(A 200 year old pine clinging to the coastline south of Monterey, California. October 2018. My photo)
Relax! No rants, just a dip into autobiography, and a short paddle into philosophy.
I’m feeling more and more these days that I don’t belong.
It’s not always a comfortable feeling. Many of the things I’ve always taken to be true are not fashionable, or even acceptable any more. This may be because, I’m told, I’m old.
The ‘old’ bit could be true. The physical evidence is undeniable and I’ve been around the block a few times. Older people don’t like change it seems, particularly experiments with social change and the like.
Which is interesting, puzzling even, as I think I’m much more radical now than ever I was. Back when, apparently, I should have been tuning in and dropping out or whatever, I was too busy scrambling out of a dysfunctional upbringing. I know, I know. Disturbed kids are rebellious kids. Not this young chap however. I doubled down and studied harder. I tried everything I knew to conform so my parents, and older people in general, would notice and approve of me. All in vain of course. My youth would have been better spent being variously outrageous and troublesome.
Now that’s the truth!
So I more or less missed the youthful rebellion phase when they tell me I should have thrown away baggage and inhibitions, and found myself. Many of my friends (at least the ‘cooler’ ones) dived into that pool and swam to the other end. Most made it. Some stayed treading water and never actually got out. Me? I dipped my toes in, looked around, and went back to the dressing room.
I was always out of step, at whatever age. Now a card carrying dinosaur, I’m still putting one foot forward when I see everyone around stepping off with the other one. Is it a curse or a blessing to wander down side paths habitually, when I could choose cruise control on a multi lane highway? In my youth it was definitely a curse! The fear of ‘not fitting in’ was immobilising then, and I’m sure little has changed. With age and maturity I’ve come to appreciate being a bit out of step. I’ve become quite good at it, and I sometimes even get to see things others don’t.
I’ve started to understand that being radical is not something that comes gift wrapped with the causes we champion. Calling ourselves an ‘activist’ does not mean we are necessarily ‘radical’ in any way. There are far more conforming activists around than there are radical ones. A radical stands, more or less by definition, on the fringes, or outside the herd altogether.
It is much easier to raise the flag as a conforming activist when all your friends are doing the same, than it is to be a radical one when you are doing it by yourself. The former doesn’t expose you to outrage or exclusion, whereas the latter almost certainly will.
I see a lot of people around me falling in behind fashionable causes that allow them to parade their moral credentials yet cost them nothing. Their causes are possibly noble, but they themselves are not at the vanguard of anything much, as they moo along with the herd.
I’m not at the vanguard of anything much either, but I’m beginning to realise that many of the people I pass in the street these days would label my beliefs and values radical. That’s quite an unsettling insight for someone who has spent a lifetime trying to avoid rebelliousness. The ‘not fitting in’ bit I’m used to. The ‘radical’ bit is novel.
Yes, I am more radical now than at any time in my life. I’ve grown used to not travelling with the herd, and I even sort of like it. Certainly I’m not bothered by what people will think (or what I think they will think). If popular opinion has turned its face from me because I don’t worship at the altars of the various compelling popular social causes, I have no option but to accept that I have become a radical.
I’m getting older, I’m a dinosaur, and maybe I should just shut up, but I’ve never trundled along with the herd without asking awkward questions, and it’s a bit late to start.
So it amuses me now to see how the pattern has reversed itself. People of my age who used to think themselves radical, are now the mainstream and conform themselves to the zeitgeist, insisting that others do too. I’m not sure how many now realise they were always conforming and not the individuals they imagined.
Ever the misfit, I who wanted to conform then, but couldn’t manage it, now find myself still out of step, but now in a gentle radical sort of way.
Some people never learn.
(Church in Vilnius, Lithuania. My photo. August 2017)
(No. And why its not even important.)
Close the gates! Circle the wagons! The barbarians are coming!
It seems Christians are feeling the pressure. They’re called names; demonised and ostracised on social media; and are living with the repeal of laws and customs that saw Christianity sitting comfortably at the centre of public life for so long. Their beliefs are ridiculed, leaders discredited, traditions trashed, and for good measure, it seems as if the very ground they stand on is being eroded.
I haven’t done any formal opinion surveys but I don’t think I’m too wide of the mark. I am one of them after all.
