Category Archives: Biology & theology

Tourette’s

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I hardly think a caption necessary

What shall I do about my Tourette’s? People say it’s very entertaining when my outrageous comments issue forth. One day, though, if they haven’t already, they’ll get me into terrible trouble. Are my Tourette tendencies eruptions of some long-suppressed frustrations? Evagrios (4th century) said: The demons that fight us in the front line are those entrusted with the appetites of gluttony, those that suggest avaricious thoughts, and those that incite us to seek the esteem of men. Is this my problem: the need to show off to others, the craving of recognition by those whose recognition is not worth having? If so, I suppose the first step is to recognise the embryonic urge to utter forth in glorious voice something that would best be left unuttered, and nip it in the bud.

Or perhaps my brain is wired that way, and this is an expression of me. If it were suppressed, would I cease to be me? Are the brains of comedians and performers – like clergy – wired in such a way that we need some degree of Tourette’s in order to do our work? Neuroscientists and pyschologists must have opined on this.

A common image of Jesus is, to quote from hymn and carol, someone meek and mild, obedient and good. The Jesus of Holy Scripture is charismatic, elusive, revolutionary, sometimes offensive, physical, thoughtful, sympathetic, empathetic. He rarely if ever answers a question directly. He is described by others as a glutton and a drunkard. These two sets of images do not match. Why not?

The church seems to emasculate men. It often seems very ‘girly’. Perhaps theological colleges have a burdizzo (look it up). No wonder men and boys are deserting the church. Which would you rather do: play sport or be passive in church? Of course, church needn’t be passive, and it’s possible to do both church and sport (or whatever), but in this case, Sunday morning ain’t a good time for getting folk in.

Maybe it’s this conflict between what I feel I am, and what people expect me to be, that’s the cause of my pseudo-Tourette’s. On reflection, though, I think I’ve always been like this. Maybe it’s hardwired in and I should live with it, enjoy it. When I and my colleagues were ordained, the Bishop told us that we must never lose our humanity. The hand that made us is divine.

Nappies, nurture, nets

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Casting a net on the Sea of Galilee

Permission? – don’t wait

I’ve heard it said that the best mark of a group leader is how well the group has been prepared to prosper without one. In church terms, a good indicator of a successful incumbency is how well the churches can manage in an interregnum. If the departing priest was someone who insisted on making all the decisions, allowing nobody else to do or say anything that threatened the priest’s power, then the church community is unlikely to be well prepared to manage in a vacancy. It will be fractured and fractious, like naughty children when the teacher leaves the room. If, on the other hand, the priest encourages others to have a hand in the administration, the liturgy, and the generation of ideas and plans for the future, and is prepared to let people have responsibility, then things may well run pretty smoothly in a vacancy. I don’t wish to be a priest of the first category—I would like to be one of the second. So I’m delighted to see people volunteering—or being volunteered—to enrich the life of our churches and communities. I remember our children finding out that helping themselves to sweets and then telling us (or not), was ‘better’ than asking first and being told ‘no’. Better, surely, to ask forgiveness than seek permission.

Growing up

Did you see on TV recently the programme about English teenagers living with the Amish? One was pampered (smothered?) by parents; one was sponging off benefits. They grew up pretty quickly. Ministers who keep their congregations in nappies stunt their growth, and congregations who expect the minister to do everything for them will never grow up. Taking responsibility for oneself is one of the Gospel messages, and it is a real healing act. If we expect healing to mean medical cure, as if biological processes can and should be reversed by the odd prayer here or there, then we live in a fool’s paradise. Jesus the healer helping people come to terms with the situations they are in. Healing as acceptance of reality. Healing as preparation for future development. Healing as salvation, liberation.

