tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23973776657905885562024-02-08T15:02:16.717+00:00Wool gathering of a northern deanReveries and reflections from the Deanery at Durham.Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-11609485518271716172015-10-06T16:33:00.001+01:002020-05-02T13:09:59.343+01:00A New Woolgathering (Not-Decanal) Blog<div style="direction: ltr; text-align: left;">
If you're visiting this site and wondering why the Decanal Woolgatherer has been silent since 2015, the answer is that he has retired! I now blog in a personal capacity under the title Woolgathering in North East England. You can find me at <span style="color: #0b5394;"><a href="http://northernwoolgatherer.blogspot.com/">http://northernwoolgatherer.blogspot.com</a></span>. My lectures, addresses and sermons are still at my (renamed) site <span style="color: #0b5394;"><a href="http://northernambo.blogspot.com/">http://northernambo.blogspot.com</a></span><span style="color: #674ea7;">.</span></div>
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I am keeping this site live for any who want to revisit it. Thank you for reading, for company and for conversation online. Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-78563789202652973372015-09-29T13:41:00.002+01:002015-10-01T11:23:17.563+01:00The Dean's Last Blog<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not my last blog ever, just the last in the role of Dean. I'm writing on my final day in Durham. You'll forgive me if it's a trifle longer than usual. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am sitting in the medieval library of the Deanery that has been our home for the last twelve and half years. One eighth of a century. That's a mere blink of the eye in the long history of this Cathedral, but it's a significant chunk of my own lifetime. I can honestly say I have never been more fulfilled or happy. As I look at the Cathedral glowing in autumnal sunshine on a beautiful Michaelmas Day, I am profoundly grateful for the privilege of having served here and lived here during these years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">During these last few days we've been given a truly wonderful send-off. I blogged last time about what was coming up but hadn't anticipated: the extraordinary warmth and generosity of everyone who has been part of it. You'll allow me, I hope, to say a bit about it because it's one way I can begin (but only begin) to say thank you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">On Friday night, we are </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">dined out by the Cathedral Chapter together with our spouses. We always enjoy these convivial occasions, whether it's to welcome or say farewell to our colleagues. I've never needed to be reminded of how much I owe to a Chapter that has been outstanding throughout my time. I'm not forgetting the tough times, when it's been vital to have a strong sense of common purpose and shared values. The Vice Dean offers a beautiful (and funny) tribute to us both that leaves us deeply moved. Among many other things, the Chapter presents me with an exquisitely tooled and bound book containing all my sermons preached in the Cathedral since I arrived in 2003. (Actually, that's volume 1. Volume 2 will arrive now that my final sermon on Sunday can be included.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Saturday is largely Sabbath. But I'm delighted that one of my last acts is to admit seven new choristers to the Cathedral choir at evensong: a case of <em>avete atque valete. </em>And also to have the family here and celebrate my daughter's engagement, announced today after the proposal has been put on the roof of the Deanery and her father courteously spoken to by the young gentleman. We like the proper formalities to be adhered to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Something deep inside me does not, really does not, want Sunday to dawn. I find myself queasy and sad at the thought that it has finally come, a case of 'most things may never happen, this one will' as Philip Larkin puts it in his brilliant poem about death, 'Aubade'. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But it is the most marvellous day. The Precentor and Organist (for once) have allowed the Dean a free rein with the choice of music and hymns. Inevitably they carry a deep symbolism - perhaps unwisely because they awaken powerful memories and strong emotions. 'Live this day as if it were your last' says the first hymn at matins with an accuracy I haven't foreseen when I chose it. I preside at the sung eucharist when we enjoy a Haydn mass and a Mozart motet. The Precentor preaches on the gradual psalm (19 - 'the heavens declare the glory of God'). He draws out of it some of the themes of my ministry at Durham. You'll be able to read it on the Cathedral website. I would have urged him not to do it if I'd known what he planned, but it is a beautiful and loving sermon that I'll always remember. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">At the reception afterwards, the Cathedral Community celebrates and says goodbye. We are taken aback by their extraordinary generosity. Jessica, who leads it as their representative on the Cathedral Council, eschews the spoken words and instead sings a tribute to us both to the tune <em>of Maccabaeus</em> (a gentle humorous poke at me for re-writing the words of 'Thine be the glory' to try to do more justice to the original French). Close friends from the past, together with the Vicar who first trained me as a curate forty years ago, are there to share in it. In my response, I pay my own tribute to the community of this Cathedral which is endlessly kind, humane, generous and forgiving. I tell them the truth of today, that it's hard to contemplate saying farewell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The final service is evensong. There is a great crowd filling the nave. I walk the Lord Lieutenant up the aisle as I would at any big event. Then I think, disconcertingly, <em>they are here because I am leaving</em>. I don't mean they are not here to worship God - of course that is why we are at this service at all, but valediction is what has brought so many people together. I arrive at my stall and find a colourful folder put together by the choristers with pictures, personal messages from each of them, tributes and prayers. The tears in things are real even before the service has begun. As they are several more times during the service: at that amazing leap up to a top 'A' in the Gloria of Howells' <em>Gloucester Service</em>, the paradisal ending of <em>Bairstow's Blessed City</em>, our beloved <em>Coe Fen </em>(How shall I sing that Majesty?', the beautifully crafted intercessions by Sophie the Canon in Residence, the final hymn 'Glory to thee my God this night', and laying up the Dean's cope on the high altar after the blessing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">There are speeches and presentations from four people who have all become good friends. Lilian Groves, an octogenarian Cathedral guide and worshipper with a passionate love for the Cathedral, speaks for the community in another demonstration of the sheer goodness that characterises Durham. Isaac Walton, a former Head Chorister just starting out at university, is lucid and generous about my love of the Cathedral's music and my relationships with the choristers, and speaks playfully about the decanal 'glide'. Somebody was bound to. Margaret Masson, Acting Principal of St Chad's College, is kind about the outward-facing aspects of my role in her college, University, City and County. She reminds us it was she who first persuaded me to join Twitter. (Some of you may wish she hadn't.) And Mark Bryant, the Bishop of Jarrow whom I've known most of my working life, finds gently subversive but warmly affectionate things to say about my 40 years in ordained ministry and role in the Diocese. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have heard a lot of eloquent farewell speeches in my time, but I don't think I have ever heard better. I am deeply touched. It's hard to find the words with which to respond, but for better or worse, they are on my blog together with my sermon (<a href="http://deanstalks.blogspot.co.uk/">http://deanstalks.blogspot.co.uk</a>). At the very end, the choir sings the psalm sung at chorister dismissals each summer, Psalm 84. It is incredibly hard to listen to these treasured </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">words for the last time. But grandson Isaac, aged two and a half, comes to the rescue. He invites himself on to the platform ('I want to see Opa') with an uncanny sense of timing. Because of him, and his laughter and happiness, all is well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Today has seen my last ever public act for the Cathedral: to bless the Virgin East Coast electric locomotive 91114 now in its bright new red livery, 'Durham Cathedral'. I love the thought that this strikingly beautiful engine will carry the name and image of the Cathedral and Cuthbert's Cross up and down the East Coast Main Line between London and Scotland. The choristers sing, and I get to do the train announcement welcoming passengers and explaining the significance of the day. At Newcastle there is a short ceremony. The media love the tribute paid personally by Virgin in including my name on the design at least for today - surely every train-loving clergyman's dream. It's a terrific send-off. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have planned to go to evensong today, my name day, the Feast of St Michael and All Angels. A wise friend has told me that I need to say my own intimate farewell to the Cathedral and its worship and he is right. So I creep unnoticed into the nave and join in the prayer of the church from near the back. It's a lovely service. The Cathedral is golden in the equinoctial light, its vaults illuminated by the setting sun. It has never looked so beautiful. I lose myself once more in the glorious music that floats in the air like sweet incense. At the end I leave with a heavy heart. One of the vergers notices, and is gentle and kind with me in these last painful but precious moments. He embodies the best of this beloved place that will always be written on my heart. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The Vice-Dean and his wife invite us for a last supper. We share memories and thank one another for what these years have meant to us. Then it back among the packing cases and getting ready for life in rural Northumberland. I've loved being Dean of Durham. It's been the supreme privilege of my life. Now it's time for more ordinary days. We shall see what they bring. It feels like a great unknown. But we know that God will be as present to us in them as he has been during these wonderful years in Durham. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">This isn't my last blogging word. I'll keep this site live for now, and begin a new blog after a while with a new name for a new life. But for now, </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">a fond farewell from this wool gathering Northern Dean, and thank you to all readers for prayers, stimulating company and good friendship. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-58053407807542869052015-09-24T21:09:00.001+01:002015-09-25T08:20:19.144+01:00So That is That<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, almost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm on the last lap. Almost everything is done for the last time. Files are closed, documents archived, thousands of emails deleted. The books have undergone a painful triage: when it comes to downsizing, many are called but few are chosen. Keyboard music and my Wagner scores have gone to a talented young musical friend. Our much-loved pine kitchen table with its memories of family meals, happiness, laughter and love has gone to the sale room with other furniture of less symbolism. Pictures are off the walls. Possessions are piled into desultory heaps. On the floor is a pile of ecclesiastical robes (old, worn, nothing beautiful, and not much that is useful) lies on the floor awaiting the Precentor's advice. Linda, our wonderful housekeeper with the gift to be cheerful on wet Monday mornings has gone away on holiday so we've had to say our farewells early. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Sunday I preach for the last time at the sung eucharist. My theme is the child whom Jesus brings into the circle of disciples to teach them about simplicity and humility (see </span><a href="http://deanstalks.blogspot.co.uk/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://deanstalks.blogspot.co.uk</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">). I spend Monday meeting Chapter members and senior colleagues one by one to say thank you and goodbye - exit interviews, only it's my exit, not theirs. I owe so much to my superb team here. Whatever the achievements of the last twelve years, I need to say <em>we, </em>not <em>I </em>about who has enabled them to happen. Next day I do a radio interview about my years in Durham, what I'm proud of and what I shall miss most. That evening we launch my new book of Durham sermons <em>Christ in a Choppie Box</em>, a farewell offering to the worshipping community of this Cathedral.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Wednesday I take the Chorister School Sixth Form pupils round the Cathedral on a pilgrimage. I have led many of these spiritual journeys, and always enjoy them, but it's a particular joy that my last one should be with these lively, intelligent children. At we come to the end, I speak about the Galilee Chapel as a place of beginnings and endings, and mention my own imminent departure. We say a prayer together that I love: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><em>Lord God, you call your servants to ventures of which we
cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden; give us faith to go out with
a good courage, not knowing whither we go, but only that your hand is leading
us, and your love supporting us; to the glory of your name.</em></span></span><br />
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Today we have a final round of business meetings. People say kind things when you are leaving. Their genuineness is moving. At evensong the New Testament reading is St Paul's farewell to the elders at Ephesus (Acts 20). I've always found this story moving, but never more so than when I have to read it in the service tonight. My voice catches at the end where it says that Paul knelt down with them and prayed with them, and there were tears and embraces when they heard him say that they wouldn't see his face again. The music is <em>Walmisley in D Minor</em>, the very first canticle setting I sang as a chorister in 1961. It brings back a lifetime of memories. It's possible that but for that experience, I might not be a cathedral dean now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tomorrow it's my final Chapter meeting - business as usual. In the evening they will host a farewell dinner for Jenny and me. 'Dining out' members who are leaving (not in quite the same sense as the armed services use that phrase) is an old Durham Chapter tradition. It is always hugely enjoyable to spend an evening with Chapter colleagues and their partners, but tomorrow will be bitter-sweet for us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Saturday our children will join us for the weekend ceremonies. Words like 'celebration' and 'thanksgiving' are being used but they could just as well be called obsequies. There is a gathering of the Cathedral community after the morning service at which I shall preside at the altar. At evensong I preach a farewell sermon. It's one of the most difficult I've ever had to prepare because it marks the conclusion not just of 12 years in Durham but 40 years of public ministry. I can't predict the state of my emotions at that service, for which we have chosen all the music and hymns. There'll be a party afterwards in the Cloister. And then we shall be gone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Actually, it's not quite the end. On Tuesday, I shall perform my last ever public act for the Cathedral. It's to all to do with the flanged wheel - I've blogged before the love affair many clergy have with railways. 'Our' East Coast class 91 electric locomotive 91114 <em>Durham Cathedral </em>now has a beautiful new Virgin Trains East Coast livery. It has flowing patterns drawn from the drum piers in the Cathedral, and a prominent St Cuthbert's Cross. There's to be a ceremony of blessing on Newcastle Central Station. It will be fun to go out on that note. But it will make a serious point about 'public faith' too, and the Cathedral's relationships with our many external partners who support us and wish us well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More on this when it's happened, in a final decanal blog. </span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-61817001104917373532015-09-20T21:06:00.001+01:002015-09-21T07:08:18.529+01:00Seasons of Durham Life: September<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's the equinox. The trees, still mostly green, display yellow highlights. The vegetation looks tired. The rose garden that has brought a burst of late-summer colour to the Deanery garden is looking tired now. Leaves on the trees are tinged with yellow. Curtains around the College are drawn in the early evening. There is a chill in the night air. The heating clicks on; there is the scent of an open fire somewhere nearby. The year is closing in on itself. Before we know it, it will be winter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have always loved this time of year with its unique mix of experiences: endings and beginnings intertwined with one another as summer's lease runs out, and the annual cycle of activities starts up again, and children go back to school, and it's students rather than tourists who are now walking these ancient streets. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rhythms of Cathedral life haven't quite been paused during the summer, as readers of my August blog will recall. But the pace changes with September. On the last weekend the Cathedral Choir is on holiday, we enjoy our annual visit from the Buxton Madrigal Singers. As usual they are here for the last big festival of the summer, the Translation of the Relics of St Cuthbert. On the Sunday nearest 4 September, we commemorate the day in 1104 when the first phase of the Cathedral's construction was completed. The sanctuary and quire were finished, and in an elaborate and carefully documented ceremony, Cuthbert's body was placed in his new shrine. Today the whole congregation processes to the shrine where incense is swung (yes, it's still permitted despite worries about 'legal highs'), and prayers are said. It's a high day in the calendar, and for Durham people marks the threshold between summer and autumn. