People say we’ve got it made
don’t they know we’re so afraid,
isolation

Listening again today to John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band I’m affected by how much pain there is in there. Anger and pain. Struck by the impression of how much of his childhood is in Lennon’s music; and by how much of his childhood hurt. In a fascinating and genuinely revealing 1971 interview with Tariq Ali and Robin Blackburn Lennon said,

“… I was never really wanted. The only reason I am a star is because of my repression. Nothing else would have driven me through all that if I was ‘normal’…”

Yoko: “… and happy …”

Lennon: “The only reason I went for that goal is that I wanted to say: ‘Now, mummy-daddy, will you love me?’”

All of that is well-expressed in that seminal 1970 album which sears through my iMac speakers as I write. Plus Lennon’s anti-establishment, anti-religion, anti-Beatles vibes which are also well-explored in Ali/Blackburn’s interview.

“The more reality we face, the more we realise that unreality is the main programme of the day. The more real we become, the more abuse we take, so it does radicalise us in a way, like being put in a corner. But it would be better if there were more of us.”

And so to this morning, where at the invitation of the Liverpool Beatles Appreciation Society I laid a laminated print of Peter Murphy’s Lennon icon at the foot of the Lennon statue on Mathew Street (see it on this AP Photo/Paul Ellis picture, above). Very unreal, trying to reach the assortment of Lennon fans struggling to see through a barrage of the world’s cameras and microphones, explaining briefly the significance of icons to spiritual seekers, the value of Lennon’s image as a focus and inspiration for those seeking to work for peace, asking for reflection and remembrance of today’s peacemakers.

It was such a media event that I felt numbed by it. It seemed a long way away from the very real, very raw emotion I felt that cold winter morning in 1980 when, leaving home for work, I heard the news of Lennon’s death on the radio. And the bemusement I felt as a green seventeen year old when some older workers on the shop floor met the news grudgingly, with complaints about Lennon’s betraying the city of his birth and disparaging his peacenik, refusenik character. Their attitude horrified me at the time; in retrospect at least it awoke some sensibilities in me, matured me. Taught me that there were many in the world who would vehemently oppose the sorts of values I held dear. That it still smarts, that memory, perhaps means that I’m not entirely numbed by the fact that Lennon was only a Working Class Hero to some of us.

“God is a concept by which we measure our pain,” Lennon sang. I doubt he’d have been too chuffed having two clergymen and the Lord Mayor leading tributes to him outside The Cavern today. But he may have felt better about it knowing that for one of us at least, it triggered these thoughts, about getting real, about still wanting to stand in a corner, with the ragbag radicals, fighting the unreality.

Faith is hard.

What do you do with it.

Faith is useless unless it makes a difference.
In essence faith is a verb not a noun.
Faith is lived out in our attitudes, thoughts and speech

The point where faith meets the world is uncomfortable. but it is rewarding.

Today I spoke to a stranger. she was nice. I spoke with her. she spoke with me. I listened, we laughed, alot. My faith was there. My extolling the virtues of renewable eneegy was was a small part of living this faith out.

Today I saw a mother speak with courage and commitment about faith and the differnce this made to their life. This was in the glare of national & international media, Against the backdrop of a court case which must have made her faith a hard thing to deal with.

Faith is a stage beyond hope? (when hope is gone faith can still exist?)
If i was in her situation I hope I could react with faith.

Who would have thought that seeing The Producers could be a spiritually enlightening experience? A show that mercilessly pokes fun at every conceivable minority group still somehow manages to leave the audience with genuine joy, rather than mere cheap laughs. The sublime one-liners certainly help, (“Can I take your hat? Your coats? Your swastikas?”) but ultimately, The Producers is a story of redemption. When we first encounter Max Bialystock, he is a mess; a selfish, lecherous, swindling failure. As for Leo Bloom, he is timid, subservient and awkward, an accountant who aspires improbably to producing a Broadway musical. But through their friendship, both men are changed and ultimately redeemed. Their duet “’Til Him” makes it clear that this relationship has transformed them both. Of course, they must both serve a prison sentence for their dishonesty, and there is never a guarantee that all will live happily ever after (the surreal ending to Blazing Saddles shows that anything is possible in a Mel Brooks script). However, the curtain comes down with Bialystock and Bloom walking, together, into the sunset and a golden future of hit musicals. Redeemed through relationship. What a wonderful illustration of how a man can be transformed through a relationship with his creator.

Ffald-y-Brenin feels like the edge of the world. It’s miles of disorientating Welsh country road from anywhere, you can see nothing but fields from here, as far as the horizon, and the silence has an almost physical weight. The perfect place to come on retreat. My hostess encourages me “Be sure to go out to the cross, while you’re here. God’s doing some powerful things there.” Quite a recommendation. So, I make my way out. At the top of a rocky slope, out of sight of the buildings, is a six-foot tall, plain, wooden cross. As soon as I see it, I wonder why I’m there. I think back to my nightmarish journey. It feels like a pilgrimage, and I’m here for the same reason as any pilgrim - to seek God. The cross resembles a signpost, pointing left, right and up, and I realise that God actually is all around me, in the silent, panoramic view, stretching away on every side. I drove for six hours to get here, to discover God was actually all around me back in London. The irony. I can picture God with a wry smile on his face. I turn to leave, but I know I’m not leaving alone.

