letting go

Last night I dreamed of Matt. The first time I've done this since he died. Which, if you think about it, is strange. I mean - given my waking thoughts are filled with the weight of his absence, it's to be expected that my sleeping thoughts would have room to reflect this.

Maybe my brain has been allowing me respite. Time off at night in order to better handle the days.

This break away has been good. Time off at distance in order to better handle the reality of home, when I get back in the next few days.

I had a wonderfully kind email today, and replying brought out the tears again. They aren't far away. But I am reminded of that verse from that other dream I recorded a couple of posts back - because of the Lord's compassion, we aren't consumed. As I used to hold Matt's beautiful paw, my hand is being held by One who loves me. Words I spoke over my beloved are being spoken over me - I am loved, and I am safe.

It's hard to think forwards. To think of doing things, and of Matt not being there, of Matt not knowing, of Matt not seeing. Even something ridiculous like buying a shirt - I think, he wouldn't know it. I guess it doesn't matter.

I guess it reflects the depth of his presence in my heart. And I begin to realise I need to let go a little of my boy who has already gone.

My sister has pets, two cats and a dog. I can barely touch them. They are lovely creatures. I can barely touch them. One of the cats will only respond to Gill, only be with her, only trust her. There is something in its character I recognise from my Matt who so stuck by me. I can barely look at these animals. I need to get past this.

And yet -

And yet some things are getting better. I am now able to look more at my photos of Matt. I am able more to tell stories of who he was and what he did. These blog posts reflect the selfish side of grief, the way it impacts me, and that's less than half the tale.

Because my life is better for Matt. Better for his presence. Better for his love. Better for his remarkable ways. Better for the way he pushed me put of myself. Better for the care of another I had to take. Better for the care I received. Better for the friendship and companionship and laughter.

My life is better because being with my dog would teach me so much - about myself, my reactions, my thought processes, and my relationship with God. We sat and went through pretty much everything together. He put up with I don't know how many bum notes as I sang new songs & first drafts of roughly preached sermons. He put up with my mood swings - my deep darknesses and my whoops of joy.

And still I am learning.

Learning the depth of love. The value of sorrow. The presence of Jesus and how to access it and fail to notice it during these days.

Learning slowly also to trust God with what happens now. What happens to Matt. What happens to me. And to be grateful anyway. I have quite someways to go on this. But I am learning.

It's hard to think forwards because my life with Matt is in the past. I want to hold on to everything I know. But if I want to live, and if I actually want to live a life that suggests I trust God, then I have to let go of what I know and choose to have faith. Faith in the promises of the One who is faithful every new day. I have to let Matt rest in His arms, and not keep on trying to wrestle him back into my arms. I so want him back. There is a time for profundity and a time for cliche: now, I have to let go and let God.

For Matt. For me. For what lies ahead. For the sake of what is past and always letting that be a blessing and never letting it become a burden.

Because letting go is loving too.

a certain lack of grace

Yesterday I made a mistake. It's best to be honest about these things. When you get things wrong - say it up front and centre. I got involved in a conversation, in which I put a point of view across inadequately, was pushed, was shouted down, and then I lost it a bit.

And it all happened on Twitter.

Which is, frankly, a poor place for a nuanced conversation anyway. 140 characters is a tricky limit when trying to say everything without being misinterpreted.

What really got my goat, in the midst of (badly) trying to make a point that a valid viewpoint in a debate was being foisted as the only viewpoint, the solitary Anglican line, and that this represented a very un-Anglican coup, and the denial of the breadth and depth of Christian experience and practice which lies at the core of Anglican ecclesiology - a bishop (well-known for terse & unfortunate social media interventions) intervened.

"Get over it," was his pastoral advice.

Those of you who know me well are picturing the words "red", "rag" and "bull". I believe I may have exhibited a certain lack of grace.

I fired off a round of tweets; it felt like I was being told by a bishop that I had backed the wrong horse and I needed to face facts, back the right horse and move on. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what he was saying. But it isn't a question of backing horses. It's a question of people and God and raising folk up to their full humanity in the best place possible - the worshipping fellowship of Christ's church. Or being told - yeah, forget that.

And then...

And then I remember something vital.

I am nobody and I don't matter. My words are futile and my arguments irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that I live honestly, faithfully, truthfully and with the love of Jesus as my guide. If I can do this, then although I will never change the world, I may change my small corner of it for the better.

Anger and disappointment are like walking through treacle, they grab at your feet like quicksand. We are called to rise, not to sink. Grace and kindness are the stuff that fill the winds under eagles' wings.

So I acknowledge my failings. I face them head on. And I give thanks that I may never have the chance to play any important role in any important decisions; but like everyone else I pray I might live the better life of grace and kindness and love. That all my unimportant words might bless and not curse.  And that when I fail, I might be forgiven and try again.

I think that sometimes, you get what you give. So here's to giving the good stuff. Surely that's the way we all win?

rest

Several times during the last ten days or so I have tried to add to my previous post about grief. I have failed.

My failure has not been because of the lack of emotion, or even the lack of words. Perhaps a lack of courage, a lack of ability to publish quite honestly how I have been feeling.

The truth is, I have discovered a new word: heartbroken.

I think at first I was simply unaware of how deep the loss of Matt ran. The first few days were a blur. Then I went away, and saw friends and did things and kept busy and only began to face reality when I got home.

To an empty house. To being alone. To the void. Heartbroken.

I went back to work, and thought it would help. Doing something. I don't understand why it was so awful. Why my head just switched off. Maybe it was simply the timing - I moved from feeling nothing to feeling overwhelmed in an instant. For no reason. I couldn't respond to basic requests. I welled up and found myself crying with embarrassing regularity.

And in the evening, I picked up Matt's ashes.

I used to have the best dog in the world. Now I had a box. Heartbroken.

In the past, I have observed strange behaviour in bereaved people. Now I was engaged in every last trait. I held the box. I took it with me from room to room. I talked to it. I resented it, and depended on it. I placed it where Matt would lie when I went to work as I left the house the next day.

And my boss was kind to me. I realised I couldn't go on. I asked for help, and she suggested I took the remainder of my holiday time and went away immediately. I decided to take two days to tidy up my work, and to prepare for meetings when I return, and I booked a flight to go visit my sister in Florida.

