Camping

Yesterday, I managed a screen-free day. Well, almost. A zoom session with my colleague, Adrian, in the morning; and a mega-zoom with all the family in the evening. Adrian and I are in daily touch with each other, for mutual support as much as anything; and to keep abreast of all the changes we are managing, including various online posts or video recordings.

I'm glad to say that all the family seem to be well, and nearly all of them still working - from home, of course. We talked a bit about the long-term effects of this Cv crisis: the move to home-working, on line - and how that had been slow to take off, pre-Cv; the seemingly greater readiness of church members to meet via zoom, than actually attend meetings; the greater appreciation we might have of friends and family, having been separated for a time; the prospect of some significant mental health issues in the future as a result of anxiety and despair, and interruption to the normal end-of-life rites of passage. (I think particularly of the parents, whose 13-year old boy died, and they could not attend his funeral.) On a more light-hearted note, also the prospect of a baby boom around the end of this year!

It is natural to try to give a frame of reference to what we are going through. I have already had a bit of a go, by writing about the Unintended Sabbath. Another analogy might be camping. It's something we have never done as a family, largely because Les prefers her mod cons! But I did camp as a Boy Scout (Patrol Leader, Kestrels, 1st Colney Heath Scout Troop, if you're interested!). In those days, 'glamping' had never been heard of. We did everything by the book  - 'Scouting for Boys'! But even modern camping has some similarities with our present predicament:

• it is temporary
• limited in terms of resources
• challenging, being vulnerable to 'the elements'
• being in close proximity to people, in confined space
• calling for skills not often used e.g. occupying yourself without tv e.g. playing games
• appreciating nature more

But just as camping is mostly enjoyable, we learn now to 'enjoy' what we have as a temporary respite for 'normal' life. The big difference, of course, is this is no holiday; we don't know when it will end; and we won't be returning to 'normal'. So I think some of the journeys in the Bible are more akin to this. Take Abraham for example. He set off on a long journey, 'not knowing where he was going'. He would periodically pitch camp, often in alien territory. And there he would build an altar to the God he believed was with him, and whose promises he trusted. Just so, we live with these temporary circumstances, but we try to 'build altars', that is to say put down markers  - meet with God right where we are, trusting him to lead us through.

So the services we have been recording for tomorrow; the many 'virtual' prayer times which are popping up all over the place - these are ways of saying 'we are not alone.' We trust God to lead us on.

Here is a prayer from Richard Rohr:

 

God, we ask that all who are affected by this virus be held in your loving care. In this time of uncertainty, help us to know what is ours to do. We know you did not cause this suffering but that you are with us in it and through it. Help us to recognize your presence in acts of kindness, in moments of silence, and in the beauty of the created world. Grant peace and protection to all of humanity for their well-being and for the benefit of the earth.  

Joy in Sorrow

Sad to say, having felt quite positive on Monday morning, things went downhill very quickly for our friend, suffering from Cv. His name is Paul. Later in the day, his wife was called to the hospital, and he eventually died in the early hours of Tuesday morning. I will write about Paul another time. Suffice to say, he was a well-known and much-loved person within our churches, and in the town community. His death strikes at our very heart, and the shock is palpable. There have now been over 40 deaths from Cv in Cumbria, and our area has one of the highest rates of infection in the country. The loss of Paul will have a significant impact upon our worship this weekend. Our hearts are with Paul's wife, and all who are grieving the loss of someone dear to them - especially as 'farewells' are so difficult at this time, and hugs, like many other things, are in short supply.

Sometimes, a bereaved person will talk about the guilt they feel if they experience joy or happiness while mourning a loved one. It's as if it's inappropriate when one should be feeling sad. Often this will happen particularly if a new relationship is beginning. Of course, it's completely normal to feel this way. We need to have a proper understanding of joy, and why it matters. It's not the same as pleasure!

