanna, hosanna in the highest heaven” The crowds welcome Jesus who they believe will save them. This though does not happen and just a few days later he is betrayed, rejected, brutalised and killed. The body is killed, the figure dies, but the love that is left behind lives on. It is this love that I believe is the true Easter mythos. A love that can live on and once again incarnate in the lives of all people. This is the universal mythos found in the “Holy Week” narrative.

There is though something more that is universal about the “Palm Sunday” and “Holy Week” narrative, than this concept of universal love. It is not just a mythos about Jesus, it is also about the crowd and all the people around him. People just like you and me. Just like them we can all get caught up in the crowd mentality can we not? We can all identify with the crowd despite the world in which we live being very different today. We share a common humanity with them. We are all formed from the same breath of life, we all have the Divine spark within us; well at least I believe that we do. We are not God’s though, although we can become the light of the world if and when we live in love. We are fully human just like those folk on the side of the street waving their palms grateful for any reason to celebrate, looking out for a hero to follow. People are always looking for something to celebrate, doesn’t seem to matter what this is. People looking for joy, looking for meaning, looking for a bliss to follow. People who just like us are prone to disappointment, who fail to live up to the very ideals they would like to strive for. People who fall short, get ill, and become bogged down in little and bigger things, finite human beings. People who are looking for hope, to lift them out of their suffering. People looking for someone or something to lead them to better things, to give them another chance to live better lives. People just like us who want to not only find, but also follow their bliss. People looking for a meaning to their lives. People looking out for a hero.

Jesus though is the central figure. It is he who is following his bliss continuing on what Campbell called his “Hero’s Journey”. A phrase inspired by James Joyce’s “Finnegans Wake”. The week begins with the triumphant entry, but soon turns into what Campbell has described as the stage known as “The Ordeal” There are many ways to describe this stage. It can be seen as a trial, a fire walk, an opportunity to choose between the transient things of this world and the lasting things of “heaven.” Perhaps our individual call to let go of the personal ego, with all of its mind-made facts and truths, and to grab hold of the Divine Nature that is the essence of each of us. Again, this is something we all face in life, if we remain open to it. We can all be the hero we have been waiting for, but still we are always holding out for another hero, someone to save us, or at least inspire us. It reminds me of a song from a film that I remember from my childhood.

I have a friend who in recent times has been catching up with a load of films from her childhood, films she hasn’t seen, she is a similar age to me. She had never seen “Ghostbusters” or “The Goonies” and a whole load of others. By the way classic stories of groups of people being called out on their heroic journeys.

One film she had seen though was “Footloose”. Does anyone remember it?

It is story of a streetwise teenager Ren (played by Kevin Bacon) who moves to a small town in middle America, what would be called Trump country these days. The town is dominated by a fundamentalist preacher who has banned all forms of modern music and dancing. The town is deeply repressed and are “Holding Out for a Hero”, to liberate them. In fact the title song, performed by Bonnie Tyler depicts this perfectly

Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and I turn
And I dream of what I need

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight
I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life!
Larger than life

So many folk are looking out for such a figure? Well, this is the mistake. Our real task is to be called out on our own journey and become the hero we have all been waiting for. We have to slay our own dragons and bring back the treasure for all to share, just like the Goonies and the Ghost Busters. We have to follow our own bliss. Yes, be inspired by the examples of others, but not await rescue like some princess from a fairy tale. There are no white knights coming. We must become the heroes we have all been waiting for. We must be called out to follow our own bliss.

The “Triumphant Entry”, The “Palm Sunday” narrative and the whole “Holy Week” Mythos, is an archetype of “Following your Bliss.”

But what does it mean to “follow your bliss”? Well according to Joseph Campbell it is a sacred call to action. It is a call from your soul to light the fire within you to do what destiny asks of you, to bring yourself fully to life and therefore to become a light in the lives of others. Following your bliss is about doing the things that bring meaning and fulfilment despite the troubles that may accompany it. It is about meaningful living despite the very real suffering present in all life. As Campbell says by following our bliss doors will open up for us where we could only see barriers before.

Following our bliss is about saying yes to this call and beginning our own heroic journey. In doing so synchronicity will seemingly be abound and luck will follow. By following our bliss we seemingly become guided by something more than ourselves. This is what Campbell observed and it has certainly been my experience, at least for the last 20 years.

