Height Wants To Be Climbed

 This week's quotation, by the early 20th century German writer and poet, Paul Richard Luck, reads,  "Height cannot be given, but it wants to be climbed."

"Height... wants to be climbed." I guess he means that we often view an upward path as a challenge, and that we will only be able to see what is at the top, once we have made the effort of climbing it. Nothing comes for free - "height cannot be given". 

Except when it can... I can still remember my huge sense of indignation as a child, when we had climbed Mount Snowdon in North Wales, and found the summit buzzing with tourists who had caught the train up from Llanberis, four and a half snaking miles below. I felt they had cheated, by not climbing the mountain as we had done.

But generally, we cannot attain the heights without doing some hard work to get there. As Luck said, "height cannot be given." And this is true of any field of human endeavour, much though we might wish it were otherwise. For example, I would love to be able to play the piano as well as a concert pianist, but I know that this will never happen without daily hours of practice over a long period of time. And it's not a sufficiently high priority for me, so I don't have the motivation to put in the necessary work.

Writing, on the other hand, is a priority, and I practice my craft for at least an hour each day (this is fiction / creative non-fiction writing rather than the writing I do as part of my role as a Unitarian minister). And because I have put in the time and effort, my writing is beginning to improve. Like most writers, I will never be completely satisfied with it, because it's always possible to do better. Sometimes, I read the words of others - writers I admire, such as George Eliot, Joseph Conrad, J.R.R. Tolkien and Terry Pratchett - and just sigh quietly to myself. Because I will probably never write as well as they do. But by constant pracice, I can get better, can learn to find my own voice.

I believe there is something in every human being, which impels us towards the heights. Which fills us with motivation and enthusiasm for our chosen vocation (whatever that is), so that we don't mind putting the work in, so long as it gets us a little closer to those seemingly unattainable heights. Which makes us strive to do the best we can, each day.

And I don't think it is ambition, although that is part of it. I think it is something purer, something more selfless, something we experience through grace. If attaining our own personal "height" is sufficiently important to us, we will carry on plodding upwards, one step at a time, because it is natural to follow the best we know, to do our best to reach the elusive heights.

Planted Towns

 My dear husband and I are on holiday in the Cotswolds this week. On our first day, we visited Northleach, a charming little town with a beautiful church. And discovered that it is one of several 'planted towns' in the Cotswolds - others including Chipping Campden, Moreton in Marsh, Stow on the Wold, Burford, Wooton Under Edge and Chipping Sodbury. 

According to the helpful leaflet we picked up, from which the map above is taken, "hundreds of such market towns were 'planted' in England and Wales following the Norman conquest in 1066, producing a network allowing people to journey to and from market in a single day."

Who knew that town planning and the concept of 'new towns' went back that far? I certainly didn't. There was a fascinating display explaining the features of planted towns inside Northleach's magnificent church, St Peter and St Paul, which is one of the Cotswold "wool churches" built by wealthy wool merchants. We have visited several examples this week.

Perhaps most people know about this phenomenon, and it was merely my ignorance that I did not. But my husband, who has a town planning degree, hadn't either.

The quotation from Ecclesiastes that keeps running through my head is, "There is nothing new under the sun." So the much vaunted 'new towns' post war, such as Harlow and Basildon and Milton Keynes, are only a reinvention of a much older planning solution - the planted town. And both planted towns and new towns have been successful because they were situated wisely, where they would be of benefit to their inhabitants - the planted towns to enable easier journeys to market from the surrounding countryside, the new towns to house the burgeoning populations of our 20th and 21st century cities.

And I know that some Christian denominations plant ministries to bring their particular brand of Christianity to new places. Perhaps Unitarians might do the same? I know of a couple of examples...

A Time of Change and Grief

 As regular followers of this blog will know, it is my habit to base it around a quotation from the Harenberg Kalender, which I buy at the beginning of each year. This week's quotation is so apposite for the events of yesterday, it gave me goosebumps. Albert Schweitzer wrote, "Power makes no noise. It is there and works"

It is the end of an era. The Queen died yesterday afternoon, after more than seventy years on the throne. She was a power that was there and worked. As several BBC commentators pointed out last night, she was the one fixed and stable point in a rapidly changing world, and her passing is going to be unsettling at best.

I am not, and never have been, an ardent monarchist, but I have always respected the Queen. I cannot help admiring her long and unwavering commitment to her royal role, right to the end - two days before she passed, she received both Boris Johnson and Liz Truss at Balmoral, to mark the change of Prime Minister, spending about 30 minutes with each. Her high sense of duty was admirable.

Only people over the age of 75 will have any real memory of life before she came to the throne in 1952. Although my best friend, who is 71, remembers the pomp and ceremony of the coronation in 1953. It is the end of an era indeed.

Prime ministers come and go, as do governments, but the Queen was a constant, stabilising presence above the political fray. She was a superb stateswoman and ambassador for this country, which may be judged by the generous, heartfelt tributes which have been pouring in from all over the world. I was never fortunate enough to meet her in person, but I have met Princess Anne, who shares her mother's dedicated work ethic and her ability to pay attention to others, wherever she is.

And the Queen was much loved by her people. I am glad she was able to experience the Platinum Jubilee, so that she could see for herself the affection which the people of this country have for her. But we cannot wish her back. I am glad for her - I think the heart went out of her when Prince Philip died - but sad for us. She is now at peace and with him.

I hope in the days and weeks to come, when they will be so much in the public spotlight, that the royal family (to whom she was not only Queen, but also mother, grandmother, great grandmother, aunt and cousin) will be given time and space to grieve in private.

