signing off - a tryptich

A sabbatical triptych:  Three mixed media panels telling the story of my sabbatical journey.

Panel 1 (acrylic, tracing paper, photocopy and jute) – reflects something of the main event which had its origins in a holiday to Tuscany. One unbearably hot afternoon Belinda and I sought shade in the Bardini Gardens overlooking the beautiful city of Florence. Just below us on the terrace a group of art students appeared and began making images of the city spread below. It was clear that this very international group were mainly enjoying a gap year experience, and I began to feel a sense of regret that at their stage in life I was in too much of a hurry to settle down that I never really took opportunities to do such exciting things. I also knew, not in a rational thought out way, but somehow I knew, that one day I would address that sense of regret.

At the time I hadn’t picked up a pencil or paint brush with artistic intent for longer than I cared to remember. It took a frightening experience of mental exhaustion and a totally unplanned encounter with art classes at the Greenbelt festival to re-kindle my interest. It wasn’t long before I remembered that hot afternoon - and so 3 years on, I was one of those students. I was enrolled on a life drawing course in Florence! Only a week but carrying great significance. Alongside some of those gap year students from around the world I learned a little and experienced a great deal. The figure in the picture demonstrates that some of the models for our drawing were less ‘alive’ than others!

Panel 2 – (wrapping paper and box canvas)  is largely formed from paper in which were wrapped Christmas decorations from a department store in Florence and hints at some of the other things the sabbatical space opened up. Whilst in Florence I also took some cookery lessons, during the course of which I made and shared supper with a Russian speaking mother and daughter from Ukraine, a Norwegian civil servant who was a bit of an expert on Scottish history and a group of Afrikaans speaking South African students.

This panel also hints at other significant moments, the opportunity for a relaxed family Christmas which wasn’t dominated by the pressure and rush to prepare and lead myriad services and events, time to explore new places many of them in my beloved home county of Northumberland and the chance to browse charity shops in search of the eclectic and collectable. Three months without structure or expectation was incredibly liberating, a chance to break out from the spiritual and emotional suffocation born of endless meetings, constant preparation for the next service, or the incredible drain of trying to bring reconciliation and vision where folk have got trapped by prejudice or personal comfort. A simple piece of wrapping paper expressing such possibility.

The final panel (photograph, jute, acrylic and powdered chalk) is based on an image of a plaster cast of footprints discovered in archaeological exploration of the Roman period in the Greek city of Thessaloniki. For me they have come to represent the many footsteps in which I found myself walking.

Just before I left for Italy I reread my dad’s wartime diaries, and was particularly struck by his account of visiting Rome in the early days of peace in 1945. It included reference to his attending an audience with the Pope which he described as a very special moment. Given the religious views he expressed throughout much of his life I would never have thought in visiting the Vatican I would be walking my dad’s footsteps – doing so was a moment of very special connection. More anticipated footsteps were those of St Paul as I enjoyed special times in Athens and Thessaloniki. I also enjoyed walking in the many steps of pilgrims down the centuries who had travelled in search of spiritual connection, culture and beautiful art. In Rome, Florence, Venice, Edinburgh and Berwick upon Tweed my eyes were opened and my thinking challenged.

Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh

As a child I was encouraged whenever we had been on a big family holiday, to make a scrapbook. I still have them (and some more recent ones too) - filled with all sorts of 'stuff'. The earlier ones mainly contain postcards and the odd train ticket. As the years passed they became more and more comprehensive - including all the booking details, luggage labels, detailed itineraries, sweet wrappers and lumps of rock (not the edible kind!). I added very little by way of comment, allowing the items to speak for themselves - and they do that job very well, triggering often very detailed memories of the trips - right back into early childhood.
With that in mind I am putting together a book of scraps reflecting some of the physical experiences of my journey through and beyond Advent. Along the way I have been trying to think of ways of including something of a response to Christmas itself and plan to blend the tickets and maps with some of the Christmas cards and letters Belinda and I received this year. As I was away from home just at the time they were being delivered I didn't really get a feel for them at the time.
Now as I sort through the cards and begin to wonder how they will help tell my story I am intrigued by the range of images they show and what are the most frequently occurring.
There were of course lots of images of the traditional variety with Santas and wreaths and all the trappings of a Victorian image of Christmas or contemporary cheesiness. Some, I have to say are rather beautiful! A few included hand drawn images and there were a couple of classic artworks, along with some showing images of significant places.. Then a slightly larger collection of animals  and birds against winter backdrops (and not just Robins!) and including this exqusite bovine specimen which is certainly a challenger for my favourite!
Then there were the overtly religious ones - an angel or two, a couple with biblical texts, one Annunciation and one Madonna and Child. There was a swathe of Holy Family/Manger representations but then something intriguing. By far the majority of the cards suggested journeys to Bethlehem. As I see my sabbatical as both filled with journeys and as taking me on a journey these caught my attention.
Then the thing which really struck me - the journeys were being made by just two groups of people. There were several describing the trek of the shepherds to the stable - but far more (about 3:1) were images of the Magi.
In liturgical terms that means the Epiphany story wins over Christmas! Of course we barely recognise Epiphany, at least in the Methodist tradition, unless January 6th happens to fall on a Sunday. (Methodists are not generally good at midweek festivals - Sunday is the proper day to do the God stuff!). So why the fascination with the Wise Men, Three Kings, Magi - whatever we want to call them?
In my tours of Italian galleries I can't say I was struck by many great masters representing the story, though I think that was because I wasn't looking for  them and anyway I was too busy trying to process the apparent fascination with the slaughter of the innocents that seemed to appear in every room.
I need to think about why so many cards of the Magi. Do they just make for an attractive image with a  bit of bling, which speaks to the materialistic urge of the festive season? Is the sense of mystery linked with travellers from the east an idea which appeals to the current age (a bit of mysticism)? Does the symbolism of the gifts with their mixture of adoration and a hint of pain to come speak to our bittersweet life experiences?
I'm intrigued! Spellbound by the possibility that this tale which looks beyond Advent and beyond the birth itself to find true meaning. The card bearing the trite words 'Wise men still follow Jesus' almost broke the spell - (if nothing else, being pedantic they were following a star towards Jesus...) - somewhere here is a meaning to take us beyond the cheap soundbite. I look forward to getting a feel for how these images integrate into my scrapbook.

One final image combines all the 'religious' bits giving all the shepherds, angels and kings a good outing:

an odd feeling

 I always knew I would struggle to honour the challenge of writing a regular blog during my sabbatical. I have never been able to keep a regular diary and tend to reflect on events long after they have happened and usually such thoughts come in response to very different events. But as I head into the second of my three months of privileged time for reflection I try to sum up how I feel and fill out the space with images of some of the work I did during my short drawing course in Florence.

Taking account of my working title, we are of course now in the 'beyond' bit, Advent (the preparation time) has gone. We are now firmly in the liturgical season of Christmas - the waiting is over and we are called to live within the renewed reality of 'Immanuel - God is with us'.

Advent was fun and it was busy. I travelled, saw new places, met new people and experienced new things. Even did some drawing! Then I spent some time getting to know my sabbatical environment in Berwick upon Tweed (which by the way owes much to Italian architectural influence in respect of its street plan and walls, reflecting Lucca in Tuscany - only not as warm!), I renewed my love/hate relationship with DIY tasks in our flat - and of course had an immensely relaxed festive season. At the beginning of this I was worried about 'letting go' - but whether it was the busyness or the stimulation of new things, I didn't find myself over concerned about the things which normally dictate my life. It all felt unusual, out of routine, and just occasionally real things impinged - but not too much and they were of my choosing.

But it is beginning to feel different now. I miss many of the people I would normally have around me, I am beginning to wonder what is going on. What are they doing? Will I be able to fit back in in March? Are they glad I'm not there? Folk are being incredibly good at not contacting me and do appreciate that - but it does engender a sort of loneliness and feeling of being marginalised. I think it might be good for me in the end but just now it is odd. I have let go, now I need to resist any temptation to grab for security. I am not a paranoid, control freak - am I?

