Tag Archives: Bradford 2025

Into Culture: Tale of Two Cities

In my reading at the moment, I am currently inhabiting two vastly different worlds: one, the dark, Gothic corridors of ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ by Victor Hugo, and the other, the contemplative and theological depths of ‘The City of God’ by St Augustine of Hippo. At first glance, these two texts seem to come from different places; one a romantic novel from 19th-century France, the other a theological treatise from 5th-century Rome. Yet, as I delve into the opening chapters of both works, I am struck by a common thread: the place of the arts in society and how they are used by seemingly competing visions of our world.

I have also been thinking again this month about the architectural design of Bradford Cathedral and how, I have been told, Edward Maufe, the architect who designed our East end, wanted to articulate a coming together of the mundane and the sacred. The West end was to be experienced and understood as a convening space for the whole of Bradford society. The East end would be the focus of sacred worship. Whether that is true or not I don’t know but there is a strong architectural difference between these two spaces in our Cathedral. 

The interplay between these two spaces is characterised by St Augustine as two cohabitating ‘cities’; the City of God symbolising the divine, eternal order and the City of the World symbolising human civilisation with all its flaws. I want to examine briefly the more nuanced interaction between these two ‘cities’ to see if there is something fruitful to be found for us at Bradford Cathedral to offer our city as we head into 2025, where Bradford will be UK City of Culture, as well as other Cathedrals as they wrestle with the stewardship of their own sacred/secular space.

Hugo begins his story, not with the titular hunchback, Quasimodo, but with a scene set in Paris’s grand cathedral, Notre Dame (arguably a major character in the book) during the Festival of Fools. In these opening pages, we are introduced to the clash between the religious order represented by the cathedral and the chaotic, almost carnivalesque atmosphere of the festival outside. Here, art is both sacred and profane, elevated and debased, reflecting the dual nature of humanity itself. 

Similarly, Augustine, in the opening books of ‘The City of God’, discusses the dichotomy of the two cities: the City of God and the City of the World. For Augustine, the City of the World is marked by its temporal, fleeting nature and its inclination towards sin and self-glorification. Yet, even within this human city, Augustine acknowledges the presence of art, culture, and human achievements, which, though marred by sin, still bear the potential to reflect divine truth. In the early chapters, he argues that the polytheistic worship and rituals of the Graeco-Roman world which heavily influenced and controlled the public performances and artistic artefacts is more to be blamed for the fall of that civilisation than the acceptance of Christianity into their cultural milieu.

Bradford Cathedral aspires to be a beacon of spiritual and artistic expression amidst the bustling life of our city. Its walls, filled with history, uniquely tell the story of the whole community and its faiths. Just as Hugo uses Notre Dame to symbolise the connection between the sacred and the secular, Bradford Cathedral serves as a constant reminder of the spiritual heritage and the rich cultural tapestry that defines the city of Bradford. It is a space where the divine meets the everyday, and where art, I aim to show, can serve as a bridge between the two. 

In reflecting on these two great works, it becomes clear that the arts have always occupied this central place in human society. They are a means through which we explore our relationship with the world around us, with each other, and with the divine. Whether in the grand architecture of a cathedral, the lively performance of a play, or the quiet contemplation of a painting, the arts offer us a glimpse into the deeper truths of existence.

Hugo and Augustine remind us that the arts are both a gift and a responsibility. They have the power to inspire and uplift, but also to distract and lead astray. As we engage with the arts, whether as creators or as audience members, we must do so with a sense of discernment and purpose. We must strive to see beyond the surface, to seek the truth that lies beneath, and to recognise the metaphysical fingerprints, whether good or bad, in the works of human hands.

In a world that often seems consumed by the immediate and the material, the arts call us to remember the eternal, to lift our eyes towards the heavens even as we walk the streets of our earthly city. They remind us that we are more than the sum of our parts, that we are creatures of both body and soul, and that in every brushstroke, every note, and every word, there is the potential to glimpse the divine.

The opening chapters of ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ introduce us to Pierre Gringoire, a struggling playwright whose dramatic piece is set to be performed during the Festival of Fools. Gringoire embodies the romantic ideal of the artist: impoverished, passionate, and slightly out of touch with the mundane concerns of everyday life. His work, a Mystery play titled ‘The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin Mary’, is meant to be a serious, thoughtful exploration of divine justice. Yet, it quickly becomes evident that Gringoire’s high-minded artistic vision is out of sync with the boisterous, irreverent mood of the crowd.

The Flemish visitor, Jacques Coppenole, crystallises this disconnect when he dismisses Gringoire’s Mystery as a waste of time, preferring the spontaneous entertainment of the festival over the playwright’s carefully crafted narrative. Coppenole’s comment is not just a critique of Gringoire’s play but a broader statement on the role of art in society. To Coppenole, the art that matters is the art that entertains, that is immediate and accessible. Gringoire’s highbrow ambitions are lost on a crowd that craves spectacle, not contemplation.

Hugo uses Gringoire’s predicament to illustrate the fragile place of the artist in society. Gringoire’s struggle to have his work appreciated reflects a larger struggle between different conceptions of art: art as a serious, almost sacred endeavour, and art as entertainment, something that should delight and distract. Hugo’s portrayal of Gringoire is sympathetic but tinged with irony; the artist is seen as a tragic figure, striving for an ideal that the world, in its indifference or ignorance, fails to recognise.

Augustine, too, is concerned with the role of art, but his focus is on the potential of art to lead people away from God. He acknowledges the beauty of the arts but warns against their capacity to distract and mislead. For Augustine, the highest purpose of art is to direct the soul towards the divine, not to entertain or merely please the senses. In this light, Gringoire’s predicament can be seen as emblematic of a deeper tension: the artist’s desire to convey truth and meaning versus the public’s desire for amusement.

I find myself caught in this tension. I, obviously, tend towards the Gringoire/Augustinian direction but we at Bradford Cathedral must constantly navigate the balance between art as sacred and art as entertainment. I return, again and again, to my reflections on the Empty Space and how we might make meaningful and prophetic contributions to the cultural narrative of our city whilst having to ensure such endeavours provide us with, understandably necessary, financial return. Like Gringoire, I must remember that there is no measurable point in expending time and money in creating a statement if no one is going to hear it or it leads to the closure of the means to share it.

Gringoire’s failure to connect with his audience is not just a personal failure but a reflection of society’s failure to appreciate the deeper value of art. The public’s preference for the rowdy, unrestrained entertainment of the Festival of Fools over Gringoire’s thoughtful play mirrors the City of the World’s inclination towards the immediate and the material. It is a reminder of how easily society can overlook the things of true, lasting value in favour of the fleeting pleasures of the moment.

Both Hugo and Augustine recognise the profound impact that artists have on society. For Hugo, the artist is a visionary, someone who can see beyond the mundane realities of daily life and capture the essence of what it means to be human. The artist is both a creator and a communicator, someone who bridges the gap between the sacred and the secular, the eternal and the temporal. Through their work, artists invite us to see the world anew, to recognise the beauty in the ordinary and the extraordinary in the everyday.

Augustine, while perhaps more circumspect, also acknowledges the power of the artist. He understands that artists have the ability to shape the minds and hearts of their audience, to lead them towards truth or away from it. Augustine calls for artists to use their gifts wisely, to create works that not only delight the senses but also elevate the soul. For Augustine, the ultimate purpose of art is not self-expression or entertainment, but the glorification of God.

In the end, both Hugo and Augustine challenge us to consider not just the place of the arts in society, but the place of society in the grand, divine tapestry of creation. Gringoire’s plight is a poignant reminder of the fragile position of the artist, caught between the demands of the world and the pursuit of a higher ideal. His failure is not just his own but a reflection of a society that has lost its way, that has forgotten the true purpose of art. Yet, even in this failure, there is hope. For as long as there are artists like Gringoire, striving to build, create, and imagine, we can participate in the ongoing story of the world, a story that began long before us and will continue long after we are gone. In this, the arts are not just a reflection of society—they are a bridge between heaven and earth, a testament to the enduring and transcendent nature of the human spirit…

… how can we translate that value to also be financial? Answers on a postcard and sent to Bradford Cathedral, please!

Into Culture: Patronage

When the Bishop of Bradford asked me back in 2022 to develop a strategy for the faith communities engagement with City of Culture I immediately researched previous examples to learn from them. I found a repeated experience of faith communities in the three previous City of Cultures (UK City of Culture is distinct and different from the European Capital of Culture, although many confuse the two). All the reports had seen faith communities feeling overlooked, disconnected and ‘done to’ for other people’s ends. They had attempted to engage through production and contributing artistic products or cultural artifices to the packed programme. Many committed significant resources to contributing to the programme with unique offerings but, when the year came, their offering was lost in the packed schedule and audiences did not connect with their work as much as they had hoped. This caused understandable disappointment and led to compounding a cynicism about the whole project. 

