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Lovers of Chains

They sat with their arms above their heads, the blood having drained from them weeks ago. Conversation had dried and their eyes hadn’t felt tears for months. Every crack of light was now a disruption of the darkness and no longer the desired contact with a world beyond the four walls. Every noise was an imposition on the silence, a silence filled with their comforting lists of hopes lost.

They had resisted arrest; they had fought against captivity but there was a moment when they weakened but they no longer remember the details. The barriers of self-preservation had crumbled once one brick of integrity had shifted. How quickly they had settled into routine! How easily they had embraced the chains that bound them!
bound-with-chains-of-the-spirit-and-of-men11
Whilst the shackles found the grooves in their skin to make their home, the two men impotently discussed release, escape and freedom. This conversation became as mundane as asking about the weather and the reality of it became a dream, became a fantasy, became rhetoric empty of power. They no longer imagined life outside although they spoke of nothing else.

Days became weeks became months became years and the chains began to keep their wrists warm. The gloom was their natural habitat and their eyes were native to the dimness and still the poetic proclamation of liberty echoed in the emptiness of the cold, hard walls of their imprisonment. Cycles of conversation and expressions settled into a rhythm of seasons and they no longer measured Time outside of these recitals of exchanges of dreams.

sep8Where he came from, neither of them knew. How he got past their captors; who could say? He was either a fraud, one of the warders provoking them for his own amusement; or their captors had fled leaving the cell unguarded; or it was a miracle. None of this mattered much as he walked over to them and spoke.

“Do you want to be free?”

His voice was soft. It was not a weak whisper but a powerful authoritative bass that seemed to hold all other voices in tune. It had no need to clammer to be heard or strain to carry any strength.

The simple answer became lodged in the prisoners’ throats, desperate to be released into reality. It remained, snared in its place as the silence enveloped and overpowered them. As muteness overwhelmed them, doubt took its grip and finally fear pinned them: What if it was a trick? How was this even possible? Where had he come from? Where would he take them?

“Do you want to be free?”

“How did you get here?” they stuttered.

“You have nothing to fear. I have been sent to set you free.”

By whom? For what? Why now and not before? Before they accepted any offer of liberty they wanted to know that where they were being led to would be better than this oppression. This stranger needed to earn their trust.

The two captives waited for him to make a move but he just stood there. There was no apparent rush, no captors running in to stop their release… where were their guards? Had they been overthrown? Had they fled? Or were they waiting outside? Their thoughts and questions were beholden on the condition of their captors but through all of the uncertainty bombarding their minds the stranger remained steadfast before them. His face showed no impatience. He waited for an answer. After a time he sat down.

“They can no longer keep you,” he said, as if reading their thoughts. “Do you want to be free?”

“Yes.”

The word hit the walls of their enclosure and echoed on the stone cavity despite being released weakly from the cages of their mouths.

They had spoken of freedom so often but now it seemed so real. The visitor stood and walked towards the first prisoner and pulled at his shackles. To their amazement they slipped easily off their wrists. The newly released man gasped, in part in relief but more so at the ease at which his chains fell. How had that not been possible before? He had tried, in the early days, almost every night to squeeze his hands through but they were tight around his skin. In the hands of their liberator, however, they crumbled like sand.

Once he had been freed the other came just as easily and in no time they both were standing in the darkened room, free of their chains.

“That was the easy part,” the man said with a smile, “Shall we?” he gestured to the door.

Through the door a soft light spilt into the room. It was not bright and the prisoners thought it must be a corridor with little to no natural light or it was night time. Then they were struck by the realisation that they no longer had any concept of Time; they were so programmed by their oppressors, that life, independent from them and the rhythm and restrictions governed by them, was alien to the prisoners; out of tune. How were they to function now? They no longer remembered reality as free-men.

“Follow me.”

The enigmatic emancipator began to leave. As he passed the threshold he turned and held out his hand. His wrists were scarred, marked with the shape of fetters long since freed from.

“You can hold onto me. You must be weak on your legs.”

It was true, they were out of practice and they stumbled towards the door and the gentle man who stood in its frame.
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File0042594Through the doors they saw their guards sleeping soundly. It seemed so strange – no – illogical that they could slumber during a rescue mission in the jail they were meant to watch. The whole incident was feeling so mysterious and implausible; a dream with no reason. Yet this man kept leading them down the corridor towards a bright light; the final exit to freedom.

As they finally reached the escape to liberation they turned back for one final sight of their home for the last years. They felt a fondness towards that place; the predictability, the certainty and steadiness of their life in the embrace of the enclosure. The two men had built a life together.

In the walk between their cave and the infinite unknowns that lay outside they began to consider the life they were about to embark on; a life they had talked and dreamt of for so long but never contemplated possible. It felt so scary and paralyzing now. Whilst salvation was a fantasy within their heads, it was guarded, protected, boxed in and manageable; in the stark reality it was vast, un-wielding and oh so debilitating.

As they looked back the guards began to wake and stand. They started to walk towards their prisoners. They seemed afraid, wary and disarmed. Their eyes were fixed on the third man who stood between oppressor and oppressed.

“Go. You don’t need to fear. Go,” he said but they could not.

They remained fixed to the spot staring at their masters as they came closer.

What happened next remains the most shocking and mysterious part of the whole story. One which I will never be able to explain.

My friend, companion and fellow slave turned and smiled. He said nothing but it was like he was pleading with me to stay. I stared back, unsure and helpless. His head dropped and he walked back to our cell. The guards embraced him and sent him on his way into the comforting darkness at the end of the corridor.

I called to him but he never heard me or he chose not to respond. My liberator faced me, looked me in the eye and said,

“I have come to set you free. Choose freedom.”

With that he followed after my friend. The jailers allowed him to pass but did not touch him. They showed no power over him and were clearly uncomfortable in his presence. Before the door was closed, the stranger turned and said words that echo in my head even today,

“Some people love their chains too much to be free. Others choose the chains of freedom and overpower all oppression.”

keno charis: ruptured for you (a liturgy for Burning Fences)

(Burning Fences is a small community based in York which is exploring how to sing a new song in the rubble of an old world. I led this as an evening exploring the Trinity for my
fellow ‘sparrows’.)

People enter a small upper room above the city. there is a low table and cushions surrounding it.

On the low table are three bowls each with a question by it and there’s a chalice and plate set up. People are invited to write on scraps of paper responses to the following questions and put them into one of three bowls:

What is your ultimate question?

What is your biggest doubt?

What is missing?

When all are settled drinks for the evening are ordered. This often individualistic action is challenged with the following, seemingly restrictive commands: Everyone is to be responsible for one drink order, it cannot be their own. They, therefore, must take responsibility for another’s order. That other person cannot be the one who is responsible for their own order; the two must find a third who then links to another group…

The evening begins when the drinks order is sent downstairs.

Three people begin by reading the following,

Person 1: In an upper room, not unlike this one, the Lord stood amongst friends and shared.

Person 2: In another upper room, not unlike this one, the Lord stood amongst friends and breathed.

Person 3: In a third upper room, not unlike this one, the Lord stood amongst friends and transformed.