tragedy

I awoke this morning realising that I needed to post something on this blog. What follows is not what I expected to be writing about... Today I have been reminded of two tragedies - sadly one of them because of yet another event which seems to make no sense.
A post on Facebook asking people to remember the Lockerbie tragedy 26 years ago brought back a whole series of memories of the trauma support courses I organised as an airport chaplain. My co-organiser was an airport firefighter who back in 1988 was an RAF firefighter based near Carlisle. He was one of the first on the scene that fateful night in Lockerbie and offered participants in the course a vivid and graphic first hand account of that night - not least his description of the search of a row of houses in which he knew the sister of a colleague lived. She had not been at home that evening so there was one happy ending, but his first hand experience at the centre of such a tragedy brought a reality to many lessons of that course.
Then I heard about the tragedy of a bin wagon ploughing into pedestrians in Glasgow city centre. As I write this the details are still sketchy but as I read about what is known I am drawn to thoughts for the driver of the wagon. In 1998 two people died and several others injured when a bus ran out of control in Sunderland bus station. At the time I was chaplain to the bus company and the first I heard of the incident was a phone call from the control room. The next morning in the depot, while waiting for driver to finish interviews with police and his union reps I talked to his colleagues. They were in shock, the most telling comment; 'we can't believe it was G. we always dread getting stuck behind him because he is so steady, we know we will be running late'. Over the next couple of couple of years I got to know that driver very well and when the case came to trial he lived with us (for fear of retribution if he went home) and I accompanied him to court each day of very complex and sad case. No-one, including the trial Judge, ever got to the bottom of what happened. G. never drove on public roads again, though to their credit the much maligned company gave him a job moving buses on the night shift in the depot. Something happened, whether mechanical or human error we will never know, but my driver friend was a victim that day too.
On a very personal, sabbatical(!) level - I am trying to make sense of the news today, and also thinking about how these memories of trying to support folk in the middle of the shitiness of life (and I don't think I was always very good at it) contrast with my current role as a religious bureaucrat. (just saying!!)
What I am increasingly clear about - the message of Advent, God coming to dwell with us, is not a sickly sweet story, but a reminder that God suffers with us when life goes wrong (and celebrates with us when it goes better).

crossing the piazza

Writing a week ago I was exploring the idea of Advent in the midst of the simple and ordinary. Yesterday, I saw this work by Alberto Giacametti in

the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice. Titled 'Piazza', it is a small scale work. The curator’s interpretation suggests that Giacametti's characteristic elongated figures are positioned so that their perceived pathways across the piazza would not cross. This should not ‘be taken to indicate urban alienation, but simply the nature of a public place of intersecting passage’. I wondered though if those intersections could have any lasting effect?

Reflecting on the last week or so I have ‘intersected’ or crossed paths with all sorts of people and experiences. A week of art school was always meant to be the highlight, and it lived up to expectation. I was gently challenged and encouraged by Enrico, a sculptor by training who is passionate about correct perspective and sensitive tone  drawing. Daily exercises drawing carefully placed and lit wooden blocks and fruit demanded extreme concentration, as did the careful observation and representation of various sculptures and portraits. (My earlier observation about seeing too many sculptures in the galleries rather came home to roost!). The time was far too short but I take memories (and a tiny bit of skill!) from this encounter which has become part of me. Once he was happy that he had imparted some basic principles, Enrico was happier for a little more freedom in drawing from live models. (Lots of parallels to be drawn with other aspects of life….)

Significant too, were the encounters with other students, all of whom were there for more substantial periods, gap year students in the main, but making up a community which was both transient and stable. Transient in that it constantly welcomed and bid farewell to its members, the most regular topic of conversation was around, ‘when are you leaving?’ But, oddly stable too, reflected in common purpose and a sense of continuity however often the faces changed.

I was struck by how quickly bonds can form – something which was even more starkly evident in the cookery classes I took on a couple of evenings. Here over 3 hours learning some basic skills and then eating together it was striking how lives from Ukraine, Norway and South Africa intersected, learned about one another and then continued our very different journeys. All of these were easy, ordinary encounters taking place in unusual settings. I felt I was among strangers who however briefly became good friends.

Back to Giacametti – whilst the potential encounters represented by the cast figures would be fleeting, they would not be devoid of response. Any encounter, however fleeting changes something. We give something and take something as we intersect, in meeting, sharing and parting. The figures may be on different paths but their presence together means they will in some way have an influence on one another’s course.

on Advent eve

This evening, as I was walking back to my hotel just outside the historic centre of Florence (it's a hard life, but someone has to do it :) ) I came across a very ordinary looking church. I probably wouldn't have given it a second glance had it not been for the numerous teenagers sat on the steps. Those steps are obviously a regular meeting place and in the air you could sense all the joy and angst of teenage. I noticed lights on in the church and carefully picked my way through the kids to have a look through the glass doors. In fact the doors were open and folk inside were viewing Advent displays. I went in to look. From the simple purple drape  leading from the scriptures to the wonderful Nativity scene with it's rural Italian setting   the last few days began to make sense.

