Political correctness

As I write, an Iranian pastor awaits execution for refusing to stop following the Christian faith. I've just seen a twenty-second news report on a Saudi woman who was given ten lashes for 'repeatedly driving a car'.

And there in a nutshell you have my objection to our involvement in the struggle going on in various countries around the world. We happily spend millions on supporting one set of people over another, yet how (once we have taken the dubious step of interfering in the first place) can we possibly prioritise where we intervene/interfere?

I was in my forties before I realised that our relative poverty as a family when I was a little girl was in fact due to my parents' choice to educate my brothers (but not my sister and me) at a private school. Personally I believe we girls got the better deal, but that isn't the point. I remember the atmosphere of worry in the house, the anxious faces when a brown envelope arrived, the hand-me-down dresses which meant that I could never fit in with the girls I wanted to be like...

Why am I telling you this? Because I am angry about the poverty I see around me. Just as my family's poverty was self-inflicted, our nation's finances are being drained by our involvement overseas. Don't get me wrong, I am totally in favour of Foreign Aid and I support several charities at home and abroad. But when I look at the money being poured into other people's wars, I am angry. I am angry that my friend in Hampshire, a single parent who wants to work full-time as she did before she lost her job, has been advised that she will be 'better off' if she only works 16 hours.

Better off in what way? Oh - materially... and there's the rub. Who is watching out for our spiritual needs as a nation? Who is making sure that children grow up with values which go slightly deeper than which version of PlayStation they can cajole out of their parents? 'Things' and 'money' take precedence; therefore it is fine to spend all the country's money on wars waged ultimately to increase our prosperity. Oil? Let's help the people we think will be most amenable to our demands in the future. Ooops, we accidentally tortured one of them before we realised his future value? Hmm - tricky one, we'll sort it somehow.

I'm extremely myopic but I feel clear-sighted compared with those who govern us. Do they not realise the wider implications of Iran choosing to ignore the UN interpretation of religious freedom? Do they not realise that one day Saudi women may revolt, rise to leadership and hold us responsible for ignoring their plight?

Of course, it would be even better if our Government spoke out not from an 'eye to the main chance' standpoint, but from the perspective of having compassion for the victims of such harsh regimes. Even a 'This shouldn't be happening' would be a start, and wouldn't necessarily sever diplomatic relations.

But - we go on prioritising according to potential materialistic gain. To our spiritual and moral peril.

Meanwhile, pastors are executed and women are punished for daring to drive their own cars in public.

It's a funny old world...

I believe in...

Twice in the last week, someone has said to me in genuine surprise, "Oh - I didn't think you prayed any more... given your beliefs."

I think what they mean is, given my LACK of belief in the Church of England God. I can see why they might say that, but I do feel more than a little surprised, even slightly insulted, that they assume my journey ended when I left the C of E.

I have only myself to blame. For many years I was the kind of Christian who believed that other people's faith wasn't the Real Thing - and now that former arrogance has rebounded, so I suppose I must welcome it as a life lesson! But... there are plenty of studies and polls which show that although churchgoing has fallen, people still count themselves as having faith in God, and many still pray. In my former Frightfully Christian days, I suppose I might not have counted prayer in extremis as really genuine - why weren't they praying at other times, I would have pondered. Whereas now it seems to me that the cry of the heartfelt is possibly the most genuine prayer around.

I have been mulling over writing a Creed - my Creed - in recent weeks. Perhaps the time has come. I've always had a problem with the Creed, particularly since knowing a very 'High Church' Anglican who told me that he wouldn't countenance taking Communion from a Woman Priest but would have no problem if a Roman Catholic were to receive it at his side. Apart from a quick conversation pointing out the holes in his theology, I left it. But it made me realise that quite possibly I shared less with those around me in Church than I had thought.

