tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708148457713726252024-03-17T07:52:31.562+13:00Available LightKelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.comBlogger907125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-36059057373724063012024-02-05T15:48:00.004+13:002024-02-06T12:31:52.744+13:00Ko Tangata Tiriti Ahau<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxH46i8Yzi0EZ8QqthK8-Q4wgQOgVfxo-9wMxg_U-y-uS6oGzusTJ9-YSn-Xz8C9t1r1wwu3uUvAWRtPSPqYu6j8dn7n_52G_3KnwNFtShL0BRmQO4QX4zvFnJ18U_qWDCtmUvOzuYdA8b6hohWpbktdDfS17KcOHd5lYEx2vvLd0k28ZgoMEs3LXtTYAh/s4911/P9170001-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3683" data-original-width="4911" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxH46i8Yzi0EZ8QqthK8-Q4wgQOgVfxo-9wMxg_U-y-uS6oGzusTJ9-YSn-Xz8C9t1r1wwu3uUvAWRtPSPqYu6j8dn7n_52G_3KnwNFtShL0BRmQO4QX4zvFnJ18U_qWDCtmUvOzuYdA8b6hohWpbktdDfS17KcOHd5lYEx2vvLd0k28ZgoMEs3LXtTYAh/s320/P9170001-2.jpg" width="320" /></a> </p><p><br /></p><p>The Christmas before last our kids gave us Ancestry.com kits. You know the deal: you spit into a test tube, send it over to Ireland, and in a month or so you get a wadge of paper in the mail telling you who you are. I've never, previously, been interested in all that stuff. I knew my forbears came to Aotearoa in the 1850's from Britain but I didn't know from where, exactly. Clemency's results, as it turns out, were pretty interesting. She was born in England, but has ancestors from various European places, and some who are Ngāti Raukawa, so she can whakapapa back to a little marae called Kikopiri, near Ōtaki. And me? It turns out I'm more British than most British people. Apart from a smattering of Norse - probably the result of some Viking raid in the dim distant past - all my tūpuna seem to have come from a little group of villages in Nottinghamshire. </p><p>Now I've been to the UK a few times, and I quite like it, but it's not home: my heart and soul belong here, under the Long White Cloud. And the incongruence between my genes and my sense of belonging induced a minor (and brief - more of that in a minute) episode of existential angst. After all, being born in a place doesn't necessarily guarantee citizenship. My grandson, for instance was born in Doha but he is not, and never will be, a Qatari. There are many Palestinian people whose families have lived on and farmed the same piece of land for generations but whose government now tells them they are intruders and tries to forcibly evict them. </p><p>But this is not Qatar or Palestine and things are different here: different for the event we all celebrate this week. On February 5 1840 there was no such thing as New Zealand, but on February 7 1840 there was. What happened in between was the signing of the Treaty, by which our country was formed, and the first article of the Treaty guarantees my place here. No one - no individual and no government -can deny me my right to be here because <b><i>ko Tangata Tiriti ahau</i></b> - I am a person of The Treaty. This is the ground on which I stand. My place in these blessed islands is one of the most precious gifts I have been given, but it seems that, recently, some clowns have become obsessed with the notion of sawing off the branch on which we are all sitting, by radically redefining or even abandoning the Treaty. It's preposterous that they think that an agreement between two parties can be unilaterally changed by one of the parties, but they seem determined to try. I'm getting older and slower, but anyone who wishes to harm the Treaty will have to get past me first. </p><p>There are three reasons I love the treaty and will try, with every fibre of my being, to honour it. The first, I have already mentioned, is a selfish one: namely that it is my own, personal, rock solid guarantee of a right to be here. </p><p>Secondly I am called to honour the Treaty because I am an Anglican, The first missionaries were Anglican, and played a pivotal role in developing the wording of the treaty and in discussions with Maori about signing it. The Treaty was written in English and translated into Maori by the Missionary Henry Williams, and it is this translation that was signed by the chiefs. Over the next few months missionaries were pivotal in collecting signatories throughout Aotearoa. Right from the beginning some chiefs asked hard questions about the missionaries' involvement in the Treaty project and about their motives, but the fact remains that without the involvement of our spiritual forbears it would never have been signed, so we, the members of Te Hahi Mihinare, inherit the responsibility of promoting, honouring and upholding the Treaty. </p><p>Thirdly, there is a reason it is easier to comprehend than to explain. It's about what is right. All our Bible readings this morning talked of a deep current which flows through the history of the Universe. The Gospel describes the beginning of Jesus' ministry. Mark talks of the enormous impact Jesus had on those who met him: those ill people he touched often recovered from their sicknesses, and in his presence crazy people were suddenly sane. People in the excited crowds naturally enough interpreted his actions in the light of their own social and political and spiritual understanding and sought to co-opt Jesus to their own ends (what has changed?) Jesus responded to all this excitement by going off alone to be in silence, and by speaking of a deeper purpose to which he was called. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Later on, Paul spoke of the need to look beyond our very human systems of understanding to the deep stream Jesus came to proclaim. We're no longer Jewish or Greek, he said, but we draw on a deeper identity. And centuries before, the prophet Isaiah had invited people to look deeper. When folk were disturbed by the seemingly catastrophic machinations othe great empires of his time he asked them "have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the creator of the ends of the Earth. He does not faint or grow weary. His understanding is unsearchable." </p><p style="text-align: left;">These three texts point us to a deep stream of truth and justice and righteousness which is flowing through all creation; a stream which we very often hide beneath our various flawed systems of thinking and behaving, but which can be seen if we are looking, and which sometimes surfaces in the affairs of human beings. One of the times when this stream surfaced was in the signing of the Treaty. Think about what happened in 1840. </p><p style="text-align: left;">When you look back at the way colonising powers have dealt with indigenous peoples throughout the world, the thinking behind the Treaty of Waitangi is unusually enlightened. The Treaty was drafted not as a deed of conquest, or as a proclamation of a strong power to a weaker one, but rather, as an agreement between two sovereign peoples who were to be equal partners in this new arrangement. This was a moment of goodness and justice, and we can be rightly proud that our nation has such a beginning. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Of course the good intentions of the treaty were often honoured more in their breach than in their observance. By the end of the 19th Century 97% of Maori land was in the ownership of non Maori. Every morning I look out my window at the Anderson's Bay causeway, which was built by the forced labour of men from Parihaka, imprisoned and exiled down here for the "crime" of peacefully resisting the wholesale theft of their ancestral lands. We look at contemporary Aotearoa/New Zealand and it's shameful that Maori people, on average, live 6 years less than Pakeha. More than half of our prison population is Maori, and on pretty much any parameter you care to name Maori lag behind the rest of us. And yet, our social media, and lately, even our parliament, is filled with voices moaning about the "unfair advantages" given to Maori. Seriously, I wonder what planet these people are from. </p><p style="text-align: left;">The genius of the Treaty was that the British and the Tangata Whenua stood as equals and recognised each other as human beings. The failing of what might be called the "colonial minsdset" is that people's true humanity is diminished or even entirely overlooked. For example, in 1857 Leonard Harper crossed the Southern Alps and newspaper stories in Westport and Christchurch hailed this as the first time a man had crossed the great divide. But the very story, underneath the large black headline, recorded that Harper had been guided the whole way by a young Ngai Tahu man, and that in some places he had used rope ladders permanently fixed to cliffs. Think about that. The fact that Māori had been crossing the Southern Alps for about 400 years, using at least 8 different routes, and that they had well established pathways was ignored, because the people involved were not European. We are called to do better than that. We are called to BE better than that. </p><p style="text-align: left;">There are two parties to the treaty: Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti, and this morning I guess I am speaking to the second of these, because that's the group I belong to and as I look around, that's who I see is here. Let's try honouring the Treaty. Let's try valuing it and rejoicing in it. Let's try keeping our word. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Because the Treaty is a gift to us all, and because it gives us the right to be here;</p><p style="text-align: left;">Because it is part of our own spiritual tradition;</p><p style="text-align: left;">Because this is the right thing to do.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-2852309850995202932023-07-23T14:07:00.006+12:002023-07-23T22:27:14.669+12:00Return to Middle Earth<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgK-Y4lHnxiVZqc0EXSVWYkNvZtFVC-SyDIcRVKaqn8vEjlujjDnLG_dVEMgSfuOaVTTjXBHlgjB29wUNad5sl_2kFpKcERJyH4XyiK8aeqf7ff_HfvPDdFkm-mYi6uu4bCu77FpDM2ywHkqvbD3XVqWbL_i_Qs0cBNuzXhwXTCfer-MYbKagAqt-dUp8/s900/Lord-of-the-rings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="900" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLgK-Y4lHnxiVZqc0EXSVWYkNvZtFVC-SyDIcRVKaqn8vEjlujjDnLG_dVEMgSfuOaVTTjXBHlgjB29wUNad5sl_2kFpKcERJyH4XyiK8aeqf7ff_HfvPDdFkm-mYi6uu4bCu77FpDM2ywHkqvbD3XVqWbL_i_Qs0cBNuzXhwXTCfer-MYbKagAqt-dUp8/s320/Lord-of-the-rings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> We had a flood, a couple of weeks back, and had to move all the stuff out of the spare bedroom, including the contents of two floor to ceiling book cases. Shoving the long unopened copies of <i>Sartor Resartus</i> and <i>An Introduction to Byron</i> into cartons, I came upon my copy of <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>. Written in the flyleaf are the dates of its many readings, the last one being when I read it aloud to Catherine, when she was about 10 or 11, well over 20 years ago. The journey across Middle Earth took Catherine and me the best part of a year, except for the evening when we followed Frodo and Sam across the last stretches of Mordor and up Mount Doom, when we simply couldn't stop, and sat up reading until 11.00 pm, on a school night. <p></p><p>My old copy is a paperback, the same edition that every card carrying baby boomer has somewhere on their shelves. The glue has dried and hardened. The cover and many of the pages have come loose. I was overcome with the urge to read it again, but this old friend wouldn't be up to the task, so Clemency and I have been listening to Andy Serkis' magnificent rendition on Audible. There is so much I have forgotten. The original is so much better than the movies. </p><p>The three volumes of the book amount to about 65 hours of listening, and the extended version of the films is about 10 or 11 hours long, so of course Peter Jackson had to considerably condense things. And of course a movie is a different art form than a novel and has different visual and aural requirements, but so much was lost: Bombadil and Goldberry and their connections to an older deeper narrative; the reason for the timely arrival of eagles at key points in the story; any sense of Gimli, Legolas, Boromir, Merry and Pippin as subtly drawn, believable characters rather than stereotypes; the growth of Sam as a character, mirrored in his increasing confidence and assurance as a bard; most of the mythic background; many places, and events, and minor characters. </p><p>My imagining of key scenes, over the last couple of decades, has been so formed by the movies, that hearing Tolkien's versions I was surprised at how unspectacular they were. The battle with the orcs in Moria, the encounters with the black riders on the path to Rivendell, even Gandalf's showdown with the Balrog on the bridge of Kazad-Dum are all less ornate, more humanly scaled than in the movies. And in a strange way, more compelling. Much more. They invited my imaginative participation in an event instead of my admiring observance of a contrived spectacle. </p><p>A film, by it's nature, must be episodic, moving from one set piece to the next. It is all very.... digital. I listen to Andy Serkis voice and I hear Tolkien slowly, subtly, skilfully, building a world and populating it. It's analogue - a slowly, steady unfolding of a great artwork. </p><p>But mostly, I have been reminded again of the depth of the world view from which the Lord of The Rings sprang. Tolkien was a Christian, and wrote out of that point of view. He makes it clear he wasn't writing allegory, and he wasn't trying to encapsulate any doctrinal position, but there is an overarching ethos of the narrative about the triumph of grace over calculation; of service over power; of humility and goodness over cunning and manipulation. In the end, it is the little folk of the Shire who win the world through the strength of friendship, loyalty and commitment to their deepest ideals. The movie hides much of that behind derring-do and sword fights and CG spectaculars. </p><p>This book was, with Woodstock and the Beatles and Bob Dylan, one of the great formative events of the culture of my generation. I'm glad to be reminded of exactly why. </p><p><br /></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-54080591886460486212023-07-20T18:33:00.010+12:002023-07-20T19:35:21.930+12:00The Two Sons<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCtSdJqK8vuulf48sik_nB1nviAJ8kj0yEhLM2TJU9Y9rN4bRSk0bjkQqEZ_Mm7pK3sQP8W8jdXRCY1UQ9Ev5hqAOicQnjQzaKFxQ7gWuCdxYsTXczFuJHAU1Yjv8JMCXPDCFeQUCfh2OVq-exC11SL1_x7rKOG_xhPkIbrGW-zUfHNVcmadvP0sRg0Cj/s783/Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCtSdJqK8vuulf48sik_nB1nviAJ8kj0yEhLM2TJU9Y9rN4bRSk0bjkQqEZ_Mm7pK3sQP8W8jdXRCY1UQ9Ev5hqAOicQnjQzaKFxQ7gWuCdxYsTXczFuJHAU1Yjv8JMCXPDCFeQUCfh2OVq-exC11SL1_x7rKOG_xhPkIbrGW-zUfHNVcmadvP0sRg0Cj/s320/Rembrandt_Harmensz_van_Rijn_-_Return_of_the_Prodigal_Son_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">A recreation of my talk to 3 in 1, Sunday 16 July 2023</span></i></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"> Let's draw together a few loose threads from the last few sessions. Some weeks ago I used the metaphor of fish not being aware of the water in which they lived and to which they owed their very being. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Last week we looked at the passage in Exodus where Moses encounters a presence which identifies itself as "I Am", or, in other words, as being itself. It seems, from this passage, that the "water" in which we swim isn't just some inert substance, but has all the properties of a self: it is conscious, has a sovereign will, and has purposes. Moses encounters reality, and reality is alive and conscious in the same way that he himself is alive and conscious. In the course of the story, Moses is told to remove his sandals, which is an act symbolising his removal of all that stands between himself and reality; for none of us quite perceives reality, because of the self protective layer which we, every one of us, builds up between us and reality. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We Christians have a special, technical term for this protective layer, but I hesitate to use the word because it is so fraught with associations, and most of the associations are unhelpful, inaccurate and wrong. The word is <u>Sin</u>. </p><p style="text-align: left;">If you want a quick and easy definition of Sin it is this: <i>anything which stands between you and God</i>. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Back in the 1740s, Jonathan Edwards, who had a somewhat different definition of sin, preached one of the most influential sermons ever to come out of a pulpit, "Sinners In The Hands Of An Angry God". His sermon is full of details of the hell that awaits the people on whom God is going to vent his (sic) spleen, on account of God being decidedly ticked off at their naughtiness. This sermon was hugely influential in the formation of later Christianity, particularly in the United States. As a young Christian I was taught, in a church influenced by this kind of thinking, that when Jesus was on the cross he took the sin of the world on himself and became so repugnant to God that God looked away (as though such a thing were remotely possible!), prompting the anguished cry, "why have you forsaken me?" Sin was about behaviours, and those behaviours evoked God's disgust and anger. This is a version of the term "sin" which, I think, is neither helpful nor true. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Jump forward a few hundred years, and take a look at how "sin" is used in our own culture. It's all a bit confused. People use it as a shorthand for what they don't like about somebody else, as in "the sin of this government is its attitude to wealth" or "his besetting sin is his pomposity". "It's an absolute sin" we say of someone enjoying an indulgence we would very much like for ourselves but can't afford. Myriad advertisements speak of "sinful pleasures" meaning slightly naughty indulgence (chocolates seem to be particularly prone to this description). Sin now treads that delicious line between enticing and forbidden, and it is all a matter of personal opinion and it is all, ultimately harmless. It's a different idea of "sin" than Jonathan Edwards', but it is no more helpful, no more true. Both of these ideas of sin equate sin with behaviours or some sort, and that is not exactly what the term means. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><i>Sin is whatever stands between us and God.</i> Sin is the insulating layer we manufacture to preserve us from the biting keenness of reality. Of course these insulating layers lead us into various kinds of unhelpful, self defeating behaviour, but sin is actually more a way of being than a way of doing. And sin is cognitive. Sin is what stops us young fish from knowing about the water. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Central to Christianity is the belief that reality contains all those properties we associate with being a person; that is, that reality is not so much a person as something greater than personhood. Further, we say reality wills our wholeness, and seeks us out for relationship. And even further, we say that reality, reaching out to us, has a particular focus in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. He has, like the old fish, come to teach the young fish about water. He has come to enable us to remove our sandals and stand on holy ground. And all that being so, the ministry of Jesus is heavily concerned with sin. But the infuriating part of Jesus ministry is that, when it comes to key concepts like "sin" he is very light on definitions, and strong on telling enigmatic stories. So let's look at one of those stories: one in which sin is actually a central theme; one which is already well known to all of us; one which has become a taonga of our entire culture: The Parable of the Prodigal Son. </p><p style="text-align: left;">You know the plot by now. There are a couple of boys, one of whom is a paragon of familial probity and one who is an impetuous little prat. There's also a father who is a bit addle headed - I mean, what sort of man would give his teenager 5 million bucks and send him off to Las Vegas? The good son stays home and runs the farm, the idiot goes and burns through the cash faster than you can say "ponzi scheme", then comes crawling back. The father welcomes the wastrel and the other son gets (to most of us, justifiably) angry at this. </p><p>My cycling through of the Greek New Testament brought me, once again, this story, in Luke 15, a couple of weeks ago. Reading it, I found myself, as happens so often, tripped up and laid flat by one word. ἐσπλαγχνίσθη. <br /><br />This word occurs in verse 20, and describes the father's reaction when he lays eyes on his returning son. The young man has been involved in God alone knows what depravity. He has lost half the family fortune and is now crawling up the road, dressed in rags and covered in pig shit. So far, so expected. But notice the father's reaction. He is not angry. His reaction is ἐσπλαγχνίσθη, which means moved to the deepest part of his being by pity. Pity! He doesn't turn his eyes away, he runs towards the poor befuddled kid. He doesn't react with disgust, he embraces and kisses, finds new clothing and a decent pair of shoes, and makes preparations for a party. Explaining why, I have to make an ecumenical borrowing. Very ecumenical. <br /><br />The Buddhists have a concept, "unskillful means" and I think it makes some sense here. When we choose to do something, no matter what it is, we are trying to achieve some end or other and that end is, as often as not, worthy. So we want to be thought well of, or we want to make ourselves safe, or we want some intimate contact or we want to grow as people, or whatever it is, and we choose some activity or other to achieve that end. Inevitably, the activity doesn't bring us what we want. In fact, it often ends up diminishing the end we seek. We have used an unskillful means. The end is betrayed and subverted by the means. For example, Adolf Hitler is possibly the wickedest person I can think of. When he subjected the whole world to horror, he was attempting to achieve ends which were more or less good: the security and longevity of his people and their preservation from perceived threats. But he was severely disconnected from reality, so his analysis of reality was, of course warped, and the methods he used to achieve these ends led to the utter destruction of Germany, and the deaths of millions of people. Talk about unskillful means! When we are separated from reality, we will tend to use unskillful means most of the time and end up diminishing ourselves. "The wages of sin is death", as Paul says. <br /><br />So this young man sets off to make a name for himself and experience life, and find a personal identity apart from his father. Just look where it gets him. The father, sees the results and is moved with pity for his son's foolishness and for the ignominy his foolishness has wrought. The boy's separation from his father occurred not in the casinos and brothels of the far country, but in that moment when he looked at his Dad, and thought "silly old fool. I can do better than that. " <br /><br />The father's action in allowing his son to have his own way is seen, in this light, not as an act of foolishness, but, as a recognition of the seriousness of the lad's choice and as the only way in which the breach might be repaired. Sure the father might have bribed or bullied the son into staying, or flat out refused to give over the dosh, but in doing so the original separation would have remained and, though hidden, would never have been healed. The father allows his foolish child to drink this cup to the dregs, because only then could he deeply understand himself and understand his father. <br /><br />And then we have the final chapter of the story, concerning the older brother. It seems that he too has separated himself from the father, but out of cowardice or inertia has hidden that separation from sight, and taken the path of outward respectability. I must confess, that many times I have secretly identified with the elder brother, as did, I suspect, most of Jesus' original hearers. The story ends with the older brother in a fit of the sulks, standing outside the family home while his father begs him to come into the party. We never find out how it works out. <br /><br />Sin is whatever separates us from God. The separation can happen quietly, and gradually and we sometimes hardly notice that it has happened. Sometimes we don't actually notice that it has happened at all. We notice, in other people, the destructive results of the division, and in ourselves continue to plug on, wondering why we seem to make the same old mistakes time and time again. "Think again," says Jesus. "The Kingdom of God is as far away as your own hand." <br /><br />Get rid of the sandals. <br /><br />Let the old fish show you the water. </p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-58393830171928810482023-07-12T20:08:00.007+12:002023-07-12T20:32:45.942+12:00Lose the sandals.