Past and Future

On this final day of the year, the quotation by Tseng-Kuang is most apposite, "Do not worry about the past, turn to the future." 

It reminds me of the annual joy and challenge of filling in my Year Compass, which I will be doing with my other half this evening. I blogged about this here. We will be looking back on the past year (and oh my, what a year it has been!) and looking forward to a (hopefully) less constricted 2021. Although I must say at this point, I would far rather remain in lockdown longer and get this horrible virus defeated, than come out early and risk it going on indefinitely.

In spite of all its oddness - who would have dreamed that everyone not only could, but should, walk into a bank in a mask and ask for money and no-one would turn a hair? - 2020 has not been entirely bad. I have grieved over the loss of friends and acquaintances, and missed all the hugs I haven't received, the friends and family I haven't seen face-to-face, and the Unitarian events I haven't attended (especially Summer School). But like I say, it has not been all bad. I turned 60 in February and am happy about that. My first novel, One Foot in Front of the Other, was published in October, and I would never have dreamed that I would be featured in a prominent broadsheet newspaper, talking about it. And I have crocheted four blankets and worked on my next book most days.

At this time of year, a time of endings and beginnings, I always find the words of 19th century Unitarian and Transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson both challenging and reassuring: 

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day of the year. No man has learned anything rightly until he knows that every day is doomsday. Today is a king in disguise. Today always looks mean to the thoughtless, in the face of a uniform experience that all good and great and happy actions are made up precisely of these blank todays. 

Let us not be so deceived; let us unmask the king as he passes! He only is rich who owns the day, and no-one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with worry, fret and anxiety.

You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely and with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This day is all that is good and fair. It is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the yesterdays."

I hope that 2021 will be a better year for all of us - that we will all be vaccinated against Covid 19, that we will eventually be able to meet in person once more, and that our experiences of the past year will have turned us into kinder, more compassionate people. Another New Year will be welcomed in at midnight, full of hints and promises. We have another chance to learn new things, to make new friends, to appreciate old friends, and to recognise the Divine everywhere.

May it be so, for all of us.

 

The Joy We Give

 It is Christmas Eve. We are coming towards the end of an extraordinary year, full of joys and sorrows. Like Kahlil Gibran, I believe that the two are inextricably linked and that, "when one sits along with you at your board, remember that the other one is asleep upon your bed."

Since the first lockdown began, on 23rd March, there has been much to be sorrowful about - the gatherings missed, the hugs and kisses unexchanged, the family members not seen, the friends lost - especially this last. But there has also been so much joy, so much connection, which has lifted my heart. Unitarians of all stripes have found new ways of staying in touch - via Zoom, via YouTube, via e-mail, via telephone, even via letters and cards. Two in particular stand out for me: Jane Blackall's wonderful Heart and Soul gatherings on Zoom, now also being led by others, have been a lovely way to connect for so many people. She has enabled a true ministry of joy to happen. And Celia Cartwright's daily Ruminations on Facebook, recording the joys and sorrows of the year, another faithful ministry. Reading them each day has been a real spiritual pick-me-up for me and for many others.

For myself, when I have joined Zoom gatherings, it has been so good to talk to other people, both friends and strangers, to see well-loved faces and to make new friends. I am very much looking forward to joining the Unitarian Carol Service via Zoom at 6.30 this evening.

This week's anonymous quotation says, "The more joy we give to other people, the more joy returns to our own hearts." And I have found that this is so, this year. We are social beings and reaching out to others, in whatever way, has been such an important part of this year, which has filled my heart with joy. I have had so many appreciative e-mails from people who have read and listened to my online services, it has warmed my heart. 

There has also been the lovely possibility of "attending" Zoom worship services all over the country and even further afield, which has been another source of joy. I understand that many new folk have attended Unitarian worship for the first time in this way. When we "get back to normal" (probably towards the end of 2021) I hope that these online gatherings will continue, as they have enabled us to reach out to people who would not otherwise cross our thresholds. I am certainly going to carry on producing an online service each week, as many of the congregations in the Midlands only meet twice a month, and I want to offer them some kind of worship on "non-Church" Sundays.

May you all have a blessed and peaceful Christmas, and a better New Year.

We are the Sunbeams

 Yesterday, I had a session with my spiritual director, which was rich and good. And towards the end of it, we spoke of our relationship with God, and he shared the revelation that there is no separation between us and God, "not even the shadow of a hair's breadth".

In the past, I have felt moments of connection with the Divine, whatever we name Him/Her/It. But the idea that there is *no* separation between us was new to me - or maybe I was not ready to receive it before. My spiritual director said that it would take time for this idea to move from my head to my heart, that I would have to sit with it for a long time before I truly experienced it. And I believe that.

But this morning, I was mulling over what he had said, during my morning sit, and these words came to me (the first image came from my director, the rest from me):

God is the sun, we are the sunbeams,

we are emanations of God.

God is the Light within us all,

reflecting and connecting with the Light around us.

God is the water, we are the ripples,

caught up in the Divine Flow.

God is the air, we are the breath,

each breath in, a breath of Life,

each breath out, a breath of Love.

God is the One Tree, we are the branches,

growing out of the Source of Being.

God is the fire, we are the sparks,

lighting up our universe from within.

God is Love, we are lovers,

sharing, caring, healing, understanding.

There is no separation between us,

"not even the shadow of a hair's breadth."

We are working parts of God.

I believe that sitting with this will give me enough purpose and meaning for a lifetime...