I was clear, therefore, as we looked ahead to Bradford being the UK City of Culture in 2025, that the faith communities would be clear, from the outset, what a feasible expectation of their involvement should be. I suggested that our strategy should be underpinned by the word ‘patronage’. I proposed we ‘patronise the arts without patronising the artists.’ What I meant by this was that we should seek to become patrons akin to the old medieval system whereby we support and encourage the artists to produce work of great value and to play our appropriate role in its production. In practice this meant: 

  1. to offer our resources to the arts and culture professionals for their use, e.g. space, stories, funding, etc. 
  2. to attend and promote the arts and cultural offers and engage with artists in discussing their work and finding points of connection with them.
  3. to volunteer and encourage others to volunteer to ensure the events go smoothly and more people feel the programme is for them.
  4. and to play our part in (re)shaping the cultural narrative.

The problem with this strategy was that the word ‘patronage’ has negative connotations due to its obvious linguistic links with ‘patriarchy’. Even saying we should ‘patronise’ the arts, although technically correctly, is more commonly associated with condescension. This cultural rejection or negating of the whole ‘patri-‘ cluster of words makes the activities that are best described by them difficult to recommend or enact.

During his recent visit my father-in-law became aware that the word ‘patronus’, from the Harry Potter world, is Latin for ‘protector’. Although I was aware of this etymological root I hadn’t quite connected it with my current pondering on the nature and concept of patronage. 

St George has been the official patron saint of England since Tudor times having been named the patron saint of the Order of the Garter by Edward III. George was of Cappadocian Greek descent, meaning he came from the region now known as Turkey. He, at no point, visited England and it is likely never knew of England. He was a Christian soldier in the Roman army but due to the persecution of Christianity he was martyred around the third century. He is now more famous for a legend that arose about him in the eleventh century. The story goes that George faced a fierce ‘dragon’ that was wreaking havoc in Libya and slaughtered it, thus saving the king’s daughter from being offered as a sacrifice. George’s bravery and rejection of monetary reward inspired the whole city to become Christian.

One can see why this story resonated with Edward III, who, though vastly outnumbered by the large French army still won several victories in battle. It is here, one could argue, that the English preference to the cultural narrative of ‘the underdog’ began. This particular social story echoes through to our time and continues to impact our collective decisions and instinctive responses, particular in times of conflict.

A patron saint historically was believed to be a saint who intercedes on behalf of a particular nation, craft, person, etc. They are elected by said nation, craft, person, etc. and looked to to protect and support their life and work. Although I understand the theological concept of the intercessions of dead saints and the wider concept of ‘the communion of saints’, I am not convinced by the rationale given and so don’t engage in the promotion of the idea in its common usage. I do, however, appreciate the power such personalities can have on particular people and communities. I believe the benefit is not about the spiritual intercession of the saint but the narrative construct that can inspire the living body that elects it as a patron. I happily celebrate patronal feast days and engage in the stories of saints on their particular anniversaries to pray for those that seek to imitate certain noble characteristics or feel particular resonance with them.

An issue has arisen, however, when I understand the patronage of saints in the way outlined and then seek to define the patronage of the Church to the Arts. In trying to square the circle I have also been thinking about Bradford Cathedral’s patronage of several parishes elsewhere in the Diocese. These patronal relationships are common in all parish churches across England. The patron is not the same as the patron saint of which the particular church is named. The patron has a particular role, historically held, to present particular candidates into the role of parish priest. In the 20th century most diocese went about collecting up ‘patronages’ in order for the Diocesan Bishop to have freedom to appoint who they wish to ecclesiastical livings. Some churches remain within specific organisational patronages (CPAS, The Church Society, Simeon’s Trust).

The Dean of Bradford has rightly, in my mind, decided to redevelop the role of the patron beyond just the recruitment process. In our strategy we have specifically named our aspiration to support and resource our patronage churches. This patronage will look different for each of our churches depending on needs. Some of our patronage churches are growing, lively places of faith with enough resources to sustain their important mission and ministry, whilst others are struggling in different ways. The immediate decision, to enact our strategy, was to offer our resource of clergy time to help maintain worship in all of the places by taking Eucharistic services when there is a vacancy. It has also meant that we have engaged with some in offering advice and consultation to assist in their own growth and development. The Dean also meets regularly with incumbents and encourages them personally.

If patronage is primarily about protection but also, in some way, narrative shaping, what might this mean both for the patronage relationship between the Cathedral and other churches and for the Church and the Arts?

Returning to the topic of patron saints, for a moment. Back in 2021, The Rest is History podcast did an episode on St Cuthbert. Tom Holland, historian and co-host of the podcast, was proposing to adopt St Cuthbert as the patron saint of England. He has developed this idea elsewhere and I am favourable to this suggestion due to the form the cult of St George can evolve into. The problem, I would argue, is that the story of St George shapes those who take it for their own collective story in a particular way: value is placed on defeating enemies with physical strength. That particular myth connects with some darker impulses of human beings and explains, for me, the way in which St George’s cross can now be adopted. Who we’ve chosen to ‘represent us’ in the world says something and gives, in my mind, an unhelpful foundation to the story we project outwards. Does St George focus others’ attention on particular characteristics of ‘English’ and not on other repeated behaviours and actions that we may want to be known for?

If St Cuthbert, on the other hand, were to be the patron saint of England how might it resonate with other parts of our national character?

St Cuthbert is described by Bede as ‘a very pleasant and affable man’ often citing his patience and forbearance as major characteristics. He is depicted, primarily, as a teacher, travelling to places ‘which others feared to visit and whose barbarity and squalor daunted other teachers.’ This brings out a different quality to our painful colonial past. I’m not suggesting that it justifies all, or even most, of the horrific, historical actions by our country on others’ but it does offer a little balance, suggesting that some of our explorations and ‘missions’ may have been done for other, more noble intentions. I am also not suggesting that the language used by Bede in the quote above is language that I would use to describe the many English people who have gone to other places and helped alleviate poverty and health crises.

St Cuthbert was also a reluctant public figure. This may be a personal resonance and not something that is shared widely by my fellow citizens but I get the sense that St Cuthbert was a home bird. He liked being in his own place and being called to go elsewhere was a cost to him. Now, it is true that the English are famous for our desire for home ownership. The data shows that we place a higher value on this than other nations. 

The Englishman’s house is his castle.

Last month I mentioned Jeremy Paxman’s book, ‘The English: A Portrait of A People’. In it he explores the English character in its glory and its deep problems. He comes to a summation that I think is an interesting image of what it means to be English, as opposed to British.

Yet, for all claims that the country is ‘finished’, the attitudes of mind that made the English culture what it is – individualism, pragmatism, love of words and, above all, that glorious, fundamental cussedness – are unchanged.

Jeremy Paxman, ‘The English: A Portrait of a People’ (London: Penguin, 1999) p.264

This patronage would frame our sense of ourselves differently from the legend of St George. My impression is that the story of St George no longer resonates enough with us as a people (except during sporting competitions and military conflicts). The use of this dragon-fighting legend to frame and interpret the ‘Blitz spirit’ has been used to justify reckless political endeavours as we pose as miraculous underdogs. One can view the coming together, the forbearance and patience seen during the war through a different qualitative lens if we see it as following the St Cuthbert way. The motivation is different as is the character in which we move forward.

So what of patronage?

The role of a patron, I want to suggest, is to give shape to a person or communities’ cultural narrative. It is to direct them towards that which they want to express to others. To give them a narrative protection and to support them in their exploration and articulation of themselves into the world.

We might want to explore this at Bradford Cathedral as we interact with the churches to which we hold a patronage. This might be that our vision, values and narrative is shared with them. The protection we could offer these churches is in advocacy, particularly those who feel vulnerable to closure by bringing to them our charisms of hospitality, rootedness, interculturality and innovation. We don’t want this patronage relationship to be imposed but want it, like the election of patronal saints, to be desired for the benefit of the patronised (not condescended!)

The Church will need to be more confident in its own story, vision and values if it wants to position itself as a patron of the Arts. Like the relationship between the patronage churches and the Cathedral, ‘the Arts’ has not chosen or elected the Church as their patrons. How might each (potential) patron so inspire their (potential) patronage to look to them to help shape their own articulations of themselves to others? What might the offer of patronage look like in the 21st century where most artists turn to the patronal Arts Council, National Lottery or other trusts who all desire them to fulfil set strategic criteria that fit particular cultural values?

Into Culture: Prophetic Imagination II

Last month I reflected on two experiences that highlighted for me the need to engage further in the question of ‘Englishness’ and how we as a country, going through deep self-examination, may be led to a place of redemption and hope. I used the phrase ‘prophetic imagination’. This phrase was coined by Walter Brueggemann and, using Old Testament and other ancient stories, outlines a means by which creative resistance to cultural narratives can lead to liberation and hope of all peoples: oppressed and oppressors.

