Family impressions

Families... Families are many things to many people. There are I believe many different models and forms. Each is different both in shape and in its dynamics. That is because each of us are different and unique, so it stands to reason that every family in the world is different.
I have been reflecting on families this Holy week. Families out and about on school holiday get-aways, families sitting by the bedside of loved ones in the hospitals I serve. Families where there is break up and unhappiness. Families where members have literally disappeared, such as the Malaysia airlines flight and the South Korean Ferry disaster.
I once heard tell that in the bible there are so many different models of family (I can't remember the exact number) and I guess that is right, because who can actually define what a family has to look like.
My family has changed over the years, I suppose all of our families do, we grow up, we meet people along the journey who join us. Sadly some of these relationships are transitory and we lose people or make an active decision to walk away from people who are destructive. But each connection we make, each person we call family leaves an impression on us. Sometimes the impression is one that reminds us of the danger signs and calls us to proceed with a little caution, but thankfully impressions are also reminders and mind-jogs of the good in our family, our friends and ourselves.

I am blessed in having had people in my life whose impression have and still do offer to me goodness, happiness, wisdom and a fair share of fun. As I ponder on these folks and their contribution to who I have become and continue to become, I wonder, what impression do I leave on others? Not a "I hope I made a good impression and that they like me" kind of thing, but a do I leave hope and love with people? Extending this I wonder, what kind of impression does my family leave on people?

I am certain after the antics of my children this week some people will forever believe that the Happy Ever After Fairy and Batman can pop up in the most strange places - The Crown Jewels, the Natural History museum and the Good Friday walk of witness. Everyone needs something to smile at, (Beefeaters included) and they certainly caused a lot of smiles on their travels. I wonder if also in a small way, Batman telling the whole carriage on the train that he loves his mummies, made an impression.

You see I don't think my family is a threat to society or to the institution of marriage. I think it is just one family amongst thousands. A family which currently includes Batman and the Happy Ever After Fairy, but tomorrow may have the 'coming down off Easter Eggs' Monsters. A family that happens to have 2 mummies, 1 daddy, 3 Grandpas, 2 grandmas, and an awesome host of aunties, uncles, cousins and godparents.

We are unique as a family yet we are the same as other families. One day, I believe, I wont have to write cynical grumpy letters and blogs to authority figures and groups who believe my family leaves no impression of worth or goodness in the world. On this day, this day of hope in the Christian calendar, I am thankful for my family in its uniqueness and in its impression making. Tomorrow I will be thankful as I was thankful yesterday, and will continue to be so.

So whatever your family looks like, whoever your family is made up of; those gone before us, those to come, those we mourn and those we miss, may this day, this night and onward be one of hope, one of love and one that leaves impressions upon others. Because the person whose resurrection, Christians celebrate today, certainly had a family make up that made an impression on the world.

May the blessings of love, hope, goodness, wisdom and fun, be with you and yours this Easter and always.

Marriage pondering

 I have tried not to write a note but have been pondering on this matter for some time now, firstly because it is topical and secondly because I have been asked to speak about it, to a group in a couple of weeks. Probably they will be mostly hurling rocks at me so I thought I would put my thoughts down on here first, because until technology gets even better, you cant throw a rock at via facebook!!
I think God is weeping at gay marriage. There I said it! God is weeping at gay marriage.
I think God is weeping at the gay marriage debates and arguments and here is why....
Because tonight in Syria children will go to sleep frightened that chemical weapons will be used against them in their beds.
Because tonight children in Iraq and Afghanistan will go to sleep wondering if when they go to school tomorrow if someone will blow them up.
Because tonight in Africa as the darkness falls, children will be bitten by mosquitoes, contract malaria and more than likely die from a preventable disease.
Because tonight a child will die of dehydration in any one of a number of countries where that most basic of needs, clean water, is not available,
Because tonight female children who have been married off, when they are 15 or younger will die in child birth.
Because tonight children in Byker, Walker, the West End and numerous other inner city deprivation areas will go to bed hungry because the food banks they rely on are running out of supplies.
Because tonight a male child will hang himself because of being bullied.
Becaue tonight sibling children will sit together terrified of the noise of domestic violence occuring in their home, wondering when the punching parent will weave their way into their bedroom.
God is weeping at gay marriage not because it is the cause of these things, but because the cure to  these things is being delayed, while politicians, religious leaders and those who are expending their energy campaigning to stop two people loving one another are not using their energy for the good.
God is weeping at gay marriage, and so do I.