Wisdom from Missed Opportunities

I had not previously heard of Henriette Wilhelmine Hanke, the Silesian author of this week's quotation. But according to Wikipedia, she was considered to be "one of the most successful authors of the first half of the 19th century," (at least in Germany). She had an unhappy marriage to a much older man and is best known for her "didactic" works, "where one can find much of the sentimental enthusiasm of popular romanticism. It was always about being there as a comforter and counselor for other lonely women after her own unhappy marriage, giving them the feeling of comforting togetherness by reading her novels and short stories."

Which made the quotation chosen by Harenberg Kalender more poignant, "Missed opportunities never come back. But they teach us to be aware of new ones." It made me wonder what opportunities she had missed, what regrets she had, about becoming the third wife of an elderly pastor at the early age of 20, and having to spend her prime looking after his six children. And to think about what opportunities I might have missed, and what they have taught me...

The only one I could think of was that I had always planned to spend a year after graduation working at the hotel of a friend of my father in Seefeld, Austria, to become fluent in German. But then I became engaged, and the slump of the early 1980s happened, and it felt more important to get a good job and settle down. So I never made it, and my German remains very much sub-fluent. I can understand far more than I can speak, but I would love to have been fluent.

Since then, I have always tried to jump in the direction of new opportunities, saying "yes" to life, rather than "No, I can't, I'm scared, what if I fail?" I would far rather try something new, something different and not succeed, than rest on my (very few) laurels and not LIVE.

I love the Quaker Advice, which I first came across in my late twenties, "Live adventurously. When choices arise, do you take the way that offers the fullest opportunity for the use of your gifts in the service of God and the community? Let your life speak." 

And I have rarely regretted following it, even if it does sometimes make me feel vulnerable. I would far rather dare and fail, than not dare at all. But I also need to bear in mind another Quaker advice, as time passes: 

"Every stage of our lives offers fresh opportunities. Responding to divine guidance, try to discern the right time to undertake or relinquish responsibilities without undue pride or guilt. Attend to what love requires of you, which may not be great business."

I think I will find "relinquishing" more difficult than "undertaking." May I have the grace to do so, when the time comes.

Grandad's Roses

 "If a man had no other ability but to grow roses, he would be perfect." These words by Wilkie Collins, immediately made me think of my grandfather, Alec Ellis. Who was a perfect grandfather. He and Grannie used to buy me special books for Christmas and birthdays, and fed my love of reading and beautiful words. He may be better known to Unitarians as the author of Lawrence Redfern: A Memoir, which was a tribute to his friend and minister at Ullet Road Church in Liverpool.

I only knew him for a few years - he died when I was still quite young - but I loved him dearly. And he was the very first author I ever knew. The first book of his that I read was his chapter of autobiography, The House of Woolton Hill, which tells the story of how he and my grandmother moved from an ordinary house to a small mansion on Woolton Hill in Liverpool, and bought it sight unseen, as it was on requisition to the Army at the time. But they had fallen in love with the gardens... this is his description of his first view of the rose garden:

"We turned aside down an overgrown path which led to a secluded rose garden. It was triangular in shape, one side being bounded by what must have been a magnificent rock garden... a shrubbery occupied the second side and the remaining side was devoted to a pergola covered with rambler roses. The bush roses had been planted in a number of shaped beds. There was a centre round bed surrounded by three curved beds. These in turn were surrounded by four curved beds.... The remainder of the space was filled by small round beds, each containing a climbing or rambling rose..... The roses had grown tall through lack of pruning, but they were flowering in great profusion and there must have been a couple of hundred in flower that evening, filling the garden with sweetness. I was instantly struck by the peace of the place. Beautiful it certainly was, even in its neglect, but it was the peacefulness of the place which did something to me. I felt it was the sanest place I had been in for many a long day."

In due course, the whole garden was restoed to its former glory, and a picture of the rose garden adorns the cover. 

When I knew him and Grannie, they had moved to a bungalow in Hereford (my grandmother had had a serious stroke) but the front garden was also a glory of roses. Sadly, I have not taken after him in one respect - I am no gardener. But both my father and I inherited his love of words, and the joy of writing them down. I owe both of them a great debt.

Not a Petrified City

 Novalis, the 18th century German philosopher, mystic and poet, wrote, "Nature is a petrified magic city." I wish I could have read this quotation in its wider context, because as it stands, I could not disagree more. At least with his first adjective... magic city, yes, petrified...?

Because one thing I know for certain, Nature is *never* petrified. Since lockdown began, I have been walking most days in Salcey Forest, the entrance to which is only five minutes' walk away from my front door. And I have been thrilled by being able to witness the ever-changing landscape of my daily walk, from the buds and new growth of Spring, the full glorious greenness of Summer and the wonderfully changeful colours of Autumn. Even today, on a grey and misty morning, I have seen things still growing, still changing. And I know that even in the depths of Winter, there will still be activity in the natural world - I will still be able to see evergreen trees, and holly berries and listen to the birds overhead. Seeds will be waiting under the soil, ready to burst forth with new life next year.

Even mountains and rocks, like the ones pictured on the postcard, are not entirely petrified. They may seem so, to our human eyes, but if they are also subject to change as wind, sun and rain act on them. And rivers and seas have the power to soften jagged outlines over time. One of my regular activities, when we visit our favourite part of Wales, is to walk along the stones thrown up by the tide and marvel at the rounded shapes and multifarious colours of the pebbles.

A while ago, my son persuaded us to watch an astonishing video on YouTube, called Timelapse of the Future: A Journey to the End of Time, which took the longest view of our future as it is possible to take. It is here and is well worth a watch. It showed that everything, absolutely everything, is subject to change.