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Cathedral choir returns, and the rhythm of daily evensong resumes. How good it is to see and hear them again. We are grateful for all the choirs that visit over the summer, but there is nothing like your own Cathedral choir. At first, we miss the old familiar faces in the choirstalls: last term, a larger cohort than usual reached their top year in the choir and left to go on to other schools. We always wonder how the survivors can possibly reach the standards of last year...but they always do, even if the first evensong or two are a trifle more tentative than we are used to. I say to the choristers that confidence is all they need. Everything else is there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year there is a major service on Day 2 of the new choir term. This is the day when The Queen overtakes Queen Victoria as the longest-serving Monarch in British history. The Lord Lieutenant has summoned the county to celebrate at the exact time (5.30pm) this threshold is reached. The music includes music used at the Coronation including <em>Zadok the Priest</em>, sung at every coronation since George II's. The choir distinguishes itself magnificently in front of a large and appreciative congregation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The pattern of Cathedral meetings resumes. Agendas and minutes are sent out, and non-urgent business laid aside during the summer is dealt with. A flurry of emails follows the opening of bulging inboxes. Out-of-office notices are turned off, things not done attended to. There is an air of Busyness around the campus. You're reminded that the Cathedral is a significant organisation that employs over one hundred staff to serve it. The departments include finance, property, development and fundraising, music and liturgy, library and collections, marketing and communications, the shop, the Chorister School, development and fundraising, governance and administration, volunteers, vergers, cleaners, the 'yard' which includes the Cathedral works team and the gardeners. The restaurant is run as a franchise but it still needs oversight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another way of putting this is to say that the Cathedral is a business with a gross turnover of more than £7 million. Some people don't like a Christian church to be described in that way. I don't shy away from using that word, as long as it is complemented and informed by other words like faith, spirituality, worship, mission, learning and heritage. Our purpose and values statements are important here. If we are also a business, I say: let it be a good business that is efficiently run, and above all, an ethical business. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I said that with the advent of September, the year feels as though it is drawing itself in for the winter. This is true for me personally. We are just a week away from our farewell service at evensong on 27 September. I have 168 hours of deaning left. After that, retirement. Already there have been farewell dinners and parties, and some beautiful gifts, and many, many kind letters and cards to thank us for the past twelve years and to wish us well. Perhaps you only appreciate the sheer goodness and generosity of people when the time comes to say goodbye. I have done valedictory interviews for the local radio stations and the press. I'm asked: 'What are you most proud of?' 'What do you regret?' 'What will you miss most?' How could I not miss the unique and wonderful place that is Durham Cathedral with its amazing beauty, its unrivalled heritage, its quintessentially northern spirituality, its procession of holy saints and its limitless capacity to inspire? How could I not miss daily choral evensong? How could I not miss this ancient Deanery that has been our home for twelve years? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when I think back to this morning's eucharist, and administering communion at the altar rail, I feel an especial pang for the people of this place: the colleagues with whom I have worked here, this warm, forgiving, generous community in all its richness and diversity. They transcend the boundaries of Cathedral, Diocese and wider community. They include the many who have become, we are sure, friends for life. How privileged these years here have been.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We now face negotiating this difficult ending gracefully. But whatever other emotions surface in the next few days, I know that at the heart of it all will be a great and lasting gratitude for these Durham years. So this </span>is the last of my twelve blogs on 'Seasons of Durham Life'. Another year has passed, and with it, our time here at Durham. Thank you for reading. I'll blog once or twice more under the Northern Dean banner. After that.... who knows? </span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-85594883201215477172015-09-04T21:32:00.001+01:002015-09-05T09:07:55.516+01:00A Job is Advertised - Mine!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I got a web alert to tell me that a job has been advertised on the CofE website. Mine. DEAN OF DURHAM it says in big letters. That it should appear today, 4 September, is something to note. This is the anniversary of the day in 1104 when the relics of St Cuthbert were laid in their new shrine at the east end of Durham Cathedral. It was a great festival in Durham in the middle ages. Please don't tell me it's just a coincidence that the world learns today that Durham is looking for a new Dean. Especially when this one was installed in the Cathedral on the other St Cuthbert's Day, the anniversary of his death on 20 March 2003.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's odd, staring at an ad for your own job before you've even left it. (I should say that I was asked months ago if I was happy for the appointment process to begin while I was still in office, and I readily agreed to it: it's in everyone's interests to see the next Dean in post as soon as possible.) But seeing the ad in cold print and reading the detailed documentation that went with it made me stop and think. A bit like stepping on your own grave. My first flippant thought was: if I applied for this post now, would I even make it to the short list? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enough said. I am going to be scrupulous about not commenting on matters to do with the succession. Except to say that whoever is appointed will find him- or herself in a truly wonderful place inhabited by an equally wonderful community. It's been hugely rewarding to complete my full-time ministry by serving these dozen years at Durham Cathedral. I can honestly say that I have never been happier. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it's my next thought that has haunted me all day. This is actually happening, I realised. It's real and irrevocable. The die is cast. In less than a month I shall become part of history, the thirty-ninth Dean whose name is engraved on the Bishops, Priors and Deans board outside St Cuthbert's shrine. It's not quite <em>in memoriam. </em>The name board is not a grave slab - yet - though it will be one day. Of all Durham's Priors and Deans, only two of us are still alive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when I stop and muse in front of it as I regularly do - because I enjoy lists and names and dates - I don't think morbid thoughts. On the contrary, I'm reminded that the recollection of the past is always a vital aspect of our sense of place and belonging. These servants of God still live on in our collective memory. This grand alabaster tablet is a celebration of so many honourable and good people who have given their lives to this place and left their mark on it, some of them heroically. Even after twelve years, I still feel keenly the privilege of seeing my name among them. I have tried not to take it for granted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I look back after the end of this month, I want to be able to say, 'This was the best of me'. Pray God that I shall be able to. Each step in this long drawn-out rite of passage called 'retirement' is an opportunity not for regrets but for thankfulness: to contemplate the past with a deeper awareness of the goodness of God, and to look forward expectantly to the days that lie ahead. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, <em>sunt lacrimae rerum</em>: there are tears in things too, and no doubt they are permitted when we come to say farewell. As I've blogged before, leaving Durham is going to be a big wrench. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I shall - from afar - share the celebrations that will surround the appointment and arrival of the fortieth Dean. This Cathedral is the focus of so much prayer, affection and love across the world. It will give to the next Dean as generously as it has given to me. It's that kind of place, that kind of community, like its saints, especially beloved Cuthbert whom we honour today. And ultimately, that is how God is, for love is his nature and his name. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can find the papers about the post at </span><a href="https://www.churchofengland.org/clergy-office-holders/aaad/vacancies/dean-of-durham.aspx"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">https://www.churchofengland.org/clergy-office-holders/aaad/vacancies/dean-of-durham.aspx</span></a>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-45683014787750907602015-08-30T21:53:00.000+01:002015-08-30T21:53:21.700+01:00Seasons of Durham Life: August<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you read my last blog you'll know that I've not been around in Durham for much of August. We have been in Haydon Bridge beginning to inhabit our new home and getting the feel of what life in 'retirement' may be like in this lovely village. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think of August as a dreamy sort of month. It evokes glowing suns, afternoon heat haze, balmy evenings, and if the climatic reality is cooler and damper than this, an aestival chimera still lingers on in the mind. The year seems to be at its still point, finely balanced as if on an edge from which it's about to fall. It feels like a time of endings. Bank Holiday weekend is its final rite of passage. After Monday, it will be September, a lovely month, but indisputably autumnal. The nights will draw in and the day's warmth will quickly dissipate. The school year starts up again and the movement of the seasons gets back into gear. Soon it will be the equinox. August is a month to savour while there is still time: 'summer's lease hath all too short a date'. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recently came across a poem called 'The End of Summer' . It's by the American poet Stan Kunitz. He speaks about how the year turns on a hinge even when the sky is still glowing azure, 'blue poured into summer blue'. The poet has a moment of recognition: 'I knew that part of my life was over'. That's especially the case as I contemplate the last month of my full-time working life that begins the day after August ends. A forty year era, a big part of my life, is coming to an end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what of the Cathedral in August? It's both busy and not busy (or should I say #notbusy?). The 'not' bit is that the schedule of formal commitments and business meetings slows right down. It ought to have stopped altogether in my opinion: only workaholic Cathedral chapters hold meetings in August, surely. This year, we had to break a rule and hold one in order formally to approve the annual report and accounts. But it's always a relief not to be chasing paper and answering hundreds of emails for one month of the year. It's the nearest we get to a corporate annual sabbatical. Wonderful for catching up, writing, preparing, pondering, woolgathering. And for getting round and spending valuable time with people whose paths you don't normally cross except at meetings and events.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other side of this is of course that August is the peak of the visitor season. The Cathedral is thronged with families on holiday, guests from every corner of the globe, groups from cruise ships docking at the Port of Tyne, overnighters taking a breather on the way to Scotland and pilgrims following the path of our Saints. The Cathedral keeps late opening hours to welcome evening visitors. Our front-of-house staff and volunteers work their socks off. The Education Department runs activities for children. The Lego Cathedral team promotes our wondrous achievement in and around the Cloister. The Durham Photographic Society holds a summer exhibition in the nave. There are concerts and informal recitals. There's a wonderfully lively atmosphere in the church all day long. And if you want a quiet place to pray in, the Chapel of the Holy Cross is open every day as a cool, contemplative space that is kept silent for our visitors' needs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And of course, the liturgy goes on day by day and hour by hour like a Christian prayer wheel. Visitors are sometimes annoyed, often delighted to find that their visit coincides with the daily midday eucharist or shrine prayers, pulpit prayers for peace and justice or choral evensong. And August brings a rich crop of local northern festivals. On St Oswald's Day, 5 August, we joined up with St Oswald's Church across the river to celebrate evensong in honour of the saint who was the midwife of the Northumbrian mission in the seventh century. The Blessed Virgin Mary, honoured with Catholic Christendom on 15 August, is one of the three patrons of the Cathedral along with Christ and St Cuthbert. On 25 August we honour St Aebbe, Prioress of Coldingham and a friend of St Cuthbert. And tomorrow is St Aidan's Day, another high day in the Cathedral calendar. And that's on top of the Transfiguration (6) and St Bartholomew (24)!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Cathedral choir is of course on holiday but visiting choirs from the UK and all over the world spend a week in residence working extraordinarily hard to sing the eight choral services of the week, including no fewer than three on Sunday. Sometimes they have booked their visits three years in advance. Our visiting choirs love the experience of making music in this Cathedral and of living in such a beautiful environment. We do our utmost to make them and their supporters welcome so that they know how much we value their contribution to the liturgy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tomorrow we go back to Durham for September. There is a lot of sorting out and tidying up to do in the Dean's office. There is the round of final meetings to chair and farewell interviews with each of my senior colleagues. There are valedictory events both formal and informal. And then there is the last service of my Durham years and of all my years in stipendiary ministry on Sunday 27 September at 1530. I can't pretend to be looking forward to the deep emotions that will be stirred up within me: in some ways it's a day I wish did not have to dawn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I know that good farewells are important for those who leave and for those who are left behind. God will be in our bitter-sweet partings as he has been in everything else down the years. Life is always gift. The end of summer is a passage to the rich autumn harvest of the abundance of the year and the years. <em>For all that has been, thanks. To all that shall be, yes!</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-7006387602682498022015-08-16T22:12:00.000+01:002015-08-16T22:32:13.580+01:00Retirement: an interim report from Haydon Bridge<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Six weeks to go, give or take: retirement is charging down the slipway. 40 days - the same as Lent. But the prospect sometimes feels more like Lent wound back in reverse, as if retirement day, far from being some kind of Easter, is more like Ash Wednesday, a day to mourn and give things up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No point in pretending: there will be so much to lose. It's not just the life and worship of this wonderful community here at Durham Cathedral. It's the end of forty years of full-time stipendiary ministry as 'clergy'. Not the end of priesthood, of course - that vocation is till death us do part. But it will mean the end of the way I have been called to exercise it over four decades. And that's symbolised by the names of the places where I've been privileged to minister during that time - Oxford, Salisbury, Alnwick, Coventry, Sheffield and Durham. So many memories. So much learned. Such a rich time of gifts. Yes, there have been periods of struggle and pain too. But at such dark times, these places and their people have been compassionate, wise and forgiving. They have been wise teachers. I owe them a great deal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But as we always say at Lent, 'giving up' creates space to offer life in new ways, be open to new opportunities. 'New lamps be lit, new tasks begun' says George Bell's hymn. That's the entire point. And this weekend I've begun to glimpse this in a new way. We've spent 48 hours in Northumberland, Haydon Bridge where we shall retire, beginning the long process of turning a house into a home. It's hard work to dismantle one home, especially when you've been happy there, and start to build another. But for the first time I began to glimpse what new gifts await us as we let go of the old. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thinking of simply homely things. A neighbour invites us in for coffee. The Vicar and his family call in with a bottle of wine and a welcome card. Locals help us out in all kinds of practical ways. The folk at the pub are genuinely interested in who we are and when we'll be arriving. The church clock chimes the hours reassuringly - reliably five minutes late, just like Christ Church in Oxford. Local trains trundle over the level-crossing fifty yards away. We take a late stroll and linger on the ancient bridge across the Tyne enjoying the warmth of a summer evening. Sunlight pours into the front of the house each morning and lights up the rear each afternoon and evening. We sit contentedly on the patio drinking coffee.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As it's Sunday we go to church. It's even nearer than the railway station, indeed every bit as close as Durham Cathedral is to this Deanery. It's dedicated to St Cuthbert because his body probably lay on the site of the little Romanesque church up the hill on its long journey to Durham. Cuthbert has been our constant companion and guardian these twelve years so it's a comfort to know he is here too. Jenny and I sit together in the nave as we look forward to doing for many years to come. It's good to be 'lay' as well as 'ordained'. The Vicar presides at the liturgy with care, and preaches thoughtfully about the Living Bread and how the eucharist should shape our life together as a Christian community. Afterwards there is coffee and we meet a lot of warm-hearted friendly people. No-one needs to be told who we are or where we live. The village grapevine has done that long ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These are simply glimpses of the future, hints of horizons that are yet to come fully into view. Who knows what life is going to be like after September? I've learned the wisdom of Woody Allen's famous joke. 'How do you make God laugh?' 'You tell him your future plans.' On the other side of this threshold, so much is unknown, inevitably. There's no way to discover what lies beyond except by crossing it - that's the nature of a rite of passage. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We need to have good travelling companions when we cross boundaries. That's why we have farewell rituals, however much of an ordeal they are. They are a chance to say thank you, and maybe sorry, but above all to affirm the relationships that have meant so much to us and will continue to do in years to come. I won't deny that my last Sunday, 27 September, is not a day I look forward to with eagerness. My emotions will no doubt be in turmoil. But as we have all found, when our lives are offered within the life of the people of God, loss has a way of being transformed into gift, even if we don't always see it that way at the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So to have eaten our first meal, and slept our first night, and worshipped on our first Sunday in our future home feels like a big step forward on this strange but rather wonderful journey. Because Ash Wednesday always looks forward to Easter when life begins again. </span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-2620733903932617742015-08-08T10:24:00.001+01:002015-08-08T12:06:41.604+01:00Songs of Praise in The Jungle at Calais<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I admit it: I'm not the biggest fan
of <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Songs of Praise, </span></em>though
my wife and I watch it most weeks after cathedral evensong over a cup of tea.