Stress for fun

Muscles and bones grow by being stressed and challenged. Healthy immune systems work when challenged (we’re too clean). Some people imagine that life should be stress-free. This is self-indulgent piffle. Without stress, we don’t grow and learn. We remain in a rut, ignorant of the big wide world with all its opportunities. We let our unchallenged prejudices corrupt us. We become like those who (Psalm 17) ‘are inclosed in their own fat, and their mouth speaketh proud things.’ Gospel messages again: let’s take responsibility for ourselves, let’s take stock of where we are, let’s take risks, let’s push at boundaries, let’s put out into the deep, let’s cast our nets on the other side—the side we’ve never tried before.

Memory and delight

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Eyes that see do not grow old

Looking back

November is a very looking-back sort of month with All Souls at the beginning, then Remembrance Sunday. We will say prayers in churches and at memorials. We will remember names of those killed trying to maintain peace. But what use are these prayers unless they result in changing our human behaviour? It is easy to see how others need to change their behaviour, but the truth is that we all need to look into a mirror and start with our own behaviour before even beginning to think about telling other people what to do. Playground fights become wars. Interpersonal slights grow through resentments into bitternesses and feuds. The trouble is that when you harbour a grudge, and plot revenge, you are harming yourself more than anyone else. And then you die. So let us use the November season to resolve that when that day comes when we shuffle off this mortal coil, we leave behind as few resentments and as little unfinished business as possible. Let’s start now by being honest with one another, by getting things out in the open. An abscess needs to be lanced with a knife, not covered by an elastoplast.

Looking forward

Learn from the past to live in the present to lay foundations for the future. This brings me to Advent on the four Sundays of which we remember patriarchs, prophets, John Baptist and Mary—the past being renewed in preparation for a transformed future. Advent for me the best time of year: cool, sunny (one hopes), fresh, crisp, invigorating. Images of waiting, preparing, cleansing. And yet, with Christmas carols already as shop muzak, we seem to have lost the art of waiting. I’m one of the world’s most impatient people, but a bit of waiting, however painful, increases the joy. And it’s waiting that the four weeks before Christmas are all about: Latin ad venire meaning ‘coming towards’. We wait for a guest, an eagerly expected visitor. As at home, preparation for such events usually means a bit of tidying up, getting stuff ready, and relaxing before the arrival. Unfortunately, this sense of waiting with mounting excitement has been all but lost to us in what the media call the ‘run up to Christmas’ – planning presents, trees, food, booze, frenetic activity, much of it fuelled by the children’s media and the evil advertising industry that incites us to greed and avarice. Even the church in so many places is caught up in this as Carol Services are held well before Christmas. Advent is obliterated. And I am complicit: although I complain, I do not like Carol Services after Christmas, so must have them before! I encourage you, if possible, to take some time out in December, maybe just a minute or two here and there, for stocktaking and refreshment. For waiting, in fact. For relaxing. At Christmas we celebrate having been shown the way to live as the Divine comes to us: ‘God became what we are, in order that we may become what God is.’ The glory of God is a human life lived to the full, when our deep joy meets the world’s deep need. If, like me, you long for a bit of peace and quiet before Christmas, don’t feel bad about taking time out. And if you want to be stimulated, come to our Advent discussions on Wednesdays at the Rectory at 8 pm. These might be just the things to revive your drooping spirit before the onslaught of family arguments and frayed nerves. Relax into being yourself. Get rid of the ‘shoulds’ and ‘oughts’ (too much butter leads to hardening of the arteries, and too many ‘oughts’ leads to hardening of the ‘oughteries’), and be yourself, bringing as much delight as you can into the world.

