The future of our nation

I have been thinking about writing this post for days now. The main reason is that, so often recently, I have got into conversations with people about politics. Perhaps it is because I am autistic, but sometimes I fail to get my arguments out in time in face-to-face conversations or, when I do, the point comes out in a way that is unintentionally harsh or insulting to those I disagree with, because I don’t have time to translate my thoughts into socially acceptable language. (Yes, this does sometimes take time because the autistic mind often comes to the answer long before it remembers the social scripts that are often so natural for the neurotypical community.)

I am genuinely afraid of the world we now live in. It seems more and more unpleasant, almost by the day. It also seems that we are becoming more and more divided. I believe that there is a very high probability that our next government, after the next general election, will be led by Reform. At least, I believe that this will be so unless those who would oppose Reform can come up with a robust alternative to what people perceive the Reform party to offer.

In 2016, the United Kingdom voted in a referendum to decide whether the United Kingdom would leave the European Union. I was passionately against leaving the European Union and still am. It seemed to me that the main reason people voted for Brexit was to regain control of our borders. Those who voted for Brexit believed that being part of the European Union prevented us from being able to take control of our borders effectively in order to reduce or prevent the immigration that, as they saw it, was causing so many problems in our country. In other words, our country was, and is, as they argue on its knees and we need strong and effective government to reduce or end immigration, dealing effectively with those who are causing the problems we are all having to live with. We are effectively pinned down by unsustainable amounts of immigration. Nine years later, we are no better off in terms of immigration. If anything, it has increased. And so many people are suffering as a result of our leaving the European Union. However, they will argue that it is not Brexit that has caused us these problems: it is the immigration that our governments have been unable to control. We need, as they argue, to take back control and deal with those people who come into our country: if we get rid of them, we will be able to make our country great again.

As a linguist, who went to University at 18 to study French, German, and Italian in my first year at Lancaster University, I had to study history and literature in those languages. I remember studying a play called Furcht und Elend des dritten Reiches [roughly translated as Fear and Misery of the Third Reich]. It was largely, as I remember, about life in Germany during the rise of Hitler. One of the things that I took away from that and from my other study of the inter-war period and the Second World War, is that Hitler didn’t rise to power because Germans were evil or racist: Hitler came to power because he knew how to say the right things to the right people at the right time.

Not only this, the Nazi party created a culture of fear and intimidation: those who opposed it were scared and/or intimidated into accepting Nazism. Germans were told to work together for the Vaterland, and convinced that the only party working for the good of the Vaterland was the Nazi party, and only their policies would save Germany from the situation it had found itself in between the two world wars. The enemies were the Jews, gypsies, gay people, disabled people, political opponents: they were the people who were keeping the German nation on its knees. In order to show love and devotion to the Vaterland, one had to unite under the Nazi flag and deal with the problem. If you weren’t prepared to unite under the flag, and against the nation’s enemies, you were part of the problem.

Are you seeing the link? Are you seeing why I am so afraid of the world we now live in?

I am told that I cannot and should not compare Reform to the Nazi party of Germany in the 1930s. The two are completely different times and sets of circumstances. Perhaps I am somehow ignorant or unable to understand, but the two situations look alarmingly similar to me.

In a village not too far from where I live now, local residents have been putting up St George’s flags. I know that it is part of a wider movement to celebrate our identity as English people and we are encouraged to take pride in our national flag and unite in celebrating who we are, and working together to rebuild our nation. Ok, that is different to what was happening in Nazi Germany. I admit. (Oh wait!) Those who give of their time are called “patriots”: working together for the good of our nation. Some people have taken down some of the flags and those people have been labelled “traitors”. No, still not like Nazi Germany in the 1930s.

For me, the European Union grew out of the Second World War when Europe said “Never again!” to fascism. The most effective way of preventing leaders like Hitler rising again was to unite and work together to build a Europe-wide community, in which we all worked together. And, as a linguist, who speaks a lot of European languages, it was amazing to be able to travel so easily within the European Union and buy books from other European countries. One of the countries that I was able to buy books from before Brexit now no longer ships to the United Kingdom.

If you’re still reading, well done, and thank you. I am coming nearer to the end.

Of course, if I make these comparisons, people get very angry. How dare I compared the United Kingdom in the 2020s to Nazi Germany in the 1930s?!

This week, there has been lots of coverage about Nigel Farage making anti-semitic and other racist comments to other children when he was a teenager. One of which, if I remember correctly, was saying to a Jewish child that Hitler was right, making noises resembling the hissing of gas being released. When confronted, Nigel Farage claimed that those comments were not meant in a bad or insulting way. What other way could such comments be interpreted? “Hitler was right to get rid of all your relatives whose lives were taken by the Nazi regime in the Second World War. But you are ok.” You see, it just doesn’t work. He also accused the BBC of making racist and homophobic programmes in the 70s and 80s. However, most of them, or at least the ones I remember actually take the mickey out of the people portrayed as racist or bigots. And so Nigel Farage’s reply is completely unsatisfactory. If he really does not hold those opinions, it would be easy for him to say “Yes, I said things as a teenager that I now regret. I repudiate those sentiments now. I apologise to anybody I hurt at that time.” But that is not what he said. He, like so many of his supporters, simply get upset about being called racist. For those people who, like me, are afraid of Reform and their intentions, we don’t need to be called “snowflakes” or “Lefties” or “traitors”: we simply need to be persuaded that those views are not part of what Reform stand for. I am not yet persuaded. I just see the parallels and the dangers. Am I the only one?