Over the last two weeks I have found myself preaching on different parts of the Major Prophets (Isaiah and Jeremiah). Some of these passages are, what I might identify as, ‘Zionist texts’. These passages from the great Old Testament prophetic tradition are those that paint a vision of the ingathering of the people of Israel to Zion. With the current reprisal of the long and intractable conflict in the Holy Land these particular passages have taken on a painful and darker tone. They are, however, meant to be visions of hope and of redemption. The majority of Isaiah is a litany of abominations against God’s will and these latter chapters, pivoting in chapter 53, portray the wrongs being righted in God’s gracious economy and an image of God’s reign on Earth being manifested.

The very fact that passages that are meant to inspire hope and open the possibility for change are now seen as passages encouraging oppression and division says something about the spiritual undercurrents at work here. These preaching opportunities have given to me reason, therefore, again to try and inspire a prophetic imagination that currently is dormant in our country; politically, spiritually, and socially.

The first preaching occasion was at a civic service, celebrating the Lord of Mayor’s year in office. The original readings for the evening were Deuteronomy 9:1-21 and Ephesians 4:1-16. My colleague and I didn’t feel as though these would speak to the congregation gathered, many of whom were not Christian and some were from other faiths. We looked at the alternative weekday lectionary and it prescribed Jeremiah 31:10-17 and Revelation 7:9-17. We felt these worked better with the Psalm (112).

Wealth and riches will be in their house,
   and their righteousness endures for ever.
Light shines in the darkness for the upright;
   gracious and full of compassion are the righteous. (Psalm 112:3-4)

The Lord Mayor’s office rightly raised a question about the Bible passages and wanted reassurance that it would not cause offence or distract from the purpose of the service. My task was set!

I began by talking about my impression of the role of Lord Mayor and how the current councillor in this role has held it in particular. I commented on the uniqueness of this year in which he had served; a visit from the King, a coronation, and then, for over half of his term, the Middle East crisis felt particularly strongly here in Bradford. The ceremonial role, like that of a representative of the Cathedral church, brings with it a strange expectation to ‘say something’ at events. These events often do not warrant any input from us who are, in my mind, inappropriately ‘billed’ alongside more impressive and important individuals. What then do we say when asked to speak?

I moved onto the Jeremiah passage. I named the use of this passage for the Zionist cause who have continually quoted this as a basis for division and their vision of exclusive claims on the land and territory of Mount Zion. The prophetic literature, however, does not, collectively, share that vision. Isaiah, similarly has passages which describes the future return of the people of Israel to the land promised to them, but the vision does not stop there. The imagery extends out further to encompass all peoples and particularly foreigners, widows and orphans.

If we place this passage, I said, with the imagery of the revelation/prophecy of John we see this echoed.

After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands… Then he said to me, ‘These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. (Revelation 7:9 and 14b)

What we are lacking in Bradford and, indeed, in the wider culture is a voice that speaks with genuine hope. Hope that gives a vivid picture of the possibility of change. So overwhelmed and captive to the spirit of cynicism, skepticism and apocalyptic paranoia and conspiracy that we cannot bear any possibility of optimism. We are fearful of dreaming because we have been disappointed too much or we have been fed a diet of positivistic lies which have stripped us of substance and trust. We have been collectively abused and traumatised not just from external malignant agents, real and imagined, but also by ourselves. The reason that the public events Lord Mayors tend to be invited to request them to ‘say a few words’ is that people long to have their lives validated and made concrete in the words of symbols of our collective identity.

Despite the prophet Jeremiah painting a positive image of restoration they are deeply rooted in the reality of lament and grief.

Thus says the Lord:
A voice is heard in Ramah,
   lamentation and bitter weeping.
Rachel is weeping for her children;
   she refuses to be comforted for her children,
   because they are no more.
Thus says the Lord:
Keep your voice from weeping,
   and your eyes from tears;
for there is a reward for your work, says the Lord:
   they shall come back from the land of the enemy;
there is hope for your future. (Jeremiah 31:15-17)

Even the Revelation passage has an acknowledgement of grief. This is what is needed in Bradford and in our wider culture: an uncompromising grasp of the real grief, fear and a confident enacting of lament. This should not be the lament which perpetuates the violence of the system we are all trapped in; it is a lament of surrender and sacrifice. This is the path to the richer, more solid, more real hope depicted in the prophetic literature of the Bible.

The second sermon on this theme was a Sunday morning where I was called to preach on Acts 8:26-40. At the heart of this passage is a bible study on Isaiah 53:7-8. I had outlined that persecution and violence had scattered the Early Church and Philip had found himself amongst foreigners (Samaritans) and his evangelistic ministry had seen many new converts from that area. The Spirit of God drives him back to his home; a place of trauma and pain (interestingly the road between Jerusalem and Gaza) and he finds there an Ethiopian who longed to be part of the Jewish faith but, due to him being a eunuch he would not have been able to to perform all the necessary rituals to be a full proselyte, i.e. circumcision. He is reading the prophet Isaiah and he would have read about Ethiopia being paid as a ransom for Israel (Isaiah 43:3); his people being exchanged for this people who will never treat him with full dignity.

Isaiah is unflinching on the many abominable acts of disobedience that had caused the wrath of God to be poured out upon them scattering them into exile. Despite glimpses of hope, comfort and restoration nothing is fully expressed until the later chapters (54 onwards). Chapter 53, the passage this Ethiopian eunuch is reading, is the pivot. It is the three-dimensional description of the Messiah who will enact the change and usher in the Kingdom and rule of God, not through the means of man but the paths of peace. To quote Óscar Romero, he only enacts a ‘violence of love’. After this chapter the eunuch will hear of the extending vision beyond Israel to all nations, including eunuchs.

For thus says the Lord:
To the eunuchs who keep my sabbaths,
    who choose the things that please me
    and hold fast my covenant,
I will give, in my house and within my walls,
    a monument and a name
    better than sons and daughters;
I will give them an everlasting name
    that shall not be cut off. (Isaiah 56:4-5)

For the eunuch to be known as part of God’s family he thought he needed circumcision and baptism. The first had been denied him as a eunuch. The second would not have been considered or if it was it was not complete. In the new vision of God’s Kingdom led by a suffering servant, it was enough and he leaves rejoicing. Another white robed child standing in the great multitude of the intercultural Kingdom of God.

Finally, that same day in the evening, I preached on Isaiah 60:1-14 and Revelation 3:1-13. I repeated my set up that I had done as part of the Lord Mayor’s service and briefly brought in the story of the Ethiopian eunuch and essentially called out for us to awaken our imagination to fight the overwhelming temptation and addiction to cynicism and skepticism. That despite thick darkness covering the earth we must see that God’s light will shine upon us not to divide us off from others but so that all might be drawn to us and thus into that saving light.

Bradford, City of Culture 2025,

Lift up your eyes and look around;
   they all gather together, they come to you;
your sons shall come from far away,
   and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses’ arms.
Then you shall see and be radiant;
   your heart shall thrill and rejoice,
because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you,
   the wealth of the nations shall come to you.
A multitude of camels shall cover you,
   the young camels of Midian and Ephah;
   all those from Sheba shall come.
They shall bring gold and frankincense,
   and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord…

For the coastlands shall wait for me,
   the ships of Tarshish first,
to bring your children from far away,
   their silver and gold with them,
for the name of the Lord your God,
   and for the Holy One of Israel,
   because he has glorified you.
Foreigners shall build up your walls,
   and their kings shall minister to you;
for in my wrath I struck you down,
   but in my favour I have had mercy on you.
Your gates shall always be open;
   day and night they shall not be shut,
so that nations shall bring you their wealth,
   with their kings led in procession. (Isaiah 60:4-6, 9-11)

This vision, however, is not an easy salve to pour on to make all things well. This vision is hard won. It is a vision that is rooted in the uncompromising experience of real exile, grief and trauma. It is a vision that accepts that what will draw them is not innate but given by grace. The light will shine upon us if we turn to face it, to look at it and acknowledge it. This is the action that I feel will be the prophetic pivot needed in Bradford and the wider culture: honest acknowledgement of pain we have experienced and pain that we have inflicted. To not flinch at our realities and not settle for the same easily reached conclusions and solutions. To neither remain silent when well meaning tropes are forced upon us when we don’t fully understand or agree with them nor to violently shout counterarguments and seek to undermine those who are foreign to us.

If we can use 2025 to commit to each other the posture of humility and curiosity then we may begin to find that we live lives of hospitality, rootedness, innovation and interculturality… which happen to be the values of Bradford Cathedral. Funny that.

Into Culture: Curated Silence

Conversations are broken

So begins the blurb on the back of Nihal Arthanayake’s new book ‘Let’s Talk: how to have better conversations’. I picked up Arthanayake’s book whilst on holiday and devoured it within a few days. It was a timely read for me as I continue to imagine what is being shaped at Bradford Cathedral in the run up to City of Culture. We have articulated aims at the Cathedral to “be a place where challenging issues facing the world can be discussed and debated openly and safely” as well as being recognised “as the safe place for gathering when local or global events require a spiritual response or an honest conversation.”

