maggi dawn

Scars

Back in the summer a friend came through Cambridge whom I only see once or twice a year. We were talking about the way some things have panned out lately in his life and mine, and how you have to get back on your feet when life deals you a bad hand. At one point in our conversation, I was slightly startled when he suddenly looked me straight in the eye, and said, "Maggi, get up, move on." That's easy to say, of course, and easy to believe, but not easy to do. At the time I was the walking wounded, both spiritually and physically; even now the full force of life has only just started running in my veins again.

I believe my friend's advice; I do think that you should live your life while you have it, and not take too much time under the duvet waiting for things to heal. Having said that, I'm less stoical than I used to be. I was completely knocked out by illness earlier this year and quite literally couldn't get out of bed for several weeks. I had time for a forced review of the pace and shape of my life, and have come to believe in the benefit of planned breaks for no particular reason, and even taking the occasional duvet day - a very new idea for me. If life knocks you for six and you can't get up, then you have to wait until you can, and the patience to do so is not always easy to come by.

But I still think that if you can get up and get on with it, then it's better to do so. Even when life shreds you a little, there's no point in wallowing. You may as well get moving again if you can; the mending of one's soul doesn't always require a quiet convalescence, and for many people stopping is simply a luxury beyond their means anyway. It may equally be that you carry on living while the mending takes place. Rarely, in fact, does life and love and family and work fit in to the pattern of work and rest that we know to be ideal.

All of which reminds me of this poem by William Stafford which, if I remember correctly, was sent to me by Bob Carlton some time back.

Scars

They tell how it was, and how time
came along, and how it happened
again and again. They tell
the slant life takes when it turns
and slashes your face as a friend.

Any wound is real. In church
a woman lets the sun find
her cheek, and we see the lesson:
there are years in that book; there are sorrows
a choir can't reach when they sing.

Rows of children lift their faces of promise,
places where the scars will be.
- William Stafford

Advent Carols

It's always the case that schools and colleges have an end of term celebration before packing up for Christmas, but because of the way our terms fall we finish up here several weeks before Christmas.  As often as not the last Sunday of term is the first Sunday of Advent, so in our college we resolve the tension by having an Advent Carol Service instead of a Christmas one.

This year, though, our term ends on Friday, two days before Advent begins. So it was slightly odd to celebrate Advent (with a considerable hat-tip to Christmas) before Advent even started.

All the same, it was a lovely service. We packed our biggest Advent congregation ever into our unusual and beautiful Chapel, for a service of music and readings, candle-lighting ceremonies, prayers and hymns.

We began with a meditation on gifts and giving, with a reading of Betjeman's Advent 1955 in which he contrasts the unworthy giving of gifts as
       "... bribes we call a present
       To those to whom we must be pleasant
       For business reasons. "
with the gift of God -
       "A present that cannot be priced Given two thousand years ago
The Choir then sang Rosetti's poem to Darke's gorgeous setting,
       "What can I give him, poor as I am?..."

After that the service divided into five sections, beginning each section by lighting one of the candles on the Advent wreath. Each of the candles represents a character in the salvation story, and each section of our service had readings and meditations and music on the characters the candles represent (see more here if you want further inspiration on this theme).

My son and one of his friends did a reading together this year, so I was bursting with maternal pride as well as the usual Chaplainly happiness. At the end, while an undergraduate played a fab vibraphone solo, everyone lit their own candle as the lights were dimmed, and the final carol and the blessing were done by the light of 220 hand-held candles.

next gig

tickets are selling for my next gig,  which is part of a cultural night on the 7th of December.

At The Rowan Humberstone Centre, Cambridge, from 7-11 p.m, entrance by ticket only to dinner and drinks,  an exhibition of art by three local artists, a couple of short talks, and music from me and a couple of guys I play acoustic blues with.