I forget which one it was, but I saw a clip of a Reform member on television stating that Reform would detain people who arrive in this country and then deport them if they do not have a valid claim for asylum. Where might these people all be detained? Our prisons are full, hotels are not really a suitable solution, so what would be? Perhaps the best option might be to build camps in which we can hold immigrants while the government assess their right to be in this country. Our economy cannot support providing them with an even minimal income to live on in this country. And so I wonder whether the best strategy would be for camps to be built to house immigrants, where they will be kept on a sort of bare minimum to keep them going while their claims are assessed.

Do you see my problem with this? Where has this happened before? I wonder. (*cough* Nazi Germany *cough*)

Now, as far as I am aware, Reform has not suggested a policy of building prisons, or camps, that could hold immigrants when they arrive. However, it isn’t a completely unreasonable thing to think about, if our prisons are already overfilled, and hotels too expensive an option. However, if this starts to be an option, we are in danger of becoming like the German people of the 1930s. We need a place to house and control the people who are the largest problem that our country faces.

Do you see why this is an issue?

Also, the St George’s flag: the English flag. We need to unite under the English flag and protect our English identity, language and culture. From what point in history do we trace this sense of identity, language, and culture? Is it before the invasion of the Celts, the Romans, the Angles, the Saxons, the Vikings, or the Normans? All of these groups were foreigners at one point in our history, and we tried to fight many of them off, or get rid of them. Didn’t we? Have I got that wrong?

I was born and raised in England and have lived here all of my life apart from two short periods of living in Africa, but where do I fit into all of this? I am a Celt. One of my grandmothers was born in Wales and moved to England during her childhood. My other grandmother, I have recently discovered, definitely came from a Welsh family. One of my grandfathers, from whom I get my surname was from Birkenhead, but I think we can be fairly sure that he was part of the migration from Ireland, most likely during the famine. Yes, my grandfather’s family were, more than likely, immigrants. As were my grandmother’s families.

But Matthew, we don’t have any issue with immigrants from Ireland or Wales.

Tell that to the Irish immigrants who were not allowed jobs because “No Irish” was place on a notice on the door. Or even if they were able to find work, were mocked mercilessly and made the butt of 1,001 “Paddy and Murphy” jokes. Or the Welsh, equally mocked and called “sheep shaggers”—no I won’t apologise for the profanity—or the butt of “Taffy” jokes. The same can be said for Scottish people too. (But I don’t have any Scottish blood, as far as I know, although “McMurray” could also be Scottish.)

But Matthew, they are just jokes! Have a sense of humour! I didn’t mean any offence, and I didn’t say it with any intent to hurt or upset.

Oh shit! Where have I heard that recently?

Those jokes are very funny, when I think about it.

Well, they’re funny if you’re English. We don’t tell a lot of jokes taking the mickey out of English people though, now I am thinking about it. If you are part of a group that is constantly the target of jokes, you are not really accepted.

And what of the language and culture? Does Reform and its supporters also stand for and want to protect and celebrate the cultures and language of the Celtic Nations? (Wales, Cornwall, Scotland, the Isle of Man, Ireland) I now speak Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, and Cornish.

But Matthew, these are all part of our nation and the English support them.

What about the Welsh Not? The fox’s head in Scotland? What about all those children who were punished for speaking their mother tongues? What about all those children who had their mother tongues and their cultures quite literally beaten out of them.

But Matthew, that was all a long time ago. We have moved on from that.

“One in three children in Glasgow do not speak English as their first language.” Where did that come from? It doesn’t mean that one in three children do not speak English. Is he counting children who speak Gàidhlig as their first language? After all, 10% of the whole population of Gàidhlig speakers are found in Glasgow. Is speaking English as a first language the hallmark of truly belonging to our nation? What about those born in Welsh-speaking communities or Gàidhlig-speaking communities? Or Cornish-speaking communities? Yes, there are children now in Cornwall who are raised with Cornish as their first language!

Perhaps I am being unfair. Perhaps Reform and their supporters are fully embracing of the communities within the United Kingdom who speak another language as their first language. I suppose it would only be fair to mention that some of those languages are older than the version of English that we speak today. Far be it from me to be facetious, but couldn’t those communities say that English is the language of immigrants?

And Cornish has just been given the same status as Welsh, Irish, and Scottish Gaelic. Is Reform committed to supporting the language and culture of Cornwall?

And so I need a lot of convincing that Reform is the answer to our nation’s problems. The parallels with periods of history that should never be forgotten, and never repeated, are too frightening. I need a lot of reassurance. As a Celt, I find it difficult to stand under the flag of St George with my ancestry, even though I was born and raised in England, not because I don’t love England and being English (by birth and upbringing). I am certainly no traitor but I have too many questions.

And yes, I am afraid. Very afraid. 

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.” 

Retreat diary Day 1, entry 1

It has been almost three years since I have been on retreat but I have today arrived at the Community of the Resurrection in Mirfield, West Yorkshire. I normally bring my journal (as I have done this time) and write in that but I thought it might be interesting to share a more public version of my reflections.

Why retreat?

There once was a man who got very excited when he had bought himself a loaf of bread and some jam. He loved jam sandwiches and couldn’t wait to make himself one when he got home.

As he prepared to make himself a sandwich, there was a knock at the door. “Could you make me a jam sandwich?” the guest asked. Without hesitation, he made his guest a sandwich and sent him on his way.

“Now I can make myself a sandwich in peace,” he thought to himself. As he started to make a sandwich there was another knock at the door. There stood a young woman who was obviously hungry. “Could you give me something to eat?” asked the young woman. He gave her the sandwich he had prepared and sent her on her way with God’s blessing.