Narrator: Tonight we’re going to explore a mystery through three stories of upper rooms. Three and yet one. It’s one story but three points. It’s three ideas that make up one narrative. Three parts to this one mystery…

Story 1. In a tight, cramped, claustrophobic space, in a darkened corner above the city, the prophet rabbi Jesus sat amongst friends. They would meet regularly and share stories, questions, songs. There was no pattern, no formula, no entry requirement, just a desire. It was not a shared ideology or philosophy that bound them together but a shared desire… to know what it was about this rabbi who had chosen to be with them.

Despite their doubts, despairs, disillusionment, they desired, above all, to discover. To discover a way to be free. Self help, private thoughts, individualism had led to self imprisonment and they were tired of being alone. They were like sparrows desiring a hedge to call home.

Liturgy of the Sparrows

We are the sparrows who are claiming back the hedges.

Response: We are the sparrows that will not be satisfied with twigs.

We are the sparrows that are crying out for our hedges.

Response: We are the sparrows that are weary from singing lonely songs.

In our hedge, where we feel safe again,

Response: we seek our social life back, and the sooner the better.

In our hedge, where we talk things over,

Response: we make decisions, laugh if we want to and sing.

This is our story, this is our song,

and we’ll live it till it’s our reality.

A song about home is shared.

Narrator: Story 1. In a tight, cramped, claustrophobic space, in a darkened corner above the city, the prophet rabbi Jesus showed them how to be a holy community…

The narrator gets a bowl and pours warm water into it. He invites someone to have their hands washed. The act of hand washing is a more culturally applicable version of foot washing in the near east culture of Jesus. There’s an element of cleansing and preparation for food as well as retaining the intimacy of foot washing. As the narrator washes the other’s hands he says,

You have to let me wash your hands in order for me to show you love. If you refused I would not be able to show you my care for you. Allowing me to bless you with this gift is a gift to me. You have allowed me to have a relationship with you. Thank you.

The narrator passes out bowls of water and invites others to sit and receive from one another. 

During all of this music is played.

When all have been washed one has left and returned with food and the drinks. Each member should pay more attention for another’s drinks than their own. All are invited to eat.

Who’d like to tell a story of a time when have you felt closest to someone else?

A time of storytelling.

Story 2. In a tight, cramped, claustrophobic space, in a darkened corner of the city, the friends sat. Huddled together in fear. Bereft. Present in body only. Absent in other respect. They had lost. Lost their nerve. Lost the fight. Lost the will. Lost Him. The prophet. Their rabbi.

He had said to them, when he was in the upper room, that he would give everything he had; he would give his life for them. He would not withdraw from the consequences of his love for them. He would be taken and drained of life. He would allow it to happen. He chose to allow it to happen. He chose to allow all people to do what they desired most because he loved.

And now he’s gone. They had lost. The thing that had brought them all together; the person who had called them to each other had left. They had hoped it was forever but he had disappointed. A vacuum now existed in their midst like empty plates where once was food. An absence where once was presence.

A song about loss is shared.

Story 2. In a tight, cramped, claustrophobic space, in a darkened corner of the city, the friends sat and embraced the abyss with all their questions:

One of the bowls that contains the responses to the question ‘What is your ultimate question?’ is passed round and the answers are read out.

The friends sat and embraced the abyss with all their doubts.

The other bowl with the responses to the question ‘What is your biggest doubt?’ is passed round and the answers read out.

The friends sat and embraced the abyss with all their emptiness and lack.

People are invited to read out the responses to the question ‘What is missing?’ from the third bowl.

Story 2. In a tight, cramped, claustrophobic space, in a darkened corner above the city, the prophet rabbi Jesus appeared to his friends. That which was lost had been returned but now a paradox… the friends still felt an absence but it felt like a presence beyond all presences; richer more fuller presence. It was like the last time he was with them but there was a deeper reality to him, to them.

He had been emptied; given all of himself. He who had said that he was God. God had given all things to him and he freely gave it all away to show them how much he loved them. His generosity knew no bounds. He had given everything, even his very self. Now he was back amongst them and showed that He was, in some way, unknowable to them, mysteriously, he was God, eternal, abundant source of all things, of life itself.

“Now do you see?” he said “All that I have I give to you… and I have a lot. I want to be emptied, again and again of all I have so that you have. All that you’re missing I give to you but the real trick is to discover that life is found when you empty of ‘having’ and satisfy the other’s need.”

“God gave to me,” he said “I give to you, but I can’t stay with you in bodily form, it’s too limited. I will return to my home and send to you the key to the Divine store cupboard. He will come and grant you access to the gifts but do not hold onto them for they, like manna in the wilderness will rot if kept in your grasp. Give, give away, give until you have nothing left and your hand will be refilled.”

“This is the secret to community. Each giving until they have nothing but, of course, this dynamic generosity creates from nothing. This is how the universe was built; generous, abundant, emptying love; love that seeks to have nothing so the other will have everything. God the Father showed His love for me by giving me the whole cosmos and more besides he continues to give until there is nothing left to give, when space and time has run out and beyond that. I showed my love to him by giving all I could and I still give… And now I give to you and call you to live with us, participate.”

“You’re all interested in what makes good human community? Humans are made in the image of God and when you live as if that were true, your actions and lives sing of eternity. You’ve dreamt of a place, a way of living that feels like the home you’ve always desired? I have considered your niche needs, disjointed designs and contradictory commands of communal contentment and this is what I offer; an urban landscape sprawling out to scenes of symbiotic existence; spaces of intimacy seeming epic. Small spaces stretch out into space unimaginable.”

“In the centre of this city is a stream sourced from a singular washing space where you can willingly wash away the weeping water from your eyes; wash away all the lies which twist distort and chastise; wash away the pain of missed goodbyes, the long held hurt when a loved one dies, all that contributes to our cries, from the inexpressible silent sighs to the African skin crawling with flies, the countless millions caught in disguise to those imaginations that devise instruments of torture that lead to our demise.

This washing water has supplies for all generations to surmise, from the one who accepts to the one who denies, yes, all are asked to step in and be baptized.”

As the friends looked at the Great Designer’s two dimensional doodles depicting detailed designs for districts of dreams; they were transported from 2D to 3D and they stood at the heart of this great project, this divine concept of collaborated dreams of home. As they scanned the scene with their senses searing with celestial resplendence, they saw it was their terrestrial city with its burnt out building bordered up, barren, broken, brittle skeletons, shells of second rate, suppressed statements of habitations, empty, abandoned, bereft of life. This vacuous void is all they’d envisioned, their vital improvements to the divine construction.

“All these buildings won’t be obstructions.” the rabbi said as He pointed to the destruction. “All of you will be part of this production; we’ll need some more. Can you get introductions? It won’t work if we resort to abductions but paint a portrait of perpetual seduction; Lilting lullabies of love. Meandering melodies of mercy. Holistic harmonies of hope. This is how we will win people to our cause. Sing to them simply of the Son who was sent to your city to speak out against injustice, racist hostility and stubborn statuses. “Sacrifice self” He said. Die to all you think defines, distinguishes, differentiate and divides. Die to all that makes you think ‘me’. That’s not how you are to be, its ‘we’, you see, us constantly, lovingly, eternally relating looking out celebratorily at creation, the manifestation of Our imagination which speaks of salvation. Stand against temptation. Participate in incarnation. Join Our nation.”

They were still in that upper room but now it seemed foreign. The rabbi was gone and they were free. They felt… called, with all creation, to participate in a Divine dance, dwelling with Him, deliberately drawing and deliberating over the debilitated definitions of themselves.