Money

I have a simplistic view of money, and doubtless old fashioned. I do not see how people can spend what they do not have. I have always been better at spending than at earning, and I look back with horror at the ways in which I have been a poor husband of my resources. The retrospectoscope is a wonderful thing. But: the churches need your money. This is not a good time to ask for it, but needs must. First among our financial obligations come the diocesan assessment (clergy stipends, pensions, advisers, administration etc), upkeep of the buildings, and the maintenance of our liturgical and pastoral activities. There are those who bemoan the fact that historic buildings can be a millstone around our necks, but they are a fact of life, and it would be irresponsible for us wilfully to neglect them. Anyway, buildings are mission tools—they can bring people to church, and there they might just find something worth staying for. Some churches have large reserves. Maybe we should ask ourselves: what are these for? It’s difficult to persuade people to give to an organisation that is wealthy. In the Jewish Scriptures, much is made of tithing—giving a tenth of your income to support the work of the Jewish priesthood. Christian Scriptures make no mention of tithing (though since the early Christians were Jews they may have assumed it), but they do (see Acts especially) talk openly about the maintenance of ministry and the obligations of those that have more than they need to support those that have not. This does not mean that sponging off others is permissible or even allowed—we are all responsible for ourselves ultimately. But I encourage you to dig deep into your pockets to support the work of the church and its ministry in order to safeguard the future. 

Thankfulness

Despite my profligacy, I am alive. I wake up each morning and think, good—I’m not dead yet. I’m of an age when some of the people I was at school and university with are no longer breathing. If you are reading this, be glad.

Back to Ireland

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A Rector knows his place - between a rock and a hard place

Greetings and thanks

You have worked hard on the Rectory and the garden. One of you only narrowly escaped amputation of a foot—an act that takes selflessness to new levels. The garden, greenhouse, new path, patio and fence look very good. The Rectory—and please call in when you are passing—looks lovely. Painting all interior walls magnolia has worked a treat to give the place a sense of light and cheer. Our visitors from England were impressed by Portlaoise, Ballyfin and the Rock, and by your friendliness to them. The institution service was a real delight and great fun, and the refreshments afterwards were magnificent. It is dangerous to mention names, so I won’t—but thank you to wardens, musicians, flower arrangers, cleaners, bakers and caterers, bringers-up, readers, gardeners, craftsmen and craftswomen—we thank you all for your industry and welcome. You could not have been more welcoming.

Moving is exhausting

Moving to Ireland the second time is easier than the first in 1988: not only familiarity, but also this time no house-hunting or worries about schools for children etc. However, we are 23 years older. On Irish TV when we arrived is Rose of Tralee, which was on when we first came house hunting in 1987. Some things never change.

Knowing me, knowing you. It will take time for me to get to know you, and you me. It will take a while for me to be able to put faces to names and names to faces. Please bear with me, and don’t be offended if you have to correct or remind me: no insult is intended. The poet T S Eliot wrote:
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
and:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

One of the messages of these two snippets is that through exploration we begin to know ourselves. We make decisions about ourselves partly on the basis of what we sense around us—the environment—and in order to do this we need to explore. We grow through exploration. The Church in Europe needs to interact more with the environment in which it finds itself. It needs to become involved with (engage with, though I dislike that management jargon) contemporary culture, with physics, with biology—with what it means to be human. If it does not, it will surely die. You might think it’s already dying. Maybe that’s a good thing since death precedes resurrection. Archbishop Michael Ramsey said ‘it may be the will of God that our Church should have its heart broken, and if that were to happen it wouldn’t mean that we were heading for the world’s misery but quite likely pointing the way to the deepest joy.’

It’s inevitable that there will be frustrations and friction as we step onwards, trying to adapt to the world as it is, rather than as it used to be or as we wish it could be. Our Lord’s ministry was always concerned with getting people to come to terms with the situation they were in, rather than the situation they wished they were in. That is what healing means—it is not about cure, but about acceptance. And that is a big part of salvation. Think about the word: save, salve, heal – all part of shalom, peace—and peace does not mean suppressing anger, but rather is a process in which the causes of anger are exposed so that they can be addressed. If you have a festering abscess, sticking an elastoplast on it is useless. You need to open it and clean out the pus. Christianity is not about being nice. I hope no one will ever call me nice. (No one yet has. I’ll know you’re trying to insult me if you do.) Irritations and robust discussion are the grit around which real pearls may form. The pearl we seek is eternal life—nothing to do with life after death, but everything to do with life here and now. Quality of life, not quantity. Eternal, out of time, in the present. Instant by instant. ‘Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven’ is about state of mind. It’s about how we see ourselves. I’m certain that Christians on the whole do not spend enough time looking into themselves: get yourself straightened out first, like on the aeroplane where you are exhorted in an emergency to put your own mask on before bothering about anyone else’s. A man that looks on glass [mirror], on it may stay his eye, or, if he pleaseth, through it pass, and then the heavens espy. For too long church people have been concerned about telling others what to do, rather than looking into their own innards.