Last week I attended Communion in my friend's church. I quite often help them by making up numbers in the Choir. It's not easy because unfortunately I don't really enjoy their service or the sermons (I was brought up on huge, solid helpings of Evangelical theology, and ten minutes of tweeness leaves me as unsatisfied as a Navvy with a salad). On this recent occasion I realised that my beliefs had moved on enough for me to have to really think as we said the Creed. (As an aside, I have always deplored the practice of asking Baptism families to say the Creed, when they are attending for that day only - if it is really the bedrock of the Church's faith and teaching, how can it be treated in such a shallow way?)

Anyway we set off. I was fine with God the Father, I believe Jesus existed, am less sure about some of the rest (my knowledge of Language and Oral tradition asks for a truly stupendous miracle of total recall, if accounts were true in every detail when written down 'only' thirty years later. I used to proudly proclaim this as a proof of the New Testament's accuracy, but these days I'm far less certain).

The Holy Spirit, well I got round Him with a little semantic wriggle. But a lot of the rest, I was unable to say in all conscience (do I take it more seriously than the average Churchgoer, perhaps?) and so didn't.

The key for me (as a Linguist, it would be) is that word Semantic. My understanding of semantics helps me to see how people might make the assumption that I don't pray. THEY are talking about prayer to God (1), where (1) = 'The God commonly referred to in the context of Christianity and more particularly, the Church of England'. Whereas these days my prayers are addressed to God (2), where (2) = the Numinous, unKnowable Figure to whom I tend to address my wishes and desires; in shorthand, 'prayers'.

I'm not even sure I believe in a 'personal' God any more, and this is where I part company with many in the Church (although not ALL - I know this because of conversations I had as a Clergy wife when I spotted people who didn't believe 'properly'...)

I do believe in a life force, and I'm sorry if that is too arty farty for readers here. I see no reason why that life force cannot be your God (1) and at the same time my God (2).

What DOES intrigue me is that quite often, God (2) seems to offer me comfort which eludes those who worship God (1). They say all the right things about how God takes care of them, how He is there for them, and how His Peace passes all understanding... but when it comes to the crunch, that isn't always the case. I have known God (1) and it's true that He was wonderful at offering solace and peace - but so is God (2).

It's just the old 'Muslims don't believe in the same God as me' in slightly different clothes. I am unnerving people who thought they'd packaged me neatly into a 'Lapsed' box. I refuse to stop praying. I don't always call it prayer, out of deference to those whom I think might be offended.

I see prayer differently these days. My shopping list has been torn up. I expect no neat endings. I spend much more time listening than talking. And I accept whatever comes in, I suppose, a rather too fatalistic way for my old Church friends to be comfortable with. I no longer have to make excuses ('perhaps your God is in the toilet' I remember from the Good News Bible!) because God (2) doesn't work in quite the same way.

I'm still searching for my path through life. Well, I'm ON it, actually. I don't see any reason it should be the same as yours. Or hers. Or his. It may very well be that we are ALL projecting our own ideas onto something which doesn't even exist, and if so - what a silly thing to fall out over!

Ooofff...

Yes, that's how I feel today. I rarely have Ooofff moments, but this has been a tough week. A trip to see a rapidly-deteriorating ex-Mother-in-Law, being there for her son (my Ex) because that's what you do... well it's what I do... all the while worrying about my sister who was very ill in hospital (recovering I think but still very unwell and with surgery to follow), half an hour on the phone late at night to my sobbing ex-Mother-in-Law who was confused, frightened, and couldn't get anybody to answer her call button (I am angry about that). She's better as I write, almost her old self, and they think a large part of it was caused by a urine infection which hasn't showed up in repeated tests over the last few months, so I'm concerned about that as well.

So - ooofff...

And then last night my first date in over two years. A really nice man but so not a match that I almost wished I hadn't gone and wasted both our evenings. The kind of date which makes you go home and think, "I am pretty happy alone, isn't it safer just not to try?" Two years is a long time to go without being held and kissed, without a shared meal with someone special, or a walk by the river... but I do some of those things on my own (okay, I have to share the meal with myself!) quite well. I am torn - is it so bad to sink into the comfort of long-term singleness (almost 10 years now) or am I copping out by not copping off?