This divine creativity is now innate and it is to participate in a state where every breath is to create because the truth is we, humans can do nothing, we are pathetic, we are fragile, fragmented, foolish and frail. If it was down to us failure would frame our every fumbled attempts at life. But God doesn’t limit His giving of good gifts generously gathering His grace getting offspring and giving, blessing them with boundless benefaction and the ability to beautify the broken, black globe we abide in.

Creativity is the choice to catch the vision of His passionate parade of perpetual pleasure as He paints pictures in the palette of the sky and proclaims praises powerfully in proud oaks. Problem solving, parenthood, pottery, plumbing, all is creative in Papa’s production.

Do we care too much on product and not on process? Capitalism capturing our capability in creation. Yes, creativity is innate, equally distributed, designated, dished out. If we decide to delegate in this divine dynamism we decide to die for it is participation with His soul saving Spirit that gives life. Creativity is cooperating with our curiosity in creation, creating collaborations in community, making mutual memories made in mirth and misery shared. Stories singing through souls, sewing us, sculpting us, shaping us, scripting us into the narrative of the non-conforming Nazarene whose never-ending life and love lulls us into lucid lovers and alighting a light in our hearts, little wisps of wonder wilting the winter inside. All of us part of the process to paint the playground, perform the eternal play and promote partnership in people un-praised but packed with potential.

A song of hope and community is shared.

Story 3. In a tight, cramped, claustrophobic space, in a darkened corner above the city, Simon, who they called ‘Peter’, one of the group was stood amongst outcasts. This foreign group had not been a part of the original group of sparrows in that first upper room. They had gathered from elsewhere but he saw in them that sparrow song. He stood amongst them and remembered the night he had sat with the prophet rabbi Jesus and he had showed them God, divine community, love unadulterated and emptying of gift. Peter stood and spoke, he modelled love as he had known it, pure, from the heart of God Himself. The group were sparrows in a hedge; just for a moment. They sang, they laughed, they shared, they lived the life of communal God right in front of him.

I have shared my stories. I share them till I am empty, bereft.

Keno Charis means ‘emptying of gift’. It is the mystery at the heart of the Trinity; God in community, Father, Son and Holy Spirit; each one giving to the other attempting to be empty of all they possess in order that the other has more but in some mysterious way this creates more. God, the source of all things trying pass on all of it is the secret to life. When we live and participate in this activity we are caught in the basis of life itself and we experience God. Trinity. The Communal heart of creation from the Creator.

Liturgy of the empty and healed

Person 1: I have my music,

I give it to you,

I give it till I’m empty.

Response: We thank you. We love you till you heal.

Person 2: I have my thoughts,

I give them to you,

I give them till I’m empty.

Response: We thank you. We love you till you heal.

Person 3: I have my words,

I give them to you,

I give them till I’m empty.

Response: We thank you. We love you till you heal.

Person 4: I have my voice,

I give it to you,

I give it till I’m empty.

Response: We thank you. We love you till you heal.

Person 5: I have my heart,

I give it to you,

I give it till I’m empty.

Response: We thank you. We love you till you heal.

Person 6: I have my identity,

I share it with you,

I share it till I’m empty.

Response: We thank you. We love you till you heal.

One member of the group leads the following to close,

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone:

Response: my hope comes from Him.

We come this night to the Father,
We come this night to the Son,
We come this night to the Holy Spirit powerful:

Response: We come this night to God.

The Sacred Three
to save
to shield
to surround
the hearth
the home
this night
and every night.

Keep Your people, Lord,
in the arms of Your embrace.

Response: Shelter them under Your wings.

Be their light in darkness.

Response: Be their hope in distress.

Be their calm in anxiety.

Response: Be strength in their weakness.

Be their comfort in pain.

Response: Be their song in the night.

In peace will we lie down, for it is You, O Lord,

Response: You alone who makes us to rest secure.

I’m Calling a Session! (part i)

It was on my way down to a conference called Devoted and Disgruntled 7 that I read,

one can distinguish between ideal types of organic and associative social structures. A person is born into an organic social structure, or grows into it; by contrast, a person freely joins an associative social structure. The former is a ‘living organism’ whose parts depend on the whole organism and are determined by it; the latter is ‘a mechanical aggregate and artifact’ composed of individual parts. The former is thus enduring, the latter transient. In short, organic social structures are communities of being, while associative social structures are alliances for a specific purpose.

I was heading down to DandD7 at the invitation of my sister who has been participating in it for several years. DandD aims to be a gathering place for theatre makers and performing artists to discuss and explore major issues surrounding the arts industry. The reason I was traveling the 271 miles from Durham was to experience a organizational framework used at DandD called Open Space Technology.

Open Space Technology was discovered by an American called Harrison Owen. The story goes that he had set up a conference to explore issues stemming from his paper about “organizational transformation” and ran two successful events. On the approach to the third conference he found he was not relishing the idea of all the work necessary to put on such a large scale event; agendas, speakers, etc. It was then that he realized; most participants of the previous years’ conferences said the best part of those events were the coffee breaks, which Owen had not organized. Owen then sent out a one paragraph invitation to anyone to come and discuss ‘organizational transformation’ and 100 people turned up.

The seats for delegates were set out in a circle and the time was booked. Apart from this nothing had been set in place; it was open. The basic premise is it’s a meeting based on the dynamics of a coffee break.

Open Space, therefore, is distinctive in its lack of an agenda past the initial problem which needs to be discussed; in DandD’s case ‘What are we going to do about theatre and the performing arts?

Before getting to DandD7 I asked my sister why she had invited me? She said she thought that Open Space Technology may well help me in my research to formulate some ecclesiology (lit. words about church) which denied the use the rigid hierarchy which, in my opinion, stifles creativity of a group and denies full participation of every member in a community. What was interesting in her description of Open Space was the deliberate use of the words ‘her church’ and ‘her community’.

When it came to Saturday morning my over arching question was: To what extent could DandD be described as my sister’s church?

I need to briefly explain my use of the word ‘church’ in this context. Church is both a building and a gathering of people, usually made up of Christians. The word comes from the Greek ecclesia, which means ‘gathering’ (or to be specific ek – out and kaleo – to call). The Christian associations were a later addition to the concept and in that respect I will play down this element for now. I do want, however, to hold onto the connection this term has with ‘community’ because it was this idea that encouraged my sister to use the specific word ‘church’.

In order to answer my question I wanted to discover whether DandD is primarily seen as a conference or a community. I use the term ‘primarily’ deliberately as it is perfectly reasonable to suggest that it was always going to be both. Indeed, most gatherings are a mixture of these two ideas. What I am keen to do here, however, is to discern whether it is possible to use Open Space purely as a community framework without the conference element and thus be able to agree with my sister that this is primarily a community she is a part of not just a conference she goes to religiously.

If we take these terms in the general sense they overlap in a number of ways. In the specific, however, I would be keen to posit unique attributes to each in order to communicate something important for my sister and many others whom I met at DandD7.

A conference, in this instance, encapsulates a business, mechanical artifact used to interact with others akin to the associative social structure we read about early. A community, on the other hand, is a gathering of people who participate in a level of intimacy brought on by experiencing liminality as a group. Community therefore, in this argument takes on the typology of the organic social structure.