Watching it made me feel very small and insignificant. On the scale of universes, we are not even microscopice dots on microscopic dots. Nevertheless, we are here in a particular time and place, and it is our responsibility to do whatever we can, where we are, to ensure that Nature continues to be a magic city, not a petrified one.

Trees are Poems

 Khalil Gibran, author of The Prophet, wrote, "Trees are poems that the earth writes in the sky." When I read that, my heart soared in recognition.

Because that is *exactly* the feeling I get when I walk in Salcey Forest and see the trees outlined against the sky, whether that sky is blue or grey. Each tree unique, whether it is in its prime, or a young sapling, or an old tree somehow clinging to life, finding the strength to bring forth new growth each Spring. As Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings, "some as different as one tree is from another of the same name but quite different growth and history; and some as different as one tree-kind from another, as birch from beech, oak from fir."

All this year, since lockdown began, I walked most days in the Forest, and have watched the trees go through their annual cycle of the budding and new growth and blossom of Spring, through the full-leaved glory of Summer, and the fruits of Autumn, before their leaves started to change colour and fall. And now some of them are naked and splendid, their bare branches writing patterns in the sky. And they are wonderful in their complexity. 

And I love the interplay between trees and the landscape they inhabit. This year, I have posted hundreds of photos on Facebook of beautiful trees... because their beauty fills my heart with wonder and gratitude, that I live on the same planet. The glory of God made manifest in creation.

What fills your heart with wonder? 

Meditation and Clarity

 I've recently been re-reading my battered copy of Get Some Headspace by ex-Buddhist monk and meditation teacher, Andy Puddicombe. There is a Headspace app, which I signed up to about four years ago, and use as part of my morning sit.

As he writes in his Introduction, "The practise of meditation is about much more than simply sitting down for a set period of time each day. Although it may be a key component, it is just one part of a broader system of mind training that incorporates three distinct aspects... Traditionally, meditation students were taught first how to approach the technique, then how to practise it, before finally learning how to integrate the techniques into their everyday lives."

As I have said before, I am perfectly capable of sitting still for ten (or even twenty) minutes every morning. But bringing my mind to a similar stillness is much more challenging. So I've gone back to basics, and re-read the book. And my morning sit this morning was much the better for it. There can be a peaceful calmness about just sitting, following the breath, if we can learn to focus lightly, but with awareness.

Not engaging with our thoughts and feelings while meditating is a tricky process, and I, like many others, often try too hard. The trick is to acknowledge the thoughts and feelings as they arise, but not to engage with them. He gives the analogy of sitting by a busy road, watching cars go by, and explains that "gentle curiosity" is the key... "observing and noticing what happens to the body and mind as these emotions [and thoughts] come and go, [having] a sense of ease with whatever... is present."

The word "clarity" has been jumping out at me recently. Puddicombe shares the analogy of a pool of clear water - when it is still, we are able to see all the way to the bottom. But if we start to throw pebbles into it, the water becomes murky, unclear. Those pebbles are our thoughts and emotions, disturbing the quiet calm of the water, our meditative mind. 

Puddicombe writes, "The thing to remember about clarity is that what needs to become clear, will naturally become clear. Meditation is not about rooting around in the recesses of the mind, digging up old memories, getting caught up in analysis and trying to make sense of it all. ... Clarity arises in its own time and its own way. Sometimes clarity will mean becoming more aware of the thinking process. At other times the awareness might shift to the emotions or physical sensations. Whatever happens and whatever you become more aware of, allow it to happen naturally."

Which is why I agree with Jean Paul, author of this week's quotation, when he wrote, "Our greatest experiences are not our loudest, but our quietest hours." We live in a complex world, with many demands on our bodies, minds and spirits. The clarity which can come from a regular meditation practice is an essential counterpoint to this. If we can find a place of clarity in our meditation practice, through using gentle curiosity, it may help us to lead more mindful, calm lives.

Living in the Present

 Blaise Pascal, the French mathematician, philosopher and theologian, had it right, when he wrote, "The present is the only time that is really ours."

I am reminded of this each morning, as I take my daily constitutional in Salcey Forest. I am so blessed to live within walking distance of it, particularly at this time of year, when the Autumn colours are at their most glorious.

Yesterday morning, I went for my walk early doors, and it was wonderful - wonder-full. The sun was shining and the golds, browns, coppers and bronzes of the Autumn leaves were glowing in its light. In this Autumn weather, I take the same route every day, out and back, because my circular 'Summer' route is too muddy, even with boots. And had it not been that the ground was both cold and muddy underfoot, I would have taken off my walking boots and gone barefoot, because it really did feel like I was treading on holy ground.

At the furthest point of my walk, I went to turn round, and this caught my eye...

I stood still, holding my breath, drinking in the beauty. I truly felt I was in the presence of the Divine. I don't know how long I stood there... a couple of minutes perhaps. Then bowed my head and gave thanks.

The other wonder-full thing about yesterday's walk was the presence of a pale moon high in the blue sky. But whenever I tried to take a photo of it, it was masked by trees. Until I found this...

And I think of the times I have walked through these same woods, my mind full of other things - the next scene for my book (I find walking helps me to think this through) or the tasks of the day ahead of me, and have missed this glory.

Early morning sunlight

filtering through the trees, 

sharpness of the shadows.

Pale moon in the blue sky,

pure birdsong in my ears,

Undiluted wonder

takes my breath away.

Time and Sadness

 I am not sure that I entirely agree with Jean de La Fontaine, when he wrote, "With the wings of time, sadness flies away."