So what makes for good conversation? Why is the art of disagreement such a popular idea at the moment? From ‘The Rest is Politics’ podcast’s stated aim “to disagree agreeably” to the Church of England’s repeated mantra to learn to “disagree well”; lots of people are trying to recapture the skills to debate safely in an increasingly polarised world. Public discourse has lost a sense of maturity, calmness and creativity. We can point fingers towards the rise in social media (or, should we call it unsocial media?) or the cuts to education which disproportionally impact the humanities and thus our ability to learn the empathetic imagination required to converse with people of difference. There are, however, many other factors that have led to the erosion of social cohesion and community integration. The Covid 19 pandemic didn’t cause this conversational decay but it has undoubtedly accelerated the degradation of all the skills required to interact with others.

This month we have held 3 events at Bradford Cathedral that I have helped to produce, all aimed, in different ways, to position us as an organisation to fulfil the aims stated above. Each of these spaces, in different ways, used the arts to inspire and/or hold difficult, contested views in the hope of discovering, with people of difference, a new way forward together.

‘Journeys of Hope’ was an exhibition that told the stories of both the Ugandan Asian diaspora, who travelled to Britain in 1972 after being expelled from their homeland by Idi Amin, and ‘the Windrush generation’, who arrived from the 1940s seeking to fill labour shortages after World War II. As part of our engagement in ‘Black History Month’ we wanted to hear different black histories alongside one another to discern the universal experience as well as the nuanced and distinct narratives from different ‘black communities’. The banners that made up the exhibition depicted, in word and pictures, the journeys made by these different migrant communities. The public were invited to engage in the dialogue between the two different narratives.

The launch event amplified the voices from these two particular communities of Bradford. Individuals talked about their experience of having multiple ‘homes’ e.g. both the Caribbean or Uganda and Britain. The contributors began to explore together what they understood by ‘identity’ the painful memories that have shaped them as well as the joyful realisations they have discovered. I chose to give space for those stories, particularly the painful parts to just hang in the air. The silence inviting us to face the uncertainty without the pressing need to respond immediately; to ‘befriend’ the emotions that were stirred.

In the press coverage surrounding the exhibition the media were most interested in the deliberate shift we are making in Bradford from talking about multiculturalism to interculturalism. Multiculturalism carries connotations of a kind of deceptive ‘tolerance’; a meagre allowance of another’s existence. It rarely inspires any creative interaction and, indeed, I would, in some small way, agree that “multiculturalism is dead”. I do not see how this acceptance of the other in my periphery as doing anything beneficial and will, with little encouragement, fall into ghettoisation and conflict. Interculturalism, on the other hand, invites ‘inter’action between cultures. It means, as one local, Bradfordian broadcaster said at a recent Religion Media Conference hosted in our city, “getting up in each other’s business.” 

Secularists would have us all believe that the public realm is a naturally neutral space. This is not true. There is no such neutrality because it is always curated by a particular worldview, most often a secularist’s. A healthy and honest public space that encourages healthy, creative conversation around shared political and social goals is hard built and even harder to sustain. Intercultural practice, as opposed to multiculturalism, requires particular skills which are not obvious or easily learnt. One principle is deep, empathetic and imaginative listening. I explore this and a complimentary principle of ‘overaccepting’ in an article soon to be published in the Oxford Journal of Intercultural Mission, entitled, ‘Improvisation as Intercultural Practice’. Essentially I argue that the skills that make improvisatory drama work are the same that make public discourse work: curiosity and mutual trust. This is what is lacking so often in our interactions with others.

We were also invited, by the Council, to host an ‘interfaith service’ to begin Hate Crime Awareness Week. This year’s theme was tackling religiously motivated hate crime. Because interfaith worship/prayers are more complicated than many understand, I decided to invite friends from different faiths an opportunity to share, from a personal perspective, what their particular faith teaches them about relating well across religious difference. This kind of sharing can easily descend into a kind of Faith Battle as individuals feel they must ‘represent’ and defend their position. It was specifically to counteract that temptation that I encouraged contributors to speak only from their personal view and followed it with silence, reflection and, if the congregation wished, to pray privately. This approach disarmed the pressure we put upon ourselves when we talk publicly about a deeply held, identity shaping thing such as faith. It encouraged people to simply accept the offer being made with no need to respond either affirmatively or negatively.

The event was held on 16th October, just 9 days after the atrocities seen in Israel and the subsequent heartache across the region as Israel and Gaza fell again into bloody conflict. This event was naturally overshadowed by the pain, confusion and anger felt by many in our community in Bradford and across the world. Fortunately I had already devised a creative way that we could stand together as people of different faiths in a meaningful way without using words that can regularly, particularly at such times of heightened hostilities, get taken out of context, misheard/misunderstood. We simply lit a single candle from individual candles representing our different faith traditions. We held silence together and allowed one another to lament and be baffled together without requiring a verbal response.

Sometimes the skill of conversation is knowing when not to speak.

Finally we hosted a delegation from one of our Diocesan links. Bradford has partnered with the Church District of Erfurt in Germany for over 30 years. We have regularly engaged in an exchange programme: us visiting them and they us. This year it was their turn to come over to us. As we devised an event at the Cathedral we discovered it had been 90 years since Dietrich Bonhoeffer visited Bradford and made, what became known as the Bradford Declaration. It was the start of the work that culminated in the much wider known Barmen Declaration which spoke against the Nazi regime and led, ultimately, to Bonhoeffer’s arrest and death in 1945.

In honour of this anniversary we decided to host an event that helped us to reflect on the role of faith in politics and politics in faith. We had three speakers: Dr Matthias Rein who is a Lutheran pastor in Germany who gave us a good background to Bonhoeffer and his ongoing legacy in Germany in 21st century, Revd Dr Noel Irwin, a Methodist Minister who teaches community development and organising, political and public theology who spoke about the impact of Bonhoeffer’s thoughts on violence/non-violence during the Trouble in Northern Ireland and Rt Revd Nick Baines, bishop of Leeds who talked from his experience of being a bishop in the House of Lords. Tough questions were raised and some complex ideas began to be unpacked.

Again, in the media interviews I engaged with they focussed on the common request that people make to ‘keep faith out of politics’ or ‘keep politics out of faith’. In the light of the Israel/Gaza situation and the overwhelming complexities involved in that historic, multifaceted issue, such requests are, in my mind, naive and reckless. Whether you ascribe to a particular shared religious doctrine or are not part of an organised expression of belief we all believe in something. This is either a spiritual, political or psychological idea or, most likely, some mixture of all three. There is some set of values which coalesce into some form. This is your faith. This shapes your decisions and choices. Those choices direct your actions and engagement in the social world. This is politics. It is, therefore, dishonest, to suggest that anyone can separate their faith/beliefs from their political choices.

The event was held within the context of a bilingual choral evensong. I had thought that many would only turn up for the intellectual part of the evening but in fact we had all 80 or so audience members from various backgrounds come and experience the sung liturgy which included prayers of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The music, I felt, played a significant part in settling people into our time together and expressed in the hauntingly beautiful harmonies the complexities Bonhoeffer faced in his time. In our own time, as demands are made on us to make choices and to pick sides, I listened to the quartet of voices sing words of trust often creating deliberate dissonance in the melody. I was reminded of a contemporary of Bonhoeffers, Karl Barth, who once wrote,

And he who is now concerned with truth must boldly acknowledge that he cannot be simple. In every direction human life is difficult and complicated… Men will not be grateful to us if we provide them with short-lived pseudo-simplifications.

Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans (Oxford: Oxford Univeristy Press, 1968) p.5

Arthanayake, referring to words spoken by Professor Tanya Byron earlier in his book, concludes by saying, 

…we must make sure that our education system encourages rather than diminishes curiosity. The curious may well dive into the online world to find answers to questions they have, but they will also wish to discuss those answers, refine them and even have them changed by new advice or evidence. The curious will have their ears open to empathise with the experiences of others or to process and push back on opinions they do not agree with. The curious will talk to strangers.

Nihal Arthanayake, Let’s Talk: how to have better conversations (London: Trapeze, 2022) p.266

That curiosity should be directed towards deliberately shaped silences in the world around us in order that we can engage better with to the daunting silence we find within. The arts should curate public spaces of silence to invite us, to woo us, into the uncomfortable conflicts that lie within us all so we can hold firm in the conflicts outside. When people declare our silence as deafening or that non-words are hurtful I weep. It’s because they cannot feel the gift that shared silence can be.

Into Culture: City of Travellers

I have become fascinated with a particular phrase that I hear quite a lot: “But we want to make it Bradford.” What does it mean to be ‘Bradford’? My colleague the Dean praises certain things by the adulation of, “We made that Bradford.” I was in a discussion about the creation of an Artists’ Charter to be proposed for the City of Bradford. As part of the consultation we were asked “how we would make this distinctly Bradford?” This singular cultural concept rooted in a local place is interesting to me in a city which is so global in its population.

