Even a Cliché Can Hold Truth

When I read this week's quotation, my heart sank a little. It seems so obvious, so banal. "Learn from yesterday. Live for today. Hope for tomorrow."

Then I thought again. The advice may be hackneyed, oft-repeated, but it is good advice, nonetheless. If we do not learn from our experiences, both from what we have done, and from what has happened to us without our own volition, we will make the same mistakes over and over again. Regretting events of the past will not change them. The only thing we can control is our response to what has happened. 

And I have blogged often about the benefits of living in the present, about being mindful about what is happening at each passing moment. Particularly here. In that post, I shared the Sanskrit affirmation, which I'd like to share again:

        

"Look to this day - for it is life, the very life of life.

In its brief course lie all the verities and realities of your existence:

the bliss of growth, the glory of action, the splendour of beauty.

For yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision,

but today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness

and every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day."

If we can learn to take this attitude deep into ourselves, I honestly believe it can make a difference. Because if we do learn from the past, and deeply appreciate the present (which is the only point at which time touches eternity) surely there must be a sliver of hope about tomorrow? It may be hard to find, if our personal experience of the present is sad and desperate, yet without hope that the hard time will end, we may succumb to despair.

In the ancient Greek myth, Pandora opened a jar left in her care, which contained sickness, death and many other unspecified evils, which were then released into the world. In spite of her best efforts to close the jar, only one thing was contained - Hope. Wikipedia explains, "Pandora's box is a metaphor for something that brings about great troubles or misfortune, but also holds hope. Symbolically, the box represents the curiosity and desire for knowledge that can lead to both negative consequences and positive outcomes. The evils inside the box can be seen as the challenges and difficulties of life, while the hope represents the optimism and resilience to overcome those challenges."

So yes, this week's quote is good advice: Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.

Hope Renewed

The American poet John Vance Cheney once wrote, "The soul would have no rainbow, had the eyes no tears."

Which is a lovely reminder, on this grey January day, that hope does come in the morning. In Chapter 9 of Genesis, God promises Noah to care for the earth and everything in it, and sets a rainbow in the sky as a reminder of that promise. "I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature."

Ever since, the rainbow has been a symbol of hope. I know there is a scientific explanation. The Met Office website explains: "Rainbows are formed when light from the sun is scattered by water droplets... through a process called refraction. Refraction occurs when the light from the sun changes direction when passing through a medium denser than air, such as a raindrop. Once the refracted light enters the raindrop, it is reflected off the back and then refracted again as it exits and travels to our eyes."

But for me, and I guess for many of us, the rainbow is a thing of beauty, a wonderful natural phenomenon that lifts the spirits. 

Cheney's point is that without the raindrops, the tears, we wouldn't be able to experience the rainbow. If there was no contrast, no sadness in our lives, we wouldn't be able to appreciate the wonderful, happy times. If all our experiences had the same emotional impact on us, we would have no sense of sadness and grief, but also no sense of light and joy. 

Human beings are wonderfully complex, usually able to experience a whole range of emotions. When we are sad, grief-stricken, angry, we might wish this was otherwise. And on the other hand, it can feel very vulnerable, to allow ourselves to feel unalloyed joy, because we know that it cannot last. But honestly, I do believe it is worth it, such peak experiences can stay with us forever, reminding us to hope in less happy times.

Holding on to our Dreams

There's a wonderful post doing the rounds on Facebook at present, in the wake of the US election result, written by environmentalist, Chris Packham. It reads, "Things have just got a lot more difficult. Here's what I think. I had no control over what just happened. None. But I do have control over how I will react to it. And I am not going to give up on the beautiful and the good, the grip on my dreams just got tighter."

Thank you, Chris. This is such a timely reminder, when the world seems to have gone to hell in a hand basket (incidentally, *why* in a hand basket? - I've never understood that!). Yes, we will need time to grieve, to mourn what might have been. And no emotion is wrong - if we need to scream our woes to the skies, that is fine, or weep quietly in a corner.