I know that "time is a great healer" - another cliché - and that in many cases, time does lessen, or even heal, the impact of lesser sadnesses. For example, events which seemed the end of the world when we were teenagers, matter not a jot now (unless they do, of course). 

The passing of time can even lessen the sharpness of grief. But here's the thing - grief is far from a simple process. I know about Elizabeth Kübler-Ross's five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Yet no grieving person I know has moved smoothly from one to the next to the next. It is far more complicated than that.  One day we can believe we're "over the worst" then a sound or sight or taste or smell can remind us all over again of what we have lost, and we are plunged back into the depths once more. 

Some grief never heals. But somehow, we learn to make space for it in our hearts and go on living anyway. We never forget, never cease to miss our loved one, but somehow manage to choose life. Perhaps that is a form of healing.

Step by Step

Paula Modersohn Becker wrote, "Do not try to skip steps. If you have a long way to go, do not run." Such good advice.

Because it can be so tempting, when we start something new and exciting, to forge ahead with all our strength, and then run out of steam and enthusiasm a few weeks down the line. Or at least, that is what I have found. 

In her wonderful book, Better Than Before, Gretchen Rubin divides people into 'sprinters' and 'marathoners'. She writes, "I'm a Marathoner. I like to work at a slow and steady clip, and I dislike deadlines - in fact, I often finish work early.... Sprinters prefer to work in quick bursts of intense effort, and they deliberately wait for the pressure of a deadline to sharpen their thinking." I am definitely a Marathoner. 

And that was true in physical terms as well as ideological ones. When I used to run, I far preferred the slow, steady plod of distance running to the short, sharp shock of sprinting.

Rubin acknowledges that both approaches can work well; it depends on your personality. I much prefer the slow and steady approach. For example, my writing habits. Some writers, who work full time, can only find the time to write at weekends. They will spend a whole day doing nothing else, and their output on that day will be phenomenal. Then they won't have time to write again until the next weekend. Whereas I prefer to write for an hour each morning, producing between 500 and 1,000 words a day. And get up an hour earlier in order to find the time to do so.

But neither of us skip steps. We each tackle the task in front of us, at a pace that feels comfortable. The process of writing a book is necessarily a long one. I have heard of writers who write the scenes and chapters that come into their heads, and then settle down to fill in the gaps between them. I could never do that. 

The same applies to writing a service. I might be inspired by a particular reading or a particular theme, but I always follow the same process: I find the readings and prayers, the chalice lighting words, opening words and blessing, choose the hymns to fit with them, and then, only then, do I write the address.

I guess it doesn't matter what your overall approach to getting a task done is; the important thing is not to skip steps.

The Power of Dreams and of the Mind

 A lovely inspirational quote this week, by Wilma Rudolph: "Never underestimate the power of dreams and the power of the mind. The potential for greatness lives in all of us."

I have blogged a couple of times on here about the power of dreams, here and here. So today I'd like to think about the power of the mind... 

Last weekend, my grown-up daughter contacted me to tell me about a new diary / journal she had bought herself, The 6-Minute Diary. And it sounded so good that I looked it up and treated myself to one.

The idea is that you spend three minutes each morning, filling in the first half of the page, and another three minutes in the evening, reflecting on the day just over. The idea behind it is to encourage positive thinking and hence enhance happiness.

It's a fascinating book. The first sixty plus pages explain how it all works, and then there is a page for each day, plus an introductory page for each week, where there are five different questions to answer and a habit tracker. And it's beautifully designed, complete with two bookmarks - one to keep in the beginning-of-the-week page, the other for the current day.

There are six daily prompts:

For the morning, 1 I'm grateful for... (and 1,2,3)

                            2 This is how I'll make today great (five lines of free writing)

                            3 Positive affirmation (you can either change these each day or focus on one particular

                               goal.

For the evening, 1 My good deed today

                           2 How I'll improve

                           3 Great things I experienced today (and 1,2,3)

I started doing it on Tuesday and I'm loving it. Interestingly, the one that has me chewing on the end of my biro for inspiration is 'My good deed today' - they say it can be something small and insignificant, but it's been hard to rack my brains and remember a specific small act of kindness. 

It's going to be fun reading back over all the entries when it's full (they give you six months' worth of pages in each diary). And I hope it will make me remember all the little things I am grateful for, and help me to establish some good habits.

The Difference between Choosing Isolation and Being Forced Into It

 The words of Seneca, the Roman philosopher who lived in the first century CE, really resonate with me. He wrote, "You have to combine and alternate times of solitude and times of sociability. The one awakens in us a longing for people, the other a longing for ourselves" (or, I guess, our own company).

I have found that as I have got older, I have embraced solitude more and more. I blogged about it last year, here. I think I am a true ambivert, which the Google Dictionary defines as, "a person who has a balance of extrovert and introvert features in their personality."

And yet, there is a huge difference between choosing to spend time alone, and being forced to, as many people have learned this year. I probably only left the village once a week, during the first months of this coronavirus crisis, to do the weekly food shop. But, here's the thing - I could have done, if I had wanted to. I am not in an at-risk category, so was not compelled to self-isolate for weeks and months at a time, which has been the fate of many. And in recent weeks, I have even started to lead worship in person again, for a few brave congregations.

Most people have a very natural contrarian streak in them: if they are told they MUST NOT do something, that something becomes even more attractive. Older family members and friends, who truly are vulnerable, have, by and large, shrugged their shoulders and accepted the inevitable. I was so very glad when the concept of 'bubbles' was floated and it became possible to visit my parents once more. But even there, I keep my distance, and keep my visits rare and short. And I have not been able to do any in-person pastoral visits since March. Phoning people is good, but it's not the same.

