Tag Archives: religion

Living in Limbo

Posted on January 26, 2013 | 3 Comments

Recently I was asked to give a small vignette for The Bless Talks on my work as an activist. I confess I found this very hard given that I have not in the classical sense of the word been very active (at least when I compare it too earlier incarnations), in the last few years. Gone for me are the days of charging around the world, viewing the hard toils of small-scale gold miners, challenging the large-scale mining world to wake up to their noxious smell of being the worlds biggest polluters and representing the faceless minority of the market mammonists.

In fact in many ways I am quite the opposite. I work from home, if earning a profit of £320 for the last tax year can equal work. I write the odd article for the jewellery trade press and have been working on a commissioned autobiography of my days with CRED Jewellery and the work done in fighting for justice through the jewellery trade. I don’t travel much any more, I am content to stay at home, indulge the vain love I have for my football team and try to remind myself I am more than a work machine for the worldly system.

So why the confession? Perhaps because during my short vignette I made the statement ‘that my internal journey is far more dynamic than my external one’. At the time it was a slightly off the cuff statement to a group of mainly young(ish) Christians who were aspiring to serve God in the way of social justice, experimental church communities and artistic forms of worship. And before you run away with yourself and assume I am about to launch into a diatribe against this, I am not. Quite the reverse, the enthusiasm for new expressions of faith in a volatile and insecure world, such as the one we live in, is undoubtedly important for the re-establishing of faith in a modern secular society like Britain. After all we have the freedom to do this and for us not to explore the vibrancy of the gospel and its power to change life is vital. In fact would be a crime against Heaven if we did not.

Overlooking the Umbrian Plains in the footsteps of St Francis

Overlooking the Umbrian Plains in the footsteps of St Francis

So my point in this short blog post is not to detract from this activity, rather to promote the need for encountering God in the mundane of daily obscurity. It is a lesson I have needed to learn over the last few years and will continue to learn as I grow older. The real change and most dynamic activity I can undertake is the discipline of the daily encounter with Christ. This contemplative activity is in itself a project. The project of the negation of the false self and embracing the silence. Of encountering the voice of God the Creator in the walk into town, filling the dish washer, having the ear to respond to the simple cry of help from a friend, the request for money from the beggar (that requires you notice him first), as well as the grander plans that may be on offer. This mundane discipline was not on the foundation course I took when I was first a follower of Christ and as far as I am aware is not part of the now world-famous Alpha franchise.

To be a Contemplative Activist is first and foremost to be a contemplative. To contemplate Christ is to learn to be undone, and in the undoing be discovered as I truly am and who I am truly called to be. This undoing often means facing the brutal facts of ones own failure, sins, and weaknesses. Of accepting the natural grace of God regardless of my failures. In fact I have discovered that God supports us in our sin, which may sound controversial, but is the scandalous nature of God’s active grace in nurturing all of life regardless of performance. To contemplate Christ is to embrace the dynamism of the inner journey that leads to Paradise and the fulfillment of the souls primal desire for authentic union with God. This union requires two simple conditions; stillness and a silent heart. Is this not the greatest battle we face in a wild, noisy, chaotic world? To be still and silent.

In the stillness and silence we allow ourselves to be embraced by the ocean that is Gods creative person, thereby dispelling any fear we may hold that stillness leads to inactivity, or silence means be mute and losing ones voice. I confess that when I first encountered God’s deep silence the fear I would lose the one commodity I seemed to have been blessed with, namely my voice, was a very real fear and one I need not have worried about. Gods activity in creation is eternally ongoing and therefore to reside within a relationship with God is therefore to reside in that ongoing creativity of Gods original voice.

The trajectory of God’s love seems to send us and receive us in the same motion, and I confess living in this vital motion is not natural to me. It does require my intentional focus and the support of a nurturing set of relationships. I am glad I have travel companions on the road home and am learning this to be the communion of the Saints.

Living in limbo is vital to me now, as it has afforded me the time and space to be discovered and is proving a healthy antidote to the worlds confusion to be busy.