One of the less edifying aspects of the present situation is the rank selfishness of some people, and the 'everyone for themselves' attitude.  Like the young farmer, who challenged someone walking through her field of sheep, with a dog off the lead. The farmer pointed out the risk to animals, and to farmers who might become infected through touching gates or stiles which others had touched. The 'visitor' said it was their right, and how dare she suggest otherwise (or words to that effect). Such an attitude cannot be condoned.

An opposite attitude might be summarised in something the wife of my old college principal said once: 'We're not here to enjoy ourselves, you know!' Somewhere between these two extremes lies the word delight. If we believe that God is a loving creator who 'richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment'  then humbly receiving life as a gift, and delighting in all God has made, is fundamental to what it means to be human. In the book of Proverbs, Wisdom is personified, and says I was constantly at his side. I was filled with delight day after day, rejoicing always in his presence, rejoicing in his whole world, and delighting in the human rqce. (Proverbs 8.30-31)

You could even say that joy or delight is even more important in time of affliction such as now. Allowing ourselves moments of delight is one of many ways in which we stand against a prevailing mood of anxiety and apprehension. It's almost an act of protest, or defiance. But it must not turn into self-indulgence or escapism. Our mindset needs to be one of looking outwards and upwards: the mind of Christ.

Here is an extract from a poem which I have found helpful:

...we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine...
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not enjoyment. Not delight. We must have 
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world...

Jack Gilbert (1925-2012): 'A Brief for the Defense'

Blackbirds

I don't really know where the weekend went! It was a mixture of things: prayer, preparing for worship, struggling with technology, various online conversations, pastoral phone conversations, a bit of baking,a bit of reading and the daily walk. It's strange how, with an empty diary, time still seems to go by, but you can't remember much about what you did with it.

There is continuing concern about our friend in hospital. He is still very ill, but it is good he has made it through the weekend, and today they hope to begin a new course of treatment. We continue to pray constantly for him - and for his wife, that she does not also succumb to infection.

One of the things that is recommended during these weeks of isolation is to learn anew to appreciate nature. It is constant in its annual sleep, renewal, flourishing and decaying, and this of course is replicated in our human cycle of life. We need to take heart from nature, her capacity for regeneration and her gift of joy and delight. This gives us hope, as we look forward to a new future beyond our present distress.

If ever I were marooned on the proverbial desert island, as in the long-running Radio 4 series, one of the recordings I would take with me, I'm sure, would be the song of a blackbird. My earliest memory of it is from when I was studying for A levels, many years ago. Often, that hot summer, I would be working in my bedroom, the window open, and high in a chestnut tree a blackbird would sing. It was a huge blessing to me, and even now, whenever I hear one in full throat, it connects me with my past as well as cheering me on. 

I awake very early these mornings, and I've noticed that a blackbird begins his (it's only the male!) dawn chorus at almost precisely the same time each day. Sometimes I hear him at dusk too. He has an incredible range and variety of song. So, dear readers, I invite you to take time out and enjoy a space of just 3 minutes, while this blackbird sings for you. If you listen carefully, I think you can hear another blackbird in the distance, answering him:

https://www.british-birdsongs.uk/common-blackbird/

Coronavirus Close to Home

It's strange how, when you expect something bad to happen, it still comes as a shock. On Thursday, I learned that a good friend in our town had been admitted to hospital with Coronavirus (Cv). He is still very unwell. I must confess, it rather shook me. In my head, I knew Cv was likely to strike, but when it's someone you know well...So much of the past two days has been spent thinking about and praying for him and his wife. It is scary.

At the same time, I have been preparing and recording a talk for tomorrow morning's broadcast from our Cockermouth churches. As it happens, the Gospel reading is about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead and - for me - the interesting subtext of how Lazarus's sisters, Mary and Martha deal with their grief, and respond to Jesus. It is a 'Tale of Two Sisters'. What can we learn from them?

The technology has been challenging for me! Both learning how to record a video well (the easy bit!), and then how to upload to where it needs to be, in order to become part of the whole. That's my struggle: but I will learn!