For my sister she used words that would attribute themselves easily into the community/organic social structure model. Was this an adequate description of what happened? I was intrigued because Open Space Technology has its genesis in the conference world, where the task, it seems, is a primary focus with relationship as a happy by-product. Owen has, however, used it in community groups and in peace negotiations where, one could argue, relationships come first with the specific task as a necessary structure which is held to lightly.

Turning again to the quote I read before there are some clear qualities that separate organic social structures from associative. In the former the ‘parts’ depended on the whole organism and are determined by it, i.e. the whole adds or requires the part to have certain characteristics by its relationship to it; its focus is on being. The latter has no call for the individual part to depend or be determined by the whole; the individual can remain separate and singular. The associative social structure’s focus is on fulfilling a task without requiring an ontological connection.

At this point I would like to say that I am fully aware that I am attributing concepts and labels to things which may not, necessarily be the case. My observations are based, purely, on two days and an introductory investigation into the purpose and priorities of both Open Space and DandD. I would like the reader to be acutely aware that I am processing this and opening up a ‘session’ online. Please do correct where I have been unfair, ignorant or arrogant.

A Bell Tolls

Just come back from a placement with the Northumbria Community. This time has been so affirming and essential to my personal journey I haven’t felt able to write any reflections here. I return so excited about my call and refreshed in passion for life.

I did write a poem whilst on placement as part of a short retreat led by the community and I thought I could at least share that. It is a form of ‘beat’ poetry. I was fortunate and privileged to be asked to participate in the Beat Eucharist at Greenbelt Festival this year and it involved writing several poetic, prayers/ sermons/’prophetic’ rants. I have begun to use this poetic style to express myself. The thing I find helpful is it is like a train of consciousness and allows my web style thinking to be expressed in a linear format.

A Bell Tolls

A bell tolls in the distant sky, rings out a call to consider, contemplate, to cry out to Christ our King, a call to climb out of the cave and into intercessory prayer, where, we care, despair, tear down the walls of separation, segregation and sanitation of our own pleas. Here we join with voices echoing out through time, space, history and in this wind swept landscape of solitude our sighs sing with the Psalmist who says: “From aching pit of my dark, dank, daunting depths a soul shattering scream, a piercing pitch capable of breaking the sinews of any hearer, echoes out to you the Spirit source of unspeakable prayers. Can you hear it, my God? Can you feel it, my Lord? Listen! Listen to this broken, brittle, barefoot disciple of Yours, this minuscule amount of matter, turn Your gaze on my meagre matter. If you, Faultless Father, should mark, record, consider, remember my shaken steps of sinful saintliness, steps so steeped in self-centredness, steps in sands swept by sea-sent cyclones, steps mis-placed, mis-directed, misshapen, missed the mark, who could stand? Who could stand? Who could bear the shame so solid, so dense it’s hard to stand?”1 Stories of saints standing on islands swept by sea salt sent from Scotland to speak of peace,
gentleness,
authenticity,
prayerful presence in pagan lads, piece by piece, person by person, preaching, proclaiming grace.
Grace.
God-sent, God-glorifying giants of faith humbly humming harmonies of hope home to hearts of helpless, hardened, harsh inhabitants. The balance of life; cell to connacle, alone to others, monastery to mission, Aidan praying: “Leave me alone with my Lord as much as may be, As the intemperate tide draws the tempestuous waters close into the shore, make me an island, set apart, solitary with You, God, holy. And then, with the turning of the tide, teach me to take your presence to the tired, time orientated tribes beyond. The world where world weary eyes weep, the world that wants me, calls me, rushes in on me till the timely tide treads again across the causeway and folds me back to you.”2 My poem intercepted, interspersed, interacting with Psalms and prayers, where their voice stops mine begin unbroken beats bubbling up behind bold but barren beliefs. Their story, spirituality seeping so softly into my spirit. “The Sacred Three our blessing be.”3 Songs sewing us together, stories stitching us into one sign of God’s faithfulness. “Encircle us, Lord.”4 Secure our steps on these trodden paths. “Come wind, Come rain, Come pelting storm, Whatever it may be. Be my shield, my refuge, Come walk beside me.”5 Songs of praises, shouts of Psalms, unstoppable strength sourced from the stream of solitude.
A bell tolls,
for friendship, food, fellowship in our Faithful, Faultless Father, bearing fruit of enfleshed favour of Him who send us out from refectory to road. Clear, distinct and yet the same. “I love to serve”6 you, my guest, Christ in the other, at home, hospitality, being available for you, my guest, Christ in the other and away, availability for you, my host, Christ in the other. “Don’t wash my feet!” “I must.”7 He says humbly inviting humility in my heart. Availability leading to Vulnerability.8 Open to other’s honesty, questions of motive, critique of meaning but all the time testing, refining, eyes of others, eyes of Him. Who could stand? Who could stand? “With Him there is assurance, steadfast, shame-reversing passion and with Him there’s the source of strength to stand!”9 Stand alone on distant islands, hopeful hermit. Stand with others reluctantly in refectory, faithful friend. Stand for others in King’s courts, ancient apostle. Stand in the shadow of Celtic saints, ride the rule, the regulus, the rhythm of prayer everywhere. Stand, sing, shout,
whisper words of wholeness to a world weary of religious rhetoric.
Recite the written stories, the spoken stories of ancient times afresh. A bell tolls in the distant sky, rings out a call to stop,
silence,
sit with saints,
stop.

1. a poetic re-hash of Psalm 130: 1-3
2. a poetic re-hash of the prayer of St. Aidan (why not read the Monasticism and Ascesticism posts)
3. from a song used as ‘grace’ at meal times in Northumbria Community.
4. from a song used by Northumbria Community.
5. from a song I sang whilst walking.
6. a phrase that had led to a conversation with one of the guests on retreat.
7. from John 13:8.
8. The two aspects of the Rule of Life for the Northumbria Community.
9 a poetic re-hash of Psalm 130:4.


In The Minster (part IV)

I was in marketing for five years but wanted to do something away from computer screens.

After the decision to find her vocation Vic started her training which began with a residential course which gave her an academic foundation for her work. After two years she was placed in an apprentice scheme which enabled her to put into practice the theory of her previous study.

Those first few months were both exciting and scary. The work demanded so much of me; physically and emotionally… It highlighted my weaknesses and that’s always frustrating but slowly I grew stronger and more confident of my capabilities.

Vic now stands at the top of the East Window of York Minster painstakingly restoring old, decayed stones and sometimes replacing the ones who have ‘passed on’ with new, fresh ones. She washes stones that have been mistreated by past conservers and lovingly restoring stones left to the elements.

The truth is the similarities in the training of stone masons and of clergy is by no means the end of the parallels. I was struck as I walked round the workshops how much the two vocations speak to each other. The attitude and commitment towards their work, the holistic impact the work has on the person and the humility developed by working in a tradition established over centuries and the call to play a part in building the legacy further, all map one onto the other.

I want to acknowledge first the clear connections between working with the Tadcaster stone in restoring a building like the Minster and working with the ‘living stones’ that make up the Church of God. I want to briefly highlight the loving care that a stone mason takes over one stone to make it sing with beauty and the call for us as ministers to spend time in helping a child of God sing of God’s beauty in them. All these connections are wonderful and amazing but I want to hone in on the masons themselves.