Many of us have felt intimidated by the in-your-face, raised-middle-finger atheism of Richard Dawkins and his disciples. We’ve recoiled in disgust at the craven responses of our leaders to sexual abuse scandals. Changes to traditional marriage have seen spouses replaced by partners. The concept that life is a sacred gift, once widely held, has largely disappeared from statutes and from public discourse. The transcendental has given way to the utilitarian; the sacred to the profane; self denial to self indulgence, or so it seems.
I could go on ( . . . and on). I really only wanted to illustrate why many Christians might be feeling a little on the outer these days. After a millenium and a half of cosying up to government and the establishment, the Church finds itself, in the space of a couple of generations, no longer listened to, and subject to challenges that would until recently have been unthinkable. The changes are huge, especially for a Church and its people grown fat and comfortable thinking Christianity was synonymous with social conservatism. It was, and is, nothing of the sort of course. The Christian message is deeply subversive and revolutionary.
So ‘Is Religious Freedom Necessary?’
It depends on where you’re coming from. So maybe I can cut to the chase by just say in plain words what I think most Christians mean when they talk about it?
I think they mean ‘leave us alone in peace to continue as we’ve always done’.
I have a problem with this. I think it is lazy and misconceived. It may be attractive to people, like me, who have grown used to a comfortable religious observance that doesn’t challenge the status quo, mainly because it has arisen from within that status quo! Comfortable and secure it may have been, but it is no longer reality for western Christians, and has never been reality for our sisters and brothers in non western countries.
Crying out for legal protection in the current circumstances is pathetic. It is born of a sense of entitlement and betrays a perverted view of Christian faith; one that is domesticated, diluted, and stunted. One that has ceded its authority and is willing to live on the coat tails of the secular state’s benevolence, because it has forgotten its real reason for being.
I don’t think Christians should be asking for religious freedom. Still less should they be asking for it on the terms the secular authorities are willing to grant it. We answer to a higher authority and do not need secular permission to be who we are. We are called to be salt and light in the world, not to conform ourselves to the world.
Just do it.
Christians managed to change the world and turn it on its head very effectively in the early years of the Church by remaining outside the status quo, on the fringes of society. The early church had no privileges extended to it and certainly did not rely on the state for its existence. Why does it think it needs these things today?
Early Christians just went out and did it, sucessfully, in the face of violent and cruel repression. They would laugh at what we think are our problems.
Christian agitation for religious freedom laws is, in my opinion, a reaction to having had the lolly jar taken away. We have grown fat and comfortable in a privileged position for so long. We are Christ followers. As we go about our Lord’s work, we do not need anyone’s permission, or laws drafted to protect our status. Secular laws and privileges are a distraction. They are not and never will be the main game for Christians. It’s time we remembered that.
Is there an Alternative?
We could decide to try being seriously radical and live what we say we believe.
We could try being living examples of Christian love in the world, rather than crying for special laws in a vain attempt to protect the unearned privileges we have become all too accustomed to.
Wouldn’t that be good news to our sisters and brothers who live without hope and love?
(Hill of Crosses, Lithuania. My photo. August 2017)
(Dawn at Grand Canyon. Arizona, U.S.A. September 2018. My photo)
I have been a church attender for the past 24 years. That may be about to change.
Overall, it’s been a positive experience, attending church. There is something about regular church attendance. It’s brought me many friends and the company of people I am at ease with. It’s also over the years brought me spiritual growth and a degree of maturity.
In my teens and twenties I flirted with religion on and off – but mostly off. I danced around on the periphery of Christian youth groups, charismatic renewal gatherings, and even attended a local church for a short while. Most of that earlier life I was aware of a spiritual dimension in a detached sense. There were times when I wasn’t taking much notice, but now and again I experienced it powerfully and intimately. After major personal upheavals I came back into the fold as a regular church goer at the tender age of 41.
The years before I came back to ‘religion’ were a mix of highs and lows; chasing mirages and pointless ambitions. In contrast, the 24 years since have been kinder ones mostly, even if I am becoming less and less inspired by weekly worship and more and more troubled by the attitudes I encounter in my church.
It’s been tempting to compare my church attending period with that which preceeded it, and to draw the conclusion that ‘religion’ has been the saving grace of my life. I might have expressed it that way once, and there is more than a grain of truth in it, but now I think that would be to confuse religion with faith; and to misunderstand both.
The Christian religion has been, and continues to be for me, a vehicle helping me to understand things, and get to places I might never have gone, let alone known they existed. With the emphasis on the word ‘religion’, I recognise it has been a means to help me get there, rather than being the destination itself.