Tickets are £25 on the door (if there are any left!) or £20 in advance. Book in advance by e-mail to: CulturalNightCambridge@live.co.uk. Or, go here for booking details

Sunday Breakfast on the radio

come and join me for sunday breakfast on BBC Radio Cambridgeshire... I'll be on between 7.30 and 7.45 am tomorrow, 25 November

blindingly obvious

It is a rare mind indeed that can render the hitherto non-existent blindingly obvious. The cry 'I could have thought of that' is a very popular and misleading one, for the fact is that they didn't, and a very significant and revealing fact it is too.

Douglas Adams

what the tourists don't see

had a long overdue day off yesterday, and did something I don't do too often - only if there is an out-of-town friend to show around - clambered up to the roof of King's College Chapel. A few years back I was the Chaplain there, so I know the building well.

The fantastic carved, fan vaulted ceiling is a famous sight, but clambering about in the ceiling/roof cavity  you can get a picture of how the stones were fitted together in the late 15th/early 16th century.

Right up on top of the roof, though, (and I say this despite struggling somewhat with vertigo) not only do you get a great view of Cambridge and the surrounding countryside, you also get a magical sense of being removed from the stresses of everyday life.

In a county of flat fenland with no hills this is about as close as you get to being "on top of the world".

Yesterday we watched the sun set on one side of the Chapel as the moon rose on the other. Pure magic.

taking out the pews?

+Alan Wilson is on fine form this morning, talking about how teams work, and what to do when they don't work. All with a good ecclesiological twist.

Sometimes I feel slightly despairing when cultural and sociological models are recommended wholesale in Church just because they seem a good idea, or they "work". It's not that I think we shouldn't be concerned with whether things are working or not  - quite the reverse; I think it matters a great deal. But if we import ideas from various arenas we should do the theological work to ensure that we are not simply going with a fad, or trying to fix a problem but using the wrong solution. If the drains are broken, putting in a shiny new bathroom suite won't help.

+Alan Wilson intriguingly suggests that there may be a metaphorical sense in which "the pews need to be taken out". When faced with problems of decline in Church, rather than rush to find a dramatic tangible solution, perhaps we should work harder with the idea as metaphor first of all. Why do we want to rip the pews out? What difference would it make, not just to our comfort, or our appeal, but to our understanding of God, and our expression of who we are as Church? Some hard work on theology and ecclesiology may well lead to quite a different set of solutions to the fabric of our buildings. Removing the pews, or putting in carpet, or moving out of Church to the pub down the road - any of these might be a good way forward for a local Church community. But they should be thought through theologically, not just latched onto as a lifejacket of a good idea.

Go read: Bishop Alan’s Blog: Aircrew or Snakes on a plane?.

planes, trains and the like

I've spent large chunks of my life in and around East Anglia, where you can't go far without passing an airfield. This flat land, on the East side of England, was the prime location for wartime airstrips, and there really are a lot of them. This has never exactly been a focussed interest to me, more like a general background hum to my life. Living in a town that had zero nightlife, the highlights of my teenage years were going to the bowling or the soda store at the nearby airfield. And the Red Arrows flying overhead were a pretty regular occurrence for us; they practised all the time in bits of sky local to us.

Nowadays I live near Duxford, where the whole place has been turned into a massive aviation museum. I went there several times as a musician, playing in Glenn Miller style swing bands for various functions. But I never paid any serious attention until my son hit that age where planes and trains and the like are suddenly fascinating, and being a pilot seems like the only possible career worth pursuing. So now I'm re-doing the whole airfield thing from a new perspective. This time not as a background hum, but paying proper attention so that I can help him understand the bits he doesn't get. We spent hours yesterday working on how the wind lifts the wings.

If you pick the right day to visit Duxford, you can go on board the Concorde -  something I wish I'd done when they were still flying. The American collection is stunning, though I'm tempted to say it's eclipsed by the brilliant Norman Foster building it's housed in. Certainly the presentation makes this bit very memorable, although the oily smell in the old hangars where they are fixing the busted planes is pretty addictive, and I think we actually spent much longer poking around in there. I was most intrigued by the planes in hangar 3 that have foldy-up wings.