Dave showed me round the Stoneyard with a quiet and generous spirit. He took me to meet John, a man who has worked for 30 years with the Minster. He knows this building, its history, its quirks. He can predict the anomalies in the design before anyone else. He can tell, from looking at a stone whether it is an original or a stone from one of the many restorations over its long history (and which restoration it’s from!) When I asked him,

So, you must be something of an expert of the building?

I don’t feel like one. Every day I learn something more about the building. In some sense I’m always an apprentice.

What a beautiful sentiment. Even those who have worked for so long in building the Church should understand themselves always as an apprentice.

Dave then took me down to look at the untouched stone which will soon be prepared to go into the colossal building over the road. He told me about yellow veins. The yellow veins are the places where the rock hasn’t bonded together in the ground. One strike of a chisel and the whole piece will break into two. He took me into his workshop and showed me one stone that he has been carving for six weeks.

At anytime I could come across a yellow vein. I won’t know until it’s too late.

Six weeks work could come to nothing as the rock gives up and breaks.

It really humbles you. Every chip has the excitement and fear. Could this be the time it breaks… You’re no longer in control.

There’s no amount of technical training that will develop Dave into a mason who will never find a yellow vein in his work. He can learn all things and still be at the mercy of the complex and hidden forces that have got that piece of rock to that place at that time. There’s an element of trust on something that is beyond him.

He showed me the plans of that stone. A necessarily detailed design which he needed to follow to the letter or the building would be unstable because of that one stone. I asked him about the sense of connection with the masons of the past who carved the original design in the stone.

I’m just one mason in a long line of masons who have been involved in this building. It’s like they speak to us through the stones. It’s hard to explain… I can look at a stone in the Cathedral and get a sense of what that individual mason was feeling or what kind of day he may have been having when he carved his stone. We’re connected over the centuries… in a way.

I guess that makes your work seem dauntingly important.

I asked.

Yes to know that in centuries time some mason of the future looks at this stone I’m carving now and can tell so much about how I approached the stone. Makes you think about your attitude to the work, kind of calming yourself down before picking up your tools.

As a future member of a priesthood given the authority and responsibility of Holy Orders, I too will be joining a long line of priests who have gone before me. The difference for me as a priest is my legacy won’t be as tangible as Dave’s. That connection with tradition, however, does help me appreciate the need to prepare every time I minister to God’s people, for my attitude will affect how that ‘stone’ is, in response to my care.

I was then shown into the carver’s workshop. Here is where the intricate detailing is done. The two men stopped their work and asked me lots of questions about my training. After each stage was described they nodded and exclaimed,

That’s just like us.

They are clearly excited about the connections between their work on the outside and the work of the clergy inside the building. I asked them whether the Stoneyard is like a family.

Yes with all the family issues. We have rows.

Dave chipped in,

One of the masons, Les, is ill at the moment and we all take it in turns to visit him and help each other out to cover his work.

The problems usually occur when someone has an opinion about how you should handle a particular stone. But if you just concentrate on the stone you’ve been given responsibility for then we all support each other. Does that make sense?

How we as a Church could learn from that sentiment. As a parish priest I will be given responsibility and care for a small section of the Kingdom. We enter into disputes when everyone steps above their station and takes on the role of oversight of the whole building too soon. There’s a call to trust in those in authority knowing that it’s, by far the most difficult jobs. I witnessed that in Synod early this week; so many members, given half a chance, want to tell fellow workers how they should and shouldn’t treat their stones. The ‘masons’ questioning those who have been given the difficult task of keeping track of the meta-narrative and in a way taking their eyes off their stone. I remember John, up in the studio, pawing over the plans of the whole building knowing each stone but in relation to the much bigger building. Being responsible for the task of making sure the individual aspects fit together cohesively and will stand the test of time; entrusting the detailed work to the masons. I remember his humility and gentleness as to how he holds his responsibility. It reminded me of ++Rowan Williams.

Any final reflections that will help me get a sense of your work?

I asked.

We find it important to know that it’s no one person’s building… it’s everyone’s building.

Dave then took me to Vic, who I spoke of before. She took me up the scaffolding to the top of the largest window in Europe (I think!) She showed me the work they had done on one of the spires; beautifully carved and crafted work. Then she showed me the window itself and, again, the intricate detail that the masons of the original Cathedral had created. Then it struck me; the masons work on painstakingly carving the intricate detail would never be seen by those hundred feet down. The only people who may see that six or seven weeks of work would be themselves and, potentially, future restorers (and, of course, God Himself). The extravagance of the craft!

As a man called to participate in the building up of His Church I must remember the extravagant, secret and private work of the diaconal priest. I guess I want to end on the reading of yesterday from John’s gospel.

The story of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet has become the story of the diaconal order. What does this story say to my role as a deacon? The work of cleaning the dirt from people’s feet is a work done away from the crowds in a private space. The cleaning of the dirt is a necessary work. It’s a work that requires humility of the one washing but also vulnerability of the one being washed.

It is necessary and it is a privilege to see the fragile, stone behind the layers of corruption and decay and to be called to restore them and make them sing!

In The Minster (part III)

So what’s the point of cathedrals?

The more time I spend looking at Cathedrals, their communication and mission activity, the more I am convinced that they play the most significant part of our evangelism. It is interesting to me that these archaic, monuments to the past hold the potential key to our future.

I have worked closely with Durham Cathedral and now York Minster and have asked the question “How do we create in the heritage tourists a desire for faith tourism?” Millions of people visit our Cathedrals each year as historical monuments; they enter into a building used for worship, without us awkwardly befriending them and trying to time our invitation to come along. They come, almost, at their own volition and ask questions of the space, experience whatever is there. This is an enormous opportunity if only we could translate and interpret the space effectively.

As part of my placement in the Minster I have explored the ‘York Minster Revealed’ project being undertaken by Lottery Heritage Funding and the Dean and Chapter of the Minster. The idea is to invest millions of pounds into this heritage site to encourage more visitors to the Minster and, therefore, to the city itself. This may come across, to some, as selling out but I believe is a great mission opportunity and, I have to say, reading the Interpretation Plan, is clearly aimed at guiding people to experience the living, growing, life affirming faith and the God for whom the whole space is offered to in praise and worship each day.

Back in Durham, I am privileged to be a part of a team of ordinands who inhabit the Cathedral space there once a month. Our aim is to frame the space so that people can explore and encounter God there. We try and minimise the heritage signage, taking out donation boxes, stripping back to the walls and to the history of prayer soaked into the building. The atmosphere of the place is different for a number of reasons from the day time trade of tour buses and historical interest groups to the silent, meditative pilgrims encountering God in powerful ways in the evening. None of these reasons seem to sum up exactly what that difference is but the attitude in which people explore the space helps them to worship and pray for themselves.

Here in York, they have really simplified, as much as possible, and kept signage out of the space. Part of the Interpretation Plan is to use digital media such as Augmented Reality and QR Codes to inform people without layering it, physically, onto the building. This will help to keep the building as place of worship for the regular congregation. This will allow people to experience the space separated from the noise of the factual past and free them to experience the prayer and spiritual past and present.

In a conversation with the team who look after the heritage side of the Minster’s work it is clear that their aim is to use the building to tell the story not just of the past but the continuing life of the Minster as a community of worshippers.