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5R-ugLqgfirCEOCwP6fKJbAcsQMonOrelWQUIb5S3g8eTE1pO0gDWNut6L7GkPLyIIq_ITQCqej2tmpMNdBmr3saWQS4TT9IMwL7x2qBdd-VVSsXZftSEhM9l9BYuCTz4qIQWFM4VqhxxA-Bamw_YpMMKynZ2jMYIfQYcvNulA3f0yTDWm62dEtG27fgx/s5971/_20200317_1028.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3986" data-original-width="5971" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5R-ugLqgfirCEOCwP6fKJbAcsQMonOrelWQUIb5S3g8eTE1pO0gDWNut6L7GkPLyIIq_ITQCqej2tmpMNdBmr3saWQS4TT9IMwL7x2qBdd-VVSsXZftSEhM9l9BYuCTz4qIQWFM4VqhxxA-Bamw_YpMMKynZ2jMYIfQYcvNulA3f0yTDWm62dEtG27fgx/s320/_20200317_1028.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">An address at 3 in 1, the Sunday evening contemplative group, </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">which meets from 5.30-7.00 pm at St Michael's Church, Dunedin. </span></i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">9 July 2023.</span></i></div><p></p><p>Tonight I want to talk about one of the most significant, beautiful and profound stories in the Bible: the story of Moses and the burning bush. I'm sure most of you know it, having, like me, heard it a thousand times since we first came across it in childhood. </p><p>You know the preamble to it: how Joseph went to Egypt and rose from obscurity to become prime minister; of how he brought his whole family from Israel to Egypt to protect them from drought and how his family multiplied and filled the land; of how, after Pharoah's and Joseph's deaths, Joseph's people lost their favoured status and fell into bondage and oppression; of how the Egyptians feared this numerous bulk of foreigners in their midst and in an effort to contain them ordered the midwives to kill all Hebrew boys as soon as they were born. </p><p>Moses' story begins at this point. The midwives, tending to be people in love with life rather than with death, subverted the king's orders and allowed the little boys to live, so the king had to call in the professional killers. He got his army to wage war on the children. When Moses was born, his mother managed to keep him hidden from the soldiers, which it was possible to do for a few months, but the time came when his presence in the neighbourhood was becoming harder to conceal, so she engaged in another piece of subterfuge. She made a little boat and put the child into it, and allowed it to float down the river past where she knew some Egyptian women, including one of the king's many daughters, were bathing. The women recovered the boat, saw that it contained a child, and then, in another little piece of subversion of her father's barbaric order, the princess adopted the child and arranged for the child's own mother to be employed as wet nurse for it. </p><p>This is an important detail in the story. In the ancient world ethnicity was transmitted not by insemination, but by nurture. That is, who you were suckled by decided your nationality, not who sired you. So Moses, being fed by a Hebrew mother, was Hebrew. But he was raised also as an Egyptian, and it is a not uncommon experience of people raised between two cultures that they find themselves belonging not so much to both as to neither. So Moses grew, isolated and insecure. His name, Moshe, means "the one drawn forth" and I doubt this was a complimentary term. He was "water boy", "drip", alienated from his own people by his association with the oppressors, and from the Egyptians by virtue of his membership of the slave race. We know, from later references, that he spoke with a stutter. In adolescence his self doubt and alienation gave rise, as it does so often in young men, to anger and violence. There was an argument and an Egyptian ended up dead. His own people showed no interest in going in to bat for him, so Moses fled, running for his life into the wilderness and he ended up in the land of Midian. </p><p>It was here that his life took one of those providential turns, which happen to all of us from time to time. He happened by a well where some shepherds were harassing some young women, and his violence and impetuosity were ignited in the women's defence. The girls' father (variously named Reuel or Jethro, take your pick) thought he might be a handy kind of lad to have around and arranged for him to marry Zipporah, one of the recently rescued damsels. He found a place, albeit a not very exalted one, and there his life continued, seemingly without incident, for many, many years. He was a nobody. He had no land, no flocks of his own, no family or tribe or people, but he was adopted into Zipporah's clan and spent his life tending the flocks of his father in law. Then one day, alone in the wilderness, he saw a bush on fire, (which is not all that unusual), but the bush was not being consumed by the flames. (which certainly is). He turned aside to look more closely at this oddity, when a voice spoke to him. </p><p>"Do not approach," said the voice. "shed your sandals, for the ground on which you are standing is holy ground. " </p><p>There's a couple of things I want to draw your attention to here. </p><p>The first is, that the word used for taking off the sandals is not the word commonly used for disrobing. It is a less common word, meaning "to shed" or "to peel off" in much the same way that a snake sheds, or peels off its skin. </p><p>The second is that when he was spoken to, Moses had not yet approached the miraculous bush, so the land referred to as holy was the land on which he was already standing. That is, the holy ground wasn't some special, sacred, magical ground in the little area around the bush. It was the land Moses currently occupied. Its boundaries weren't some small confined area, but encompassed the place where he was tending his sheep, and stretched all the way back to his home with Zipporah, and beyond that to the Egypt he had come from and to the Israel he was, one day, going to head towards, and to the wilderness through which he would wander, in between times. The holy ground is boundless. </p><p>In fact it is under your own feet, right now. What stops us knowing the holiness of the ground under us is the insulating, protective layer we place between us and reality.</p><p>Think about shoes for a moment. I see you are all wearing them tonight, and for good reason. The ground is covered in sharp things, and things that might bite us, and all kinds of unmentionable stuff we might accidentally stand in. In Dunedin, without shoes, frostbite might be a real possibility. So we put on this thick layer, to protect us from all that, but the cushioning which protects also separated and deadens. "Peel it off", says the voice, "and know the reality which is never absent. Which you, in your effort to preserve yourself, have separated yourself from. "</p><p>The voice goes on. It tells Moses that it is the God of those ancestors he might remember from his previous, dimly remembered childhood. It invites Moses to take on a task - to go back to the place he was running from, and tell the king to let all the slaves go. Moses is rightfully doubtful. After all, voices speaking in your head when you're alone in the desert, and seeing odd things, might not be the most reliable guide, right? </p><p>"How do I know it's really God?" he asks. It's a good question, and it receives one of history's least satisfactory answers: </p><p>"When you've done the task, come back here and you'll know." </p><p>So why is it Moses that hears the voice and why is he offered this important job? Why not somebody more able and more influential? After all, Moses is a complete nonentity, and, a person with a speech impediment is maybe not the best choice for a task which involves persuading. But that's just the point, and there is a pattern here which is constantly repeated in the Bible. It's the people with nothing invested and therefore with nothing to lose who are most able to remove their protective layers and find the truth that is never absent. The last shall be first, because they are the most open to new vision and to a new way of being. </p><p>As he mulls things over, Moses asks another, reasonable question.</p><p>"What is your name?" he asks. "When people ask me, who do I say has sent me?"</p><p>And he's given an answer which is so profound it sits at the centre of all the great faiths which have grown out of this conversation.</p><p>"I am what I am", says the voice. "If any one asks, say "I Am" has sent you. </p><p>In answer to his question Moses is given not a noun, but a verb. The voice is the voice of Being. Of reality. It is not a set of ideas, or an image or symbol. The name which is given is the unutterable name. It is so holy that none may speak it, except (as is much later allowed for) the high priest, once a year in the most sacred part of the temple. </p><p>But there is another, more mundane reason the sacred name is unutterable. The particular combination of letters of which it consists is, literally, unpronounceable. They are all silent letters. Some 2000 years after this story was first recorded, the Jewish mystical literature called the Kabbalah offers an explanation of the name. The Kabbalah says the name is the breath. The four silent letters form two syllables which are the inward and outward breath; so that the name is the first thing uttered by every human being, and the last. It is on the lips of every person, waking or sleeping, whether they know it or not, for their whole lives. I don't know whether this is true, but I like the concept. And I like the way it gels with the story of the name's revelation. God is close, to all of us, and it is we ourselves who hide that knowledge from ourselves. </p><p>I'll finish tonight by leaving with you the words of the poet, David Whyte. </p><p><br /></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(22, 20, 18); color: #161412; font-family: "Open Sans", Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><u>The Opening of Eyes</u></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">That day, I saw beneath dark clouds</em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">the passing light over the water</em></div><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">and I heard the voice of the world speak out,</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">I knew then, as I had before,</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">life is no passing memory of what has been</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">nor the remaining pages in a great book</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">waiting to be read.</em><p></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(22, 20, 18); color: #161412; font-family: "Open Sans", Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">It is the opening of eyes long closed.</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">It is the vision of far off things</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">seen for the silence they hold.</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">It is the heart after years</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">of secret conversing,</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">speaking out loud in the clear air.</em></p><p style="caret-color: rgb(22, 20, 18); color: #161412; font-family: "Open Sans", Helvetica, Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">It is Moses in the desert</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">fallen to his knees before the lit bush.</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">It is the man throwing away his shoes</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">as if to enter heaven</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">and finding himself astonished,</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">opened at last,</em><br style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /><em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">fallen in love with solid ground.</em></p></div>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-86400259009209820392023-07-12T15:51:00.000+12:002023-07-12T15:51:13.891+12:00How Did Jesus Pray?<p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibynT46oM3W2JKCCagJAId4K_nAp01DW6luLRlm9s1V1-d71YyMYNe3yA4cEbEJkMdTKnuoWnN6QpPgGocG2dpo4kghiIkNCgonVE1_ooDwq4k54jLpC2B3OUX95ZZ18UR3gPEbZHOa-145Ih0gCpbJ1UW4-nP30AGKcIpPVyacQfqJryrOses2cS6AJ-s/s720/73008_1684988213089_3116691_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="521" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibynT46oM3W2JKCCagJAId4K_nAp01DW6luLRlm9s1V1-d71YyMYNe3yA4cEbEJkMdTKnuoWnN6QpPgGocG2dpo4kghiIkNCgonVE1_ooDwq4k54jLpC2B3OUX95ZZ18UR3gPEbZHOa-145Ih0gCpbJ1UW4-nP30AGKcIpPVyacQfqJryrOses2cS6AJ-s/s320/73008_1684988213089_3116691_n.jpg" width="232" /></a></span></i></div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />This is an address to the 3 in 1 group, given by John Franklin on July 2, 2023</span></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">How did Jesus pray? The gospel sources preserve a memory that deeply impressed them. Jesus withdrew to pray. But we know that while he prayed the prayers of his people, he sought intimate solitude with his Father. His silent waiting on God was the well he drew from.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Jesus was born into a people who knew how to pray.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">They were not like others in the Empire who didn’t know which god to trust; they made altars to them all;<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">to get a hearing, they tried to wear them out; they threatened, scorned them. But this way was not the way of Israel. Their day began and ended, with the Shema; ‘Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, your soul, you mind.’ And it was followed by number of blessings, the Barochah <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Some examples:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Cure us, O Lord our God, of all the wounds of our heart.<span> </span>Remove sadness and tears from us.<span> </span>Blessed are you who cure our wounds.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘You alone reign over us.<span> </span>Blessed are you O Lord who love justice.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Hear O Lord, the voice of our prayer.<span> </span>Show us your mercy, for you are a good and merciful God.<span> </span>Blessed are you O Lord who hear our prayer.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive and preserved us and enabled us to reach this season.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt;">These, prayers, even today, are all said in order. There is a lovely story of man who found himself lost in the woods at prayer time, and he was without his prayer book. He reminded God that he couldn’t remember the prayers, so he told God, “I will recite the letters of the alphabet, O Lord, and you can put the prayers together.”<span> </span>This tells me that it is the intention of our hearts that authenticates prayer.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Jesus will have known the prayers by heart, and like all his people, he will have prayed standing, with head up, though he threw himself on the ground in Gethsemane.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">We see him praying through the day: he cures the sick with prayer, he blesses little children, he thanks the Father for showing things to infants rather than the wise. In it all, we see his absolute trust in God, and his communion with God. But the real source of his life and ministry is his silent waiting on God; his openness to God; his seeking his Father’s will. He is centred in God – God who is love, is goodness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">You may remember the Dusty Springfield 1963 song:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">“I only want to be with you.” It echoes “As the deer longs for flowing waters…” “Be still and know… Sink down and know that I am God” “Into your hands O Lord…<span> </span>Wait…”<span> </span>And Zephaniah says God rejoices over us with singing. Was Jesus listening to the song?<span> </span>Can we?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Wait on the Lord’. The Psalms say it 25 times, Isaiah 11, and there are 116 in total. Wait on the lord, so that, as Paul says, we may be strengthened in our inner/hidden self, that Christ may dwell in our hearts, that we may be being rooted and grounded in love, transformed by the renewing of our minds.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">So how can we be like Jesus, open and available to the Holy Presence? How, like Jesus, can we be available to the healing, restoration, enlivening of God? Centering Prayer answers the how. Centering Prayer is about waiting. We wait on God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: collapse; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><tbody><tr><td nowrap="" style="padding: 0cm 2.25pt 2.25pt 0cm; width: 51.35pt;" valign="top" width="68"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.466665px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB">Ps 62:5<o:p></o:p></span></p></td><td style="padding: 0cm 0cm 2.25pt; width: 279.95pt;" valign="top" width="373"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 21.466665px; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him’.<o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">It’s about being there, like a lady/gentleman in waiting. It’s taking a vacation from yourself says Thomas Keating.<span> </span>It’s making room for the promised fullness of joy. It’s being present, in the present, with the Holy Presence.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Centering Prayer has origins in the desert fathers. It’s in the 13<sup>th</sup> century Cloud of Unknowing. In our day, Thomas Keating has brought it to us, followed by people like Cynthia Bourgeault. So what is it?<span> </span>Some of you will know it. It is putting stick in spoke of the wheels of the constant revolving of our minds. It’s making space so we are not constantly thinking, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">running around caught in thought after thought.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Centering Prayer shows how to release, not get caught. A thought comes and calls, but there’s no need to grab it, or let it grab us. Centering Prayer is the practice of un-grabbing<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">A lot of meditation practices give you something to do, something to focus your mind on like breathing, saying a mantra like Maranatha etc. Centering Prayer doesn’t work that way. Centering Prayer recognises that we get caught by thought after thought, and it shows you how to release them, to make space for God. They are there, but Centering Prayer is about not holding on to them<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">A thought is anything that brings your attention to a focal point. It can be an idea, emotion, memory, noise, discomfort.<span> </span>They are all thoughts. Centering Prayer is about releasing the thought and making room for God. It is not renouncing, fighting, but releasing, letting go. And another will come. But we release attachment – not my will, but yours. In it all we are consenting to the action and presence of God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">So every time to you let go of a thought, you are consenting to the action and presence of God. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">And whether you know it or not, you are receiving help, support, solidarity, grace and mercy and love that is beyond you, yet wants to be in you.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">So Cynthia Bourgeault tell us to note three things.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-GB">Intention</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Centering Prayer is not done with attention but with intention. This is central to Centering Prayer. Don’t bring your attention to a focal point like following your breath, a mantra – it is all a thought. This is about letting go. Intention holds us.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">So what is your intention? If it is to be totally<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">available to the divine presence, the now, to God;<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">if it is to be deeply available to what is deeper, richer, than all the usual thoughts and emotions, then you are on the right track.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Don’t intend to make yourself still and empty, it’s not going to happen. It’s not about getting peace, finding joy, lowering your blood pressure and all.<span> </span>There are fruits to be had from the practice of Centering Prayer, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">but they are not our intention. Our intention is to centre ourselves in the Love, to be deeply available to this life-giving, deeper current of presence.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-GB">Let the thought go.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">We come with the deep intention to be totally available to God, and a minute or two later you are wondering about what to have for dinner, when the car needs a WOF, how you are going to answer that email. Catch yourself thinking, let the thought go.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Don’t worry about whether you will be able to do this. You will know, there will come a moment when you see I am thinking. That’s the point when you gently let the thought go – without judging yourself, without recrimination. The only thing you can do wrong, says Thomas Keating, is to get up and go. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b><span lang="EN-GB">Sacred Word.</span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">To help you remember your basic intention, to help release thoughts, use what’s called a scared word.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Choose a word. It can be anything.<span> </span>Words like love, still, peace.<span> </span>It could even be wind, air, or sun because it doesn’t have to mean anything. It is a tool, there to symbolise to yourself your intention, your desire to be open to the action and presence of God. But what makes it different from a mantra is you don’t recite constantly. It’s just there, like a reminder note you make yourself.<span> </span>It’s there to remind you of what you are doing, to release the thought and make space for God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Four ‘R’s…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Resist no thought</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Retain no thought <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">React to no thought<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Return to the sacred word<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I notice I am thinking, I use my word to let the thought go. And like falling asleep, the word will fall away from time to time, and you are just there.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">So, sit comfortably, eyes closed, head up like a balloon and spine like the string as Kelvin says. Make space at the beginning to relax your body. And as St Ignatius says, bless the space you are coming to as you enter. Collect yourself into your intention.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">I am opening to the presence and action of God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">I am here, you are here. And thoughts will come.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Each time you let them go you are returning to God, to consent. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Once, in a Centering Prayer workshop, an elderly woman told Thomas Keating she couldn’t do it.<span> </span>She had 10,000 thoughts in 10 minutes! “Beautiful, he said. 10,000 opportunities to return to God.”<span> </span>So don’t try to make your mind quiet, instead look joyfully that every thought offers the opportunity to let go and return to God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">The invitation of Centering Prayer is to pray like Jesus, to wait on God in silence, with the intention of being open and available to his presence and action.