John and Nelson

This morning I wanted to pay an all too brief look at two men, two prophetic activists. One called John and the other Nelson.

In our reading we heard the words of John the Baptist, strong words, real fire and brimstone preaching, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

His message was so strong that people listened, religious leaders came to hear him speak, others walked long distances to witness his ministry. His arrival marked the end of a 400 year prophetic silence and he wasn’t afraid to make enemies.

During Nelson Mandela’s defence at his trial in 1964, instead of responding to the charges, Mandela chose to make speech that was to electrify the courtroom, South Africa and the world.

It ended with the words: "I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities."

"It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."

At the end of that trial, Mr Mandela was sentenced to life imprisonment and he was taken from public view for some 27 years. It became an offence to speak his words, to display his picture, yet those words spoken then, became the manifesto for the anti-apartheid movement. I had the great privilege of visiting the Apartheid museum when I was working in South Africa, I watched the speech on a screen surrounded by the visible evidence of the horrors of oppression and hate, and I was deeply moved by this great man’s dignity and strength, even when facing a potential death sentence.

John the Baptist similarly spoke what he knew in his heart to be true. He must also have been aware of the danger his words and actions would put him in, yet he faced down the oppressors and those who were abusing their powers and thus abusing the people given in to their care. Yet he spoke the words that needed to be spoken to them whilst also baptising those who repented and looked to him for guidance and leadership.

These two men separated in history by time, yet whose names we know today and I believe we will know many years from now. Men who not only spoke up for what they believed was right but also dedicated their lives to changing the world and people around them, no matter what the ultimate cost would be to them.

Today we remember the prophetic lives of John the Baptist and Nelson Mandela, and not only should we remember them but we should remind ourselves of their call to us to use our freedom to change ourselves and the world around us, remembering in the words of Mr Mandela, that “to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others”.

The power of Hope

Sermon Sunday 10th November 2013




Luke 20: 27 -38 – The power of Hope

The College of St Hild & St Bede, Durham.

 My children’s great grandfather, Cyril was a prisoner of war in Changi Jail, Singapore, held for a long four years by the Japanese during World War 2. It was a cruel and brutal regime. Cyril’s story was moving beyond measure, he was a clergyman in the RAF and whilst in the camp he pastorally cared for those held alongside him. He baptised, celebrated the Eucharist with them, and he conducted their funerals, many many funerals. Yet there is another half of the story, because back home, Cyril’s wife did not know if she was still his wife or had become his widow. She knew he had been captured but had heard nothing else for 3 years. On the liberation of the camp, the London Illustrated News published a photograph of a confirmation service at the camp, for the many men who had been prepared for confirmation during their imprisonment, and the gaunt RAF chaplain who had ministered to them.  A member of the family took the paper to his wife and said, “is that not Cyril?” It was not until then that she could believe she was still a wife and not yet a widow.