I did manage to take a break yesterday, though. Mowed the lawn, at last. And read some poetry: a selection of children's poetry, put together by Liverpool poet, Roger McGough. Very diverting and enjoyable.

On Thursday, I had one of my regular Skype conversations with a long-standing friend in Liverpool. She put me onto a website about communal experience of trauma, which of course this is all becoming. Rather than me write any more today, you may like to read this letter from a priest to her congregation, which is deeply reassuring and wise:

https://tragedyandcongregations.org.uk/2020/03/24/a-letter-from-carla-grosch-miller-to-a-congregation/

I Protest!

It's another fine day: thank God for the sunshine, and we can get out -  even if not very far.

Yesterday's funeral was a beautiful, intimate service, full of love. And no crowds turned up: the bush telegraph had done its work. There were tears, there was laughter, there were prayers, there was Shirley Bassey! Afterwards, George's widow said: 'It's just what he would have wanted. He didn't like fuss. He would just have wanted his family.' How ironic.

Otherwise, it was a day to Skype and Zoom. I had an hour on Skype with a friend, who is 'on mission' in Peru. Anna lives in Lima, where there is a far more serious lock-down, including an 8pm to 5am total curfew and complete closure of borders. I pray for her in her solitude: her English flatmate is stranded abroad; and of course her church can't meet. For an extrovert like Anna, this is tough.

Then Les and I 'Zoom'd' with family, on our Pete's birthday. Fascinating to see all the family in one go on a screen. A moment to treasure, and yet another gift of today's technology. Afterwards, a Zoom staff meeting with Adrian and Deborah. During Evening Prayer, we realised one disadvantage of Zoom: it's difficult to say (for example) the Lord's Prayer together as the system only allows for one person to speak at a time. At least it encourages the discipline of listening during a meeting!

During Lent (easy to forget about this season!), I decided to follow some material from the Church Mission Society, 'Lament for Lent'. It turns out to have been just the right choice, in the circumstances. The theologian Walter Brueggemann reckons lament is largely absent from our way of thinking in our Western culture, because we are reluctant to face suffering or to embrace negativity. This is at complete variance with the majority of the world where suffering - terrible suffering - is an everyday experience, be it war, famine, extreme poverty, natural disasters unjust regimes and so on. So we in the West have much to learn from the experience of others: think for example of the songs of protest of African-American slaves, or people like Mother Teresa, or Nelson Mandela or Archbishop Desmond Tutu during the apartheid era.

Far from saying 'There can't be a God, to allow this', God is addressed directly: 'Why God, why?' And in the indignation, even the anger, that goes with it, one finds oneself on God's side, doing something about it. As someone has written, 'To lament is to recognise something isn't right and to refuse to be okay with it.' Interestingly, it is reckoned that 40% of the Psalms in the Bible are actually protest songs or laments, directly confronting God, calling upon God to act.

So we shouldn't be taking this Cv business lying down! This is not a holiday! This is a time to rise up and address the problem, as part of the warfare against all that is evil in God's beautiful world. The trouble is, as a culture, we have been spoiled. We expect everything to be ok, we expect to be healthy and strong, and if something goes wrong, we expect 'someone' to sort it, so we can 'move on'. It's the attitude that lies behind President Trump's ridiculous 'All over by Easter' promise!

There are many expressions of goodness and warm humanity at this time: witness the tens of thousands who have responded to the call for volunteers nationally, to help with the work of caring. Can we learn to see that every act of kindness or compassion, every word of encouragement, every stand against negativity or injustice, every prayer, every Eucharist,  - all these things and more - are actually ways in which we are protesting against what is wrong in our world? It is 'recognising that something isn't right and refusing to be okay with it.' In short, we all have to take some responsibility for this Cv crisis and each in our own way, protest against it. We don't have to be a Government minister, a doctor or nurse, to play our part.