But I have really missed the possibility of gathering in Unitarian community, at our General Assembly meetings, at Great Hucklow, at Summer School. Virtual meetings just aren't the same. And I do wonder what it will be like next year (?) when we are once more able to meet in person... because I'm guessing it won't be the same. I will be worrying about things I took so much for granted: can I hug people? will it be safe for more vulnerable people to spend so much time in close physical proximity to others? I'm sad to say that I think we are only touching the edges of what we have lost.

The impact of enforced self-isolation has been enormous, particularly in terms of mental health. Which is why it has been so important to reach out to our friends, our community, in new ways. I would guess that at the beginning of this year, hardly anyone of my acquaintance had heard of Zoom, let alone used it. But now we meet for worship, for coffee, for business meetings, just to talk, all the time, using this wonderful software programme.

And it has enabled Unitarians all over the country to keep in touch with each other, to sample each others' worship services, in a way that would have seemed... unbelievable, a few months ago.

I pray that we will continue to find ways to keep in touch with each other, to help those who are forced to self-isolate, to keep their sanity.

A Love of Mystery

The Unitarian and Transcendentalist writer, Ralph Waldo Emerson, wrote, "I prefer to live in a world surrounded by mysteries, rather than in one so small, that my mind can comprehend it."

 And one of my best-loved non-fiction authors, Brené Brown, wrote in my favourite book of hers, The Gifts of Imperfection, that she initially believed that "faith meant 'there's a reason for everything'" Then she discovered that "faith meant something else to [the men and women living the Wholehearted journey]." Which led her to redefine faith, based on the responses she was hearing from them, "Faith is a place of mystery, where we find the courage to believe in what we cannot see and the strength to let go of our fear of uncertainty."

I believe that our lives are richer if we can find that courage, and love the mystery, the sacred not-knowing of life. Theologican Frederick Buechner wrote, "Faith is better understood as a verb rather than as a noun, as a process rather than a possession. It is on-again-off-again, rather than once-and-for-all. Faith is about not being sure where you're going, but going anyway. And theologian Paul Tillich wrote, "Doubt isn't the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith."

Unitarians have a great capacity for mystery, for "living in the questions", as Rainer Maria Rilke put it. For example, we can never prove that God exists (or doesn't exist). But we can have faith that He (or She or It) does. And live our lives as though we believed it. Which I think is what Emerson meant when he said he preferred to "live in a world surrounded by mysteries." 

Unitarian faith often includes a healthy dollop of doubt - not taking anything for graned, not accepting anything without questioning it first. We have always been in the habit of questioning beliefs and cherishing doubts. I would guess that many of us came to Unitarianism precisely by that path - by starting to question some of the beliefs we grew up with. In my case, I realised that I could not accept the divinity of Jesus as the unique Son of God, and also struggled with the idea that his death on the cross somehow put me back into right relationship with God. But to quote Jan Carlsson-Bull, Unitarians have learned to "hold faith and doubt in reverent balance". 

Which means actively searching for and working out what gives your life meaning, putting your whole heart and mind and soul into it, and yet at the same time, totally respecting the right of every other member of your Unitarian community to disagree with you. It can be a tough call, sometimes.

Holding faith and doubt in reverent balance, living and loving in mystery, also means being open to new ideas, from wherever they come. Unitarianism at its best is a wonderfully open way of approaching life and religion, based on an appeal to reason, conscience and our own lived experience. It is an ongoing process - you don't just experience a one-off conversion and then rest on those fixed beliefs for the rest of your life; every Unitarian has a duty to approach all new ideas and concepts reverently and critically, and take from them what speaks to our own reason and conscience, and what makes sense in the context of our own lived experience, in order to live out our lives in the best and truest way we can, making room for mystery, for uncertainty, along the way

The Benefits of Smiling

 I once read somewhere that it takes only four muscles to smile, but 72 (I think I remember it correctly) to frown. Whether that is true or not, smiling is good for us. So I warmed to this week's quotation, an Indian proverb, "The smile you send out will return to you."

Because it really works. When I'm out for my daily constitutional, I always smile and say "hello" to anyone I pass. And even the most pre-occupied will acknowledge me, often with a smile of their own. Which makes the world a slightly more benevolent place, every time.

With so much crap going on in the world at the moment - wars, famine, poverty, discrimination, violence - not to mention the corona virus, our spirits need lightening, if we are to survive. And smiling (and being smiled at) helps enormously. Admittedly it is sad that we can't make closer physical contact with anyone outside our own personal bubble at the moment, but a smile can mean so much...

• I like you
• I love you
• Well done, congratulations
• I know how you feel
• You've got this
• You make me happy
• I care about you
• Life is good
• That's funny
• Namaste - that of the divine in me cherishes that of the divine in you

And a thousand other things. A true smile is never a negative conversation. So smile at someone (or someones) today... and cherish that smile back.

The Spectrum of Belief

 The French novelist, poet and dramatist Victor Hugo (most famous outside France for The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Les Miserables) grew up Catholic. But in later years, according to Wikipedia, he "settled into a rationalist deism similar to that espoused by Voltaire. A census taker asked Hugo in 1872 if he was a Catholic, and he replied, "No. A Freethinker."

I would guess that this week's quotation came from the free thinking stage of his life: "To believe is difficult. To believe nothing is impossible."