But we must not allow this election result to destroy our dreams of a better, fairer, more peaceful and equitable world. A world based around the values of love and compassion, justice and peace. Working towards those dreams, witnessing for those values, is under our control, is in our gift. People like Tr*mp will ultimately only win if everyone else gives up fighting.

Another quote doing the rounds comes from JRR Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings: 

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

"I am not going to give up on the beautiful and the good, the grip on my dreams just got tighter." "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us." 

Different words, same message. In the hard, dark days ahead, may we all be given the strength, the passion, to hold onto our dreams.

New Month New Year

 It's September and all over the country, children and young people will be going back to school and college, or starting a new stage in their education. The British (non-) Summer is over and it's time to put away our holiday gear and buckle down to something new.

Having worked in or around the education system (including the Unitarian education system with the Worship Studies Course) for donkey's years, I always get a new surge of energy at this time of year - it is so full of new possibilities.... Yesterday, I visited an exhibition about Lego models with my grandson and his mum, at Northampton Museum & Art Gallery, and he was full of excitement to be going up into Year 1.

I'm also excited on my own behalf - there are two new Worship Studies Course Foundation Step courses beginning this month - one for UK students, the other for students from Australia and New Zealand. And I've been asked to help facilitate the Australia / NZ one, which begins on Monday, at 8.00 am (which will be late evening for the students). It's a new venture for Unitarian College and I really hope it goes well. It fills me with hope for the future of our beloved "uncommon denomination", as more and more people are trained to fill lay leadership roles, either supporting our current ministers or on their own, in their home congregations. 

If you are one of the people beginning a new course (or just a new academic year) this month, I hope that it fulfils all your hopes and proves to be both interesting and worthwhile. Good Luck!

What's the Hurry?

 This week's quotation, by Austrian writer, Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach, is true, but so counter-cultural for us to hear. "Whoever says patience, says courage, perseverance, strength."

Because we live in a world of do it now, get it done, then on to the next thing. But sometimes (I would say, more often than not) it would be better if we could find the patience to take the time needed to do a good job. And also time to appreciate what we have just done. A breathing space.

In her wonderful book, The Gifts of Imperfection, Brene Brown writes about "the new cultural belief that everything should be fun, fast and easy [which] sets us up for hopelessness. When we experience somthing that is difficult and requires significant time and effort, we are quick to think, This is supposed to be easy; it's not worth the effort or This should be easier: it's only hard and slow because I'm not good at it. Hopeful self-talk sounds more like, This is tough, but I can do it."

Which requires patience, courage, perseverance and strength. Brown goes on to write, "We develop a hopeful mind-set when we understand that some worthy endeavours will be difficult and time-consuming and not enjoyable at all. Hope also requires us to understand that just because the process of reaching a goal happens to be fun, fast, and easy doesn't mean that it has less value than a difficult goal. If we want to cultivate hopefulness, we have to be willing to be flexible and demonstrate perseverance. Not every goal will look and feel the same. Tolerance for disappointment, determination and a belief in self are the heart of hope."

So when we're getting bogged down in and/or impatient about whatever we're working on, let's try to remember that we're here for the long haul. I find it helpful to ask myself: "Will this matter in a month? in a year? in five years?"

Which helps me to regain some perspective and to be sufficiently patient and persevere with whatever it is.

The Path of the Night

 The Lebanese mystic and poet, Khalil Gibran, once wrote, "Dawn can only be reached by following the path of the night."

Dawn is one of my favourite times of day - if I'm awake in time to witness it. The night sky begins to lighten slowly as the sun begins to rise. Sometimes gold, sometimes orange, sometimes red, sometimes purple, and all the shades inbetween - sometimes, I stand at my bedroom window for minutes together and watch the eastern sky change before my eyes. It is never the same twice and always a source of gratitude and wonder. Here is one from a month ago (although my photo does not do it justice):

I think the point that Gibran is making is that we will not really appreciate the beauty of the sky at dawning unless we have experienced the darkness that comes before it. And as in the real world, so in the spiritual world.

I do not know anyone who has not gone through dark periods in their lives, companioned by gloom, depression and despair. Which makes the return of the light even more precious, because we know what it is to be without it. 