Before moving to Bradford last year I began to be interested in a similar philosophical question but on a slightly larger level: “What does it mean to be British?” or, at times, “What does it mean to be English?” Do such conceptual categories exist? The term is used enough that we all seem to accept it and to bestow upon it meaning but is that meaning shared? I have witnessed it being used in contradictory ways and yet I still feel a truth lying at the heart of the sentiment; or, maybe, I long for it to mean something even if it does not.

A friend of mine often says that stereotypes, however insulting, are rooted in some truth. The issue is the removal of nuance and dimension from the object we’re stereotyping so they become caricatures without dignity and a deeply mysterious depth. Indeed, to stereotype is the start of the de-humanising of a person, but my friend is right in that these broad and basic categories have an element of truth: they’re just isolated from the plethora of other factors that make up a person or nation. Take Germany for example. There is a broad truth that there is, within the German culture, a valuing of efficiency and order. This is also seen in the wider category of germanic cultures outside of the current national identity of ‘Germany’. The question should be asked, therefore, are the people of germanic countries culturally conditioned or is the culture shaped by the people?

As we at Bradford Cathedral go through a vision and value setting process looking ahead to further strategic development, I am aware of the balance of listening and receiving a culture as well as shaping and making a culture. As part of our listening and consultation process we studied our history and probed it for cultural markers and definition. There are certainly some cultural artifices that repeat over the centuries of the community that worshipped on the site of the Cathedral; we have articulated this as ‘a story of change and ambition, of hard work and dedication, of failures and yet trust and hope in a God who changes lives and transforms communities.’ 

We hear the story of the civil war and how the people of Bradford were outnumbered by Royalists. They were besieged many times and cannons opened fire on the parish church (the future Cathedral that stands today). At the final battle, the Earl of Newcastle ordered the whole of Bradford to be killed. This order was rescinded after he had a visitation from a girl in white who famously said, “Pity poor Bradford.” Whether the people of Bradford like that story or not it is part of the history and it tells us several things that can still be felt and experienced in Bradford today. 

Firstly there is a history of being small, outnumbered underdogs who punch above their weight and, with daring do, manage to survive against all odds.

Then there is a sense of being people of protest. Bradford is protestant not just religiously but politically as well. We are the birth place of the Independent Labour Party don’t forget and there is still an alternative or contrary spirit in Bradford but there’s also something radical about our protest. What I mean by that is, like our Puritan ancestors, our protest is about reforming traditions rather than making up new ones. It’s hard to express this cultural nuance in detail but it is a particular Yorkshire trait of being both stubborn and proud of our heritage as well as being radically fresh and innovative. There’s a strange cultural importance, I feel, to the fact that Dietrich Bonhoeffer made his de-nazification speech in Bradford (now called the Bradford Declaration). This was a protest against the Nazi regime and how it had infiltrated all cultural institutions in Germany. This was not a progressive vision but rather a radical demand to return to some previous, lost tradition.

These two aspects could, I suggest, play a major part in what makes ‘Bradford’, but it equally, I think, makes it ‘Yorkshire’. Does it also just make it English? British?

My interest in Englishness was first raised after lockdown as I reconnected with my love of Tolkien. Tolkien had a particular interest in England, as separate from Scotland, Ireland and Wales. He believed that England lacks a cultural myth, whereas the other peoples of Great Britain have such myths. It is this mythological foundation that shapes culture. So what, Tolkien asked, is England’s mythological foundation? This question led him to write the sagas of ‘Middle Earth’ and to formulate a pre-Danish, pre-Beowulf mythology of England.

When people ask me, “Where are you from?” I say I am from Kent. It is where I was born and brought up. It is where my maternal family hold strong roots (my paternal family are mongrels from all over!) I don’t say Tunbridge Wells, although it is more factually accurate, because I do not associate myself with that town, despite being shaped there. When I say, “Kent” I have a mythological concept of green wolds, softened sea breeze, apples and woodlands. I feel comfortable with that imagery and have a nostalgia for that place. It is, I have come to realise, my subconscious attempt at identifying with the Shire and the world of Tolkien’s hobbits. The hobbits, more than any race in Middle Earth, are the English people. 

I want to be a hobbit. That is my cultural archetype.

So what of Bradford and it’s cultural shape?

As well as the underdog fighting against all odds against the ruling class and the radical protest for ancient principles there is one historic cultural expression that repeats itself in Bradford: we are ‘a city of travellers’. This phrase appears in J.B. Priestley’s ‘English Journey’. Priestley, a Bradfordian himself, returned to his hometown in 1933 as part of his grand tour of England. He wrote the following,

Bradford was always a city of travellers. Some of its citizens went regularly to other side of the globe to buy wool… They returned to Market Street, the same sturdy Bradfordians, from the ends of the earth… When they returned they did not give themselves cosmopolitan airs; it was very dangerous in Bradford to give yourself any airs, except those by tradition associated with solid wool men. And then there was this curious leaven of intelligent aliens, chiefly German-Jews and mostly affluent. They were so much a part of the place when I was a boy that it never occurred to me to ask why they were there. I… obscurely felt that they had always been with us and would always remain… Bradford was determinedly Yorkshire and provincial, yet some of its suburbs reached as far as Frankfurt and Leipzig. It was odd enough. But it worked.

J.B. Priestey, ‘English Journey’ (Manchester, Harper North, 2023) p.197-198

Although the German-Jews left during the 1920s, Bradford soon welcomed other migrants. First came those from Poland and Ukraine, then South Asians and Caribbeans and we are proud of our City of Sanctuary status. We are not naive in thinking that such welcomes were/are not hard, challenging and, at times, some may experience racism and hostility but we have a way of welcome and are happy to broaden out the category of ‘Bradford’ to encompass people who settle and make this place their home. 

It is this singular cultural value that we retell at Bradford Cathedral. The reason is this: we boast a history of Christian witness on the site of the Cathedral that stretches back 1,400 years. Back then there was no settlement, no village or town. A preaching cross was established and from all around people journeyed to hear the Christian faith proclaimed. Soon a market was established to cater for the travellers and then a small village, growing to a town and now a city. This legend says something about the heritage of this place but, as well, says something of a cultural narrative that might be. A unifying story in a multicultural society. We all bring with us a cultural narrative; mine of a Shire and the unassuming littleness of Tolkien’s England, others of family honour, generous gift giving, etc. We all value different things but, if we are to genuinely say something collectively then we need to do the work of exploring shared values and mythologies.

This is the challenge of City of Culture. When all eyes look at Bradford, what is it that we want them to see and to celebrate? What cultural narrative do we want to tell? How might Bradford stand up to the prevailing culture of division, polarisation, post-truth, etc. and protest for a better story? I think it starts by exploring this historic value of welcoming fellow travellers in a uniquely Bradfordian way, which is, in itself, a Yorkshire way of welcome, and, even an English/Hobbit welcome… for more on that read about Bilbo Baggins.

Into Culture: The Empty Space

For the last month we, the Senior Management Group of Bradford Cathedral, have been fine tuning the high-level vision document (read here) that was offered to the congregation and wider community with whom we have been listening and discerning at Pentecost. The process leading to this point has been long, intentional and in-depth. We have met with various groups of people from all levels of engagement and investment asking questions of perceived values and repeating patterns in the long history of the Cathedral. Some common threads became evident in our many discussions, positive and negative. The two main, negative stories that were told again and again were a narrative of scarcity and a narrative of being ‘passed by’/overlooked. Both need, I believe, hearing, tending to and transforming.

The narrative of scarcity can lead to two opposite outcomes: one is towards risk aversion, the other is the embrace of innovative use of resources. The narrative of being passed by can also lead towards two different options: the first is towards a lack of motivation, the alternative, to disregard the fear of judgement as no one is watching anyway. These dynamics will now, no doubt, be played out as we enter the next phase. We will need to reflect together on how we navigate between the two options and we respond to these named stories that we tell ourselves.

These narratives and their possible futures, mixed with the ongoing reflections about the way in which a cathedral engages in the cultural life of a 21st century, intercultural, UK city at a time of great social upheaval and change, have caused me to return to an old friend; Peter Brook’s, ‘The Empty Space’.

For long time readers of this blog you will know of my love for this book. Search for Peter Brook in the bar at the top and read over my reflections on ‘Theatre Church’ from way back in 2011 as I shaped my BA dissertation thesis on creative Christian communities. You can track how the theory behind my theatre making pre-2009 transitioned into my emerging Church leadership post 2012. You will see how I cited Brook’s writing on the power of theatre and its need for reform to continue to shape culture to explore how the Church too might reform to continue to also shape our culture.

For this month’s reflections, then, I turn to ‘The Empty Space’ and ask: how might we, at Bradford Cathedral, avoid ‘Deadly Mission’ and, instead, ensure we look always to ‘Holy Mission’?

