On minorities

 As many people who know me well know, I am about to have a diagnostic assessment for autism and ADHD. The idea of autism is not a new one to me although I spent a good many years saying to people that I am “almost autistic” or “have some autistic traits”. ADHD was a new one to me.

This really happened when I was taken by the police to Accident and Emergency for my own protection when, after a Facebook post (which I then deleted), a friend called the police. They were not happy to leave me on my own and so they took me to hospital. In the morning, I was met by a member of the mental health team who, during the course of our conversation, recommended that I was assessed for autism and ADHD. I was a little surprised but thought to myself that he must see this a lot and is qualified and able to recognise the signs.

Since all this has been happening, I have been reading lots and reading of other people’s experiences on various online platforms. These days, they seem full of people who are telling stories of their experiences. And yes, I see so much of myself in many of those stories and so I wouldn’t be surprised to receive both diagnoses.

I also, by sheer chance, ended up at an LGBT night at a pub near to where I live when out with a friend of mine and we saw that it was on and I thought “Why not?” It turned out to be a wonderful night, being with a group of people who were having an evening when they could be fully themselves in a community of people like them.

And so I have been thinking about minorities. If you are interested in statistics, then I have just found the following:

• ·   3.3% of the UK population identified as gay in 2022 (Office for National Statistics)
• ·   0.5% of the UK population didn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth (2021 census)
• ·  1.32% of the UK population is said to be autistic (March 2024, NHS)

The proportions are very small, even if a brief search online might lead one to think the figures were much higher.

I choose these three groups because they are all groups that are minorities who have all become more vocal in recent years. That, or we have simply become more aware of them.

What I have come to realise is that I have been aware of other minorities, without necessarily thinking that I belonged to one. Or perhaps I didn’t want to believe that I belonged to one? But I no longer have that choice. If I am to grow to understand myself better and be the fullest version of myself then I have to face what is quite likely this truth about me.

The conclusion that I have come to, from listening to other people’s stories, is that it is IMPOSSIBLE to know what life is like for any minority if you are not part of it. I will restate this using my own case: IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO KNOW WHAT LIFE IS LIKE FOR A PERSON WITH AUTISM IF YOU ARE NOT AUTISTIC! There are many people who may be “experts” in autism, or work with autistic children in schools, or work to support autistic people in life but unless they have autism, they cannot truly and fully know what the experience is like any more than I can understand what it is like to be gay or transgender. The best they can do in, say, an educational setting is to learn strategies to help autistic people cope in an educational setting or perhaps develop the experience and ability to understand how certain situations will play out and how to stop things from escalating into “problems”. But I would argue that it is still true to say that they can only see something like autism as a problem or a condition to be managed, with strategies in place to help autistic people to cope or even thrive in the normal world.

In the same way, no matter how sympathetic or empathetic I may want to be with gay or transgender people, I will never be able fully to enter into their experiences. The only way I have a chance to improve my understanding is to listen to their stories, and to stop trying to see their experiences through my own eyes. That will never work. I have to listen, preferably without speaking. Otherwise, all any of us do is try to look at their worlds through our own eyes, even though we don’t have the lenses of their experiences.

And I suppose that, somewhat crucially, we have to stop saying that our experiences—if not in any of the minorities I have mentioned—are or should be normative. The struggles I have with the world are sometimes exhausting, and the more I TRY to be normal, the more exhausted I will become. This is what has happened this year. I am utterly exhausted and need to completely reassess my life.

Assuming that I will be diagnosed and that I am not imagining the things that I have struggled with, I will no longer allow anybody to say to me that I have to live my life a certain way. I no longer have the energy to do that. I will and MUST be the fullest and truest version of myself.

I suppose that what I have learnt recently, amongst many other things, is that what is true of me is bound to be true of other minorities, no matter what minorities they might be. When a person is not allowed to be truly and fully what they are, that person is reduced and the result can only be that those people become a shadow of themselves.

I suppose that this might be uncomfortable for those of us who do not understand another person’s experience, but I suspect that if we have ever felt that we have not been allowed to be who we truly are, or are tired of pretending, then surely we should extend to others the freedom that we would want for ourselves?