So what is the point of being a Christian? For me, it is this: I came that all may have life and have it in abundance. And: that all may have power to become sons and daughters of God. We do this by letting go of attachments. If you want to know more, come to church.

Things you need to know

My right ear hears better than my left. I do not find hearing aids much use because they magnify all the background. It is often an advantage to be hard of hearing, especially at meetings. Susan wears her hearing aid more often than I wear mine. Vision in my left eye is restricted (retinal detachment in 2006). I like tea strong, with milk in second. Please sing loud: enthusiasm is more important than accuracy. Please say the spoken parts of the service with enthusiasm. If you don’t we will repeat them until I think they are loud enough (seen the film Groundhog Day?). Whatever we do in church says something about our humanity so let it be with verve. Let go of inhibitions. To be fully human is to approach the divine. Let delight be our watchword: desire and delight, prayer and parties. Remember this: without joy and delight, we are in hell. That indeed was St Isaac’s definition of hell.

Engaging gear

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More tea, Vicar?

A silly time to start a job

As I write in early October, it’s six weeks since I started this job. I’ve come to the conclusion that Autumn is a daft time to begin. Almost immediately, I was plunged into preparations for the most important liturgical solemnity of the year (no, no, no, not Christmas, let alone Easter, but Harvest, of course). Since I did not know the Irish tradition of inviting suckers from other parishes to come and preach, I’ve ended up being a sucker several times over, preaching not only in my own churches but in two of more savvy neighbours as well. One lives and learns. Or not. After the Harvests, the clergy conference. In the diocese of Derby, clergy conference was optional, and with over 150 stipendiary clergy, nobody bothered whether one went or not. Here it is different, so let me say without further ado how much I enjoy conferences. Nothing gives me greater pleasure. In academic life, conferences are marked by spite and invective thinly veiled as insincere politeness. Beware the question that begins ‘a most interesting presentation—I have one tiny question’. You are about to be disembowelled. My joy at Derby diocesan conferences was to open a book on which member of the clergy would speak (a) first, and (b) most often. After the conference comes the synod. I remember my days on the Diocesan Synod of Dublin and Glendalough, so have some idea of what joy is in store. After Synod comes Advent, by far the best time of the liturgical year though sadly now merely the ‘run up to Christmas’, and then Christmas itself. Jesus’ sweet head, the heresy of ‘veiled in flesh’, and … I’d better stop now. In amongst all this come prisons, hospitals, civic things, visiting the firm and infirm, being berated for not remembering someone’s name, and—the thing that theological colleges spend most time preparing one for—the drawing up of rotas.

Are you settling in?

This is the question that has tickled my acoustic apparatus (such as it is) several times daily for the last six weeks. You have all been most solicitous, and Susan and I thank you for your generosity and warmth. Monsignor John Byrne and his colleagues at SS Peter and Paul have been wonderfully hospitable, and when I represented the Church of Ireland Portlaoise Group at the memorial mass for UN veterans I was acclaimed most warmly. For the purposes of this discussion, though, please note that we are now settled. It is questionable whether one should ever feel too settled. There is no evidence that Our Lord was settled, or that he felt any terrestrial ties. He was certainly ambivalent about family. Family ties can indeed be invigorating and life-enhancing, but so too they can be stifling and repressive. Not doing things because so-and-so might disapprove. Being inhibited by some self-appointed and often rather stupid guardian of family morality. Jesus’ message was one of freedom from all this. He is on record as having urged people to distance themselves from (‘hate’ is the translation one most often hears) family. This is yet another call to detachment. We are all parts of the one body, but we are all detached. The liver and right kidney are parts of the same body, but are separate from each other. (Sorry—too much information for some of you, but you ain’t heart nuthin yet: wait till Mary’s uterus comes along). If over-attachment (obsessions, addictions, hatreds, etc), is the cause of most of life’s ills, and I am certain that it is, then detachment is at least part of the answer. Let it go. Be wary of being settled, because then you won’t cope with change. It’s worth remembering that mankind was originally nomadic, a lifestyle that became more difficult when we stopped being hunter-gatherers and became farmers.

