I love my job for lots of reasons but one of them is that I get to meet people from all around the world.  A few weeks ago I met a student from Mexico who broadened my understanding of the Day of the Dead.

Diego spoke very movingly of what the holiday meant to him and how sorry he was to be so far from home at this time of year.  (I have to admit that my previous understanding probably was limited to a Disney-Pixar ‘Coco’ level.)  He explained the complex origins of the celebration and the way most people understand it now.

What struck me was the way tangible displays of love are evoked:  preparing deceased relatives’ favourite foods, taking out their photos and taking time to share memories.  It’s a time of gratitude and connection and love.

Autumn is generally a time of year when people are more willing to think about death, maybe because of the cues in nature all around us and remembering those who have died in war.  But most of the year we would do anything to avoid the topic.

The cross is an awkward reminder that following Jesus includes not always taking the easy path, but that we are called to deny ourselves and to give up our lives- not for a cause, but out of love.  It would be ridiculous to choose to suffer for any other reason but love, and this is the reason that Jesus chose to face death – out of love for his father and love for us.

This last 18 months or so I have been part of a team bringing a new vision to life. Chapel House is a new Christian community house for 8 University students who have promised to pray together, serve together and share meals together for the next year.

It is an extraordinary, diverse, and brave group of people who have embarked on this year-long adventure together.  They are working out for themselves how together they can be open to God, open to each other and open to the world and the signs are good that this might be a life-changing experience for them.

Almost by accident, this project was launched with a poignant moment.  We had in our home a very large hand-carved cross (more of that story here) that we wanted to transport to the new community house.  I could find no vehicle long enough to carry it the couple of miles it needed to travel. So the first thing the community did was carry it themselves, through the streets of Bath.

They have chosen this life, this carrying-of-the cross, out of love.  They want to grow in understanding what it means to share lives together.  If the community is a success, they will discover new things about themselves and also how hard it can be to sometimes give up their own preferences for the sake of others.  But by really engaging in this shared orientation of their lives, I believe the world can be changed and new life will rise.

A couple of weeks ago I attended a conference in Oxford that took place next to the canal.  I walked past the nearby lock a few times each day, coming and going, sometimes stopping to watch as a boat passed through.

I took a few photos but I wish I’d recorded the sound of the sluice gates closing and the water rushing in, like filling up a giant boaty bathtub.  Thanks to YouTube, I found a video that captures the action (but not the sound) here.  

More than just being fascinated by it, I felt the lock somehow had a message for me, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

I remembered that there was a story in the news during the summer about a stretch of the Avon and Kennet canal near us that was completely drained because the people who were passing through were in a hurry and left all the lock gates open. A big section of the canal was completely drained leaving lots of boats stranded in the mud.  The people who did it moved on without realizing the damage they’d caused.

I’m a big fan of forgiveness; feel moved by stories about forgiveness. I love that the heart of the gospel is all about forgiveness, but that doesn’t make my own forgiving easy or automatic.

The general advice is that it takes time.  Some people say that writing down the thing that has caused hurt will help you to move on.  I’ve tried sitting in prayer with my hands open as a gesture of handing it over to God, but still found myself with resentful thoughts creeping in.

I think the lock was speaking to me about forgiveness.   I realised that even my most prayerful efforts can still focus on the other person, wishing that they would say sorry or change or at least notice the damage that they have caused so that I will be able to respond with grace. I’m not saying this is a bad thing to want.  However, when it doesn’t happen, when they don’t apologise or even notice, it leaves me with the ugly burden of unforgiveness, the heavy weight of something not resolved.

Somehow I needed reminding this summer that in order to move on, my own heart needed to change. Not all situations are the same and mine isn’t serious, but in this case, I know now it wasn’t really about the other person, it was about my response. Other people may not change but I can choose to let God change me.

Someone prayed for me at the conference and something shifted.  It changed my prayer into a desire to be able to respond in love, regardless of the other person.  It had the effect of shutting the sluice gates so that a new perspective could come flooding in. I’m not suggesting it will be all smooth sailing, but for the moment, I’m thankful that the river ahead seems smooth and I don’t feel tethered to what was holding me back.

We know very little French so going to France this summer was a bit of an ambitious holiday plan for us.  What motivated us was the thought that we might successfully put our 15 year old in the position of having to speak a bit of the language just to help us survive.