In the midst of this, it was my aunty's funeral. I did my best. I hope it was OK. I wanted to support my cousin Howard. Rarely have I felt so empty of any ability to help. I guess the important thing is to be there, right?

John, the vicar in Calverley, agreed to bury Matt's ashes in the churchyard here. We'd find a corner somewhere - it's an enormous churchyard. We'd dig a hole. Just the two of us. We'd pray, and sing a resurrection song, and lay my boy to rest before I went away.

And we did it tonight.

As dusk drained the light from the evening, we met at the church gates and found a place where the graves meet the meadow beyond. It's a good open space, just what Matt would want. John dug the hole. We prayed. As John gave thanks, a deer appeared in the fields across from us, a gentle creature bobbing in the long grass, hidden from the cattle further away and half hidden from us in the fading twilight.

There will be a new creation. And all will be well. And God will restore all things. And my beloved Matt is safe, and loved still, and at rest.

And my broken heart found, amidst its flowing tears, a strange sense of peace. I can remember no words we used. I managed to sing so little of the song I had chosen. I wanted to pray and don't think I did. Yet God was there and held me and helped me and for the first time in my life (unusual, this, for one who has taken so many of these occasions) I felt the real power of a funeral.

A proclamation of resurrection, a declaration of thanksgiving, a trusting my beloved into God's hands, these simple acts of faith - they have added to my brokenness the beginnings of a peace that wasn't there before. Is this what people normally get? Do I manage to convey this to others? Did my cousin feel anything of this yesterday? I hope so.

There are still tears. This journey has some mileage in it yet. And yet, perhaps, something strangely profound has changed.

"Blessed are those who mourn; for they shall be comforted." It seems so. I hope so. I think I ought to seek this further.

Perhaps, perhaps - when we trust God and lay those we love to rest, the rest is not just for them, but a little spills over to us for a while too.

Anyway. Now I have finished work for a couple of weeks. And I look for this other new to me word: rest. And hopefully also comfort.

Oh my.

the third day

When I was a vicar, my dog died. Within days, two church members had family members die. The wife of one. The mother of another.

Feeling unable to cope I rationalised the situation. These people had lost a spouse, a parent. My grief was just over a dog. So I put my feelings to one side. I pushed the grief under. I kept professional and carried on.

It was a mistake.

Now, a friend has died and his family are in mourning. My aunty has died, and my cousin has no mother, my father no sister. But my dog has died and I am bereft. And I have learned that grief is not a competition. There's no need to compare griefs. And it's pointless trying to deny the power of what I am facing.

It won't go away.

I'm no longer the professional spiritual carer, there on 24 hour call for everyone. I think that's a pretty poor understanding of what a vicar is, anyway, though it's overwhelmingly common. But I remain a human being who does care about those around him. I don't come just now with too many answers and with comfort in a briefcase; I come rather with my own brokenness and tears, to share with the brokenness and tears of my friends and family.

So I thought I'd write a bit about the grief. Put it out there. It may or may not help anybody else, but I hope it will help me.

Grief is bizarre and makes you think and say bizarre things. Or maybe, it allows you to say things that exist on the edges of normal life. It allows you to say things which the day-to-day round of living prevents you from looking at - never mind even thinking about turning into words. In this state, you can't take your eyes off those things. And the words find a vocabulary you didn't know you had.

I mean (and this is a great example) I do not believe in ghosts. But for the first time in my life I understand why some people would. Sure, there was a curious time when I lived in Ponty vicarage when the lights went through a phase of turning themselves on & off and that was just plain weird. But it was just plain weird. I never for one moment thought, "There must be a ghost; perhaps someone murdered a former curate?"

Now, the sense of Matt's presence at times is tangible. I understand he's not here. I know it's a psychological trick. I realise it's the grief and the letting go and the not being able to let go. But there are moments when the sense of him lying on the sofa, walking through to the next room, wagging his tail, smiling, curling up beside me, standing at the door waiting for me to open it - the sense of him doing these things is overpowering.

I've started using a different chair in the front room. Matt & I used to curl up on the sofa, and I've moved to a different chair because the feeling of him at my side was too strong.

And I want it to stop. And I want it to never stop. And I want it to be even realer than it is.

It's not real. He's gone.

Here's another thing.

I wrote in my last piece that Matt re-defined the term 'creature of habit'. But of course, what I didn't get was that he did that for me too. My routine was based around his routine.

My alarm clock goes off. We get up, he goes out. He has a tablet & a treat. I put his lead on him, we go for a walk. He has his breakfast. Then I can carry on with my day. My work day ends bang on time so I get back to him as soon as I can. When I get home, he goes out; then we walk, then he eats, then other things happen. Before we go to bed, he goes out, we go to the kitchen, decide on his late night treat, and head upstairs. When you have a dog where you put food, washing, clothes, anything is guided by what the dog will do and how much this matters.

And now... My whole life is shattered. It's not just the Matt part of it. He was in every part of it. He shaped it. I suddenly have no routine. I don't know what to do when I get up. I still want to go for a walk; but why? I sit in the car outside Sainsburys and wonder why I'm going home. I go out of the house, and come home, and there's no-one here. Matt is a photo on the wall. And I ache for him to be here, to be able to wind the clock back and to know his love again.

I simply miss him. I can feel fine for a while and then I simply miss him. The tears come unbidden and flow freely. I feel embarrassed about going out because I don't know when I'll just cry. And I don't want to talk about it. Except when I do.

I had a dream last night.

It's about the whole turning the clock back thing. This was the dream:

A famous singer realised a moment when they could have helped someone out but didn't. Realising this, they went back in time. Only, the whole 'turning the clock back' thing went wrong, and as a result of going back, they were involved in an accident. Not only did the person they meant to help end up worse, but the singer was in an accident and couldn't sing. Ever. They were never famous. No-one knew who they were.

We presume that knowledge means we can improve life. But life is life. A gift and from a good and loving God. Gifts are precious. But they are gifts.

Sometimes, the saying "All good things come to an end," is simply true. I don't fight this. I'm grateful to have had the good thing. And I'm left better for having had it. Better, but empty and gently devastated.