„Wie geht’s dem Matthew?“

 

Zunächst muss ich sagen, dass ich krank bin. Ehrlich es zu sagen, bin ich schon lang krank gewesen. Aber jetzt finde ich, dass ich es nicht mehr bestreiten kann. Das größte Problem ist, dass man nicht von Krankheit und Schwachheit reden will, oder so etwas hören. Es muss immer aussehen, dass man alles in Ordnung hat. Man muss immer stark sein. Wenn man Probleme hat, darf man darüber nicht sprechen. Andere Leute wollen es einfach nicht hören. Deshalb probiert man, es zu ignorieren, und nur weiterzugehen.

Es ist ganz einfach: ich funktioniere nicht. Ich kann einfach nicht tun, was ich vorher immer getan habe. Das gewöhnliche Leben ist jetzt nicht mehr möglich. Normalerweise stehe ich vor 12Uhr nicht auf, und schlafe nicht vor c. 4Uhr in der Nacht.

Diese langen Stunden wacher in der Nacht sind sehr schwierig. Ich bin ganz allein mit meinen Gedanken. Während des Tages, ist es immer möglich, fernzusehen oder Musik zuhören.  Ich wohne allein in einem Einzelhaus: ich könnte ja alles tun, was ich möchte, auch während der Nacht. Aber die Wahrheit ist, dass ich gerne schlafen können möchte.

Während dieser langen Stunden werden die Gedanken dunkel. Ich denke oft am Tod. Ich will mich nicht töten, aber manchmal denke ich, dass ich lieber nicht aufwachen würde. Der Tod bringt ein süßes Ende zum Leiden mit. Ich denke an die Wörter von Papagenos Aria in der Zauberflöte: „Papageno, frisch hinauf: ende deinen Lebenslauf“. Es stimmt, dass Papageno eine komische Figur ist, aber solche Gefühle sind wahr, schwer, und gar nicht komisch. Wenn diese Gefühle kommen, ist es sehr schwierig sie durchzumachen. Wenn man die Antwort oder die Lösung nicht sieht, kann der Tod ein süßes und wünschenswertes Ende scheinen.

Nun, dass ich es zurück lese, ist es schwierig, meine Wahrheit so geschrieben zu sehen. Ich will aber doch nicht sterben. Ich will leben. Ich will es all überleben. Ich will zwar leben, kann aber nicht bestreiten, dass es während der dunklen Stunden der Nacht so schwierig ist, wie ich beschrieben habe.

Solche Dinge würde ich niemals sagen, in einem normalen Gespräch. Solche Dinge darf man nicht sagen. Was würden andere Leute davon denken? Wie würden sie reagieren? Würden sie mit mir bleiben und mich unterstützen, oder würden sie lieber zu mir Abstand wahren?

Wenn man sich so fühlt, kann man auch Schuld fühlen. „Ist mein Leben echt so schwer? Es gibt so viele Leute, die es schlimmer haben. Die haben echte Probleme.“ Man versucht, seine eigenen Probleme herunterzuspielen. Aber deine Gefühle sind deine Gefühle, und du kannst sie nicht einfach verändern.

„Und wenn meine Tochter das sehen würde?“ Die Wahrheit ist, dass ich nicht sicher bin, dass ich ohne meine Tochter weiterleben könnte. Ich lebe für sie. Mein eigener Vater hat Selbstmord begangen, als ich nur 14 Jahre alt war—ihr Alter. Ich würde nie wünschen, dass sie so etwas durchmachen müssen würde. Nun verstehe ich, wie schwierig es ist, solche Gefühle durchzumachen. 

So ist es während der Nacht. Während des Tages mache ich diese Gefühle nicht so oft durch. Wie schon gesagt, stehe ich nicht vor Mittag auf, manchmal noch später. Es macht kein großer Unterschied wieviel ich geschlafen habe: ich bin immer müde. Und wenn ich „müde“ schreibe, meine ich ganz müde. Ich könnte den ganzen Tag im Bett verbringen. Ich stehe auf, und fühle ich mich, sowie ich Wolken in meinem Kopf hätte. Nichts ist klar.

Wenn ich denke, in die Kirche zu gehen, und Gottesdienste zu leiten, fühlt es ganz unmöglich, und ich bin voller Angst. Wenn ich einkaufen muss, oder nach draußen muss, habe ich Angst und will nur im Haus bleiben. Wenn ich endlich nach draußen gehe, will ich niemand sehen. Es gibt nur wenige Leute, die ich sehen möchte. Ich habe Angst, Leute, die ich kenne, zu sehen. Ich will nicht sprechen. Ich will so schnell wie möglich zurück nach Haus.

Wenn mein Handy läutet, habe ich Angst, und warte lang, bevor ich es antworte. Wenn ich die Nummer nicht kenne, antworte ich nicht.