Those two titles do not come from nowhere and are not my invention. Peter Brook begins his book by describing and exploring what he terms, ‘Deadly Theatre’. Yes, he does, at the simple level mean ‘bad theatre’ but what, in his mind, makes it ‘bad’? The whole chapter is a slow but achingly profound attack on commercialisation and capitalism at work in the 1960s. It is the way in which finance and economic need kills off risk in favour of secure ‘success’ and a return on investment. At times of scarcity, the money to pay for time to explore and develop meaningful and beautiful work becomes more contested and financiers want to limit the risk by ensuring that they’re able to make the books balance. This requires, therefore, a proven way to know what will attract the audience who will pay for the product put on sale and cover the cost of development. Art becomes a product to sell rather than a vehicle for re-enchantment and social transformation.

Deadliness always brings us back to repetition: the deadly director uses old formulae, old methods, old jokes, old effects… A deadly director is a director who brings no challenge to the conditioned reflexes that every department must contain.

Peter Brook, The Empty Space (London: Penguin Books, 1990) p.44

When money is tight there is little room to experiment. As part of our developing strategy at the Cathedral we have had to express an aim to be financially sustainable. It’s not the main headline but it is significant. We cannot do any of the exciting things we feel called to do if we cannot keep the lights on and the staff paid. This can lead, if we are not careful, however, to turn to that deadliness that, in the long run doesn’t excite or sustain the engagement of the ‘audience’ we long to inspire.

Lev Dodin, a brilliant director of the 20th century wrote about how his unsupported theatre company was enabled to create the inspiring work they did.

Failure… leads to quite artistic things, because if you are not afraid of failure you can try, you can experiment, you can search for new ways, whereas when you are afraid of failure you wouldn’t do it, you would do it the way you did it yesterday…

Lev Dodin in conversation with Robin Thornber at the Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester, 23rd April 1994, Michael Stronin (tr.), cited in Maria Delgado and Paul Heritage (eds.), In Contact With The Gods?: Directors Talk Theatre (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996) p74

Bradford Cathedral has a history of being an embodiment of that Yorkshire spirit of ‘make do and mend.’ Whether it is the pioneering way of recycling old bricks to reshape the building, evolving it for a new context, or using wool sacks to protect the tower against shelling during the civil war. We have never been an asset rich, or even a financially rich cathedral. We may never be a glitzy place with historic reserves on which to rely, but we have always shown ourselves, like the beautiful people of Bradford, as resilient survivors. Our history is a tale of scarcity, but we have chosen, at some key moments, to be innovative and creative with what we have.

I want our contributions to City of Culture to not be safe, secure and risk light. I do not believe that there is, at this time, such a thing. The tribute bands and the franchise installations that do the rounds across the various cathedrals are just as risky financially as well as reputationally, I personally believe, and so if we are going to take risks let’s do it properly and aim for something that doesn’t pretend to be lively but is actually full of life and connects an audience with something transcendent.

…the notion that the stage is a place where the invisible can appear has a deep hold on our thoughts.

Brook, The Empty Space, p.47

This is how the chapter on Holy Theatre begins. It is what I spoke to the gathered artists at the Outdoor Arts UK Conference earlier in the year. We can, at the Cathedral, return to being the place where the Invisible appears, because the rest of our culture has lost its confidence in the Invisible. Our worship, our concerts, our envisioned co-productions should all be shaped by our pursuit to be embodiments of that Invisible Truth to which we commit our lives. Brook describes the work of Jerzy Grotowski, who I also have reflected on previously (read here).

The theatre, he believes, cannot be an end in itself… the theatre is a vehicle, a means of self-study, self-exploration, a possibility of salvation… the act of performance is an act of sacrifice, of sacrificing what most men [sic] prefer to hide – this sacrifice is his gift to the spectator.

Brook, The Empty Space, p.66-67

I see, in our vision at Bradford Cathedral, an opportunity to be an exciting workshop for the re-enchantment of the cultural life of Bradford and, in time, the UK and the world. We have expressed our ambitious aims to be reaching out to the world and encouraging experiences within our space of encounter with the Holy Truth. This is not just aesthetic beauty of the well performed choral music for which we strive or the excellent engagement with heritage and history that we wish to continue to develop but to be a place where new expressions will be forged giving people fresh insights into who they were created to be.

Interestingly, Peter Brook discusses Coventry Cathedral situated in the City of Culture 2021/2.

In Coventry, for instance, a new cathedral has been built, according to the best recipe for achieving a noble result. Honest, sincere artists, the ‘best’, have been grouped together to make a civilised stab at celebrating God and Man and Culture and Life through the collective act. So there is a new building, fine ideas, beautiful glass work – only the ritual is threadbare. Those Ancient and Modern hymns, charming perhaps in a little country church, those numbers on the wall, those dog collars and the lessons – they are sadly inadequate here. The new place cries out for a new ceremony, but of course it is the new ceremony that should have come first.

Brook, The Empty Space, p.50-51

I have ambitions to create within the historic space of the Cathedral an expectation that whoever comes in, for whatever reason, may be struck by the Invisible-Made-Visible. It is this incarnational mission that requires little speech but an enactment of intentional ritual and experience, a public spectacle of true sacrifice that all society yearns for in their deepest being, that will make us more accessible, more visible and more sustainable as we seek to weave Jesus into the rich fabric of the city and beyond. It is this striving towards Holy and not Deadly worship and mission that, I believe, will change the narrative of the Cathedral, Bradford and the world.

Into Culture: Lingua Communis I

Last month I reflected on my previous exploration of No-Man’s Land as an image for intercultural ministry and mission. My tentative conclusion was that there was a need to acknowledge and identify both privilege and responsibility within the various spaces we traverse. As a Christian I am minded to suggest that I must acknowledge that I am, simultaneously, both welcomed in and called to welcome others in any space I inhabit. The balance is key.

In previous drafts of that published post I utilised a quote that I return to again and again. It is by Vincent Donovan in the preface of his book, ‘Christianity Rediscovered’. The quote is a succinct summary of the whole book which, in my mind, beautifully depicts a vision of intercultural mission.

…the unpredictable process of evangelization, [is] a process leading to that new place where none of us has ever been before. When the gospel reaches a people where they are, their response to that gospel is the church in a new place, and the song they will sing is that new, unsung song, that unwritten melody that haunts all of us. What we have to be involved in is not the revival of the church or the reform of the church. It has to be nothing less than what Paul and the Fathers of the Council of Jerusalem were involved in for their time – the refounding of the Catholic church for our age. 

Vincent Donovan, Christianity Rediscovered (London: SCM Press, 2009) p.xix

A Slovakian family contacted the cathedral this month enquiring about baptism for their children. I was responsible that week for responding to these requests and rang the number. The conversation was confused and frustrating as his English was poor and my Hungarian is non-existent. We managed to make the necessary arrangements for them to come to a Sunday service, which is part of our preparation process, and they duly arrived and we met face to face. This conversation was easier with the additional non-verbal forms of communication and I arranged a visit to their home to chat about faith and to understand their reasons for seeking baptism for their children.

I arrived at their home and was warmly welcomed in. I had brought my standard baptism preparation material but quickly realised that this was not appropriate or useful and decided to improvise the conversation. Midway through our fumbling attempts at understanding with a significant language barrier, the mother (who spoke no English and was relying on her husband for a translation) left the room and moments later another couple came in. I was introduced to them and was told that they too wanted their children baptised. This couple also spoke little to no English. The four Slovaks (from the Roma culture) sat intently listening to me articulate my desire to welcome them and their children into our community and what it means to be part of the family of God. I attempted to describe, in simple English, what an intercultural Church should be like, one of mutual listening and learning and, ultimately, of mutuality. The person with the most English translated to the others and their eyes lit up and then I saw two of them weeping. I was told, “This is beautiful. This is what we want.” The others touched their hearts and nodded. I had done enough but I wanted to do more.

What would it mean to genuinely live this intercultural life out in practice with such a language barrier, not to mention the other, even more significant, cultural barriers? How would I encourage fuller engagement into a shared life and what did I imagine that would look like? The answer to that second question must start with both parties making an effort to learn, at least in order to cross the language barrier if not yet the cultural barrier.

“Do not try to call them back to where they were, and do not try to call them to where you are, as beautiful as that place might seem to you. You must have the courage to go with them to a place that neither you nor they have ever been before.”

A young person reflecting on the line of thought presented in Donovan, Christianity Rediscovered, p. xix

At the same time as I was processing these significant intercultural questions I was asked to organise two civic events at the cathedral: a prayer vigil for Sudan and a memorial service for those affected by knife crime. Both events had an additional request that they would be ‘interfaith’ and inclusive. I am still very new in my interfaith journey and am asking a lot of questions as to my understanding and practice. I have not yet seen, in my admittedly little experience, a good example of interfaith prayers; particularly within a particular faith tradition’s building. To pray together requires, in my mind, a shared language, not necessarily of the tongue but of the heart; otherwise our prayers would be in the same space, at the same time but would not be united and, in that way, deeply ‘together’. Hugh of St Victor, a 12th century theologian, suggests,

It is of no avail that the same walls encompass us if difference of will separate us.