There were days Matt seemed to fret, especially early on, but I guess it happened all through his life. I would hold Matt in my arms on those days and tell him, "You are loved, and you are safe," and he would visibly calm down and relax.

I wouldn't go back. I wouldn't change anything. How could I know what to do to make anything better? I could touch one moment and make so much worse instead. To think otherwise is just pride.

My dream continued. For God spoke to the famous singer, who now was no longer famous, and pointed her to two places in the Old Testament, to Lamentations 3.19-33, and to Isaiah 40.21-28. (And yes, I do apologise, my dreams are that Biblically literate...) Here's a couple of headline verses that were picked out:

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles: they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. 

The overwhelming emotion I have is loss.

Life can never be the same again.

Yet I will live.

This is the third day. There are words here that speak of compassion. For me. For Matt. And hope. And if I can look to the One who is all compassion and all strength and all mercy, then loss and despair will have their time in my heart. But it won't be for ever.

I will hold on to this.

Matt

As Roger the vet drove away from the house, carrying Matt's lifeless form in the back of his car, a solitary Magpie flew down the path behind him. "One for sorrow."

Let's start in the right place. Which might be Blackpool, which is where Matt & I met just over ten years ago, but actually I mean  - with gratitude through the tears.

Matt has been the most wonderful gift in my life. When I lost Charlie, I knew I had to fill that space and find someone else immediately. I couldn't cope without. And then came Matty - and others said he was scatty, nervy, I should take him back. He wasn't Charlie, I was told. Well, they were right about the last bit.

He wasn't Charlie, and that was good. He was, however, perfect. Perfect for me. And as I loved him he transformed into the most affectionate dog. Never a boisterous, off-the-wall Springer, he could turn the energy on. But then he'd be as happy to potter as to jump.

Though he had a great jump. I think it was those enormous paws of his. Really huge paws for a dog his size. And when he jumped, all four paws off the ground, you knew why they call them 'Springers'!

Some dogs love company. Matt would acknowledge the door bell (never by barking, just by going to the door to see who was there) and then get really excited when people left. Hooray! They're going! As if life began when it was just him & me.

In a way, it did. Him & me in the car. Him & me as I worked from home. Him & me as he slept. Him and me as I slept. Him & me as he ate - he wouldn't eat if I walked away, he wanted me there. He never caught a ball in his life; he didn't take his eyes off me long enough to see the ball existed.

And he re-defined the term "creature of habit", which gave us one or two challenges when we moved. We went back to Ponty, six months after leaving, and Matt went round Ponty park & stopped in every one of his old spots. When you take him somewhere new, his tail stays down, his confidence low. When he is somewhere he knows, his tail goes high, his confidence higher. That day, so many months after leaving, his tail was up and wagging.

I need to thank his vets, principally Simon & latterly Roger. He was a pedigree showdog; his health was complex. He had excellent care. When his kidney disease was diagnosed nearly two and a half years ago, I didn't dare dream we'd have all this time. I thought I'd lost him at Christmas. The more-than five months since then have been a wonderful bonus.

I need to thank his friends, the many people who welcomed him into home & heart. He loved you all.

I need to say that at the end he had stopped eating. One or two very special things still persuaded him, but they caused him great pain, and I had to make a choice. I did not let him suffer. Charlie suffered too much. Matt was spared that. I took him last night so that my Mum might see him one last time, and this morning he got to be in the crowd as the Olympic torch passed by. Then I drove home. Roger came to the house, and Matt slipped quietly away.

Let's end in the right place. Matt & I used to live next to a church. Yesterday we walked to the churchyard across the road and together gave thanks for the life we have shared. Gratitude through the tears. He was my heart, my life, my constant shadow and ceaseless companion. He was the most wonderful gift; and today I had to give him back.  

Matt. Matty. Matthew, when I was being strict. Jonobar the Matchmaker on his pedigree certificate.

My sweet, sweet boy.

beyond words

This picture was taken just a few short years ago at my cousin Howard's wedding to his lovely wife Ruth.

On the left is my Uncle Michael, then my Aunty Joyce, Aunty Judith and finally on the right my Dad. Four siblings together. I took the picture.

Joyce was the first to go. Michael died two years ago now. Today my Dad called me to say Judith has passed away.

Life is sweet and fragile and glorious and precious. We have this gift and share it with one another, and bless and damage each other in roughly equal measure, hoping the blessings win out in the end. So often we fail to tell those close to us that the blessings triumph, and that we are grateful. So often, they know, and are more blessed by us than we realise. They forgot to say so too.

That my cousin Howard, whose Dad died the best part of twenty years ago, has now lost his mother, and that my Dad now has no brother or sisters leaves me beyond words. I've spoken to both and can't remember a thing we said. I hope they know how much I love them both.

I'm the one with the public faith around our family. That doesn't give me answers. It gives me someone to wipe my tears, listen to my sorrow, and show me that hope has not gone though those we love are here no more. I believe in a God who loves people. Loves me, loves my family on days like these, and sits with us as we don't know what to say or do. Hope traces rainbows through the rain, because when we hold his hand, we somehow understand we hold the hand that also carries those who have gone before to a life that we cannot imagine. We simply cannot imagine.

But we can hope, even if the hope remains, for now, beyond words.

re-covering

I had an op on my back in February.

Last week, the lump I had removed re-appeared, re-covering the same area that was so viciously cut and torn out four months ago. The healing took weeks. The unhealing, hours.

To be fair I was told the problem might recur. It has a name. I looked it up just now & recoiled. The stories I read were worse than mine. I had the lump maybe two and a half years before the op. Others talk of much longer. And of several ops. And several recovery periods. There's a one in four thousand chance you have this too. Last week, thanks to this problem, I discovered pain the like of which I have never known.

I almost headed to A&E (the ER for US readers) for a quick resolution; the medical centre opted for horse drugs instead. Feeling groovy & in pain was, in retrospect, the better call. The pain is subsiding.