Ooofff...

Still, I'm the Queen of Picking Up and Dusting Down. I survived seven hellish years of constant trips to A&E/Operating theatres with one of my daughters, and we're out the other end.

This too shall pass...

I've always identified with Snufkin in the Moomin books when the first stirrings of Autumn (which led Moominmamma to prepare for hibernation) called him like the Pied Piper. He would stand and sniff the air and know that it was time to go.

I feel like this every year in Autumn. As I grow older I find myself less worried about consequences, and more aware that I need to do all the things I want before it's too late. I see this as a gift of ageing, this reshuffling of priorities. I've known too many people who've died within a year of retirement. I'm not going to postpone my life.

Brave talk. I ought to add for the sake of accuracy that as of this moment I've no idea where this will take me. But, like Snufkin, I'm sniffing the air and wondering...

9/11

I don't want to be crass and cause offence. I have avoided the media today, but that isn't out of disrespect. The opposite, in fact. I don't think it's my business to watch people's grief. You can 'mourn with them that mourn' without gawping at them on television.

I wonder how it feels if you lost a loved one on that day - not in the terrible attacks but to some other accident, or gently after a long illness. I wonder if it feels as though the very day they died has itself been hijacked by history, like some fifth plane.

Conspiracy theories still abound. One which seems to have a better pedigree than most lives here: http://www.ae911truth.org/en/about-us.html

I know enough about politics to understand that finding the whole truth on this matter is going to be impossible. I certainly believe that politicians in every country are capable of doing terrible things to cover up their true agenda. I choose to believe that the Bush administration probably did not sacrifice 3,000 people to the cause of promoting war, but - there are many unexplained things about that day. And with a heavy heart I have to say that I could envisage being proved wrong.

What saddens me is that America and Britain seem to think that because of 9/11 and 7/7, we have some kind of moral superiority. The West is able to decide, apparently, which countries need to be Sorted and how to Sort them. I believe the vast majority of British people would not be able to tell you why we went into Afghanistan, or why we remain. I cannot think of a country where we have become involved and brought about peace. (Please comment if you can, I may be wrong). I don't believe we are currently fulfilling our stated brief in Libya. I am cynical about our involvement in countries where there is oil, and our lack of support for rebels in countries where there is not.

It has proved to be rather an own goal on the UK's part that we handed over one of the rebel leaders to the torturers of the CIA some time ago. Now he is threatening to sue. The carpet will be lifted, and we shall be able to see how much dirt lies underneath.

I don't want to write any more tonight. There must be literally miles of column footage on this subject and I am not well-versed in politics. So I leave you with one last thought:

When we look back in forty years' time, will we truly believe that Guantanamo Bay was a fitting tribute to those who died in New York on 9/11?

1662 and all that...

I was in a bookshop the other day, trying to think why Richard Dawkins annoys me so much.

This won't be a popular view perhaps, but it's nothing to do with what he says (some of which is eminently sensible) - it's the sloppy way he argues it. I don't think he's very good at putting his point across. It may be some misguided intent to make his ideas accessible, I don't know, but whenever I read his writing I feel as though I'm running round some mental Moebius Strip. I also really don't like the way some of my atheist friends lazily quote Dawkins rather (I suspect) than think things through for themselves.

My train of thought led me onto pondering why the Church annoys me so much these days, and a phrase popped into my head - something John Sentamu (the Archbishop of York) said the other day: "Being a leader is not only about being courageous and determined; it is about being part of an effective team."

Like so much of what Bishop John says, this is very true and yet - it depressed me to read it. I had no idea why, so I took some time later in the day to think about it.

And this led me to an important realisation about how I see the Church of England. As I sat and thought, I remembered being taught many things about Leadership decades ago. Back then, leadership (in the Church context) was about 'Taking time to listen to God'. After all, Jesus could hardly have said at times that he was part of an effective team. They were on occasion a rubbish team, who only really got it together after he'd gone. It didn't stop him being a leader.