Hugh of St. Victor, Dom. Aloysius Smith (tr.), Explanation of the Rule of St Augustine (London: Sands and Company, 1955) p.3

Is there a way of reaching this togetherness in an intercultural or even, more radically, in an interfaith context? Is this even to be desired? It is what I am beginning to desire.

The reality that I am becoming more conscious of is that language is cultural; sharing the same linguistic language does not mean you share the same cultural language. This has a profound impact on Bradford’s journey towards City of Culture in 2025. It cannot be a celebration of a singular culture for that does not exist, but nor can it be a celebration of a multiple of cultures for who can decide what is worthy of celebrating? The result therefore seems to be an attempt at just presenting difference side by side with no means of passing judgement, even of appreciation and good. I heard at an intercultural conference this week that we can all agree that we would want to celebrate, embrace and learn from the good from every culture. This is a nice sentiment but who decides what is ‘good’ in a culture? The judgement of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ is surely culturally pre-determined. Multicultural spaces keep others at a distance and true sharing and peace is unattainable. Intercultural spaces encourages deeper interaction, with the risks that involves, but still it does not genuinely navigate a way of creating a ‘lingua communis’, a shared language. ‘Interculturalism’ is still predicated on the existence and maintenance of different and distinct cultures with competing and exclusive value systems. What is our aim when we engage in intercultural work? Is it to accept, as with multiculturism, the acceptance and promotion of difference as a desired aim? Or is it to pursue, even if it is an eternal striving, for the ever elusive and yet transcendent goal of unity; whatever that means?

In the Acts of the Apostles, the writer describes the Christian community as being ‘of one heart and mind/soul’ (Acts 4:32). The Holy Spirit had given to them the gift of being able to cross the language barrier, either by giving them a new, angelic tongue or by giving them the ability to speak in other, human tongues. Had the Holy Spirit now given to them the ability to cross the cultural barriers too? What does it mean that they were of one heart and mind/soul?

This question was central in my Masters dissertation exploring the Augustinian Orders that held this aim as their primary goal. A whole theological school developed in Paris during the 12th century called the Victorine School (based in the Abbey of St Victor). Hugh, who we heard from earlier, advanced a process of ‘reintegration’ of ourselves: a personal journey towards inner harmony of self which involved and impacted the outward harmony in a community of others. In my new role I have realised that this theological project of the 12th century could be a framework for 21st century intercultural dialogue. It begins with a change of will, an opening of the imagination and the articulation of possibility.

My hope, therefore, for the legacy of Bradford’s City of Culture is that we begin this long journey towards a new, genuinely shared culture; a place where none of us have been before. This will require some key principles and deciding on what those very principles requires radical dialogue and a sharing of will. Like my clumsy attempts at communicating with my new Slovak friends this will require a shared linguistic framework to start with but that must lead to the joint construction of brand new cultural edifice that we could share in ownership and, therefore, responsibility for. In this way I am encouraged to dust off my MA dissertation on the Augustinian approach to communal unity and try to implement it in the reality of my new complex context of Bradford.

Into Culture: No-Man’s Land

Back in 2012 I came across a gathering of people known as ‘Burning Fences’. It was a community (of sorts) that had come together through open mic nights in York and all of the participants/‘members’ were curious about faith, philosophy and art. A year after encountering this collective, and very much identifying myself as part of it, I wrote a reflection on my experience in a post called ‘Fleeing to No-Man’s Land’. In this reflection I spoke idealistically about the desire to be ‘organic’ and to refute the need for definition and boundary. This was 2014 and we were still in the first wave of the re-emergent deconstructionist movement that has now morphed into post-liberalism with all its uncertainty, linguistic quagmires and frustrations.

A mere four months later I wrote again about this community in a post called ‘Struggling with No-Man’s Land’. The title was deliberate and the post speaks of the experience of struggle with living into the initial dream and ideal which we longed to exist. I had, over four months, inevitably fallen or arrived at the trap or reality (depending on where you stood) that comes from these types of dreams. I encourage you to read this second post particularly as it gives a foundation to what I feel called to reflect on this month: that is, ‘contested space’.

I do not have space to regurgitate John Milbank’s and Rowan Williams’ profound explorations of the ‘public sphere’ wholesale and, again, I can only encourage you, dear reader, to read for yourself ‘Theology and Social Theory’ and ‘Faith in the Public Square’ as two better articulations of what I am re-examining in my role here in Bradford. These two books and the authors’ wider work have been much on my mind as I have faced some curious forces as I move around in public life.

Back in October when I was interviewed for my new role I was asked to preach a short homily on the day’s gospel reading: Luke 14:12-14. This short teaching of Jesus on the subject of acceptable behaviour in social settings is set within a scene of pure hospitality. The teaching seems pretty clear, “When this happens; do this. When the other thing happens; do this other thing.” Rules of etiquette clearly put down to abide by and do good. As I was interviewing to be the Canon for Intercultural Mission this seemed particularly pertinent as the role would require me to navigate complex cultural spaces. Bradford Cathedral also celebrates its value of hospitality and is proud of its welcome of people of all faiths and none in a multi-cultural city. A passage about hospitality in a place of hospitality for a role focussed on hospitality; what a gift!

I ended up reflecting on the overuse of ‘welcome’ and ‘hospitality’ in community identity. What do we mean by ‘welcome’? How do we express or judge ‘hospitality’? In the passage the ‘hosts’ are crticised by Jesus and then the ‘guests’. It seems that the culturally agreed system of manners and customs were wrong to Jesus. Most churches would want to be welcoming to all and yet many of them, despite their expressed aims, are judged to be unwelcoming, particularly to certain groups. People express an experience of feeling unwanted, ignored or, even worse, demonised. How does our desire to welcome go so badly wrong? How do we defend ourselves from being ‘unwelcoming’? Is it possible that those offering hospitality have a conflicting understanding of welcome to those who are looking to receive it from them? And who decides, anyway, what is culturally acceptable behaviour and polite?

The reality is that we work on the assumption that we all agree on what makes for good hospitality and welcome. My friend, Russ, came over to my house early on in our friendship. I welcomed him in and said, “Make yourself at home.” He and his wife sat on our sofa and we chatted. About half an hour passed by and Russ suddenly said, “Did I just hear the kettle go?” A more passive aggressive question I have not heard! His point though was made: I had not offered him a cup of tea nor had I made it for him. In my mind I had not been rude for I had stated, as he came into my home, that it was his home. If it was his home he would make himself a cup of tea if he wanted one. We had different expectations of what a welcome is. The same is true in community life and, indeed, in public life.

This is where my reflections on Burning Fences comes into focus. With any social encounter there are underlying power dynamics at work and different cultures negotiate that exchange in different ways. I am reminded of the HSBC advert some years ago where they promoted their banking services on the premise that they understood the cultural nuances and distinctives across the globe. This negotiation is the work of intercultural mission. We must be clear as to what we mean by hospitality, how to express it and what to do when that conflicts with a different cultural paradigm. This, however, has become so complex it might be now rendered impossible without causing offence. No man’s land can only ever be temporary before one side advances and colonises it. It is, as anarchist Hakim Bey once called it, a Temporary Autonomous Zone.

At the cathedral we welcome many different groups into our space and we often articulate it as the oldest shared spaces still being used in the city with a long 1400 year history of gathering people from different perspectives to share in the full gamut of life; sacred and mundane. This all sounds good in theory but in practice it is much more complicated. It sounds like we have ambition to create something of a no-man’s land but, of course, we’re not; not really. It will always be a sacred space owned by the Church. We, canons of the cathedral, as stewards and custodians of this historic building, have responsibilities for its upkeep so we can faithfully pass it on to the next generation of Bradford. We want, in some way, for the cathedral to feel like it is ‘your cathedral’, ‘their cathedral’ but, maybe more clearly, ‘our cathedral’. How do we achieve these powerful, beneficial elements of no-man’s land or Temporary Autonomous Zones whilst accepting that the space is possessed by one particular group, us? With that in mind, what does genuine hospitality look like, for example, when we accept the invitation to give room for communities of different faiths and none to break fast together at the the first Iftar of Ramadan? How far do we go to ensure those who do not share in our faith might feel welcome in the cathedral space? Do we allow the conflicting cultural expressions and rules take precedence in a space designated as inheritance of a wholly/holy other culture? When we hire out our space to corporate events and conferences I am struggling to balance the rules of who is host and who is guest and what rules are in play during that time. How does this space keep its integrity and not just become a hollow venue for any to make their own and go against the architectural purpose, before we even begin to talk about the spiritual purpose? What rules of hospitality do we require for guests to follow and what are they expecting from us as host?