Today we remember those who have died in wars and conflicts over the years. Those who went away and never came home. We remember those who have come home, but are not the men and women who went away to serve in theatres of war and conflict across the globe. And today we also remember those left behind. The widows, which in this time of modernity includes men. When we hear the term widow it is easy to conjure up images of Royal Wootton Bassett and the numerous repatriation ceremonies, coffin after coffin being driven through the streets. And in the next few days Sgt Maj Ian Fisher will be repatriated home, and we also remember those who were wounded alongside him some receiving life changing injuries. Yet there are other widows. Those from the world wars for whom there was no body to bring home, because bodies literally sank into the mud of the battlefields. For those buried as unknown in graves across the world. For those like Cyril’s wife who live in a limbo as a widow yet with the faintest hope that those listed as missing in action, would be found and returned home. Sergeant Bergdahl of the US infantry is one such soldier, he has been listed as missing in action since 2009 and is believed to still being held by the Taliban. The recent book and film, “Salmon fishing in the Yemen” tackles this very grief and uncertainty, well. There are those whose loved ones return and yet either through physical, mental or spiritual injury are changed beyond recognition, and so their partners are bereaved of the person who went away, widows in a very real sense.

 

And today on this remembrance Sunday the gospel reading draws our attention to another widow. We are told that the Sadducees, who were a well educated, sophisticated, influential and wealthy sect at the time of Jesus, give to Jesus a sort of riddle  -there’s a woman who marries seven times –and not just seven times, but seven brothers, in succession. Each brother dies, leaving her a widow. Last of all the woman dies also. Therefore, in the resurrection, whose wife does she become? For all seven had her as a wife.” We cannot believe that they were genuinely interested in the question – they were using it as a riddle to trap Jesus – there was no right answer. How much less then would they have been interested in the woman at the centre of their question?  Widows in Jesus time had little status or security - she was a piece of property to be married on, seven times. The Jewish law which instructed a man to marry his dead brother’s widow was partly to protect the widow from destitution, but more to protect the property, including heirs, of the dead man.   The Sadducees question not only tried to trick Jesus into an un-answerable riddle, it also showed no compassion or thought of any sort for the object of the riddle – the widow.  Jesus’s response gives the fictional widow back her humanity, her importance as an individual: “Those who are considered worthy of a place in that age….are like angels and are children of God”.  Jesus reminds them that in the age to come, our lives will be lived on a completely different principle, in a dimension that we can’t imagine. We know it won’t be the same as what we know on earth, we can’t say for sure what it will all be like in heaven – but we know that we won’t be disappointed.

 

I wonder if there were widows there, listening to Jesus’ words. How did they feel? Were there some feeling bereaved, frightened, alone? In their grief, did they hope they would be cared for and loved again? What hope might they have found in these words of Jesus, words pointing to a God who would keep promises and enact justice beyond the boundaries of this world.

St Paul says “Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but when the end comes, “we will see face to face. Now, I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.”

The Christian dispensation acknowledges that we do not know, we do not have control, we are not in charge. But what we can have, in the worst of times is hope. Hope that beyond death it is not simply the continuation of what now is.

In my time as a military police officer I have experienced violence and conflict around me that has made me think I might very soon be face to face with the answers. I have been frightened beyond measure and enraged at the injustice and brutality of humanity. I was a witness to the genocide taking place in Bosnia when I served there in the early nineties, and in those darkest of times I had to hope that what was happening around us would stop and that there would be a better world when the fighting ended. In this last week I have been transported back 19 years ago with the news of the discovery of a mass war grave that has a potential 1000 bodies in north – west Bosnia. 1000 people buried, countless relatives left wondering if they are wives or widows. Have those left behind kept hope?

 Over the last ten years I have attended the funerals of my regimental friends and family. I have spoken to those ‘widows’ left behind, I have been to see friends with life changing injuries and spent time with their widows. What have I learned, what have I seen?

I have learnt that widows have hope. It comes in many forms and guises; some hope that those they loved did not give their lives in vain. There is hope that those killed and maimed in action have left behind a world which is slightly better because of their sacrifice. There are hopes that injuries of body, mind and soul will heal, that one day the person who went to war will hopefully return. For some their hope is in their children, for others there is only the hope that they will meet again with their loved ones beyond this world in a better place.

This college has its own litany of hope. The hope of the young Bede  men who marched from here to serve in the first and second world wars, a hope that they were contributing to tackling an evil shadow in the world. Those members of the Bede college company of the Durham Light Infantry  who died at the battle of Gravenstafel Ridge in 1915, when gas was used for one of the first. Again serving and dying to try and make the world a better place. Hild-Bede students have fought and died in combat in Iraq, and today you as a college remember all of your own who have and who continue to serve in our armed forces.