Following our bliss though is not an easy ride, quite the opposite actually. Yes there maybe moments of triumphal entry when all are for us and no one seems to be against us, but there will also be moments of suffering and betrayal when everyone and everything seems to be against us. As Campbell observed that like all heroic journeys there are tests and trials along the way. There are monsters and dragons to slay on the journey although most of these are the ones we carry with us. It is our fear of the adventure that is our greatest enemy. It is this that stops us taking the first vital step.

Human history is littered with figures who have been drawn out of themselves, have followed their bliss and begun their adventure thus inspiring others to do likewise. Some have done this on a mass scale, figures like Nelson Mandela, and many others have done so on a much smaller, but no less important scale. All have had to face their trials and tribulation and all brought so much light to our world. They were not special people though, they were ordinary people just like you and me; ordinary people who followed their bliss. Ordinary people who found the courage to be all that they were born to be.

The journey, is arduous at times and filled with fear, betrayal and all kinds of ordeals, there will be temptation to turn away. The key to the journey is to continue on, despite the very real fear. Just as Jesus carried on despite all the fear and doubt and all the barriers that built up ahead of him. He followed his bliss, what he saw as his destiny and in that “courage to be” this lived on as an example to us all of what we can be if we follow our bliss. We can become the “light of the world”. The one’s we and our world have been waiting for. We don’t wait for a hero on a white horse to come and save us, we need to find the hero inside ourselves and go on our own courageous journeys.

So as we stand on threshold of Easter, in this early spring on the days of new beginnings. Let us do so in trust; let us trust in life. That despite the many struggles, sorrows and grief’s, that despite the suffering present daily in life we can know love, beauty and deep meaning if we would but only find the courage to be and “follow our bliss”

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

Tending and being tended by the Tree of Life

I found myself in Dunham Massey once again the other morning. It was siling it down with rain. I took shelter for a little while under a great tree, as I did I reflected on the week that had gone by. It had begun by attending the funeral of my friend’s young wife, they had married just a few days before she succumbed to cancer. It was a beautiful service, a wonderful celebration of “Hannah’s life”.

As I sheltered I was filled with a deep grief and sadness for my cousin Cheryl who is still with us at the time of writing, it was her birthday on Friday, she turned 42. There are other deep sadness around too, my heart feels broken, certainly tender. As I stood there sheltering, protected by the tree, Barbara a lovely member at Dunham Road, one of the congregations I serve came running past. She stopped for a while and we chatted. I then left the shelter of the tree to return to life. I have bumped into Barbara several times over the last couple of weeks, what a deep hearted caring woman she is.

As I carried on walking in the pouring rain the wonderful poem “I go among trees” by Wendell Berry was singing in my heart.

“I Go Among Trees” by Wendell Berry

I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.

As I walked on I felt some of the fears in me leave me and I found myself singing some familiar songs. I’ve been singing a lot recently, so many songs. I found myself singing songs to life itself. I felt I was being held by the tree of life, a celebration of life in midst of love and loss and grief. I thought of the Jewish toast “l’chaim”, to life. Don’t we all tend the tree of life and don’t we all shelter under it too.

I love the symbolism of the tree of life, it is beautifully universal. It represents such a nurturing love. I think in our secular age we have lost some of the power and deep meaning of symbols. I have a growing appreciation for the old symbols, they reveal deep truths that are sometimes hidden, that words alone do not reveal. The mythologist Joseph Campbell taught that certain images and pictures invite the eye not to merely rush along but to rest a while and dwell within the revelation that can be found by looking deeply into them. I was thinking of this as I passed all those beautiful trees, so strong and sturdy, offering shelter from the rain. They are a toast to life itself. The tree is the symbol of life. This is why the “Tree of Life” is a universal symbol.

“l’chaim”, to life.

The trees have much to teach us. My name sake and American colleague Rev Greta W. Crosby recognises this. In “Tree and Jubilee” she describes a silent none judgemental presence that the trees offer her, something we humans cannot give no matter how well we may think we are at listening. The trees simply stand there erect and open, never shrinking away or rejecting, offering unconditional love and acceptance. She wrote:

“I have long had a sense of fellowship with trees. Since I was a child, I have sought their company from time to time because I like the way I feel in their presence. I enjoy their beauty, but it is more than that. I used the word “presence” in a very strong sense. I felt their presence as living things. And in that presence, I often feel relaxed and centered, peaceful, restored to inner equilibrium.”