Und das Haus aufräumen? Sagen wir nichts darüber! Und persönliche Hygiene? Lieber schweigen…

Aber das reicht schon fuer heute.

A weekend of joy

I have just come back from a lovely weekend with my family in Wales for the baptism of my cousin's son, at which I officiated myself.

It was at my Aunt's wedding celebration in July that the conversation began. My cousin asked me whether I was able to come to the baptism that had been booked in at their local parish church. I then asked whether they would like me to do the service. I told them to have a word with their local priest and seek his permission and, after a little bit of admin and the necessary safeguarding things, I was allowed to officiate at the service.

First, I would like to thank Fr Nicholas of St Mary's Risca, for his permission to take the service and for his warm welcome to robe and sit in choir for the Parish Mass. He was not only a warm and friendly priest, but evidently a very prayerful priest whom it was a pleasure to watch celebrate the holy mysteries with deep faith and devotion and with a very thought-provoking sermon on the life of prayer.

And then my family arrived for the baptism. My Aunt very kindly brought me something to eat as I had to leave for the Mass before my cousin came back with some food. And then we went in.

It was very strange to stand and welcome people to a Church that I was in for only the first time myself and then we began the baptism liturgy. The Church in Wales liturgy of baptism is slightly different to that I am used to in the Church of England but there is a beautiful dialogue at the beginning of the service that goes like this:

What do you ask of the Church of God?

We ask that this child may be baptized.

I must say that I loved this part of the liturgy and might insert it into my services. 

In my sermon I talked about discovering what love really is when my daughter was born and the importance of showing a child how much they are loved, not just by us but also by God.

One of the godparents is a first-language Welsh speaker so I then addressed him in Welsh and told him that he has to show him the love of God but also teach him Welsh! I knew that there were a couple of Welsh-speakers in the congregation so I wanted to use a little Welsh so that they could hear their own language for at least a small part of the service. I don't speak it very fluently, but it is a language that I love and keep meaning to get more fluent in. Learning languages has always been a passion of mine and I love being able to speak to people in their own languages and so it was no different with Welsh! I managed to have a couple of conversations in Welsh at the party afterwards so that made me happy too! Anyway...

And so I baptised my first-cousin-once-removed, and his face lit up as the first drops of water hit his head. It was such a beautiful smile that I will never forget.

As I presented his baptism candle, I decided to say the words in Welsh:

Derbyniaist oleuni Crist; rhodia yn ei oleuni holl ddyddiau dy fywyd.

[You have received the light of Christ: walk in his light all the days of your life.]

It was a beautiful service and the joy of the occasion is still pouring out of my (often struggling) heart. I want to thank my family for allowing me the opportunity to do this. To offer my priestly ministry to my family is a great privilege because it nicely ties together the two parts of my identity: my belonging to the family but also my priesthood. The two can never really be completely separated so to be able to do both at the same time was a huge joy.

I certainly hope that this will not be the last of such occasions.

 

 

 

 

Retreat Diary Day 4 Entry 1

Day four: Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

Today is the last full day of my retreat. I want to thank you if you have been reading these posts. I don’t imagine for a second that there is anything life-changing in them but it felt like the right thing to write them. I am leaving here just after lunch tomorrow so there is still some time for me to enjoy.

I felt slightly anxious today. I can only come to the conclusion that it is because I am going home and I suppose there is a part of me that is afraid of losing the sense of peace and being the authentic me that I have had the last few days. I have not felt this way for a couple of years and this has undoubtedly taken its toll on my mental health and even on my ministry as a priest.

I suppose that what I have been thinking about a lot is how I take this back to “normal” life. I know that I have to make significant changes to the way I have been leading my life. I have to have more healthy routines and disciplines. I think what has really become clear to me both in my own thoughts and in my conversation with my spiritual director is that I need to have a sense of belonging and rootedness that I haven’t had for a long time.

It is not that I have to completely stop doing the things I do or change everything about my life. I have made some very good friends in the last couple of years and that is a blessing. I have a wonderful orchestra that I enjoy playing in. It isn’t that I have to cut myself off from the world around me. What I think it does mean though is that I have to begin (again) to live this life at home: a life of prayer and contemplation which will feed all else that I do. I have to replace some of the unhealthier things in my life with things that are healthy.

I have had an encounter with the Divine in my time here and have begun to see again who I am and what I am called to do. I am sure that this is the only way I will have peace in my heart and feel that I am being true to myself. What if I don’t find this when I go home?