And through it all, I work. I had three days off, but worked from home as best as I could for most of those days. I had reports to do; or, rather, one big one. It still needs finishing. Most of my job involves reconnecting with people, and if I can't travel, I can't do this. This is the worst kind of thing to be stuck with for this kind of work. For any kind of work. The doctor I saw said, "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy". I tried to think of who my worst enemy might be. He followed that observation up with, "it's an awful thing to have hanging around your neck". I replied that I'd prefer to have it hanging around my neck to where it actually is.

I'm not sure that's true.

Our bodies are wonderful things. Curious, fragile, glorious, fearless. Beyond price and able to make us feel quite worthless.

"How are you?" I have been asked a hundred times today.

Better than on Friday. Not entirely myself. Recovering.

one more once

One more once. It seems I'm either writing something controversial or marking the passing of a friend these days.

Nothing controversial here.

Byron Jones was a one-off. The kind of bloke who made me look tall. A genuine Big Band enthusiast - so much so he formed his own, and kept it running for, oh, thirty years. Give or take. He knew what he liked (Stan Kenton. Anything by Stan Kenton.) And what he didn't. (Glenn Miller. Everything by Glenn Miller.)

Though for the past few years, Malcolm Jenkins softened old Byron up, and his band played some excellent Miller arrangements... I think Byron even secretly enjoyed them. Sometimes...

He loved that band. He loved it when it would up & swing & punch you in the gut. When it would get a Basie number just right. When a soloist would find the groove - Jeff Salter, Gareth Roberts, Gethin Liddington, Emily Beck. You'd see him purr.

Like all true Big Band leaders, he never quite liked singers, which was my association with the band (I was also a failed pianist with them - one rehearsal was all I got). Though Henry, the wonderful Henry Newman, was a lifelong friend, and forgiven many things for the glories of that tone of his.

Byron would typically introduce a song with an anecdote, a witticism, a cryptic comment. And then hum a few bars that gave him the tempo. Regulars would know what was coming from those little vocalisings. Flight of the Foo Birds always has Byron's voice on it whenever I hear it; and I can hear it now.

George Wilson got me a gig with Byron. George was Byron's drummer for many years, and an unfailing support to Byron and Merle, who is much in our thoughts today. There are very many that will miss this wonderful man - and his music, his humour, his occasional obstinacy and strange ways, his very personal taste and his championing of a musical form that needs champions like this. Running a Big Band is hard work. Byron made it seem like anyone could do it. That's a master at work, that is, right there.

Now he's with the angels. Humming a few bars. Counting them in. And they're swinging...

awkward

The Church of England Evangelical Council today published an irenic, finely argued, biblically articulate monograph on the issue of same-sex marriage. Well, that's their description...

I am certainly awarding them marks for very high class self-publicity!

What the statement did was re-state a familiar position: though it does so very well, and breaks it down into five points.
1. Love is at the heart of all we do (but that doesn't mean anything goes)
2. The Church is subject to the Scripture & can't just re-write it when it's a problem
3. Marriage in the Scripture is one man, one woman, exclusive of all others, for life, with children usually attached. This is God-ordained so the state can't alter it.
4. True faith leads a holy life - sex in a marriage context, abstinence otherwise, no exceptions, repentance possible.
5. The Church is the place where God's people live by God's word; if people change the rules on marriage, they break his word & this is a reason to see them as beyond fellowship.

Full text here.

In the introduction, and in the many commendations from many good people, there is much said about how this is a very full & helpful statement about the traditional, Anglican, evangelical position on marriage. Irenic. Finely argued. Biblically articulate. There is room made to include gay and lesbian people in conversation.

But I have a question.

(Just one?)

No really, just one. It goes to methodology.

Now - before I get there, I need to make a disclaimer. Because I know many people who read this blog, and I can only imagine many of the rest of you, and I don't want anyone to think I am (in what follows) being pastorally insensitive. Please - what comes next is an exercise in rhetorical logic. I am doing this to demonstrate a fundamental - fundamental - flaw in the CEEC's document which is nowhere addressed in their document today. I made this point in a video recently. I make it again now.

In ethics, everyone wears blinkers. There is no level ground. The only level ground there can be is to understand that there is no level ground. We all have life experience and that life experience shapes how we handle Scripture. There is within humanity a normal predisposition to be more understanding to "people like me" than to "others". Seeing this sometimes helps us remember grace. Grace is good.

So my question, my one question, to the authors of the CEEC document on marriage & same sex marriage on St Matthias Day is -

What about divorce?

You see, if I apply to divorce everything that is applied in this document to the issue of same-sex marriage, then this is what I find.

"I hate divorce" Malachi 2.16. Men weep because God does not accept their offerings; why does he not accept them? Because they have divorced the women God joined them to. They have been faithless. So he has rejected them.

"Anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery". Matt 5.32 Jesus speaking. Couldn't be clearer. Only one exception, and it doesn't include rape or abuse or neglect. It certainly rules out anyone marrying anyone who has ever been divorced. Once married, always married (unless the partner dies, obviously).

In Matthew 19 Jesus goes further. He rams home the point, using the Genesis language about being "one flesh", adding his own take about "what God has joined together let man not separate," and then in 19.10 the disciples are so wowed by this they say perhaps it's better never to have married. Jesus' reply?

Be married & have all that comes with it, or be a eunuch. Be single & celibate. And he's not giving a friendship consolation for gay people here, as I've heard put forwards, this is what's on offer if you have been divorced. This is the only offer that exists if you have been divorced.

So I presume that all the people that signed up to the CEEC document, because they want to see the letter of the law administered, without context or explanation admitted on homosexuality, want the same on all issues surrounding marriage. I presume that you allow no discussion on divorce, but hold to the traditional and plain understanding of Scripture on Divorce, and not a softened approach as society has forced on us over the last 40 years, as is pointed out has happened over same-sex issues.

Fulcrum. St Mellitus. New Wine. The Bishops there. St John's Nottingham.

Is this right?

Love is at the heart of what we do - but it doesn't mean anything goes. We can't just re-write Scripture when it's inconvenient. Marriage in the Scripture is one man, one woman for life. For life. True faith leads a holy life - sex in a marriage context, but abstinence outside that. We'll look for ways of promoting friendship to help, won't we? The Church is the place where we live around God's word; if people won't do this, we will break from them. Over divorce, obviously, and all those so-called churches that allow people to re-marry just to satisfy carnal urges when the Scripture places such a clear and better path before them, really aren't places we want anything to do with.