Time and time again he made himself a sandwich, and again there were knocks at the door from  guests who were hungry. He gave the sandwiches away and blessed the guests. He felt good that he was able to bless so many people but he began to realise that he was getting very tired and as he went to make himself a sandwich, he noticed that all his bread was gone and he was left hungry. He began to feel a little frustrated and angry. “Why is there nothing left for me?” he began to ask as the frustration grew within him. “I am fed up of giving food to everybody else and having little or nothing left for me.”

That was perhaps a silly example to use but it does illustrate what it can feel like to be in ordained ministry as a priest. Retreat is a time to come away and allow others to make you a jam sandwich, or at least be sure that if you make a sandwich you will be able to eat it yourself without being disturbed. You can be fed yourself for a little while.

Thankfully, it is largely expected that clergy will take a retreat at least annually. Some Dioceses will give at least partial funding to their clergy to cover the costs and many parishes should be encouraged to cover the rest of the cost in order to ensure the spiritual health of their clergy.

Why the Community of the Resurrection?

I have been coming here for several years. Truth be told, I wish I had come here to train but I went somewhere else, largely due to my personal circumstances at the time. Since ordination, I have regularly come on retreat here. It has been almost three years since I last came here but as I arrived, it felt like I was only here yesterday.

I don’t remember whether it happened from the very first time I came here but certainly for the last few years the Community of the Resurrection has felt like home. As I drive from the M62 into Mirfield and drive up Stocks Bank Road, I have that feeling of arriving home after a long absence.

As I sit in the Church for the first time, it feels as though every worry, every burden is lifted and a still, small voice whispers to me, “Welcome home, son”. If I sometimes find it hard to remember why I began this journey that led to my ordination to the priesthood, when I come here I remember. It is as though when I come here I rediscover who I am and who I am meant to be. Life makes sense again.

I have wondered before whether I should become more closely attached to the Community but have never been sure whether that is my vocation or just the lovely feeling that one gets when one goes on retreat. Perhaps more conversations to be had to discern this?

So here I am. Day 1. It is Monday and I am here until after lunch on Friday and so I will try to write a daily post about what has happened to me here.

Perhaps something in all of this will be encouraging to you.

General election 2019

Ok, so…

Having stayed up until the result of the election was clear, I have only just got up. (It’s my day off so that’s completely fine.) So, having slept for a few hours, I thought I would offer my reflections.

Short version: It was not the result I was hoping for but it was a decisive result. We must now move forward and work together to build a society of which we may be proud.

Longer version:

I think people—myself included—voted almost entirely on Brexit. I couldn’t in conscience—for reasons I will explain below—vote for a pro-Brexit party. The fact that so many seats were won by the Conservatives show how strong the Brexit motive was. Many Brexit areas voted overwhelmingly for the Conservatives and this was clear.

Up until the Brexit referendum, I was a Conservative voter. In large part because I believe that we are all responsible for our lives and that the decisions that we make affect the rest of our lives. Being from a working-class background, and having made the decisions I have made in life, I have done relatively well. Others who haven’t made wise decisions have not done so well. I am still a believer in working hard to get where we want to be. I don’t think that we can or should rely on the state to bring us all to a prosperous position. In 2015, I heard a lot of comments from people who might ordinarily have not been Conservative voters but who were voting Conservative because they were getting tired of working hard and struggling while others spent their lives, making poor decisions, and sometimes (apparently) ending up with more prosperous lives. (I am not saying that they were correct but it was an explanation I heard a lot. Comments like “they’ve got a bigger TV than I have got” or “I can’t afford to go to Turkey on holiday”.)

Of course, there are, always have been, and always will be, people who, for many reasons, will need the support of the state and local communities to provide for them. I don’t believe that we can or should vilify those who cannot work or have no choice but to rely on state aid. I have also met people and spent large amounts of time speaking to people, on the other side of that coin, for whom reliance on state support has being something of a lifestyle choice. The reasons for this are many and complicated. I have always believed that those who genuinely cannot work or lift themselves out of poverty should be supported and not forced to live in poverty or have to beg for money or food. I believe in a basic level of human dignity: even—especially—for those who struggle to or simply cannot seize it themselves.

One of the reasons I changed the way I vote this time was that I didn’t feel I could vote for a Conservative government without some of the protections that being in the EU offers. The Conservative party appears to be moving to the right and I don’t feel I can support this. What is surprising about this election is that many of the communities that have switched to voting Conservative are exactly the communities who have tended to suffer under Conservative governments. I don’t believe that the Conservative party will do enough to support poorer working-class communities. I fear that poorer communities and our society’s most vulnerable are at threat. I think that many of those communities have voted for poverty and difficulty, simply not to be part of the European Union.

One of the reasons that I could not—and cannot—support Brexit is that, in my understanding, it all grew out of Europe’s experience of two world wars, in which much of Europe was brought to its knees. The nations of Europe—and indeed the world—began to see that coming together to create a European community would be the key to not having wars in Europe again. And they were correct! (Recognising, of course, that there have been conflicts largely within nations, like the former Yugoslavia, for example.)

The ability to travel within Europe is something that can only be described as a joy and blessing. For somebody like me, who is passionate about learning languages, the ability to travel easily through Europe is a great gift, even if I don’t have the money to travel as much as I would like to. The ability, as a country, to cooperate with and learn from our European neighbours, within this country and within mainland Europe, is a huge asset. Not to mention how many EU nationals have been working in our health service and in many other invaluable ways.

Coming out of the EU, to me, seems like a retrograde step. Of course, we are not the only country who has been talking about leaving the EU. Many European countries have also witnessed a rise in far-right parties who seek to hold onto sovereignty or ‘take back control’. However, if countries leave the EU, we always risk opening the door to arguments about territory and to conflicts arising between countries within Europe.