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The Motorbike Pilgrim – part two

Posted on September 15, 2012 | 1 Comment

The journey from Bobbio to Assisi was around five hours. As many who have driven in Italy will know , the Italians have an eccentric way of driving very fast and loose, weaving in and out of traffic and most disconcertingly, sitting on your tail at a 80mph. When your on a motorbike this leads to a heightened sense of commune with God and an awareness of your impending eternal state. A truly contemplative experience born out of anxiety for the sacredness of life.

As I crossed through into the Umbrian Province from Tuscany, it began to rain. Throughout the ride it had been sweltering hot, now as the heat of the day burned onto Castiglione del Lago and its water hit the Umbrian hills, my second baptism of the trip took place. Within minutes I was soaked. Twice now it had rained on me, both times as I crossed respective borders and I took this as a sign of being washed and cleansed in preparation for what was to come.

The road to Assisi

Assisi is a very comfortable Italian medieval hillside city over looking the Umbrian plains and as you approach it is quite simply beautiful. I was heading for the centre of the City and snaked up streets, populated by locals and fellow pilgrims and the general vibe was one of serenity the minute you crossed through the Gates of St Peter.

Assisi is a dangerous place, this old medieval city of cobbled roads, narrow passages and shade and light draws you into its heart with stealth and conviction. I move through its history, walking in the footsteps of Francis, Clare, Bernardo and the many thousands whose call to poverty became such a powerful witness to the purity and essence of the living God. This move towards simplicity and the embracing of creation seems on reflection to act as a purifying agent, a fire that purges and exposes true motives and intent, whether in the individual or in the society of which you are a part. It has remained a constant truth on my journey with God that the draw to the imitation of Christ through a ‘de-materialised’ and stripped back faith is the closest I can find to the authentic witness of Christ crucified.

Assisi gave me the time to reflect on my contemplative jounrey and the profound shift that has taken place in my spiritual practice. Union with God is now my motivator, too ascend the mountain and commune, dwell, behold, be known by God and too know I am known. This mountain well is the daily invitation of the Spirit to drink with an open hand and to drink from deeper pools to find Gods pure source of being. The more I drink the more I am exposed to myself and the contrary motives that drive my life. Those deep addictions that mask my true self. I find myself confessing in St Clare’s church every morning ‘I am a hypocrite’. Job understood this all to well, ‘The Light is very near the darkness’ (Job 17 v12).

Discovering personal hypocrisy is one of the first steps we take on the road of contemplation. That call towards God requires daily honesty and examination of self in a spirit of gentleness and grace. I find myself more drawn and subsumed in to the mysteries of God than ever before. I recall a line from a prayer I wrote at Church Norton, near Selsey on our first Celtic Easter celebration in 2008, calling for ‘mystery over certainty’ and perhaps now I am beginning to live in the consequences of pray answered.

Prayer on the Mountain

Assisi is a constant reminder of the power of total surrender to love. The atmosphere is pregnant with prayer. Prayer born in an attitude of surrender to the love of God. The love that defies definition or comprehension. God can be no other than Gods eternal self and if I am to abide in Gods love then I too must be no other than my eternal self to the fullest extent possible. This I am clear now can only take place in the context surrender. Each morning I find myself meditating on the vital motion towards surrender and understanding that this vital motion has a name; renunciation. If I renounce the world as the Apostle John instructs me to do (John 15 v18-19), I renounce the primal compunctions that drive life away from God; like materialism, self-aggrandisement, the power to rule, violence and revenge. I renounce the tiny seeds that each day seek to germinate in my soul the primal rebellion of Paradise; that of putting myself first. This seems to be the thrust of what Matthew was teaching in his Gospel. If I look at a woman lustfully I have put my satisfaction ahead of anothers, if I place my material comfort before the needs of the poor I have chosen to deny the poor their right to justice, if I harbour hate and vengeance in my heart, the seeds of murder are sown. Removing the seeds of the world and their daily challenges are the stumbling steps I take towards God.

I understand Francis better now. His choice of renouncing the world and embracing the mystery of God through contemplation was not some romantic gesture rooted in medieval naivety and pre-scientific ignorance. It was the steps of a man into the primal simplicity of God and the source of all life. The unintended consequence of this movement was akin to the throwing of a mountain into the pond of the world and calling out its true deception.