Or...

Just in case I have made my point...

Perhaps we bring grace back into the room. Perhaps we allow that when we understand a person, we allow them to live. And we don't break fellowship because the church is not about breaking fellowship but following Christ in all our fallenness with his hand helping us. Raising us. We are endlessly obsessed with the specks in one another's eyes; but love actually means appreciating there are the odd logs in our own. And grace allows our speck-laden friend to help us take out the log so we may be blessed by them and then we may actually bless them in return, and not simply curse each other across fences and walls and barriers and pain.

The Scripture does say all these things on divorce, but it also speaks of healing. The Scripture does speak about certain homosexual acts, but it also speaks about the value of people. All people. Ethics is sometimes an imprecise sport, but when it becomes an exclusive passtime, we have made ourselves too much the focus.

The CEEC statement is clear, but incomplete. As all such statements are. I don't mean to be awkward, but I do want the church to be better than this.

the cost of freedom

Free speech costs.

The conservative religious blogger who goes under the name of Archbishop Cranmer has been charged by the Advertising Standards Agency for promoting the Campaign4Marriage.

Regular readers know how much I dislike C4M.

However - I dislike anyone who rejects freedom of speech far, far more. We are a modern democracy, and our right to be different from each other whilst respecting each other all the while was won by men and women who died in battle. Tyrants in quangos, and people who think there is a "right to not be offended" on any side of any debate need to remember this and start valuing people as people.

There is no freedom if everyone - everyone - is not free. We win no battles if in the winning we make new slaves. Progress is not won by altering who loses. Christian faith is the ultimate humanism - it raises up all people. That is why we should be at the front of every equalities fight - but not at the cost of belittling somebody else.

The National Secular Society are supporting the Cranmer Blog. Good for them. They get this point in spades. Bravo. Here is a link to the Archbishop Cranmer blog about the incident & his current stance.

I oppose C4M - I find them not Christian enough; but I support their right to advertise, & also frankly to oppose me! I hope all of us would rather be wrong than only be able to be heard because those who disagree with us have been silenced. I don't want to live in a place where there is a prohibition on ideas, even if some ideas are uncomfortable; that's not the traditions of this country. We oppose violence and hatred, not disagreement and diversity.

ASA - shame on you. If you have caused this man to spend a penny on legal advice (and it seems you have) pay him back. I'd happily take C4M adverts on my site (and those of any other cause with which I disagree) in order to help pay his legal bill, because I'm a Christian, because I'm British, because I'm a human being.

Ian

My dear friend Ian Masson has died today, following complications that arose after brain surgery. 

He was a member at St Catherine's in Pontypridd, and more than that - parish secretary, server at the 11am, and faithful servant to many, many people in that place, quietly getting on with godliness so that everyone else could have the limelight.

He used to read this blog regularly, as well as pay remarkable attention to my sermons. I once reported a joke by a cousin of mine: "Iron Man is a film; iron woman is a command". Ian emailed back - 

I just told Sam the 'IronMan...' definition you mentioned, and she said I was dicing with death.....(!) at least, I'm not bruised - yet...

Sam was the remarkable heart & soul of his life. His faith was at the core of his being; but he was a quiet man, and seemed often almost reclusive. And then came Sam. Suddenly, Ian blossomed. He came alive, and we saw things we never knew. He brought his baking to church (and often there was extra for me of that tarte tatin or the lemon sponge); we now got to see his dry humour, and the twinkle that lived under the surface upped and dwelt in full view. It's so sad they didn't have longer together; it's so wonderful they had what time they had. It changed Ian's life.

I could write many stories. Honestly, all I want to do is say this: I am grateful that he was my friend. The photo here is from an evening when I was ill, and Ian & Sam sat with me & blessed me more than words can say by their kindness. Such is a friend. I know he knew what this surgery could mean, and I am sadder than my words can convey. But Ian was a godly man, someone for whom the Scripture in Matthew 25 was written - 'Well done, good and faithful servant".  

We pray blessings and comfort and hope upon Sam through these days; and dear Ian for you, rest in peace, and rise in glory.  


(Later)


Life has its ways. 


In the days leading up to Ian's funeral the trouble which I had with my back earlier in the year, leading to an operation in February, recurred. It was enormously painful. I literally couldn't drive five minutes, never mind five hours down to South Wales. On the day of the funeral, a beautiful, sunny, warm day, my dad came over from Accrington to Leeds to get me to the medical centre for treatment.


So at two in the afternoon, when I knew everyone was gathered to say their farewells and take their leave and celebrate their love and Ian's life, I took time to join them in prayer from a distance. Someone sent a text to say how much Ian thought of me. Right back at you. 


I shall be down that way at some point and as with so many friends there through the years I shall find the spot that now marks his passing and again apologise for my absence at the funeral. And again thank him for his presence in my life.  

Liane Carroll, Leeds University, Review

Liane Carroll breezed onto stage at the Riley Smith Hall & within seconds had the entire sell-out crowd roaring approval. Her musical presence is huge, far larger than her physical size (which was the subject of much self-deprecating humour) and she dominated the evening with a glorious voice and more - a stunning musical grasp of songs old and new which worked its inevitable magic on everyone present.

We began with a gloriously joyful This Must Be Love which segued straight into Old Devil Moon ("I couldn't work out how to end the first one"). Words & improvisations melded into one without ever losing the ability to convey passion. Liane never simply dazzles in that pointlessly showy manner of TV talent shows. You can't take your eyes off her, and you never feel she has violated the core of music with which she is so endlessly creative. Tom Waits Take Me Home was transformed, plaintively beautiful, but believably a jazz standard.

By herself, a piano, a mike, a spotlight (though a couple of lads from the band doodled along in one song) Liane was superb. The first half was pretty nigh perfect.