Put it down to my getting old and grumpy, but I find myself irritated by its
relentless feel-good tone, its love of the bright, shiny and can-do,
and the often jejune melodies and lyrics of its hymns and songs (and I don't just mean the
contemporary ones). Sometimes it feels perilously close to religion-lite.</span><o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">However, we all know that it has a devoted following. And the programme has at
times achieved real depth. This has often been when it has explored the darker side
of human experience such as human pain whether physical or emotional,
relationships that are undergoing stress, remembrance of war and conflict, and
death and bereavement. Such themes have brought out the best in presenters who
show how good they are at interviewing people who are suffering with real
sensitivity and insight. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">This is why I was pleased to
read yesterday that <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Songs of
Praise </span></em>is visiting the Jungle migrants' camp at Calais. I first
read about it on the front page of <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The
Sun. </span></em>(What was I doing reading that particular newspaper? Answer: I
was at our new house to see how the decorators were progressing. There it was
in the kitchen. I couldn't resist the temptation to pick it up - it made a
change from Friday's <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Guardian.</span></em>)<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"> </span></em>I tweeted: 'It's not
often that mainstream Christian faith makes it on to the front page of <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The Sun'. </span></em></span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Then I looked inside. True to
form, the paper fulminated self-righteously about what a wicked thing it was to
do this. <em>The BBC sending</em> <em>Songs of Praise to the Calais migrant camp amid the current chaos is like something from Monty Python. Will we get to see migrants wrestling with riot police and storming lorries as a choir stands at the Channel tunnel welcoming them with a rousing rendition of Jerusalem? </em>The
BBC is showing its trendy lefty colours once again. It shouldn't be supporting
the migrants and making a political point out of them. It's the police and
border personnel who are protecting our shores from migrants who are the real
heroes and who deserve our support. The migrants must be stopped from trying to
get into Britain. And so on. I've paraphrased. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So I want to applaud the
BBC's decision to cross the Channel and broadcast from The Jungle. I have no
doubt that <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">SOP</span></em>
will do it compassionately and sensitively, but also intelligently and fairly.
The Church already has a presence in The Jungle where a tent has been set up
for migrants to gather and worship in. I'm glad that <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">SOP </span></em>can be there to give
the migrants air-time in a broadcast forum where it would be so easy to pretend
they don't exist. We need to hear their voices in other contexts than daily
news reports.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">What's the answer to the
scornful Pharisees at <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The Sun</span></em>?
It's pretty obvious. Just ask what Jesus would do. He would be in The Jungle,
of course, just as he kept company with a lot of other people the establishment
of his day found it difficult to tolerate. It's not that Jesus didn't maintain
a clear head about the weighty matters of the law such as duty and justice. Nor
is it that he didn't grasp the endless complexity of human life. It's simply
that where he saw people in need of touch, tenderness and a listening ear
without the threat of sanction and exclusion, he was there with them. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">'I am for the suffering
people' said Mother Mary Pilenko, a Russian nun who championed Jewish victims
of the holocaust. She herself was to die at the camp at Ravensbrück because she
stepped in to take the place of a frightened woman who was waiting to go into
the gas chamber. The church must always be for, and stand with, all who are
victims and who are the suffering people of our time. <br />
<br />
I'm very glad that <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Songs of
Praise </span></em>has made the courageous decision to be there too. Three
cheers for the BBC once again. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-24038728612730244812015-08-04T20:47:00.001+01:002015-08-05T08:38:27.578+01:00A Dean is Captured on Video<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now less than eight weeks to go to retirement. It’s
coming up so quickly….</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve been clearing out the study, deciding which books to
keep and which to discard (many are called but few are chosen!). It’s a thankless
task but occasionally it throws up something that makes you stop and take
stock. Today I came across a historic video of one of my predecessors. He too
was retiring and this short documentary was put together by Tyne-Tees TV to
mark his eight years in Durham. I needed a break so I sat down to watch it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of you will remember Peter Baelz who was Dean of Durham
from 1980 to 1988. He had been Regius Professor of Moral and Pastoral Theology
at Oxford, so another in the line of distinguished theologians who have held
this office down the centuries. (His predecessor had been Eric Heaton who had taught me Old Testament at Oxford in the 1970s.) But it's not an aristocratic bookish don who comes across in this endearing TV
portrait but a wise, kind and thoughtful
priest who had evidently relished his years at Durham and come to love the
Cathedral and its people.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The film follows the Dean round the Cathedral and its environs.
As he walks, he chats amiably about what it means to be Dean in such a place.
Interestingly, he begins not by rhapsodising about its history or heritage, its
music or its liturgy, but by telling us that the Dean’s role is like being the managing
director of a small business. He points out that the Cathedral gives employment
to nearly 100 people engaged in a whole variety of tasks. We meet some of them,
including a young stonemason who explains what he’s doing and why it is so
important. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You sense that the stones of Durham have come to matter to
the Dean in an almost mystical way. But not as an end in themselves. They exist
to serve a higher purpose, and this is about human beings, communities, ultimately
God himself. He speaks lovingly about its saints as his companions: Cuthbert at
one end of the Cathedral and Bede at the other. A cathedral, he suggests,
travels through time as a symbol of the enduring values of religious faith. (He
is dismissive of the ‘Land of the Prince-Bishops’ signs at County Durham’s
gateways because, he says, they suggest a backward-looking church whereas Christians
today must always look forward to the future in hope.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He has a lot to say about the choristers and the Chorister
School where they are educated. (I recently came across a delightful photo of Peter
Baelz in the cloister on the day of his installation as Dean, surrounded by a
gaggle of laughing choristers.) He shows off the newly-constructed sports hall
with pride, explaining how tricky it is to build well in such a sensitive
historic environment. It sounds as though the Cathedral’s daily choral worship gave
him special pleasure and inspiration. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Having watched this delightful piece, I tweeted that I
wish I’d seen it twelve years ago when I arrived here as Dean myself. Someone asked me why, and what I drew out of this documentary.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s not so much what he says about cathedral life and
Durham in particular. I’d already worked full-time in cathedrals for a decade
and a half when I arrived here. No, it’s much more to do with his personal <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">style</i>. There is so much to admire in the way he goes about his business, something
refreshingly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ordinary</i>. There is not a trace of self-importance in him: witness the little touches
like waving to people as he cycles past them in the College, his personal interest
in the people he meets, his curiosity in the way he talks to that young
stonemason about his work, his affectionate relationships with the choristers,
his personal enjoyment of his home, 'the best house in Durham', where my wife and I
have lived during these years. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even late in our working lives, I suppose we all invoke our role
models to help us make sense of our roles. I’ve always believed that the
essential priestliness of a Dean lies close to the heart of what makes him or
her credible as the head of a religious foundation. In Peter Baelz, the
Cathedral had a Dean who understood from his own experience of parish life what it meant to be the
leader of a faith community. On the basis of what I had read about him, I had
already spoken about him some years ago in a lecture on Durham’s Deans as one of the wisest
and the best. Today I have come to see why that instinct was right, why I recognised in him a true 'reflective practitioner'. Which is why
I couldn’t have done better than to watch the video twelve years ago. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘How are you feeling about retirement?’ asks the
interviewer. He replies that part of him will be glad to be free of the
burdens of the role, but another part will be hurting for all that he has come
to love in Durham and that he is going to miss sorely. Well, I still have a couple
of months’ ministry as a Dean to go. When Michaelmas comes, part of me will be relieved, it’s true,
but another part - a very big one - is going to hurt badly. How could it not when I've been privileged to live and work in such a marvellous place and with such wonderful people? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But watching
the film, I thought to myself: it’s never too late to learn from the people who
inspire us. These last few weeks could still be a time to learn and to grow as a
priest. God willing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-79413170374339645392015-07-26T18:28:00.000+01:002015-07-26T18:39:19.882+01:00Seasons of Durham Life: July<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People don't always believe me when I say that in cathedrals, the diary in June and July tends to be more full than either Advent and Christmas, or Holy Week and Easter. If you've read this blog before, you'll know that I heartily dislike the word 'busy'. So let me just say that at this time of year there is quite a lot to do. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">What is it that fills these July days?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Much of it is end-of-year services and events. Thousands of people come through the doors to attend them, most of them young. There are several consecutive days of big lively school leavers' services for church schools across the diocese. There are more than a dozen University graduation ceremonies that occupy the best part of a week. The ancient schools founded by the Cathedral, Durham School and the Chorister School, hold services to mark the close of the school year including Choristers' Speech Day. And at the end of a long series of valedictory events, the last Sunday of the choir year comes round when we say a fond farewell to choristers and adults who are leaving us. (For more, read my last blog on this site.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But this isn't all. In every cathedral's calendar, summer ordinations are high days. They bring great gatherings of people from across the country (and beyond) to celebrate the rites of passage into different phases of public ministry. In Durham, we ordain the priests and deacons at separate services over a weekend, the priests on Saturday evening and the deacons on Sunday morning. This year I had the privilege of conducting the ordination retreat and preaching at both the services. This was poignant for me because I was ordained deacon 40 years ago this summer, and, as regular readers know, shall be laying aside stipendiary public ministry early in the autumn. So the ordinations gave me an opportunity to reflect on what I have learned in that time and to share a few insights with those who are now embarking on this great journey. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The week after the ordinations, July brings two big services that are quintessentially 'Durham'. The first is the Miners' Gala Service on the afternoon of the 'Big Meeting' that brings over one hundred thousand people into the city to celebrate Durham's mining heritage and the lives of the working people of the North East. It's a sight you won't see anywhere else in England. The Cathedral is always packed out. It's a most moving service at which the</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> year's new banners are processed in with their colliery bands to be blessed by the Bishop. I've blogged about it before. Someone said to me in my first year here that I would never understand Durham Cathedral until I had been to this service and seen for myself how the people of County Durham claim this Cathedral as their own. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The other big service takes place the next morning, Matins for the Courts of Justice. Like the Miners' Service, this is another colourful piece of sacred drama, but in every other way it's a complete contrast. This gathering to celebrate the Queen's Peace brings together senior people including Lords Lieutenant, High Sheriffs and High Court judges from the four counties of Northumberland, Tyne and Wear, Durham and North Yorkshire. The High Sheriff asked me to preach this year at my last such service. Since I was speaking to an audience that included many people from the legal profession, I spoke about the 800th anniversary of Magna Carta, Archbishop Stephen Langton's role in creating it, and the significance of the Great Charter's religious origins. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Meanwhile, the clock continues to tick towards 27 September when our Durham years come to an end. There have been so many 'last times' this summer, farewells not just for the summer holidays but for good. No doubt I'll write more in this vein as our retirement horizon comes into view, as it must once we start saying, as we shall have to in August, 'next month...'. How swiftly it all flies by. 'Life's but a passing shadow' quoted Rik Mayall in his final TV interview before he died. Those words of Shakespeare were etched on a sundial on the house opposite ours in Salisbury in the 1970s. I used to look at that <em>verb sap </em>out of my study window a dozen times each day. But its truth is coming home to me now as the days grow perceptibly shorter. 'Summer's lease hath all too short a date.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But we want to enjoy this last Durham summer to the full while we can, to be present to each day as our time here draws to a close. In De Caussade's great insight, it's a call to practise the 'sacrament of the present moment', to see all of time as the gift of God, our yesterdays, our todays, our tomorrows. This is an incredibly beautiful place in which to have lived and worked. We have been, and are, surrounded by wonderful people in the communities of the Cathedral and of this part of England. Our lives have been touched and changed in ways that we can only just begin to glimpse, even if it will take years to appreciate them for what they really are. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">If you have the stamina, you can read the sermons I've mentioned on my other blogsite, <a href="http://deanstalks.blogspot.co.uk/">http://deanstalks.blogspot.co.uk</a>.</span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-75308866580938939662015-07-19T21:48:00.000+01:002015-07-21T19:45:27.008+01:00'O May we Soon Again Renew that Song': choir farewell Sunday<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">This is the day we have not wanted to arrive, for it has marked the end of Durham Cathedral Choir's year. At the end of evensong, we said farewell
to our leavers: boy and girl choristers, choral scholars, a lay clerk and an
assistant organist. It's the day when another year of music-making in the
Cathedral is gathered up and celebrated. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It's a significant day for
all of us, but especially for the choristers who have reached the age of 13.
For them, this is not just the end of their chorister days. It is the end of
their time in the Chorister School. Some will have been pupils for as
many as five years or, or even more. So this rite of passage marks the end of
their childhood. Next year, they will be in secondary schools, small fish in
much bigger ponds. Life will be very different. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It's the biggest evensong of
the year. Parents and families recognise the importance of today. Some
choristers have had older brothers or sisters in the choir too, so we welcome
back many old friends. They come together from all over the country. There are
quips before the service about 'Sob Sunday' or 'Tissue Evensong' but we
know that we are not joking about the emotions the day arouses. It feels like
the breaking up of a tight-knit, intimate family. Never again will this
particular group of talented youngsters and adults make music together as the
'foundation' of this great Cathedral. It echoes the emotions Malory says
King Arthur had when his knights rode out on the quest for the Holy Grail and
he knew he would never see them all together again sitting at that round table.
</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It’s Prayer Book evensong as
we always do it on a Sunday. This year, I am in residence so I conduct the
service. The psalms and readings are those appointed in the lectionary. But the
Cathedral has evolved farewell traditions that have come to mean a great deal.