I don’t care why they come but I do care that they leave knowing why they came.

An interesting idea which, I’m sure is shared by many missional leaders in parishes across the country. How do we use our heritage and history not to keep people thinking we’re past it but that we are present and we have an exciting future?

The undeniable truth is that Cathedrals get visitors! Parish churches struggle. Why? Well, Cathedrals dominate the skyline for one but they also have a clear story. I visit numerous heritage sites and love them. I judge them, not on their size but on the stories they tell. Warkworth Castle in Northumbria has no roof, very little walls and no guides but it tells a great story and has tried to tell it in interesting ways. Our parish Churches have stories or links to stories. We need to become more competent and confident to tell the story of the spaces we use for worship.

Take the parish church in Croxdale, County Durham. I did a placement there and visited the church of St Bartholomew’s. Still an active church but there’s an atmosphere about the place that is dark and cold. This has no relation to the community that worships there. The space is silenced by a whole number of things. During my time there I learnt that there was a community artist working in the hall next door. She rented that space from the church to use as a workshop and teaching space. I requested a meeting with her and suggested using the church as a gallery for local artists (who are currently struggling to find places to exhibit their work). This needs fleshing out but the potential to resurrect such a dark space into one of life and art and inspiration would lead, surely, to a reinvigorated life of faith.

Cathedrals don’t need to advertise more to get people into their worship buildings but they can work harder at translating the space from a heritage site to a place of encounter with the living God. The data informs us that people stay for services in York Minster and these events greatly change the whole experience of their visit. The realisation, surely, that this is not a static, dying building but one that grows and lives! Add into the visit Twitterfalls to help people communicate for the Cathedral unplanned, new, exciting discoveries as they happen to other visitors and suddenly the tourists become the guides and, who knows, the evangelists telling anyone connected to the Twitter conversation that they have encountered God in the Quire, Nave, Crypt, where-ever!

The thing I’ll take away from my time here in York is a sense of my passion and love of Cathedral mission. This is not an old building which needs to be sold but the greatest resource for communicating an historical faith alive and well in the heart of all our cities. Jonathan Draper and his team of ‘interpreters’ are passionate people naturally connected to millions of people each year all of whom are potential witnesses to the powerful love of God!

Let’s dig down deep and root ourselves in our past so that we see growth in the present and be a towering strength of hope in the future!

In The Minster (part II)

They all gather in the locker room, their kits hung ready for the event. The banter flies freely and the regular rituals begin. Theirs positioning, roles and tactics are explained and they prepare themselves to go out and ‘perform’…
I am talking, of course, of the scenes before a service at York Minster!

From my privileged position as placement student (or ‘interloper’, ‘apprentice’, ‘dogs-body’ and any other term to use to describe my temporary role at the Minster) I have watched the daily routine of services with the usual processionary positioning, reading allocations and general choreography. All of which have a more than fleeting similarity to those of a football match, except there’s no ‘opposition’! I can’t seem to fully sign up with the need for such detail and the rubrics (the written guides for how worship may be done.) I understand the need for order and guidelines to stop worship and public expressions of faith becoming sloppy and incoherent, ‘un-Common Worship’ would divide rather than bring some gravitational unity. What is sometimes communicated, however, is that legislation is keeping some people in positions of glory and power who should be the symbol of humility.

Take the interesting issue of having specific seats marked for Canons in the Cathedral (at the heights overlooking the congregation.) What could be communicated is they get reserved seating because they are important. Immediately the Scripture

‘…do not sit down in a place of honour… but when you are invited, take the lowest place’ (Luke 14:8,10)

I understand and can appreciate the many facets of this issue; what are the places of honour and how are they distinguished? The seats are at the back and not the front, for example. I am aware of the need for those members of the community to have a sense of ‘home’ in the place of prayer; to not be distracted in prayer by the interest on who’s sat where. It may come down to the way a position is treated and understood. The seat marked ‘Dean’ is seen as, perhaps, the best seat because it is designated for the Dean, a perceived position of power. When the Dean sits there (most services because it’s his ‘church’) people see that as him sitting in the position of power but actually people are judging the role and not the position.

This is particularly interesting when you consider the ‘role’ of priest within a congregation.

As many regular readers will know I have a both a high view of priesthood (sacramentally) but a low view of individual ‘leadership’. My time here at York Minster has helped me to articulate the exact call on me to be a ‘priest’. I have had for a long time a need to reject the ‘leader’ title because I don’t see that call in the New Testament nor the benefits of designating one person to decide and direct a group of people. What is communicated in leadership manuals and guides is a leader who is coming up with ideas and influencing people’s decisions. The language is slippery and falls into dubious responses to collaboration. I want more clarity in our use of leadership language.

For me a good ‘leader’ is a faithful ‘follower’. Jesus has called me to be a disciple and a servant of people. A servant rarely speaks to their master in a dominating manner, demanding their views to be heard; they may be asked for opinion but they are not there to offer it, necessarily. How do we exercise wise counsel in a radical flat leadership style?

Take the practical example of the chapter here at York Minster. The chapter is the governing body of the cathedral and is made up of clergy, administrative staff and laity. It is the chapter who make the decisions on how the cathedral is run and what responses or activities to make and engage with. The Dean is the ‘leader’ of the chapter. What may be inferred by this is that he is in charge; he makes decisions and holds the power. The impression I get and what I’ve been told by members of the chapter is that he is one among equals. His seat in the Chapter House is deliberately not central; it is not different from any of the other seats there. He is not positioned in a favourable place to ensure he is the focus. He has no deciding vote on issues. When I described this impression to his wife she immediately said, “But the buck ends with him!”

This is essential to my understanding of priestly leadership (if such a term could be coined!) A priest is an ambassador for Christ; someone who, by their life and discipleship calls the people of God to be Christ-like as they are Christ-like. Christ was a servant who lead as a servant. This radical and baffling paradox is perfectly shown in His journey to the cross. Christ followed the will of those he served to death. John’s prologue speaks of His people not accepting Him and nailing Him to the cross. Christ took the consequences of the decisions made by His people even if He may not, individually, have wanted Himself. We’re discussing issues of willingness to be crucified and I want to emphasise Christ was willing to do it because He was committed to being lead by the actions of His people, whatever form that takes.

Let me de-theologise this and use a hypothetical situation in a hypothetical chapter with a hypothetical Dean. This Dean is sat in a chapter meeting and a decision needs to be made about disruptive members of the community in worship. The Dean, personally thinks they should remain and not be abandoned. The chapter are tired of trying to deal with the disruptive member and wants them to pass them onto a parish church. The Dean knows that if they reject this member of the congregation that the press, the community and the local people will be very upset and angry. The vote is taken and the chapter votes majoritively to sensitively send the member elsewhere.

The Dean, as figure-head and spokesperson of the chapter, communicates this decision to the public despite him, personally, believing there’s another way. He, as figurehead and spokesperson of the chapter, also commits himself to suffer the consequences of that chosen action; taking the brunt of the ‘backlash’ on himself. Is this not a sacrificial act of servanthood? Is this not part of priestly ministry? To be a priestly leader is to be nothing more than a spokesperson and figurehead of a community.