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Our 3 year old granddaughter in Wellington came home from St Mark’s preschool the other day and announced, “My body is a temple of the Holy Spirit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">Centering Prayer is about making space in the temple.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">‘And so the yearning strong, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">with which the soul will long,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">will far out pass the power of human telling;<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">for none can guess its grace, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">till they become the place, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB">wherein the Holy Spirit makes his dwelling.’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0cm; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-2838740521832201872023-06-28T12:49:00.013+12:002023-06-29T06:32:36.863+12:00Seeing no thing<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c5IhnW51OO2HcVwaH2aPE6udHRi6uRc_zUw_N3ZILYInsNGgcQEBnr0OFz6gOlqOXSTbr35_i-TbV38Lzr05s2qzVigROqisjyJT3axmuqh29aoLyr83UsetcVAPJxaPMm6Lf0Q5N9S3CtGR72JOFWK9YGcVN0bYWQRQ5XOFCI7Xun-6ZZQKaSkO70AO/s4438/KPW_4462.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2963" data-original-width="4438" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c5IhnW51OO2HcVwaH2aPE6udHRi6uRc_zUw_N3ZILYInsNGgcQEBnr0OFz6gOlqOXSTbr35_i-TbV38Lzr05s2qzVigROqisjyJT3axmuqh29aoLyr83UsetcVAPJxaPMm6Lf0Q5N9S3CtGR72JOFWK9YGcVN0bYWQRQ5XOFCI7Xun-6ZZQKaSkO70AO/s320/KPW_4462.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />This is a recreation of my talk at the 3 in 1 gathering, in St Michael's church, Dunedin, last Sunday.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I want to tell you a parable. The kingdom of heaven is like two young fish who are swimming along when they encounter an old fish. "Good morning boys," says the old fish, "isn't the water lovely today!" The two young fish swim on until the old fish is well out of earshot, then one turns to the other and asks, "what the heck is water?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I borrowed this parable from a speech by David Foster Wallace. He was using it for other purposes, but it fits nicely with the verse from John's Gospel I mentioned last week:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><i style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;">No one has ever seen God. It is the only Son, himself God, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known. </i><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;">(John 1:1)</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><br /></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;">No one has seen God, or heard, smelled, felt or tasted God either, for that matter, but that doesn't make God unreal, just as the fish's unawareness of the water in which they live, move and have their being doesn't diminish the reality of the water. Like the water, God is around us, and in us. The fish are made of water. We are made of God. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;">In another Biblical passage, St. Paul is talking to the philosophers in Athens and notices all the statues of the various Greek gods. We sometimes imagine that the gods of ancient peoples are artefacts of their naivete: that they made up these strange old stories of gods, goddesses, and nymphs, and ogres, and so forth and to give explanations of stuff they didn't have the foggiest clue about. But they were far more sophisticated and subtle and knowing than we give them credit for. The ancient tales were signs and symbols of the various forces seen to be at work in the world and in the human psyche. So a worshipper of Mars, for example, might be inclined to believe that power was the principal energy of the universe, and a devotee of Aphrodite was awestruck and entranced by the various energies of nature. The ancient tales metaphorically expressed the relationships and origins of the mysterious powers which shape us. And, amongst the carved marble testimonies to all these forces, Paul saw a statue dedicated to an unknown god. Paul tells the sages gathered around him that he wishes to speak of this unseeable god, who is, in fact, the very foundation of the universe and everyone in it. This God is seemingly separated from us, but, in reality, is</span><span class="text Acts-17-27" id="en-ESV-27537" style="font-size: 16px;"> not far from each one of us,</span><span class="text Acts-17-27" style="font-size: 19.200001px;"><b> </b></span><span class="text Acts-17-28" id="en-ESV-27538" style="font-size: 16px;">for "</span>In him we live and move and have our being...and... we are indeed his offspring".</span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The reason we can't see God and find it hard to know God is that God is not a thing. God exists outside of space and time. How can we know <i><b>no thing</b></i>, when our whole lived experience is of things? The chair you're sitting on is a thing, and so are you and I and the air around us. We are so used to dealing with things, that when we say that God is (to quote Meister Eckhart) <b>no thing,</b> we think this means that God is nothing; that God is less real than all that other stuff. Like the young fish we assume that because we cannot perceive the water there is nothing to know. What Paul told the scholars of Athens is that God's inscrutability didn't mean that God was less real, but that God was <u>more</u> real than all those other forces personified in all those other statues. This is a tricky concept to come to terms with, but this is at the heart of what Jesus was on about. In a sense, Jesus was like the old fish, come to tell the young fish about the water. </span></span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);">Jesus' enduring message was about the Kingdom of God - the life we begin to live when we perceive the ever present reality of God, in which, unknown to us, we live and move and have our being. Most of what Jesus is recorded as saying is about the Kingdom of God. To prepare ourselves to perceive the Kingdom and become part of it, Jesus told us to repent. In the </span></span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);">original</span></span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);"> Greek, Metanoiete, which we translate as "repent" doesn't mean to feel guilty about our own personal suite of questionable behaviours, but rather to have a new way of seeing things, or to adopt a new world view. "See things differently, "said Jesus, "because the Kingdom of God is as close to you as your own hand. " </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);">This is what the prayer of silence is about. It's learning to see in a different way. It's learning to get out of our own way and see the reality which surrounds us and forms us and in which we are constantly immersed. It is hard to see no thing, and it's hard to discuss no thing, or even to think about no thing. So when we try to address ourselves to no thing, we usually hive off into one of two easier, more accessible, more controllable places. </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>1. Ideas.</b> Our tendency always is to turn God into an idea. An idea is a mental construct that can be accepted or rejected. So instead of Christianity being about the Kingdom of God (which is to say, about what we are and how we act) it has become about our beliefs (what we think).</span></span><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"> </span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So we ask one another "do you believe </span></span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> in God?' and then talk about this abstract concept.</span></span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> We are (or we imagine we are) in charge of what we believe. Ideas exist in our heads and they are definable and containable. Thought and belief have come to completely dominate the Christian faith to the point that Christianity is, for the most part, no longer a transformative path, or a way of life but a 'belief system". </span></span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> We define God and then divide ourselves from one another by virtue of those definitions. There are 45,000 different Christian denominations, all divided from one another on some point of difference in their ideas about the </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">God whom no one has ever seen. The greatest schism in the Church, that between East and West, is over the way we understand the nature of Jesus' relationship with God: is Jesus made of the same substance as God? or of similar substance to God? As though either side of the argument could ever possibly know! As though the God who is no thing has any substance in the first place! In chapters 5-7 of Matthew's Gospel there is the long passage which we call "The Sermon on the Mount" in which Jesus speaks about the Kingdom of God. In many ways this is the quintessential heart of Jesus' teaching. There is not one word in it about what we should believe. It is all about what we should be and what we should do. Fast forward 300 years to Nicea, when the bishops of the church gathered and drew up the statement which has been the basis of Christian life ever since. There is not one word in their statement about being or doing; it is all about what we should believe. In the space of 300 years, ideas came to dominate the church. And have continued to do so, ever since. </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>2. Projection.</b> A little girl of my acquaintance, "Sarah" is 4 and is one of the most wonderfully creative and physically assured children I have ever met. She makes up extraordinary narratives and she can run, bike and throw balls with the best of them. In her adventures she is accompanied most places by Myrtle the Turtle, an insubstantial friend. Myrtle has some very helpful opinions.</span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Mum," Sarah will say to her mother, "Myrtle says that broccoli is not good for you. Myrtle says popcorn is good for you." Or, </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Myrtle says that children don't need to go to bed at 8.00pm but should stay up and watch movies like their Mum and Dad." </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One day Sarah, who learns ballet and is exceptionally good at it, rushed up to her mother and executed an almost perfect pirouette. This is not something that her ballet class was likely to learn for another few years, and her mum was impressed. </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"That's amazing Sarah" she said. </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yeah, " said Sarah. "Myrtle showed me how to do that." </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Really?' said her mother. "But Myrtle is a turtle, right? I would have though she would find it hard to do ballet." </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Yeah" said Sarah, hardly pausing for breath, "but she's awesome at breakdancing."</span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An imaginary friend with a convenient set of opinions. That's what many of us carry around in our heads and give the most high falutin' names to. When someone says to me "the Lord says this" or "the Lord is giving me that" I usually expect that a (only very slightly) more sophisticated version of Myrtle the Turtle is lurking around somewhere. Which is not all bad. With little Sarah, Myrtle isn't just a lie or a fantasy. Sarah is a very intelligent and self aware little person, and she often experiences ideas popping into her head, that come from goodness knows where, but which make a lot of sense to her. Such as "broccoli is pretty foul, and popcorn is not, and I know what I'd rather be eating". She is physically adept and in tune with her body, and, by dint of imagining her way through the process, she suddenly just knows how to pirouette. Myrtle the Turtle is a code for this mysterious knowledge and for the workings of her mind, which take place well out of sight. Myrtle is a projection of her abilities, memories, dreams and desires, as is, more often that not, the image of God we manufacture for ourselves. As when friends of mine felt absolutely called of God to a particular parish and were led by the Holy Spirit to go and see it. The Spirit spoke deep in their hearts, right up to the moment when, for the first time, they saw the vicarage, whereupon the undeniable call of God was suddenly for somewhere else. It's not impossible, of course, that the God, who is more real than the reality we perceive, is somehow mixed in with our intuitions, but we need to be careful. When God votes for the same party as us; when God seems to like or dislike the people we like or dislike; when God's views of social issues closely align with our own; or when God's call is conveniently congenial, we should suspect that Myrtle is hovering nearby with a large, turtlish finger in the pie. And notice what happens when Sarah's narrative is presented with a check - when a glaring hole in the narrative structure is pointed out. In a flash, and without even knowing she's doing it, Sarah brushes plausibly over the hole with a deft change of subject. Myrtle is too precious to her, too convenient, to be given up by mere plausibility.</span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And so we come to silence. Like an old fish, Jesus invites us to behold the water. Of course we can't. We nudge one another in the ribs and ask "what the heck is water?" But if we can be still, and if we can attend, we will get it. Like the stuff Rachel Hunter used to advertise, it won't happen overnight, but it will happen: in the silence we will constantly be presented with our ideas and with our projections. We won't fight them. We won't resist them, but neither will we respond to them. We will release them and return to the silence. And we will be present to the reality which is more real than any thing. Perhaps, given time, we might come to know that reality with enough clarity to one day say "Morning boys! Isn't the water lovely today!"</span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="color: #292929; font-family: inherit;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 41, 41); color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-3363739436833407122023-06-19T11:29:00.004+12:002023-06-19T14:58:33.998+12:00Prayer as Relationship<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_TU4DJTLY7u_9hGt-pDazSAiIfTFd0yTbGnsQ7hsmPJDmIYCBMXy4YuXbW5K7Qf-xXOPYyhnggOClSAY5R3rTF8hn4iYbRACKbqGplBHpHsC2NrdSDcBfQn1J1FqKpC7114xK9dImD1wHsehwom8tvgjzX39EmTeOUsIy7UqPdKigXpCua7yCtDLlA/s3546/KPW_9493.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3546" data-original-width="2864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_TU4DJTLY7u_9hGt-pDazSAiIfTFd0yTbGnsQ7hsmPJDmIYCBMXy4YuXbW5K7Qf-xXOPYyhnggOClSAY5R3rTF8hn4iYbRACKbqGplBHpHsC2NrdSDcBfQn1J1FqKpC7114xK9dImD1wHsehwom8tvgjzX39EmTeOUsIy7UqPdKigXpCua7yCtDLlA/s320/KPW_9493.jpg" width="258" /></a></div> <p></p><p><br /></p><p><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This is a reconstruction of the talk I gave, last night, at the 3 in 1 group at St Michael's Church, Anderson's Bay, Dunedin. </span></i></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">We have all had unhelpful experiences of prayer . I remember the clergy colleague who would sometimes correct the theology of my sermons 5 minutes later, when he led the intercessions; or the prayer groups when you dreaded THAT person speaking, because you knew they would speak for a quarter of an hour and list everything they knew to be wrong with the world. I've heard prayer used to share gossip, or to preach sermons, or to make announcements. I've seen prayer used to shame, or to control or to boast. In all these instances I have to ask "who, exactly is being addressed here?" and find myself asking again what, exactly, is prayer anyway? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I know what it's not. Prayer is not telling God what God should do with the universe. Neither is it barking into a silence in which nothing is ever heard. Prayer is not exercising some position of privilege in order to get the Lord of all things to temporarily suspend the laws of physics on our behalf. Neither is it foolishly seeking help where no help is to be found. Prayer is not earning brownie points with God or trying to get God to like us a bit more (as if such a thing was even remotely possible). Neither is it a course in self improvement. Prayer is acknowledged as important, at least it is in some of the circles in which I move, but hardly anybody does it, and all who try find it not as easy at you might think. That difficulty is because prayer is about <b><u>relationship</u></b>; a relationship with God, which, even as a concept, is a tricky phenomenon. In the great prologue to John's Gospel, the writer says:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>No one has ever seen God. It is the only Son, himself God, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.</i> (John 1:18)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So how is it possible to have a relationship with someone it is impossible to see? It must obviously be a very odd type of relationship, but it is one that, in my experience anyway, is a real one even if it has its own particular joys and difficulties. I want to talk about those particularities over the next few weeks, but tonight I want to think about some of the dynamics of relationships in general, because those dynamics apply in a relationship with God as much as they do in the relationships we are more familiar with - those with our partners or workmates or children or neighbours or friends. . </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I think all relationships, including the relationship fostered by and expressed in prayer have 3 dimensions. </span></p><b>1. Knowledge.</b> Knowledge and connection are so closely tied that I sometimes wonder if they <span style="font-family: georgia;">are synonyms. When we know something it becomes part of our consciousness - part of our inner mental landscape. Or in other words, it becomes part of who we are - part of us. So, when we know another person they similarly, become part of our inner life, regardless of whether that knowing brings us joy or not. The process of bonding with another person is largely a process of getting to know them, and the more we know them, the closer we are bonded. This is why we ask so many questions in the early stages of a relationship. This is why connection is difficult between people who are lying to each other. When we lie, the other's inner world contains not us, but a fiction we have created: something unreal, and the connection is correspondingly unreal. </span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">When I speak of knowledge in this context I am not meaning information or facts about the other person (although that is certainly part of it) but something much deeper, wider and more subtle. Eugene Genden says</span><div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>"We think more than we can say, We feel more than we can think, We live more than we can feel and there is so much else besides – "</i> and then he goes on to say, with specific reference to a relationship with God, <i>"Perceiving Gods presence is a far cry from knowing what God is". </i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 108pt;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">those of us in long term relationships of any kind know the lived, instinctive knowledge he is talking about. We experience it when we communicate complex ideas with a brief touch, or with just one glance: "I'm sick of this party. Let's go home," or "Hey, I thought your pun was funny even if these bozos didn't get it," or "you're fabulous. " it's the knowledge which lets a father know, the instant his son comes through the door, that something happened today. It is the knowledge which enables a wife to distinguish her husband's steps from the hundreds of others in the corridor outside her ward. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">We gain knowledge of the other and we are bound to them, but it is a dynamic, two way process. We are bound when we share ourselves and know that that sharing has been received and welcomed. In the deep parts of ourselves, is there anything more healing, reassuring and constructive that the sure knowledge that we have been heard, understood and accepted? And this knowledge is foundational to the relationship to which prayer is integral. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>2. Intent</b>. When we seek relationship with another we are doing it for some purpose or other. In other words, we have intentions for this relationship, and of course the other party to the relationship also has intentions. In the early negotiations around the start of a relationship, and as it develops, finding out the intentions of the other, and refining our own intentions is very important. And it's not as easy as you might expect because some of our intentions might be unconscious, and some of the other's intentions might be either unconscious or deliberately hidden. We sift and refine and discover the intentions of both parties in the relationship as we get to know them. "I need someone to do a task I can't do myself" or "I want to share my great wisdom", or "you look like a fun person to add to my wide collection of acquaintances," or "I want you to fill the yawning void of my own aloneness," or "I want someone decorative to exhibit to my friends," or "I want security," or "I want a warm and disposable body to borrow for a few hours," or "I want to share myself with the deep companion of my soul for many decades to come," or "amuse me" might all be present as intentions in the psyches of two people who meet. None of these intentions leads to relationship, however, without the third dimension:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>3. Consent.</b> Consent is giving assent to the intentions of the other party in the relationship. It is saying yes. Of course, as some intentions might be hidden, or unconscious, this permission giving is not usually straightforward, and will need to develop and be renegotiated as intentions are revealed and clarified. Consent can be open as in an unambiguously worded statement </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">or implied,</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> as in a smile or nod or wink. it can be formalised, as in a written contract or informal as in a quiet agreement over a few beers, or the handshake between trusted friends. Obviously, where consent is implied and where it is informal, there is boundless room for people to get it wrong, and a massive majority of problems in relationships originate with mistakes about what has been consented to and who has consented to it. Sharing in relationship is a huge part of what makes us human, and is life's principal joy, but damage can be done - indeed lives can be wrecked, where we make mistakes about intentions and consent. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">So integral to the health of any relationship is communication - as honest, and as accurate and as frequent as is needed to keep this particular relationship on track. So how much is needed? well, the general answer in most relationships is more honest, more accurate and more frequent than it is now. So it is with our marriages and our romances and our parental and sibling relationships, our professional and sporting relationships and our friendships. So it is with prayer. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Prayer is communication - 2 way communication - which fosters our growth in knowledge. Real knowledge, I mean, not just the acquisition of facts and theories. It is about intention and it is about consent. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Which brings me back to that quote from John's Gospel. how is it possible to have communication with someone you can't see? What does intention and consent even mean in this context? Well, that's what I want to talk about in the coming weeks. But in brief, the only way I have found for developing these dimensions of a prayer relationship is the prayer of silence. So I sit for 20 minutes at a time, and observe how, as a habit of silence grows in my life, the relationship with the one who is on the other side of the silence also grows. On the part of The Other, the one who IS, the consent given is for my existence. The intention of The Other towards me is laid out in the long history of the church and in the pages of scripture. Those intentions are summed up in that overly used but little understood word, Love. On my part the intention is simple. I intend to be whatever it is that God wants me to be And my consent is for The Other, the one who IS, to do whatever is necessary to get me there. I know that this is a dangerous prayer (<i>it's a fearsome thing to fall into the hands of the Living God - </i>Hebrews 10:31) but, in prayer, it seems, increasingly, to be the only thing to say which makes any sense at all. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">So next week I want to talk a little about this Other, the one we pray to. But in the meantime you might like to think about the question of what it means to be in relationship with someone who can't be seen. You might like to think what God's intentions might be for you, and what you might intend for God. You might like to think about the consent you give to God and the consent you withhold. And, in each case, why. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-82293839033461358682023-06-12T22:34:00.007+12:002023-06-12T23:12:20.863+12:00E-Bike Review: Wattwheels Scout LS XT<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRZTltBm-hTrKzOGxggrJM8CG57Ljxc_BYa8IlnfBLZn0-05IJapH6vV0Xdu0m4WyRQteiSVe2XCMMnb22M4ka2f7UmpEw3GSLDbp1L0mwjG-TCm852-buu3_07ynh_c7bruXhN9qDWS9XR-CHuEojODeaZFfU5jdD3N2mGtUnZCfQHB3C1odNPXNgA/s2644/P6100001_DxO.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1983" data-original-width="2644" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRZTltBm-hTrKzOGxggrJM8CG57Ljxc_BYa8IlnfBLZn0-05IJapH6vV0Xdu0m4WyRQteiSVe2XCMMnb22M4ka2f7UmpEw3GSLDbp1L0mwjG-TCm852-buu3_07ynh_c7bruXhN9qDWS9XR-CHuEojODeaZFfU5jdD3N2mGtUnZCfQHB3C1odNPXNgA/s320/P6100001_DxO.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />We’ve had our Wattwheels Scout LS XT bikes for a fortnight now and put a couple of hundred km on them. We love them. Let me tell you why. <h2 style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Introduction</span></b></span></h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">We’re a few years into retirement. I own a bike (a hardtail mountain bike,) and in earlier years had owned a couple of street bikes. Cycling was, back then, my go-to form of exercise, but over the last decade or so had been eclipsed by hiking. My wife, Clemency, hadn’t really ridden a bike since she left school. She loves walking as much for the camaraderie as for the exercise, so expeditions on foot are always included as part of the trips we make, towing our small caravan to remote parts of Aotearoa. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">As we have aged we have, unsurprisingly, slowed down a bit, so we decided to trade in the walking shoes for e-bikes. We wanted something that would take us around hilly Dunedin, where we live and along some of the country’s many cycle trails. I wanted something on which it would be possible to do the ride from North Cape to Bluff, and Clemency wanted something safe and easy. We wanted to take the bikes on caravan trips, but recognized that on a small van like ours, no matter where we placed a bike rack, the weight of two e-bikes would seriously impact balance and handling. So we decided on folding e-bikes which could be carried inside our car. There’s a few folding e-bikes around, but I didn’t like the ones I tried. I’m 6ft 1in and weigh 95 kg, and they all felt cramped and small. Most had a payload which would be stretched to the limits when me and enough gear to sustain me on a month’s ride were loaded on to them. I think I examined every folding bike available in New Zealand, until, at Dunedin Electric Bikes in North East Valley, we tried out the Wattwheels Scout XT and were so impressed we bought two of them on the spot.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">Wattwheels is a New Zealand company which makes three folding ebikes, all called "Scout", two of which have rear hub drives and derailleurs, and our one (the XT) which has a centre drive and hub gearing. They are all solidly made of strongly welded aluminium and have their large batteries mounted behind the seatpost. The XT has a 300 watt, 48 volt Dapu motor with a stonking 100 nmh of torque, delivered at 5 levels of power assistance. It comes with a choice of either a 16 Ah or 17.5Ah Samsung battery and has Shimano 7 speed internal hub gears. The power assistance is governed by torque sensing rather than cadence, so it is pleasantly predictable and gradual and a thumb throttle gives the option of not peddling at all if that’s what you want. There are Tektro hydraulic disc brakes with big 180 mm rotors, fat little 20 inch tyres, suspension front forks and a suspension seat post for the wide and comfortable gel seat. The pedals are little folding plastic jobs which I find a bit small and a bit slippery, especially if my shoes are wet. I may yet swap these out for something a bit bigger, time will tell. There is a solid carrier welded firmly on the back and a tough little basket bolted on the front. All the wiring is marine rated, so should be durable and water resistant. This is a solid bike, with strong, high quality componentry, as is testified by a fairly generous warranty: 3 years on the frame and 2 years on motor, battery and electric components. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcNUXLdlUYIecbDXTlpfya5o_mr-ua60awAvAsNFnHZ-bqdq4aoC4LePiAqS3hfGG3mUGB4oeYo_PYYizA13dPyElXQGVjdvVkMFOJ7LeQlQuYC2ShDADsDUTTs9R6B1wmU5DSGDqPnAT2-ssDBljZNQabVlKFAXnLdxRX3gelGsrz79s5c1eqP1bGw/s2644/P6100005_DxO.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1983" data-original-width="2644" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcNUXLdlUYIecbDXTlpfya5o_mr-ua60awAvAsNFnHZ-bqdq4aoC4LePiAqS3hfGG3mUGB4oeYo_PYYizA13dPyElXQGVjdvVkMFOJ7LeQlQuYC2ShDADsDUTTs9R6B1wmU5DSGDqPnAT2-ssDBljZNQabVlKFAXnLdxRX3gelGsrz79s5c1eqP1bGw/s320/P6100005_DxO.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Handling and performance.</span></b></span></h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">These are not small bikes. With all that quality gear, and the big battery and the solid frame, they weigh a little under 30 kg each, but the centre of gravity is very low and in use they feel very stable and well sorted. The hub gears are incredibly simple to use and Clemency’s wish for a safe and easy ride to assist her learning curve has been answered from day one. The claimed top speed is 40kph, so on the first day of ownership, on a flat path and with a slight head wind, I tried that out and found it to be accurate, though my legs were rotating as fast as I could manage. Several times, coasting downhill I have exceeded the top speed by a fair margin, but the bike has never felt unsafe. The disk brakes are sure and reliable, the frame, despite its folding mechanism is nicely rigid, and steering is precise and stable. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The controls are simple – a twisting gear shift on the right and a little control panel on the left. The control panel has a few quirks (that’s how you turn on the tail light? Really?) and the few information options are not very customizable. But, it does the job and it's pretty easy to understand. There is a small manual, which is available online, which is just as well, as the ones we got with our bikes were for a different model. There are a few omissions in the manual - Instructions in some basic adjustments (such as the reach of the brake lever, and how to tighten the handlebars) would be helpful but I did find the things I needed to know online. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">These bikes are cruisers, built for comfort and stability. If you want to go fast, get something with curly handlebars and a high, skinny saddle. If you want to go down rocky mountain trails get something with weird looking suspension and knobbly tyres. The riding position of the Scout XT is very upright, which I find comfortable after the accustomed head down tail up posture of my previous bikes and I hardly need to use the padded pants and gloves which I have been used to. The bike invites a leisurely tootling along, with legs rotating, seemingly with little resistance. It all seems very easy, and relaxed until you glance down at the speedo and realise that that big beefy motor is doing a pretty decent job and that, actually, you’re going fairly quickly. Around town, on the flat, with power assistance set at its lowest level, I cruise around at 23-25 kph. On a longer ride on one of the city’s bike trails, with PAS set to 3, cruising speed is around 30kph, give or take. Dunedin has some formidable hills, and I’ve been up a few of them with no problems at all, hardly breaking a sweat as I crest the ridge at a steady 15kph. We chose the bigger of the two battery options but now wonder if we should have saved a bit of money by choosing the small one. So far our longest ride has been 40km, which included a couple of km up a fairly steep hill. This ride lowered the battery gauge from its five bar “full” to 3 bars, so I can believe that the claimed range of 120 km+ might be possible, with low PAS settings and flat terrain. This is not a mountain bike, but it does OK on grass and gravel. It’s all so easy, and it’s a lot of fun. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Portability</span></b></span></h2><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">The bike folds up by way of a solid metal hinge in the frame, and another hinge at the base of the handlebars. The clasp which holds the frame hinge shut is plastic, which looks solid enough, though I might have been happier with aluminium. Folding is simple but not particularly easy, and once the bike is folded down, with the battery removed, it forms an irregular package weighing about 25kg, and measuring almost a metre on its longest axis. It has lots of little protusions to get caught on things, and it has no securing straps, so it can flop about in an unpredictable manner. Many people can lift 25kg, but remember, that when putting a folded e-bike into a car you are holding it at arm’s length and trying to manipulate it into a tight position. It’s tricky. We have a Kia Sportage and with the back seats folded down we can get the 2 bikes into the car… Just. There’s not much room for anything else. The portability of the bikes meets our expectations but there are other reasons people might want folding bikes where the Scout XT would be a bit of a disappointment. I wouldn’t want to take it with me on public transport, for instance, or try to carry it up a flight of stairs to an office or a first floor flat. This is a folding e-bike, and in this case the emphasis is firmly on the “e-bike” part of the description, rather than the “folding” part.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvYWOrgrFFTisJIIKC2auHGE3Hg3rNdkSxn6Td1DKSmNEumhNgQPWXezjhfj9FXpipd2w3JcUPheqdh-oICdKOANyFOi77RKJ7ATj-T3xEKAfmQ1p9Iwq6BL4xQ9RdRaBmVVgOdnJfmYeitcAnOZwoJPJzGR-aKWIG01g3Mm9iO9vFO6vJ_q7SvqW-g/s2644/P6100009_DxO.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1983" data-original-width="2644" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvYWOrgrFFTisJIIKC2auHGE3Hg3rNdkSxn6Td1DKSmNEumhNgQPWXezjhfj9FXpipd2w3JcUPheqdh-oICdKOANyFOi77RKJ7ATj-T3xEKAfmQ1p9Iwq6BL4xQ9RdRaBmVVgOdnJfmYeitcAnOZwoJPJzGR-aKWIG01g3Mm9iO9vFO6vJ_q7SvqW-g/s320/P6100009_DxO.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Conclusion</b></span></h2><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US">It’s the things which make portability so tricky which are the bike’s greatest strengths. This is a solid, stable, comfortable bike, capable of going very long distances at impressive speed. It has high quality componentry, a powerful motor and a huge battery. It’s easy to ride and a few plastic peripherals notwithstanding, should be durable and tough. It’s quite at home on pavement and on gravel bike trails and can also manage firm sand and grass. It will fit in the boot of many cars, but you might want to try it in yours before your fork out your money. It’s well equipped and quite funky looking. It handles well – a bit like a Vespa – stable, steady and lots of fun. I have had not one second of post purchase dissonance since I got it, as I know there isn’t anything else quite the same on the market: a folding fat e-bike with hub gears, centre drive, front suspension, a suspension seat post, hydraulic disk brakes and a range of 100 km or so. I find myself, every day, dreaming up excuses to take it out for a spin. For this level of built and these features, I’m prepared to lose a little sweat getting it into my car. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Specifications</b></span></span></h2><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; caret-color: rgb(118, 118, 118); color: #767676; font-family: Raleway; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px 0px 34px; table-layout: fixed; width: 557px;"><tbody style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Motor</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Dapu MD250 48V 300Watt - torque sensor</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Battery</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">48V20Ah Samsung Li-Ion (960W/h)</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Frame</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">16 Inch Alloy 6061 </td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Speed</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Up to 40km/h</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Distance</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">40km Throttle only, Up to 80+km Pedal Assist</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Brakes</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Tektro Hydraulic E500 with brake light feature, 180/160mm Rotors</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Rear Hub</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Shimano Nexus 7 Speed Hub</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Shifter</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Shimano Revo Shifter 7-Speed</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Crankset</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">44T * 170mm</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Display</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">DPLCD -P Dapu easy to read display</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Front Fork</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">RST Suspension Fork 60mm Travel</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Tyres</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">MTB Tyre 20*3inch</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Charger</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Sans 48V2.5Ah Smart Charger</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Seat</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Large Memory Foam</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Chain</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">KMC 7 Speed</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Seat Post</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;"> 28.6/31.6 Alloy</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Front Hub</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Sealed bearing</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Grips</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Ergo Velo 140mm Lock On</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Throttle</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Yes</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Net Weight</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">29kg (includes battery of 4.0kg)</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Colours</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Camo Green or Matt Blue</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Warranty</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Full Comprehensive - 3 years frame, 2 years motor/battery/display and 12months mechanical components</td></tr><tr style="background-color: #f6f6f6; box-sizing: border-box;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Weight Limit</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">130Kg Total load weight</td></tr><tr style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><th style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #242424; line-height: 1.65; overflow: hidden; padding: 8px 0px 8px 20px; text-overflow: ellipsis; vertical-align: top; width: 120px;">Size Folded</th><td style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.65; margin-bottom: 0px; padding: 8px 20px; vertical-align: top;">Width - 600mm, Height 680mm, Length 940mm</td></tr></tbody></table>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-2940010459814235252022-06-30T11:51:00.022+12:002023-07-05T21:19:08.774+12:00The Matter With Things. 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQYFTssAaenDpdZX_ImNJsnjb3WORYPLIO6-3jrWdy13xyAAaPFYFCDoW_guNx9YdwczseaLcMD6dSuhl67N1vfdpR3_WlEe_3L1U-9LgVrZswYK6B7ToK-UAZ7FtKRr1Ass2X5MMyDI5RnivNxxyrbqiJ-Cs7TtgmYD8nVEvWvDl5-jOdMI_NZRiWA/s3808/DSC_5761.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2451" data-original-width="3808" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDQYFTssAaenDpdZX_ImNJsnjb3WORYPLIO6-3jrWdy13xyAAaPFYFCDoW_guNx9YdwczseaLcMD6dSuhl67N1vfdpR3_WlEe_3L1U-9LgVrZswYK6B7ToK-UAZ7FtKRr1Ass2X5MMyDI5RnivNxxyrbqiJ-Cs7TtgmYD8nVEvWvDl5-jOdMI_NZRiWA/s320/DSC_5761.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Last night I finished reading Iain McGilchrist's <i>The Matter With Things, Our Brains, our Delusions and the Unmaking of the World</i>, the biggest book I have ever read, in all senses of the word "biggest". Back in 2017 <a href="http://vendr.blogspot.com/2017/06/good-books.html">I wrote about books which had been important to me</a>, and, however I would recompile that list now, <i>The Matter With Things</i> would go straight to the top. Really. It's that good. I've read every word: no skipping or coming to and realising that my eyes have been glazed over for the past ten minutes. It's taken me a couple of months to engage with its 1300 or so pages of text, and, as well, there are another couple of hundred pages of appendices and bibliography (well, OK, I haven't read the bibliography). At the end of the book proper there is an epilogue which is a "so what" chapter in which McGilchrist speculates about the implications of his hemispheric theory for the world in the immediate future. This epilogue is preceded by a very short coda in which he sketches the outline of the argument of the book, without paraphrasing or repeating it. This coda is a reminder that <i>The Matter With Things</i>, though it is presented as 3 parts in 2 volumes, is actually one connected argument. <p></p><p>The first two parts of the book are contained in volume 1 and concern themselves with our engagement with the universe: firstly, how we connect with the universe and gain information/knowledge about it, covering such issues as attention, perception, judgement, emotional, social and cognitive intelligence and creativity; then, in part 2, with the ways we deal with knowledge, in which he asks the question <i>what is truth?</i> and addresses issues such as science and the scientific method, reason, logic, intuition and imagination. The first volume, which I talked about in <a href="http://vendr.blogspot.com/2022/05/the-matter-with-things.html">my last blog post about the book</a>, contained enough revelation for me to think I had got more than my money's worth from the somewhat eye watering purchase price, but it has been the second volume which has been, for me, the most important.</p><p>The second volume contains the various addenda and part 3 which is about the bigger issues; Titled <i>The Unforseen Nature of Reality</i>, it addresses topics such as the way our consciousness is structured and how it comes to be. It talks of the nature of reality itself and the issue which has confounded physicists for more than a hundred years now: the counter intuitive properties of matter, including the links matter has with consciousness. This third part of the book addresses issues such as time, flow and movement, space and matter, Value and Purpose. It ends by addressing issues of spirituality and the sense of the sacred. There is very little in this third part - and indeed in the book as a whole - that I haven't encountered before, but what Iain McGilchrist has done for me is to take the scattered fragments of my understanding, expand and deepen them, provide them with support, in the kind of carefully annotated sources which my particular personality generally skips over, and weave them into a coherent whole. </p><p>I have an image which arose within me during the reading of the book. Iain McGilchrist hands me a large box. I open it to find it contains jigsaw puzzle pieces. I examine them and see that they are, by and large, familiar to me, though they are bigger and more complex than I remembered and there are quite a few new ones. I sit down and over the space of a couple of months put them together. When I am finished I am astonished to find that I have constructed not a picture, but a mirror. I look into that mirror and am enthralled, excited, appalled and devastated in equal measure. I see myself anew (Oh wow! Oh shit! Really?), and see, also, those around me. I also see, reflected back, the world I live in and it is not same world I thought I inhabited a couple of months ago. </p><p>I am comfortable with... no... excited, overjoyed with the picture of the world displayed to me. I'm not going to unpack all of that here: after all, it took Iain McGilchrist 1500 pages to do it, and he's brighter than me, so why do I think I can do it in a few lines? But I will suggest some of the boundaries. McGilchrist argues for the absolute reality of time, and for consciousness being foundational in the structure of the universe. As theories go, these are not as controversial as they might have been a few decades ago. More controversially he argues also that value is foundational, and for a panentheist spirituality. He follows Whitehead and others in seeing the universe, consciousness, and matter as process rather than material. He explores the role of paradox, and the tensions inherent in dipolar oppositions in the formation of all that is. The ideas are complex, often counter-intuitive and sometimes challenging, but his aim is to communicate, and his prose is well crafted and always accessible, even to those without deep knowledge of the various disciplines (psychology, philosophy, biology, physics, literature, history, amongst others) that he draws from.</p><p>He has many sources. He has been heavily influenced by the French Philosopher Henri Bergson, and also by William James. He quotes extensively from most of the great figures in early 20th C physics, but also from contemporary physicist Lee Smolin. He is a huge fan of Wordsworth and is deeply informed by music. His range of quoted sources is encyclopaedic and contains, all the usual suspects: Jung, Freud, Darwin, Planck, Boeme and Bohm, Shroedinger, Sartre and Shakespeare; but also, surprisingly and delightfully, such names as David Bentley Hart, Gerard Manley Hopkins, N T Wright and C S Lewis. He is clinically devastating to Richard Dawkins, religious zealots (including the new atheists) and to identity politics of every persuasion. He puts up a pretty convincing case for Quantum Wave Theory, and another against the Multiverse hypothesis. He speaks of some counter intuitive concepts: the ontological precedence of movement and of relationship over those things that are moved or which relate, for instance, and that matter arises from consciousness, and not the usually supposed vice versa. </p><p>Central to this book is the hemispheric hypothesis: that we have in effect, two brains, and that they perceive the world in two seemingly paradoxical ways. To grossly oversimplify, the right brain is the one which engages us with the universe. It sees wholes. It is good at engaging us with the gestalt of things: their completeness and their engagement with the universe. It is comfortable with paradox and works by way of metaphor. The left brain processes and orders the universe that is perceived by the right brain. It <i>apprehends</i> what the right brain <i>comprehends</i>. It is focused and oriented to order and to language. It organises things sequentially and perceives things. It is concerned with analysis, order and control. Our two brains operate together: the Right brain gathers data, passes it to the Left which structures it and then, in turn, passes it back to the Right so that the new construct can be integrated with the wholeness of the perceived universe.