The second half saw the Leeds University Union Dance Band join her on stage. The band played a few songs to begin; Liane had talked them up before the break - and quite right too. For a a student band this is a first rate outfit. An occasional unevenness in the saxes might have been down to splitting the tenors either side of the altos, but five trumpets is always a thrill -especially when played this well. The guy who played the wonderfully old-school solo on Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me was a joy: so many young players are all technique & no style, and this lad had genuine big band style and plenty of it. However - the glory of this band is the trombone section. Any professional big band anywhere would take this section. Creamy, mellow, punchy when needed, all four sounding richly as one - I simply can't remember hearing a sound like that for ages. Fantastic. The band is playing at the North Sea Jazz Festival this summer. Go see them, especially for the trombones.

Liane came back, and her material was unfortunately a bit patchy. It was clear that we were seeing the product of compromise - which often happens when a guest singer performs with a band like this. Some of this material was well known to her; some of it was seat of the pants. The free-flying glory of the first half was gone, but the joy of the band & her unrelenting good humour kept the evening high-octane and high-value entertainment. I think very few other entertainers could have done half so well.

Highlights? Orange Coloured Sky, Almost Like Being in Love. I would love to hear her have a go at Harry Connick's Come By Me after more rehearsal; this (of all the second half songs) was surely best suited to Liane's style, but it fell sadly flat. Shame - it's a great piece, and it wasn't quite the only moment we realised how ad-hoc the evening was.

However - don't let that detract from the show. It had rough edges, it had brilliance. The brilliance won. At the end, we demanded an encore, and then stood to cheer as the stage emptied. I'd go again tonight if they repeated the show. And probably tomorrow too. Five stars.  

searching for Barry

So what does the appointment of Barry Morgan, Archbishop of Wales, mean for the Crown Nominations Commission as it seeks to find Rowan William’s successor as Archbishop of Canterbury?

First things first: anyone on the commission can’t be elected to Canterbury. So Wales won’t have two ABCs in a row. Barry has a mixed profile in Wales – lots of people there think very highly of him, and lots don’t quite see it that way; on the whole, it’s probably a good thing he’s not in the running. He would divide English opinion more sharply than Rowan has!

Without doubt Barry is one of the more liberal primates of the Anglican Communion. He is passionately in favour of women bishops, and was fairly devastated when Wales did not vote for this measure a couple of years back. He is also very clearly pro-gay rights, though I’ve quizzed him on this at some length & it seems to me he shares a lot of liberalism’s standard double-standards on this issue – which is to say that at times liberals appear to be happy for gays in the church to exist slightly in hiding (just get on with it, people don’t need to know). I always want to say – if it’s right, why should anyone hide? People are people, or they aren’t. Make your mind up & be 100% clear on this for the sake of those who are actually around here & now - it's not just a matter of theory. Or maybe I wanted to challenge him to be more liberal than his role allows him to be!

Character wise, I'd say Barry is feisty. He does not suffer fools gladly, which is a bit rough when you work for the church of God. On the other hand, he doesn’t hold grudges. You might get both barrels fired at you, but then friendship is restored. I rather like this about him; I find it godly. There is, in my experience, little ‘side’ to his nature. I'm told he can be a consummate politician, but I’d say he prefers to be up front and if needs be to be petulant or brash – and then to pray and have a cup of tea with you. This is life; life without running sores.

There are running sores, of course. His faith is deep and true and passionate. But Barry is a theological liberal by conviction, temperament and practice. And so he really, really doesn’t get evangelicals at all. At all. To be fair, most evangelicals don’t get Barry; they hear his incendiary media remarks (“I’d happily ordain a gay bishop”) and go off the deep end, without listening to where that comes from or noticing that he spends far, far more time urging Christians to commit themselves to Christ, to prayer, to sharing their faith, to deeper discipleship and to honest worship of God. Barry & evangelicals tend to have a hate/hate relationship that in my experience was totally uncalled for.

My experience. As an evangelical working in Barry’s diocese, we had our differences. He put a rocket under me more than once. I replied in like manner to his face. That’s how it worked between us, and it did work – as I say, he never held a grudge, and nor did I. I found him to be a wonderful, godly, good man. When I was ill & needed help, he stepped in. Personally. Caringly. Financially. It pained him that he didn’t get me; we talked things through at great length, and what I genuinely believe we did have was a deep respect for each other.

So what does Barry’s appointment mean for Rowan’s successor? Well, I wouldn’t hold your breath for a George Carey clone; unreconstructed evangelicalism is hardly going to be his primary port of call.

It would be easy to imagine Barry might look for someone in his own image; like many liberals, there are times he gives off the air that if only people were more educated, we’d all understand & life would be so much better for everyone.

That’s not just a liberal problem, though, is it?

Part of me would not be at all surprised if it was his natural inclination to try to find a thoughtful, liberally minded, reasonably intellectual candidate as his ideal. Rowan-lite. But that really doesn’t do Barry justice at all. That’s the caricature.

I’ve said it already – he’s a good, godly man.

He prays. He cares. He takes things very seriously, and carries responsibility with a great sense of godly duty. His words are not just words. There is always something of the RS Thomas within him, something of the Celt that the English simply fail to comprehend. It loves the unloved and rails against the unlover. This is a deeply biblical liberalism that is critical and pastoral and able to punish itself at surprising moments. Or to be selfish. It is a very human humanity.

I do not think his appointment will be what many think it will be; as of course Rowan’s was not; for the same reasons. He’s very Welsh, you know.

10

Today marks 10 years that Matt & I have walked together. I have no idea how many miles we have actually walked over that time - I can't imagine! For sure, as we've travelled, he's never been far from my side.

Like me, a Lancastrian, Matt was actually born the day after I moved to Pontypridd. I found him on a trip to Blackpool. He walked out of the house, leaving his previous owners behind, and that was the sign. Anyone who knows him knows how rarely he will go with anyone he doesn't know; but that first time we met he walked with me.

Several friends thought I'd made a strange choice - my previous dog was the life and soul of the party; Matt was scared of the party. He was pitifully nervous in those early days. He just needed to be loved.

Together we discovered every inch of the park, the forestry, the hills, the roads & the lanes. He abhorred water, but loved the beach. The openness of the sand always appealed to him; but the noise and the simple wetness of the waves kept him at a safe distance from the surf's edge. Eventually he learned to paddle. Now in old age he even enjoys puddles! 