Right - time to prepare a talk to record for Sunday. Then some 'gardening' - otherwise known as 'mowing the lawn'. This is the limit of my horticultural effort, I'm afraid. But, to all you keen gardeners, with plenty of time for your passion: God bless the land, and make it fruitful.

Here's a brand new hymn, written for this time. It goes to a number of different tunes, which unless you're a hymn expert like Les (my wife) you probably won't know. Bizarrely, perhaps, it goes to 'O Little Town of Bethlehem.' Try it. Sing it loud! (Les has pointed out that this tune is a bit jaunty for the seriousness of the content, so Sing it Loud - but Sing it Slow.)

This sudden Sabbath gives us pause
to rest and to reflect.
What is the focus of our lives
and what is its effect?
We live within a common world,
whatever race or creed;
for things maintaining life and health,
we share a common need.

For some a love of God becomes the
centre of their prayer,
but such a love’s a hollow boast
when neighbours have no care.
The early Christians took the lead
of Jesus as their style,
to hold in common all they had,
to go the second mile.

When people safe-guard all they have,
while others queue in fear,
when those who have are given more,
while hunger’s drawing near;
where is our faith, our common love,
as cries become more stark,
when poverty crowds round our door,
the future clouded, dark?

Now is the moment for us all
to live what we confess,
to live within community
the faith that we profess.
Then let us stand as one with all
we share a common birth,
that on until eternity
love holds each life on earth.

Andrew Pratt 18/3/2020 – In response to the Coronavirus pandemic.

A Long Good Friday

Yesterday was the first day of the new regime. So I was at home all day, apart from a walk in the evening to prepare the church for today's funeral. All very quiet. My colleague Adrian and I got to grips with 'Zoom' - a platform for group conversations on line. We hope to have a staff meeting this evening with this medium. There was also a lot of thinking and planning about an online service on Sunday, with Gareth continuing to develop new video techniques. It will be a 'service' filmed from different people's homes and gardens: it will be 'A Tale of Two Sisters', to get you thinking!

Today's funeral has been problematic. The man who has died was a much loved and respected, elderly gentleman with a close family. He and his wife have lived in the village for their entire married life, running a slaughterhouse and butchers here for many years, and being much involved in village life, including (formerly) church. He was also a committed Rotarian, well known in both farming and business communities. Normally, we would expect 200-300 people at his funeral. But not today. Although funerals can still go ahead, they should only be brief graveside ceremonies, with minimum number of people, standing well apart. So we have had to do a lot of last-minute negotiation, effectively banning people from coming, apart from family. It is all so sad, and the very opposite of what we would normally encourage. However, we have agreed there will be a memorial service later in the year - and a bit of a party!

When World War 2 was declared in September 1939, for 8 months there was what came to be called a 'phoney war'. War was real enough, but it didn't impact much on British life as the action was happening more on the Continent. It feels like there has been a 'phoney war' for some weeks now. We have all known about Cv, but somehow the reality hasn't kicked in. This may explain why so many people just don't seem to get it, acting as if this is some kind of holiday. Well, it's real enough now!

Last night's news was incredibly sober: statistics predicting a sharp rise in infections and deaths; a very sick woman, through her oxygen mask, telling us all to 'be careful'; and three junior doctors, exhaustedly telling us what it's like on the frontline of medical care for virus sufferers. This is serious. People I know could die. I could die.

I'm trying to think ahead to Good Friday and Easter. How on earth will we keep this most important weekend in the Christian calendar, when we can't go to church? It seems to me that Good Friday has already begun, in a sense. A long journey to a cross of much suffering. The cry of Jesus, 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' seems very apposite today. An experience of God-forsakeness will become common place, and we need to enter that experience together - not rushing on to speak glibly about Easter: 'It will be all right in the end.' Nevertheless, holding on to hope, of love triumphant, of death defeated, of endless Sabbath will be a vital Christian contribution in our day.

Dear God,

Being alone is hard. We were created for community, not confinement.