The first hymn is a Durham favourite, John Mason's <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">How shall I sing that Majesty?</span></em> to the
majestic tune Coe Fen. The canticle setting is the powerful <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Blair in B Minor. </span></em>The
anthem is C. H. H. Parry's 8-part <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Blest
Pair of Sirens</span></em>. In the intercessions we pray for our Cathedral
musicians, the Chorister School and those who are leaving. The final hymn is
always <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Lead kindly light </span></em>(the
theme of the Precentor’s fine sermon this morning). </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">After the blessing, the
leavers come out to the Scott Screen at the entrance to the quire. At this step where I once admitted them to the foundation, I now 'read them out' at the end of their time. I stand
before them with the Precentor, the Organist and the Head. This is the hard
part. I say a few words of thanks and valediction and try not to catch the
eyes of any of them in particular. Here's what I say. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It’s time to say goodbye
to members of the choir who are leaving us: seven senior girl choristers, four
senior boy choristers, three choral scholars, a lay clerk and our assistant
organist. With so many departures you may wonder if anyone will be left behind
to carry on! </span></em><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I want to say to all our
leavers: you have been an inspiration to us. In your music you have expressed
our praise and gratitude, our sorrow and lament, our hopes, our longings, our
joy. Our worship would not be what it is without you. </span></em><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Durham Cathedral will
always be a part of you, just as you will always be part of the Cathedral. You
won’t forget the music, the worship, the building, this wonderful place. But I
hope you’ll also remember the people you have met here, and who have become
your friends. </span></em><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">You have given so much to
Durham. But Durham has given a lot to you. So let it inspire you to serve God
wherever life leads you. I’d like to think that that the memory can inspire and
help you to make a difference in the world and touch the lives of others. </span></em><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">You leave with our
affection, best wishes, and our prayers. It will always be good to see you
when you come back to the Cathedral, as I hope you do often.</span></em><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">So thank you. Go with our
blessing. Go with God. </span></em><o:p></o:p><br />
<u1:p></u1:p>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The choir processes out
singing Psalm 150, <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">O praise
God in his holiness.</span></em> In the Chapter House there are
presentations and applause, and then the singing of a final Psalm: 84, <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">O how amiable are thy dwellings. </span></em>We
end with the prayer of dismissal I use with the choir each day after
evensong. There is more applause, then hugs, photos and tears. Some linger around to reminisce; others want to make a quick getaway. It is not
long before the first cars drive out of the College. I imagine the children looking back as they turn into the Bailey and pass the Cathedral for the last time. When we get back to the
Deanery, we feel a bit forlorn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I've sometimes wondered
whether we should put the choristers, indeed all of us, through this
public ordeal. That worry is soon answered. Of course we must thank them
publicly for their huge commitment to the Cathedral, not simply as musicians
but as our companions in worship, discovery, friendship and laughter. And of
course there must be a proper leave-taking in which we all acknowledge that an
unforgettable chapter in our lives has come to an end. Rites of separation are
always painful, but there is tenderness in bitter-sweet goodbyes. </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The ritual doesn't pretend
that a chorister's career, or that of any cathedral musician, is easy. The
exacting demands of cathedral life impose stresses and strains on all of us at times. Cathedrals have their shadow, like every human institution. But
a good farewell ceremony is like a good funeral. It enables us to say thank
you. It recognises the depth of our relationships. It gives us a structure in
which to face our loss, and to grieve. It helps fix our memories so that we can
tell our story about them one day. All of this has happened this afternoon. A
lot of important emotional work has been done.<br />
<br />
For me, it's toward the end of <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Blest
Pair of Sirens </span></em>that I feel the reality for myself. Parry's music
falls and then rises again as Milton concludes his great poem on a note of
exquisite longing: for a world in which lost harmonies are restored, and where
the discord of our fractured lives is finally resolved. Who wouldn't be moved
by those last lines, especially when they are sung on such a day as this?</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">O may we soon again renew
that song,</span></em><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">And keep in tune with
Heav'n, till God ere long</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">To His celestial concert us
unite,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">To live with Him, and sing
in endless morn of light.</span></em></span></i><o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I won't pretend it has been the easiest of days. But cathedrals are good at holding together complex human experiences and offering them to God. For me, it's no doubt bound up with the knowledge that the next time we say farewells in the Cathedral, they will be my own. That too is a day that I am not wanting to arrive too quickly.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-62660032937215780412015-07-17T20:46:00.000+01:002015-07-23T09:34:40.334+01:00In Praise of 'Alice': a 150th anniversary tribute<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
What did you read in
your childhood that instilled a love of books and changed your life? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was so much I enjoyed as a
child: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thomas the Tank Engine</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Noddy </i>(I admit it), Grimms’ <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fairy Tales </i>(I found Andersen a bit
tame), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peter Rabbit</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Winnie-the-Pooh</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tales of King Arthur, The Wind in the Willows</i>. I’m afraid that the
Bible doesn’t feature in that list: we weren’t that kind of family. But as to my
all-time favourites, there’s no question. It’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice in Wonderland </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Through the Looking Glass</i>. To me these will always be the great masterpieces of children's literature.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I
was idly thumbing through books in a local charity shop (I know, I know…I’m
supposed to be downsizing). To my delight, there for the price of a pint of
beer was Alberto Manguel’s collection of essays <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A
Reader on Reading</i>. I’d come across enthusiastic reviews of his book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Library at Night </i>but I’d
never read him for myself. I opened the book and off the page leaped one of
John Tenniel’s timeless illustrations to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice</i>,
Tweedledum and Tweedledee. (What would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice
</i>be without those graphic engravings that so perfectly captured the essence of the
books?) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started reading about the
influence <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice </i>had had on Alberto’s
childhood, how ‘Wonderland’ and ‘Looking-Glass Land’ became metaphors
of his life as a writer and a man. And I thought: yes, that’s me too. Not in
a very conscious way, and certainly not understood with the kind of insight
with which Manguel writes – at least, in the couple of chapters I’ve read so far.
But it prompted me to pay my own tribute to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice</i>. This year is the one hundred and fiftieth<span style="font-size: small;">
anniversary of the publication of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice
in Wonderland</i>. And there is local interest too, for Lewis Carroll was brought up at
Croft-on-Tees at the very gate of County Durham where his father was incumbent
of the parish. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What was it about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice </i>that I responded to as a child? I wrote a blog at Christmas (scroll down to 24 Dec 2014) about the 'Alice' windows at Fenwick's in Newcastle and touched on this. Maybe I loved the elusiveness of
the stories, the sense of ‘now you see it, now you don’t’ with which Carroll
constantly teases his young readers. They seemed to stretch my imagination in
ways that made other children’s literature feel wooden by comparison. In a world
where nothing is quite what it seems (which happens to be universe we live in),
metaphor, analogy and symbolism are everything. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Carroll often touches on the nature of language, most famously when Humpty Dumpty outlines his theory of
language in which <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>decides what
words will mean. ‘Jabberwocky’ is nonsense but it’s also not-nonsense: in its chaotic
jumble of sounds, you feel there could be a meaning just over some horizon that
it’s your own fault you can’t grasp. And then (and this is where Manguel’s book
begins) there is Alice lost in a forest of forgetfulness where nothing
has a name. The image is straight out of Dante walking in his dark wood not
knowing which way to go, but Carroll makes it entirely his own. I remember
feeling chilled when I used to read that chapter in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Looking
Glass </i>and the sense of relief when we emerged on the other side.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wrote ‘we’ just then. For yes,
this wasn’t just Alice’s adventure. It was mine too – it must have been, or I
wouldn’t have felt so implicated in her fortunes. And that seems to me to be what
makes great literature. You find yourself drawn into the story so that you
become part of it. It’s a commonplace to say that this was what made Jesus’s parables
so memorable. Whether it’s the Good Samaritan, the Rich Man and Lazarus or (for
me especially) the Prodigal Son, it’s as if you are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">there</i>. These stories are not about someone else. They are about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps I was already feeling for
the themes that I came to explore in adulthood. I read mathematics and philosophy,and then theology at university. Philosophy tutors would sometimes invoke <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice</i> to illustrate key themes:
linguistic analysis, ideas, meaning, perception, personal identity, metaphysics and logic are all there but artlessly, as if Carroll was not really aware of what he was doing. The theological dimensions of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice </i>are less explored but they too
would be a fertile field for study, for example transcendence and immanence, the
nature and destiny of the human being, the quest for meaning, authenticity and
happiness, eschatology or the last things. My wife is an analytic psychotherapist, and thanks to her I can now
see in <em>Alice </em>echoes a-plenty of Freud’s ego, super-ego and id, and of Jung’s archetypes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe Alice’s constant experience
of disorientation and reorientation has something to say not only to individuals but also to society. No doubt <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice </i>is
a looking-glass in which there are many reflections, but one of them is no doubt his
own society going through the painful throes of industrialisation. Perhaps we
can see our own collective condition reflected there too. Which is to say that
while so much children’s literature feels like a flight away from a complex and
often painful reality, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Alice </i>takes us
right into its heart. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alberto Manguel ends his introduction with this: ‘In the
midst of uncertainty and many kinds of fear, threatened by loss, change, and
the welling of pain within and without for which one can offer no comfort,
readers know that at least there are, here and there, a few safe places, as
real as paper and as bracing as ink, to grant us roof and board in our passage
through the dark and nameless wood.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking back, I think this may
have been what it did for me. And yet, in a way that was always playful and expectant,
as if to say: you will eventually reach that beautiful garden. You will make it to the
eighth square of the chessboard. Just persevere to the end. Travel in hope. ‘A
man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’ wrote Carroll’s Victorian
contemporary Robert Browning. This is Christian hope. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-37319717415706258782015-06-28T20:09:00.001+01:002015-06-29T07:18:26.472+01:00Slaughter on the Beach: in whose name?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm reticent about adding to the torrent of comment and opinion following the massacre on the Tunisian beach at Sousse. When we're faced with terrible events that affect others rather than ourselves, our instinctive response is to start talking. So the first thing to do before we open our mouths is to be silent in solidarity with its victims. This atrocity is beyond words. When Job was afflicted with terrible pains, the best thing his comforters could do was to sit silently with him for a week. It was when they began to speak that his suffering got a lot worse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this is a time for tears and for prayer. We weep with and for the victims. We pray for those who have been murdered and injured and bereaved. It's a time for us all to try to enter into the grief so many across the world will be feeling. It's a time when people of good will who follow the three Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, must stand together in supplication, protest and witness. This outrage, with every other act of terror in our young but bloody century is another step in the mindless assault of brutal savagery upon human civilisation. No one of integrity condones it, whether they have faith or not. If you don't read any further, at least please endorse that sentiment if you can. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, we have to speak about terror in relation to faith. After Sousse, many said things like: the jihadists weren't acting in the name of Islam, but in pursuit of some crazy ideology. I've heard a number of commentators say that this was not about religion but politics. Yet that doesn't sound quite right. Those beach murderers, and those who perpetrated similar outrages including the 7/7 bombings in London can't be insulated from the religion they espoused. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all do it. I've defended Islam by saying that the great majority are a noble witness to their faith; only a tiny minority embrace its perversions that utterly discredit it. We know we speak for virtually the whole of the Muslim community that condemns violence and seeks peaceable co-existence in a world of many faiths. I've been privileged to know a fair few Muslims in two cities I've lived in. They have all been fine people. I've learned a lot about Islam from them and admired the disciplined way it shapes its adherents. You only have to watch Muslims keeping Ramadan this summer to see this. It puts my Lent to shame. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You'll remember the sense of panic and fear not far below the surface following the attacks of 9/11. I wanted the church to hear the voice of Islam amid the cries for retribution and a war on terror. I persuaded a local Sunni leader to address the Diocesan Synod. In a powerful speech he begged for understanding and partnership with us as a church. and with all the faiths represented in the city. He began by turning to the Bishop and saying, rather to his surprise, 'You, Sir, are a Bishop to us Muslims too'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How should we speak about the perversions of faith when actions like terror discredit it? Perhaps something like: <em>whatever they say, these jihadists are not acting</em> <em>in the true spirit of Islam</em>. Take our Christian history. Islam still hurts in the aftermath of the crusades. Jihadists look back to them as a reason for wreaking vengeance on 'infidels', among whom Christians (or perceived Christians) are prominent for their reckless adventurism, slaughter and cruelty centuries ago. When I travelled the pilgrim road to Compostela in Spain and saw medieval images and paintings of St James the Great, called <em>Matamoros</em>, 'Slayer of the Moors', I realised how the spirit of the crusades had permeated medieval Christendom. It took centuries to learn co-existence and toleration, one of the gifts of the Enlightenment to religious faith <em>(pace</em> those who see only bad in that movement to which the modern world owes so much). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's no use Christians saying: those who inspired, preached and led the crusades, princes, popes, bishops and even saints like the great St Bernard, were somehow 'not acting in the name of Christianity.' They clearly thought they were doing precisely what their faith required. Very few questioned it. Only with hindsight have the churches recognised the monumental error they committed in the name of Christ. We should be deeply ashamed that our Christian history is stained with massacre and bloodshed on this colossal scale. Of so many collective sins the church has committed down the centuries, the crusades are among the very worst. Of course Muslims too were implicated in these centuries of violence. It was largely the unquestioned way in the pre-modern world. But that shouldn't make us feel any better about it. as we look back to those terrible times. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm saying that a faith has to grow in self-understanding and maturity in each generation. If it doesn't, all religion is brought into disrepute, not only your own particular faith. But the faithful move at different speeds. Christians don't now defend the crusades (do they? - the evangelical Bible class I attended as a teenager, the 'Crusaders', changed its name for this reason, a wise move). But we still see believers today who bring discredit on the good na</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">me of Christianity just as jihadists do on the good name of Islam. Woodenly literal readings of the Bible leads some Christians to commit acts of violence at abortion clinics, stir up racial hatred and endorse institutional homophobia in their churches. They are acting 'in the name of' Christianity, whatever we more liberal types say about the complexities of Christian history and hermeneutics. That's also true of Islam. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Radical fundamentalists in all religious traditions claim to represent faith in its pristine <em>ur-</em>purity, free of corruption and compromise. They read their sacred texts, come to simplistic black-and-white<em> </em>conclusions and consign the rest of us to burn as heretics (which is how Isis-inspired Sunni extremists justify their attacks on Shia mosques). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Clearly there are many different 'Islams' and many different 'Christianitys'. We want to think that our version of our faith tries to be close to its central vision and values. Who is to say that it isn't, however imperfectly we live it out? We eschew religious craziness in all its forms, whether expressed violently or not because we have seen the huge damage it causes. People are killed and injured through clashes of religious civilisations and ideologies. Millions more are cowed with fear. Bad religion is poisoning the world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It takes religious literacy to gain intelligent purchase on all this and allow good religion to see off the bad. We, the millions who are lit up by our faith, for whom it is the very centre of our path to wisdom and goodness cannot allow religion to be hi-jacked by the madness of the few. In an era when secularised leaders often have little clue about the rudiments of world faiths, we have to ask if they are up to (or even up <em>for</em>) this tricky conversation. All the more need for them to take the best theological advice on offer so as to speak with clear heads into this babble of religious claim and counterclaim. We have to understand the complexities of what we are handling when we speak about faith at all, let alone at a time of crisis. 'Islam' and 'Christianity' won't be pinned down. So we need some sense of the long and difficult histories that lie behind those words. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it's safer to say something like <em>these religious perversions are not</em> <em>in the spirit of how a great world faith understands itself today </em>rather than just <em>not in the name of.