Matt has always helped me make new friends. Sitting outside pubs in the summertime encourages people passing by to comment - "Isn't he handsome!" I am always generous in my reply: "The dog's not bad either". And thanks to Matt I have got to know several vets very well.

He loves travelling, leaping into the car to see where we will go next. He loves coming home even more, knowing that at the end of an adventure, it's just him & me again, safe in our house. Likewise, he welcomes guests with a smile & a wag, especially if he knows them well. And his smile & wag grow even stronger as they go again... He is the definition of a "one man dog", and I am the lucky one man. 

Sometimes I wish the rest of you could see what he's like when you've all gone. He only really becomes himself when it's just the two of us. And then I quite enjoy that there is something no-one else gets to see, one of life's little innocent pleasures that belongs purely to me.  

He was totally silent, I mean completely mute at first. I had to teach him to bark. These days his eyesight is pretty poor, and his hearing all but gone, but he still has a great voice. Not that he uses it often: he never did. He'll speak when he's especially happy; or when he's especially excited; or when he wants a treat, or there's chicken in the kitchen & I haven't noticed...

And he never, never wanders far from me, often finding the least bit of space in order to snuggle up to me and remind me he is here. Man's best friend. My dog, my companion. My Matty.

Ten years. I am grateful for every day of them. And Matt is old, and he has his illnesses, and how many more days there will be is known to God but not to us. So I am grateful for this day, with all my heart.

how many times?

I tell a story sometimes, about someone I had to forgive. The forgiving took a long time, and I only realised it had happened many years later. It took me by surprise when I finally understood how deeply the forgiving had happened.

But in between times - O there was some wrestling. And since then too, if I'm honest. Many times. Does that mean it hadn't really happened? Had I just had a brief moment of calm in the midst of life's natural storms?

No. God works his truths out within us, if we let him. But life throws stuff at us. Memories surface. Events mirror events, and emotions play their tricks. And then we come face to face with what is real: that either the past lives, or it has died. Forgiveness allows death to die and life to live. That is why its rhythms beat right at the heart of Christian faith.

Luther, when facing temptation, would cry out - "I am baptised!" and in that cry would declare that he had died to sin and been raised to a new life in Christ. Just so. We, who are forgiven, have died to holding on to sin, and have been raised to bestowing forgiveness with the freedom with which we have received the same.

Forgiveness is, like all things, a choice; even when it's a no-brainer we maintain the right to act like the brainless! But Jesus places before us both the option and the strength to choose something better. He doesn't leave us alone. "Forgive," he tells the disciples gathered for fear behind locked doors in an upper room, simultaneously breathing on them the Holy Spirit lest they think he means them to try to attempt this trick without the aid of someone greater holding their hand all the while.

Choose life. Choose the hand that strengthens. Choose it again, for again we need it - over the same darned issue. And again. And again. And -

And then we think we need to forgive again, but actually, it has gone. In fact, we simply need to let go. To understand that this 'thing' is in the past. It has died. Hold a funeral, watch the coffin descend, walk away, hold a party, and let the cycle of forgiveness turn from mourning to dancing. There will be moments when you catch your breath ('How many times O Lord?') but in reality the truth has moved on. Death has died. Now we live. To use Corrie ten Boom's picture, God cast the thing we so struggled with into the sea and put up a sign saying 'No Fishing'. And so we shouldn't consider hiring a boat, just to check...

I am reminded of all this, this week. And I'm not hiring a boat, though I have been thinking about it, just to make sure.

Some things aren't perfect in this life, and sometimes temptation comes in the form of trying to tart up the broken with sticky tape and paint, when actually it simply needs to be called 'broken' and allowed to be left. No point putting lipstick on the pig; it's still a pig.

We are not in control of everything. But we know One who is. So we should act faithfully; living as obedient, gracious and as holy a life as we can, and asking for forgiveness as often as we must along the way. God will make all things new in his time and in his way. We should let go, forgive, seek & accept forgiveness, let the mistakes of the past die and the wonders of today live.

How many times?

Just enough, thanks be to God.

grace

I've had an epiphany. A moment of understanding.

I shared a joke & someone didn't get it, and as a result, I got something. Something else, actually, though something kind of related.

This letter on the left was on Facebook; Clare Hayns posted it there & I was amused by it. It is funny. The preamble to the letter tells us it's "hilarious", which for me is rather overstating the case, but it did make me smile.

It's funny because it takes a line used by good people who use and love the Scriptures but don't always think about what the consequences of their words might be. It then plays on that idea, and shows that if you make a complex issue too simple, you end up with chaos. Or Canadian slaves. President Jed Bartlet once did something similar, I recall, though it turns out it may have the same root.  

However - somebody commented to me in a very serious way about this. They just didn't get that it is intended to be funny. They didn't get that there was humour here, despite the way I'd tweeted it ("Humorous take...") and despite that word "hilarious" in the preamble. The subject matter, and the fact that someone was (for them) mishandling the Scripture overrode all of that.

Or they just didn't get it.

Now - don't any of you dare judge this person. Their reaction is crucial for all of us.

In the debate on Scripture & sexuality, all of us see things in certain ways which are blindingly obvious to us, and we are amazed that other people just don't get it. The key is - everyone in this whole mess is genuine, honest, and human. Lots of us are hurt in different ways. Many of us have much riding on the outcome of these debates - from the right to be counted as equal human beings to the question of which voice is more important in the Church - Bible or Society? As these debates play out not just within our walls but without as well, the ways those rights get called can seem to be somewhat fluid, and different sectors of the church feel they matter in different ways at different times.

What I am saying is - when we speak, when we debate, when we put forward things that seem blatantly true and Scriptural and godly, it may be that others reject what we say not because they are being awkward, spiteful, unBiblical and ungodly: they may just not get it. Even though we have labelled something "humorous" and used the word "hilarious", our brothers and sisters in faith simply didn't see the joke.

That's how people are, and if we can't exercise grace, if we can't love, if all we can do is pity the poor person, judge the poor person, feel pleased with ourselves & with gentle pride know ourselves better - then God help us, because we are lost. Lost. To go back to what I said in my last post - it's one of the things I love about the Holiness tradition I find in a place like Asbury at its best: there is no holiness without grace, without generosity and kindness and humanity and love.