Of course, much of that is my opinion and I may be wrong. However, what have we witnessed in this country since 2010? It seems to me—though I am happy to be proven wrong—that we have seen:

• an increase in people being forced to rely on foodbanks;
• an increase in homelessness and extreme poverty;
• an increase in xenophobia;
• an increase in islamophobia;
• people feeling that their very ability to remain and work in this country is under threat.

Casual glances on social media show an increase in sentiments that I cannot agree with. Within minutes of the exit poll, I began to see posts on social media, which can only be described as xenophobic. One of them said, “This is England: we drink beer and eat pork. If you don’t like it…” If this is to become the kind of thing that we see more of under this Conservative majority government, then I think we should hang our heads in shame. I fear that, under this Conservative majority government and leaving the EU, we will see a rise in xenophobia. I think we will see a rise in racist attacks. I think that many people will feel that they now have permission to express views publicly that many of us would not consider acceptable, because we are taking back control.

I predict that the rise in poverty, homelessness etc. will continue. When we leave Europe, which are very likely to do now, I think that we will see an increase in all of these things. I think that many people who have voted Conservative because of Brexit will find that there lives become much harder. I predict that we will see a rise in xenophobia and perhaps even racist attacks. I believe that we will see an increase in Islamophobia.

All that said, I do hope that there will be significant investment and improvement in the NHS. I hope that there will significant investment in education. I hope that our country will become stronger. However, at the moment my fears seem to outweigh my hopes.

I shall continue to pray for Her Majesty the Queen and her government. I shall pray for a fairer society of which we can all be proud but I feel bound, as a Christian and as a priest, to pray with Our Lady that the proudhearted my be scattered, and the lowly raised up.

Those of us who are relatively comfortable or even wealthy will, I think, need to be much more generous to those who are not as comfortable. We will need to take responsibility for looking after and caring for the most vulnerable. I have a lot of fears but I hope and pray to be proven wrong in time.

For now, I would like to say to my European brothers and sisters:

• Je vous aime.
•  Ich liebe euch.
• Ik hou van jullie.
• Jag älskar er.
• Jeg elsker jer.
• Os quiero.
• Us estimo.
• Vi amo.
• (‘I love you’ to all of you whose language I don’t know well enough to type that without having to look it up.)

I will continue to travel whenever I can to experience the varied riches that you offer—not talking money, of course!

To my muslim friends, I say ‘assalamu alaykum’.

Let us move forward to create a society of which we can be proud. May God deliver us from having to bow our heads in shame. We will have to take much more responsibility to help those in need. We will all have to take much more responsibility to raise up the lowly. We will have to do much more to support the vulnerable in our society.

God save the Queen!

My relationship with languages

A lot of this post has come from watching the following video, which I recommend highly to anybody interested: https://youtu.be/ROh_-RG3OVg

"How many languages do you speak?"

One of the questions I find hardest to answer is: "How many languages do you speak?" If I am honest, the difficulty I have with it isn't to do with not knowing but more to do with the strange attention it gets. I feel embarrassed, like I am becoming an exhibition piece. One acquaintance of mine, observing somebody asking me that question, remarked to me: "I have never seen somebody back-pedal as quickly before".
There is also the question of the point at which you can legitimately claim that you speak a language. At what point of fluency can you say that you speak a language? The languages I would say I can understand reasonably fluently are: English (mother tongue), French, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Kiwahili. (I may have forgotten a couple.) One or two of those languages have become rusty but, to take Kiswahili as one example, I preached whole sermons in Kiswahili when I was in Kenya. Other languages I speak to varying degrees from a few phrases to basic conversation include: Irish, Welsh, isiXhosa, Chinese (Mandarin), Cantonese, Polish, Portuguese, Catalan, Hindi, Greek, Arabic, Russian. I may here have left off one or two. I also know enough Biblical Hebrew and NT Greek to be able to look up things I need to know. Languages like Arabic or Hindi, I really only know a few phrases and so cannot really claim to speak them. Others, like Catalan, I have read a novel in and listen to radio. I understand quite a lot but would not feel ready to rock up to Barcelona and speak away. (If I could go to Barcelona today, I would do my best and would be confident of reaching a reasonable degree of fluency within a couple of weeks.)
I have often said before that the more languages one learns, the more one learns how to learn languages.

"How did it all start?"

As far as my memory serves, it all started when I was in the first year of Junior School (now known as Year 3). It was still in those days (in the mid '80s) when schools used series of textbooks to teach English. I don't know how true my memory is but I seem to remember that I shot ahead quite quickly. (The interesting thing is that I didn't really pay much attention at school until Year 3.) My class teacher lent me a French phrasebook, thinking that I might be interested. At that age, it was just a book with loads of strange words in it and it wasn't until the 4th year (Year 6) that I started to teach myself French and German by buying those Collins Gem French Grammar and German Grammar books. I don't know why but my interest was piqued. I seem to remember starting to learn Dutch that year too--I still don't know why!

When I went to Secondary School and started to be taught French and German, my teacher asked me how come my French and German were so good. I just sort of shrugged, being slightly embarrassed (but proud of myself at the same time).

In the end, I took my French GCSE two years early, in Year 9. The following November I started to learn Italian from scratch and took the GCSE in June, in Year 10, along with German and Music. What tended to happen was that I would just decide to learn another language out of curiosity and the list grew and grew.

My mother tells the story of one of my French teachers telling her that my teacher could not teach me anything more and that my French was better than the teacher's. I don't know how true that is because I wasn't there, and I remember that that teacher's French was really good and we would usually only ever talk to each other in French. (I suspect my mum has embellished a little. Sorry Mum, if you read this!)