</em> It's part of the need to foster a vital debate about what good religion brings to the modern world and how the world faiths talk to one another. I don't sense that our leaders always grasp how urgent this is in relation to religious-inspired terror. How we frame the discourse is all-important. To speak wisely and well is only the beginning. But it will lay a firm foundation. </span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-59267613256310641112015-06-24T17:10:00.000+01:002015-06-24T20:10:03.895+01:00Seasons of Durham Life: June<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Midsummer. Not that you'd feel it most of the time. The cool grey spring has slid imperceptibly into a cool grey summer. In previous Junes after evensong, we'd sit on the bench outside the Deanery front door drinking tea (or if it was a festival, G&T). Not in 2015. But whatever the hue of the sky you get to love these long northern evenings. Southern guests can't believe that the sky is still light at 11pm. There have been auroras on rare clear nights, I'm told, though the Cathedral, berthed like a great galleon a few yards outside the Deanery windows blocks out all sight of the northern sky so we haven't set eyes on them. 'Decanus Borealis' has yet to glimpse <em>Aurora Borealis</em>. It's on my bucket list of must-see sights before I die.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">At Christmas and Easter, people jokingly say to deans, 'this is your busy time'. I never like admitting to being busy - it doesn't fit with my concept of how a priest should be, having time for God and time for people. A few Lents ago we launched a rather good project with the hash tag <em>#NotBusy</em> and its own website. It was meant to help us all live in a more reflective prayerful way and not be overwhelmed by activity. So I smile and say, 'well yes, there's a fair amount to do. And it's all good'. (You may recognise that last bit as the upbeat catchphrase in the brilliant TV comedy series <em>2012</em>. <em>Accentuate the positive</em>.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In cathedrals however, June and July are just as full as the run up to Christmas and Easter. At the tail end of the Easter season comes Pentecost, and then several weeks of end-of-year celebrations and events. Schools have prize-giving and leavers' services. In Durham, this includes several days of packed leavers' services for local authority schools in the area. The Cathedral Education Department is occupied with visits at a time of year when schools are keen to take students off-site and plan imaginative excursions and projects. The Cathedral Friends, a fine body of far-flung people who support us with great generosity hold their annual festival. There are concerts and recitals. The University has four full days of vast graduation ceremonies. Hard on the heels of all this come the summer ordinations (this year in early July so I'll come back to those next month). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And of course the visitor season is in full swing. June and September are 'Saga' months when most of our visitors are adults who have chosen vacation dates that will avoid the school holidays. It's not so much children and youngsters that our more senior guests are avoiding, I suspect, as the absurdly inflated prices many outfits charge holidaymakers the moment summer term ends. This isn't true of us of course. I'm sure you know that we don't charge a penny for admission to the Cathedral: we believe that hospitality to holy spaces should be without payment or condition for all who wish to come in. This 'public benefit' costs us around £2 million each year, and voluntary donations come nowhere near to matching it. How to make up that sum and keep Cathedral finances stable is a continual challenge for the Chapter and our Finance Office. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Meanwhile, the great works on our £10.5+ million Open Treasure project continue. The precinct has been a building site for months; but at last, the scaffolding is starting to come down, and the historic buildings round the cloister are beginning to be revealed in their full glory following intensive conservation. The new exhibitions they will hold will be installed at the turn of the year. These will be fully open in a year's time, and will transform the way we display the amazing array of treasures that we hold in our collections. These include priceless Saxon and Norman manuscripts, early printed books, artefacts like the incomparable Saxon cross that go back to St Cuthbert and the Lindisfarne community, no fewer than three copies of Magna Carta, gorgeous church plate from the post-Reformation period... where do I stop? To exhibit these wonderful things in the monastic dormitory, the medieval kitchen and a new collections gallery will make for marvellous exhibitions in their own right. But we want the exhibition timeline to interpret the Cathedral's Christian past and present in ways that will help visitors understand why it is here at all. 'Open Treasure' doesn't just mean creating a rather splendid museum. It means telling the story of the Cathedral's life and community across the centuries, and pointing to the treasure that is nothing less than the gospel itself. It will become a vital part of our mission and Christian outreach. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For me personally, the month has been a time to take stock. The summer solstice has fallen exactly one hundred days before my retirement in September. This same month I notch up forty years as an ordained minister and twenty as a Dean (eight in Sheffield, twelve here). At the start of the month, the Prime Minister's and Archbishops' Appointment Secretaries visited Durham to look at what was needed in the next Dean. They met a lot of people within the Cathedral and in the wider community of this city, county and region. They will compile a report that will help the committee that leads the appointment process on behalf of the Crown. Words I'm hearing frequently are 'succession' and 'legacy'. It has to happen, of course, and I'm pleased for the Cathedral that it has already begun. But it's odd knowing that this activity is taking place around me while there is much work I still have to do, not least try to leave things in an orderly state for the Acting Dean and my eventual successor. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So no further valedictory thoughts: I'm not ready to become part of history just yet. For now, I want to go on being as present as I can to the Cathedral, valuing the time that is left for the gift of serving in one of England's most remarkable holy places. I have loved being Dean here, and am saying to myself more and more fervently with each day that passes, <em>Laus Deo: Praise God!</em> The sun may not be shining much up here. But as we come to the end of another month, I have so many reasons to be profoundly thankful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And who knows? If the skies clear for long enough, I may get to see the Aurora after all. </span>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-55238304179509145202015-06-15T16:20:00.001+01:002015-06-15T20:36:28.568+01:00In a Meadow at Runnymede: Magna Carta 1215-2015<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It's been an absorbing day. I
have been at Runnymede representing the Cathedral at the celebration of the
800th anniversary of Magna Carta. Durham does not, like Lincoln and Salisbury,
possess an original 1215 Issue, the one that King John signed in this place on
this very day. But we do have the only known Issue of 1216, two others of 1225
and 1300, together with the Forest Charters of the same years. It is an
outstanding collection. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Obscurely prompted by <i>1066
And All That, </i>I'd imagined Runnymede as a rather soggy place. My wife
told me to pack a thermal T-shirt to wear during five long hours in the fresh
air. If the Barons had met the King by the banks of the River Wear, it would have
been the right advice. As it was, Thames-side has been positively balmy, and
when the sun came out later in the morning, decidedly warm. Just right for this
happy, colourful Carta-Fest.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I don't need to describe the
event: you will know all about it from the media. (It wasn't possible to
live-tweet as there was no more 3G to be had today as there was in 1215 - a security blackout or is coverage along the Thames corridor as patchy as it is
along our Pennine rivers?). So </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">here are a few personal reflections on the day.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">1. The speeches were the centrepiece. They were concise and to the point. The Master of the Rolls
underlined Magna Carta's historic role in politics, governance and the rule of law. The
Prime Minister (who has form when it comes to being tested on his knowledge of
MC) cited Nelson Mandela who, on trial and facing a lifetime in prison,
quoted the Charter and the constitutional liberties England owed to it. The
Archbishop of Canterbury spoke about his predecessor Stephen Langton and his
key contribution to Magna Carta, and as an example of upholding its principles of justice,
singled out Bishops of Durham for their defence of the miners. I especially liked that bit and nearly applauded. Princess Anne
referred to it as a bulwark against the abuse of human rights. Even if you
could have predicted that much of this would be said, it was right to say it on
this symbolic day. And it was well said.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">2. Children and young people
were prominently involved. The warm-up events gave us a hugely enjoyable menu
of singing, ballet and drama. The best moment was a colourful procession of
flags carried by school children into the arena. The flags represented all the
counties of the UK; they were designed by children through competitions held
among schools in each county. I was especially pleased to see County Durham's because the
Cathedral's own Chorister School won the competition. It was good to see the
Cross of St Cuthbert in all its northernness, together with a pit wheel and a Northumbrian bastle, paraded on a southern field before
this large and distinguished crowd.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">3. I hadn't appreciated until
today the huge significance Magna Carta has for the USA. The American Bar
Association's Magna Carta Memorial is a prominent landmark at Runnymede. Today
it was rededicated by the Princess Royal after its recent renovation. The
President of the ABA and the US Attorney General spoke to good effect about the
American Constitution, how 1215 was only the beginning of a long journey
towards justice, how we must all deliver on the promises held out then. 'Magna Carta
defines what we must do and who we must be if there is to be peace in our
world.' (I suppose the whole of <i>West Wing </i>is a dramatic
commentary on this - I couldn't stop it coming to mind as we stood for the
<em>Stars and Stripes</em>. In the Deanery we have almost reached the end of our second time
watching the whole of this brilliant series. But that's for another blog.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">4. The music was excellent,
and performers rose to the challenge of playing and singing in the difficult
acoustic environment of the open air. The London Philharmonic Orchestra gave us
a rumbustious programme of classics, including Copland's <em>Fanfare for the Common
Man</em> and Beethoven's <em>Wellington Symphony</em>, a fun piece (not his greatest) I
have only ever heard at open-air concerts. The European subtext of a
German composer celebrating an English victory over a French self-proclaimed
emperor was no doubt not lost on the audience (or on the PM who may even have
chosen it for the occasion). The Temple Church Choir robed in scarlet sang a
newly commissioned anthem by John Rutter and a passage from one of Handel's
Coronation Anthems, 'Let justice and judgment, mercy and truth go before thy face'. It was just right for the occasion and beautifully performed: another highlight.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">5. There was art in abundance, including a fine new piece by Hew Locke which was dedicated by the Duke of Cambridge. It's called <em>The Jurors </em>and consists of twelve empty chairs. They symbolise justice and the rule of law, and the idea is that visitors to Runnymede sit in them and thus become part of the good story of justice themselves. There is a noble simplicity in the way the chairs are executed and arranged; and as interactive sculpture, effective, proving very popular with today's crowd after the ceremony. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">6. All this made for a
memorable event. But I wonder if something was lacking. I felt there needed
to be some big symbolic act to bring it to a climax and give ritual shape to
it, some way in which we could unite in appropriating and making our own the high ideals that
were spoken about and honoured today. For example, children could have
processed a facsimile of the Charter on to the podium and presented it to the
Queen and the Archbishop. Some sentences could have been read out, and the
audience invited to respond in words pledging loyalty to its ideals. There
could even have been a prayer of rededication. (Yes! Why not, when the English Church
and Archbishop played a crucial part in the events of 1215?) There <i>was
</i>one prayer and it was a beautifully framed one, but that formed part of the
American Bar Association ceremony and wasn't read from the central podium. An archiepiscopal blessing on the nation in the
presence of The Queen as Supreme Governor of the Church of England would have
been especially apt. As so often, these public ceremonies are timid about
acknowledging the central place of religion in our common life. I'm not saying
the faith dimension was absent. today It was implicit in many parts of the
celebration, especially the music (and not forgetting Cuthbert's cross so
prominent on the Durham flag!). I'm simply wondering whether the event
altogether did justice to the comprehensive religious world view of our British
and American forebears to whom Magna Carta was a foundation document of faith.
We should have more confidence than even in a society as diverse as ours, public
ceremony need not fight shy of religion. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">7. The organisers of today
deserve to be pleased with the success of this great event. Everything was
done in an exemplary way. I want in particular to pay tribute to the officials,
stewards, security staff and police on duty: their good humour and warmth
made a big difference to the feel of this great event. We in the north tend to
think we are better at generating a sense of welcome and friendliness than
southerners. Today has made me think again....<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">How to sum it all up? I am
sure everybody who was at today's sunny celebration in Runnymede will agree
that it was a real privilege to be there. It has been inspiring to reflect on the
emblematic significance of Magna Carta and why it matters to people across the
world. I am sure it should matter rather more to us in England, and
institutions like Durham Cathedral that are guardians of these almost sacred
texts need to think hard about how we use them to work for us in our endeavour
to promote the common good of all the human family. The Charter is not simply
about heritage. It is a tool for mission and social justice. That is an
important thing to have glimpsed today. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">As to being brought closer to
the spirit of 1215, it's more difficult to say. If I felt it anywhere, it
wasn't in the presence of royalty and the nation's leaders, nor in the big crowd, the music or the speeches. I felt it most when I was walking early this morning to the arena along the banks of the river
that has borne witness to the centuries of history that have shaped our nation
and brought us to today. The water meadows of Runnymede are still a beautiful,
unspoilt landscape thanks to the National Trust. The day was calm and still, as
if - corny thought this - the trees, the flowers, the water, the air were all
meditating quietly on the momentous event that took place there eight hundred
years ago. There was complete tranquillity. That may turn out to be - for me -
today's enduring gift. I don't know yet. Time will tell. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-60503560848585730422015-06-10T11:00:00.000+01:002015-06-11T07:15:18.826+01:00'Dear Deans': a response from the northA grenade has been lobbed into the playground of the Deans. Richard Moy of Christ Church W4 has written a blog entitled <em>Dear Deans</em>.* He has visited a handful of cathedrals for midweek services, a 'nearly deserted' Durham among them. And he is left with a question: <em>Do we have any interest in the conversion of England – or even the survival of faith within the CofE?</em><br />
<br />
His complaint comes down to this. In the CofE cathedrals he visited, there was no homily at any of the services, and no attempt to present the Christian faith or interpret the scriptures. He writes: <em>St Paul’s had all the atmosphere of being a hen in a petting zoo as tourists at the north, south, west and east ends of the sanctuary surrounding the hapless worship pets (literally) like children on a field trip; and the lectionary readings at Durham/Canterbury were so objectionable without context or explanation that a casual inquirer / chance visitor/faith seeker would most likely be provoked to run away (screaming). </em><br />
<br />
He goes on: <em>The Church of England should not indefinitely spend the millions it does each year (£9.1million in 2013 on stipends / staffing) propping up Cathedral ministry partly on the basis of it’s </em>(sic) <em>alleged attendance statistics if no serious attempt is made to communicate the Christian faith when people attend public worship. The apostle said ‘woe to me if I do not preach the gospel.’ Woe indeed. If the Deans really can’t find a preacher for a five minute gospel homily I’ll happily send one of our highly talented interns...</em><br />
<em></em><br />
We deans mustn't get defensive. It's important to expose ourselves to criticism, look at what we do and how we do it, and learn from colleagues in Christian ministry. Here in Durham we often ask ourselves if we are doing all we can to help 700,000 visitors not only enjoy and be inspired by what they experience in this cathedral, but also to understand what it stands for. Believe me, we are well aware of the evangelistic privileges and challenges that we have here. <br />
<br />
A couple of deans have offered measured comments on Richard's blogsite, and Pete Willcox the Dean of Liverpool has written an excellent, comprehensive response in a blog of his own.** In it, he invites Richard to experience for himself the extraordinary diversity of activity in that great cathedral including worship, prayer and pilgrimage, outreach, social care, the arts, Christian common life and a whole lot else. <br />
<br />
I want to ask a few questions of my own. (And they are <em>questions </em>that I hope will help the conversation along.)<br />
<br />
1. Is Richard's concept of how God speaks to human beings unduly selective and narrow? Doesn't God make himself known in an infinite variety of ways, not simply through the spoken word. Cathedrals are numinous sacred spaces that speak of the divine not only through their buildings but also in the life and activity of their communities: daily prayer and worship, music and the arts, a common life of love and service, all of which play a part in building up the people of God and communicating faith. I am not undervaluing the role of preaching - far from it. But the gospel is lived out and testified to in a thousand different ways in churches and cathedrals everywhere. Look in our visitors' books to see how people are given glimpses of God and hear the Living Word speaking to them in unexpected ways that we can't and mustn't control. An incarnate God has freedoms that always transcend the limits our fallen nature wants to put on him. He speaks in many ways. <br />
<br />
2. Does Richard underestimate the key role liturgy plays in speaking of faith? Wesley called the eucharist 'a converting ordinance'. Paul says that the breaking of bread is to 'show forth the Lord's death until he comes' - <em>show forth </em>being a strong, outward-facing missionary word. The Apostle wants the church's worship to be so compelling that people venturing in from outside have no choice but to conclude that 'God is among you'. The huge investment of care that goes into cathedral worship is at the heart of our witness to the gospel. People have been converted through coming to midweek choral evensong. (You don't believe me?)<br />
<br />
3. Would Richard address the same criticism about the spiritual disciplines of religious houses - monasteries and convents? Yet these powerhouses of prayer play a vital part in the spirituality and mission of the church. Cathedrals and religious communities believe with conviction that corporate daily prayer should be at the heart of what we do. How many local churches are still open day by day to welcome those who wish to join our communities for public prayer? Who can say what the benefits of this may be, not just for its participants but for the world, our society, the church and for people in pain and need all of whom we hold before God in public cathedral worship at least three times every day? <br />
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4. Does Richard need to think a little more deeply about the part heritage can play in evangelism? Here in Durham, we are clear that Christian heritage is not an end in itself. It is one of our greatest tools in presenting Christian faith as a lived and life-changing reality. We have invested over £10M into our 'Open Treasure' project which is designed to interpret the Cathedral's past through the marvellous artefacts and buildings that tell its story. But the key aims of the project are to open up the 'treasure' of the gospel, and the 'treasure' of the Christian community that has borne witness to it in past ages and continues to do so today. So 'Open Treasure' is about two central Christian values: mission, and hospitality. (By the way, these paid-for exhibitions will help us to continue to maintain free visitor admission to the Cathedral itself, something we believe itself speaks of God's own free hospitality and generous invitation to come to him as the gift of his grace.)<br />