It was as I asked this question that the words from Psalm 139 came to mind:

Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

There is nowhere I can go where God will not be. It must then be that I must live my life in such a way that I can find that presence. Without it, things will fall apart. My (mental) health will suffer as it has done these last couple of years.

I have had a glimpse of what my vocation might be. I suppose it is now up to me to faithfully and prayerfully follow that path in order to discern what the next steps should be.

Retreat Diary Day 3 Entry 1

Day three: The one who endures to the end will be saved

Having made my confession yesterday, there was a lightness to today that I had not experienced for a long time: a sort of freedom of spirit, a sense of being my true self again.

I suppose that in the almost three years since I was last here there has been a sort of running away from what I have been called to do. There could be many reasons for that, many of which ought perhaps to kept to my private journal.

The simple truth is that this place feels like home. I think it is greater than just a feeling of “this is a nice place and I like it here”. When I am here, I feel like I am being my fullest and truest self and there is a real sense of belonging, or at least a great desire to belong more fully.

A couple of years ago I began a probationary year with a view to becoming an Oblate of the Community of the Resurrection. This involves living under vows: poverty, chastity, and obedience. I felt very called to start the journey at the time but then ran away from it. However, that feeling of call is back. I suppose it is a sense in which this is the place that feels like home and I want to offer myself more fully to it and be more rooted in it. I think I can do that now. I have felt lost for a long time and perhaps I needed this wilderness time to find my way back home.

I feel like I am beginning to see clearly again and need to make decisions that bring my life back into order. This may well be a long journey but as the heading to this entry states (which was from the reading at Evening Prayer today): he who endures to the end will be saved.

Retreat Diary Day 2 Entry 1

Day two: Stop running away

So…for those who think that going on retreat is another holiday: I was in Church ready for Mattins at 6:45 today: less “O Lord, open my lips” and more “O Lord, open my eyes”. This was followed by a lovely breakfast of porridge and some toast. Breakfast is in silence as the Greater Silence is observed here until 9 in the morning. Many people bring books to read with them as they have breakfast. I had St Augustine’s Confessions with me. I am enjoying this book. I find it quite compelling and enjoy the intensity and earnestness of his faith.

I think I may then have fallen asleep. I often spend the first day or two of retreat asleep. Sometimes it is only when you stop that you realise how tired you are and I have not been on retreat for three years. I then went into the Church to pray the Rosary, meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries, and praying for my own sense of vocation and for God’s guidance in my vocation and ministry.

Then there was Midday Prayer and Mass. (I have a feeling they read yesterday’s readings by mistake but it meant I was blessed again by the verse that blessed me yesterday.) I had quite a lot to eat at lunch and so I ended up snoozing again for a lot longer than I intended. I guess sometimes the Lord does give his beloved sleep! Had a cup of tea and chat with some other guests and brethren of the community, then Evening Prayer and Supper. After Supper, I met with my Spiritual Director and Confessor (the same person).

I made my confession, which was long overdue. It has been nearly three years since my last confession. I suppose that I used COVID as an excuse not to come here to make my confession and then I just kept putting it off and off (in itself part of the confession).

There were some things that have been hanging over me for a while now and so it was lovely to be able to let them go. Making one’s confession is not always an easy thing and it is sometimes something that we run away from, perhaps because we are so ashamed or embarrassed to let other people know our deepest, darkest secrets. Or we tell ourselves that we do not need to do it.

I suppose that, in a sense and theologically, we don’t need to make a confession for God to forgive us and yet I find that it is a sacrament so precious and so beautiful. It is the only way I know of being able to let go of all the rubbish that can build up in our hearts and minds. When I arrived here, I went to the Church to find that there was some scaffolding in the Church as work is being carried out. At first I bemoaned this situation but as I thought I realised that this is a necessary part of looking after our sacred spaces. Then it occurred to me that this was what is going on in my heart: it is full of chaos and clutter and it needs lots of work, lots of healing.

Confession is the most powerful way I know of that work being carried out. It is not always pleasant or easy but when it is done and absolution is pronounced, the mess, the hurt, the damage is taken away. It has been said by many people many times but all sin leaves a mark. We might try to pretend that it doesn’t matter and that we are “only human” and shouldn’t feel too bad but this is not actually helpful. We are all, if we are honest, sometimes haunted by the guilt or shame of some mistake or another. As a priest, it is often the greatest joy to pronounce absolution when somebody has made a confession and see that person walk away like new. It is not about guilt or shame: it is about the healing of our hearts and being set free from the things that so often enchain us.