She continues…

“For many of us, life is the meaning of the tree. But for me, perhaps the greatest thing about the tree is its silence. Whatever the tree says to us, whatever it answers to our questing, the tree gives its message without words. And the tree bears with us well. It does not judge. It does not react to our anxieties. It does not run after us. It just stands there with open arms.”

The tree to me is the ultimate symbol of life. We all tend and nurture the tree of life. “l’chaim”, to life.

The “Tree of Life” is a beautiful and universal symbol it can be found in many of the worlds religious traditions. The ancient Chinese, Assyrians, Egyptians, Baylonians and Samarians all had a tree of life symbol. There is Ygdrassil, the Norse Tree of Life, The Etz Ha Hayim of the Kaballistic Jews. The Bahai's speak of it and Christians of all kinds speak of the tree of life, with healing leaves, found in the Book of Revelations. The book of Genesis tells of two trees: a Tree of Knowledge, which is the tree of good and evil, and the Tree of Life, the tree of immortality. Of course in Genesis 2 they ate the forbidden fruit, the “Tree of Knowledge”, as the result Adam and Eve are banished from paradise, from life I suspect.

As I continued to wander round Dunham I recalled a conversation I had a few days earlier, in the very same spot, with a friend. We were talking about where this sense of wrongness we humans can feel at times comes from. Something we have both shared, something sadly so many do. Where does this rejection of life come from? We talked about the foundational stories in Genesis. Of course it is all Mythos. It is not history to be argued over factual accuracy. Mythos is Universal Truth, the question to ask is does this speak to a deeper truth that we can find in ourselves, does it speak throughout time?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The traditional understanding sees life as the problem, especially human life and sees the female, the bringer of life, as the root of the trouble. How long have we all suffered as a result of this rejection of life and woman as central to it. We see it clearly today, it has not gone away, in fact if anything the trouble seems to be intensifying. For me the problem stems from this fear of life itself. Surely though life is good. Maybe the solution is the “Tree of Life”. It nurtures us if we tend to it and it will offer us shelter. “l’chaim”, to life.

There is an eternal wisdom in the trees. The Buddha gained enlightenment beneath the Bodhi Tree. The tree blessed him as it did so showering him with blossom. In ancient Christian imagery Jesus is crucified on the “Holy Rued”, “The Tree of Life”, the second tree in the garden of Eden, from this life comes again, as does fruit that can sustain us. As Joseph Campbell highlighted man was expelled from the garden because he ate from the first tree, the “Tree of Knowledge”. The garden was the place of unity of none duality, “non-duality of male and female, none duality of man and God, none-duality of good and evil.” The tree of immortal life brings us back to paradise, to unity to life itself. Where two become one. This is identical to the tree that Buddha sits under, the tree of life is the universal symbol of life itself.

“l’chaim”, to life

Sadly it seems that so many folk are as afraid of life as we are of death. It seems to me that these ancient stories, in their essence at least, are trying to teach that death is in life as life is in death. This is the story of existence of which we are all a part of. Yet for me some reason we reject life in so many ways, we are frightened of being cast out of it, we crucify it, we torture it we persecute and distrust. We fear our own humanity, our mortality. We say there is no good in us and no good in the other.

It doesn’t have to be this way. We are born from “Original Blessing”, original goodness. This is our natural state, that too often we lose sight of. We are all formed from the tree of life, the tree of renewal, the tree of re-birth. We need to recognise this. Sometimes this comes when we lose something or someone precious to us, somehow in this suffering we turn back home again, we return to paradise. We find wholeness once again, we recognise our own sacredness and that of others. We return to the “Tree of Life” and we tend to it and it tends to us. Just as I did that rainy morning seeking shelter under the tree in Dunham Massey.

May we know this wisdom and may we bring it to life through our very being.

“l’chaim”, to life

I am going to end with a little bit of Mary Oliver “The Summer Day”. Mary has been singing in my heart a lot these last few days.