Yesterday's trip was made poignant by seeing civic and military aviation history side by side on the weekend of Remembrance - a lot of mixed thoughts and feelings there.

My son decided he would most like to fly a Blackbird, which I must say was a pretty impressive beast, kind of elegant in a scary way. But my top choice was a cheery little yellow and blue biplane.  Flying lessons are advertised... 

cultural night

don't forget - if you are near Cambridge, come along for art, food and singing... cultural night. Places limited, book now...

the Protection of fear

Jen Lemen wrote a lovely ritual for letting go of fear and other things that hold you back. Jen is one of two wonderful American women whom I have only yet met in cyberspace (the 21st century version of pen-friends, I guess) and who often inspire me with their writing, their art, and their inventive, left-field approach to spiritual things.

In the midst of her ritual of letting go, Jen touches on an interesting idea - that although we usually think of fear as a Big Bad Thing (and in many ways it is) it also protects us as long as we allow it to. So instead of approaching fear as something to conquer, she lets her fears go with this thought:
Thank you, __________ (insert fear) for doing your best to protect me and keep me safe, but I don’t need you anymore.

I find this has a double appeal; firstly because the attempt to free oneself from fears and burdens can end up producing more fears and anxieties - am I ready for this? can I really let go? can I handle the challenge of not living behind the mask of fear? what if I fail? and secondly because there is a gentleness here - not so much a harsh rebuke, but an acknowledgement that true liberty is something that we grow into in stages. The focus is taken off the negative of fears or burdens, and placed instead on discovering freedom, step by step, as we are able to do so.

Of course you can argue that fear is a sin, etc., etc., but I can't help but think of the Angels who visited various characters in the Bible; the Angel's first words are often "Don't be afraid" Fear is normal. Rebuking a person who is locked in fear only makes them more afraid. And if you bring God into the equation, God surely has more sense and more love than to demand that we overcome our fears. The pathway to liberation is more gentle than we suppose.

There is a right place for fear as protection. We teach our children a modicum of fear of large busy roads, for good reason. They need to learn instincts for keeping themselves safe from real dangers. But as children grow and learn to use their reason, they shed the fear. It's  a natural process. Maybe there's something of that here too.

Go read jen's account of her "Ritual for Letting Go of Fear and Other Things That Weigh You Down".

Obituary: James Torrance

Jeremy Begbie on James Torrance Obituaries - James Torrance.

Acoustic Blues and visual art

My friend Isa, who lives round the corner, is a painter; I love her stuff and currently have one of her paintings on loan, hanging on one of my biggest walls. It has a grand sense of freedom and emerging joy after a melancholic darkness, and it's a joy to behold.

Isa and two other local artists will be featured at an exhibition in Cambridge in December, and on December 7th there will be a whole evening of viewing, plus music (Acoustic Blues provided by me and a couple of guys I play with), poetry readings and lovely food. It's ticket only and places are limited, so if you want to come along, go here for details cultural night: Concept Cultural Night.  or direct to tickets and booking

mushy peas

small ritual: mushy peas.

what (not) to wear

In my Trinny-and-Susanna of the clergy mode again today, after feeling completely annoyed with my style-less clergy shirt yesterday. The search for a decent clergy shirt for women continues... and it seems there is hope, even if it does involve going all the way to sweden: Maria Sj? - Casual Priest.

"Men simply prefer to be led by men..." (do they?)

My friend Paul has stuck his head above the parapet on a subject that is usually something of a hot potato in Church - an assortment of reasons that supposedly back up the theory that women shouldn't take positions of authority in Church... (I have to point out this is not Paul's own view, unless he's done a radical about-turn since we spoke last weekend; he's quoting some stuff he's read and thinking about it from the point of view of some connections he has made between his own ideas and some of the ideas cited. Paul is a good ruminator; I await his further thoughts with interest, especially as the female leader of a chapel community that draws many more men than women... Prodigal Kiwi(s) Blog: Men and Church.