Never having driven in France before we were taking careful notice of road signs and this one soon became my favourite:  ‘CÉDEZ LE PASSAGE’.  Maybe I was a little bit in love with the country, but I thought that only the French would express this road instruction so elegantly.  In the UK our ‘GIVE WAY’ sounds much more direct, not to mention ‘YIELD’ in the US, which seems far more commanding.

As I thought about it, I wondered what life would be like if this was a mantra instead of just a road sign.  The boys and I had another week’s holiday back in the UK while Phil was at a conference and I decided to see what would happen if I took a more ‘cédez le passage’ approach to parenting for a few days.  Instead of insisting on what I wanted to do, or what I thought the boys would want to do, I tried to give way to their choices.  Let me tell you this was no small sacrifice.  We ended up playing Monopoly 8 times.   We spent a lot more time throwing Frisbees or kicking footballs than I found interesting and we watched ALL of the Ice Age films; but we had a great time together.

I’m not suggesting that this would be a good parenting style most of the time, especially when homework or jobs need to be done or timetables need to be kept, but it was a nice change for a few days.  Would it be sustainable as a way of life?

As the phrase continued to stay with me, I realised that the road sign only works if everyone follows it.  If a car stopped in order to yield to every car that was coming, there would be a lot of annoyed drivers in the queue behind.  It’s about mutual courtesy and cooperation and community.

Which is a bit like the way Christians describe the dance of the Trinity.  The Father yields to the Son and the Son yields to the Spirit and the Spirit yields to the Father in a dance of love in which we are invited to join. This is the vision of God’s kingdom, everyone giving way in love.

So yes, maybe I am called to ‘cédez le passage’ but it is to both give way to love as well as allowing love to give way to me.   (But not necessarily to yield to playing more Monopoly. Please.)

… the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy.

James 3.17

We’ve had lots of guests and visitors in recent weeks (not all shown here). Although having people round for a meal or to stay often involves some extra work, it honestly has been a time of blessing for us.  Whether catching up with friends that we haven’t seen for a short while or a very long time, or even getting to know people that we didn’t know well before, being a host is a privilege and if there was such a thing as a ‘grace ledger’ it would show that we received more than we gave in recent weeks.

In the midst of all of this, I had a serious-ish concern about my health (which is now OK) that I tried to not worry about.  On the day of my doctor’s appointment I read these lines in my morning prayer/mediation time:

…the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God.

(2 Corinthians 1)

Later, as I left the appointment, even more worried than I had been when I went in, I ran into someone who offered me such kindness you would have thought that she knew what I was going through.  She didn’t. And later that day, I encountered God’s kindness again through people that I met.  They were offering God’s consolation to me.

A few days later someone I knew was really struggling shared some of their pain with me.  I tried to remember to hold him in prayer. When I saw him a week later, he told me that a total stranger had given him a note that encouraged him and, not only that, but a particular Bible verse kept coming up in ways that suggested to him that God knew about him and cared.

The mystery of a God who consoles, who bothers to show us kindness in personal ways and who longs for us to share that with others has been with me these last few weeks, and not least in the blessings of our various guests.

One powerful memory I have is of a 13 year old guest playing our piano and singing the song So Will I.  I’d never heard it before but the strength of it has stayed with me.  (I wish you could hear her singing it, but here’s another version if you’re interested.)   If the creator of everything cares about each one of us, so will I.  If the God of the universe offers consolation through our friends and through strangers, so will I. If God offers love as both guest and host, so will I.

God of creation
There at the start
Before the beginning of time
With no point of reference
You spoke to the dark
And fleshed out the wonder of light

And as You speak
A hundred billion galaxies are born
In the vapor of Your breath the planets form
If the stars were made to worship so will I
I can see Your heart in everything You’ve made
Every burning star
A signal fire of grace
If creation sings Your praises so will I

God of Your promise
You don’t speak in vain
No syllable empty or void
For once You have spoken
All nature and science
Follow the sound of Your voice

And as You speak
A hundred billion creatures catch Your breath
Evolving in pursuit of what You said
If it all reveals Your nature so will I
I can see Your heart in everything You say
Every painted sky
A canvas of Your grace
If creation still obeys You so will I
So will I
So will I

If the stars were made to worship so will I
If the mountains bow in reverence so will I
If the oceans roar Your greatness so will I
For if everything exists to lift You high so will I
If the wind goes where You send it so will I
If the rocks cry out in silence so will I
If the sum of all our praises still falls shy
Then we’ll sing again a hundred billion times

God of salvation
You chased down my heart
Through all of my failure and pride
On a hill You created
The light of the world
Abandoned in darkness to die