This is not to say that as a priestly leader you do not state an opinion nor hold a position on matters but to follow Christ before the need to lead in a traditional sense is to die to your own opinion to serve others. This is painful and uncomfortable but it is this model of leadership that is being called upon us as disciples of Christ. No wonder Paul warns those who have positions of ‘authority’. This is the distinguishing mark, for me, from secular leadership.

So back to the Minster and positions of power!

The Dean, the canons and, for a time, I will sit in the places designated to us for a whole range of reasons, some good and some bad. It does not matter where we sit, however, but rather the attitude and the manner in which we sit there. A  position of power must be held by someone but it can and should be held by someone who seeks always to take the consequences of actions made by that role before the need to exert influence from it.

This has wider implications on how I see myself as a future priest but I have taken up too much time already! Must go and reflect on Archbishop Rowan Williams address to Synod which I believe covers lots of these issues and more on how we speak of ‘church’. I’ll try and link it more with theatre as this blogs remit is straying too much from that passion!

In The Minster (part I)

At the end of day two of my placement at York Minster there seems to be one big question running through my head and the conversations I’ve been having; “What’s the difference between Cathedral ministry and parish ministry?”

Canon Glyn Webster describes his role at the Minster as “The Parish Priest of the community” despite the Minster not being a ‘parish’. He sees his role as overseeing the pastoral needs of those who work and worship in the hallowed Gothic building in the centre of York. The staff here are amazed (and glad to tell me) that the Minster congregation is growing. Early morning Matins and Evensong every day and all Sunday services have increased their regular number over the last decade or so. This has not surprised me. Having spent the last two years working with Durham Cathedral and listening to many who work in Cathedrals across the country, this trend is shared by most of the Cathedrals. Why is this?

I had a very encouraging conversation with an ex arch-deacon of Cleveland, Ron Woodley today. He spoke passionately about parochial ministry and encouraged me by stating that “It’s the greatest life you’ll ever live. It’s hard but on balance I have never known of a more joyful life!” What a ringing endorsement from someone who had 40 years of active ministry. In the midst of our conversation he said something that rang true and has been helpful in my reflections. He suggested the difference between parish ministry and the ministry of the Cathedral is the Cathedral offers worshippers anonymity where parish life doesn’t.

I believe that to be true but is that a benefit or problem?

I have no doubt that there is a strong sense of community here in the Minster. I sat through a very touching funeral of a staff member and the sense of community was palpable. The packed quire at both the funeral service and at Evensong last night speaks of a committed worshipping community. During the worship, however, you just fade into the milieu of faces. I, personally, love that. I am not important to be individually picked out but I am just one, tiny speck, in a sea of people all worshipping and praising the almighty God.

In parishes, I have experienced a cry to ensure everyone is welcomed and identified and spoken to and acknowledged. This is very important if people are to feel part of a community. Too often we become insular and cliquey isolating and rejecting the new-comer. The sign of peace is a time to speak to and individually welcome each member of the community into worship. There is no anonymity. People want to and need to talk to you, know how you are, who you are before worshipping. There is no fading into the background and having time with God.

Here is the strange paradox; In order to have a personal moment with God, un-hindered by the concern that people might be looking at you, you need to fade into the sea of people. But to make people feel part of the sea of people we feel the need to personally meet and greet each person.

I find it interesting that Cathedral congregations are growing. Is it because that anonymity is important? That sense of a private experience in the protection of the mass of people is an aspect of our culture at the moment, is it not? In the development of evangelism of the last couple of hundred years we have seen a journey from up the front delivery to conversational, didactic forms of evangelism. The issue we face at the moment is no one even wants to ask the questions or engage in conversation. Many people have researched and studied the trends and we find ourselves in a culture that no longer asks questions of faith. I’m not saying that the Alpha model of evangelism, answering the questions of life, is outmoded but the research shows that it is increasingly difficult to get people wanting to even go to the meal!

What Cathedral worship offers which parish ministry doesn’t nor shouldn’t offer is the chance of a private, personal, surprise encounter with God. This may well lead onto the need for Alpha or any conversation with people of faith.

We have been trying to wrestle with this in our ‘Fresh Expression’ in Durham Cathedral (UR32B.wordpress.com). At the heart of this service is the desire to encounter God in the space; un-intrusive, anonymous, private encounters. We have struggled with the issue of how we create community with people who only want to experience God privately and not in community. How do you establish a Eucharistic community in this individualistic environment?

I’m not sure I can, yet, answer that question but what I can say is I believe that this anonymity in worship is what many unchurched people would be happy with rather than being thrust into a gathering where everybody knows everyone else and you are clearly the ‘stranger’; where in the worship you feel judged and on display. Where you are so busy worrying that you do and say the right thing that you don’t have the chance to experience something transcendent.

Cathedral worship allows you to ease into an experience of God whilst, at the same time, being part of a big group of people, all experiencing the same thing as you. Although nothing is said or physical contact made you still feel a huge sense of a united community, sharing the spiritual realm.

It is this truth that seems to be resonating for me at the moment in my last couple of posts. So I pray that as I continue on this placement that God will bring more revelations that will help me to articulate these thoughts!

Deadly Theatre Deadly Worship?

I’m aware I haven’t written about theatre for a long time so I want to unpick some thoughts I’m currently wrestling with as I continue the long process of writing the book ‘God of the Gods’.

My placement this year has been focused on being in a ‘creative’ community and seeing what one might look like. (You can follow the placement through the ‘Theatre Church’ stream by searching this site.) My reflections have concentrated on the capitalist mentality that flows through both the process of theatre and our understanding of Christian community. I have written extensively on this theory but thought I might share aspects of it as it relates to thoughts on theatre from the man himself, Peter Brook.

The act of creating a piece of theatre should be a journey of discovery for all involved. The current economic climate, however, forces the focus away from the search for discovery to a mechanical, predictable process aimed at achieving the highest income for the lowest cost.

A producer, who holds the finances, in order to increase that potential investment, funds a startup productions in the hope of building both a portfolio, artistic clout and financial capital to further that aim. In order to gain the most income they need to produce a sellable product, something popular and so they invite ‘creative’ directors and/or writers to invent a concept or write a script that will meet those criteria. These ‘creatives’ are therefore conditioned to develop concepts or write scripts to pitch to a producer who decides whether it will make a return on their investment. Theatre is, therefore, often driven by the marketability of the product rather than the necessity of the expression itself. The creative act is done by a solo agent and is completed before the pitch is made in order that a clear ‘vision’ is communicated to the financier. The process to construct the product must be planned carefully in order that it is the most successful (success being both how well it embodies the original concept and the amount of people who consume it.) Auditions are held to get the right people for the right job/role. Actors are tested and interviewed to see who has the right skills to undertake the role in the shortest period of time. Rehearsals are characteristically one sided. Directors ensure that the actors are doing what needs to be done to create the product as the director/writer see it. The actors ask for clarification and performing the role as prescribed and not participating in a journey of discovery; they’re cogs in a machine.