</p><p>This process is demonstrated for me in my encounter with the <i>The Matter With Things</i>. This book's main point (along with its predecessor, <i>The Master and his Emissary</i>) is that the primary hemisphere of our brains is the Right, and the Left is a complement but not an equal. On a global scale, over the past millennium or so, and to our great cost, the Left Hemisphere has usurped the Right Hemisphere as master and the view of the Left Hemisphere has come to dominate our culture. McGilchrist argues for a reinstatement of the proper balance, and a recovery of the primacy of the Right Hemisphere. Of course, this is a very wordy and a very orderly book, so reading it (as, I suppose, was writing it) is very much a Left Hemisphere activity. The perceptions I have had of the world, accumulated over decades of reading and thinking and talking, have been gathered up and given shape. My Right Hemisphere has, in the reading of the book, delivered the pieces to the Left, who has reconstructed them for me. The new construction was last night handed back to me, and I now begin the work of reintegrating this new pattern into my broad perception of the universe. </p><p>I'm not sure yet quite how to go about that, but I know the process has already begun. I want to return to people I read years ago, and who have been recalled by McGilchrist: Tielhard de Chardin, James North Whitehead and Lee Smolin. I want to acquaint myself with the work of Henri Bergson. But firstly what I think I might do is have a wee break. Let things settle. Chat to friends. Then, maybe around the end of the year, read <i>The Matter With Things</i> again. </p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-48928790611675834242022-06-21T20:46:00.009+12:002022-06-22T20:25:25.637+12:00Invisible<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-xJfhPGSffaXoOrmSzPX21B4G2L7Dl42nMn4LXXLwrG4YiBHV7CCDiT5lKOvow3hcqpBch_F_GLMM1zUgVqaF5ayriT5nVxI2J7Wd9-oMQvAFjIo_1IBtBqvSEYd9jnwmuji53WZ8AuzqEdoYMfTVfn-L04tHjquU41SFeoivqvNlnj8pBSiC10gXw/s4874/KPW_4037.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3254" data-original-width="4874" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-xJfhPGSffaXoOrmSzPX21B4G2L7Dl42nMn4LXXLwrG4YiBHV7CCDiT5lKOvow3hcqpBch_F_GLMM1zUgVqaF5ayriT5nVxI2J7Wd9-oMQvAFjIo_1IBtBqvSEYd9jnwmuji53WZ8AuzqEdoYMfTVfn-L04tHjquU41SFeoivqvNlnj8pBSiC10gXw/w400-h268/KPW_4037.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I arrive at the door, wondering if I have to pay admittance. I've never been an event photographer before and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. The young woman at the desk looks up and smiles. <p></p><p>"Oh, we've been expecting you. Come in " she says. She stands and I follow her into the foyer where the show is set up. I put my large camera bag on a table and glance around. There are children everywhere, and someone in a rainbow costume is singing and playing her violin, and radiating seemingly inexhaustible energy from the small stage at the front. </p><p>"Rainbow Rosalind" says my host. "She's fabulous, isn't she?"</p><p>"Yeah. Great." </p><p>Who could argue? Who would want to? She's fabulous.</p><p>"Is there anything I can get you?" she asks. "Coffee? Tea? The friands are actually very good. "</p><p>"Ahh, no... I'm all good thanks. I'll just get on with it. OK if I put my stuff here?" She smiles and goes back to guard duty by the door. I pick a lens, fit a strap to my camera and walk tentatively down the side of the audience, trying to assess where the light is coming from, and nervously hoping I'm not getting in anybody's way. There's a couple of other photographers here. Their cameras look smaller than mine, more modern, more expensive, but mine has a certain gravitas borne of size and venerability. My compatriots and competitors glance at me and nod a cursory welcome. I nod back, trying to give the impression of nonchalant familiarity, watch them, and follow their lead. </p><p>The star of the show is the incomparable Suzy Cato. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-GNlbDjgB2V4HadQrlDTkI3MNDBlaXWL1PbUkycq5BsLgwV5mIwghaJwMPzq6NNrgEXF_maS2MhE9-B22sjWHaJ9Cx_sAZVo0Fle8gzOo5ZQsCl1hGceh1uSVi3gnH-EtE4rcxxqL2fZJIiOMwGxux5OoV4XheoHXadRPn3mlMZIQDn7ZiqLf2uUQQ/s2732/KPW_4090.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1824" data-original-width="2732" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-GNlbDjgB2V4HadQrlDTkI3MNDBlaXWL1PbUkycq5BsLgwV5mIwghaJwMPzq6NNrgEXF_maS2MhE9-B22sjWHaJ9Cx_sAZVo0Fle8gzOo5ZQsCl1hGceh1uSVi3gnH-EtE4rcxxqL2fZJIiOMwGxux5OoV4XheoHXadRPn3mlMZIQDn7ZiqLf2uUQQ/w400-h268/KPW_4090.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>She does her well polished thing with a kind of relaxed exhuberance. I've been asked to get some shots of her, so I'm aware that I'm staring at her through my viewfinder for lengths of time, which in other circumstances might result in someone dialling 111, but she ignores me completely. As indeed she should. To her I'm as much a part of the furniture as the sound desk and the flood lights. The camera around my neck has rendered me completely invisible, and as I relax into that invisibility, I realise that pretty much everyone there is treating me the same way. In ancient China they used to use tiny jade screens to hide behind. For example if the guests arrived too early for dinner and you were still rushing around getting things ready you would put a little screen on the floor and people on both sides of it would pretend not to see each other. These things were only a few inches tall, but there was social agreement about what to ignore. And in our time, in our culture, a camera does much the same thing. I stood behind Suzy on her stage and no one reacted.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfZ1Zr1Iks5-cyYCA4114xZE_XYmF8ZSas_IkqCjwqrFS_YyARYvst97GNg4EksGlESWw4SnBqsvvFb7Dl9Kjky8CM6Aa_UGX7Isq9D4G2x5QEd_GfaWPoaauVPeXF2gWlchFXsp2lPmAaj9skV7iUfbmDoZBKD8LJ9vyC3NFCSadKxFZeaWFk1symw/s3962/KPW_4273.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3090" data-original-width="3962" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfZ1Zr1Iks5-cyYCA4114xZE_XYmF8ZSas_IkqCjwqrFS_YyARYvst97GNg4EksGlESWw4SnBqsvvFb7Dl9Kjky8CM6Aa_UGX7Isq9D4G2x5QEd_GfaWPoaauVPeXF2gWlchFXsp2lPmAaj9skV7iUfbmDoZBKD8LJ9vyC3NFCSadKxFZeaWFk1symw/w400-h313/KPW_4273.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I got the shots that were asked of me, and I loved doing it. I loved being at a show I would never have chosen to attend, and I loved being invisible. <div><br /></div><div>Because photography is the invisible art form. When I sent off my files, what people wanted was <u>not</u> me. They wanted pictures of the performers and the audience, and as long as my shots were in focus, and were well framed and well edited, and showed something of the energy and colour and life of the event, no-one could give a violinist's gaseous indiscretion about who it was that pressed the button on the camera. And as with this event, so, actually with all photography. </div><div><br /></div><div>I take a lot of pictures and look at a lot that other people have taken, and there are a few things that really annoy me about some photos. Over enthusiastic editing for one thing, and twee little titles for photos for another. But what annoys me most is people putting electronic signatures at the bottom of their snaps, or maybe putting a digital frame around them, as though they are producing the darned Mona Lisa. Oh for goodness sake! Don't they get it? The photograph, not the photographer is the point of the exercise. </div><div><br /></div><div>I carry my camera out into a cool Dunedin morning, and the job it does for me is to act as an aid to concentration. Even the fanciest camera is a limited instrument, and its many shortcomings force me to think about my own visual shortcomings: the manifold unconscious limitations to vision that I carry around in my head 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOgIaWeEu5gI4BVQx3m9qhnAB5G0HqbtKm1Y1yY0fcmfFHnwo6sKFpESfeLV0IrpKK0URq615dl85F-Jq0rXolq4xO0Suuz1kCwlaWDOzrj2BEpeMRVz6buoQTxQ6kCtLebZXVmZQm2nKBcmb4ezZz7blmATC_tDPEA5a62TipQzB8s5zHfOU5_9SrA/s4196/KPW_4833.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2801" data-original-width="4196" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOgIaWeEu5gI4BVQx3m9qhnAB5G0HqbtKm1Y1yY0fcmfFHnwo6sKFpESfeLV0IrpKK0URq615dl85F-Jq0rXolq4xO0Suuz1kCwlaWDOzrj2BEpeMRVz6buoQTxQ6kCtLebZXVmZQm2nKBcmb4ezZz7blmATC_tDPEA5a62TipQzB8s5zHfOU5_9SrA/w400-h268/KPW_4833.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The camera helps me see what is there. And once I've seen it, I take a photo in the hope that I can help someone else to see what was there. And it doesn't help them to see if I title the picture and thereby suggest their response, or if I turn a pretty reasonable picture into a crummy meme by plastering my name over it. My photograph is a kind of window, and I want people to look through it, not at it. I want to show you my city on a frosty morning, and the stillness of the water, and the colours, and maybe suggest the feel of what it was like to be there at that moment. I don't want to show you my camera or software. I certainly don't want to show you myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been taking pictures for a long time. I know exactly how good a photographer I am, and how good I am not. Of course I am always trying to get better, but I don't want to be thought of as a "good" photographer. I want to be an invisible photographer. I look out at the harbour through my living room window every morning, and very seldom think about the glazier, who did an excellent job and let in the light, thereby making my engagement with the harbour possible. Yep. Great role modelling there. <br /><p><br /></p></div>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-45113101413255176912022-05-31T17:07:00.013+12:002022-06-07T21:12:59.230+12:00The Matter With Things<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDutxmXt5OkTAOtUwXvhRE6fiegJbXRtIa-ia_1J534G7q22pEB3T-h9CX3hKdaKvr3si-tC878OfU1cxJ_5zgAZvOb7-pyZ3H_7FdJX9mRjVlxerA1ajjRzGFnllt65NiKMcIaQIYMhj50p-Py0IZ013AcwWrQtRmqM47eppG6F2jko9nqwz8iCW-Sw/s1373/the-matter-with-things-our-brains-our-delusions-and-the-unmaking-of-the-world.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1373" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDutxmXt5OkTAOtUwXvhRE6fiegJbXRtIa-ia_1J534G7q22pEB3T-h9CX3hKdaKvr3si-tC878OfU1cxJ_5zgAZvOb7-pyZ3H_7FdJX9mRjVlxerA1ajjRzGFnllt65NiKMcIaQIYMhj50p-Py0IZ013AcwWrQtRmqM47eppG6F2jko9nqwz8iCW-Sw/s320/the-matter-with-things-our-brains-our-delusions-and-the-unmaking-of-the-world.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>Yesterday I finished the first volume of Iain McGilchrist's <i>The Matter With Things: our brains, our delusions and the unmaking of the world</i>; so I am about 2/3 the way through what is quite possibly the biggest book I have ever read. I do own bigger books - <i>Kittel's Theological Wordbook of the New Testament,</i> for example<i>, </i> and <i>The Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible,</i> but to be honest I've never read them. Occasionally, when necessary, I've dipped into them, in an eyes glazed over kind of way, but I'm not going to sit down, by the fire with them in the expectation of growth and expansion and delight, as I find myself doing with <i>The Matter With Things</i>. I'm reading it. Every word of it. Slowly. Taking breaks to think about it. Texting Eric Kyte, who's also reading it, to see if he wants to meet, yet again, to share coffee and responses to the book. <p></p><p>Iain McGilchrist is a polymath. He read English at New College Oxford, published a well received book on literary criticism, several other papers and monographs, and then retrained as a medical doctor and a psychiatrist. He has been a research fellow in neuroimaging at John Hopkins University and is a fellow of All Souls College Oxford. In 2009 he published <i>The Master and His Emissary</i>, a book on the hemispheric theory of neuroscience which received widespread academic, popular and literary acclaim. I read TMAHE and was astonished by it. A good book is one that has explanatory power; that is, it gives words to thoughts and intuitions you have always believed to be true. A good book helps to define and shape your universe and in doing so, define and shape yourself, so <i>The Master and His Emissary</i> was a good book for me: one of the best I've ever read. So this year when I learned that Iain McGilchrist had written another, and by all accounts even more important book, and when Clemency was asking what I might like for my birthday my answer to her was unequivocal. I even did the ordering on her behalf. It was a generous gift - the purchase price is around $250. ( the Kindle version is about $65 )</p><p>The Book Depository managed to have it on my front porch a few days after I became on old fogey. McGilchrist is, apparently, something of a perfectionist, and this shows in the production values of the book. It is printed in a clear, pure font on thick white paper, stitched and bound properly in stiff boards. It runs to 1578 pages, including appendices and the most extensive bibliography I've ever seen. Footnotes are artistically arranged down the wide margins and there are a number of illustrative plates. It is huge: the physical weight of it makes reading tricky at times, but that's Ok because I have to stop every so often anyway, to have a wee think about things. </p><p>There are three parts to the book: <i>The Hemispheres and The Means to Truth</i>; <i>The Hemispheres and The Paths to Truth</i>; and <i>The Unforseen Nature of Reality</i>. Volume one contains the first two parts, Volume 2 the third part and the various addenda. It is centred, as I expected it would be, around the hemispheric theory. That is, the theory (well attested and exhaustively referenced in both this book and <i>TMAHE</i> ) that our brains are neatly divided into two distinct hemisphers for a reason: we effectively have two brains, responsible for two different manners of perception, and these are coordinated by a comparatively slim organ called the <i>corpus callosum</i>. There is a wealth of pop psychology built around the concept of the Left and the Right brains, but McGilchrist's exposition of this divide is at once more convincing, more exhaustive and more subtle than the self help workshops suggest. The division in our brains is not so much about specific tasks done by each side of the brain (although there are a few of those) but about how each side of the brain pays attention, the way each side of the brain processes information, and how each side contributes to building the unique world we inhabit. </p><p>For this book is about how the world is built. It is about our knowing, certainly, but about far more than that. It is a theory of knowledge and a theory of how the universe exists. McGilchrist espouses a theory not dissimilar to David Whyte's concept of the 'Conversational Nature of Reality'. That is, we shape the world we inhabit, not as some kind of imaginary projection, but as a response to a reality which is encountered sensually. We shape that reality and that reality shapes us and we are one with that reality. The structure of our brains influences how we perceive the universe and therefore is foundational to the universe we create. This is a book about Truth: how we perceive Truth, how we process Truth, and the universe we each, truly, create and inhabit. </p><p>For a book which is so well referenced and so rigorously researched it is eminently readable. McGilchrist's eclectic range of interests, his ability to analyse and synthesise, his high level of literary skill, his sheer intelligence and his position as someone not earning his money as an academic all contribute to make this a powerful and persuasive work. The explanatory power of this book has been, for me, profound and deeply personal. </p><p>There is a shape to our lives, the one which Soren Kierkegaard is popularly misquoted as saying we live forwards but understand backwards. The shape of my life is slowly revealed, like Shrek's, in layers. And layer by gradual layer, in the things that were arising from my practice of silence, at exactly the right time, when some powerful issues were preoccupying me, I was led to (Oh, how often does this happen!) the perfect book. This one. I'm not going to go into detail here - that is the stuff I'll reserve for conversations with people whose eyes I can see while I'm talking - but in brief:</p><p>My father was mentally ill, but the diagnosis of his illness always eluded me. No longer. I'm now pretty certain, from this book and from snippets of family history and from memory, what was wrong with him. This is the occasion for vast relief, and some forgiveness. </p><p>My father was the one who was primarily responsible for teaching me how to be in the world. I always knew I was badly taught, but now have some understanding of the architecture of the misinformation which formed me. And, in unravelling a convoluted knot it certainly helps to have a free end to begin with. </p><p>And apart from my personal pathology, in piecing together the truth of the universe, over the last few decades, there are things I have always had trouble with: Scientism, for example, which is not so much the scientific method as the scientific method's dogmatic, half brained younger brother; academia with it's endless production of people who know more and more about less and less and whose vocational lives depend on producing unreadable books and papers couched in the bizarre dialect which is the lingua franca of that particular enclosed professional system; the management model with its penchant for quantifying stuff and for little graphs and five year plans (honestly, has anything of any worth ever come out of a five year plan?) and mission statements and goal setting workshops, and people with data projectors and a couple of trendy ideas; people whose impeccable logic provides incontrovertible proof of things you know to be complete bollocks (such as that the world is flat, or that consciousness doesn't exist, or that the world doesn't exist, or that life is produced by selfish genes, or any one of a number of other current fashionable tropes). These and many others besides, are carefully, wonderfully, examined by McGilchrist, and not so much rubbished as exposed and gently put in their proper place.</p><p>And in piecing together the universe there are things which have fed me. Narrative. The wonderful paradoxes of physics. The rich tradition of Christian contemplation, particularly <i>The Cloud of Unknowing</i>. The extraordinary phenomena of consciousness. Paradox. Silence. In my thirties I studied in San Francisco in a school which was a little hotbed of process theology. I read Whitehead and had my view of the universe upended. Back in New Zealand I didn't find anyone to talk to about this stuff, and it all kind of faded. I wrote a thesis based on a particular narrative theory: that of the tension between irreconcilable binary oppositions, (and gave workshops on story telling, and then found - ah, no! - all the underlying insight being subsumed under the entertainment value of my party pieces, <i>Francis and the Wolf</i> or <i>She Who Sits Alone ).</i> </p><p>And here in this book, I find all these many threads of my intellectual history being given a new home. They are called out, and integrated, and formed into a new whole with a new structure. I am so grateful. McGilchrist's emphasis is always on the gestalt - the wholeness - of the universe, which stands in opposition to our cultural predilection for deconstruction, that is for trying to break things down into continually smaller constituent parts. And it is all done so well. </p><p>Consider, for example, this small passage in which Process thought is so succinctly delineated:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">Our troubles in this area, as in so many others, begin with the tendency to start from things, as though they were the important underlying elements in what we are looking at. Physicists have come to realise that the phenomena they are dealing with, though they may have some thing-like properties when viewed from a certain perspective, are better seen as processes. The 'building blocks' of the supposedly mechanical universe behave like patterned flows of energy, or force field: they are constantly moving and changing, have no precise boundaries, overlap and mingle with other equally elusive entities, cannot be precisely predicted or specified, change their nature and behaviour depending on context, including whether or not they are observed, and exhibit behaviour that defies any mechanical principles - for instance a 'particle' showing interdependency, or entanglement, with another too far removed across the universe for information of any kind to have passed between them. Matter it seems, is just, as Einstein confirmed, a particular manifestation of energy; not static and substance like, but constantly in a state of flow. </p></blockquote><p>I am slowly working through the first chapters of volume 2, which are about The <i>Coincidentia Oppositorum</i>. Fancy that! My old narrative theory is held by a lot of brainy people, and has a fancy name, and it's it's even more subtle, profound and beautiful that I ever suspected. I will read slowly through this third part and get back to you, but in the meantime I will keep up my end of the conversation with that great process we call the Universe. I will make, and be made. </p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-32552993209872914922022-04-29T16:18:00.002+12:002022-04-29T22:13:30.097+12:00Photographs<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YZ1shq7772nLCM54-fGO1Qvf42oLPZk_dy5pwKhMPYum5-uHIMqWfh5HQhc05MrwLJdmmTtGE--Co-5WY7z7RxITbbLWq7mhEgOJ_PUshPIVGBEg8Q-7fNB9_lpIixk4xe0T3KtNeCxPht0te6dJIp0XE8BnOqXryGou9e0DVXOoPrlmzImsOhUJGw/s5973/KPW_4479.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3987" data-original-width="5973" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1YZ1shq7772nLCM54-fGO1Qvf42oLPZk_dy5pwKhMPYum5-uHIMqWfh5HQhc05MrwLJdmmTtGE--Co-5WY7z7RxITbbLWq7mhEgOJ_PUshPIVGBEg8Q-7fNB9_lpIixk4xe0T3KtNeCxPht0te6dJIp0XE8BnOqXryGou9e0DVXOoPrlmzImsOhUJGw/s320/KPW_4479.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Wake while it is still dark. <p></p><p>Dress. </p><p>Light the fire. </p><p>Make coffee. </p><p>Read the New Testament. </p><p>Sit in silence. </p><p><br /></p><p>Here is the scaffolding I use to construct the day, a frame which gives shape to and bears the weight of everything that follows. The silence wraps itself around two concepts too big for right now: intention and consent; perhaps I'll try and speak of them at another time. </p><p>And then, when the light turns blue silver, before it gets all directional and golden, before the sky has its brief fling with the long end of the colour spectrum, I drive around the harbour. </p><p>The light plays and dances. Light off the sea is reflected, and therefore polarized so it has a different character from that which is flooding the new sky. Light filtered through clouds is softer and bluer than the fresh edged stuff, which has only had to contend with air. There are shadows and lines and colours and reflections everywhere. There are photographs lying about at every turn, but I don't need to point my camera at any of them - I look at them and let them drift way. There are photographic words I don't much like: "capture" and "shoot", which imply hunting, stilling, conquering; but I am here merely to look. My camera is a way of engaging. The harbour is so huge, and so immensely old, and so beautiful that I could never hope to capture it or shoot it - why the hell would I want to? So I stop my car and hope that my pictures might suggest something of its elegant and eternally mobile, four dimensional beauty. This activity - looking, framing, pressing the shutter - is not about taking something away, it is tabout being here. It is, really, the last act of my morning silence. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrLya2vtnedrJGrjeCxgoFTjJyVVK8HvJmQxw_b-JYX4Kf9w9Lq9m-21D4y3g6kVlKsykmvRQSoecRQWoi5xabTTl33iSmVZtGOZJj0QAFDVBS2Th2frXcFASWj2yJxod3VBYpvcYQW8A1-oVmRmbNXDah64Swsp5tCGA57NqtAh0hz8uQ0iuasLkIw/s4438/KPW_4462.