<br />
5. Does Richard need to revisit his understanding of scripture? It is true that the daily readings from the Bible often raise sharp questions. When 'difficult' passages come up in the evensong lectionary at Durham, readers usually introduce them with a sentence or two in order to help worshippers understand the context. Yes, interpretation is vital (and cathedrals take very seriously the need to interpret themselves and the faith they stand for to those who have little or no concept of Christian, or any other, faith). But does he really believe that Bible reading can be <em>so objectionable without context or explanation that a casual inquirer/chance visitor/faith seeker would most likely be provoked to run away (screaming</em>)? Leaving aside the rhetorical way he puts it, I wonder if it betokens an over-anxiety, a lack of trust in the God who always responds to those who feel after him and find him. <br />
<br />
6. Does Richard need to inform himself a bit better about the many ways in which cathedrals are engaging with the national church and specifically the Church Commissioners so as to be properly accountable for their mission, given the resources that are expended on cathedral ministry? He might be surprised - even pleased - to discover the extent and range of evangelism and outreach activity there is in the 42 cathedrals of England. <br />
<br />
Some people - Richard may be one of them - may imagine that as an 18th observer put it, cathedrals are merely 'asylums for amiable gentlemen with indistinct convictions'. Or heritage theme parks. Or exhibition halls and concert venues. If you get to know us, you may want to think again. For the medieval mystic Meister Eckhart, a cathedral is 'a creation imagined by the human spirit in order to affirm an inspiration and a faith'. Deans are spiritual leaders who are engaged in Christian mission every day of their lives. Cathedrals are not perfect when it comes to mission or anything else. We are painfully aware of so much unrealised potential. But they are also places of remarkable growth, lively faith, Christian flourishing and energetic outreach. And yes indeed, 'woe to us if we do not preach the gospel'. There isn't a dean in the land who doesn't aspire to inhabit that truth and pray for the gifts to live it. <br />
<br />
Richard, you are a partner in that shared enterprise of proclamation and witness-bearing. Please don't knock us! <br />
<br />
*Richard Moy's blog is at <a href="http://richardmoy.com/2015/06/03/dear-deans/">http://richardmoy.com/2015/06/03/dear-deans/</a><br />
**The Dean of Liverpool's response is at <a href="https://deardeans.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/a-response-to-richard-moys-dear-deans-challenge/">https://deardeans.wordpress.com/2015/06/07/a-response-to-richard-moys-dear-deans-challenge/</a>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-48457008545082538192015-05-31T09:27:00.001+01:002015-05-31T11:43:32.579+01:00Seasons of Durham Life: MayIn the Deanery garden we have a bellwether to signal the seasons as they turn: a glorious beech hedge. In autumn it lingers green when the trees go gold and red. When it finally succumbs, its crinkly dead leaves hang on to their moorings until a sudden explosion of green displaces them in late spring. It's always the last survivor of winter as if to say to daffodils and bluebells, don't get your hopes up too soon. Wait for me. I'll give you the cue to trust that summer is on its way. <div><br></div><div>The liturgical cycle has its own way of telling us that 'summer is icumen in'. The Rogation Litany in procession offers prayers for good harvests, especially for the poor, a memory of the Jewish Feast of Weeks that marked the early ripening grain and looked forward to reaping its full harvest in the summer. Ascension Day marks the 40th day of the Easter season with a joyful celebration of Christ's reign over all things. This year I preach at the Durham churches' open air service in the evocative and beautiful ruins of Finchale Priory, a few miles downstream from Durham where the hermit Godric came to live and pray the solitary life 900 years ago. The big wide sky above our heads speaks of both a hermit's solitariness in a remote place and the heaven that is the central metaphor in the Ascension story. It should be a warm balmy May evening. Instead it is grey, windy and bitterly cold. I keep the sermon short!</div><div><br></div><div>Whitsunday or Pentecost feels like a forgotten church festival. No longer married to a bank holiday (though they coincide this year) 'Whit' means no more than the last weekend of May. On this last day of Easter, the church and its ministers are decked in brilliant red to recall the fiery gift of the Spirit. At evensong we go in procession to the Galilee Chapel to say our final prayers at the Easter Garden by the huge stone rolled away in front of the empty tomb. We shout our concluding alleluias and extinguish the Paschal Candle for the last time. 'Ordinary time' is here again.</div><div><br></div><div>Except not quite in Durham. For Whit Monday 25 May is the festival of St Bede the Venerable, another high day in our calendar with more festivity, music and incense. His shrine in the Galilee is one of the holy places in North East England, like St Curhbert's at the other end of the Cathedral. But unlike Cuthbert, Bede did not belong here to begin with. He had been buried in his own monastery at Jarrow 20 miles away in 735. But the Saxon monks of Durham wanted him, not just for his legendary wisdom and holiness but because it was mostly thanks to Bede's writings that the world knew anything at all about Cuthbert and his heroic sanctity. So in 1022 a monk of Durham went to Jarrow, became a member of that monastic community, and having earned the trust of his brothers, lifted Bede's precious relics one night (I imagine it was done under cover of darkness) and brought them back to Durham where they have been to this day. This practice of 'sacred theft' was not unknown across medieval Europe. It was seen as a way of 'helping' a saint find the place where he or she was destined to lie. Go to the Abbey of Conques in South west France, for example, where Sainte Foy's relics travelled a lot further than Bede's. But I can't help having an uneasy conscience about him when I show Jarrow people his tomb.</div><div><br></div><div>What else has the merry month of May brought? For students, exams. While we feel for them, we don't regret the peace and quiet that descends on university cities during the exam period even if we pay for it with riotous celebrations when it is all over. For the tourist industry, it is the start of the high season. The Cathedral is thronged with visitors day after day. Our several hundred volunteer stewards do a magnificent job welcoming them at the door, putting a human face on this majestic but - to some - intimidating building. May and June are big Saga months for the more mature visitor (not an ageist remark: at 65 I am now in my second Saga decade). But there are also lots of school groups on visits organised by our own Education Centre whose enthusiasm in helping youngsters enjoy, understand and respond to the Cathedral is truly inspiring. </div><div><br></div><div>And May has brought a much anticipated gift to the Cathedral Chapter: three new members, two lay, one ordained, all of them women, who fill the empty places vacated by colleagues who left Durham last year. It is very good to have the Chapter table fully populated once more after several months. The Cathedral's governance is secure. And I am proud that our Chapter gender balance puts us in the forefront of cathedrals in terms of equality. </div><div><br></div><div>I am writing this May blog on the last day of the month, this year Trinity Sunday. The long 'green' weeks of the Trinity season stretch far ahead across high summer and into the autumn. For us, that will mean retirement and the hard task in September of saying farewell to this holy and beautiful place with its rich communities of wonderful people. It suddenly feels a lot closer. I feel a sigh coming on. </div><div><br></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And yet.... The advent of summer is always a rich time of gifts. And while the order of time runs its course in this our last Durham summer, God's mercies endure for a lifetime. And with them, precious memories and great thankfulness. </span></div></div>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-6552363012766315692015-05-23T11:35:00.000+01:002015-05-23T17:36:05.888+01:00Dying Matters<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">It's a bank holiday weekend. The sun is shining. The world is beautiful. Tomorrow is Whit Sunday. It's not a time to be gloomy.</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">However....</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">This is <em>Dying Matters Awareness
Week. </em>I wish I'd known about it sooner. I became aware of it yesterday as I was reading the Catholic
weekly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tablet.</i> This always excellent journal leads
on the subject, and there is an excellent article by Rosie Harper, an Anglican
priest, about helping people talk naturally about death. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">This is what the week is
intended to be about: recovering the importance of thinking about and
discussing end-of-life matters: palliative care, dying, death, loss and grief. I
say ‘recover’ because as we know, the difficulty we have in even naming some of these topics seems a peculiarly modern phenomenon. Our forebears did not stumble over
facing the incontrovertible truth of the old tag <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">memento mori. </i>To remember the certainty of death and to reflect on
dying well is all part of learning to live well, and not just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">well </i>but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">happily. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">The Dying Matters
hashtag is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">#YODO</i>: You Only Die Once. It’s
good. I’m learning late in my life that the things we only do once are supremely worth
investing time and effort in. Yesterday I was giving an address to
school-leavers. I talked about how they might cross this unique threshold of
becoming an adult with thankfulness, hope and joy. I linked it with my own
imminent retirement, another threshold that carries significance for the whole
of my working life, not just the few weeks that are left and whatever lies
beyond. I spoke about (horrid word, but useful) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mindfulness. </i>If I’d been talking to fellow clergy or caring
professionals I might have spoken about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">awareness</i>
or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">reflective practice.</i> The words don’t
matter. What 's important is that we draw on our emotional and spiritual
intelligence to bear upon these life-changing passages we all have to
negotiate. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">This year’s Dying
Matters theme</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;"> is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Talk, Plan, Live</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">. The
website says: ‘</span>During the week, we will be encouraging members of the
public to take five simple steps to make their end of life experience better,
both for them and for their loved ones.’ These are: 1 Write your will; 2 Record
your funeral wishes; 3 Plan your future care and support; 4 Consider registering as
an organ donor; 5 Tell your loved ones your wishes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Here in Durham (and we are not alone), we have encouraged this approach
to death by inviting members of the Cathedral Community to design their funeral
rite, or as much of it as they wish, and deposit it in writing with the
Precentor. We often have deeply-held desires about the shape of the service:
where it should take place, who should be involved in it, the readings, music and hymns
we would like, what is to happen to our body and so forth. This is of real
help to shocked and grieving next of kin and to the ministers who support them.
Unless incorporated in a legal will, our funeral wishes are not legally
binding, but loved ones will almost always want to respect them. (And if we
change our minds subsequently – i.e. not after death but before it! – we can
amend as we wish.) </span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">We only die once. It’s an event worth taking seriously. I’m not talking
about ‘designer dying’ as if it were a lifestyle (deathstyle?) choice. I mean
investing in dying as the culmination of living, a gateway that we hope to pass
through with the dignity that belongs to a human being made in the image of
God. The seventeenth century Bishop Jeremy Taylor famously called it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Dying</i>. Here’s the reason we need to
talk about it more. Death is not simply a solitary matter for each of us
personally. It is communitarian. Apart from its public and civil aspects –
recording it, investigating it if necessary, handling the succession in
accordance with law – it’s an event that belongs to all our communities of
love, trust and care: our family, our faith community, our neighbourhood and the
institutions we have belonged to. In each case, ‘every man’s death diminishes
me.’ <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Nothing can be more important than the way we say farewell and honouring
the memories that are left behind. I always feel the chill in the Ash Wednesday words 'dust you are, and to dust you shall return', especially when I say them to children as I impose the ashes on their foreheads. But being mortal, with our existence bounded by a beginning and an ending, is something we can learn to celebrate for the focus it gives to the unique meaning of each precious human life. </span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;"></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">It makes me wonder why the Church of England isn’t making much more of it
– or perhaps I have missed something? This year, Dying Matters Awareness Week falls at the very end of the Easter
season. What better time to meditate on death in the light of
these Great Fifty Days, and Christian faith’s sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the dead? </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Even at the grave we sing alleluia! </span></div>
Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-57143127495688988062015-05-13T10:57:00.001+01:002015-05-14T08:13:56.586+01:00Why Did They Resign? Political leaders and election fallout<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Why did Ed Miliband and Nick Clegg believe they had to resign after their parties' election defeat? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">What they each said in their own way was: 'I take responsibility as my party's leader for this outcome, and therefore I must resign'. Both men acted with dignity. We should respect that. As Malcolm says of the executed Cawdor in the Scottish Play, 'nothing in his life became him like the leaving it' (thanks to a Twitter follower for reminding me of that famous speech in <em>Macbeth</em>). I'm aware as retirement comes down the slipway that leaving an office well is just as important as arriving well and inhabiting it convincingly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Someone tweeted that it's noble, and gospel-like, to lay down your life (and career) for your friends. That's far better than politicians who cynically lay down their friends for their lives, as Jeremy Thorpe said of Harold Macmillan's Night of the Long Knives (thanks to a comment on this blog for that). I am sure that both men acted out of the best instincts in resigning. And doubtless the widespread British enjoyment of seeing leaders brought low has been satisfied. But my question is, <em>did they have to take this drastic step</em>? Might it not have been better if they had carried on for a while, picked up the pieces, help their party reflect and regroup and begin to find a way forward? Isn't a crisis the real test of leadership? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was discussing this with a friend who is a seasoned politician and well-versed in the relationships between political leaders and a mercurial public. She said that this is just how it is in British politics. Like football managers and CEOs in business, it's the results that count. If your club is relegated, or your business outturns take a hit, it's not easy to survive as a leader. There is a drive to purge out the old, begin afresh. It's a fact about most revolutions in history. There is a crisis. The leadership are blamed or blame themselves. They have to go, either at their own volition or the enforced will of others. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">But the dynamic is more complicated than that. The 'blame' culture we know a lot about infects not just the collective behaviour of a group like a political party, but also its leaders' own sense of self. It isn't necessarily conscious. In such a culture, it's easy for leaders to say to themselves, 'this is my fault' - even if it isn't - because of the projections the group will put on them. I'm aware that when people accuse me of failing in some way, letting the side down, I default to assuming that they must be right about. Then I feel I should take responsibility and blame myself. I am intuitively aware that if I do this, own up and apologise, a kind of catharsis will take place. The situation will be righted again, cleansed of the malign influence that caused it to wobble. Even if I am not to blame!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This is the well-understood phenomenon of <em>scapegoating</em>. A victim is made to 'carry' the wrongdoing of a group and is banished to the wilderness, a far-off safe place where defilement can no longer damage the community. The Old Testament has a lot to say about this: the scapegoat is one of the ways in which the Hebrew people were to find reconciliation healing. It's among the images the New Testament uses to depict Jesus banished to die 'outside the camp' and take our sins with him. The French theologian Rene Girard has written extensively about this ritual 'mimetic' way of dealing with social wrong and disorder (for instance in his book <em>Violence and the Sacred</em>). By loading a victim with 'blame' and driving it out, stability is restored. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Political parties, like all organisations(including the church), can behave like this when under threat from real or imagined disorder in its midst. It's how the far right thinks of immigrants and asylum-seekers. It has to be 'their' fault. The principle is: the social group must recover stability if it is to survive. Find a victim who will take this burden off everybody else. As I say, these forces are often unconscious. They seem to have been at work in the Labour and LibDem parties in the aftermath of the election. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Paradoxically, when a leader says 'it's all my fault', he or she can collude with a kind of self-aggrandisement that a moment's thought will show is misplaced. These days, political parties, like churches, are organisations of consent. You can't be a leader and indulge in command-control and the fantasy of omnipotence, not if you want your party to flourish. Mainstream political parties, including Labour and the Liberal Democrats, are places of keen open debate. It's not, I'm sure, that mistakes weren't made in some policy areas. All I'm saying is the leaders can only go where the organisation is willing for them to. Of course good leadership means expanding horizons, offering new directions of travel. Managing change is difficult and painful. But ultimately, it's the organisation that takes responsibility for it. Especially when it prides itself in believing in democratic values. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">So I want to say to Ed and Nick, neither of whom I know personally: don't carry this responsibility on your own. Don't blame yourself. Don't buy into the scapegoat mentality and go out into the wilderness. Don't imagine that you were omnipotent enough to fail by yourself. You did your best for your party, and didn't act out of self-interest. You conducted decent campaigns and as leaders performed credibly. You largely held the trust of those you led. You could have stayed on and been part of the long hard process of reconstruction. You can still contribute to that journey in important ways. I hope you will, for the good of democracy and the political life in our nation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-75620963118692988002015-05-10T21:13:00.000+01:002015-05-10T22:30:26.858+01:00The Election and the Ascension: a theological meditation on leadership<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Three days since we went to the polls. How long
ago it seems.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> But far from the election clearing the air, the atmosphere is still febrile. Time will tell whether things will stabilise or whether the nation will find itself pulled apart by social forces that may not be contained for much longer. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But whatever is on the agenda, what we
want to be reassured about in our political leaders is that they have not been elevated
far above our sight and our common human experience.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">We need to know that they are not absentee
incumbents but still belong to our world, still get their hands dirty, still share our hopes and fears for the future. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">We all know how risky high office
can be; we have seen it corrupt men and women, and some of us know
from within how easily we begin to have inflated ideas about ourselves and our
power.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Thursday is Ascension Day.