This was followed by a lovely chat with my Spiritual Director as we sat in the gardens. We talked a lot about a sense of belonging. I have said for years that the Community of the Resurrection feels like home and this is still true. A while ago, I began the process of becoming an Oblate of the Community—somebody who lives outside of the community but lives under vows. I began a probationary year to live this way before making vows. But then I ran away from it and then lockdown etc. happened. I think I will be having this conversation again.

I have not felt this comfortable or “at home” since the last time I was here almost three years ago. I can’t help feeling that the Lord may be trying to tell me something here.

Retreat Diary Day 1 Entry 2

Day one: Don’t walk so fast!

One rarely notices the fast pace of most our lives until one comes away. Thankfully, I have had a few glimpses, experiencing the somewhat slower pace of life in Africa a few times and also from previous visits here.

I pulled into the car park and rang the doorbell, waiting for somebody to open the door and let me in. My name was already on the list with the allocated room number and, having been here several times before, I was able to reassure the lady that opened the door that I knew where the room was and could find my own way. I was home and knew where my bedroom was, so to speak.

Having brought all of my stuff into my room, I hung up my clothes, unpacked my books and decided to go to the Church. The Church is usually the first place I visit: the silence, the stillness is so beautiful, almost seductive, and I sometimes feel that I could stay there all day. I arrived at the Church to find that there wasn’t much stillness. There are various works taking place inside and outside the Church, with tall scaffolding erected inside the Church.

The first place on entering the church from the retreat house side was the Crucifixion Chapel and so I tried to sit. No. Too much noise to find that stillness and hear the still, small voice of God. Through the Blessed Sacrament Chapel and into the side Chapel—Resurrection Chapel—which is rather better protected from noise outside. There I sat in front of a large and beautiful icon of the Resurrection of Christ: the light reflecting beautifully from the gold of the icon as the image of the Resurrected Christ looked at me as much as I looked at it and seemed to say “Behold, I have overcome all things.”

Then back to the retreat house. I had forgotten my Rosary beads and so went to the gift shop to buy a new set and a new book that caught my eye.

What I realised was that I was walking quite quickly from one place to the next, from one thing to the next and I found myself asking myself the question “Why are you moving so quickly?”

As I went to the Church again for Midday Prayer and Mass, I tried to slow my pace, noticing how slowly and gently the Brethren of the Community move. As I sat in the area where guests sit, I looked at the scaffolding and thought to myself, “What a shame that all this is here”. But it was as though that still, small voice uttered into my heart that sometimes such maintenance is required so that things can be beautiful and that this was much like my heart. I had neglected it for far too long and there was a lot of noise and chaos and maintenance that needed to be done.

“Slow down, my child, and allow your heart to be touched and healed by the grace of the One who called you.”

Then to the Mass…the sense of quiet contemplation as we awaited the arrival of the priest. No fuss, no unnecessary embellishments or distractions…just the simplicity of the liturgy done in stillness and reverence. And then some words from the Epistle seemed to jump out as though they were being spoken to me:

¹¹To this end we always pray for you, asking that our God will make you worthy of his call and will fulfil by his power every good resolve and work of faith, ¹²so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ. (2 Thessalonians 1:11-12)

God will make me worthy of his call and will fulfil by his power all that he wants to do through me. Usually I don’t hear such things speak to me until the third or fourth day of retreat but to have had an experience like this was truly a blessing.

Then to lunch, to some conversation with some other people. I thought I would then go to my room and have a short nap. (It turned out to be an hour and a half. I often find that the first day or sometimes two of a retreat consist mostly of sleeping.)

“Slow down, my child, and allow your heart to be touched and healed by the grace of the One who called you.”

Then came the delightful slowness of Evening Prayer, enjoying joining in with the beautiful plainsong, singing chants that have been used for however many centuries, feeling so connected to the inheritance of faith that has been passed down and into which we step. No need for slogans, initiatives or projects, just the entering in, singing the Psalms and hearing God’s word.

Then back to my room where all is still apart from the gentle call of woodpigeons and the noise of some traffic not so far away. But all is still and today’s communication ends for the evening as I await the beauty of Compline and the Greater Silence, held until 9am tomorrow.

“Slow down, my child, and allow your heart to be touched and healed by the grace of the One who called you.”