And I think we can take his words as a promise too - that there *will* be a time of light and beauty after the darkness, that our night will not last forever. But that we have to walk along the path of the night to get there, have to do the shadow work first.

Which is probably one reason why I find such value in stories - the stories in which the hero/ine has to go through all kinds of trials and tribulations before attaining their goal. But at the end, the goal is reached or achieved and the light can return. Reading such stories is a promise of future light to come, that the darkness will have an end, if we have faith in the possibility of dawning. I know that when we are in the middle of the darkest passages of the night, the darkest times of our lives, it can be difficult to believe that better times are ahead. But they always are. We just have to hang on to hope, hang on to faith.

The Efficacy of Flowers

 I love this week's quotation, by Chao Hsiu Chen, "When a flower blooms, it shows us its beauty. If it does not bloom, it teaches us hope."

Flowers show us their beauty and lift our hearts. I walk either in the fields around the village or in Salcey Forest most days and my heart is always lifted by the sight of a flower I have never seen before - snowdrops, primroses, daffodils, tulips and just now, bluebells. I mark the passing of the days and of the seasons by the flowers that bloom.

And I suppose that a flower that does not bloom does teach us hope, in that we can wait in patience for it to bloom. 

But I have more often been taught hope by flowers that bloom in the oddest places - in the cracks of pavements, for example. They seem to prove that no matter what their environment, they will still burst forth in their glory. And that we can do the same, no matter how harsh our own situation.

They can also teach us about the power of nature to overcome man-made environments. I can remember seeing a photo of Chernobyl, the Russian city which had the nuclear incident in 1986. Nature has taken it over now...

I think that flowers can be a potent symbol of hope. They hold out the promise that there will always be new life, even in the darkest times.

What brings you hope, as we come out of this pandemic?

Appreciating the Silver Lining

"Many people miss the silver lining, because they are expecting gold." This week's quote is by Maurice Setter. Whom I was not able to find out anything about, because of the similarity of his name to Maurice Setters, a footballer. *sigh* Dear old Google!

Which, it occurred to me, is a good example of missing the silver lining because I was expecting gold. So I dutifully clicked on the Maurice Setter*s* Wikipedia entry, and discovered that he played for Exeter City, West Bromwich Albion, Manchester United, Stoke City, Coventry City and Charlton Athletic.

Moving swiftly on...

At this stage in the corona virus lockdown, I am sure that the "gold" we are all hoping for and expecting is that the death rate from this awful virus will decrease, that an effective vaccine will be found, that the pressure on the dedicated staff of the NHS will ease, and that the lockdown will be lifted.

So it was hard to watch the evening news last night, and to see that the daily death rate had gone back up, and that the lockdown is to be extended for another three weeks. My heart goes out to all the people whose loved ones have died during this time. Knowing that they will have died alone, with no friends or family close to them. And, that deprivation will stay with the survivors for a very long time, even though it was not their fault, and they could not have done anything more than they had already done.

How to even look for a silver lining in the face of such grief? To say, "it could have been worse" could (quite rightly) be taken as crass insensitivity by those who are grieving.

But I have tried very hard to find the silver lining of being in lockdown. I am fortunate in being a natural introvert, so being at home, with just my husband, son and cat for company, has not been too much of a hardship. I think I would have found it harder to deal with if I had been living alone. As it is, I have had much more time to follow my hobbies: cross-stitch, crochet, writing and reading. My weekly piano lesson has been delivered via Face Time, and it has worked very satisfactorily.

Although I am still working, I am not travelling to do so, and that has opened up many free hours.

And the weather has been glorious. Again, I count myself so very fortunate to live in the countryside, able to walk around the fields, or up into the forest. And to watch Spring unfold before my wondering eyes. An annual miracle, which this year I have had the time to observe more closely. Another silver lining - I would not have taken so many walks, in the ordinary course of things.

I have noticed a change in the people we have met (at the safe 2 meter distance) on these walks. Everyone has greeted us, and people we know have stopped to chat. The amount of benevolent interest by neighbours seems to have gone through the roof. I have read many examples of this on Facebook, and our next door neighbour, who is a postman, and hence out every day, has offered to get us anything we need in between our own shopping expeditions. So kind.