“The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Below is a devotion based on 

the material in this "blogspot"

Seeking the Spirit of Christmas

Last Sunday after I’d finished my third service at Styal Kath Walker said to me “It feels like Christmas has begun now.” I heard others expressing similar sentiments over the weekend. I heard after the Brass Band Carol Concert on Saturday. A deeply emotional occassion for so many, including the band themselves. They told us that it was their first concert since they played att eh chapel two Christmasses ago. The Eccles Borough Band are a talented and successful competion band. It has been a hard time for them. I do hope that you are getting into the spirit of the season, don’t we all need it. This is such a difficult time. I do hope at least, despite everything, that folk feel that Christmas has begun.

Now to be factually accurate we are wrong you know. Christmas hasn’t begun at all, well it hasn’t if you wish to be theologically accurate. Christmas doesn’t begin until sunset on Christmas Eve. I remember a rather Bah humbuggy Baptist tutor saying that he tried to stop his congregations singing carols in Advent, but never succeeded. I am glad to hear so Christmas is not about reason and fact, where are the glad tidings in this? Christmas is about heart and spirit and not theological correctness. Christmas is the ultimate universal mythos, bringing light and joy in the darkest and coldest time of the year. Something we all need, particularly at this time in our lives.

Do we need to believe in the theological accuracy of the Biblical accounts to believe in Christmas? I don’t think so. You can’t in any case as even they don’t agree. That said what is at the heart of Christmas? What is its universal message? What is the mythos deep within the story? Are you a hypocrite if you say you believe absolutely in Christmas but not that the events took place exactly as they are described?

Mythos isn’t about fact it is about universal truth. Well, there is a deep universal truth at the heart of the Christmas mythos, a truth that speaks through every generation. A truth that is needed today in 2021 just as much as it was in any other times and places. Gosh how I need to feel that spirit alive in this life. So yes, I believe in Christmas.

My mum recently shared a story of my brother coming to her distressed asking if Father Christmas was real. Apparently, a girl at school had said that he wasn’t. My brother is nearly two years older than me. I remember him telling me this was the case that evening. I simply said I know, I’ve known a long time. He asked why I said nothing. I said I didn’t want to spoil it for anyone else. Besides which I still believed in the power of Father Christmas and I believe in him even more today.

Yes, we all know that Christmas has its root in pre-Christianity. And yes we also know that Christmas has seemingly been taken over by consumerism. Many today say there is no spirit left too, that it is basically a secular holiday. There are many forces who do not seemingly believe in the spirit of Christmas. Mr Scrooge is not the only Bah Humbugger around. There are those who say it is just another day, what does it matter. I heard someone say recently it is just a slightly fancier meal.

Christmas isn’t just about the day its about giving birth to love and hope and don’t we all need that. I’m not interested in getting tied down by reason and fact, I believe in mythos. Christmas fills me with so much. It is a time for nostalgia, for connecting the past, to the present and building hope for the future, a bit like the three spirits who visited Mr Scrooge. Christmas reminds us how important generosity of spirit and heart is. It breeds goodwill to all, it helps us to see that there is one human family, despite all the forces around who would to divide us. Sadly, we live in such divisive times. The core of my faith is the search and creation of meaning in every moment and in all life, to sanctify life, to bring love to life though my humble humanity. The heart and spirit of Christmas helps me to bring that to life through my frail human being.

The fact that Christmas allows folk to pause and slow down and pay attention is a cause for celebration for me. Isn’t this worthy of decorations, of light, of music, of celebration. Isn’t the selecting and wrapping of gifts a symbol of generosity of the heart. As I once heard said “There is religion in the ribbons and wrapping paper” it is not just secular materialism, there is so much love that goes into the gift giving and selecting. Surely this fills our hearts and reminds us that life is about giving, that these are symboloic of that and that generosity should fuel our days. Isn’t self giving love the core message that was exemplified through the life of Jesus. Isn’t this what we celebrate the birth of. Aren’t these the true Christian values, that so often get lost in ridiculous theological arguments. Isn’t this the gift that humanity is still waiting for, the gift that can still save us all from ourselves. Isn’t this what will bring us back together in these deeply divisive times. My hope is that we take the risk to give birth to this love through our fragile lives. Christmas is a risk you know. As Rexford J. Styzens so beautifully put it.

“Christmas is a risk for us to take. Shall we allow ourselves to be touched by sentiment? Awakened by song and story? Drawn into festivities, when our joy depends upon the goodwill of others? Dare we risk the disappointment of hopes raised high and excited expectations? May we have the courage to celebrate the season fully.”