(Fashion inspired by Catholicism at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. My photo)
Religion is, at its heart, about power and control. It concerns itself with who is an insider and who is not; with positions and titles; and with budgets and business plans. It is a hollow shell when it neglects its central reason for being.
I no longer consider ‘religion’ the saving grace of my life. Instead, I realise with a humbling clarity that it is the person of Jesus Christ who has been that saving grace.
As a result of recent experiences, I have a strong sense of calling to be a truth teller. ‘The truth’ is a theme that continues to tug at me these days. I do not mean that I want to go out and proclaim the truth of the Gospel on street corners. We introverts find that very unappealing. I am talking about Christian authenticity, and the mess Christian communities get themselves into when they lose focus on that.
It occurs to me that so much of the spiritual desert in which the Christian church has found itself, has been caused by its failure, institutional and local, to provide authentic leadership; to name and face the truth. We have mired ourselves in platitudes, rather than engage with the Gospel. We worship tradition, and have opted for comfort rather than confrontation. We have sacrificed truth to protect reputations, and sometimes egos. We also do not like our truth tellers.
The collective leadership of my institutional church appears more interested in maintaining the status quo than in being bearers of good news. My own congregation puts far more energy into fund raising and balancing its budget than into being the hands and feet of Jesus. I am deeply disappointed by and disillusioned with what passes for pastoral leadership at all levels in my church. Leaders often are timid, lack passion and authenticity, and are ineffectual.
That, in a kernel, is why I am no longer a guaranteed regular church attender.
I look forward to my imperfect church demonstrating that reputation and power of themselves mean nothing. I would like to see its leaders actually lead. Now that would impress me!
I still have my faith, and haven’t given up on organized religion; just tired of egos and reputations taking precedence over authenticity . . . really tired of it.
In Jesus’ own words, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
(Scottsdale, Arizona. September 2018. My photo)
Apologies for the versing. The software won’t let me insert paragraph breaks for some reason.
After the Funeral
Samurai or butterfly?
Razor edged, transient,
Stuttering fingers of flame;
flashes of colour over grey.
Shopping Centre orchids to bloom once and only;
delicate, temporary, wonder patterns
always, we’ll be.
Tomorrow, yesterday’s love.
We don’t ask why.
. . . Maybe.
(Southport, Queensland. October 2018. My photo)
Hot day. Bright sun. Saturated, lifeless air.
Sweat oozes and trickles, even in the shade.
Eyes scan upwards and hope for relief
which mercifully appears on cue.
The clear blue of a summer sky gone in minutes;
clouds building as they move in from the west.
Light suddenly softer,
shadows fade and colours bloom
Heads turn to the sky and nod.
Dark, deepening cloud banks boil
above the summer heat.
Close the doors and windows.
Stand and watch the gathering storm.
as zephyrs twirl leaves and cool your face.
Half forgotten memories emerge
of faces pressed to windows,
little bodies shivering but safe as bright flashes
announce booming smashing thunder crashes.
You expect the noise but always jump, just a little;
as you did when you were five.
The first few raindrops are released
from ominously pregnant clouds
and they begin to tap tentatively,
experimentally even, increasing in tempo and confidence.
Rain begins to rattle on a sloping metal roof.
A flash is followed closely by an enormous bang
and you think ‘that was close’.
Too soon, the sound of the rain softens,
and allows you to hear downpipes run.
The thunder claps become distant rumbles;
like the victory roars of a departing giant,
gone on to other battles over the horizon.
The sound of car tyres on wet bitumen,
announce the obvious:
(Haight Ashbury district, San Francisco September 2018. My photo)
Somehow different, not sure why;
just don’t get it.
small talk looks so easy,
natural as the day
an unclimbable cliff for me.
social chit chat;
guts twist at the prospect
of drinks at 6:
small talk exhausted in two or three sentences.
seek an avenue of escape;
and scurry to a corner
where I can pretend
not to be isolate.
people in circles excluding me
backs of heads
everywhere nodding and shaking,
lips smiling and moving;
complicit in a secret
I cannot be part of.
I have come to seek and save the lost, you said.
Dear Lord, you must have seen me
standing there with desperate eyes.
(Boston waterfront. September 2018. My photo)
The problem unspoken
What mustn’t be uttered
tiptoes and flutters
behind closed shutters.
Rules are changed,
We step aside
for someone else to name
the obscenity behind the game.
From selective blindness
we limp to paralysis,
and hiding substance
in euphemism and lie.
The truth too hard,
too raw to face;
we trade it for a quiet space;
but the elephant remains
in such a stubborn tiny room.