And as You speak
A hundred billion failures disappear
Where You lost Your life so I could find it here
If You left the grave behind You so will I
I can see Your heart in everything You’ve done
Every part designed in a work of art called love
If You gladly chose surrender so will I
I can see Your heart
Eight billion different ways
Every precious one
A child You died to save
If You gave Your life to love them so will I

Like You would again a hundred billion times
But what measure could amount to Your desire
You’re the One who never leaves the one behind

Joel Houston / Benjamin Hastings / Michael Fatkin

We’re feeling a bit bereft as our youngest family member is away on a week-long school trip.  I console myself remembering that the point of the residential, I think, is to teach these soon-to-be secondary school pupils a bit of independence and to challenge them to try new things so that they discover that they are able to do more than they thought.  Those experiences wouldn’t happen in the same way if we were there.

This morning there was a story on the radio about a recent study about guppies. Apparently, guppies that live where there are lots of predators have significantly larger brains than those that don’t.  It’s yet another illustration from nature that a bit of resistance and challenge has the potential to improve us (or kill us, I guess).

Some students that I know have been telling me about ‘yes theory’.  I’m a little bit cynical about what might be in it for the guys who create the videos but I’m impressed by followers wanting to ‘seek discomfort’, which is what it’s all about:  saying ‘yes’ to adventure and pushing yourself beyond your comfort zone.

How do we know what to say ‘yes’ to, imagining, of course, that we are free to choose? (I’m thinking of a friend whose health limits these options significantly.) In any case, saying ‘yes’ may be completely the wrong approach if your objective is to make money. Warren Buffet recently said:

‘The difference between successful people and very successful people is that very successful people say ‘no’ to almost everything.’

I don’t think that sounds like a better option.

I keep mulling over some of the words of Psalm 84.  A beautiful picture is imagined of birds creating nests in God’s house where they can sing to their hearts’ content and raise their young. But the concept of ‘home’ changes as you read more:  there is also happiness for those who travel through the valley, because they have the path to God’s home in their hearts.  Happiness is found in trust.

‘Yes theory’ is a bit like trust, but trust is more personal and less centered on self. It’s more like loving parent who is asking me to step out of my comfort zone and grow into who they believe me to be.

It was a bit challenging to sing this song recently at our house blessing.   ‘My heart is an open space for you to come and have your way. I’m open.  I’m open.’ We sang that in every single room of our house.  I want to be able to mean it.  That would be quite a yes.

People say that moving house is one of the most stressful events in life.  Having been through this 3 times in the last 18 months, I can vouch for this.  Somehow, much more than the huge physical and mental tasks of packing everything up and moving all your possesions and on top of all the logistical details that have to be remembered, there is a weight of emotional exhaustion that just can’t be explained by aching muscles alone.

So although we couldn’t have done our last move without the practical help of the people who turned up to lift boxes and furniture or to deliver meals, and although those physical things were very welcome indeed, I was aware that it was the ‘ministry’ of their company that they offered and of their generous hearts that was the most amazing gift of all.

Ruth, Jon, Yvonne, Peter, Tim, Paul, Robyn, Greville, Tim, Sam, Narinder, Pat, Nigel and Rosella:  your help was fantastic, but just sharing the huge burden with us was even better.  We feel like we have learned a lot about how brilliant it can be to just have people with you when facing something big.  We hope that we remember it when we have a chance to do the same for someone else.

During the lovely surprise snow last month, I came across an AA van rescuing another AA van stuck in the snow and it seemed to me to be a beautiful image of Christian community.  We all need help getting unstuck from time to time, so that we can get back on the road to help others.

At a conference where I was due to lead a seminar a few weeks ago, I had a momentary panic before my bit began, feeling unsure of what I was doing there or what I could offer, until I ran into some friends that I had hardly seen for the last 20 years who ministered grace and encouragement to me that I can only describe as miraculous and God-sent.  Another friend, who has been unwell for many months, texted me throughout the day to say that she was praying for me.

I don’t think that what I am trying to describe here is simply human kindness; although human kindness is a wonderful and powerful thing.  The word that I think would describe it better is ministry (although I realise that this word might not appeal to everyone).

Some of the earliest Christian writings describe this mystery as being ‘in Christ’. We are in Christ and Christ is in us and when we offer self-giving love to one another we are Jesus to them as they are to us.  This is what ministry is.  If you have experienced the grace and beauty of this, I think you will know what I mean. If you haven’t, try asking some friends to help you move house.