We need to take that risk. We need to in order to bring that spirit to life. Lets be holy fools and take the risk. Our world needs us to. Don’t we all need to.

Now of course for some of us it feels like too much. It feels like we can’t go through it, or we are just not in the mood for it. Or if you are like me, you just don’t have the time for it. I have to be very careful of the “I haven’t got time for this” mantra. Some times “ho, ho, ho!” is a bit too much for me, as it is for all of us. Sometimes it all seems too much and we are just not ready for it all.

Well, it comes anyway, regardless of us. There again I see something powerfully humbling. It comes even if I’m not ready, if we are not ready, sometimes others carry the burden and bring the spirit to life, even if we do not want it.

Regardless of the state of our hearts, the season of the heart is born again. Symbolised in the birth of the Christ child. We tell the story regardless. As we do we are reminded of his message of universal equality, compassion, forgiveness, and love. This is born over and over again, sometimes in spite of the state of our individual minds and hearts. And isn’t this the real miracle, that we cannot deny the possibility of hope, despite the state of our hearts and lives.

Here in December 2021 in the midst of so many troubles don’t we all need to contemplate the potential for peace and healing in our lives and world. Sometimes it is hard to find, especially in times of literal or metaphorical darkness, like now. Then it comes. It comes as Christmas comes to remind us and it comes in the hearts and lives of those inspired by its spirit. It comes even if we do not want it to come. It comes and it saves us once again, if only from ourselves. It comes even if we do not believe we are worthy of receiving it, gosh we are, if only we believed it. We are all worthy of love, we are all loved as we are, isn’t that what is at the core of the love born in that stable.

We all have our struggles, our various griefs, our pain, our suffering, all of us. Let’s not forget that. Let us also not forget that Christmas reminds us that light was and is born within us, even in the darkest nights of our souls. That this light can be born once again within us.

So let us open the inn door once again, lets prepare the mangers of our hearts, even if we don’t feel up to it, even if we don’t want to believe in it. There is a love waiting to be born in each of us. We need it and our world needs it too.

Please never forget that we are each of us children of love, children of the universe. That in each birth there is this love, even it seems obscured at times. Isn’t Christmas the ultimate reminder of this. To quote Sophia Lyon Fahs “That every night a child is born is a holy night”. That love is waiting to be born in us again. Someone recently suggested that this should read "Each night a child is born is a holy night". Perhaps to be read correctly it should. That said I find something univeral, something about all time in the phrase "every" and I suspectt hat this is what Sophia is getting at.

So let us turn on those twinkling lights, play the songs and sing the carols. Buy those presents and wrap them, invite the strangers in the midst into our lives. Pay attention to the needs in our lives and if we are feeling alone and afraid, let someone know and let their love flow. For you are not alone, even though it can sometimes feel like you are, for we all feel like that some time.

The spirit of Christmas does something to us, there is a magic to it, it is more than reason and fact. It can’t be quantified and it cannot be measured, but it surely can be experienced and known, but only if we let it have its way with us. We just have to risk greeting strangers more openly and warmly.

The magic of Christmas is there in its spirit. For it is this that enables us to open up to our true nature. Christmas is wonderful, powerful and special because it helps us to become more comfortable about being open and giving. Its spirit helps us to give birth to the goodness that is waiting to come to life, within each of us and that is why we love it so much.

So let’s journey on through this Christmas season and truly open our hearts and engage in its spirit. May our hearts open wider, at this the heart of the year. May our experiences deepen as we remember to slow down as we rush through the business of our days. May we know the true gifts of the season; gifts of love, compassion and acceptance. May we bring the spirit of the season alive and in so doing learn to make it Christmas in the days yet to come.

Below is a video devotion based

on the material in this "blogspot"

Deep Is Your Treasure

At a recent “Living the Questions” Adie Tindall led an excellent conversation on how art speaks to us. Art does have a way to reach those parts of ourselves, deep in our hearts, that other media perhaps cannot, maybe this is why we value it so much. So many of us treasure such works of art and artists too. During the conversation John Poskitt told of a limited edition copy of a piece of Bob Dylan’s art that cost him a lot of money and that he was paying for in instalments. John is a great lover of the arts.