Peter Brook notes,

…a theatre where a play for economic reasons rehearses for no more than three weeks is crippled at the outset. Time is not the be-all and end-all; it is not impossible to get an astonishing result in three weeks…But this is rare… No experimenting can take place, and no real artistic risks are possible. (Peter Brook, The Empty Space)

‘Deadly Theatre’, as Brook calls it, is one that lacks life. This, he suggests, is not as easily discerned as you might expect. For something dead can be dressed up to look alive like the lifeless puppet manipulated to imitate life. Can our Churches experiment? Can they, what theatre practitioners call, ‘play’? Can they take real ‘artistic’ risk? I’d argue ‘no’. If every Sunday, or what ever day the community worships, is a ‘performance’ to lure in seekers then there is no space for risk. If something ‘fails’ then it will impact potential clients. If we can begin to call the seeker-friendly service a performance then our ‘rehearsal time’ is one week! Brook continues,

The artistic consequences are severe. Broadway is not a jungle, it is a machine into which a great many parts snugly interlock. Yet each of these parts is brutalized; it has been deformed to fit and function smoothly… In such conditions there is rarely the quiet and security in which anyone may dare expose himself. I mean the true un spectacular intimacy that long work and true confidence in other people brings about – in Broadway, a crude gesture of self-exposure is easy to come by, but this has nothing to do with the subtle, sensitive interrelation between people confidently working together. (Peter Brook, The Empty Space)

This kind of theatre is like a disease spreading through our culture. The big West-End musicals are all veneer with no substance of necessary expressions of human beings. Audiences are fooled into thinking that the more jolly, colorful and expensive the design the more ‘theatrical’ it is. No one questions this shallow performance style which has seeped into classic works such as Shakespeare making words that have so much potential life become boring. We have all become accustomed to it and so no longer crave the pure, life giving theatrical art.

In churches, regular congregations have become accustomed to the lifeless worship that is dressed up to imitate life. These imitations take on may forms depending on a particular tradition. The pentecostal inspired charismatic services need only to increase the volume and emphasize the rhythm to bring on their ‘spiritual’ highs. Watchman Nee says,

We have heard people say that…the moment they hear the sound of the organ and the voice of singing their spirits are immediately released to God’s presence. Indeed, such a thing does happen. But are they really being brought to the presence of God? Can people’s spirits be released and drawn closer to God by a little attraction such as this? Is this God’s way? (Watchman Nee, The Latent Power of the Soul)

What are we aiming for in community? In Christian community I’d suggest that we are aiming to share the fruit of the Spirit in the character of Christ to be reconciled to God and one another. In our worship, therefore, we need to be praying and living in the power of the Spirit. That Spirit will then go out from us to the others and unite us all together and bring us resurrection life; life that will not end. In theatre community I’d suggest the aim is similar. We are looking for a life that inspires each person to express themselves in a communal expression. Our self expressions can be affirmed as holding ‘truth’ by inspiring something within the whole community. Thus, that which is life to the individual participant is shared and encourages the other to experience life themselves. How do we discern whether a piece of theatre or an act of worship has ‘life-giving life’? Watchman Nee distinguishes between the life of the soul and the life-giving life of the Spirit,

“The first man Adam became a living soul; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit.” (1 Cor 15:45)… The soul is alive. It has its life, therefore it enables man to do all sorts of things…The spirit, however, is able to give life to others and cause them to live… “It is the spirit,” says the Lord, ‘that giveth life; the flesh profiteth nothing” (John 6:63) (Watchman Nee, The Latent Power of the Soul)

Here it is important to state, one can perform a piece of theatre with life but it stops at self expression if it does not hold life-giving life or that which brings life to the observer/ the rest of the community. We are not searching for self expression but self expression within communal expression.

Christian community should pay attention to Brook’s warnings to theatre. We must discern carefully whether our self expressions don’t stop at the self but give life to others. We must be careful that our worship is not resuscitating our dead bodies for a moment but rather giving resurrected life. We can achieve this, I’m beginning to believe, by ‘playing’ constantly, feeling comfortable with others to experiment and to reject crude self expressions and aim for the self expression within communal expression that marks life-giving life to all. Feeling comfortable with others can only be achieved if we create space for vulnerability and commitment to community as a verb and not as a noun.

An Idea! (part II)

We’ll start by beginning to gather the five questions we finished with and making some possible links between them.

I think the first question, ‘who are ‘artists’?’, is a key question.

At the heart of this is who is creative? What makes some people creative and others not? The research that showed that the same act of recalling our episodic memory is similar to the act of imagining future episodes and creating a construct in our ‘mind’s eye’ show some correlation between the act of remembrance and creativity. In remembering an incident or episode we are involved in a creative act. Our brains are being creative. As human beings, therefore, in any act of remembering, recalling past events, we are being creative. I would suggest we are all, naturally, creative. There is, of course, some extreme cases of damage to this part of our brain where people can’t remember but, on the whole, we are creative.

In Genesis we read that God made us in His image. What this means is a massive concept but I want to draw on the creativity of God. I believe God created everything, He constructed it in His mind (if He had one) and constructed it in reality… wow the complexity is frightening! As humans we have been given the faculty, from God, to do likewise. His first command to us is to go forth and multiply…create. Now, creation of a child does not take any brain activity. When most people approach sex they don’t imagine the future child! God, however, seems to give humanity a special task of managing and subduing creation, this is a creative act. God asks us to be creative with His world to adapt it and grow it. The term ‘bara’ used in the creation narrative is the verb ‘to create’ and it is only used with God as the subject. Only God can ‘create’. As humans we are able to re-create. The research seems to suggest that we have an innate creativity in all of us.

For some this is easier than for others but I don’t think we can divide up humanity into those who are creative and those who aren’t. All of us are creative and all of us are able to be part of a creative act.
This may answer the second question, ‘how is the act of remembrance connected with creativity?’, and goes on to connect with this understanding of exile as ‘fertile ground’.

When we go into exile we are forced to participate in an act of collective recollection. This is an act of creativity. A group of people are forced to be creative and, therefore, participate in an act of humanity ‘made in the image of God’ and, therefore, are imitating God.

This may then answer the question, ‘Why does God seem to turn up in the time of exile?’ God turns up in exile when we start to, by recalling and being creative, etc., act in a way that is God-like.

This all has massive implications in the original question, ‘how does the church connect with ‘displacement deniers’?’.

I have for some time felt called to ‘artists’ and in particular theatre artists. This category has been extended as my understanding seems to be that all people are creative and therefore artists. This is un-helpful for me. My definition needs to be addressed. Artists must be restricted to describe a person who engages in art, a certain type of creative act. Everyone is able to engage with art but some choose not to and others do. Artists (those who choose to engage with art) tend to be more spiritually aware than those who do not choose to engage with art. Is art, therefore, key to spiritual awareness?

I’d like to suggest that it is and if we take this on board, with the body of evidence given previously, then to engage those people who deny their spiritual side we need to engage them in artistic endeavour for a
period of time.

Why is it some people don’t like art? There must be a hundred and one reasons why some people don’t but I’d like to be naive and suggest there is a fear or confusion as to how one engages in art. I need to look into this area!

What if the way we, as the church, connect with ‘displacement deniers’ is to put them into exile? Put them into a place where they are forced to recall the past, ache for home, emotionally engage with episodic recollection? Exile is the place where stories are told. Story-telling the basic creative act; it’s the act where we consciously recall episodes. When we do this we are also able then to imagine future constructions and be ‘creative’ and produce art; painting, theatre, music, etc. It is in this act of creativity that in some mysterious way God appears and/or we become aware of our spiritual life.

In my placement I’m excited by what we are discovering together about how we are creative, the correlation between nostalgia, exile and community… Thank you God for beginning this journey and thank you for bringing me such creative people to explore with.