“Why would someone do that?”
The question was posed more than once as we stood there in the morning light, sourced somewhere between incredulity and admiration.
The Crazy Horse memorial is a short drive from the better known U.S. presidential heads carved out of Mt Rushmore in South Dakota. Much larger and more ambitious, the head of Crazy Horse is now freed from its granite mountain after 70 years of constant work. A monument to the culture and history of Native Americans, the project is privately funded, and unlikely to be completed in the lifetime of anyone viewing it today. Reportedly the children and grandchildren of the original sculptor continue to work there.
“Why would someone do that.”
A whole career spent blasting, quarrying and shaping a granite monolith, with no hope of living to see the finished product. The question seemed reasonable enough, and I began to wonder. Why would a person tie themselves to such an intergenerational project?
Does it make any more sense to spend a whole career selling real estate? Would years spent in a classroom, or behind a shop counter, in customer service, on building sites, in an office somewhere, driving a bus, running a small business, playing music or writing poetry be better spent?
Isn’t that what most of us end up doing? Expending our lives without awareness of where our contribution fits, or of our worth?
“How are you going to spend your life, daughter/son?”
“Spend it on a project larger than yourself? Something that has a deep meaning for your people and their history?”
“No, I’ll just bum around, and see what turns up”.
(Prairie Dog pondering his options)
How many of us live life as a spectator? How many live life as a consumer? How many as a victim? How many of us just scratch their heads and wonder what happened? How many of us see ourselves as part of a larger story? How many of us know that our lives have made a difference?
It occurs to me there’s nothing wrong with being a spectator, or a consumer, or selling real estate, or whatever, as long as we don’t become preoccupied, and permit our lives to slip away unnoticed. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get to the end of my life, scratching my head wondering what happened.
Maybe those workers on the Crazy Horse project are on to something after all. There are answers for each one of us in the great narrative. It’s just that some of us never get around to asking the questions.
Finally, an image that kind of, sort of, contributes to my line of thought. Its beauty is a bonus.
(Somewhere in Wyoming. Taken from a bus window)
(My photo Caucusus Mountains, Georgia, 2015)
What use are truth tellers?
In a culture that says life is without meaning?
Where the ‘I’ is more important than the ‘we’?
Where we distract ourselves, chasing possessions, fun and excitement while our lives ebb away?
Where the unborn have value only if they are convenient?
Where we tell the old and those with chronic pain they are a burden?
Where politicians are led by opinion polls and the media?
Where 51% of us reshape laws to confirm our truth at the expense of the rest?
Where church leaders destroy their credibility, choosing reputation over morality?
Where violence is an acceptable tool for those who think they own the truth?
Where its ok to deplatform those with unacceptable ideas?
Where we need safe places to protect us from such ideas?
(My photo taken in Armenia 2015)
First a little about truth.
People who speak the truth are generally nuisances. Their message is inconvenient, sometimes embarassing, always unwelcome. Our culture does not run on truth. The group we identify with determines our truth. What matters is whether we belong, or are an outsider. We are pushed to conform with the zeitgeist, by laws and through social pressure. Those who would control and manipulate us have learned this well. It is comfortable to fit in and be accepted; to have the right opinions. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a social media pile on will no doubt agree.
Could it be that our opinions are shaped by fear? Fear of not fitting in? Of not belonging?
I don’t agree that truth is whatever we want it to be. If you and I part company on that point, so be it. I understand that different people have sincerely held opinions different from mine on a range of topics. We could each be partly correct or we could all be wrong. What we cannot be, if we make incompatible truth claims, is all simultaneously correct.
Also I don’t believe I alone own the truth. There; I’ve said it. But I don’t fall in either with the view that one person’s truth is as valid as anyone else’s. Apart from giving us a warm inner glow, that just leads us nowhere, except in ever decreasing circles.
If there is such a thing as truth, and I believe there is, then even if unpopular or unfashionable, it is worth discovering. How sad it would be if we lived our whole lives in a comfortable delusion, and then we died.
What’s the use of truth tellers? Maybe because we all need to have our ideas challenged now and then. Whether or not they are telling the truth, or are just deluded, if truth tellers make us wrinkle our brows or prick our consciences, in a world where we are shaped by and conform to ideas outside ourselves, that’s not such a bad thing.
(One boundary I did not feel comfortable crossing across a deep gorge in Armenia 2015)
Our culture, and the whole world has a lot of boundaries. I don’t mean geographical borders. Boundaries separate people in more ways than that.