Art had been in the news earlier that day. A work of art by “Banksy had sold for almost £10,000,000. It eclipsed anything else he had produced in the past by more than five fold. As someone pointed out whoever was behind “Banksy’s” promotion was a genius. He had after all begun as a gifted graffiti artist. Now no doubt the piece had gone up in value due to its subject. It goes by the title “Devolved Government” and is an image of a Parliament of Chimpanzee’s arguing in the “House of Commons”. I don’t believe it would have raised such a price a few months earlier. I wonder what raised the value so much?

Now as talented as “Banksy” is, and regardless of his mystique and clever promotional work, and regardless of the satire of the piece, how the heck can a painting be worth £10,000,000. It just seems obscene to me. Although it is not just painting’s and other art treasures that seem valued way beyond reason. Football is another example. I love football, but surely no footballer is worth £200,000,000. It seems ridiculous but this is the market value for the best of the best.

Now I am sure there are things that we all value above anything else in life, that we treasure beyond measure. I wonder what it is that you treasure the most? What is beyond value in your life, your pearl of great price, that you would sell all that you have for. Is there anything or anyone that you treasure so much that you would give everything for. Something to ponder perhaps. Some folk devote their whole lives to these things that they treasure the most

The great stories of human history speak of heroes going on epic journeys in search of great treasures. “Mythos”, from a variety of cultures, tell tales of questing for such treasure whether they be material objects or perhaps attempts to reach a certain goal or to manifest a dream. Think of the Arthurian legends, particularly the quest for the Holy Grail. Think of the biblical accounts, Moses and the Israelites, or Jesus's journey into the wilderness for forty days and forty nights, a journey of sacrifice and transformation. Or perhaps the Native American initiation tradition of Vision Quests. Such journeys often included climbs to the summit of mountains, like the climb to the summit of Parnassus, the ancient mount of the Muse. While watching the rugby the other morning I noticed the symbol depicting Mount Fuji with the Red Sun rising behind it. The Japanese people consider Mount Fuji, to be the point of contact between heaven and the underworld. Perhaps the ultimate journey, the final one.

Many of these great adventures described mythical themes depicting great feats such as climbing a mountain, or going off in solitude into the desert, or perhaps going into the heart of a forest forever searching, seeking, and questing. Until it is time to return home with treasure to share.

It’s not just the great heroes that go on such quests, ordinary people do too. Increasingly people are going on Pilgrimage. It’s nothing new by the way. All the great religious faiths have a tradition of pilgrimage within them. What is interesting though is that there seems to be a growing need to seek pilgrimage in our time and space, in these secular times. I even attended a Unitarian pilgrimage recently, as I led worship at the triannual “Rivington Pilgrimage”. I have to be honest though and say that it isn’t a true pilgrimage as we didn’t really walk very far. Although for some of us it was a journey just getting to Rivington due to the severe flooding. Several folk could not get there and had to return home in the end. And of course there was the amazing trip earlier this year to Israel and the magic that Sue and I shared by the Sea of Galilee. The whole trip was life transforming on so many levels. A deep and beautiful treasure of the heart.

I know several people who have walked the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route. The Camino is a path to the shrine of Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain. Since medieval times, people have made the pilgrimage to the cathedral there. And pilgrimage is of course central to Islam, where, every believer is called to make at least one pilgrimage to Mecca in his or her lifetime.

At the core of these calls to pilgrimage is a universal human longing for growth, for becoming more than we were by going father than we ever dared. Now in these physical pilgrimages these longings manifests themselves in walking and somehow in this walk transformation occurs. The destination of such pilgrimages is a new horizon, the one we glimpse from a distant and are drawn to. Like the sun rising behind Mount Fuji.

Now while such physical pilgrimages can be beautifully transformative I have discovered another for more important pilgrimage. This is the pilgrimage to the heart. Not a physical journey but a deeply arduous one. A journey not only to the heart, but of truly awakening the heart, the true frontier of humanity. I suspect that most of the ancient pilgrimages were really about this. The stories were certainly journeys of transformation.

I suspect that this is our greatest treasure of all, our hearts. The Talmud says, 'God wants the heart.' All life stems from and through the heart. In ancient times is was believed that the heart was the center of human intelligence and the seat of the soul. According to Augustine of Hippo the heart was a metaphor for our deepest and truest selves, believing that union with God could only be achieved through it.