Which sentiment I guess would be shared by many Unitarians, although not all.  We too are free thinkers, and proudly espouse freedom of belief as one of our three tenets. We call ourselves "A Faith without a Creed". Unitarians form a religious and spiritual community in which each person can explore what gives their life meaning and purpose. Each congregation, each society, and the movement nationally is a faith community made up of individuals on a spiritual journey who have come together because they share an open and inclusie attitude to religion and spirituality.

Unitarians affirm for each individual the right of private judgement in matters of religion and spirituality: no-one should be under any pressure to sign up to particular beliefs. In practice, many Unitarians do hold many beliefs in common; but this is not a prerequisite for being a member of the Unitarian community. Each Unitarian is free to treat new ideas, new beliefs, critically, and to take from them what speaks to their own reason and conscience, and what makes sense in the context of their own life experience, in order to live their life in the best and truest way they can. The sole proviso is that any belief that excludes, harms, or belittles another person or group will not be endorsed by a Unitarian community.

Unitarian beliefs change over time. Unlike most mainstream Christian denominations, Unitarians recognise that, as people have new experiences and encounter new ideas, their beliefs may change. The beliefs of most long-term Unitarians will evolve over the years, according to what they see and hear and learn and experience and take to heaert. We find this liberating. So Unitarianism is a continually evolving faith.

But I, personally, am with Victor Hugo, when he stated "To believe nothing is impossible." I think it is a deep instinct of human beings to seek purpose and meaning in their lives, and therefore come to believe in *something*. That something may be a personal deity, Nature, or humankind or any one or several of a thousand thousand philosophies. Even atheism is a form of belief - a belief that any form of supernatural being does not exist. 

Truly, "to believe nothing is impossible."

Information Overload

 I found this week's quotation, by Edgar Allan Poe, puzzling... "In forever knowing, we are forever blessed. But to know all, were the curse of a fiend."

Then I thought about it some more... Perhaps he means that when we use the knowledge we have for good and useful purposes, we are "forever blessed" but that if we take in everything we see, hear, and read uncritically, that would be "the curse of a fiend".

I know several friends who have taken holidays from social media this year, because they have found reading all the thousands of news items and stories, and worse, the comments below them, made them feel belligerent and depressed by turns. When we engage with posts that are spewing hatred and intolerance, or with whose views we disagree, root and branch, it can be difficult to remain objective, not to get sucked in.

I think that each of us needs to choose our battles carefully, to decide what matters to us, what we "forever know" and to defend those things against people with diametrically opposing views. The whole Black Lives Matter movement is a good example... when uninformed people ripost with "All Lives Matter" or with racist comments, it is easy to rest on our white fragility, our white silence, our white apathy, shrug our shoulders and scroll on down. Rather than engaging honestly and deeply with the conversation, explaining why the balance has been skewed for so long, and what we can do to ensure that black voices are heard, black people and others with non-white skin matter, and to help dismantle the system of white supremacy in which we were born and brought up. I have blogged about this recently. 

One of the key Unitarian tenets is the defence of freedom of belief. But not without limits. Espousing freedom of belief requires us to take a responsible attitude towards what we read and hear and see, and to discern critically what truth it has for us. So that if we see or hear or read untruth and misrepresentation and hatred, we can defend the belief or people being attacked. We are limited human beings, so it is not possible for us to "know all". But I believe it is possible to choose to inform ourselves as much as we can about subjects which are consonant with our values, and be prepared to engage with others in meaningful discussion about them.

And not be scared of being perceived as traitors to our class, our families, our people, if that is what it takes. It is as simple and difficult as that.

Bring Me Sunshine

"Whoever banishes friendship from life, removes the sun from the world." These words, by Cicero, made me think of the song which Morecambe and Wise used to finish their shows with (apologies for the ear worm):

"Bring me sunshine, in your smile,

Bring me laughter, all the while.

In this world where we live

there should be more happiness

so much joy you can give

to each brand new bright tomorrow.

Make me happy, through the years

Never bring me, any tears

Let your arms be as warm

as the sun from up above.

Bring me fun, bring me sunshine

Bring me love."

And yes, friendship does bring much-needed sunshine into our lives. All of us will have times when we feel down, and wonder why we bother to get up in the morning, as there seems to be nothing to look forward to, nothing worth fighting for.

At times such as these, friends are vital. If we can share our troubles with someone who loves us "just the way we are", the chances are that we will be able to get over the bad patch and realise that yes, life is worth living, and that yes, we do have the courage to face whatever comes our way. Such friendship is beyond price - it can make the difference between surviving and living, between hurt and wholeness. It involves compassion and love and, practiced purely, it is one of the most healing influences in the world. It may not involve laying down our lives for someone else, but it means putting that person's happiness before our own, because we cannot truly be happy if they are sad.

Anais Nin once wrote, "Each friend represnets a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that the new world is born."

Spirit of Life and Love,

All of us have friends,

all of us are friends.

May we understand the huge importance

of these connections in our lives.

May we appreciate our friends:

their kindness, their loyalty,

their ongoing, unchanging love for us,

warts and all.

And may we be such friends - 

not falling away when the going gets rough,

but always there for each other,

steadfast in our love,

ready to celebrate each other's joys,

empathise with each other's concerns,

and treating one another

as we would like to be treated ourselves,

knowing that the ripples of our compassion

will flow out into the world,

making it a happier, gentler place.

Amen

The Paths We Take

This week's quotation, by Marion Gitzel, reads, "Every path that you take is also a footbridge on which you stand."