Adult life

I went off to University at 18 to study Foreign Languages. I was doing really well but did not complete the degree (through poor mental health). However, I spent large amounts of my social time with French students, as well as German and Italian. If ever I encountered somebody whose language I knew, I would always speak their language. I was never afraid of making mistakes. If I were to write this blog in another language, it would probably be full of mistakes but I might do it anyway!

The list of languages has just grown and grown and one of the highlights for me in my adult life was when I was in South Africa four years ago, where there are 11 official languages. Where I was, I once spoke in 5 or 6 languages in one day. It was like heaven. My favourite memory was speaking Afrikaans to order a book in a bookshop. At the end of the conversation, the lady I was speaking to politely asked me if I was from the Netherlands. I was more than happy to live with that mistake.

When I was in Kenya, I remember holding a New Year's Eve vigil in the new school building that was almost complete. I gave a little homily in Swahili and one of the children asked me (in Kiswahili) whether I was a white man or an African. When I asked her what she thought, she said "You are African!".

As an aside, making the effort to speak somebody's language really does improve the relationship exponentially, even if you can only manage a few phrases.

"How do you learn?"

I am not sure that I believe that I have some kind of special gift. I think that everybody can learn languages if they really want to and put their mind, time, and energy to it.

• Firstly, I learn alone. (It doesn't matter what the subject is. I always learn best alone, at least to start with. Only then can other people be involved. When I did my theology degree, I soon learnt that lectures rarely helped, whereas a reading list did.) 
• Personally, I tend to find starting with grammar helpful. The grammar of a language is like the foundations of a building. Once that is in place, you simply build on top of it.
• The most important thing is to be patient. I am incredibly impatient and want to know 'all the things' immediately. However, it is worth taking it very slowly in the beginning. It is like the foundation: if the foundation is not solid, the rest of the building will not be sound. There is always a point at which it suddenly clicks if one perseveres. One has to resist the urge to give up when it is difficult in the beginning.
• When one reaches a certain level, it is important to immerse oneself in the language. When I was learning Danish, Swedish, and Norwegian, I found that immersing myself in radio and television--easily accessible online these days--was really helpful. Of course, in the beginning it was just random sounds and I found it hard to make out individual words but as I continued, words began to take shape and as my vocabulary grew, so I was able to understand. I happen to love Scandinavian crime thrillers so stocking up on them and reading them in the original languages helped. Of course, for the first few pages, I was looking up almost every word. It was very tedious and I was tempted to give up. However, suddenly the moment came when I was looking up words much less. Now, I can read or listen to the radio and hardly look anything up. Of course, I don't really know how good my spoken abilities are in those languages because I haven't had much opportunity to practise. I did have a long conversation in Danish once and that went very well. I was very surprised.
• I think that the most important thing of all is to try and not be afraid to make mistakes. We will all make mistakes in foreign languages: it doesn't matter how well we speak them. I will still make mistakes, even in my best languages, even in English! There is nothing wrong with that. The fear of making mistakes is, arguably, the biggest obstacle to language learning. If one simply dives in and tries to speak, one finds that the reward of that effort can be massive. A good friend, who will gently correct those mistakes, is worth their weight in gold.

What now?

I don't know what the future holds as far as my languages are concerned. I am beginning to feel though that I need to use more imagination and use the languages in my life. What that will look like, I don't know.

Does it mean leaving ordained ministry? Possibly, but also possibly not.

Does it mean potentially taking bold steps forward into the unknown. I suspect so.

One thing I do know though: I have to do more with my languages. I have to find a way to use them, other than watching lots of foreign TV, listening to foreign radio, reading foreign books.

Any advice would be much appreciated.

Thoughts on the current political scene

One or two people have sought to rebuke me for drawing comparisons between the political scene of the 1930s and today, one warning that it might cause offence. However, I cannot help but see the similarities. Yes, we live in a different era and the names are different. The details may well be different but I can't help thinking that we are creating a world so alike to the world of the 1930s. The difference being that this time we are the ones who are in danger of taking the wrong path.

Education is vitally important in all of this. Understanding of history is central: not just the details of the Second World War in particular, but also an understanding of the conditions that gave rise to forces like Hitler, Mussolini, and Stalin. I don't pretend to have a deep understanding of all of this: all I can do is say what I see.

One of the problems, especially for the younger generations, is that the second world war is beginning to go out of living memory. I grew up with grandparents telling me stories from the Second World War. My grandfather told many stories about being in Austria, among other places, driving tanks and, of course, there are many stories he would not tell.

I have always loved the Diary of Anne Frank. I have copies in English and in Dutch and I have been to see the Anne Frank House twice, the second time with my daughter. Talking to my daughter after our visit, we agreed that the lesson we learn is that we should not be horrible to people because they have a different nationality, religion, or whatever the particular difference might be. If you read the diary, and then visit the house, you cannot help but weep when you stand in the room in which she slept and wrote, thinking about what would later happen.