It is through the heart that we begin to connect to our truest and deepest selves. And through connecting to our deepest selves and thus awakening our hearts we begin to act in loving meaningful ways in the world. We will not act with compassion without our hearts. We will not act with true reason without the heart. In fact reason can be deadly without compassion, without being led by the heart. This is the true pilgrimage, the journey to the heart. As Howard Thurman once said 'the longest journey is between the heart and the head.' Thurman, the great mystic, theologian and educator was critical of the tendency in the modern age to separate the heart from the intellect. You see it is not only the body that is nourished through the heart but

our whole humanity. This is why it is so vital to take care of not only our physical heart but the heart of our spirit too and this requires an inner pilgrimage, that of silence.

Silence has become an important and treasured aspect of Unitarian worship. I spend time in communal silence several times a week. It enables me to reach that treasure at the core of myself and others too, it is vital to my life as food, water and exercise. We shared a special moment in silence last Sunday at Dunham Road. Some thirty or more human hearts and perhaps twenty dogs all sharing in reverential silence together for several minutes in the middle of the “Blessing of the Animals” service. You could feel a deep power at work in this pure silence, so deep I could almost hear our hearts beating. It was one of the most beautiful silences I have ever shared. Although when I think of it I have shared many such moments with strangers and friends throughout this year. It has been the year of the heart. Last Sunday I was not the only one to feel it either. Several people commented to me afterwards just how special the experience was. 50 hearts beating as one, is there a greater treasure in life. It was a beautiful spiritual journey to share together as we entered the caves of our hearts and helped awaken something beautiful within each and every one of us.

We each of have a great treasure within us, a treasure that needs to nurtured and cared for and brought to life. It’s a treasure that the world needs us to share with it. We need to take care of this priceless treasure and live from it. And if we do we may just begin to bring alive that love that is Divine. To bring the Kin-dom of love alive that dwells within in each and everyone of us, in everything.

The world awaits us, let's take that great journey together.

The Christmas Guesthouse: Welcome them all in

I am often asked “What do you believe in?” Not an easy question to answer. I often say “I believe in everything and that little bit more than everything.” Now don’t get me wrong, as someone recently did, this does not mean that I approve of everything in life, but I do try not to deny things these days, the good and the bad and the less than beautiful. I also believe that there is something more, perhaps only a little more, than this material life. The trouble I have is in articulating this. I know some will say this this is a cop out, but I do not agree. It is honest and it is humble. I experience something more than my and I reckon others understanding, but the fact that I cannot articulate this does not make it any less real. I experience so much in this life that I accept I can never fully comprehend. When I accept this I experience that something more in ever more deep ans wonderful ways that are way beyond my imagining.

There are times in my life when I feel this more powerfully than others. These are often moments of trial and tribulation. I have felt it often this year, that said I also feel it almost as powerfully in moments of joy. The key, I have discovered, is to always remain open.

Rumi wrote:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

The key, as Rumi taught is to welcome whatever gift comes, “ a joy, a depression, a meanness” Well this year I have welcomed them all in. This is the greatest gift of all that we are given in the experience that is human life. I have learnt the truth that if you do welcome them all in, then somehow you will experience more than you could have ever dreamed of.

We are fast approaching the moment of magic, the birth of love in life, the birth of joy to the world. I have noticed many guests this Advent. Many joys and many depressions. I know that all the spirits of Christmas have been alive and well in me throughout this Advent Seasons. I have felt them even more intensely this week. Monday was a wonderful example as I felt myself getting a little scrooge like during the day, as I got frustrated at trying to get everything done in time to get to Sue’s as we were going to “Home” cinema in Manchester, to see big screen viewing of “It’s a Wonderful Life”.

Well the film worked its magic. It got into those places that it needed to get deep into. It was beautiful to sit there with so many other people, the rest complete strangers and allow the magic to get deep into the core of my being. It opened me up, got deep into my soul as I relived so many feelings that I have felt this year and so many other times throughout my life. I was visited by all the spirits of this beautiful season, as I re-experienced many emotions. As we left I felt that once again something had changed deep within me.

My heart had been a guesthouse and I had welcomed them all and as a result something in me had changed. This truly is a wonderful life, but it is not one without pain and at times suffering. Something we all experience even at this time of joy and love. Do not be afraid to let them all in. Remember we are all in this boat together and everyone of us will be experiencing these many emotions, unless something deeply human has died within us.