Religious believers/non believers
It seems to me that quite a few of these boundaries are calling out for people to reach across them. Maybe a qualification would be useful: Some boundaries are there for our protection, but others keep us from being fully human. National borders and refugee policies are there to keep us safe. I know some disagree and would have free, uninhibited movement of people across borders.
In general, I don’t think it does us good to put up walls to keep out those who are different. However, when a lack of border control places public order in jeopardy, we need to remember why all countries try to control their borders.
The boundaries that need to be crossed are those that exclude and alienate us from each other. I don’t think we will see the boundaries themselves disappear any time soon. What we are seeing is individuals, like you and I, choosing to cross some of them.
It can be risky for an insider to reach across to an outsider. It can be threatening to stop and really listen to someone with whom we disagree politically. It can seem like a waste of time to give an unlovable person the time of day.
Boundary crossing is certainly not for the faint hearted. Nor is it for those who are wrapped up in their own concerns. Our culture encourages us to erect boundaries rather than to reach across them. I believe our culture has it wrong. Crossing boundaries just may be the only way for us to become fully human.
Think about that.
Truth tellers and boundary crossers. There are not nearly enough of them. Could you be one?
(Below: Feeding the homeless at a Sikh temple in New Delhi 2016)
Sheep somewhere in England. My photo)
I’ve been thinking, which sometimes can be dangerous.
Why do we and our opinions need to be ‘acceptable’?
Who decides what is acceptable? You? Me?
What if my acceptable isn’t your acceptable? Does that make you unacceptable, or me unacceptable?
Clearly some opinions are unacceptable. At least the weight of social media tells us so.
Is this a good thing?
Is it a necessary thing?
Why are we afraid of straying from the herd, in our opinions? Is it because it requires some courage to stand up to group pressure? Why are there costs to thinking differently? Who benefits? Do you? Do I?
Are you amazed how quickly some opinions are pounced on with the zeal and righteousness of a temperance crusader of an earlier time? How quickly the holder of such opinions loses their humanity and has all manner of evil motives attributed? How eagerly we line up to denounce their vileness, rend our garments, and establish our credentials as herd members.
Why do we demonise those with opinions different from ours? Do we feel threatened, or is it that our individuality is the price of a comfortable place in the herd?
This is not a new thing. Humans have done it forever. Without trying very hard I can list a few examples:
• Propaganda and demonisation of the ‘other’ in all wars everywhere and in all times;
• Denunciations of witches in the middle ages;
• Purges in Stalinist Russia;
• Deportation and murder of Jews in Europe;
• Denunciations of communist sympathisers in 1950s USA;
and more recently:
• Demonisation of refugees (everywhere);
• Ostracising of climate change ‘deniers’;
• Smears against Christian, Muslim and other religious believers;
• Demonisation of supporters of left wing, right wing, nationalist, environment or a host of other causes;
• Deplatforming holders of views deemed to be offensive;
• Accusations of racism, sexism, elitism, fascism against just about anybody who doesn’t quickly embrace the spirit of the times;
and so on, and so on.
Do you think there might be a better way to do business?
Life is short. It is precious. Why would we choose to spend it treating each other as if we are pieces of nonsentient slime?
Might there be a better way for you and for me?
Might it be . . . hold the thought . . . that we might lead more balanced, fulfilled lives by accepting outsiders? Might it be that the often vicious demonisation and dehumanisation of others we indulge in on social media and in the way we regard those who are different is what is really killing us all?
Radical idea. I know.
(Stream in Glen Coe, Scotland. My photograph)
You tumbled into being
as you began to walk your life.
I walked sleeping, unaware,
as I became a father twice.
The boy/man, pretending.
His grief not understood,
tried to paper over
stuff his father never could.
How badly I was drifting,
when I left you, thinking
you wouldn’t miss me.
Persuaded you were resilient,
I minimised and rationalised
until I looked, and you were far away.
I would hug the child
in the photo in front of me.
But you’re not three now,
and never again will be.
(A valley in Glen Coe Scotland. My photograph)
A problem unspoken
What mustn’t be uttered
tiptoes and flutters
behind closed shutters
Rules are changed,
waiting for someone else to name
the obscenity behind the game.
and with selective blindness,
Sacrificing truth for a quiet life;
all hoping someone else
will step up and name it.
they limp to paralysis,
and hiding the substance
behind euphemism and lie.
The truth though hard
must be uncovered,
owned and faced.
Elephants leave little space
when they occupy a room.