When I was at university, I read the book Se questo è un uomo by Primo Levi, an Italian Jew who survived Auschwitz. His account is deeply moving, harrowing, as he describes his own experiences in Auschwitz. His book begins with a poem, which is worth repeating here:

Voi che vivete sicuri [You who live safely]
Nelle vostre tiepide case, [in your warm houses]

Voi che trovate tornando a sera [You who find, when you get home in the evening,]

Il cibo caldo e visi amici: [Warm food and friendly faces]

Considerate se questo è un uomo [Consider whether this is a man]
Che lavora nel fango [who works in the mud]
Che non conosce pace [who knows no peace]
Che lotta per mezzo pane [who fights for a chunk of bread]
 Che muore per un sí o per un no. [who dies for a 'yes' or a 'no']
Considerate se questa è una donna, [Consider whether this is a woman]
Senza capelli e senza nome [without hair and without name]
Senza più forza di ricordare [with no more strength to remember]
Vuoti gli occhi e freddo il grembo [empty her eyes and cold her womb]
Come una rana d'inverno. [like a toad in winter]
Meditate che questo è stato: [Meditate on the fact that this has been]
Vi comando queste parole. [I enjoin these words to you]
Scolpitele nel vostro cuore [Sculpt them in your heart]

Stando in casa andando per via, [at home or on the street]

Coricandovi alzandovi; [when you go to bed and when you get up]
Ripetetele ai vostri figli. [Repeat them to your sons and daughters]

O vi si sfaccia la casa, [or may your house fall down]
La malattia vi impedisca, [may illness hinder you]
I vostri nati torcano il viso da voi. [may those born to you turn their faces from you].

Powerful words that ought to penetrate our very hearts and meditate on what has happened in the past.

Or I can recall the experience of hearing and meeting a holocaust survivor--Arek was his name, if memory serves--and being moved by a very personal story.

Or the book I have just read--El violí d'Auschwitz [The Auschwitz Violin] by Maria Àngels Anglada--which tells the story of a Polish violin maker being made to make a violin at Auschwitz by his Commandant, to win a bet he had made with a doctor, and the nightmares that still haunt the violinist who first played it.

Of course, there are many, many more testimonies of that time that should move our hearts to horror and cause us to become watchmen/-women, vigilant against the forces of evil that can bring such suffering to people.

So yes, the Second World War was a long time ago and the world is very different now. The precise details may differ and yes, we may not have concentration camps or labour camps. It may not lead to that. I pray that it doesn't.

But when you hear of the detention camps that immigrants are being placed in in America--a so-called beacon of enlightenment and democracy and freedom--where children are separated from parents, you cannot help but see the similarities with testimonies of people arriving at Auschwitz. How and why are we not condemning these practices in America? How are they allowed to take place? How is such an abhorrent individual allowed to lead arguably the most powerful nation on earth?

Or we have Boris Johnson referring to Muslim women who wear the niqab as 'letterboxes', Africans as 'piccaninnies'. How is this acceptable? Can we not see what is going on? When confronted about the 'letterbox' thing, his defence was that ordinary people in Britain are fed up with being muzzled (i.e. not allowed to say what they like). So, we have a man who may well become our prime minister legitimising language that we thought we had moved on from. Ordinary people being given permission by the would-be prime minister to use racist and discriminatory language. From there, it is but a small step to the point at which people feel that they have permission to further victimise minority or immigrant groups. Now, this may not be Boris' intention, or Farage's, or the intention of any of that hateful crew, but that is what will happen.

And when Jacob Rees-Mogg was asked about it, his response was that we shouldn't be snowflakes, and then directly asked the reporter whether he was a snowflake. (If memory serves, it was a man.) Let's pick this apart: what Rees-Mogg was, in effect, doing was silencing voices that would speak against the would-be leader of our government, silencing those who would object, and ridiculing them. Again, people will follow his example and accuse those who object to what is going on of being 'snowflakes', ridiculing them as the huge numbers of disgruntled people feel that racist speech and action is legitimised.

So why am I drawing comparisons with the Second World War? Because this is how it starts, if my inadequate historical knowledge serves me well:

1. We experience a period in which a population perceives itself to be struggling.
2. We see leaders arise who promise to make their countries great again. (Putting the 'great' back into Great Britain, or 'making America great again'.)
3. We see organisations or groups blamed for the conditions in which we live. (The European Union, Muslims, people from Eastern Europe, Mexicans) Here it has to be noted that Trump has been far worse with this, referring to Mexicans as rapists and drug dealers.
4. We bring about a suspicion of 'experts' and institutions and the establishments who warn us against what we are doing, and tell ordinary people that we are giving them a voice.
5. We seek to separate ourselves from others in order, using ideas of sovereignty and national pride, to get people on side. (Brexit)
6. We form alliances with those who speak the same language. (Trump, Johnson. Trump having been very vocal about May not doing a good job and Johnson will be better.)

We don't yet know what happens from 7. onwards. But tell me this, how is this list not almost exactly like what happened after the First World War and brought about the Second?

Now, not everybody who voted for Brexit is bad, racist, or anything else. Not everybody who voted for Trump is evil either: in fact, much of the 'Christian' vote for Trump was around the issue of abortion, almost a single-issue vote. Not everybody who voted for Trump or Brexit would approve of the isolationist, xenophobic, or even racist language. But here's the thing: those who voted for Trump, those who voted for Brexit, those who will make Boris prime minister, those who will vote for the Conservative Party under Boris Johnson, those who will vote for the Brexit Party, will all be responsible for opening the door to a world in which we can create exactly the circumstances in which people like Hitler came to power.

The Germans were not, and are not, all evil people. The Germans in the 1930s would probably have been horrified if they had known what they would unleash under the Nazis. Even when I was a University student, in 1997, I remember meeting Germans who were still telling me that they were taught to be repentant about the Second World War, much like the Jürgen the German sketch that Harry Enfield was doing at the time. The Second World War didn't happen because all Germans, Italian, Russians, Japanese and whoever else were evil and racist: it happened because we opened to the door to those who were. The Holocaust happened because good people made the wrong choice because they couldn't see what they were doing.

Somebody warned me that my comments and comparisons might be offensive to people. GOOD! I hope that they are! I hope that what I and others like me say will cause offence because we need to be awakened from the stupor in which we seem to be living. We need to be called to open our eyes and see what we are creating.