Love your neighbour, says Jesus. He and she may not be a monster after all. For if we are to move forwards, at some point we are going to have to behave like Christians, however much we still disagree.

refining the gold

I've come across the excellent Asbury Seedbed site, with some really brilliant resources on it.

Asbury Seminary is one of my favourite places, a Methodist Seminary full of that rather lovely holiness graciousness which speaks of our evangelical tradition at its best. It has been a place where I have made many friends, heard much wisdom, and occasionally been privileged to participate.

One of the videos the Seedbed site has up is an excellent offering, in that conservative but gracious and holy tradition the Seminary does so well, that speaks to how evangelicals view Scripture and Homosexuality. Dr Ben Witherington covers most of what you would expect to hear clearly, kindly and from a traditional standpoint in a little over seven minutes. Do watch it.


Now - I often say we should debate these things. I kind of disagree with a number of things that Dr Witherington says - not because of the spirit in which he says them, but because I think the Scriptures actually have been sometimes unfortunately handled by those who have gone before us, and we have allowed the holiness of many godly people, and the traditions of previous ages, to dim our eyes as we look to our God-given texts on these matters.

So I want to ask some questions. Not as someone who disregards the Scripture, but as someone who loves the Bible, and as someone who only hopes he might emulate in his life the grace of the holiness tradition that is Asbury at its finest, and which has so inspired me.

This is my response - not quite as concise as Dr Witherington, but still under ten minutes...


I've already invited some others to join in with their thoughts, and now widen that net: one caveat though. I will only publish thoughts and comments and responses that are generous and gracious. We are Christians, and we may disagree, but we must love one another. People are people, loved by God, and that's the bottom line here. Anyone who forgets that will lose their voice till they recall this!

One or two questions have already come in, and rather than write, as I usually do, I've simply put my thoughts on another video. So, by all means stop now. But if you are interested, and fancy a bit of a biblical work out - you can have a go at this one too:


As I say, this is a place for questions and thoughts and responses. I'd love to think it's possible to hold a safe place to talk where there are no sides, only Christians who may not all agree, but who do all share a passion for Scripture, a compassion for people, and a desire to follow Jesus.

Thanks.

wallowing

So I'm wallowing in nostalgia again.

It's my age. I blame it on... well, nothing really. Technology I suppose. If those guys at Vocalion weren't so good at their jobs, this would be no fun. But I've come across another couple of Syd Lawrence Orchestra CDs from the mid-1970s, and they sound superb.

I mean - I presume they've been remastered & cleaned up & had all kinds of stuff done to them, because they sound amazing. Phillips, who recorded these albums in Manchester way back when, had a very definite 'sound': the brass swam in reverb. Kind of unpleasantly so. And all of that has gone - these CDs sound crystal clear, brand new, and have a glorious roundness to the sound which modern big band recordings almost never have. It's as if people can't quite get it right now. The art has been lost. Anyone who wants to record a big band should listen to Vocalion's remastering of Holland Special/Welt Hits. Just for the sound quality.

And then there's the music. The Greatest Hits of the 1930s album was Syd's only album where he added strings to his usual big band; it means the whole thing is a bit more mellow, but it is glorious. When I was a teenager & collecting Syd's LPs on vinyl, I could never get a copy of this. Years later I found bootleg copies on CD, but now I have this re-issue and it is amazing. The band in its prime, full blooded and confident and beautiful. When I Take My Sugar To Tea, Little White Lies - glorious; and a spine-tingling Moonlight Serenade.

It's coupled with the Singin' & Swingin' album, and I haven't got there yet - but that has some great arrangements on it; I have other CD transfers of those tracks, but nothing that compares with what the Vocalion engineers have done.

And then the Holland/Germany double CD. I have never even heard these recordings before. Made for European tours, and using mostly Dutch & German tunes with very Miller-esque arrangements, these recordings are quite wonderful. I've heard the old guys, the long-standing Syd Lawrence Orchestra buffs speak highly of these recordings, and now I know why. It's like listening to an album of Miller music you never knew existed for the very first time - music played beautifully, recorded perfectly, arranged with style, care & occasionally wit, and this band at that time could do this like no other band before or since.

Yes, I'm wallowing. Wallowing. It's like sunbathing in sound. A perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Jimmy Olsen

So a comment came through yesterday on my piece about Dick France; the features editor from the Daily Telegraph wanted to use the photos I'd put up there for their obituary for Dick, which they were getting round to publishing today.

I was quite taken aback - but honoured that I might be helpful in this way. I wondered how they'd found me - Google, of course. The main pic came up as the third image on a Google search I did.

It's a nice piece; click here to read it, and to see one of the pics; they used the other in the printed version.

I wished I'd had a better one to offer them than just those two from the day Dick came to St Catherine's in 2009. The only other I could find was this one. Much as I cherish it, it's not what they were looking for! This is Dick with me at my ordination in Cardiff in 1994. Yes - that's actually me standing next to him! I know, so much hair, so young, so innocent. Well, two out of three ain't bad.

So I got a Jimmy Olsen moment; a picture in the national press. And though I fancy I have taken many better photographs over the years, a better subject or worthier person is hard to imagine.

always

I wrote this for a wedding in (I think) 1988. That's a long time back. It's had a few makeovers since then. And I've finally learned to play it on guitar - though the bridge has been changed in order for that to happen...

It's a simple love song, and as I recall it was based on a poem I was given, though nothing of the poem made it into the final lyric. Just the sentiment.

It was always intended to have a double edge; like the allegory of Song of Songs, a good love song should carry with it the possibility of God's voice singing over his people as well as those people singing to each other. At times I moulded the words more clearly to make that point, at times less so.

An old school friend, who was always dismissive of my piano playing (he'd hate my guitar playing too, I just know it!) always took pains (and I think it did pain him) to admire some of my melodies. If the hymn I posted last week carries my most personal theology, this melody, from half a lifetime ago, remains one of my favourites.

Ah, I don't write them like I used to.

I'll Always Love You: thanks to Andrew & Lis who asked me to write it without knowing what they were asking.