As for the rest of us, the sense of loss is real. I wish King Charles all the very best, as he steps into the role of monarch. He has a good role model to follow.

Spirit of Life and Love,

In this time of loss and sadness

we come together as a community

to mark the end of the days of Queen Elizabeth II:

to honour and celebrate her life,

to mourn her passing,

to hold her loved ones in their grief,

and to find strength from one another

for the days ahead,

in which she will no longer be present.

May our Unitarian community help us

to accept the mystery of life and death,

and to go forth into the future

consoled and strengthened.

Amen

Awareness of Beauty

 The Ancient Greek dramatist, Menander, once wrote, "The best thing in life is having an understanding for everything beautiful."

This applies whether it is beautiful art, like the mandala pictured above, natural beauty, human beauty or abstract beauty (such as the beauty we recognise in well-crafted words or music). And to recognise that, for those with eyes to see and ears to hear, beauty is all around us. We can also use our other senses, touch, smell and taste, to perceive the beauty all around us.

Which can be hard, sometimes. If we are sad, lonely, grieving, or sick in body or mind, it can be difficult to open our senses to the beauty all around us, because we are consumed by negative emotions. and feelings and have no room for anything else.

But I do believe in the healing power of beauty. If we can only open our senses to its multifarious presence in the world, it can help us to realign our souls. Earlier this year, I wrote a blogpost about the ways in which we can appreciate beauty, here. And I stand by what I said then - that there always is beauty, but that we have to be awake and attentive to see it all around us.

Where have you found beauty, recently?

Look, But Do Not Judge

 The fourth century theologian and philosopher, Augustine of Hippo once wrote, "The gaze of the eyes can only reproduce what it sees, but by no means judge."

I'm not entirely sure what he meant by it... the use of the word 'can' rather than 'should', renders his meaning a little opaque, or at least to me. Because in my experience, most of us constantly make judgements about what we see. Even when it would be wiser to discover more before passing judgement.

I can remember a television advert for The Guardian, many years ago, which made a deep impression on me. First the viewer sees a picture of a little old lady walking down a city street. Then the camera cuts to a young man running along the same street. And the mind instantly jumps to the conclusion that the young man is up to no good - perhaps he is planning to attack the old lady... Then we see him jump at her, grabbing her. An instant later, the viewer realises that the young man has saved her from serious injury, if not death, as a piece of falling masonry lands where she was standing.

The moral of the "story" was that we should not judge by appearances, but investigate what is happening more carefully, by reading The Guardian. And I have never forgotten it. I cannot remember what the slogan was, but I do remember the feeling of revelation - that we should never judge on first sight.

Perhaps we need to bring all of ourselves to the matter of judgement - not only our physical senses, but also our intuition, our intellect and our compassion. So that we do not judge by appearance only.

Symbols of the Eternal

 Gertrude von le Fort was a German novelist, poet and essayist, who wrote, "Nothing earthly is eternal, but everything earthly can become a symbol of the eternal."

And she is absolutely right. I have written before about my belief that it is the presence of the Spirit - that of God within us, which enables us to be aware of the glories around us which enables us to see the eternal in earthly things. 

But we also need to be aware of that little word "symbol". Any earthly object which inspires us to discern the eternal is always and only a symbol, not the eternal itself. Which applies not only to nature, but also to people. As the Buddha advised, "I am a finger pointing to the moon. Don't look at me; look at the moon."

Which is not to say that God / the Spirit / the Divine is not present, immanent in the world. Because I do believe that too. I believe that the entire world is sacramental and wrote about this in March 2020, here. So yes, "everything earthly can become a symbol of the eternal". But it is not the eternal itself.

We are so blessed to be able to perceive the eternal in earthly things. Let us strive to be awake and aware of its presence, as often as we can.

What's So Wonderful About That?

 This week's quotation, by François Mauriac, the 20th century novelist, dramatist, critic, poet and journalist, reads, "Man quickly becomes accustomed to the miracles he performs himself."

And I'm afraid he's right. We are surrounded by miracles which we do not recognise as such, because they are part of our daily lives. I'm writing this blogpost now on my laptop, and took the photo above on my iPhone and sent it to myself by e-mail, downloaded it to my laptop, then uploaded it to this post. Which took less time than the words have taken to type. 

But I can remember the days (not so very long ago) when it was unusual to have a computer in the home and mobile phones did not exist. And in the earliest days of the internet, the only way of connecting with it was dial up - who remembers the gloingle gloingle noise it used to make? - and each page loaded with glacial slowness. The possibility of instant connection to the wider world around me still fills me with wonder. Or, it does when I remember to think about it.

It is so easy to be come blasé about the everyday miracles of our lives, to take them completely for granted. It takes more effort to be sufficiently awake and aware to say "Wow!" occasionally, when something goes right without effort. To remember when the accomplishment of this everyday miracle would have been incredibly difficult, if not impossible, because no-one had invented the technology yet.

I make no apology for repeating once mre the beautiful prayer quoted by Rachel Naomi Remen in her book, My Grandfather's Blessings, as it is a wonderful antidote to this sort of cynical, blasé, seen-it-all-before mindset:

"Days pass and the years vanish

and we walk sightless among miracles.

Lord, fill our eyes with seeing

and our minds with knowing.

Let there be moments when your Presence,

like lightning, illuminates

the darkness in which we walk.

Help us to see, wherever we gaze,

that the bush burns, unconsumed.

And we, clay touched by God,

will reach out for holiness and

exclaim in wonder,

"How filled with awe is this place

and we did not know it."

"Help us to see, wherever we gaze, that the bush burns, unconsumed." Yes, amen, amen.