It took me a while to work out what she was getting at, but I think she means that each choice we make leads to consequences, that our choices lead us into situations where we have to make other choices.

Which reminded me of a service I did a few years ago, about living in the moment, inspired by a reading from Wayne Muller, who wrote, "What is the next right thing for us to do? Where in this moment, shall we choose to place our time and attention? Do we stay or move, speak or keep silent, attend to this person, that task, move in this or that direction?"

I don't know about you, but to me, this seems to be such a simple approach to life, much less stressful than being worried about a thousand possible alternatives. You just concentrate on the Next Right Thing - give that your time and attention, and then go on to the next one.

But I was, and am, very conscious that "simple" does not mean the same as "easy". This moment by moment approach to our lives *is* elegantly beautiful in its simplicity, but it is by no means easy to do. Because it means that we have to be conscious, awake, moment by moment, so that we make our many small choices with awareness, rather than blindly, depending on how we are feeling at the time. Actively considering each choice, moment by moment actually sounds like quite hard work. 

But it is the most important work in the world.

If we look at our lives, really examine them, we can see that they *are* the result of all the choices we have made, in the past days and months and years (and, I guess, the choices the powers that be have made on our behalf). It is a gradual, moment by moment, process. Muller likens it to a mountain stream, and like the stream, we "know nothing of what is ahead, [are] not conscious of planning for the future. [We] simply follow the path of least resistance, motivated by gravity. ... The only choice we make - what is the next right thing to do - responds to a similarly vital inner gravity, an invisible thread that shapes our life, as our life meets the world."

This is the footbridge on which each one of us, moment by moment, stands. The results of this process have shaped our lives. All of us are where we are now, today, because of our past choices. And where we end up, tomorrow and the next day, will depend on the choices we make today.

Seeing with New Eyes

For the past three weeks, I and a colleague have been co-facilitating a reading group, for Leela Saad's challenging book, Me and White Supremacy: How to recognise your privilege, combat racism and change the world by Leela F. Saad.

The third session was last night, and today, the quote of the week, by Marcel Proust, read, "The real journey of discovery does not consist in looking for new landscapes, but in seeing with new eyes."

And this book is definitely helping the participants in our reading group (including the two facilitators) to do just that. Chapter by chapter, Saad covers all the multifarious aspects of white supremacy, including white fragility (feeling hurt and defensive if you become involved in a conversation about racism and are criticised), white silence and white apathy (saying and doing nothing in the face of a racist situation) and white exceptionalism (believing that you are one of the good people, and therefore do not need to do this work). The list goes on... Saad gently leads the reader to understand how insidious white supremacy in all its manifestations is in our society, and gives them the tools to overcome it in themselves and become a true ally to people of colour in the battle against racism.

Reading it, working through it, has helped me to see with new eyes. It has made me realise how far I have to go, but I am determined to stay the course. Because if I do not, I will be betraying one of the central Unitarian values, as stated in the First Principle of the Unitarian Universalist Association, 

            "We affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person."

And it is not possible to do that, from a one-up position. 

Enhancing the Landscape

I thoroughly agree with American architect Frank Lloyd Wright, who wrote, "A good building is not something that hurts the landscape, but something that makes it more beautiful than it was before it was built."

Anyone who reads my posts on Facebook will know that I am a huge fan of natural landscapes - I walk in Salcey Forest most mornings, and am never tired of appreciating the glories of nature. But when my husband and I go on holiday, we love to explore a new city on foot, and a big part of the pleasure is admiring the wonderful buildings, as they enhance the urban landscape we are walking through. And I can think of several examples of buildings that have that wow factor. The Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, any cathedral you like to name, gorgeous castles... they all enhance the landscape they are in.

Last year, we visited our favourite part of mid-Wales. The sight of Harlech Castle, brooding high over the sea, was something to behold. And the wonderful Italianate village of Portmeirion, built by Sir Clough Williams-Ellis in the heart of the Welsh landscape. Both take the breath away, both enhance the landscape they are in.

Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain, is another example... Whoever the ancient folk were, who built it all those millennia ago, they certainly knew how to pick their spot. And they knew a thing or two about the path of the sun through the sky too.

I think it is a natural human instinct, to make beautiful objects. Crafters and artists of all kinds, including architects and builders, pour their souls into their work, and this shows in the finished products. All human beings have the potential to be creators, whether they use pens, paints, needles and yarn/thread, or any other material. The glory of being creative is to make something new that has never existed before, and is somehow more than the sum of its parts. For our own pleasure, and that of those who see it / read it / use it.

I have a wonderful quote about the creative life by Shauna Niequist, taped above my desk. It reads,

"To all the secret writers, late-night painters, would-be singers, lapsed and scared artists of every stripe, dig out your paintbrush, or your flute, or your dancing shoes. Pull out your camera or your computer or your pottery wheel. Today, tonight, after the kids are in bed or when your homework is done, or instead of one more video game or magazine, create something, anything. Pick up a needle and thread, and stitch together something particular and honest and beautiful, because we need it. I need it."

     from Cold tangerines: celebrating the extraordinary nature of everyday life.

What will you create today?

Learning from Experience

 The Chinese philosopher and sage known to the West as Confucius wrote, "Experience is like a lantern facing backwards; it only illuminates the part of the way that we have already passed."