My friends for the journey, Columbanus and Francis, are exemplars who have travelled this road of contemplation and transformation and completed the journey. They are the pioneers of normal Christianity. I have been convicted of my own hubris in encountering them. The radical Christ is someone I have discovered is a creation of my own vanity. My own self projection of needing meaning in a mediocre pallid world. I need Christ to be radical, because I need to be seen as radical in my own eyes. But I am increasingly asking, radical for whom and in the face of what? For the followers of Christ the world is an illusionary benchmark and has nothing to offer us. The Father is our benchmark for progress and to move towards the Father of all light is not radical or ground breaking it is normal. This simple act of orientating myself towards God is an act of surrender, conformity, humility, imitation, denial. This is the normal path and it is here that friends like Columbanus and Francis help me. They have walked the road before me and have left markers in the ground that I can follow. They cannot walk the road for me for their journey is complete, but as prior pilgrims I can learn from them and hopefully meet up with them at the final destination.

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St Columba’s Vigil

Posted on July 1, 2012 | 2 Comments

‘Let your vigils be constant from eve to eve, under the direction of another person’

The Rule of Columba

This year I have begun exploring the practice of vigils. For clarity’s sake my efforts have been a toe in the water, yet as I have continued to explore Columban spirituality and the broader Celtic spirituality in which St. Columba was a leading figure, I have not been able to ignore his expectation that those who seek the heart and mystery of God will take part in vigils.

A vigil is a conscious journey towards GOD set within a specific time frame. It usually takes place at night when people would normally be sleeping. Just as fasting is a deliberate deprivation of food in order to suppress the natural appetite and focus on one’s dependency upon God for sustenance. So a vigil is a deliberate denial of sleep in order to be nourished by God through prayer and mediation.

TipiOn 9 June three of us gathered at my tipi retreat space on the South Downs to explore a half night vigil and to explore two practices that were used as disciplines by the early British and Irish church.

  1. A search for and/or discovery of our mystical name in God
  2. A search for and/or discovery of our internal prayer

Our setting was outside, within the cradle of creation. John Scottus Eriugena contends ‘Creation is the theophany of God’. Here, exposed to the elements of our landscape, where we can hear the evening birdsong, feel the breath of the wind, the dance of the trees, the warmth of fire, we are drawn into the natural rhythm of creations conversation with the Creator. And to this we can add our voice, our name and our prayerful imagination.

What is your mystical name?

Your name in God is both hidden and revealed. For Columba he had a name Colum cille that means ‘The Dove of the Church’. Yet his name hidden in the spirit was ‘Cul ri Erin’, meaning ‘back turned to Ireland’ as recorded in the poem Columcille fecit. For Columba, a spiritual exile for Christ from his homeland of Ireland, this was his daily reality as a peregrinus.   Equally Elijah, which means ‘Yahweh is my God’ was also known as ‘the troubler of Israel’ (1 Kings 18 v18) a mandate he carried exceptional well.

Your mystical name is the name you hold that describes your identity in God. It is the name that best describes you in the intersection between heaven and earth. A name that you carry in your hidden prayers and draws you closest to your intimate relationship with God. Meditating on this fact allowed us to begin the journey towards understanding our true selves, a journey that takes a lifetime that can for those who stop to listen be caught in name.

Red Darth dance at sunset. Wolstonbury Hill.

The Prophets Bed

The Prophets Bed is a derivative of an ancient practice undertaken by Celtic bards and poets to ‘find their poem or story’. Here we used it to listen for our prayer. Prayer takes shape in words, sound, physical motion, posture and expression that facilitate you to be open and transparent before the Creator. This prayer can linked to your name and takes the shape of a blessings, a Lorica or protection prayer; the most famous being Patrick’s Breastplate, and is rooted in your authentic voice before God. God always hears our authentic voice.

If you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish and it will be done for you (John 15 v7).

In the darkness we allowed our minds to focus on God alone. By relaxing in the arms of creation, you are relaxing in the arms of the Father creator. Doing this in the darkness is important as God dwells in original darkness , the uncreated light of God, and from this darkness the great conversation of creation and Word of Light emerged (Gen 1 v1-2). In the stillness we allowed our prayer to emerge in feeling, expectation and the presence of God. It is here we begin to travel along the edges of time. It is here the eternal voice of the Father and our voice find unity in prayer and conversation. As this conversation emerged we wrote it down or acted it out. We did this in isolation, with no pressure to feedback or explain the encounter. These moments are sacred prophetic times and need maturing and distillation, not instant regurgitation.