I love the idea of child sponsorship. It’s the practicalities I struggle with. The problem comes when, usually driven by guilt at not being in touch with Jair for months on end, the time comes to write to him. I begin with enthusiasm. I great him heartily and ask after his family. I then come to a grinding halt. What on earth am I supposed to say to a five year-old Peruvian boy? I decide to tell him a bit about my hobbies. I like sport. He’ll relate to that. So, I begin to tell Jair about the amusingly hopeless football team I play for, only to run into more problems. I think of my football boots, most likely made by sweat-shop labourers, somewhere in the far-east. Ooh. Guilt. I think of the lusciously green football pitches we play on, the branch of McDonalds we repair to after home games, the cars we all drive home afterwards. It’s the same game the world over, but I can’t help thinking we’re playing to different rules. Best change the subject. So I throw in a Bible verse, tell him I’m praying for him, and sign off. Lucky he’s still too young to read, really.

This cafe is beautiful, and it’s where a lot of Greenbelt business gets done, a lot of Greenbelt chat is chattered, a lot of Greenbelt dreams are dreamed. Now regular customer Pip points me to an article in the Society Guardian detailing the dilemma facing this wonderful jewel at the heart of London, the New Piccadilly , facing closure after the landlords announced their intention to increase the annual rent from £51,000 to £75,000.

Thankfully the New Piccadilly’s owner, Lorenzo “Lolly” Marioni, is fighting it (demanding a rent tribunal). Hopefully the Twentieth Century Society will put some weight behind it, because English Heritage are being no help at all. Viva New Piccadilly!

…seems a long time off yet. I’m in the midst of bringing Advent services into being, and planning for Christmas. Tomorrow I give version two of one of my Greenbelt talks from 05 here in Cambridge, reminding me of last Greenbelt which still seems like yesterday.
Yet on my desk is correspondence and forward plans for Greenbelt 06. I’m looking forward to it already, and giving some back-burner thought to the shape of talks and panels and the like.

Have you booked your space yet? I’d be fascinated to know how far in advance other people plan their Greenbelt.

Great to bump into Paul Cookson on Walton Lane last night, en-route to Goodison. Somehow we managed to miss each other at Greenbelt this year so it was good to hear his news - an update on his Poet-in-Residence post at The National Football Museum, Preston (his home town), and more excitingly still, the three-page feature on him and his poetry in the current edition of essential footy rag The Evertonian (pictured here).

I was so excited by all this that the Boys Brigade tonight were um, treated to a performance slot by me reading some of my Cookson Everton-themed favourites, and of course his classic The Footballer’s Prayer:

Our team
Which art eleven
Hallowed be thy game
Our match be won
Their score be none
On turf as we score at least seven
Give us today no daily red … card
And forgive us our lost passes
As we forgive those who lose passes against us
Lead us not into retaliation
And deliver us from all fouls
For three is the kick-off
The power and the scorer
For ever and ever
Full time

download a pdf of the brochure

re:source begins a second course in january 2006. i am on the core group for the course and am excited about it. the first time we ran the course it went really well. this time it will be even better as we have learned from the first year and hopefully improved on it.

if you are involved in leading an emerging church/fresh expression of church/church plant or are thinking about starting one this could be a great course to sign up for. it is aimed at people who are doing it i.e. practitioners.

it consists of 5 weekends through the year, each in a different location, on the themes of mission, culture, leadership, church and transformation. like all these kinds of courses as well as some teaching, discussion, reflection, coaching and so on, one of the huge benefits is meeting a bunch of other people on similar journeys round the country to learn from each other. mentoring and assignments are also part of the course.

the stated aims/aspirations of the course are that by the end of it you will:
• be equipped to create church in emerging culture
• develop mission strategies for your specific context
• explore and apply skills in leadership and discipleship
• develop your capacity for spiritual and personal growth

full details are in the brochure. if you would like a brochure sent to you e-mail beth who now works part time to make re:source happen and is doing a fab job and she will send you one. you can also download a pdf of the brochure
here (approx 500k). one of the challenges with all of this emerging stuff is that it is often tucked away so if you know anyone you think would be interested please pass on the info/pdf - these kinds of things spread best by word of mouth and we haven’t got a huge advertising budget anyway. the course is pretty good value i think at £420 (plus £200 if you want us to provide accomodation).

there is a re:source web site but it is in the process of being updated so look back there in a week or two.

CMS are one of the partners helping run the course, hopefully offering some nous and experience about mission into the mix. i am intending to be at all/most of the weekends so maybe see you there?…

My views of justice and art in relation to faith have shifted radically during my life. In the fervour of recent conversion I once dismissed ‘justice’ as secondary to the over-riding priority of ‘salvation’. Years later I now regard justice as a fundamental outworking of Christianity.

I went through a similar journey with art. As a teenager I delighted in Christian alternatives to mainstream arts – from pop music to nightclubs. Through my university years I belatedly discovered and embraced secular entertainment, but (aside from the occasional Supergrass track) I could never see where Jesus fitted in.

Eventually I began to accept that Christianity did not have to sanitise the arts to make them ‘safe’. Just like justice, I came to regard the arts as a natural expression of faith. But it is only recently that I have also begun to see art and justice as ways of finding new perspectives on faith. Whilst many activists and artists dismiss God, in spite of this their music, actions or films have the power to give me a new perspective on myself and on my relationship with God. So, whilst I still secretly love Delirious, I can now hear God through many voices.