And that is true, so far as it goes. But I have an issue with his inclusion of the word "only" - because each one of us is the sum of our past experiences. The lessons they can teach us are so important, and can influence how we behave in the part of our lives that is to come. And we are able to apply what we have learned in our present and future lives, if we choose. There's a wonderful passage in Neil Gaiman's book, Neverwhere, in which the hero, Richard, has just entered the world of London Below, and is befriended by a girl called Anaesthesia. He has no understanding of how London Below works, and she has to look after him. At one point, they hide from some strangers, and when they have passed, Richard asks her, "What makes you think that they wouldn't have been pleased to see us?" 

Gaiman comments, "She looked at him rather sadly, like a mother trying to explain to an infant that, yes, this flame was hot too. All flames were hot. Trust her, please."

It is easier for us to learn from our experiences if we have someone wiser or more knowledgeable than we are to explain how the world works. Often this is a parent, but it may be a teacher or a minister or manager or other kind of mentor. Without such people, I think our lives would be more difficult, and we would be more prone to repeat our mistakes, rather than learning from them.

So for example, if we have been treated with kindness, we will be more likely to treat others that way. But if we have been treated badly, hurt, abused, oppressed, our experiences may have taught us that the world is an angry, dangerous place, and that others cannot be trusted. It takes a good deal of work and/or a wise mentor to hold and guide us through the process, to overcome the impact of negative experiences and move on; to learn to trust again.

A wonderful example of this was what happened in South Africa at the end of apartheid. Archbiship Desmond Tutu writes about this in God Has A Dream. "One of the things we learned in South Africa is that there is no true security from the barrel of a gun.... There is no peace without justice, and safety only comes when desperation ends. Inevitably it is when people sit down and talk that desperation ends. Negotiations happen not between friends; negotiations happen between enemies. And a surprising thing does seems to take place... enemies begin to find that they can actually become friends, or at least collaborators for the common good. ... Of course, you must have leaders who are willing to take risks and not just seeking to satisfy the often extreme feelings of their constituencies. They have to lead by leading and be ready to compromise, to accommodate, and not to be intransigent, not to assert that they have a bottom line."

Good things happened because people like Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu himself learned from their past experiences that there had to be a better way of living, one which could rise above what their people had suffered, and work towards peace and reconciliation.

So let us shine that lantern on our past experiences and discern what we can learn from them, so that we can become happier, wiser, more compassionate people.

Living Like A Tree

Nazim Hikmet wrote, "Living like a tree, single and free, but fraternally like a forest, that is our longing."

Trees, it seems, have found the right balance between solitude and community. Each is splendidly alone, but also together in community. In these days of social distancing, with new lockdowns being announced in the North of England, it is a mind-set we would do well to adopt. Human beings are social creatures, and the solitude of the last few months has been difficult for many (to say the least). "Meeting" via Zoom or Skype or FaceTime is good, but it is no substitute for face-to-face interaction.

I have just spent three wonderful days with a dear friend. We have kept our distance, only sharing two hugs immediately after morning showers. But we sat at opposite corners of her living room and talked and laughed and were together. It made me realise how much I have missed face-to-face friendships.

Yet being alone is not the same as being lonely. Or it need not be. I have blogged about it here and here. To carry on the tree analogy, when we are alone, we can draw nourishment from the roots of our being, from books and meditation and time alone. When we are with others, we can appreciate the splendour of being in community, of sharing the sunlight of good conversation. Both are important, both can nourish our lives.

Choosing Your Words Carefully

This week's quotation, by Julius Stinde, wins my personal prize of the month for an unusual simile. "A good deed is like lavender, which, as you know, smells lifelong."

I understand what he means, but such an odd way of putting it. My mind tried to find a connection between good deeds and lavender, and went on strike. Maybe it's just me...

But it made me think about my own writing. Regular readers will know that in my down time, I write novels. My first, One Foot in Front of the Other,  is going to be published on 1st October, which is very exciting! And I'm currently working on the first volume of a fantasy, set in a fictional world where magic and religion intertwine in what I hope is an interesting way. My son is my first reader, and when he sends each chapter back to me, it is full of insightful comments, which have helped enormously.

Most useful of all have been the comments "I don't understand..." or "Why?" Because that shows me that I haven't explained what is happening well enough, or not set up a situation properly. So I go back to the manuscript and revise it gratefully.

Words have power. They can paint a picture in a reader's or listener's mind, influence them for good or ill, even rush off and change their lives. So it is vital that we who make our livings through words are careful about what we write, what we share. And I don't mean only authors of fiction, I also mean journalists, non-fiction writers, storytellers, teachers, lecturers, even ministers. We need to always bear in mind the influence that our words might have on the reader or listener.

This is also true in conversation, for everyone. And doubly true when posting on social media. The saying I learned in the playground, "Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words can never hurt me" is the most inaccurate maxim I have ever heard. Bones mend, bruises heal, but harsh words, teasing words, belittling words, words filled with hate, can leave scars that never heal. They have a real and very evil power. Even when the person saying them thinks they are doing it in jest.

Another saying from my childhood, often quoted by my mother, was, "If you can't think of anything nice to say, don't say anything." I've often seen a quote about right speech, "If you propose to speak, always ask yourself, is it true, is it necessary, is it kind?" attributed to the Buddha, so I googled it just now, and found a fascinating article on a blog called Fake Buddha Quotes. The author gave a genuine quote, translated from the Vaca Sutta, written in Pali, by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, which is even better, if not as snappy, as the fake quote:

"Monks, a statement endowed with five factors is well-spoken, not ill-spoken. It is blameless and unfaulted by knowledgeable people. Which five?

• It is spoken at the right time. 
• It is spoken in truth. 
• It is spoken affectionately. 
• It is spoken beneficially. 
• It is spoken with a mind of goodwill."

Such words are a power for good.