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2963" data-original-width="4438" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDrLya2vtnedrJGrjeCxgoFTjJyVVK8HvJmQxw_b-JYX4Kf9w9Lq9m-21D4y3g6kVlKsykmvRQSoecRQWoi5xabTTl33iSmVZtGOZJj0QAFDVBS2Th2frXcFASWj2yJxod3VBYpvcYQW8A1-oVmRmbNXDah64Swsp5tCGA57NqtAh0hz8uQ0iuasLkIw/s320/KPW_4462.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Iac5YnFnXrTy_p1VVMsPHOfN024O5lvrZcN53ha7tQOSvYKen5yPxaQdy-b18_h4bDvWVTZLjCHg4Hd3Vswjgmu-q7RXlWCMUWYseR6fH94MHQMxUFbLFudszj2dYEqZWmYIrXP7dr9iHESoNHY8wrCah8hSgcjfSaK_fxdJceAp588m6bT1Tq0aiQ/s6016/KPW_4457.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4016" data-original-width="6016" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7Iac5YnFnXrTy_p1VVMsPHOfN024O5lvrZcN53ha7tQOSvYKen5yPxaQdy-b18_h4bDvWVTZLjCHg4Hd3Vswjgmu-q7RXlWCMUWYseR6fH94MHQMxUFbLFudszj2dYEqZWmYIrXP7dr9iHESoNHY8wrCah8hSgcjfSaK_fxdJceAp588m6bT1Tq0aiQ/s320/KPW_4457.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxedT0GqzQITXZDTY-E7_UVrUcGRYWKxLpZoDXHScv7Ql1qo15Vn4xfRdqUgUtHre6v9jTR4H-Lxp1Z9QymN5Cm9j8cQ4trkOrzt9oGI1j53LjPWecAusLGUTSu2nB0vtFOBAMNY8beXyh7LqojMGd7in6CKziqYtVKLb-Pzr9rocbxuNYddPxIZ9Ww/s5900/KPW_4454.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3939" data-original-width="5900" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxedT0GqzQITXZDTY-E7_UVrUcGRYWKxLpZoDXHScv7Ql1qo15Vn4xfRdqUgUtHre6v9jTR4H-Lxp1Z9QymN5Cm9j8cQ4trkOrzt9oGI1j53LjPWecAusLGUTSu2nB0vtFOBAMNY8beXyh7LqojMGd7in6CKziqYtVKLb-Pzr9rocbxuNYddPxIZ9Ww/s320/KPW_4454.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqXod2bLqH1u71KW4GkLi1gGo9WMbk853CQd13tHqt9swxNsbTHSu4tCLMUYaa4G6ciNqTDmeVnNlbp-8N79CNitk4O7V4352g7kC9y7NTJUn672eDJ_BJtZIRTjgKOfOTw5SNQ6_Yh_ukHkXn6gQX2fHe_4aYHUzcpb7gym7fA80gEYjXKgEvH8pzg/s5487/DSC_3660.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2644" data-original-width="5487" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqXod2bLqH1u71KW4GkLi1gGo9WMbk853CQd13tHqt9swxNsbTHSu4tCLMUYaa4G6ciNqTDmeVnNlbp-8N79CNitk4O7V4352g7kC9y7NTJUn672eDJ_BJtZIRTjgKOfOTw5SNQ6_Yh_ukHkXn6gQX2fHe_4aYHUzcpb7gym7fA80gEYjXKgEvH8pzg/s320/DSC_3660.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-65351743613286470732022-04-14T05:00:00.003+12:002022-04-14T07:50:38.528+12:0070<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5Vv9XGQiNV-ZgZ-5PY3lctcHEKHTRyWSEp6c_7kE69qsKeJhrnq2J0YjWaNUALYzHXe0mRrBNDnDFeER46LLYUtTGFwJx_mvBKVxu71wV7rkI42yIdYtSbLB86iS-ZV5Zai_ruUj4ILe0sproNmGuZXvdNOx9yOyhhspHbAK8r7JlFB_TA3cjh1AzA/s1600/Portrait%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1442" data-original-width="1600" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5Vv9XGQiNV-ZgZ-5PY3lctcHEKHTRyWSEp6c_7kE69qsKeJhrnq2J0YjWaNUALYzHXe0mRrBNDnDFeER46LLYUtTGFwJx_mvBKVxu71wV7rkI42yIdYtSbLB86iS-ZV5Zai_ruUj4ILe0sproNmGuZXvdNOx9yOyhhspHbAK8r7JlFB_TA3cjh1AzA/s320/Portrait%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">This photo was taken by my daughter Catherine, when I was about 50. I think she did a pretty good job. </div></span><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The number 70 has a kind of Biblical gravitas. It’s the number of elders appointed by Moses to lead the recalcitrant Israelites, and the number of people who went down to join Joseph, in Egypt. Jesus sent 70 disciples out to minister in his name, and the first Jewish Sanhedrin had 70 blokes in it. And, of course, there is Psalm 90:10: </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“<i>The days of our life are threescore years and ten, and if by reason of strength they be fourscore, yet is their strength labour and sorrow, for it is soon cut off and we fly away</i>”.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All this has some personal import because I turn 70 today, and can no longer fool myself that I am middle aged. I’m old. And before you feed me one of the lines of balderdash that pass for wisdom in our culture - “you’re only as old as you feel”; “70 is the new 50”; “age is just a number” or some other such nonsense, let me tell you that I am happy to be old. Deliriously happy. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All of us trace a kind of bell curve path through this life. Once we didn’t exist, then we are born and slowly increase our presence in the world until at some stage we reach a peak and then we begin to slowly decline. Over a period of years our energy and our presence ebbs away, until it reaches zero once more and we - all of us - cease to exist. I am well down the descending slope of that curve. Every particular part of this rising and falling line has its own allotted tasks and its gifts and rewards as well as its pains and frustrations, but our culture seems to be fixated on one part of the journey - that of early adulthood. So people in their 20s and 30s are the cultural paradigms for appearance, and the important tasks of that age - finding a place in the world and finding a mate - seem to continue to be central in people’s imaginations well into later life. In our culture the biggest insult you can offer anyone it to say that they look old, but this obsession with being young, of looking and acting young is crazy. It is a battle with inevitability which we must all one day lose, and it distracts us from getting on with the more age appropriate tasks we need to be addressing, if we are going to complete our bell-curved trajectory with the necessary panache and elan. At 70 I’ve got some stuff to be getting on with, and its the most interesting, rewarding, enlarging stuff I’ve ever done. Yep, I’m old, and glad to be so. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I have a more personal reason to rejoice at being 70.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was 56 I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Most, if not all, men will develop prostate cancer if they live long enough. Most men will die with it, not of it, but there are some cases which are dangerous and mine is one of those. Prostate cancer is graded with a thing called the Gleason score, which runs from 2 to 10, with 2 being a slow moving and non invasive cancer and 10 being a fast moving and highly disruptive one. My Gleason score was 9. In 2008 I had my prostate removed and underwent a lengthy bout of radiotherapy, but the cancer had moved into my lymph system and from there to goodness knows where else in my body. People who know about these things told me my chance of surviving for 5 years after diagnosis were about 30%. But that was 14 years ago and here I am, writing this, non posthumously. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Clemency and I were first told how grim things looked, we reasoned that the men with my numbers, who survived, surely didn’t do so by accident, so why shouldn’t I be one of the surviving 30%? There had to be things which I might do which would load the dice in my favour, and we set out to find them. And find them we did. There is no one magic bullet, but I think my chances of survival were greatly bolstered by these things:</span></p><ul>
<li style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Excellent medical care.</b> I have had a great surgeon, skilled radiologists and wise GPs. Over the last 14 years procedures have continually been researched and progressed and I’ve benefitted from some of those.</span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Lifestyle changes</b>. I was blessed to have some good advice soon after my diagnosis. Richard Sutton introduced me to Ian Gawler, who taught me three things which have been, literally, life saving.</span></li>
<ul style="list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Meditation</b>. I was always a tinkerer with meditation, but in 2008 I went to the Gawler Institute in Melbourne where every day starts with 40 minutes of meditation, as well as other sessions during the day. I came home with a new habit of silence, which I have maintained and developed ever since. I regard meditation as the single most important factor in my health and inner growth over the past decade and a half. Meditation had healed me on all manner of levels. </span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Diet</b>. Ian Gawler taught me the importance of a plant based diet. For a year or two I was vegan, and now I am sort of piscaterian. I eat fish, eggs, a small amount of chicken, and as few dairy products as I can. When I’m out, I will eat what’s put before me and at Christmas there’s ham and turkey, but otherwise I avoid red meat. </span></li>
<li style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Exercise</b>. We walk daily, usually for an hour or so. I’ve done many long walks (as in several hundred km) since diagnosis. Walking is good for the body and the mind. In the guise of pilgrimage it has also become an important spiritual practice.</span></li>
</ul>
<li style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The love of friends and family.</b> I have people round me who love me. There are many people who have supported me, prayed for me, wished me well; and all of this has mattered to every level of my being and I am profoundly grateful. </span></li></ul><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Back in 2008 my family and I looked to the future and made a “aim for the stars and you’ll reach the moon” kind of goal. I decided I would be ridiculously optimistic and set my sights on living until I was 70. And here I am. And hand on heart, the last 14 years have been the best, the richest, the most fulfilling, the most delightful of my life. Life is simple, almost monastic now. I live in a pleasant house with my oldest, dearest, closest, most beloved friend. I read books and discuss them with intelligent friends. I walk. I take photographs. I sit in silence. I have a pervading sense of being held and guided and loved by the great presence at the heart of all things; and that sense has grown exponentially over the years. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My new doctor confidently assures me he can keep me going for a good while yet. Later his year we will fly to Australia and see the grandkids. Early next year we’ll take the caravan around the North island. I’ve not given up on the idea of walking the Camino Santiago one more time. But these things, as are all plans, are merely maybes. Death, one of the two great certainties, has been a constant companion these last 14 years and I now have no fear of it, recognising it even, as a friend. I know that its familiar shape is the shadow cast by the blinding light of resurrection. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So here I am at an age where I can’t sit on the floor without planning beforehand how I will get up again. Do I wish I was back then, in that sprightly age before glasses and hearing aids and creaking knees? Not for an instant. I look back 20 years to when I was 50, and that doesn’t seem very long ago. I know that in another 20 years I will certainly not be here. And that thought fills me not so much with dread, as with a growing sense of curiosity and wonder. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So don’t start with the “gosh you don’t look that old” nonsense. I have 70 years. Each one of them cost me something and taught me something, and gave me something, and I don’t care to be deprived of any of them. </span></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-84278318616465796112021-07-05T19:42:00.000+12:002021-07-05T19:42:13.186+12:00Centering Prayer Retreat<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8es00S2vy3E/YOKyOeqSYXI/AAAAAAACMnw/512l87jIazo7OP1DGCzXcADpyKX6YBnZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s5487/KPW_4986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3663" data-original-width="5487" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8es00S2vy3E/YOKyOeqSYXI/AAAAAAACMnw/512l87jIazo7OP1DGCzXcADpyKX6YBnZQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/KPW_4986.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A 3 day taught retreat in the practice of Centering Prayer.</span> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Saturday October 2 2021 - Monday October 4 2021</span><br /></p><p>Centering Prayer is a form of Christian silent contemplative prayer. This retreat is suitable for beginners in silent prayer, or for more experienced practitioners wishing to refresh their practice. </p><p>The retreat will be held in the En Hakkore retreat centre in the hills above Waipiata in the Maniototo. There will be daily sessions of silent prayer, instruction and discussion. The venue is spacious and set in an expansive landscape. there will be some time for personal reflection. </p><p>The cost is $175 per person which includes 2 nights accommodation and all meals. </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 110%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Since
the beginning, following the example of Jesus, there has been a tradition of
silent prayer in the Christian Church. Over the centuries this tradition faded
from the popular view and became confined to monasteries. It was kept alive by
a largely ignored, but never fading lineage of Christian contemplatives. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the
early 20<sup>th</sup> Century this forgotten treasure of Christian spirituality
began a steady process of rediscovery by mainstream Christians, led by pioneers
such as Evelyn Underhill and Thomas Merton. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 110%; mso-themecolor: text1;">In
the mid-20<sup>th</sup> Century, Fr Thomas Keating, an American Trappist monk, developed
the practice he called Centering Prayer. Drawing on his profound knowledge of
Christian spiritual writers, and especially on the spiritual classic, “The
Cloud of Unknowing”, Fr Thomas taught an easily accessible method for ordinary people
to discover for themselves the riches of Christian contemplative prayer.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 110%; mso-themecolor: text1;">A registration form is available for download from here:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 110%; mso-themecolor: text1;"><a href="https://1drv.ms/w/s!Am3cliyqjKHojN0u62esnKedpBlrMg?e=KnToOK"><span style="font-size: large;">Registration </span></a><br /></span></p>
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<![endif]--></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-3992316392080407612021-01-01T15:03:00.006+13:002021-01-01T17:09:07.978+13:00Resolutions<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-83Qjf7A4_cA/X-56oCcLbrI/AAAAAAACKjY/D5ZFlrKQ2LwQvW8ead_rT-yYh_C6KzBswCLcBGAsYHQ/s4704/KPW_8601.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3140" data-original-width="4704" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-83Qjf7A4_cA/X-56oCcLbrI/AAAAAAACKjY/D5ZFlrKQ2LwQvW8ead_rT-yYh_C6KzBswCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/KPW_8601.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The <a href="https://scholar.google.co.nz/scholar?q=research+on+new+year%27s+resolutions&hl=en&as_sdt=0&as_vis=1&oi=scholart">evidence</a> is there and it's not good. Most people break their New Year's resolutions. On average, people hold out 'til January 19, apparently although about 8% of people manage to abide by their self imposed strictures for a year or more. <p></p><p>We make New Year's resolutions because there's bits of us we don't like and because we fall for one of the most common misperceptions that people have about themselves: that our failings are just a matter of will power and that if only we had a bit of discipline we could all smarten our individual and corporate acts up. Bah humbug, I say. </p><p>There's a French saying, <i>tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner</i>. To understand all is to forgive all. </p>This is profoundly true. Pretty much everything we do, we do for a reason. What trips us up is that a) our reasoning is faulty, based as it is on inaccurate premises and incomplete information and b) our reasoning is usually completely invisible to us. So we notice that we ingest too many calories; or smoke too many roaches; or watch too much porn; or snap too easily at our children; and don't like the fact that we do so. So we gird up our loins and tell ourselves "only 1 gin a day!" or "I will take a deep breath and count to 10 before I blow my stack!" which we manage to do, on average until January 19th. And then we are back to our old behaviours, but with the added burden of self repugnance at our own weakness.<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span i=""><i>Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner.</i></span></span></p>What's required is the step most of us don't take because it doesn't occur to us to take it: to ask "Why?" Why do I do these things? This is a line of reasoning which is easy to say, and hard to follow through on because it is slow, and because we are - all of us - so adept at lying to ourselves, and because the solutions offered involve us in real, deep change rather than the quick and easy fix of a New Year's resolution.<div><br /></div><div>Do I want to change? Am I willing to allow the one who is drawing me out of nothingness to change me? Intention and consent are the two basic attitudes of all spiritual practice. Perhaps allowing these two a place in our souls will do more to make us the people we wish ourselves to be than a long list of hopeful, but hopeless resolutions.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner.</i> The best place to start with our understanding, and therefore with our forgiveness, is with ourselves. </div>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-532687017617731182020-12-12T11:25:00.001+13:002020-12-12T11:32:30.528+13:00Bees<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ceovUByJnd4/X9PgHJRxvII/AAAAAAACKbg/DDHs5xwH0qgwPv1TqfVhKJZlK3UBsyn3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s3212/Bee2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3212" data-original-width="2139" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ceovUByJnd4/X9PgHJRxvII/AAAAAAACKbg/DDHs5xwH0qgwPv1TqfVhKJZlK3UBsyn3ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Bee2.jpg" /></a></div>Sometime back in 2018 I set myself the task of photographing a bumblebee in flight. I did this not because I especially liked bumblebees - though I didn't mind them - but because it seemed difficult. They were small and moved fast, and the process of getting a photo would improve my camera handling skills. And besides, we had plenty of them in the garden so I would be able to get in lots of practice. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cq9S9oOQs-k/X9Pg0D5JpKI/AAAAAAACKbs/_xvvo7yhwQItNrkdmAa5UCPPM_YM0NzlgCPcBGAYYCw/s1476/20190112-KPW_1359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="1476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cq9S9oOQs-k/X9Pg0D5JpKI/AAAAAAACKbs/_xvvo7yhwQItNrkdmAa5UCPPM_YM0NzlgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/20190112-KPW_1359.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So I sat by the plants that seemed to attract them. I took hundred of pictures, mostly of blurry striped blobs or of recently vacated flowers. I watched. I learned - about the camera, the lens, certainly, but also quite a lot about the bees. And quite a lot about myself, which I guess was the point of the exercise all along. <br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-28EYCqIElog/X9PjpPFgzKI/AAAAAAACKb8/l6ciK4BdSjEWEUEy0-TJ40ZQrf4Qs8JMwCPcBGAYYCw/s2422/KPW_5923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1617" data-original-width="2422" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-28EYCqIElog/X9PjpPFgzKI/AAAAAAACKb8/l6ciK4BdSjEWEUEy0-TJ40ZQrf4Qs8JMwCPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_5923.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There were honeybees in the garden as well as bumblebees, so naturally I took a few snaps of them as well, but I didn't find them nearly such a challenge. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F0p44uA6El4/X9PjwLawXzI/AAAAAAACKcA/75Qt4L5wKoYqM3rSo6xqxElP8yK1iiZgwCPcBGAYYCw/s1959/KPW_5907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="1959" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F0p44uA6El4/X9PjwLawXzI/AAAAAAACKcA/75Qt4L5wKoYqM3rSo6xqxElP8yK1iiZgwCPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_5907.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They have clearly defined little bodies and they have a tendency to hover obligingly while the shot is taken, so although they are quite a bit smaller I found them easier to photograph, so I didn't bother with them. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F29nrKtUPPw/X9PkgBuvW1I/AAAAAAACKcQ/j8KeFdL6cPAioPtWBY6gflE_mNkHNXSgACPcBGAYYCw/s2129/KPW_1172.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2129" data-original-width="1421" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F29nrKtUPPw/X9PkgBuvW1I/AAAAAAACKcQ/j8KeFdL6cPAioPtWBY6gflE_mNkHNXSgACPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_1172.jpg" /></a></div>After a while the proportions of those pictures I threw away and those I kept began to shift towards the keepers end of the spectrum.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vHwXhqktxFI/X9PkiCwN7-I/AAAAAAACKcU/zovwLEfdlscJk2hJpeLlgHOwc7UlSAmTACPcBGAYYCw/s2406/KPW_1137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2406" data-original-width="1606" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vHwXhqktxFI/X9PkiCwN7-I/AAAAAAACKcU/zovwLEfdlscJk2hJpeLlgHOwc7UlSAmTACPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_1137.jpg" /></a></div>I began to look not just for clearish pictures of bees, but also for compositions I liked. And I became increasingly enamoured of these furry little creatures with their bright yellow stripes and their shiny black heads. The camera stopped the incessant processes of their little lives and let let me see their elegance and strength. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UjeHlXtDzyc/X9PlhRg3XXI/AAAAAAACKcw/S_tBxedEOE4TPbSopbAiUbG8If8R3w__ACPcBGAYYCw/s2135/_20200304_557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1425" data-original-width="2135" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UjeHlXtDzyc/X9PlhRg3XXI/AAAAAAACKcw/S_tBxedEOE4TPbSopbAiUbG8If8R3w__ACPcBGAYYCw/s320/_20200304_557.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I saw things through the lens I could never have seen with the naked eye. For instance, some of them were covered in mites. These, I learned, were not actually parasites. Bumblebees, it seems, have little interest in housework. The mites live in the bumblebees' little, tumble down hives and do the bees a service by cleaning up the detritus left lying around. Then, every so often they attach themselves to a bee who transports them to a flower where they hop off and wait for another bee to take them to another hive and thus further the causes of mitedom. They only cause issues for the bees if so many climb aboard that the bee can't fly, but that rarely happens. </p><p style="text-align: center;">"<i>Great fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite 'em, <br />And little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum. <br />And the great fleas themselves in turn have greater fleas to go on; <br />While these again have greater still, and greater still, and so on.</i>"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GkhZ34y6HAM/X9PnFX7odaI/AAAAAAACKdE/CaEyYDMW4jIUGPMsn-Tcny4OlCs5vZIoACPcBGAYYCw/s2457/KPW_8917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1640" data-original-width="2457" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GkhZ34y6HAM/X9PnFX7odaI/AAAAAAACKdE/CaEyYDMW4jIUGPMsn-Tcny4OlCs5vZIoACPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_8917.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>But I saw that that mites aren't their only issue. Looking at the pictures greatly magnified from life sized I was often amazed at the decrepit condition of their wings. Sometimes they would have about half of the wing surface gone, and sometimes, as here, one or more of their four tiny wings was completely malfunctioning. But they still worked on, sometimes walking from flower to flower instead of flying, but still doing their bit for the hive. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4UaSoh5OeXY/X9PktC_dYeI/AAAAAAACKcc/uiBY-_UAzFEOibySAochl-ITxdNPO1OIACPcBGAYYCw/s1589/KPW_1287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1589" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4UaSoh5OeXY/X9PktC_dYeI/AAAAAAACKcc/uiBY-_UAzFEOibySAochl-ITxdNPO1OIACPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_1287.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I got there in the end. I managed a few shots that fulfilled my original objective but were reassuringly lacking in perfection, meaning I have no inclination to cease the quest. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_okHyXejVA/X9Pkx67gTXI/AAAAAAACKck/nf1XKvVRhGQWd5AsZeqUX9zzhAebQXkVwCPcBGAYYCw/s3943/KPW_1293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2632" data-original-width="3943" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z_okHyXejVA/X9Pkx67gTXI/AAAAAAACKck/nf1XKvVRhGQWd5AsZeqUX9zzhAebQXkVwCPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_1293.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Because watching bumblebees has taught me to love and admire them <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u5vsxbY-cVY/X9Pk-3st7II/AAAAAAACKco/78yI1Mg73XA1XKUTSdaC5HTSDNxjck1qgCPcBGAYYCw/s2067/KPW_1699.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1380" data-original-width="2067" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u5vsxbY-cVY/X9Pk-3st7II/AAAAAAACKco/78yI1Mg73XA1XKUTSdaC5HTSDNxjck1qgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_1699.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We would get precious few flowers and vegetables in our garden without them, for one thing. But the more I saw them the more I could see that they were not just pre-programmed little automata. They made decisions and judgements. They looked out for each other and communicated with each other. I couldn't watch them and not reevaluate what it meant to be sentient: to be alive, and conscious and rational. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oxlde7czMy4/X9PnD7GUPII/AAAAAAACKdA/6QASJ6RzC3QrBOChYQCddWDRlmvbCvDagCPcBGAYYCw/s1918/KPW_8844%2B-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1282" data-original-width="1918" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oxlde7czMy4/X9PnD7GUPII/AAAAAAACKdA/6QASJ6RzC3QrBOChYQCddWDRlmvbCvDagCPcBGAYYCw/s320/KPW_8844%2B-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This shot was taken only a couple of days ago. I now know the plants they enjoy visiting, and when they like to go there. I can see from their differences in colour and size that there are several little hives near our garden, probably four. I'll continue to watch, and who knows? one day I might get a really good shot? <br /><p><br /></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-1885057822981343732020-12-10T09:52:00.010+13:002020-12-10T10:44:05.522+13:00Sign, Symbol and Sacrament<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i9dEZ8fpx7Q/X9ErQ3VUjCI/AAAAAAACKa8/wbqCpiUuJjcVN68O8UBJrRVavCLdUDaTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s4608/P1010463.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i9dEZ8fpx7Q/X9ErQ3VUjCI/AAAAAAACKa8/wbqCpiUuJjcVN68O8UBJrRVavCLdUDaTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/P1010463.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This is a sign in the door of a café in Finisterre. Finisterre means "The End of the Earth", so it's a kind of joke: the Restaurant At The End Of The Universe - Douglas Adams! Geddit? ...Oh never mind. Anyway, when I got to this place the café was closed, and had a sign on the door to say precisely that, but unless you read a little Spanish you might still try the door. That's the thing about signs: they are one dimensional and depend, for their effectiveness in communicating information, on a commonality of understanding between signer and signee. All across Spain we blissfully entered museums by the wrong doors, parked in the wrong places and queued at the wrong ticket windows because our commonality of understanding was somewhat impaired. <div><br /></div><div>But there were other signs we encountered that didn't depend on language. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AbmgLzMNuRY/X9EtsHB5URI/AAAAAAACKbI/-lo0yQKq_5ciqkN0_LKtxB1GvxyDWRZpQCLcBGAsYHQ/s4608/P1010380.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AbmgLzMNuRY/X9EtsHB5URI/AAAAAAACKbI/-lo0yQKq_5ciqkN0_LKtxB1GvxyDWRZpQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/P1010380.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div>Like this one for instance. </div><div><br /></div><div>Walking past this little chapel, on a mountainside at sunrise, I didn't have to ask what kind of building it was. But the cross was more than an advertisment. That morning I was alone in the Picos de Europa, as far from my home as it is possible to be, and the sky was vast. Beneath me the mist was rising from the lake around which I was going to walk in an hour's time. There was dew on the gentians and erica and the larks rose before me as I walked, trailing their convoluted songs across the early morning air. It was a joyous moment, and the cross summed up, and gave silent voice to my sense of freedom and gratitude. Crosses are symbols. That is, they are signs which don't depend on a common language or an agreed code of meaning to be understood. In my back yard the bees move towards my blue shirt because deep in their little brains there is some ancient coding predisposing them to like blue things. And in us, highly evolved primates that we are, there is a myriad of similar deep, pre-programmed responses. Symbols draw on the deep wells of our evolutionary and cultural and familial and personal history to speak to us in ways far deeper than mere logic and understanding. </div><div><br /></div><div>Symbols are deeper than signs. They give expression to things beyond words and like any other avenue of communication, they can be transformative. But there is a level which is deeper than symbol and that level is sacrament. Consider this composite photo:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eCt_FAa66Vk/X9EyKnwiP6I/AAAAAAACKbU/kVR3oS0pGPo0a5Ea_QU0Q4x11mOk8NaOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s590/Queen-Elizabeth-II-news-Her-Majesty-s-requests-for-coronation-dress-REVEALED-1101757.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="590" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eCt_FAa66Vk/X9EyKnwiP6I/AAAAAAACKbU/kVR3oS0pGPo0a5Ea_QU0Q4x11mOk8NaOgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Queen-Elizabeth-II-news-Her-Majesty-s-requests-for-coronation-dress-REVEALED-1101757.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There are 2 pictures of the same person, taken only a few years apart. They are, obviously, of the Queen, but in the intervening period between photographs, something has happened to her. On the left she is the Princess Elizabeth, or Mrs Mountbatten-Windsor, depending on your point of view. On the right she is Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Between the two pictures she has undergone a profound change; namely the sacrament of coronation. A sacrament is a symbolic action which effects a change in our very being: we are not the same as we were before once we have willingly participated in the sacrament. I can't stress this strongly enough. You are a different thing after the sacrament than you were before, and this is why sacraments must be so carefully and wisely cherished.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the Anglican church we recognise 2 sacraments : Baptism and Eucharist; and we argue the toss about another 5: anointing; confirmation; ordination; absolution; and marriage. I'm not going to get into that here, but I have participated in all of these 7 as a receiver and a a giver and know that each is an instrument for profound, and usually unexpected change. My friend Alden says sailing is a sacrament, and I think I agree with him. I know that pilgrimage is a sacrament, as is silence, because they are symbolic actions which effect real and lasting transformation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Part of the hubris of our era is that we think that we can explain and therefore dismiss all manner of mysteries. So marriage is "just" a piece of paper, or the deep peace of meditation is "just" the action of serotonin or ordination is "just" an interesting career choice. How foolish we are. When Jesus entrusted his work to his disciples he told them to baptise: that is, to be instruments of change in people's lives using all manner of methods, some of which reach far deeper than thought and far deeper than culture. It's an extraordinary privilege and responsibility to be so trusted. <br /><p><br /></p></div>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-91446883659205431782020-12-07T08:26:00.006+13:002020-12-07T11:52:14.420+13:00The Comfort of the Resurrection<p> </p><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dneDo1Z0Qks/X80k8vDaFuI/AAAAAAACKaQ/Ls80uhhE1Qk9tj1e5y29RjJCF9ABD8ocgCLcBGAsYHQ/s6016/KPW_8569.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4016" data-original-width="6016" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dneDo1Z0Qks/X80k8vDaFuI/AAAAAAACKaQ/Ls80uhhE1Qk9tj1e5y29RjJCF9ABD8ocgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/KPW_8569.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">When a photo appears capture it. Don't think you will come back later and get it, because it will be gone and that particular pattern of cloud and sea and rocks and sand will never be repeated. And don't think that something as limited and primitive as a camera is going to reveal the coldness of the damp sand beneath your bare feet; or the sound of the oystercatchers warning each other that you might want to make an omelette out of their eggs; or the liminal stillness of the morning air before the wind rises. And that redness in the sky and the breadth of it - don't delude yourself that you are going to show that to anyone. All you can ever do is suggest.<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: -1em;"> ****</div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Heraclitus was a philosopher who lived about 500 BC in Greece. He thought that the universe was not so much a thing as a process. We, and all the stuff we see about us are in a state of becoming. Nothing is constant and the apparent solidity of things is an illusion caused by the comparative slowness of some changes. I think he was right. No, let me rephrase that. With every ounce of my being I KNOW that he was right. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: -1em;">****</div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> If everything is a great flux, and if there is nothing solid because it's all a huge never ending process, where then shall we find truth? It's a pretty good question. I'm not sure Heraclitus ever managed to answer it. But at least he gave others the possibility of finding an answer. <br /></div><div style="margin-left: 40px; padding-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: -1em;">****<br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">One of Heraclitus' favourite words was <b><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">ὁ λόγος </span></b><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">(ho Logos)</span><b><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">,</span></b><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"> <i>The Word</i>. By this he meant not so much a static definition, but (surprise, surprise!) a process: an unfolding of meaning which reveals itself over time. The writer of the Fourth Gospel borrowed this idea from Heraclitus. The Fourth Gospel opens with these words: </span><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"><b><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος</span></b><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"> <i>In the beginning was The Word and Word was with God and The Word was God. </i>So in a sense, the Gospel is an answer to Heraclitus' question about where we find truth in the great dynamic process of creation. </span></span></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-align: center; text-indent: -1em;"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">****</span></span></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">My favourite poet is Gerard Manly Hopkins. And all that is above is a kind of introduction to this poem that follows. Like me, Hopkins one day saw an overwhelmingly beautiful pattern in the clouds: a pattern that was impermanent as cloud patterns must be, and which spoke to him of the impermanence of everything, including people. And that impermanence presented Hopkins with the question of where, if anywhere he might find truth. He says it is in the resurrection: in that diamond solid experience which Christ came to share with him. Hopkins didn't have his camera with him to try and capture that ever changing moment; he had to use words instead. He's done a better job than me, so I'll give him the last </span></span></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"> </span></span></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text"><span lang="grc" title="Ancient Greek (to 1453) language text">Word. </span><i> </i></span></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><i> </i></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"><h3 style="text-align: left;">That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and the Comfort of the Resurrection</h3></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">by Gerard Manley Hopkins</div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows | flaunt forth, then chevy on an air- <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs | they throng; they glitter in marches. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Down roughcast, down dazzling whitewash, | wherever an elm arches, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Shivelights and shadowtackle ín long | lashes lace, lance, and pair. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Delightfully the bright wind boisterous | ropes, wrestles, beats earth bare <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Of yestertempest's creases; | in pool and rut peel parches <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Squandering ooze to squeezed | dough, crust, dust; stanches, starches <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Squadroned masks and manmarks | treadmire toil there <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Footfretted in it. Million-fuelèd, | nature's bonfire burns on. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But quench her bonniest, dearest | to her, her clearest-selvèd spark <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone! <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Both are in an unfathomable, all is in an enormous dark <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Drowned. O pity and indig | nation! Manshape, that shone <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Sheer off, disseveral, a star, | death blots black out; nor mark <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Is any of him at all so stark <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">But vastness blurs and time | beats level. Enough! the Resurrection, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">A heart's-clarion! Away grief's gasping, | joyless days, dejection. <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> Across my foundering deck shone <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">A beacon, an eternal beam. | Flesh fade, and mortal trash <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash: <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;"> In a flash, at a trumpet crash, <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and <br /></div><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond, <br /></div> Is immortal diamond. Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-46620534905614734062020-12-06T06:10:00.001+13:002020-12-06T08:23:28.856+13:00Living the lies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In 1969, when I was 16 I left school and got a job as a labourer. My wages weren't high but to me they were a fortune and within a few months I bought my first car, a 1938 Morris 8 sports, this one here. It had a minuscule 4 cylinder engine and a wood framed body which meant it was slow and it flexed so much when going around corners that the doors would sometimes fly open. Nevertheless I thought it was pretty damned cool, especially with the modifications I made to the muffler for performance and advertising purposes, ie, removing it. </div>
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Back then, the most popular TV program was The Avengers, in which the suave and resourceful hero, John Steed drove a 1928 3 Litre Bentley. Which looked kinda like my car, right? Yeah, right. </div>
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Anyway, John Steed usually entered his car by leaping nimbly over the door, so I emulated him whenever possible. Now all this is preamble. I want to tell you about something that happened to me one day in Papanui Road, Christchurch.</div>
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My car was parked near a bus stop outside St. Margaret's, a girls' secondary school. A row of girls was lined up, waiting for the bus, all standing next to my inexpressibly cool, John-Steed-like, Bentley facsimile. My hair was long and shiny. I was wearing all the up to the minute finery my new found wealth could provide: green paisley shirt, blue jumbo cord bell bottom pants, red white and blue basket ball boots, and a jaunty scarf of unremembered colour. Past the line of girls I swaggered and leapt artfully over the door. Unfortunately, the hem of my bell bottom trousers caught, mid flight, on the door handle and I crashed head first into the car with such force that I found my head lodged on the floor, between the brake and the clutch, and I couldn't extricate myself. Well, not for several full, slow, agonising minutes, anyway. By the time I managed to turn myself around, press the starter and motor loudly but slowly away, the girls had, mercifully, long since boarded their bus and departed.</div>
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This was, for many years, the single most embarrassing moment of my life, but now I can recognise it for what it was: a spiritual experience. It was a moment of grace. It was a Christ event. </div>
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The spiritual life is about movement towards truth, and on that day on Papanui Road, I was moved closer to the truth about myself and about the world. We are called to abandon the falsehoods we hold so dear in order to make our way towards that which, from the moment of our births, is calling us homeward. Some of our falsehoods are glaringly obvious: I am not John Steed (and neither is anybody else, actually, including the actor Patrick McNee who played him) and my car is not a Bentley. Some of them are more subtle: I won't find what I am looking for by trying to be cool. Some of them are pretty much unconscious: I don't need affirmation and admiration to be happy, not from a line of schoolgirls I have never met and am never likely to, and not, actually, from anybody. </div>
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We all have our own particular and unique suite of falsehoods. We acquire them from our biology, our families, our culture, our life experiences and our imaginations. We live inside our own little cloud of lies, not aware, for the most part, that they are not true, spending our lives in relentless pursuit of schemes to make ourselves happy, that cannot possibly work. We delude ourselves that our distorted perceptions of the world are true, and that following them will lead us to our heart's desire, and we do this because one of the greatest lies we tell ourselves is about the nature of reality itself. </div>
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Just think for a moment about how we commonly talk about reality: we speak of the cold, hard truth; a dose of reality; we tell people to get real or say 'you can't stand the truth'; we speak of things as a painful reality. Reality is, for most of us, most of the time, something to be feared, or to be anaesthetised against. Reality is, in our philosophically materialist culture at the very best indifferent and at the worst malignant. It's no wonder we cling so tightly to our illusions. </div>
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But in contrast, we Christians make a bizarre claim about reality. We say <i>In the beginning was the Logos and the Logos was with God and the Logos was God... and the Logos dwelt amongst us, full of grace and truth.</i> We speak of Jesus being God incarnate, but when we talk about the incarnation we're not talking about some demiurge - some superhuman or God like being - strolling around in disguise, like Clark Kent in search of a phonebooth. We are making a statement about this thing that everybody is so hell bent on avoiding: reality. While it is certainly true that the act of disillusionment, that is, losing our illusions, is often traumatic, this thing we are moving towards, when we escape from our little cloud of lies, is not indifferent and is certainly not malignant. Look at Jesus Christ. Not the Jesus who has been made over in the light of someone else's little suite of falsehoods, but the Jesus who sits enigmatically but clearly enough in the pages of the Gospel. </div>
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This is the best picture you're ever going to get of reality: intentional, merciful, grace-full, life giving. This reality is the great goal of all spiritual discipline. This is what draws us, sometimes painfully, but always kindly, to forsake our falsehoods. Or, at least, to consent to their removal. </div>
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Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-2984553370550583132020-12-05T10:42:00.006+13:002020-12-05T14:58:05.882+13:00Glory<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YXoTuVeMKWs/X8qrwN9rLrI/AAAAAAACKSk/uBEZnrugiWQJUsOA_GTBJaEYFYkkJq_eQCPcBGAsYHg/s1440/FB_IMG_1598858923851.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1440" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YXoTuVeMKWs/X8qrwN9rLrI/AAAAAAACKSk/uBEZnrugiWQJUsOA_GTBJaEYFYkkJq_eQCPcBGAsYHg/s320/FB_IMG_1598858923851.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: 100%;">In April I began another pilgrimage: that of reading through the New Testament in Greek. It's slow going, what with me being such an abysmal Greek scholar and everything, but I love it. And, just as the slow procession across Spain, one small step at a time sees progress being made towards Santiago, so this morning, slowly, word by word, I traversed the great arc of the New Testament. Today I had reached John 13, part of that section in the fourth Gospel in which the author describes Jesus' commissioning of his apostles to act in his stead after he is gone. It's twelve men and a few others in a largish room, and seems to take just long enough for a meal and a talk. And I couldn't help thinking of my own, <a href="http://vendr.blogspot.com/2010/03/ordination.html?q=ordination">glorious ordination to the episcopate</a>, a ceremony in a much larger room, involving far more people and a longer span of time. In my case there were a couple of hours of ceremonial actions. In the case of the apostles there was just one: Jesus stripped himself naked, picked up the accoutrements of a slave and washed the disciples' feet. The 12 Apostles, and the other disciples present, didn't themselves have to do or say or sign anything. They were asked to trust, however. <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 100%;">In the course of that last supper Jesus spoke a lot about glory: his own glory, the glory of his Father, and the glory of the disciples who would follow him. And by "glory" he seemed to be speaking of something a lot different than our usual understanding of the word. It seems that, to Jesus, his glory would be revealed in inverse proportion to the esteem in which he was generally held by the world at large. <i>Kenosis</i> is a word meaning "self emptying"and it seems that the Glory of God is defined by Kenosis. God is poured out in the original creation of the cosmos. Jesus reveals himself in his pouring out of himself for others. He invites us to participate in this glory by... you guessed it. Which is an invitation we generally decline in favour of a more congenial version of glory.We seek to do things in ever grander ways, but we can't escape the inverse relationship of outward show and inner significance. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 100%;">Consider for a moment, about how, as an institution declines in existential importance, the ceremony surrounding that institution often increases. Think of these examples:<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 100%;">1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Christmas</span>.