The Bards and Poets of Ireland would often lie down and fast during this time. To avoid falling asleep they would place a stone under their heads or on their chest. Columba was trained as a bard by the aged Master Bard Gemman from Leinster. Indeed it seems Columba kept this practice up throughout his life as he reputedly slept on a stone pillow throughout his life.

I finish with a quote from one of us,

“The isolated location was great and certainly helped. In addition I
was surprised at how helpful the darkness and isolation was to the
second meditation, connecting with the environment and Gods essence
within. I did have to fight falling asleep, but that I guess is part
of the process”.

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The prayer of Job.

Posted on May 16, 2012 | Leave a comment

The Light is very near the Darkness. Job 17 v12

To the God of the slave

The harbour of the forgotten soul

who is found in the twilight of confusion -

The cries of the poor burn your ears

and awaken the lights of your justice.

May we walk the restless path,

Out of the hubric darkness of the rich

And into the liberation of the humiliation of crucifixion.

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Celtic Easter at Chanctonbury Ring

Posted on May 3, 2012 | Leave a comment

To review the short film clip of our prayer-scape, please click onto the The Contemplative Network Facebook page.

A cold north wind blows across Chanctonbury Ring. Her breath driving banks of white clouds across the crystal clear vista of the South Downs. Their shadows chasing the edges of light across the chalk landscape. Chanctonbury, an ancient iron and bronze age site, encircled now by banks of beech tree, is our host for our fourth Celtic Easter celebration. Thirty of us gather from across the country to meet on the date that the early British Church had celebrated Easter and to encounter Christ in the Cathedral of Creation.

Chanctonbury Ring

I am struck by God’s ability to communicate beyond the use of language. In fact my journey with the rediscovery of the British Easter celebration has become a journey of discovering theology and spirituality as drama and narrative, rather than the dominant view as history and orthodoxy. Much of our life in Christ is channeled through predetermined pathways, set out for us by the experts of cultural orthodoxy. Yet what captures most devotees of Jesus is not his orthodoxy, but his unorthodoxy. His desire to haunt the margins of society, the wild places of the mountains and valleys and to respond to the cries of the poor and the yearnings of creation.

The drama of Christ and the power of his resurrection is a story to be told and reenacted throughout life, not just a story to be confined to the pages of a book and a place in history. To my mind, confining resurrection to a ritual and to history is to deny its very veracity. If Christ is resurrected, then history has been framed as a daily encounter with the eternal. It moves from ritual to encounter, from history to future opportunity.

Therefore, celebrating Easter on the Celtic dating is not a reactionary political two-fingered gesture to the established religious institutions that benefited from the Easter Controversy and in recent times have presided over the demise of the message of Christ in these Islands, it is a vital symbolic enactment of the drama of God in our lives and an invitation to all of creation to take part in this drama. I call this a prayer-scape as it is more than just a meeting in the open air, it is the prayerful encounter of all of Creation with its Creator.

At Chanctonbury we weaved a prayer-scape of pilgrimage, ascending to the top of the highest peak in the area, the land meeting the coastland to the south, the Sussex plain the recipient of our prayers, the warmth of fire in the brazier, the procession through the points of the compass, voices intoning “be Thou My Vision” to the nation as we sung to the north, the mournful north wind chilling our bones as we listened to Uilleann pipes playing behind a recitation of the Psalms and watching Buzzards display in the open sky. In the breaking of bread and wine, Christ was in our midst, was in creation and our prayers for one another affirmed our desire to be transformed into the Likeness of Christ.

I am constantly challenged in my faith to find external ways of dramatising the internal journey of contemplative encounter. The resurrection of celebrating Easter on the calendar of the original British church is just one of those symbolic ways of doing so.

Glastonbury Tor

Next year we will look to take our rag-tag group to Glastonbury Tor for Celtic Easter on the 5 May.

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