Seasons (again!)

 

‘Seasons will pass you by,

I get up, I get down’

Yes ‘Close to the Edge’ on the album ‘Close to the Edge’ (1972)

I posted a blog on ‘Seasons’ a few years back. In that post I reflected on how I was entering into the final phase of my full-time Ministry and how I felt about it. I also mentioned that, in looking forward to retirement, some folks spoke about a new chapter in life, but that for me it was more like a new season.

I have now been ‘retired’ for just over two years. I put ‘retired’ in inverted commas, as I don’t think I will ever fully retire from Ministry. Currently, I find myself serving as a ‘Locum’ which takes up two days a week plus the Sunday service. 

But things have definitely changed, slowed down, moved into a new phase, and at a different pace. As I anticipated a couple of years ago, it does feel like a new season. 

Retirement is part of that, but so is being a grandparent. That has definitely changed perspectives and felt like a new ‘season’! 

However, one other thing (pretty much unique to the experience of Ministers) is that, being retired, we only now own and live in our own home. Now, of course, over the years of Ministry we have had homes! But they have been owned by our respective congregations. We have also owned properties over the years, but these have not been our homes in which we have lived. For this first time, as retired people, we own the home in which we live. And that is a great feeling!

The drawback is that, given our age and stage, we want to get the house and garden sorted pretty quickly and are expending rather a lot of time, and energy, and money doing so. We are aware that this season of life is not going to go on forever. We do not have the luxury of several decades stretching ahead of us in which we can gradually get home and garden as we would like!

But that is ok.

And, in fact, the reason I began this post was because I have been reflecting on how content I have become in this new season. The experiences of retirement, grandparenthood, and living in our own home will all be part of this. But whatever the reasons, contentedness is not a quality I (or those close to me) would have previously attributed to me! 

But I do feel very content, and at peace with life, and deeply grateful. While I am more than aware that this new season will not go on forever (and I am very aware that the years pass ever more swiftly), it remains a time of peace, contentedness, mellowness, and gratitude. 

I feel less urgency about achieving, acquiring, experiencing, or striving. I have already done much, seen much, experienced much and achieved much. I am content (there’s that word again!) to look back on much of that with gratitude and happily settle into this new season.

The Apostle Paul once wrote; ‘I have learned to be content’ (Philippians 4: 11). 

Perhaps I too am learning that secret.

Soon, oh soon the light

 

Listen should we fight forever

Knowing as we do know Fear destroys?...

 …The fist will run

 Grasp metal to gun

The spirit sings in crashing tones we gain the battle drum

Our cries will shrill the air will moan and crash into the dawn

The pen won't stay the demon's wings, the hour approaches

Pounding out the Devil's sermon…

 

…Soon oh soon the light

Pass within and soothe this endless night

And wait here for you

Our reason to be here’

 [From ‘The Gates of Delirium’ by Yes, from their 1974 album, ‘Relayer’]

 

Sometimes it hurts.

Sometimes it really hurts.

I feel it like a constant ache inside.

A friend or loved one seems to be struck time after time with some disaster, setback, injustice, or illness. And I feel the pain inside.

I look at a church which, in our nation at least (although not worldwide) is seemingly in unending decline, struggling to know how to respond (and so often making panic decisions that only serve – so it seems to me – to make matters worse). I sometimes despair. And it hurts.

And perhaps it hurts most when I read about the climate crisis, and our apparent inability to take the hard decisions, or to do so sufficiently quickly or fully, or when I think about the horror of the fighting and killing, the misery and suffering in Israel-Palestine, or the ongoing conflict in Ukraine.

Yes, there is a real ache inside.

How long?

How long must all of this go on?

How long until it ends?

How long until God responds to our prayers?

How long until his Kingdom of peace and justice, ruled by love, is finally established?

I genuinely do feel all of this as an inner ache sometimes. And, as well as the pain, I get angry, sometimes so very angry, with God. I am comforted to know that I am not alone in this… and even in the Bible there is anger with God.

Perhaps this ache within is part of why I feel so drawn to this season of Advent, which brings together the mysteries of suffering and hope, of anger and faith, of darkness and light, of God’s here-and-now Kingdom and his not-yet-here Kingdom.

During this Advent time we sing the hymns that express all of this: ‘O come, O come, Emmanuel’, ‘Come, thought long expected Jesus’, and so on.

The progressive rock group, Yes, whom I have often quoted, frequently touch on ‘spiritual’ themes in their work. This past week, something brought to my mind the piece which I have quoted above; ‘The Gates of Delirium’. It is a 22 minute long song (or, perhaps better, a suite) that is inspired by ‘War and Peace’.