I was at the filming of BBC 1’s The Big Questions at Bath Spa University this morning, where one of the questions was whether or not ‘social media is out of control’. The conversation soon turned to ‘fake news’.

I think most of us have picked up that in both the US elections and in the Brexit debates many people were unable to distinguish between stories or statistics on social media that had a basis in reality and those that didn’t.

And I suppose most of us have realised that we create our own social media bubbles where most of the people with whom we are connected, by and large, share most of our own views. This makes us feel like our own opinions are right, but probably isn’t a good approach to finding truth.

Even realising these things, I was a little bit taken aback during the filming this morning when a student a few seats away from me said something like

‘there is very rarely any kind of fundamentally absolutely objective truth underlying any news story, and it’s not clear that it is something that can be obtained simply, quickly or efficiently by anyone.’

(Basically, I think he was saying that it is impossible to know if something is true.)

If he speaks for his generation (and I suspect that he speaks for a lot of them) we really are living in a different world, and this will have an effect even on those of us who grew up in a slightly different era.

I’m concerned about the effect that living in a ‘fake news’ environment will have on my compassion. When I read about horrific things happening in South Sudan or Syria, will I be tempted to think ‘that couldn’t possibly be true’, that it is too awful to be true?

What about information fatigue? It’s possible to go onto ‘fact-checking’ websites and these are really important, but will we have time and energy to keep doing that?

I’m worried about images that pretend to be ‘true’ but in fact are filtered and edited to project a false self.

What kind of world are we living in where people can claim things that they and we know are false, but there are no repercussions? In some cases, not only are there no negative repercussions, but they can use the distraction of ridiculous stories for their own ends.

Is it possible to fight back?

If this world we are living in can’t compute ‘objective truth’, then I guess we are left with trust and experience. This makes choosing who we trust supremely important. It also means that we have to pay a lot of attention to the stories of our day-to-day lives and make the point of sharing those stories with others.

Relying on trust and experience to fight ‘fake news’ might not sound like a battle cry or manifesto but I wonder how counter-cultural it might be?

I had a good birthday yesterday, with lots of messages from friends and family but it started off with a mysterious ‘appointment’ in the diary.

It turned out to be a book consultation with a ‘bibliotherapist’. A local bookshop offers a book subscription service where they ask you about your reading preferences and general interests and likes and dislikes and then, based on what you say, send you a surprise book each month.

How would you describe the books you like? Which is more important to you: plot, character, atmosphere or setting? Are there any books that you love? Any books that you hate? These were hard questions to answer on the spot.

The day before I’d been thinking about a related question: can a sentence sum up an entire book? I wondered this when I spotted a bus hoarding with words from the Bible on it that got me thinking. It was one of those times when something familiar suddenly jumps out in a new way and catches you off guard.

I’m guessing that John 3.16 might be the most famous sentence in the Bible and if a person was going to recognise any bit of the Bible, this would be the part they would know. I’m sure it has informed my own imagination and understanding, but does it sum up the whole story?

John 3:16

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

Seeing those words on a bus made me think about them in a new way. Could you read those words and think that following Jesus has nothing to do with dying? Because although Christians believe that God’s love, seen in Jesus, is stronger than death and that life in Jesus includes life forever with God; Jesus also taught that we have to die. (It’s a bit like a seed being buried in the soil, ready to sprout up in the Spring.)

It’s easy for me to forget that God’s love is ‘cross-shaped’. Following Jesus requires small deaths all of the time; dying to pride, to judgement, to selfishness. The way of the cross can be hard and in my 49^th (!) year, it doesn’t feel like it’s getting any easier.

As a recent ‘parkrun’ participant, I asked a triathlete student about ways to make the experience less painful. My heart sunk a bit when Ted said it wouldn’t ever get any easier. ‘Running 5K is just hard’, he said. ‘It will always be hard, but you will get faster.’ I only hope.

Christmas is pretty ridiculous, when you think about it. The season brings out all kinds of things in people; lots of spending and eating and decorating and card-writing and many acts of generosity and kindness. All because it’s December? Or because it taps into our childhood memories and imaginations?

The grown men who are working on our house put a huge Father Christmas in the window even though the freezing conditions must have made work a bit less comfortable that day.

In Bath, I’d guess that close to 2,500 University students attended Christmas carol services this December.

Neighbours that we don’t know have invited us into their home for drinks.