A memory flashed into my mind of my ex-husband coming in from a clergy training day many, many years ago and venting his frustration at it all. "They're giving us MANAGEMENT training!" he spluttered indignantly. "It's all very well, but if we lose our vision of the Church as a spiritual organisation, we are going to end up with all the problems which big companies have."

How prescient. As we went on, we discovered that there was less and less room for 'Being Still and Knowing' in clergy life. It was increasingly about meetings, budgets, finance committees... in fact we were great at fund-raising, I discovered a real flair for it - but I never quite lost the feeling that in some way we were running counter to the true gist of the Gospel.

I'm not stupid. I know that in effect the C of E is a giant business. Therein lies its spiritual downfall, like so many religions and insitutions before it. I went forward to ABM (the Church's Selection process for clergy) and was turned down (so I was told) because I appeared to be 'too much of a people person'. I consoled myself with the thought that Jesus probably wouldn't have got through either.

I began to lose patience with it all as I watched an institution which largely preached against the dangers of Astrology and the like, turn to Myers Briggs profiling to choose its clergy; there was a rumour that introverts were far more likely to be appointed. I suppose they were more malleable?

Anyway perhaps I was unlucky with my timing. If I'd been a decade earlier or later I might not have had the feeling of watching something precious go downhill. I know enough Church history to know that this isn't a unique time in history, but I truly despair as I see the Church desperately manouevring to 'get down there' with whichever element of society they are trying to draw in. Where's the USP?

I was drawn to the Church through the early morning Prayer Book service at the age of 13. I've also led worship in the pub style, loved it at the time, and see nothing wrong with both co-existing. But the 'pub-style' church were astoundingly bad at welcoming the people my Ex and I brought along from our local pub. He always said that many churches with good 'foreign mission giving' were pursuing an active foreign policy, paying others to do what they weren't prepared to do themselves.

I know this isn't the case in larger, flagship churches and indeed in many others - but I think 'The Church' has ignored to its own detriment the fact that systems and methods simply don't replace a genuine urge to share the love of Jesus because you just can't help it.

I'm not in that place any more. I just try to extend love to people, because - well for all sorts of reasons, but basically as a fellow human. There was, you see, no place for me any more in a church which sought to put me in a box, refused my offer of deeper involvement, turned away the truly needy until they were a bit cleaner...

I grant that I could have been in a different place at a different time and had another experience entirely. It was unfortunate that after two decades of being known for encouraging hospitality in our congregations, the several churches I attended after my divorce happened to be places where nobody spoke to me. One of them had Alpha posters (don't get me STARTED!) all over but I assumed as I hadn't been invited, I didn't count as a statistic by just turning up. Whatever - nobody spoke to me there, either.

My point, though, is this: I WANTED to find a church. I WANTED to be involved. I had a lot to offer. Whatever systems are in place, they are probably letting down hundreds, even thousands of people who truly would like to explore their spirituality.

I don't even count myself a Christian any more. I can't because there is no place for me to be one. And I actually don't want to be, not if it means having to conform to this awful, watered-down form of Being. It's sad but to be very honest I feel as though I've escaped from a cult; my daughter said the same.

I'm aware that my feelings are my own - that there are many arguments for what the Church is getting right. It hurts me to see my beloved nephew so worried because I can't in all conscience say the things he wants to hear about my faith.

Has the Church failed me? Have I failed it? I have to believe that I am on my own spiritual journey and that things which have happened to me have been for a reason - to make me ME. I look back at all the people I led to Christ (a lot!) and wonder what they believe now, if they are still glad I did, if they are tussling with the feeling something's not right, or the guilt of wondering if they are beyond the Hebrews 11 pale.

I'll keep you posted!

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness...

If I were allowed only one line of poetry to keep safely in my memory, I think it would be that. My slight touch of synaesthesia can taste and smell those wonderful words as I roll them around my brain like a fine wine. And yet every year I manage to be surprised by just how much I love this time of year - however much I remind myself, in Spring and Summer I always doubt my love of Autumn. And then September arrives, with its air of having just got in from some very enjoyable show; late and a little tired, but full of excitement still.