As the significance of the Christian faith declines in the West,
Christmas has become ever more extravagant and expensive. So for that
matter, has Easter. So for that matter have a couple of very minor
festivals - St. Valentine's Day and Hallowe'en. The reverse kenosis principle is seen most clearly in Christmas, though, with the cost of
gift giving, feasting and drinking putting families into financial
difficulty well into the new year. I would guess that the families most
likely to land themselves in these difficulties would be amongst the
least likely to have any spiritual or religious motivation for
celebrating the festival.<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Weddings</span>.
As marriage has declined in importance as an institution, weddings have
become ever grander and ever more expensive. Here is a picture of a
wedding in the 18th Century; a time when marriage as an institution was crucial to the functioning of society:<br /></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cAQ-xpCyldo/SU8xpa75jYI/AAAAAAAAAg0/AirRQkg4nrY/s1600-h/old+wedding.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282495475603836290" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cAQ-xpCyldo/SU8xpa75jYI/AAAAAAAAAg0/AirRQkg4nrY/s400/old+wedding.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 268px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Notice
the simplicity of the occasion. The couple are decently dressed in
clothes they would wear on other occasions. The ceremony is attended by
family and friends but the celebration is comparatively brief and
inexpensive. By comparison, <span style="font-size: 100%;">the average
cost of a New Zealand wedding is now around $35,000. Many weddings cost
well in excess of $100,000. In all this haemorrhage of money from the
nuptial couple, a tiny percentage is spent on the religious ceremony
itself, of course. The amount spent on the wedding has no correlation to
the longevity of the marriage. Sometimes I suspect exactly the
opposite.<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold;">The British Royal Family</span>.
As the political power of the British monarchy ebbed away, the pomp and
ceremony surrounding them increased. All the grand ceremonies we are
most familiar with - the changing of the guard or the trooping of the
colour, for example - arose comparatively late in the monarchy's
history, and achieved their present grandeur only in Victorian times or
even in the 20th Century.<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Ordinations</span>. As the </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">social significance of the </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">church
in the West has declined and as the role of the clergy has declined
within the churches themselves, the grandeur of ordinations has
increased, particularly episcopal ordinations. Within the Anglican
church, the rise of the Eucharist as a weekly event, and the increase</span><span style="font-size: 100%;">, in most parishes</span><span style="font-size: 100%;">,
in the amount of decoration accepted as usual for the Eucharist has
also paralleled the decline in importance of the clergy both within the
church and within the larger community.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 100%;">Jesus invites us into the glory which he shares with the Father. But by and large - perhaps because we misunderstand him, or perhaps because we understand perfectly well but are terrified, who can tell? -we decline and opt for an alternative of our own, ever grand designing. <br /></span></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-46872622254272583612020-12-02T08:55:00.005+13:002020-12-02T08:55:29.898+13:00Earth<h1 style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8SiOJlIpeFo/X8afc6lbCWI/AAAAAAACKOI/K6KRuM0VyAE9fSjgT5An3yBDl0azbTaTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s5568/_20200503_3231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8SiOJlIpeFo/X8afc6lbCWI/AAAAAAACKOI/K6KRuM0VyAE9fSjgT5An3yBDl0azbTaTQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/_20200503_3231.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Eve to Her Daughters</h1><p>by Judith Wright</p><p> </p><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was
not I who began it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Turned
out into draughty caves,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">hungry
so often, having to work for our bread,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">hearing
the children whining,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was nevertheless
not unhappy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Where
Adam went I was fairly contented to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
adapted myself to the punishment: it was my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But
Adam, you know ….. !</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He kept
on brooding over the insult,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">over the
trick They had played on us, over the scolding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He had
discovered a flaw in himself</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and he
had to make up for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Outside
Eden the earth was imperfect,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">the
seasons changed, the game was fleet-footed,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">he had
to work for our living, and he didn’t like it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He even
complained of my cooking</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(it was
hard to compete with Heaven).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So he
set to work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
earth must be made a new Eden</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">with
central heating, domesticated animals,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">mechanical
harvesters, combustion engines,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">escalators,
refrigerators,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and
modern means of communication</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and
multiplied opportunities for safe investment</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and
higher education for Abel and Cain</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and the
rest of the family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You can
see how his pride had been hurt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the
process he had to unravel everything,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">because
he believed that mechanism</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">was the
whole secret – he was always mechanical-minded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He got to
the very inside of the whole machine</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">exclaiming
as he went, So that is how it works!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And now
that I know how it works, why, I must have invented it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As for
God and the Other, they cannot be demonstrated,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And what
cannot be demonstrated</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">doesn’t
exist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You see,
he had always been jealous.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes, he
got to the centre</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">where
nothing at all can be demonstrated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And
clearly he doesn’t exist; but he refuses</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">to
accept the conclusion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You see,
he was always an egotist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was
warmer than this in the cave;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was
none of this fall-out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I would
suggest, for the sake of the children,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">that
it’s time you took over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But you
are my daughters, you inherit my own faults of character;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">you are
submissive, following Adam</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">even
beyond existence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Faults
of character have their own logic</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and it
always works out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
observed this with Abel and Cain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Perhaps
the whole elaborate fable</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">right
from the beginning</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">is meant
to demonstrate this; perhaps it’s the whole secret.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Perhaps
nothing exists but our faults?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At least
they can be demonstrated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But it’s
useless to make</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">such a
suggestion to Adam.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He has
turned himself into God,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 99.25pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">who is
faultless, and doesn’t exist.</span></div><p> </p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-81836548306871680452020-12-01T15:36:00.003+13:002020-12-01T15:36:51.063+13:00Strengthen<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dijR1WA-LBM/X8Wkzxt867I/AAAAAAACKM8/-I7PxGxptXoblavKkwdbHLEhMl-xt5w2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s5568/_20200426_3060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5568" data-original-width="3712" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dijR1WA-LBM/X8Wkzxt867I/AAAAAAACKM8/-I7PxGxptXoblavKkwdbHLEhMl-xt5w2gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/_20200426_3060.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Our monument in Dunedin to the thousands of young, local men whose lives were spent in the futile and pointless pursuit of wrong headed notions of power. </i></span></p><p>In 2019 the human race spent $US1917 billion dollars on defence. And a fat lot of good that did to any of us during the pandemic. And a fat lot of good that is doing in combating the biggest threat to us all: rampant climate change.What is guaranteed is that this year that figure will have increased, demonstrating that yet again we spend more and more money on weaponry and feel less and less secure</p><p>On a global scale we have developed what would be called, in an individual, an attachment. An attachment is a false belief system. It works like this: </p><p>1. we identify within ourselves a sense of dis-ease; </p><p>2. we ask ourselves what is causing this dis-ease; </p><p>3. we imagine a remedy; </p><p>4. we go about acquiring that remedy; </p><p>5. when the remedy fails to bring us relief from our dis-ease we fail to see that our analysis of causes in step 2 may have been inaccurate; </p><p>6. we imagine instead, that as the remedy demonstrably didn't work, we (obviously!) need to acquire MORE of the remedy. </p><p>7. we go back to step 4 and continue the process again and again and again, until, individually we are enslaved to money or shopping or food or possessions or pornography, or globally, we are spending $US1917 billion a year, and rising, on weapons. </p><p>Jesus continually challenged his disciples about their faulty step 2-4 analyses. When they imagined that their personal senses of inadequacy might be helped by their possession of large thrones placed next to their lord's, or when they thought that their social standing might be lowered if children or other low status persons came too close to the the centre of things Jesus presented them with a koan. He said that if you want to save your life you must lose it. He said that if you wish to be truly great you must become a servant. He said that you won't get anywhere unless you become like a child.</p><p>The common thread in these paradoxical statements is kenosis, which means self emptying. Give up your false ideas about what you need to be secure or valued or powerful. Give up the schemes -which cannot ever possibly work - for making yourself happy. In the person of Jesus we have the best picture we are ever going to get of the immense power which called the universe and everything in it into being. That power is characterised by self giving, self emptying love. That power is ours. It's there for the taking. If only we can give up our misconceptions about what power is and how we may acquire it. <br /></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-68195154125637168992020-11-29T15:40:00.000+13:002020-11-30T07:56:41.191+13:00Deliver<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cLmx_D2vVOY/VoM4WKN5cGI/AAAAAAAAG2M/6wLiuIX9itw/s1600/01760-nativity-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cLmx_D2vVOY/VoM4WKN5cGI/AAAAAAAAG2M/6wLiuIX9itw/s320/01760-nativity-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Soon there will be a line up of Christmas cards hanging on my wall with scenes like the one above. A quaint wee stable. Friendly animals. A healthy baby and a well scrubbed set of young parents gazing at him in adoration. They leave me a bit cold, to tell you the truth.<br />
<br />
Partly that's because I am privileged (or cursed) to read the Gospel of Luke in Greek and know that the scene above isn't what is described there. "καὶ ἔτεκεν τὸν υἱὸν αὐτῆς τὸν πρωτότοκον· καὶ ἐσπαργάνωσεν αὐτὸν καὶ
ἀνέκλινεν αὐτὸν ἐν φάτνῃ, διότι οὐκ ἦν αὐτοῖς τόπος ἐν τῶ καταλύματι."<br />
<br />
Bear with me here. It's important. "And she gave birth to her firstborn son and bound him, and laid him in a <i>Phatne</i> because there was no room for them in the <i>katalumati</i>".<br />
<br />
A Phatne is a niche, a hollow carved into something else. It is sometimes a manger of a particular type, i.e. one that is a hollow scooped out of a piece of wood or stone, but more usually it refers to a niche set into the inside of the thick wall of one of those little first century houses, of pressed earth construction, and used for general storage. A phatne was, in other words, a cupboard.<br />
<br />
The usual word for an inn is πανδοχεῖον (pandochion), and by contrast a kataluma is usually an extra room added onto a large house. (The upper room where Jesus ate the last supper was a kataluma.) So a fair reading of the Greek would suggest that Mary had her first born in a house large enough to have an extra room; that the extra room was already filled when she arrived, probably with other guests in Bethlehem for the census, and that she and Joseph lodged in the main part of the house with the stove and the stores and perhaps the family animals, and all the other people. Mary wrapped her baby in bandages, in the usual way, and laid him in a storage niche carved into the wall in this lower part of the house. The text clearly tells us that there was no manger; no inn. There was the large house of a wealthy member of Joseph's family, and Jesus was born surrounded by his whanau.<br />
<br />
The bit with the inn and the manger are the projections of the men who first translated the Bible into the common languages of Europe, and reflect the expectations of travelers in the middle ages and not those of first century tribal people traveling back to their turangawaewae. And the story has grown with the telling over the years, with a donkey, innkeeper, little drummer boy and Uncle Tom Cobley and all, with each bit of it reflected the cultural biases of the storytellers and each one building a story that is somehow sanitised. Each misses the wonderful reality of family and childbirth and each builds a story which, while it reflects our cultural prejudices, paints a scene that is removed from the real experience of all of us. <br />
<br />
Just before Christmas I came upon another nativity, and it pulled me up short. Took my breath away. Caused me to stop and look and think and pray. Here it is:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2Zx7tahgzM/VoM-MiE63yI/AAAAAAAAG2c/riH_9jXf_1w/s1600/crowning.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2Zx7tahgzM/VoM-MiE63yI/AAAAAAAAG2c/riH_9jXf_1w/s320/crowning.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>
<br />
It is a painting by <a href="http://schnellestudios.com/index.html">Sara Star</a> called <i>Crowning</i>.<br />
<br />
Here at last is a nativity scene which takes seriously the human condition and the astonishing truth of the incarnation: the word became flesh. Recently I watched a <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b03czjbq">wonderful series on the Middle Ages</a> written, produced and presented by Dr. Helen Castor. The first of the series was on birth, and I was astonished to learn that there are very few written sources on birth from the middle ages. There are plenty on warfare and trade and diplomacy and the doings of the royalty, but what little there is on this most profound of human experiences was written by men, none of whom had ever actually witnessed a birth.<br />
<br />
Birth was women's work, so it was ignored.<br />
<br />
So our accounts of the incarnation and our pictures of it in the middle ages, and pretty much ever since, have all ignored the most important part of the word becoming flesh: Jesus was born. In doing this we have undermined the meaning and power of the incarnation, and by making Jesus' birth different from the births of the rest of us, pushed Christianity towards Docetism. <br />
<br />
I find <i>Crowning</i> a powerful image, but of course even this is sanitised. There is no blood and the mother and baby are both unnaturally still and peaceful: it is an ikon, after all. It has been my life's privilege to be present at three births; each one pretty bloody and pretty painful, but each one ranking amongst the peak experiences of my life; each one different but each equally exciting and powerful; each one holy. I can remember almost every minute of those three events; and they are all reflected and held and celebrated here by Sara Star.<br />
<br />
The word became flesh and dwelt amongst us. Thank you, Sara Star, for reminding me of this, and deepening my appreciation of this central tenet of our faith. </div>
Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-33966142842773125002020-11-29T08:33:00.006+13:002020-11-29T09:02:57.377+13:00Tender<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m-BrpRsyAsw/X8Kfhw6cGBI/AAAAAAACKL0/bJ4BRzGW34g2WlcqEq8Rw9qiQqG9HmHfACLcBGAsYHQ/s3801/_20200716_5810KPW_7280d7500-Edit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2537" data-original-width="3801" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m-BrpRsyAsw/X8Kfhw6cGBI/AAAAAAACKL0/bJ4BRzGW34g2WlcqEq8Rw9qiQqG9HmHfACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/_20200716_5810KPW_7280d7500-Edit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>This is a snapshot. I didn't set up the camera or the lighting or the subjects. Technically this is not a great photo, I know that, but of the 80,000 or so images on my computer this is probably the one I love the most. </p><p style="text-align: center;">**** <br /></p><p>They sit across the table from me in the museum cafe. I can't now remember the details of their conversation but I know it was kind of free flowing. I took about a dozen shots, each one different because each one did what photographs always do: reduce some live and dynamic process to a single still, captured moment. And here was a conversation which was a process. And that conversation was part of a much greater process: the relationship which has grown between mother and daughter for 5 years now. This great flow can't be captured in one still frame; but in the very act of capturing and holding, the photograph can allow us to see what is there. Or at least, part of what is there. </p><p style="text-align: center;">****</p><p>What amazes me when I look at the photographs afterwards is how different each shot is from the others. Each one has something so say. Each is a kind of footnote to the story of this relationship. </p><p style="text-align: center;">****</p><p>Of course I worked on this picture. I took away the colour and the extraneous details. I trimmed it so that there was a flow of light, strengthening through the frame and reaching a peak in my grand daughter's face. I placed her eye in the centre of the frame to give a sense of stillness and rest. But all this manipulation of the original RAW file wasn't an attempt to construct something. It was an attempt to tell the truth, or at least, to focus attention on one part of the truth, perhaps the most important truth of this relationship. My grand daughter is loved. She knows she is loved. She loves in return. <br /></p><p><br /></p><p></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-170814845771372625.post-7785169495824997332020-11-27T08:39:00.019+13:002020-11-27T10:38:51.393+13:00Advent<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7U9MSzM-vcU/X7_7d6Lwl-I/AAAAAAACKLE/s8LFWZlJEkInidCECgOQmt37PjZuC8f-QCLcBGAsYHQ/s3712/KPW_7048.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="2475" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7U9MSzM-vcU/X7_7d6Lwl-I/AAAAAAACKLE/s8LFWZlJEkInidCECgOQmt37PjZuC8f-QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/KPW_7048.jpg" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>A journey begins for a kotuku</i></span><br /></div><p></p><p>So how is it that Jesus is God? How come Jesus is wandering about on Earth, getting hungry, sleeping, only being in one place at a time, getting cross with some people, being kind to others, and all the while he is also the omnipotent, omnipresent, all seeing, all wise God who called the Earth and everything in it into being out of nothing? People have been arguing the toss on this one now for about 2,000 years, sometimes getting very twitchy indeed with those whose answer to that question differs from their own. People with long lists of titles before their names (such as me) or long lists of letters after them (ditto) sometimes pretend to the definitive answer. Let me assure you, as one who has a passing familiarity with all of the most popular answers, they're kidding you. Or sometimes they're kidding themselves, which is pretty much the same thing. My own experience is that the more vigorously people promote a particular answer the less likely it is that they actually know. </p><p>God becoming human in the person of Jesus Christ is referred to as <b>The</b> Incarnation.We cover our inability to explain exactly how it works that God can be God and human at the same time by calling it a mystery. Which you might think is a cop out, but actually, it's the only sensible place in which to park your brain on this one, because a mystery is a useful spiritual tool. The great mystery of the incarnation helps us to approach an equally difficult question, and one which is closer to you than you might think. Thinking about <b>The</b> Incarnation raises questions about incarnation in general. </p><p>How do you exist as a loving, thinking being in a physical body? Do your thoughts arise out of your brain? And if they do, how is it that your thoughts can change the physical structure of your brain and your body (as they can)? How can your thoughts move your body to do what you want it to do? This question is called by scientists "the mind/brain problem" or "the mind body problem" or sometimes simply "the hard problem". And let me assure you again, that the scientists are no closer to working this one out than the theologians are to working out all that stuff about Jesus and God.</p><p>But all this stuff isn't just ideas. It's personal. It's about you. How do you exist? And why? Do you have a soul? Or are you just a bunch of impressions and thoughts that accidentally arose in the chance agglomeration of matter that is your brain? I don't expect an answer. God knows that I have been trying to nut this out, on my own account, for well over 60 years, now. It's the problem of incarnation. My incarnation. And yours. And it's a mystery. But this I know: one way of working with a mystery - perhaps the only way which actually gets us anywhere - is by the resources of our tradition. We hear the ancient story of Jesus and his birth, of all that led up to that event and all that followed it; and in our following of <b>The</b> Incarnation the great mysteries of our own incarnation are brought into focus. </p><p>This is why, every year, I walk the 40 day pilgrimage from Advent to Christmas. Because every year Immanuel, God With Us, becomes a smidgen clearer. <br /></p>Kelvin Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16682322819567886400noreply@blogger.com0