As an experiment, I left a piece of sequined cloth on a table in the chaplaincy centre during Advent with a little note suggesting that people could use their fingers to draw or write a prayer on it. (If you haven’t come across this material on a cushion before, it is made up of tiny two-sided discs that can be pushed in different directions to create a simple image.)

I wasn’t sure that anyone would use it and had concluded that, although festively sparkling, it was probably too childish and illogical to appeal to people in a University setting. That was until I popped in when the Vegetarian Society were using the building and saw them beautifully and painstakingly creating a map of the world on the material. A prayer for peace.

Just a few days before, I joined some students who are part of a group called Just Love. They were sharing about some things that they had been involved in this term. Quite a few of them had been to training to become ‘dementia friendly’. In fact it was so good, that some of their friends wanted to take part so they ran the training again. They’d also spent a week ‘living below the poverty line’ spending a total of £5 for their food for the week and raising a substantial amount of money for those in need.

Ridiculous, isn’t it? Young adults taking time out of their studies to learn how to best relate to those with dementia? People choosing to live a life of poverty for a week?

I watched a fascinating performance last week (available on the iPlayer for those of you who have access to the BBC) of children doing a nativity play. The only difference was that this play took place in actual Bethlehem near the Israeli West Bank barrier underneath sniper watchtowers. Called ‘Alternativity’, it was the location that made the story especially poignant and the addition of artificial snow that showed what silly sentimentality we sometimes add to the simple story.

But the story itself is ridiculous and no amount of sugary carols or nostalgic cards can really disguise the ludicrous love of God for humanity, shown in a baby born in a barn. So I wish you a Christmas of ridiculous love and hope that the new year will bring us even more opportunity to explore what that means.

I got back late last night from a weekend for young people and when our youngest came in to give me a hug this morning the first thing he said was ‘What happened to my real mum?’ I think tiredness was showing even more than usual in my face this morning.

A major focus of this sleep-deprived weekend was for young people to ‘get their voice heard’.  This has got me thinking. I believe in the values of participation and inclusion and I’m generally against people feeling left-out or silenced, but I wonder if getting voices heard is a good starting point?

Perhaps more than ever before, we all face a barrage of many voices; both on social media and off it. Most of us feel little need to tow any kind of party line (as on Twitter profiles, ‘all opinions my own’).  I think this is mostly good in principle and certainly makes life more interesting.

But how do we learn to navigate all of this?  If all of us are speaking, who is doing the listening? If lots of people are speaking at the same time, how can you pick out the voice that you want to hear?

I’m imagining a youth weekend that reflected Victorian values instead. The tagline might be: ‘Be seen and not heard’ or ‘Don’t speak until you are spoken to’. It doesn’t sound like much fun (but I might have got a bit more sleep).

Weird though it may sound, Christians believe that God sometimes speaks to us through other human beings. In ancient history, the prophets called people back to God, to remember who they really were, as beloved children. From the early days of the Christian movement, people have spoken in holy words and pictures and even strange languages to build up one another and to praise God, especially when times were hard.

We all know that listening is as important as speaking but perhaps some of us are drawn more naturally to one more than the other. Certainly our world needs more deep listeners and wise speakers and both of these require us to have roots that go down deep.

I love this song and its image of inviting us all to join in the endless song of creation, even when we are feeling discordant or disjointed, even when it feels like the whole word is clamouring around us. Into this noise comes the quiet message of God’s peace. And we are invited to join the improvised alleluia.

As I walked around the beautiful grounds of Bath Spa University with a friend last week, we noticed this mysterious installation at the base of a tree. Made up of plastic bottle caps, it reflected a real rainbow in the sky and the soft tapping noise it made seemed like a holy sound. All those bits of plastic, which on their own would just fill a recycling bin, made a beautiful clatter in the wind.

I wonder if having a voice is like singing our part in the beautiful endless song; there may be solo parts from time to time but it is mostly about sharing with others in this life of improvised alleluias and enjoying the noise we make.

The Voice

 Does my voice really matter?

Can you hear the song I sing?

Does my worship make sense to you?

Does it match the sound I bring?

When my sound is loud or heavy,

when my sound is cold or bleak,

if my song becomes discordant will my song be what you seek?

In this world so many voices, many sounds rise to compete.

Does my voice really matter? Does God hear me?

Angel voices sang the news of peace to all: your God is pleased.

Jesus said come to me all who labour find your rest in me.

Mothers, daughters, sons and fathers,

lived the sound of love come down.

Song of heaven, God in Jesus –

help me sing with all I am.

Alleluia.