On the hand I continue to navigate the public, secular square as a Christian working alongside people of other faiths and none. I am struck daily by the unspoken rules of social etiquette and how inconsistent those rules are applied. Again, my neuro-diversity does not help me in this but I am acutely aware on how un-neutral the secular space is. For all our culture’s explicit desires to be welcoming to all and equal and diverse, it is feeling less and less true. Secularists want us all to believe that they oversee a neutral sharing of all voices of society but that facade no longer stands the test of truth. The public square is always contested. What is happening now is that the rules of the contest are changing and we have no means of agreeing on those rules. Democracy is revealing its darker side in our days and there is no escaping an ever advancing cultural narrative of intolerance. There is some truth in the call that we are seeing a new form of puritanism in the public sphere with media and cultural organisations claiming diversity and inclusion but at the expense of selected groups and voices. The perceived no-man’s land of the public square where we all can speak and participate is being colonised; it’s just no one has won and we have no agreed way of knowing when it can be over.

If Burning Fences dreamt of creating a clearing where no one group held power then I am now at the realisation that that was always doomed to fail because power is always present. Power is what drives change and creates action. It is better to build a clearing where the power is clearly named and acknowledged and then rightly shared and is mutually beneficial for all. The power should be dynamic and not rest too long on one individual or group. Above all in that clearing, whether it is Bradford Cathedral or the public square, the rules of hospitality must be clearly stated; if there is no such thing as uncontested space, then we should at least know how we are to contest without us all killing each other or living in the polarised state as we do now.

Back to Luke 14.

Throughout the gospel accounts Jesus seems to pass through contested space with ease. He is both at home and not. He is both host and guest. Consider the story of the wedding at Cana; clearly a guest and yet he works behind the scenes to make the party happen. Jesus never claims ownership of space and yet he influences everywhere he goes. In the public square I will continue to try and be salt (distinct and set apart offering an alternative vision of society and the world) and light (illuminating, prophetically, where darkness conceals truth and confuses with lies or mistruths). In Bradford Cathedral I want to welcome people genuinely into ‘our space’, meaning, whoever I am speaking to, that we share ownership of it but, if we are going to share the space, we must share the rules of the space. There will be negotiations and, as such, mistakes to learn from, but I don’t want to become a mere gatekeeper who has to decide who is welcome and what behaviours are acceptable or not. For I am not the host. I am a fellow guest invited and welcomed by the one true host: Jesus. Now the question is: What are his rules of hospitality? It seems to me not our business to know in advance we are merely told to go and invite all into the banquet of the kingdom. He will discern if people enter in without respect and send them away.

I’ll leave you with this quote from D.T. Niles,

Christianity is one beggar telling another beggar where he found bread.

D.T. Niles,The New York Times, May 11, 1986, Section 6, p.38

Into Culture: Women at the Well

One month ago I was installed as Canon for Intercultural Mission and the Arts in Bradford Cathedral.  As part of the service I was asked to choose bible readings. I chose to perform one of the passages of Scripture in a way that I used to do more regularly during my training at Cranmer Hall (it was called, ‘doing a Ned’, and I was wheeled out when dignitaries came to the college as a party trick!) The reading was from John’s gospel, chapter 4, and tells the story of Jesus’ encounter with a woman at a well. I chose this story as it presents, in my mind, an excellent piece of intercultural mission from Jesus. The woman is a Samaritan, whilst Jesus is a Jew. The woman is a lone female and Jesus is a lone male. Jesus is in a foreign land here; Sychar, where the story takes place, is in Samaria. All of this means that there are multiple and conflicting statuses at play and within this complexity of who has power and who does not Jesus speaks boldly, gently and disarmingly.

In my dramatisation of the story I chose to portray the woman as having some forceful agency; a woman who has experienced much pain and trauma who is understandably defensive and strong-willed. We discover in the interaction that she has been married five times and is currently living with a man who is not her husband. I think of the many women who live in fear of physical attack, particularly when in public and the presence of a strange man. I think of women who have lived experience of being overlooked or looked over by oppressive/aggressive men. I didn’t want this female character to be read as meek and subservient; she has thoughts and she speaks her mind to Jesus. Jesus, in return, accepts all that she presents with compassion and understanding, and yet, he meets her opinions and defence with an equal but different force of love or, as Oscar Romero calls it, ‘the violence of love.’ 

This biblical narrative, as I say, speaks to me of intercultural mission and this is why it has been, in my first month, a framework in which I have tried to live and work.

In my first week Bradford Cathedral was privileged to co-host (with our neighbours, Kala Sangam) the Outdoor Arts UK Conference. This national gathering of outdoor artists and producers was well attended with some wonderful performers and companies coming to the future City of Culture to dream and collaborate. Part of my role as residentiary canon at the cathedral is to welcome all guests and so I was invited to do that at the conference and to give some housekeeping notices.  As part of my welcome I spoke of the cathedral’s historic commitment to gathering people from all faiths and none (whatever ‘no faith’ means; that’s for another article!) to share in conversation about the immediate, real things of life as well as the sacred and transcendental things that we all experience. I quoted Peter Brook, saying that we were a stage ‘where the invisible can appear’, and then I finished by offering our side chapels as places of reflection and quiet and myself as someone who could sit with them in the silence or listen to their stories. This welcome was commented on by so many individuals who were touched by my genuine offer of support and care. It was, as one of the delegates said to me, the fact that I spoke knowingly of the stresses, pressures and particular loneliness of the artist’s life. It was the fact that I gave permission for the reality of their lives to be named and held with compassion just like the woman encountering the prophetic power of Jesus at the well.

From that conference I connected with so many exciting artists and was encouraged by the hope that emanated from the conversations. I heard subtle stirrings of people who would not describe themselves as religious (whatever they mean by that phrase; again, maybe for another time!) talk about the ineffable, transcendent quality of art that is so significant to their work and yet rarely is given space just to be; without words. It is the mystery at the heart of each one of us which, in our Western, scientific, materialistic culture is held with some suspicion or rushed to be defined or identified. It is the holiness that is fearfully known and often packaged too quickly as ‘self’. It is this rush and urgency when touching on the ineffable and often bewildering mystery at the very core of each of us that causes much of the confusion and painful divisions we see played out in our Western culture.  The paradox at the heart of our self-identification is that we all believe we know ourselves and, at the same time, we know that we are conflicted contrasts evolving and growing. Hearing the stories of many artists and people across the city of Bradford, I have met, again and again, women at the well who want to be secure in themselves and yet discovering that they do not know enough and then experience profound vulnerability. Jesus met her in that moment of vulnerability and held a safe space for her to be seen and known.

The conflict experienced by each one of us as individuals has been played out in pieces of work that I have seen this month. I think of ‘Ode to Partition’ by Tribe Arts and ‘A Tale of 2 Estates’ by Jae Depz, both expressions of different forms of anger, frustration and pain. Ode to Partition tackles the complex issues of race, faith, sectarianism, empire and colonialism. This spoken word piece written by a group of children of the partition powerfully articulates the experience of living in the UK and having South Asian heritage, in particular, migration caused by the partition. I noted that I was a minority in the audience, the show being aimed more overtly to those with lived experience of partition. I felt the responsibility, guilt and shame. I heard and experienced, powerfully, the rightful accusation put upon the British Empire and my historic ancestors and their leading role in this historic division. What I took away from the evening was a particular truth that art/poetry should provoke conversation. I left, however, with a sense of lack. I think it was a lack of enough expressed desire for healing. The piece was in development and I hope that the future ‘Tribe Talks’ event will work towards more of this need for healing for it is healing that I think so many want/need and yet we daren’t engage with that need for fear of being disappointed and hurt further. 

A Tale of 2 Estates was similar. This piece was a research and development piece produced over a two week period. There is so much potential in the work and I do hope they find the means and funding to develop it further. Again, however, I left feeling a lack. It was the same lack as I had experienced two weeks before. The piece (due to lack of time) didn’t engage in depth in what narratives we have for healing and reconciliation. This is what I have realised about the popular Western culture: we have lost narratives of redemption, forgiveness, healing and wholeness. We are all feeling the exhaustion of pain and struggle. We all feel the overwhelming chaos of uncertainty within and without of ourselves. We all are struggling to find peace. We just want to get the water and go home but where might we encounter the stranger at the well who sees us and names everything that has ever happened to us? How might we allow him to interrupt the story of our current culture of urgent, immediate judgement with gentleness and grace?

If City of Culture is going to have any kind of legacy in Bradford, I am praying for a legacy of genuine love. That is not the love that is broad and undefined. That is not love that is about total acceptance and affirmation of my current understanding of my own self identity. This is the love that gives me room to be and to change; to heal and become; to rest in the knowledge that I am not perfect and there is more that I can be if I allow someone to stop my inner monologue and whisper to me a different story. A society that gives that kind of space… that’s my prayer for Bradford.