In the darkest of times, at those moments in individuals lives when it seems all is lost, even if just in a glimmer we can see hope, then we catch a glimpse of the knowing fully that St Paul spoke of.

I return to Cyril, in the blackest of places as a prisoner of a brutal regime, preparing men for confirmation in the hope that the war would end with their freedom. Who in his ministry offered to desperate frightened soldiers a glimmer of a world in which life will rise out of the ashes of horror and destruction. It is worth noting that when Cyril, much later in life, became a bishop himself, he had his wartime medals melted down to make into his pectoral cross, the cross being to Christians the ultimate symbol of hope, of life overcoming death.

This remembrancetide, let us remember the dead but also let us remember the power of hope.

In response to the pastoral (not entirely sure it is this) guidance on same sex marriage

Where and how does one begin to write when still reeling from the pastoral guidance issued yesterday by the bishops. Having spent the whole night awake and swinging between sobbing and total cold rage, I would have thought I would have some publishable thoughts by now, but all I can offer now is a stream of consciousness.

My first point is the ironic timing of the release of this statement. No one could have missed the not so anonymous love letter from the bishops to their people was couriered by cupid itself and landed on Valentines day – wow really thanks you shouldn’t have – no really you shouldn’t have! Secondly on the day that this guidance was issued (thus effectively shutting the door on people’s vocations and I am quite sure for some of us, the door on the denomination of our upbringing) the press was running an article about how Vicars are needed to fill the many vacancies in the church (http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/feb/15/vicars-needed-church-england-fight?CMP=twt_fd ). Hmm, now I am not saying there is a full battalion of us gayers waiting in the ranks to fill the gaps, certainly at the minute we are far too busy making it rain in the south, but, I do have to wonder how many people discerning their call have this weekend realised that the church of England is not the place for them.

I’m not big into the gay thing, I don’t like having to mention it, I don’t like having to decide to out myself when I meet new people. I am very good at being gender neutral when I am with patients at work and they assume my wedding ring means there is a husband at home. My long suffering partner knows how uncomfortable I get being boxed and labelled as the gay ones and how I routinely discourage their (see done it again) touch in public. I have good reason to be a not-so-keen gay person. All it has ever seemed to bring is heartache and pain. My military career was cut short because of it, organised religion is not so keen on my sort either (I think maybe I’m not getting very good careers advice). When I left the military I came to the point when I believed that I was unlovable, unlovable and thus pointless. It wasn’t losing career, the friends, the lifestyle, that I could have dealt with. No, the tipping point came when I believed that I was not loved by God and could not be loved by God because I was and still am gay. I don’t bounce round the place flying rainbow flags here there and everywhere, because to be brutally honest it would be terrific to be straight, but I am not made like that. Because I’m not made like that I live with the tension of coming-out over and over again, with people hurling abuse at us in the street or writing on our car.  I have managed the tension between being gay and serving a church that condemns who I am, until this weekend.
You see this weekend, the bishops, the people in the ivory tower who write their pastoral messages and the ugly spectre of discrimination arrived in my in-box. This latest message that has the audacity to begin with, “We write as fellow disciples of Jesus Christ who are called to love one another as Christ has loved us”  and then promptly and with great precision dismantles people’s lives and love. In the midst of this dismantling I realised that the tension with which I have held my sexuality and my church has been torn apart. This letter closes the door on any hope for me as person of faith within organised religion. It closes the door on youngsters who are exploring their vocation and their sexuality. It drives love underground. It breeds fear and anxiety. It destroys people’s faith and belief  in a God who loves them, just as they are. This letter opens the door to fundamentalists and conservatives to drive out the unclean in their midst and do you know what, when they have driven us, the gays away, they’ll move on to the next group that doesn’t fit their view of the scriptures. You, the divorcees, the single parents, those who don’t sit with the right political views, you’ll be next. This isn’t a matter of the gays getting vocal and restless again. This is a matter of justice. It is a matter of saying “not in my name, this was not done in my name, which I am pretty sure is what Christ is saying today.” These are my thoughts today, thoughts of a hurting, bleeding Christian from what feels like that place of abandonment that is the cross. Tomorrow or in the days to come, I hope the tears will clear enough to see beyond the pain to an empty cross and the hope that brings