The opening sections are a frantic and confused depiction of war. Then, towards the end, the clamour and chaos give way to a gentle, hopeful, yearning section… almost like a prayer; ‘Soon oh soon the light, Pass within and soothe this endless night, And wait here for you, Our reason to be here’.

I almost want to say ‘Amen’.

Yes, I believe that the day will come; the Day of the Lord. I have a firm hope in God’s promises, and that his Kingdom of justice and peace will one day be established. ‘Thy Kingdom Come’.

But I pray that it will be soon, that the light will dispel the dreadful darkness, that God’s will and way will finally prevail.

And, until then, I guess I will continue to live with this ache within.

‘O come, O come, Emmanuel’.

December Snow

 

‘Like December snow, that lays in the wood

You're gone too soon...life can be like December snow’

‘December Snow’ by the Moody Blues

 

Well, here we are, and another Advent dawns; the start of the new Christian Year, and the beginning of our movement towards Christmas.

And yesterday the snow came.

Where we live, it came in abundance!

As I began to write this, the car is still to be dug out of the driveway.

My family know all too well that I have a very ambivalent feeling about snow. Actually, to be completely honest, they think that I have a completely negative view of snow! But, that is not actually true. If I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, there is nothing I love more than watching from my cosy sitting room as the snow falls. I have even been known to enjoy venturing out into the snow on foot (suitable clad, of course) and trudging through the deep drifts or throwing snowballs.

The problem is that mostly I have (or – at least – have had in the past) places to go, people to see, things to do, and so on. In such circumstances, snow is completely disruptive, dangerous, unnerving and unwelcome. As you may, by now, have gathered, I am not ‘Dreaming of a White Christmas’!

The Moody Blues song (quoted above) suggests that December snow can be gone too soon. But, in my view, too often it is not gone soon enough!

But, it depends on so much. It depends on perspective and circumstance.

My wife, Jane, loves the snow. Her spirits lift when the snow falls. A few years back, when it snowed and everything around looked lovely, she posted on Facebook, ‘I love when the snow falls, does that make me a bad person?’. Of the replies to her post, exactly 21 people said ‘Yes’ and exactly 21 said ‘No’!

I guess the truth is that there are two sides to the snow. It can indeed be beautiful, evocative, and ‘magical’. It can also be disruptive, disabling, and even dangerous.

And it seems to me that there are also two sides to this Advent Season. Of course, it is when we begin to look ahead to Christmas and anticipate the celebration of Jesus birth. But it is also a season of waiting and of ‘not yet’. Hope on the one hand, and delay on the other. The joy and peace is tempered by the awareness that the coming of God’s Kingdom in all its fulness is not yet. We sing of peace but we still are so acutely aware of so much conflict in our world (even, at this time, in that very land in which our Saviour was born). We talk of joy, but we know that there are many who are so weighed down with despair, anxiety, dread, illness or loss.

God’s Kingdom is not yet here.

Advent has (as it were) a ‘dark side’, which is why traditionally such things as death, judgement heaven, and hell are themes for this season. Doesn’t sound very Christmassy, does it? But that is one of the reasons I would like the church to be more focussed than it often seems to be, on holding off on the Christmas Carols etc during this season. By all means, once Christmas comes, let us sing them with joy and delight, and continue to do so for the 12 days of Christmas that begin on 25^th December.

But there is a place for acknowledging the dark realities of our world and our lives, and for affirming that God’s Kingdom that has come, and keeps coming, is nonetheless still to come in fulness.

This does not mean that we fail to anticipate Christmas, still less refuse to share in the joy and celebration that is around. But, just like snow, there is another side to it.

And, I suppose, this is why in this season, I tend – both in my own devotions and in public worship – to focus on the three themes of hope, waiting, and patience.

Bruised and Broken (but Honest and Hopeful!)

 

‘One thing you can’t hide, is when you’re crippled inside’

John Lennon ‘Crippled Inside’ on the ‘Imagine' album (1971)

 

Not that I actually feel ‘crippled inside’. Not really.

But, I am aware of the bruises and brokenness we all bear. I have never shied away from acknowledging that in myself, nor in being open about it.

It is only as I have grown older that I have increasingly realised that the ‘normal’ thing seems to be to live in denial, to pretend that all is well, to ignore the ‘broken bits’ and certainly never to admit to them!

Whoops! I have got all that spectacularly wrong then. Or not!