I think the main silver lining for me has been that this has happened *now*, when there are so many different ways of keeping in touch - not only by phone or letter, but also by e-mail, Facebook, Face Time, Skype and Zoom.  I had never even heard of Zoom before the corona virus, but have now taken part in several Zoom meetings. And my colleagues and I have managed to keep in touch with our congregations / Districts by sharing online services in various formats and sending round news e-mails in between, and doing pastoral "visits" by phone. Of course it's not the same, could never be the same, as face-to-face, hug-to-hug, direct interaction with our loved ones and our beloved communities. But it has been something.

I am afraid that the long-term fall-out from the corona virus will be both difficult and complex to deal with. Not only the effect on people who have lost loved ones, although that of course is the worst, but also the number of jobs lost, companies closing down, will lead to great changes in our economy. Not to mention the emotional and psychological effects that being in lockdown, being isolated, has had on too many people.

And we will need all the kindness, all the compassion, that we have shown to each other during this time, to work together towards a better, more compassionate society. Rather than reverting to our old ways. Because the shocking truth is, that although humankind has suffered greatly during these weeks and months, the rest of creation has thriven. Seas and rivers are less polluted, the air is cleaner, and the knock-on effects of those benefits on the natural world has been widespread. We will need to build on this silver lining, "when it is all over", rather than going back to our old, polluting ways.

If you have found a silver lining in these weeks, please share them...

Following the Beam of Light

This week's quotation is by Ralph Waldo Emerson: "One has to learn to catch and follow the beam of light that flashes inside him" [her/them].

I have long believed that there is a divine spark within each of us, which the Quakers call "that of God in everyone".  It is interesting that the phrase "divine spark" also refers to light...

This end of the week has been a dark time for many of us, as the government not of our choosing has been returned to power. I have seen many sad, angry posts on Facebook, and a whole heap of despair and fear, for our society, for the NHS, for those worse off than we are, and also for ourselves, which is legitimate, after all.

How can we move on? How can we get past this and find the mojo to continue to work for the good of society, to stand on the side of love, to carry on supporting good causes?

I think that the only reliable way of doing this is to connect with this "beam of light that flashes inside us". For me, and I would guess, for many, the simplest way to make this connection is in the silence of meditation or contemplative prayer. Or by sharing silence in a community that cares.

It is only when we re-connect with the light which is our divine centre, that we can respond faithfully and constructively to the sh*t that happens in our lives. Otherwise, we often end up throwing a quick solution at a problem, which is like applying sticking plaster to a serious wound, and hoping it will heal.

A. Powell Davies wrote a beautiful prayer, which is speaking to me right now:

O God who hast given us the vision of a world made beautiful and good,
be with us as we seek once more that faith
that makes our dreams come true.
When it seems to us that all before is dark,
give us to remember that so it seemed
to many who went before us.
When mistrust and doubt are upon us
and we are battling bleakly with despair,
let us know that the great and good of every time
have had to find their way, as we must,
by their courage and in confidence and trust.
Help us, O God, to keep close company with their spirits.
Amen

Hope in the Wintertime

"Am Grunde des Herzens eines jeden Winters liegt ein Frühlingsahnen." These are the words of Kahlil Gibran, which translated read: "At the bottom of every winter lies a spring tree."

It has been a long, cold winter for many of us. Not only have there been a succession of cold, grey days, when we only venture out when we must, but cold, grey days in our hearts too, with all the depressing political news. In the UK, it hardly matters whether one voted Remain or Leave, Brexit has split us down the middle as a nation. The government seems to lurch from crisis to crisis, and it is hard to find anything to be happy about.

And yet ...

The words of Kahlil Gibran may be read as a promise - that this winter will end, that spring will come again. If you look back at history, there have been many times when the situation has been as bad, if not worse, than it is now. I appreciate that for particular individuals, life has never been so bad, so challenging. But I have to believe that society has the capability to change, that people can choose to look after each other better, to ensure that no child goes hungry, that no family is split up at the border.