But we’re grateful that no matter how alone we may feel, You never leave or forsake us. And, we’re grateful for technology that helps us stay in touch with each other.

Today, please remind us that this time of social distancing and isolation will not last forever.

Give us the strength to endure this difficult season, and deepen our connection with You and Your people.

Empower us with an extra dose of Your love, peace, hope and joy, because we need it. Remind us of Your promises, and please heal our land.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

© Life.Church / YouVersion

What's Going On?

Even with the sombre announcement last night, there is still a lot of humour around. Next weekend, the clocks go forward at the start of British Summer Time. Someone has suggested they go forward six months. Yep - that should do it!

Yesterday, for me, was largely taken up with the preparation and conduct of two funerals. Both were for elderly ladies, neither of whom had died through Cv. Attendance at both was very small. Naturally, the friends of the deceased, being largely elderly themselves, stayed away. Others would have had to travel long distances, so they also stayed away. The small numbers added to the sadness of the occasion, and I felt for the family members present. It was particularly sad as there was something distinguished about both ladies, and I'm sure there would have been quite a crowd in normal circumstances.

The second funeral was held in one of our town churches, but the burial was out in the country, in a family grave. (Camerton, for those who know it.) I have been there before, on a walk but not for a burial. It is a breathtakingly beautiful place. You arrive on high ground, and look down on the cemetery, which is by the river: it floods in stormy weather. There are wonderful views all around. It was a fine day, and all day there was a sense of unreality: the scenery being in stark contrast to what we know is going on.

So what is going on? The Unintended Sabbath has begun. Yesterday, I opened up a discussion about warfare as a metaphor to frame our present catastrophe. We are 'at war' against Cv, against germs and microbes. According to this view, it follows that when this is 'defeated' -  through a combination of social distancing, rigorous hygiene, medical care and scientific advance - no more cases are diagnosed, then we can go 'back to normal.' But of course, that is not true. At best, there will be a new normal.

The Christian understanding of the world goes something like this. God created a beautiful world for all to enjoy; with human beings, made in God's image, sharing God's responsibility for treasuring, tending and enjoying what God had made. But humans - we - have used creation as a playground, or a source of limitless pleasure for ourselves and in consequence have spoiled the world and fallen short of what God intended us to be. We have forgotten Sabbath - the practice of rest and appreciation.

And why? It's what the Bible calls 'sin' - what Martin Luther described as 'turned in on ourselves' - basically falling out with God, doing our own thing rather than God's.

Fortunately, God hasn't given up on us. Jesus Christ, God's Son, entered our world (or rather, God's world) in order to reclaim it, to show us the way back to God. By his death on the cross, he took upon himself all the 'bad stuff' in life, and killed it. By his rising to life, he proved the war is won. But the war is not over! Indeed, when we turn round, face God-wards, by faith choose the Jesus Way, we join the battle against all that is anti-God - including viruses, famine, earthquakes, floods, greed, violence, abuse, cruelty, and war itself. And death is, according to the Bible,  'the last enemy to be destroyed'.

But here's the thing. We can't fight these things ourselves. We fight with spiritual weapons such as prayer and worship, love and compassion, purity of lives. And God gives us the Holy Spirit to help us.

I like the way C.S Lewis describes this in 'Mere Christianity':

Enemy-occupied territory - that is what this world is. Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, landed you might say in disguise, and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage.

So when we engage with others in fighting this present battle, we are 'sabotaging' just one of many acts of aggression by 'the Enemy', in the Name of Jesus. But the war is won: in the Bible, Isaiah 65 and Revelation 21 both speak of the 'new heaven and new earth', when all wrongs will be righted and the world's settings will be re-set, according to the Maker's instructions.

That's a rather rough, unpolished view of things from a Christian perspective. I find it helpful to put our present struggle into a wider frame of reference.

To end on a lighter note. We're told that christenings, among other things, are cancelled. With this 'stay at home' strategy, I suspect we might be doing rather more of them around the turn of the year!!