Don't blame us, blame the bad guys

So I thought I would take some time out from planning my next meteorological strike on the straights and have a break from orchestrating genocide in Africa to put my rainbow tainted fingers to the keyboard… again… well Call the Midwife and Musketeers has finished!

I do have to wonder what one has to do to get through to some folks – so let’s get the weather out of the way once again – Gay people do not control the weather, and seriously if we did, it would be rainbows and sparkles not sand, rain, fog and gloom – frankly dahlings it just wouldn’t look good.

Now on to the more serious note within this missive. Gay people are not responsible for the killing of African people. Indeed as astonishing as some may find this – some Africans are gay, I know what a shock! I have had simultaneously the delight and despair of working in Nigeria, Kenya and South Africa. Working within and for the gay communities as they campaign for access to HIV/AIDS medication, for policing agencies to recognise and protect their vulnerabilities and to dare to ask the mainstream churches  and theological colleges to engage with liberation theology that would be transformative for the lives of many.

I can hand on heart say that at no point on my travels to this most beautiful continent did I orchestrate slaughter, ethnic cleansing or even engage in hunting safari animals. I witnessed and received love and hospitality from people who had nothing to give and was ignored by those who wore the clerical attire of the Anglican communion.

What I further witnessed in Africa during my visits there was the fear of those who lived in hiding, I heard the stories of those beaten and victims of sexual violence because of their sexuality, and in some cases because of their gender. What I witnessed and heard testimony of was of violence and brutality metered out by majorities against minority groups of all sorts.

When I served in Bosnia during the genocide, I again watched and saw the result of inhumanity inflicted by humankind. I do not recall sexuality being an issue in the atrocities we witnessed. I recall it being brutal and life altering for those of us who served there. It was there I first became aware that in this flawed world of ours there are people and groups of people for whom violence and terrible destruction is an option.

Volf, a Croatian theologian, writing about his experience of the war in his country, in the book Exclusion and Embrace, wrote ““Most wars feed on hate, and the masters of war know how to manufacture it well. It is the proportions of the Balkan hate and its rawness right there on the fringes of what some thought to be civilised Europe that causes us to stagger.”

This statement,  I guess is a grown up way of saying what I am trying to articulate in the paragraph above it. People who are gay and in love are not the cause of violence in Africa or elsewhere. People are the cause of violence across the world. For the Archbishop of Canterbury to infer that gay marriage will cause death and slaughter of Christians, is in my humble uneducated opinion a deeply offensive and quite simply naïve standpoint.

Gustavo Gutierrez cited in the Cambridge Companion to Liberation Theology states that, “liberation theology has its origins in the reality of the ‘premature and unjust death of many people’”. (Rowland, 2007:3) I have learnt that my theology, my beliefs and values were radically shaped by my experiences in Bosnia. Prior to my tours there, my faith was naïve. I did not have any comprehension about the true extent of humankind’s ability to commit terrible sin. Now I do and because of this I now holdfast to a creed that says all people are equal and valued by God. I am not saying that ABC’s experience of a mass grave is in anyway less harrowing than my experience of genocide, but that as a man who holds a level of influence and media interest, he really ought to be condemning those who commit such violence and not cutting lose those who are in living in love. Because the last time I looked it was a gospel of love not a gospel of violence that was being preached by a radical bloke 2000 years ago, and who this church that the ABC leads, allegedly follows.

 

Come on ABC, don’t blame it on the sunshine, don’t blame it on the gay boogie, blame it on the bad guys.