But this won't happen unless it is we who make it happen. It's all very well talking and writing about how to right wrongs, but we have to roll up our sleeves, dig deep and take action. It is up to each and every one of us to decide what we will do, to ensure that Gibran's promise comes true, that Spring will come again, that Winter will pass.

Discovering the Source

In the last couple of days, two memes by very different writers have been posted on Facebook. The first was by Richard Rohr, one of my favourite religious authors, who is a Franciscan monk, and Director of the Center for Action and Contemplation:

"Love is the source and goal; faith is the slow process of getting there; hope is the willingness to move forward without resolution."

(image: Center for Action & Contemplation, shared by Contemplative Monk)

The other was by Geneen Roth, whose books about women's relationships with their bodies have had a huge impact on me, particularly Women, Food and God, which taught me to love my body, rather than hating her. She wrote: 

"You already have everything you need to be content. Your real work is to do whatever it takes to realize that."

(image: Geneen Roth)

It strikes me that they are both talking about the same thing. For me, the recognition that God is Love, and that my whole life should be about growing into a more loving relationship with Him/Her - both source and goal, is a life-changing revelation. 

Having faith is the realization that God *already* loves me, just the way I am - I already have "everything you need to be content". My "real work" will be to be aware of this every day, so that I can grow closer to God, and grow into the sort of person who walks lovingly through life, cherishing that of God in everyone, and in the the natural world..

It will take a lifetime, but now I know where I'm going.

The Flame of Hope

Recently I came across a poem called Four Candles by that great poet, Anonymous, the last two lines of which read: "With Hope, no matter how bad things look and are, / Peace, Faith, and Love can shine brightly in our lives. Yes.

In her wonderful book, The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown shares her research about how we can practice what she calls wholehearted living. One of her ten guideposts for wholehearted living is "Cultivating a resilient spirit: letting go of numbing and powerlessness." Which is where hope comes in.

If we go back to the legend of Pandora and her box, Hope was the only virtue left to humankind when she had let all the others escape. And my dictionary defines hope as "expectation and desire combined; feeling of trust", which I guess is how most people think of it. Brené Brown, who is an accomplished sociological researcher, thought so too, and was shocked to find that "hope is not an emotion; it's a way of thinking or a cognitive process." In other words, it is a way of being that can be learned!

I'd like to share what she says about how hope happens; it is when: "We have the ability to set realistic goals (I know where I want to go). We are able to figure out how to achieve these goals, including the ability to stay flexible and develop alternative routes (I know how to get there, I'm persistent, and I can tolerate disappointment and try again). and We believe in ourselves (I can do this!)."

She also grounds the ability to be hopeful in a foundation of spirituality, which she defines as "the belief in connection, a power greater than self, and interconnections grounded in love and compassion." I would also argue that it is much easier to find hope, to be hopeful, and resilient, when we have a belief in something greater than ourselves. This might be a higher power, which some of us might name God or Spirit of Life and Love; or it might be a belief in the worth of working towards a lofty goal, such as world peace, an end to poverty, the spread of compassion - whatever.

It has been an eventful year, in our own lives, in the life of Unitarian congregations, and in the wider world. Some of us have faced bereavement and grief, others have faced life-threatening or less scary but still serious health issues, and all of us have watched the wider world seemingly going to hell in a hand-basket. At the beginning of this year, we came together, shocked by the attack on the Charlie Hebdo offices in Paris, at this end of the year, our thoughts are once more in Paris, in Beirut, in Iraq, with the refugees huddling in inadequate camps all over Europe and the Middle East, and in all the other places where violence and deprivation seem to be holding sway. Yet in between most congregations have continued to meet regularly in worship, to support various charities, and to try to make the phrase "beloved community" a reality. That is having hope.

May Peace, Faith, and Love shine brightly in all our lives, fuelled by Hope.

Ways of Remembrance

Earlier this week, my husband and I visited the National Memorial Arboretum, near Lichfield. I had had qualms about doing this, as I had expected it to be very much about "remembering our glorious dead", which as a pacifist, I struggle with.