I think it holds up a mirror to all who find themselves exalted in public
places.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Who shall ascend into the hill
of the Lord?’ asks one of the psalms we shall sing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Those who have clean hands and pure
hearts; and has not lifted up their mind to vanity, nor sworn to deceive their neighbours.’</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> T</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">hat rite of entry into the
sanctuary may especially have been meant for the Israelite king to remind him of his
place in the divine scheme of things and not to think of himself more highly
than he ought to think.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In his ascension, Jesus mounts the throne of his glory. But it is not
the ‘happy ending’ to an earthly career, the tidy closure we would like to see
at the end of the story.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor is it the
restoration of an earthly kingdom as the disciples so much wanted, or even the
promise of it.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Still less is it that he
has abandoned us as if he had disappeared, though it may seem like
that as we gaze like the disciples into an empty sky.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">It affirms what Jesus has been
proclaiming throughout his ministry, that God reigns, and he calls us to
embrace his reign with joy and become subject to it. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">It affirms that the exalted Christ ‘fills all
things’, as the Letter to the Ephesians puts it. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">It affirms that it is our own destiny to be
exalted with Christ, and that is wonderfully to glorify and ennoble our human
nature. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But we need to get 'glory' in perspective. The ascension is of a piece with
everything Jesus has been to us in his incarnate life. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">The scriptures speak of his exaltation in the
imagery of the coronation of the kings of Israel.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">But if we follow that imagery back to its
source we are drawn back to the obligations of kingship as well as its
privileges.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">The king is to be loyal to
the covenant between God and his people; indeed, he is there to guarantee all
that it promises: peace, wellbeing, justice, the care of God’s humble
poor.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In one of the psalms (82) God sits in a cosmic court with all the
heavenly beings gathered round him for judgment.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Are these beings worthy of their exalted
status, to be called </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: medium;">elohim, </span></i><span style="font-size: medium;">gods?</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">The test is simple.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">‘Give justice to the weak and the orphan;
maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute; rescue the weak and the
needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.’</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">It is the mandate for wise and just
government in any age. But they fail it dismally.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">‘How long will you judge unjustly and show
partiality to the wicked?’ So they are toppled from their thrones.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">‘I say, you are gods, nevertheless you shall
die like mortals and fall like any prince.’</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">To be dethroned is the destiny of those who aggrandise
themselves, who forget who they are and to whom they owe account.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">In Jewish tradition this saying is applied
to corrupt leaders who have forfeited the right to govern.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">They have ascended the hill of the Lord, only
to fall from the pedestal by the sin of pride.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The exalted Christ is not like them.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">For he bears the imprint of the nails on his body, and takes us with him
into God’s very heart.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The Letter to the </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Hebrews says that even in its imagined heavenly realms, he is not ashamed
to call us his brothers and sisters. He can help those because he himself was tested by what he
suffered.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Jesus is not simply one of the </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><em>elohim </em>in the psalm </span><span style="font-size: medium;">but is above all other principality
and power.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Yet, e</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">xalted though he is, he is always present to the lowliest of his family, the hungry and
naked, the voiceless and the poor, those whom St Matthew calls ‘the least of these my brothers and
sisters’ </span></span><o:p><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So humility and service characterise the
ascension of Jesus. There is no pomp and ceremony, no whirlwind or fiery chariot or a fanfare of trumpets. He was and
is the Son of Man who healed the sick and spoke kindly to the neglected, who washed
his disciples’ feet, agonised in Gethsemane and went out to die. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Any other messiah would not have been born in
a stable, executed between thieves, raised secretly behind a stone, or
ascended without ceremony on an obscure hilltop with only a handful of
witnesses to tell of it.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Only this Messiah could bear the marks
of the nails in his glorified hands and feet and </span><span style="font-size: medium;">be pictured as a Lamb upon a throne.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Only this
Messiah could be both priest and victim and make his approach to
us in lowly bread and wine so that we might welcome him, and exalt him in our hearts.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-size: medium;">I call this <em>kenotic</em> ascension. The word means self-emptying. For Jesus' way of exaltation is in the spirit of the whole story we tell about his abasement I which he takes the form of a slave and lays down his life for his friends. As he says in the upper room, 'I am among you as one who serves' - not only in his days on earth but always. The foot washing affirms for all time that it isn't Olympian grandeur that God cares about. It's self-giving service of every kind that is exalted and blessed in the gospel, because in the imitation of Christ, truth and justice are honoured, mercy and peace meet together, and in the movement of self-giving love, the poor are not forgotten. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We who are in <em>ministry</em> need to remind ourselves of this, whether we are in the service of church or state or serve in any other representative role</span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">. Public office holds many pitfalls: the higher we climb, the better we become known, the more proficient we become, the more we are at risk of the sin of pride and the further there is to fall. But Jesus' exaltation models a more excellent way of leadership. St Theresa famously said that we are the only hands and feet </span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Christ now has to do his work in the world. But not as an absentee or remote sovereign. Far from it. The ascension affirms that he leaves the world only so that he can be present to it for ever. 'It is good that I go away.'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It's this quality of 'presence' that we all need, especially in our leaders, as together we endeavour to construct a society that serves the common good and thereby points to the promised kingdom. </span></span></div>
Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-41451771608126868632015-05-02T11:21:00.003+01:002015-05-02T17:53:13.765+01:00For I will Consider my Cat GodivaNot quite a quotation from the poet Christopher Smart (1722-1771). He was gifted, devout and more than a little mad. Among his most charming outpourings is the long versified tribute he paid to his cat, written in the Bedlam Asylum where he was confined. It's part of his great poem on creation, <em>Jubilate Agno </em>from which Benjamin Britten drew the text of his marvellous work <em>Rejoice in the Lamb</em>. <br />
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<em>For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.<br /> For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.</em><br />
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In a long list of his amazing accomplishments comes this:<br />
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<em>For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.<br /> For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.<br /> For he is </em><em>docile </em><em>and can learn certain things.<br /> For he can sit up with gravity, which is patience upon approbation.<br /> For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.<br /> For he can jump over a stick, which is patience upon proof positive.<br /> For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.<br /> For he can jump from an </em><em>eminence</em><em> into his master’s bosom.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
I wish I had Smart's flair for words when it comes to our beloved cat Godiva who died this week. She was twenty, a great age. She could not rise to half Jeoffry's attainments (she was never much good at spraggling though she could certainly jump from an eminence, and was doing so right up to last weekend). She outlived her characterful brother Leofric who died eight years ago. And she achieved something that even Jeoffrey could not have dreamed of. She had her own Twitter feed (@HRHLadyGodiva). <br />
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Why Godiva, you ask? She was originally called Bridget when we adopted her from the cat shelter in Sheffield where we had just moved. (Leofric's name had been Carlton.) The children wanted to name them in memory of our happy eight years in Coventry. So Earl Leofric and his brave wife Godiva fitted the bill. With the years, Leo transmuted at times into the Shakespearian Leontes and then the 'Cat of Glory'. Godiva simply became Diva or Dives (and not as in 'and Lazarus'). <br />
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A more affectionate creature than Godiva was never born. Especially after Leo died, she craved human company. She would wander all over this great house seeking it. She was not fussy: Susan my PA, Linda our housekeeper, John the Head Porter, the students upstairs in the eyrie all doted on her. She attended Chapter meetings, seminars on the Psalms, recitals in Priors' Hall, fundraising events in the solarium. She has met a Prime Minister, members of the Royal Family, sundry ambassadors, lords lieutenant, high sheriffs, mayors, vice-chancellors and bishops without number. She never went far from the Deanery (unlike Leo who was twice caught invading the neighbours' cat-flaps and stealing the food of other College cats). She was timid and risk-averse, near the bottom of the feline food chain. <br />
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Despite what it says on her Twitter profile, she had little sense of being a World Heritage Cat living in Grade One listed surroundings. (This is despite being a published cat: she and Leo are the subject of a chapter in Richard Surman's illustrated book <em>Cathedral Cats</em>, Collins 2005.) Maybe the Deanery turned her head a little, for she would follow us round the house like a puppy dog eager to please, not at all the Senior Cat she could have been by rights. To the very end, she insisted on clambering on to the amplest vacant lap or settling into a her well-shaped hollow on the sofa to keep us company while we watched TV. <br />
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Maybe Godiva's feline sense of self was prematurely arrested by Leo's bullying tactics. Dogs are famously supposed to have owners while cats have staff, but Godiva was too dependent to grasp this important principle. Freud said that time spent with cats was never wasted. Godiva believed that it was definitely the other way round. She was never more miserable than when she was devoid of human companionship. She would trust anyone, incapable of believing that anyone might wish her harm. She hated the sight of bags and suitcases in the hall which meant that we were going away. <br />
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For the last year or two, she was completely deaf but this enabled her to find her voice for the first time. She would welcome us vocally when we came into the room, or cry and wail down the long echoing corridors looking for us until we went to find her for the sake of a quiet life. Then a few days ago she went blind too. It was poignant and sad to see her wandering around not knowing where she was, colliding with the furniture, tumbling on steps, her only awareness of us being our touch and caresses. It was kinder not to let this misery go on. <br />
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Like every pet who is loved, Godiva carried so many associations. She witnessed two decades of Sadgrove history. Fond recollections of our children, family Christmases, birthdays and Easter egg hunts, celebrations and losses, the highs and lows of life come flooding back. Without her, the house seems empty and a trifle forlorn. It already 'knows' that we are leaving in a few months' time. We miss her funny foxy tortoiseshell face, her creeping around behind us, the warmth of her cherished hollow on the sofa. This parting feels like part of a long-drawn-out farewell. But she leaves behind a rich vein of memories. She has been a loving companion for half our married life, half my working life, the entire time I have been a dean. We are thankful for it all.<br />
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So on the day she died I said a prayer of thanksgiving for our pets at evensong. I don't know what I believe about life after death when it comes to animals. But Christopher Smart was right. Animals belong to the world God has made. His love embraces them as it does all of creation: Cuthbert and Francis both teach us that. In her own idiosyncratic cattish way Godiva too has been <em>the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him. </em>Yes, we shall consider, and never forget, our Cat Godiva.<br />
<em></em><br />
RIP.Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-34651881703375548452015-04-25T19:39:00.003+01:002015-04-27T08:18:33.489+01:00Seasons of Durham Life: AprilThere is a heady rush of green all over the Peninsula. In March it seemed as if winter would never end. Now it is April and Eastertide, and the trees are outdoing one another to dress for summer. The silver birch outside the bathroom window is back in the role of modesty screen, its foliage concealing us bashful bathers from our neighbours across the College. The magnolia by the Chorister School, harbinger of exams, cricket and speech day, is in glorious flower. The dandelions are out for St George's Day. Even the beech hedge, always the last to respond, is casting off last year's dowdy autumn brown as fresh shoots push through. The wind has lost its biting edge, the sun is shining daily and winter woollies are stowed away till the equinox. The time for singing has come. All's right with the world. <br />
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T. S. Eliot famously said that April was the cruellest month, but perhaps he wasn't thinking very theologically. Even when Easter is late, April always seems shot through with resurrection. Maybe I'm biased - my birthday falls on the Ides (the 13th - about which see a recent blog <em>On Reaching a Certain Age</em>). When I was a boy, the sun always used to shine on that day. I know this because I always used to read my birthday books lying on the carpet in front of the south-facing open front door through which the sun's warmth and light streamed in with such generosity that even in my irreligion, I felt grateful to be alive. Now that I am 65, and well into my last Durham spring, that feeling has returned forcefully. Easter has felt like a precious gift to savour this year. We shall not be here to see this generation of green leaves drop off their trees in the autumn. <br />
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This year, April began in Holy Week. On Maundy Thursday morning, the diocesan clergy come to the Cathedral in large numbers to the annual service at which we renew our vows of ministry with the Bishop. We don't speak of Durham Cathedral as the 'mother-church' of the diocese because historically it isn't - that honour belongs to the older foundations at Chester-Le-Street or Lindisfarne. But on Maundy Thursday as the diocese gathers under this sacred canopy, it feels motherly. Clergy who have not seen one another for a year greet friends. For some, it is their first Maundy Thursday in Durham - they may have been ordained here last year, or have moved into the diocese from somewhere else. For others, this will be their last before moving away or retiring. I make this point in my welcome, and point out that I am speaking about myself. I'm conscious that today, as we worship, The Queen is visiting my former Cathedral in Sheffield to deliver the Royal Maundy. We held it in Coventry while I was Precentor there, and it was unforgettable. <em>Mandatum novum</em>, the 'new commandment' of the upper room that we should love one another lies at the heart of Christianity. <br />
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At the Maundy eucharist that evening, I preside. At the foot of the mighty prince-bishops' throne, once 'the highest throne in Christendom', I wash the feet of the youngest choristers. I like the juxtaposition of smallness and vulnerability right next to this huge symbol of jurisdiction and power. After communion, I lead a ceremony unique to Durham known as the 'Judas Cup' where the members of the Chapter pass round a mazer of wine and we ask ourselves the dreadful question of the upper room when Jesus announces that one of his disciples will betray him: 'Lord, is it I?' Then the lights are put out, the choir sings the Lamentation, we strip the altars and leave for the vigil in the dark Galilee Chapel. The transition from joyful thanksgiving to darkness and dereliction is extraordinarily powerful. It's one of those occasions where a well-developed sense of drama serves the liturgy so well. You would have to be hard-hearted not to be moved by it.<br />
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For me, Good Friday is the most moving day of the Christian year. Late in life, I am wondering why this is so. Maybe it just is. Our preacher in Holy Week this year is Bishop Martin Wharton, lately retired from our neighbouring diocese of Newcastle, and living among us in the College this year. He delivers a magnificent sermon on St John's great final word from the cross, 'It is finished'. I once wrote a little book about the sayings of Jesus in St John's passion narrative, but as I listened to this sermon I felt I wanted to tear it up and begin again. I came to faith through singing Bach's <em>St John Passion </em>as a boy. Somehow this beautiful sermon on the holiest day of this final year of mine in public ministry seems to bring things to a kind of completion: a personal <em>tetelestai! </em>indeed, if you'll allow me to put it that way. ('Is there a text?' I ask afterwards. 'No, just a few notes scribbled on the back of a fag-packet' he replies with typical modesty). Then the great cross is processed in and as the choir sing the Sanders <em>Reproaches</em>, we go forward to venerate it. Some simply kneel in front of it, but at a distance; others go right up to it to touch and kiss it. There are tears in the love and devotion of that simple action. They include mine. 'It is a thing most wonderful....'<br />