A spot of bother

Those of you who follow church politics in the press, or on t’interweb (and, boys and girls, who doesn’t?), will have seen that our Bishop has been in what P G Wodehouse might have called a spot of bother. At the root of this bother is the matter of how we interpret Holy Scripture. How do we interpret Greek words of dubious meaning? How do we in the 21st century interpret Scripture written for a particular mindset and culture 2000 years ago and more? We accept that the Biblical flat earth and watery heavens are mistaken. We accept that the slavery, polygamy and incest that occur in the Bible are unacceptable. We do things that Holy Scripture tells us are forbidden: we eat pork, we wear polycotton, we ignore Levitical rules about farming. For people to get hot under the ‘choler’ about some rules and not others displays an arrogance and irrationality that is breathtaking. We must be honest about our own animal nature. The Church of Ireland bishops have announced that there will be a conference in 2012 to explore sexuality. This is good: we need to have this discussion, and we need to be seen to be having it, no matter what the result might be. The Bishops write that ‘biblical, theological and legal issues’ will be explored. This is not enough. They have omitted human issues, animal issues. How can they consider human actions and behaviour without considering the fact that we are animals, governed by instincts and hormones that are God-given. Come on Bishops, wake up!

Maybe we need to remember that alongside the two great commandments to love God, and neighbour as self, Our Lord gave us what is perhaps the third great commandment, to love our enemies. That is the work we have to get on with.

Restlessness, lust, delight

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I love trains. Modern ones. The Pendolinos on the Euston lines are a wonder. Take yourself to Rugby station, and wait for a northbound non-stopper to zoom up from the south tilting round the bend, and through the station at 125 mph. So, to recap, I like trains. Which means that Susan and I like trains. At the end of February, we’re off to Venice and Ljubljana. Train all the way. Paul Theroux said ‘I have seldom heard a train go by … and not wished I was on it.’ That is me absolutely. The first thing I do when I go to a new city is want to go somewhere else. Continual movement, new experiences, ultra-low boredom threshold. An inability to understand how people can survive day-in-day-out sameness. A total lack of sympathy with ruts (although as the Headmaster in Alan Bennett’s Forty Years On said: ‘when one is in one, at least one knows exactly where one is’). Some would say—and I can picture finger-wagging aged relations telling the childhood me this—that it indicates a ‘spoilt’ nature, ‘he’s never satisfied with anything, and he should learn to accept what the Lord provides’. In this vein, there’s a verse of All things bright and beautiful, expunged from today’s hymn books, which goes: ‘The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate, God made them high or lowly, and ordered their estate’. If that means that we all have our own gifts, skills and characteristics, and we have to accept them and work with them rather than denying them, then I see the truth in it. But if it means that we should stay still, meekly accepting what is thrown at us is, then it’s absolute pish. If we never wanted to explore we would still be living in caves. Restlessness is a good thing.

Is restlessness simply a lust, a craving, for new experience? Lust, they say, is bad. I don’t believe it. Lust can develop into love. It often does. We are animals, at the mercy of our hormones, and lust is part of life. It’s not just about sex. Spiritual lust, longing for something better, must be good. Holy Scripture is full of Hebrew and Greek words exploring cravings: urge, lust, longing (eros), delight, pleasure, passion (inordinate affections that render us almost incapable of action). Restlessness can most certainly be a good thing. It can result in easing pain, raising standards, exposing injustice. Sure, it can be dangerous when it leads us to become whistleblowers, so we need courage. The Christian story is that new life results from such courage. I suggest that we need to be mindful of our restlessness and lusts, channelling them to increase delight in the world.