We need to make room for it all and to welcome it in, I reckon that this is what the Christmas stories, whether they be ancient or modern, are about. There is something powerful and transformative in the mythos of all of them that help bring the spirit of the season alive, just when we need it the most. Well “It’s a Wonderful Life” did it for me again this week as I laughed and connected and spent the last half hour with tears rolling down my face as I remembered so many people who have touched my life, and experiences that have affected me deeply, all those  complex emotions I have felt throughout my life and once again this year, as I felt the true religion, that gets lost in the tinsel, the lights and the ever heavier traffic so often at this time of year. It opened me up once again and allowed me to let it all in. As a result I can now hopefully give it all out once again.

I was asked the other day what Christmas means to me. My first answer went something like this, well for me this season is about preparing each of us for the coming of hope that can be found in a humble birth of a lowly child in a lowly stable. That this is not about one birth though, but all births and not just about our physical birth, but that this is a spiritual birth that can come at any time and can continue as we journey on through our lives. If we open our hearts to it, if we welcome them in. The magic will come to life so long as we do not act like those inn keepers in the ancient Bethlehem story. The miracle will come so long as we say that there is in fact room in the inn. It is a story of a child born with incredible potential and yet who is rejected. Isn’t this a universal tale? Doesn’t it speak of all of us at times? There is more to the Christmas myth than the historical accuracy or inaccuracy of the Biblical accounts. In fact to get lost in detail of what did or didn’t actually happen is to miss the whole point of the story. It sounds as ludicrous as those medieval theologians who argued over how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. Is that what really matters? Surely there is more to the story than prosaic fact.

Remember that during this season we sing “Glad tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy” and not “glad tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact”

There is a deep universal truth hidden with these deep and meaningful stories. There is something “deep and crisp and even” in it all, if we would just open ourselves up to it all and welcome it all in.

The great mythologist Joseph Campbell taught that myths such as the nativity story are actually metaphors for human life. That they are eternal and universal tales that can teach us about our lives right here right now. He believed that by understanding these mysteries we can begin to understand who we truly are and what life is all about.

Carl Jung taught that these myths originate within our “collective unconscious”. He said that we each have a conscious level that we are aware of in our waking moments. Beneath this is our personal unconscious level, our closet. This is where we store memories, experiences, desires, fears, urges, compulsions etc. It is here that our personal “stuff” is stored, which from time to time we dip into. Some of this stuff is beautiful and some of it is terrifying. This is the domain of our devils and demons.

Jung also described our “collective unconscious”. This is our “collective closet” Jung uncovered common themes, symbols and motifs while working with his patients and he noticed that these same themes, symbols and motifs were also to be found in the religious stories and myths. From this he concluded that these common myths and stories are part of humanities “common closet”. These myths are drawn from a common human well of memory and thought and that they teach us about ourselves and the mysteries of existence. The problem today is that when we hear the word myth we equate it with an untruth, a lie, instead of seeing them as revealers of deeper universal truths. As Campbell observed to view them as lies is to actually get “stuck in the metaphor” and to fail to see the deeper universal truth that is being revealed.

As I sat in that cinema last Monday, with a load of strangers who were all connected in that shared experience, I know that all those levels were working in harmony and doing their magic. I know this because as I left the cinema I felt changed and I feel certain that others did too. So much of my experiences were brought back to life as I set there with others, it was a truly religious experience as my heart was opened once more as I was held with others and was able to let in every experience. It was very similar to times when I sit through a good worship service or are held through a funeral service. The challenge is to stay like this throughout my days, something I can never quite do, but then who can?

Christmas is not yet here. We still have a few days to open the mangers of our hearts and let all those guests in. No doubt we will sing some of these songs once again, or we will see a film or speak with an old friend or loved one. Perhaps we will attend another service of worship and come together with others and sing “glad tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, oh glad tidings of comfort and joy.”

So let’s invite everything in, lets believe in everything and in so doing experience and know that little bit more than everything. Come and join with me and make of your life a guesthouse where all can enter, where all are welcome to come as they are, exactly as you are…always remembering that none of us will ever leave in exactly the same condition…

Come Christmas come...and shine your holy light and bring to life that which is waiting to be born in the mangers of our hearts…