In fact, I really do not believe that denial and pretence are healthy. Quite the opposite. So, I am not at all sorry to have been so aware of my inner failings, nor to have been open about them (as and when appropriate).

A conversation a few days ago with a family member, confirmed to me that openness can be a very positive thing, not just for the one sharing, but for the other who listens.

And a much valued chat with a friend the other day, in which we were open about some of our struggles etc, was so helpful for me (and, I think and hope, for him too) that I was once again reminded of the power of honesty and openness.

Don’t get me wrong. I think that there can be inappropriate ‘sharing’ and I do not think for one moment that we should be profligate in our exposing of our weaknesses to others. But in the right place, with the right person, at the right time, and when it is both safe and appropriate, then sharing in this way can be so beneficial and therapeutic.

I think I always believed that; it is only more recently that I realised that this is not ‘normal’!

I am so glad to know that some of my friends and some of my family members find that it has been such a positive experience for them too.

And, truth be told, I cannot quite divorce this from my understanding of what Christian fellowship can mean, or from the words of Jesus who said ‘you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free’. What if that means more than the truth about God, but also means the truth about ourselves? And what if we cannot really know the truth about ourselves until we share it?

That has certainly been my experience.

I have never found the reaction of the ostrich a very helpful guide to healthy living!

The State of the World

 

‘Confusion will be my epitaph,

as I crawl a cracked and broken path;

if we make it, we can all sit back and laugh,

but I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying…’

[From ‘Epitaph’ by King Crimson on their 1969 album ‘In the Court of the Crimson King’]

  

Back in the day, songs such as the King Crimson one I have just quoted, were rather sneeringly dismissed as ‘Doom Rock’! Well, I can now see why. As well as being somewhat portentous, it is also more than a little pretentious!

But it reflected the mood of the time, when the Vietnam War was still raging, tensions and violence dominated the Middle East (and especially in Israel-Palestine) and when we lived with the constant threat of nuclear annihilation.

But much of that changed… and yet now seems to have returned.

I am old enough to remember what it felt like to live in the 60s, 70s and 80s, and the relief and hope that followed these tense decades, once the Vietnam War ended, the Middle East situation settled into an (albeit uneasy and unjust) co-existence, the Berlin Wall fell, the Soviet Union disintegrated, Nelson Mandela was released, a new South Africa emerged, and the nuclear threat seemed to recede.

And now, it feels very much more like it was back in the 60s, 70s and 80s with regard to he present geo-political situation. But perhaps it is even worse in some respects. We have even deeper political and cultural divisions in our Western nations than I seem to recall from 50 or so years ago. And, more alarmingly still, we are now facing the crisis of climate change and global warming.

And all of this simply by way of observation. It does very much concern me. But I can come up with neither easy answers nor short-term prophecies.

My faith assures me of ultimate hope, and I continue in that hope as I also pray. But while that may assure me of a final destination, and that there is One who will – in the end – bring about a ‘new heaven and a new earth’ (however we understand that), it does not describe the immediate path ahead as we travel onwards, nor of how things will go in this world in the years to come.

I am reminded of the words of Jesus ‘ You will hear of wars and rumours of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come.  Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places.  All these are the beginning of birth pains.’ (Matthew 24: 6-8)

 

A Tale of Two Cities

 

When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go downtown
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know, downtown

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares

So go downtown
Things will be great when you're downtown
No finer place for sure, downtown
Everything's waiting for you.

‘Downtown’ [1964 song sung by Petula Clark and written by Tony Hatch]

 

For most of my life, I have lived in cities (but, for around 28 years I have not. And sorry, Perth, but while I enjoyed living in that ‘titular’ city, I am really meaning proper, big, noisy, cities!). I do not currently live in a city, and I suspect I probably won’t ever do so again in my life.

But, I do live less than a 15 minute train ride from one big city, and less than 30 minutes by train from another.

I love cities. My whole being comes alive when I go to a city. I also love sea, hills, countryside, mountains etc. As a keen fisherman (and, in years past, a dedicated hillwalker and Munro Bagger) I fully appreciate the delights of the outdoors, and the open spaces, and the beauty of the natural world. That’s how I spend days off and holidays.

But, it is in the city where I feel at home, where I know I belong, and where I fully come alive.

I do realise that not everyone feels this way. Indeed. I know that many people struggle to even understand my outlook on this (including people with whom I live!).

But there it is.

That is how I feel. This is my experience.

But, there is a bit more to it; for my feelings have evolved over the years.