Some would say that priests ought not to be political. But I with my fellow priests are called, by the words of the ordinal, to be 'messengers, watchmen...they are to teach and admonish...to guide through [the world's] confusions'. I made vows that I would do these things and so that is what I am doing.

I might be wrong about what we are creating. In fact, I hope and pray that I am. I pray that I won't, like that German I met, be apologising in 50 years time, if I am still alive, for the world that we will have created.

The Second World War happened because, in part, people kept silent. I will not keep silent. I will not be told to be careful about what I say in case people are offended. I will always speak out for truth and justice. I will always speak for the rights of the oppressed. Because, guess what, that appears to be exactly what Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ did. To him be glory and honour, now and to the ages of ages, Amen.

Sentipeopletality 1

I have just watched last week's episode of the Durrells. It is a programme that I have come to really enjoy. Part of the story line was the youngest son's crush on a local girl and the complicated emotions involved with that, especially when he sees her talking to another boy.

Sometimes I have moments of sentimentality and nostalgia. I was talking to somebody yesterday about the idea that we would not want to go back to being teenagers again.

Actually, as I was watching the Durrells, I started thinking that I would love to go back to those early teenage years, as feelings of attraction started to awaken (or perhaps a few years earlier), when a rejection, or simply being ignored, or not having the guts to do anything about it all was the end of the world. Conversely, any sign of mutual interest was like all your birthdays coming at once.

I wasn't a very confident teenager. I was very gifted, especially in languages and music, and I suppose I largely hid away in those things, and interacted with the world through those things. I spent most of my time living in a bubble. I had friends but I always somehow had the feeling that most of my life, and my true self, was hidden inside. I suppose that those sorts of feelings are pretty common for anybody at that age but I often admired, and envied people who seemed to be able to burst out of the bubble and jump into the world.

I remembered those feelings when I had crushes on people and I had quite a few of them. I will confess to having one particular crush through most of my teenage years but there were others too. I wish I could go back to those feelings sometimes. I wish I could relive those feelings of butterflies when a certain girl walked into the room. I wish I could remember the complete and utter fear that accompanied any idea of reaching out, or saying anything to any of my crushes. I generally didn't.

I wish I could go back and do things again. If I had a time machine, I would go back to those years and have a word with my younger self and tell myself that more people liked me than I thought, that I should have more courage, more (inter-personal) self-confidence.

I'd like to go back to the first time I clumsily and rather awkwardly at first held hands with a girl. I wish I could go back to my first kiss and relive it. I wish I could go back to those days when it was all a mystery and something to be discovered.

I suppose I have reached a point where I am beginning to feel more clearly that my vocation is to a life of singleness, perhaps it always was really. At this point in my life, it feels like I am discovering a gift and am only now beginning to see that it is a gift. The problem was that for so long I wanted the other gift, and tried taking it. But I don't think it was a gift meant for me. This doesn't make me sad. In fact, quite the opposite: I am feeling quite a lot of joy.

I do wish I could go back to those years though and experience those crushes again.

Easter Vigil Sermon 2019

[Please note that this was not scripted and I have had to try my best to transcribe it.]

Well, I don’t know about you but I am very tired. It has been a very intense week, a very emotional week, and I know it has been for many of you because you have told me so, and made me even more emotional.

When we got home from the Good Friday liturgy yesterday, I put on a film and it was The Passion of the Christ, the Mel Gibson film. I am very fond of that film because I watched it in the cinema on the day that something profound happened. I am not going to tell you about it but it was something profound. It was just me and two nuns in the cinema watching the film that day. If you haven’t seen it, it is a very moving, powerful, but very graphic depiction of what happened to Our Lord on Good Friday. I won’t embarrass her too much but my mum was very upset by the film. (Had I known she would be, I wouldn’t have put it on.)

It’s an amazing film and there is a wonderful scene where Jesus is brought into Caiaphas’ place to be questioned. There’s the moment where Peter denied Jesus three times and then Jesus, who has been beaten and is knocked to the floor looks at Peter and Peter looks at him, and Peter weeps and runs away. In running away he comes across Our Lady, Mary, the mother of Our Lord, Mary Magdalene and John, the beloved disciple. He goes to his knees on the floor and cries because he has betrayed Jesus. Mary, the mother of Our Lord reaches out to him and he says ‘No, Mother, I am not worthy because I have betrayed him.’ We don’t really know what happens to him immediately after that. But what we do know, the only record we have is of three people, Mary, the mother of Our Lord, Mary Magdalene, and the beloved disciple. (Plus a couple of other women in some accounts.)

The question I have got is ‘where were the others’? What happened to them because all we know is that they were in the Upper Room, they were in the Garden of Gethsemane and when Jesus was arrested they fled. Did they go back to the Upper Room? Were they hiding there? Because that’s where Jesus found them after his resurrection. What were they doing? What were they saying? Because they all, like us, were in the same boat, because they, like us turned their backs on Jesus like we turned our back on Jesus on Maundy Thursday, abandoning him in the darkness.

We left the Church in darkness and then, on Good Friday, we faced the stark Church, bare of decoration. And I know that for many of you it was a very emotional experience to come and venerate the cross. But what were the disciples doing? That’s the question. I want to know and I know that I will never find out but I am curious because we, like them, turned our backs.

But what do we do next? We come together in the night. We gather in the night to welcome the new light of Christ. Even though we have turned our backs on him, he is risen from the dead and he will never turn his back on us.