But how wrong I was. We arrived about quarter to two, having spent the morning in Lichfield, and saw on the notices that there is a daily talk in the chapel at 2.00 pm. So we hung around the gift shop for a few minutes, where you could hardly move for things with red poppies on, and then headed over to the chapel.

Outside the door, there was a beautiful prayer for a better world, written by a 13 year old named Anna Crompton, which was not what I had been expecting. Here are the words:

The NMA volunteer told us a little about the history of the place, and about some particular memorials to look out for. And then we were free to wander as we willed.

Like most folk, we headed first for the main Armed Forces Memorial, which commemorates all the service men and women who have given their lives for their country since 1945 - since we have been "at peace". It consists of four concentric half circles, two on each side, and the names are arranged in chronological order, and then by service. So for each year, there is the list of names for Army, Navy, and Air Force. It has been designed so that on 11th November each year, the light of the sun focuses directly on it at 11.00 am. I found three things very poignant:

1. they have used up 227 panels so far, in the years since 1945.
2. there is a lot of blank wall left for future deaths.
3. to spot the name of Private Lee Rigby among the dead in 2013.

I felt tears pricking my eyes for the first time.

Then we wandered fairly randomly, stopping to look at whatever attracted our attention. One of the first I saw was a memorial to all the Jews who have laid down their lives for their country - Britain, not Israel. It had been dedicated a few years previously "350 years after Jews were readmitted to England", which I found terribly sad.

One thing I had spotted in the list of memorials on the map we had bought was a memorial to the Quaker Friends Relief Service, so we headed out to find it. When we got there, I was so filled with joy. It takes the form of four high-backed, stone settles, arranged in a loose circle, so that one could have a meeting for worship right there. On the facing part of each settle, the Quaker values of Peace, Simplicity, Truth and Equality are engraved, one on each.

There was also a beautiful memorial for individuals, divided into twelve monthly sections. Any family can buy an eternal poppy, and add the name of their loved one to the display. I found this really moving.

Of course, most of the memorials were military, and it was fascinating to see how beautiful and appropriate most of them were. The Signals Corps had a statue of Mercury, the Royal Welsh a great slab of Welsh slate, the Navy one of different colours of blue glass/perspex with a yellow panel representing the rising sun and an orange panel representing the setting sun, and so on. But there were also other memorials for those who had played supporting roles in times of conflict - the Women's Land Army, Bevin's Boys, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, and memorials for dogs and horses, who had also given their lives.

As the afternoon wore on, we got tired, and headed back to the Visitor Centre for coffee and cake. And then realised that we hadn't seen a couple of memorials that the guide at the beginning had particularly mentioned, so we set out again. And I am so very glad that we did.

On the way, we came across one of the newest memorials, to the service personnel who had lost their lives in Iraq. And that was so sad to see. And then on to the lovely memorial for all the thousands of Poles who had given their lives for the Allied cause in World War II, when their own country didn't exist any more.

And we also came across some beautiful gardens of remembrance which had nothing to do with war at all - any member of the public can subscribe to buy a tree to remember a loved one. And there was one terribly sad section of trees dedicated to babies "born sleeping", or who had lived only a few days. And I saw one tree with two signs, for a husband and wife, who had died within eleven months of each other.

But not all the individual trees commemorated a death - one sign I saw celebrated a 65th wedding anniversary - how lovely!

Finally, we came to the new Shot At Dawn memorial, which is set in a corner of the 150 acre site, so that it is the first point to be touched by the light of dawn each day. It commemorates the 306 British and Commonwealth soldiers who were shot for cowardice or desertion during World War I. It consists of a single statue depicted with his hands tied behind his back, and a blindfold on, and behind him, the 306 individual stakes, each with a name. Once again, I was in tears.

And there was so much we didn't see. The NMA's strapline is "Where our nation remembers", and it is certainly that. I thought back to our morning visit to Lichfield Cathedral, with its memorials to the war dead of Staffordshire, and the long entombed bishops, and reflected on how life has changed. Today we commemorate our dead with living trees, in a secular, but most sacred, setting.