Not that I ever imagined that I was not a city person. I think I always knew that. But, having been born, raised, and educated in Glasgow (where I also served in my first charge as a Minister) I imagined that my love was for Glasgow specifically, and not so much for cities generally. And I was rather partisan when it came to any suggestion of a rivalry between Glasgow and Edinburgh. There was no competition. Glasgow’s miles better! (Or so I then considered).

Moving out of the big city, first to Fife, and then to Perth, I still hankered after city life, and Glasgow life in particular. And yet, to be honest, my increasingly frequent travel to Edinburgh on church business was beginning to have an effect. Perhaps Edinburgh was not so bad after all.

When we eventually moved to Edinburgh, and I was privileged to serve there in a  city centre congregation, I quickly fell completely in love with that city. I loved Edinburgh and I love it still.

I confess that, in my heart, Edinburgh took that place which had thus far been kept for Glasgow.

And so it was, when the time came to leave our national capital, I suffered what I can only describe as bereavement – a deep bereavement. Any excuse or opportunity to return to Edinburgh, I jumped at; and given that we still owned a flat in the city, I could visit whenever I was free, and stay over. Wonderful! My spirits perceptibly lifted wherever I was back in that city.

And then we sold that flat. And again, I suffered a bereavement.

At that point, I thought my sense of loss was related to Edinburgh. But not so.

For in this last wee while, I have been spending more and more time back in Glasgow (not least because it is closer). I have been rediscovering my love of that city and re-engaging with its life, and peculiarities, and attractions.

And, do you know what?

I love Glasgow too.

I love both Glasgow and Edinburgh.

Now, they are very different cities and both have their positive aspects and both have their negatives. But each is attractive to me, and when I visit either, I still feel my spirits lift and my energy rising.

I belong in cities.

And, while I do not actually live in one (and am unlikely ever to do so again) the fact that I am close to both of these marvellous cities means that I can be in either as often as I wish, and consider myself a citizen of both.

And I do!

Looking Deeper

 

 

 

‘Searching for me
You look everywhere
Except beside you
Searching for you
You look everywhere
But not inside you’

 From the song ‘Peace’ by King Crimson

What do we see?

When we look at someone what do we see?

What are we looking for?

What are we looking at?

What are we expecting?

What are we discerning?

A few years ago I reconnected with a group of old schoolfriends whom I had not seen for over 40 years. We now all meet regularly, and I thoroughly enjoy our get togethers.

The first time I met with the group, one of my former friends (one with whom I had been especially friendly back in the day) was asking about me and I mentioned that I had Multiple Sclerosis. He looked somewhat taken aback and blurted out ‘But, David, you look so well!’. That is not an uncommon response, although in this case, my friend being a GP might have led me to expect a somewhat more nuanced reaction!

Other than when I have a relapse (which, thankfully, are rare, and usually mild) few would notice that I have MS. But that’s because people do not see the hidden issues, which are more often experienced,  and which are many and can prove restrictive and place constraints on aspects of normal living.

Even when people know and are aware, they quickly forget or are surprised when I indicate that I am finding things difficult.

That’s all fine, and I am used to that, and used to having to explain things when (for example) I have to call off at the last minute because I am fatigued, or have to dash to the loo because of urgency, or when I have to take a rest, or find a seat etc. But you cannot always explain to strangers on (for example) a crowded bus or train when you remain seated while elderly people or pregnant women are kept standing . (Usually, I do get up and give those in need a seat; most days, I can cope with standing, but on occasion it would not be possible, and that is embarrassing).

You do not usually have the opportunity to explain to those who are looking at you somewhat sceptically and suspiciously, why you are sprinting (surely disabled people can’t do that?) to a disabled toilet…

…or why you have suddenly stopped conversing because brain fog has descended and you can’t find the words…

…or why you have to leave the party very early…

…and so on…

In my family, I am not alone in having ‘hidden’ conditions. The others who have (different and unrelated) challenges in this regard would also ‘look’ fine and appear to be ‘fully functioning’ on first meeting or in a general conversation.

But, as one who sees them close up, and knows them very well, their ‘disabilities’ are very real, and the restrictions on normal living are considerable.

People do not usually see that, and even those who are close to us, I think struggle to fully understand.

That is not surprising, when there are few visible signs.

But it does all make me wish that we could all find a way of ‘looking deeper’ and seeing those things that are not, in fact, entirely invisible, if only we had the eyes to see, the ears to hear, and the will to understand and accept.

Speaking for myself, when those close to me do understand, when friends check out how I am, when people make the effort to try and accommodate my occasional limitations, I find that very supportive and encouraging, and I appreciate it very much.

Looking deeper can be a way of loving better.