How much my life has changed in a few short years! I've moved so far from the feelings of desperation and being trapped in the wrong job. I'm not quite sure I'm in the right place yet, but I'm so much nearer than I was. My daughters are both settled in their new countries, I've enjoyed travelling and feeling Truly Alive again, and now Autumn is here to remind me that there is an energy in growing old which isn't available to Spring. There is a way to grow older whilst retaining a love of life, an exhuberance, even an embracing of what is to come, because at least it's new and different and therefore exciting.

I've been very fortunate to have some great role models of older people. I knew a woman of 107, and remember my Mother coming in laughing because she'd just met the son, who was grumbling about how he'd had no sympathy from her when he had pleaded Arthritis as his excuse for not digging her garden. "Yer nobbut a lad!" was her scathing comment. He was 83 at the time.

When I was a little girl of 6, my best friend was 63. We spent time together most days, I was an honorary OAP and went sketching, walking and swimming with her and her friends. She saved my life really - I got the warmth from her which was lacking at home. She in turn had been The One Who Stayed At Home, looking after both parents until Mother died at 90. She had a very close friendship with one woman, and looking back I think it's very likely she was a lesbian (even as a child I thought she was manly) but I have no idea whether they would ever have sought anything more than intense friendship. I remember well her disparaging remarks about men and her wonderful example of embracing life and it just being a bally nuisance if your legs got stiff, but not to pay any attention. She was my best friend until I was a teenager. I realise now that perhaps I also gave her something emotionally. I'm immensely grateful for having known her.

So - Autumn as metaphor. Too obvious to comment on. Many people have written about it far better than I ever could. What interests me this year is that, way back in late Spring, I found myself dreading Winter.

To put this into context, I've always loved Winter. In Yorkshire we really did have those deep drifts of snow of which people speak nostalgically. I used to sit at the window and watch the snow falling at night, each flake visible in the light of the lamp outside our house. I would choose one way, way up in the air and watch it weave its way down amongst thousands of its brothers and sisters, feeling special that I was the only person in the whole world watching that particular one and seeing its journey's end.

Last year, however, snow took on a different meaning for me. I was still recovering from knee surgery and my estate was swamped by so much snow that the cars were visible only as the white shapes of beetles on what used to be the road. It snowed, and snowed, and snowed. My daughters were really peeved to miss this re-run of the winters I'd told them about from my childhood. Buses disappeared for over two weeks. It took fifteen minutes to walk to the corner shop some 300 metres away. I feared for the elderly couple across the road and battled out every other day to buy them food.

For the first week it was amazing. It really was like travelling back to the past. And then as we went into a second, and then a third week of the snow, and I couldn't leave the house without it falling inside my wellies, I began to feel this irrational fear that it was never going to stop. We had had a huge flood a few years earlier (not my local area thank goodness) which had shaken our confidence in the weather. Now it looked increasingly as though I was never going to be able to drive again.

I realise now that something was damaged inside me last winter. This year I have been dreading it. I don't like feeling this way, and I'm reminding myself of all the wonderful things about the dark and snow, the warmth of the lights in shops and houses, the buzz of shoppers and the cameraderie you feel when you finally sit in a cafe and peel off your coat, and catch other shoppers' eyes.

Perhaps there is a deeper resonance here. Maybe it's not the season I dread, but the symbolism. There has been so much talk the last few years of disaster coming at us from all directions, perhaps in some way I equate it with that bad winter.

So today I'm making a choice. I am going to enjoy next winter, whatever it brings, even if it's just the challenge of enjoying it! I always hate to feel cut off from my beloved Peak District - so this year I shall find ways of getting there anyway. I'll force myself out in the cold to walk through the crisp air, and I shan't worry in case my knee (fine now) lets me down. It won't. I'm going to rediscover that childhood joy of breathing in pure, cold air, hearing the silence behind the muffled traffic, watching snowflakes dancing and knowing that Spring cannot be far behind...