For those of you for whom, like me, it has been a very emotional week, this is the joy that finishes it because without that pain and without that emotion, without that realisation of how Christ suffered and how he was betrayed, how he bled, naked and thirsty for us, without that realisation we cannot have that joy, without that realisation, we cannot have the joy—truly have the joy—of Easter because otherwise we simply go from welcoming him in on Palm Sunday with shouts of ‘Hosanna’ to celebrating that he is risen. But what happened in between?

We are here and we are here to celebrate that risen life. I don’t know about you but, as we were listening to those vigil readings, which are long, and it can be uncomfortable to sit through, but they remind us of this story of salvation that has been going since long before we were even here. We step into it. We step into the story of salvation and celebrate the risen Christ.

All that suffering, all that pain, is gone.

If Jesus had simply died on the cross, it would have been worth nothing. Hundreds of people were crucified. Hundreds. If Jesus had simply dies, he would have just been one of those hundreds but the fact that he is risen from the dead, the fact that he has defeated that which none of us can defeat, means that our hope is restored. Our faith is restored and, whatever we have been through, we can enter into that new life.

We are now going to reaffirm our baptismal promises. This is the moment in which we stand and we say ‘I want to enter into that new life’ and the holy water will be liberally sprinkled on each of you as you do so.

Let us stand and enter into that new life.

Sermon for Good Friday 2019

Sermon preached at Farington Moss St Paul

Isaiah 52.13-53.12; Hebrews 10.16-25; John 18.1-19.42

The Church is bare. It looks different. Everything is bare and there is no decoration. It is empty. It is as though all hope and joy is gone for ever.

The readings and liturgies of Holy Week bring the story alive for us. We ponder Mary pouring out her expensive perfume. Why? Because she wanted to give everything. We ponder the request to see Jesus, and examine our motives and the picture of Jesus that we hold. We ponder Judas’ betrayal of Jesus and Jesus’ inclusion of even him in those last words and events of Holy Week.

Last night, you watched as I watched the feet of twelve parishioners. We celebrated the Eucharist, trying to place ourselves in the Upper Room with Christ and his disciples. We then stripped the Church and kept a silent watch until midnight. Not everybody stayed of course but it was interesting to see people come and go during the watch. No words. No interaction apart from maybe a nod or a simple wave. No knowing why each of those people was there, except perhaps the call to be near Jesus. And then the moment when the candles surrounding Jesus were extinguished and we turned our backs and left the Church to go into the night. Deserting Jesus as his disciples deserted him.

Today we take our place with Christ on the Cross. It is not an easy place to stand. It is not comfortable. It is one of the most painful things that we can experience to watch a body, naked and bleeding, flesh ripped away by scourging, hands and feet nailed to a cross and hanging there, struggling to breathe for six hours.

It is horrible and our hearts cry out for justice, for some kind of sense to it all. But there is none. All we can do is stand and watch as Jesus bleeds and as Jesus dies. And yet what is his response to all this? How did he respond?

His words in St John’s Passion reading are words of love and care. ‘Woman, here is your son.’ ‘Here is your mother’. Words of tenderness and love and care. And then those words that speak of the very real and human experience that Christ went through: ‘I am thirsty.’ ‘It is finished.’ The terrible thirst of hanging on a cross in the heat of the midday sun.

In the other Gospels, Jesus goes even further and prays that God would forgive those who cause his very real and physical suffering, because they do not know what they are doing. Such tender love and forgiveness even to those who bring him such pain. Such love and forgiveness shown right up to the last moment.

Why didn’t he speak up? Why didn’t he defend himself? Why didn’t he display his power? Why didn’t he, who was the very word of creation not put a stop to all this suffering and pain?

Today, we have to be the ones who realise that we are the ones who have betrayed Christ. We are the ones who have driven the nails into his hands and feet. We are the ones who have cast lots for his clothing. We are the ones who have turned out backs. We are the ones who cannot help ourselves. And what is Christ’s reaction?

‘Father, forgive them, for they do not  know what they are doing?’ Every little sin that we have committed has hammered the nails into Jesus’ hands and feet. Every little white lie, every moment of gossip, every moment when we have preferred our own comfort to the life that God calls us to. We are the ones. ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing?’

So often we do not know what we are doing and we are in this position. We are all people slowly trying to figure out what it means to be God’s people. We are all trying to adjust our lives in order to live as God calls us to live. We do not know what we are doing, but in our ignorance and weakness Jesus says those same words ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing’.

One of the people crucified with him mocked him; the other saw that Jesus was innocent of offence and asked to be remembered in his kingdom. Two people, both guilty, as we all are. What was the difference? The response to Jesus on the Cross. As we come to the Cross, we too ask to be remembered.

Today is the day that the Cross has to become real for us. We have to see Christ on the Cross and we have to allow this sight to touch and move our hearts. Will we mock? Will we tell ourselves that it was all a load of rubbish? Or will we see that Jesus died an innocent man and yet did so willingly to show us, in the fullest way possible, how to love? Will we too ask to be remembered in Jesus’ kingdom?

We watch, in our imaginations, as Jesus dies. We see his lifeless body hanging there and we begin to see the darkness that so often seems to overshadow our world. We see the darkness in our own lives, the darkness of our own sin. We see that death is the punishment for our sin and watch as an innocent man, the Word made flesh, submits to this experience of death. He is taken down and laid in the tomb.

The very source of life, which is the light of the world, that light which the darkness cannot overcome, willingly descends into the darkness of death. Satan trembles as Jesus releases God’s people from the grave. We tremble as we wait in the emptiness and darkness of these next two days. The whole earth trembles as we await the victory of Christ.

This death that we watch, with tears and broken hearts, is simply the beginning W    e know that our Redeemer lives, and that he will bring us to God’s kingdom and raise us up at the last.  We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, for by your Holy Cross you have redeemed the world.