I see how difficult it is for people as they get older, who have been active and restless, to come to terms with restriction, for whatever reason. It can be a real challenge for someone to accept that they have to rethink the way they live. Physical immobility forcing the need for spiritual agility. As I get older—I am 60—I see physical circumstances simply as the consequences of random events, earlier decisions, earlier restlessness, earlier lusts. And now, none of it matters like it once did. I can’t undo the past, and I can’t control the future. This means I can try to be more attentive to living in the here and now. And this, boys and girls, is Jesus’ message. My kingdom is not of this world—or the next—but an inner kingdom in which this world and its toys are illusion: here today and gone tomorrow. Rest comes when I lay aside my own attachments, interests and convenience. Self-obsessedness, the self-centred ego, the ‘me first’ attitude, are curiously lacking in nourishment. Maybe rest will come when we lay down ‘self’. But we must beware: it is easy to say we do things for others when in fact we do them for ourselves. St Augustine knew all about lust. He prayed ‘Lord, make me chaste, but not yet.’ He was a restless man, but saw the eternal truth of our human ramblings: ‘my heart is restless until it rests in thee’.

All I want for Christmas is …

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The Church of England has advised us to stick to cash this Christmas in order to deal with the so-called credit crunch. Without ranting on again about the greedy money merchants who largely got us into the mess, it’s worth remembering that we’re all susceptible to seductive advertising, and tempted to spend more than we can afford. At least I am. If I stick to cash, I can’t spend what I haven’t got. And we don’t need to buy each other expensive things. Last month, I asked you what you really, really want, and suggested that our wanting new things, or a new job, or a new relationship might be pointing to more fundamental needs: a search for a spiritual home, coping with disappointments and lost opportunities, or the need to accept yourself—just as you are. Maybe that’s the best Christmas gift you can give yourself: to accept yourself for what you are, warts and all. And maybe that’s the best Christmas gift you can give someone else: to accept them for what they are, warts and all. We are all human.

Being human is what the Christmas story is all about. At Christmas, divinity meets humanity. Heaven meets earth. Drop down, ye heavens, from above. The divine enters fully into every aspect of human life. Think of the mess of the birth: Mary, Jesus, baby, blood, umbilical cord, placenta. No sterile wipes, gas- and-air, midwives. If the mess of being human is good enough for the Holy Family, it’s good enough for holy you and holy me. We have no need to be ashamed of being human. We have no need to feel ashamed of our human urges, human emotions, human despair or human joy—all this is part of the divinity of living human life to the full. Our job is to channel our human urges and emotions, our despair and joy, into ways that increase the sum total of delight in the world for ourselves and for others. Because we’re human, we make mistakes, but there’s another part of the Christian story that deals with that. At this time of year we celebrate being human. As St Irenaeus said, God became what we are, in order that we may become what he himself is. … The glory of God is a living person and human lived to the full is the vision of God. The Christmas Gospel tells us that we all have the power to become sons and daughters of God. Relax into being yourself. Get rid of the ‘shoulds’ and ‘oughts’ (too much butter leads to hardening of the arteries, and too many ‘oughts’ leads to hardening of the ‘oughteries’), and be yourself, bringing as much delight as you can into the world.

For me, it is the joy of celebrating human-ness that powers worship: human creativity leading to good sounds, good sights, lovely smells and ordered liturgy and ritual, all directed at something bigger than I can comprehend. Ordered rituals say something that words and thoughts are unable to reach. If you were brought up, as many of us were, to think that church is about obeying rules for no good reason, then I’m sorry. Do you remember playing with model cars in your sandpit, or whatever the equivalent is for girls? Well, the church’s rituals are, amongst other things, about liturgical play in a divine sandpit. Maybe all this is one reason why churches are full for Carol Services and Midnight masses.