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Easter Eve is the day of emptiness and waiting. I've blogged about that too, and about the significance of Easter dawn breaking into it. Not every cathedral can muster a full choir at 5.15am, but we have always believed we should invest everything into this the central liturgy of the year. The Bishop presides and preaches, and parishes bring their baptism and confirmation candidates to join ours. Everyone is asked to bring something noisy to blow or bang as we shout the first alleluias after the long silence of Lent. This year, the Sunday school has furnished the clergy with rattles that glow in bright colours as you wave them about. This replaces the Buddhist prayer wheel I used to bring to this ceremony until the head flew off dangerously a few years ago during my moment of Easter excitement. Afterwards, there are bacon butties and coffee in the undercroft restaurant, while those of us whose liturgical day is only just beginning go home to turn round before choral matins, the sung eucharist and evensong. <br />
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'Can there be any day as this?' asks George Herbert. After the exhilaration of Easter Day, it all goes quiet for a while. Maybe it shouldn't, but it's a relief after the long liturgies and intense spirituality of Holy Week. The joy does not dissipate as the Great 50 Days begin, but it's in a more restful mode for a few days while the choir is on holiday and clergy take a break. After Easter Week, Jenny and I go to Bristol and Gloucester for the annual Deans' Conference, one last opportunity to see colleagues many of whom have become friends during the couple of decades I have been deaning (in two cathedrals - which makes me one of the few who are known as duo-deanal). <br />
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Back in Durham, the Cathedral is full again for the funeral of our friend and colleague Joe Cassidy, the Principal of St Chad's College across the Bailey. After his sudden death at the very end of March, I blogged about this inspiring, generous man to whom, as I now realise, I have owed a great deal during these Durham years. Some funerals are unbearably poignant, especially when someone has died tragically or prematurely, or when the liturgical season lends a particular colour. What makes this unforgettable for me is the tribute paid by Joe's daughter (you can find it on her Face Book page - Emmeline Skinner-Cassidy). It is filled with radiant memories of faith and love, a profound sense of gratitude and an unassailable sense of terrible loss. At the end, with the family standing round, I can barely get round the coffin to cense it: it is such an intimate act, the last thing I can do for someone I have come to care deeply for. I say the words of commendation with difficulty. A few minutes later we are at the cemetery. The air is soft and clean, and there are daffodils all round. We lay Joe to rest and in turn throw earth on to the coffin. And I call to mind the words of the Russian <em>kontakion</em>: 'even at the grave we sing <em>alleluia</em>!' Take him, earth, for cherishing.<br />
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If Easter doesn't make a difference to the way we think about mortality, what can it possibly mean? What can life itself mean? Yes, for Joe's family and for so many others in the world, April has been the cruellest month. Yet faith insists on seeing in it the brightest and best of hopes - even if it sometimes means holding on as best we can, and like Abraham, hoping against hope. Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-55369341261534076702015-04-23T11:15:00.001+01:002015-04-23T12:26:17.085+01:00Voting with Head and HeartI'm conscious that apart from a few tweets, I've not said much about the election. <div><br></div><div>With two weeks to go, I'm thinking how dull this election campaign seems to be. There's a curious lack of passion about it, not much evidence of fire in the belly either of our political leaders or in the way we ourselves talk about it. Yet we keep being told that it could be one of the most defining of elections for decades. On its outcome may depend the future of the United Kingdom and whether or not we remain in the European Union. Yet we have heard only a little about the former and next to nothing about the latter despite one of the parties branding itself in relation to Europe. Nor have we heard much from our leaders about how they see Britain's place in a changing world order, or the global threats of conflict, climate change and terror, or even what kind of nation we aspire to be in five or ten years' time and how we address exclusion and poverty in our divided society. </div><div><br></div><div>Is it that these Big Concerns don't stir the hearts of the electorate because they don't win votes? Or maybe (God forbid!) they don't greatly stir the hearts of most of our politicians either? In a famous poem 'The Second Coming', W. B. Yeats warned that 'the best lack all conviction'. But we shouldn't lay this indictment only at the doors of politicians. Our leaders mirror the conviction, or lack of it, that we ourselves demonstrate. If we're casual or indifferent in politics, we're going to get a politics that is itself casual and indifferent to so much that ought to matter intensely in the world we find ourselves living in. It worries me that this doesn't seem to be featuring in the election debates I've overheard so far.</div><div><br></div><div>It's not that domestic issues don't matter. It's right that we are clear about what our elected representatives would do with the economy, taxation, immigration, education and the NHS. But it's hard not to suspect that self-interest isn't colouring the way we're all talking about them, candidates and electorate alike: what's in it for me? In TV interviews with 'ordinary' voters, very few seem to have anything to say about global concerns, a politics of care, social justice and the common good. Are journalists not pressing these bigger questions hard enough, I wonder? I'm chairing the hustings in Durham next week. I happened to meet one of the constituency candidates recently and warned that if no one else voiced these questions from the floor, I would be. </div><div><br></div><div>A few weeks ago the House of Bishops' published an admirable pastoral letter. We could all do worse than read it once more a fortnight before we cast our vote. Contrary to what some sectors of the press were saying when it was issued, it doesn't tell us to vote this way or that. What it does is to highlight the things we should all care passionately about if we see ourselves as citizens participating in a democracy. It challenges us about where our values lie. It proposes how we might bring Christian insights to bear upon the electoral choices we must make. It asks where God might be in our common life as a human family, a nation, a society.</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div>The letter ec<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">hoes something that G. K. Chesterton once said. He remarked that the trouble with British elections was not that the whole <i>electorate</i> couldn't be bothered to turn out and vote. It was that the whole<i> elector </i>didn't either. He meant that even if we cast our vote, we may only do it half-heartedly, like Yeats' 'lacking all conviction' Perhaps if we are honest, we don't </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">care too much about its outcome or reckon it can change anything. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But voting is like prayer. What matters as much as the act itself is what we do next so that it makes a real difference. This is how people of faith should believe in the election, and take part in it: with all of our heads and all of our hearts. And yes, definitely: with every prayer we can muster. </span></div><div><div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div></div>Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-58443645699210381212015-04-12T19:47:00.000+01:002015-04-13T09:06:46.939+01:00On Reaching a Certain Age<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
This is the 23,741st <span style="font-size: small;">day of my life.* One more day of grace. Today is the Ides
of April.** More personally, I reach the emblematic age of sixty-five. I can now draw
my state pension. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sixty-five doesn’t carry the significance it
once did. Gone are the days when you would be summoned to the MD’s office on your
birthday to be given a carriage clock (an eloquent symbol of mortality?), a
slice of cake, listen to farewell speeches of varying sincerity and be toasted with
a glass of bubbly. Some retire earlier, many later. As readers of this
blog know, I am staying on for a few more months. I am not ready to become
history just yet. But when that day comes later this year, I don’t think,
somehow, that I shall spend my days pruning my roses. There are fresh ways in which I hope
I can be useful in retirement to church and wider
community. Who knows? <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this is not a blog about retirement. What today marks
for me has more to do with the prospect of ageing or, as we used to say, growing
old gracefully. And in that respect, this does feel like a significant
threshold even if not perhaps a momentous one. It’s reinforced by two other
anniversaries that coincide with this 65th<span style="font-size: small;"> year: having been forty
years an ordained minister, and twenty as a dean. As I
look back, I realise how hugely life has changed during the time I have been
ordained, not least in the nation’s religious attitudes and in the culture of
the church itself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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I've set aside some months after finishing full-time public
ministry to reflect on two things. The first is what other roles might be awaiting me in the ‘third age’, however short or long it may be.
That’s the retirement question. The other, is more important: what the
years ahead will mean for physical, personal and spiritual health, for the deepening
of intimate relationships, for creativity and the enjoyment of life’s gifts,
and for journeying purposefully into truth and into God. This feels like an
unknown region for now. It will need negotiating with care and self-awareness
with the help of those with I am fortunate enough to travel with on this
journey of being a human being and a Christian. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">‘Old age’ can be a rich and fertile time of life. We know this from those we see flourishing in their sixties, seventies and eighties.
Clergy are privileged to have a lot to do with those whom we call ‘senior’.
It is wonderful when the elderly flourish, giving so much to
church and society through volunteering and the sharing of their lifetime’s
experience. There is a beautiful wisdom that comes with age that the Bible,
like all ancient civilisations, prizes highly. There are the pleasures in
spending time with the young – our grandchildren if we are fortunate to have them, but, as I have also discovered here in Durham through my involvement with choir and school, many others as well. There is the gift of time to reflect on the world in new ways,
cultivate the imagination, become more of a contemplative. I hope I can appreciate more and more the sheer wonder of being alive. These are all things
I look forward to and hope to have time to enjoy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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It's not so wonderful when we see elderly people who have become diminished through pain, bereavement, suffering and disability, or by the
more imperceptible ways life shuts down through disappointment, loneliness, loss of hope or
physical weakness. Clergy spend much time with the vulnerable, sick and dying.
I wonder how well I would – may have to – cope with the loss of my faculties,
failing memory, dementia, incontinence or loss of physical function. I
ask myself how gracious I would – may have to – be if I were to become dependent
on other people for everyday tasks I don’t even think about right now: communicating, eating and drinking, personal hygiene, getting around. What if I
could no longer watch a sunset, read a book, walk the fells or listen to the music of Bach? These disabilities
are not unique to age, of course. But every year that passes makes them more
likely. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And today as I flip the calendar, I can’t help being sharply aware that an even more daunting threshold awaits. One day it will be time
to say farewell to this life. There is no evading the hard truth about
mortality. It doesn’t do, the nearer we come to dying, to pretend any more. Philip
Larkin’s chillingly great poem ‘Aubade’ plays with our ambivalence as we contemplate
‘unresting death, a whole day nearer now’. ‘“Most things may never happen”:
this one will.’ He criticised religion, ‘that great moth-eaten musical brocade
/ Invented to pretend we never die’ – a brilliant trope, if a cruel judgment on
the gospel that has sustained me for a lifetime. But I have learned a lot
contemplating that poem. It’s been in my mind since a close colleague and
friend dies suddenly before Easter. He was four years younger than me. It has
concentrated my thoughts. As the seventeenth century Bishop Jeremy Taylor knew
when he wrote his two classics <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy
Living </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Dying</i>, it's important to think about your own death, and how you intend to live the
rest of your life in the light of that certainty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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I have a hunch that symbolically, to turn sixty-five makes it
more difficult to ignore – at least, if I want to live the last phase of life honestly,
wisely, thankfully and well. And of course joyfully and Christianly – ‘in sure and certain
hope of the resurrection of the dead’ as the funeral service puts it. The Ides
of April sometimes fall in Lent, sometimes in the Easter season. This year it’s
Eastertide. That helps my thoughts on ‘reaching a certain age’ to be shaped in the light of Christian hope, which is how we should always think about ageing,
mortality and death. It's hope in Christ crucified and risen that illuminates each
day we are given to enjoy and grow old in. While we live it makes us wise, and
generous, brave, loving and good. And when the end comes, as the hymn
says, ‘it takes its terror from the grave / and gilds the bed of death with
light’.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, I shall spend much</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> of this 65th birthday on a
train with my wife travelling to the other end of England for a conference. A </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">kairos </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">threshold embedded in ordinary
time. There’ll be plenty of opportunity to gaze out of the window and ponder
landscapes as they hurry by and think the thoughts that emerge. 'Each a glimpse then gone forever.' An apt metaphor of life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">*23,741 = 365
x 65 + 16. The sixteen are for the leap years.</span><span style="font-family: Arial;">**Ides on 13th of every month except 15th March, May, July and October. </span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></o:p></div>
Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2397377665790588556.post-54405243858940943832015-04-04T12:05:00.003+01:002015-04-04T12:14:24.641+01:00Harrowing Hell: the significance of Easter Eve <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not Easter Saturday but Holy Saturday or Easter Eve. This day between Good Friday and Easter is unique. No other day feels quite like this, a day of emptiness, of waiting, of hoping. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For the Jewish community, it's the Sabbath or seventh day of the week (and this year, it's also the first day of Passover). That's an important clue to what it means. In the Genesis creation story, God finished his work on the sixth day and rested on the seventh. St John's account of the crucifixion picks up this theme when he has Jesus speak his last word from the cross, 'It is finished'. He has accomplished the new work of creation. <em>Tetelestai! </em>- it is complete. So Jesus can now be laid in the tomb. He can rest. He can keep the Sabbath. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Early next morning, the first day of the week, the tomb is empty. Jesus is up before daybreak. He appears to Mary in the garden. We hear the echoes of the creation story again, the garden of Eden where God places the man and the woman to look after the world that he is making. But now there is a new world. Life is beginning again on this eighth day, this first day of the rest of history. Everything is transfigured. Nothing is the same again after this Sabbath. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So on this day we are 'between times': between old and new, between past and future, between expectation and fulfilment. Traditionally, Easter Eve is 'a-liturgical', that is, a day when the church doesn't celebrate the liturgy but enters into the mysterious pause between one era and the next. The altars are stripped after Maundy Thursday, the church is forlorn and bare, its songs have fallen silent. It's like Zion as she is depicted in the Book of Lamentations: desolate, abandoned, void. Nothing stirs; nothing happens. This is the Sabbath of the grave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm speaking symbolically, of course, about the lifelessness of Easter Eve. Yet in medieval theology, it was on Holy Saturday that a great drama was acted out in unseen places. When Christ went down to the grave, it was in order to harrow hell and bring redemption to lost souls who had been condemned to die. The new Adam goes to rescue the old. 'He descended into hell' we recite in the creed. Those words aren't easy to say. Some treat them as no more than a colourful way of talking about his death.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But let's use our spiritual imagination here. One way is to say: the cross has not only personal but cosmic significance. Nothing is beyond the reach of God's redemption, and Jesus goes to the far side of all that is dark and dreadful to achieve it. Even the hells of this world are not beyond the scope of God's loving purposes. How could the gospel have a truly universal dimension without the harrowing of hell?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Back here, Easter Eve may be liturgically a day of rest, but it is also a day of preparation. There is work to do after all. Like Jewish people preparing for the Passover, there is a festival to get ready for both at home and in church. In the Cathedral, rehearsals for the great liturgy of Easter dawn take place. The best vestments are being laid out, the golden hangings are placed on the altar, the church is cleaned, and flowers and decorations are being arranged. The Cathedral will never look more beautiful than it does on Easter Day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So as we pass symbolically through the grave and gate of death, we wait for the celebration of a new dawn. We shall be there, ready to greet him when he comes to us at first light in the breaking of the bread. Our hearts will burn within us as we hear the voice of our Beloved who calls us by name and tells us not to be afraid. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Here is my translation of a familiar Easter hymn. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Glory to Jesus, risen Son and King,<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lord of life who frees us, your new song we
sing. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Radiant in the morning, angels
bright come down,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Greet the day that’s dawning,
hail the conqueror’s crown:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Glory to
Jesus, risen Son and King,<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Lord of life who</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> <i>frees us, your new song we sing. <o:p></o:p></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See Jesus meets you, see your
Lord appear!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hear the word that greets you,
tells you love is here.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dance with joy and gladness,
people of the Lord.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Banish grief and sadness, tell
the news abroad!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fear flies before him: evermore he
lives!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">O my heart adore him! peace and
joy he gives.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christ my mighty conqueror,
Christ my gracious friend,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christ my life and glory, till
all ages end:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
Aquiloniushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15098649175728796819noreply@blogger.com1