I found Rome very hard work - not just because I covered so much of it on foot – but because I was disappointed in most of the sights. That’s nothing new, I nearly always find myself underwhelmed by places that are reputed to be awesome. (even Machu Picchu failed to do it for me, so there is little hope).

I did however enjoy my visit to the Vatican Museum, just not the bits I was supposed to find exciting. I saw more marble busts and statues than ever I desired and will be glad never to see another (damn, I'm going to Greece soon - still they can't have any left can they, surely all theirs are in the Vatican! ) . Admittedly there was a good one by some guy, Michelsomething I think he was called   in the big church next door, but that was a bit of an exception.  All the way through

the museum on the long route which visited every nook and cranny there were enticing signs flagging up what was to come next and highlighting the ultimate destination - the Sistine Chapel. Inevitably the destination failed to impress me - at least in part because of the crowds and the incessant announcements not to take photos, but maybe because I was supposed to like it and so didn’t on principle.

However on the way through the museum I had lingered in two particular areas, both of which others seemed to be rushing by - one filled with artifacts from Bronze Age Italy - many domestic implements, some ceremonial items, a bed and a chair which fascinated me and a chariot (heavily rebuilt!). The other was the series of contemporary art galleries. In both places it was the simplicity and ordinariness of the exhibits which struck me. Given the many representations of Madonna and Child that adorn the walls, it was the Mattisse take which stopped me in my tracks. It is so simple, so clever  (and much bigger than I expected). 

My visit to the Uffizi this afternoon began with a moment of panic, the first space was full of marble statues. However I soon calmed down and a light began to dawn (note the good Advent imagery there!) as I looked at paintings from the c.15 the and c.16^th. The classical images of Madonna and Bambino, usually surrounded  by adoring shepherds or saints,  confused me at first with their references back to iconography – but as I began to appreciate them as images set against contemporary backgrounds and in places known by the artists, I appreciated their real effort  to bring to life the biblical narrative and relate it to the age.

And of course that’s all I want to do in the course of the next few weeks! So who are the contemporary saints and shepherds I can put into pictures?

And, where were the real signs of Advent at that church?. Inside in the beautiful displays or outside in the as yet unlived hopes and fears of the young folk outside?

 

An unexpected connection

 Yesterday I noted the likely connecting between places, people and eras that could result from my current project. An example soon came along. I remembered my dad had been in Rome at the end of WW2. My last, somewhat frustrating, sabbatical had been about trying to preserve his meticulously written diaries of military service. The task was never completed so I decided to dig them out again. I read a few things I hadn't seen before! At the end of the war he led a took a group from his camp outside Rome on a sightseeing adventure round the city. He describes in great detail all they saw but I was most intrigued to learn something he never spoke of - the tour culminated in an audience with the Pope. He noted this as a very special moment - pretty surprising from the man who railed against Catholicism (almost) throughout his life. Travel certainly broadens the mind! I shall feel a new connection with my last sabbatical and with a man who was perhaps a little more open minded than he ever dared admit.

I also his meal tickets for that day - wonder if they will still be valid?!

some random thoughts

I was worried about 'letting go' - that has so far proved a little easier than I expected, though I keep remembering things I intended to do and which somehow slipped through the net. I guess the world won't collapse and folk will understand.

I do wonder though if anyone has advice about how to put those things out of my mind? I realise a few of you reading this have been deeply influenced by a Buddhist approach to life - I would be really interested to know if you have any wisdom to share.

Briefly touching the Advent theme - I have so far spent too much time waiting (and I haven't even begun traveling yet!) - yesterday waiting for a plumber who didn't show and today the alarm service guy who thankfully has arrived as promised. A lesson in staying calm....

On the plus side I have already managed to spend time in my beloved Northumberland and used some of that to start reading a book about St Aidan. Against the backdrop of places I know and love it has offered me some challenge and inspiration for the next weeks. The author narrates the life of Aidan on Lindisfarne with references not only to the spread of the Celtic tradition of Christianity starting from Iona (last visited on a sabbatical 14 years ago) - but how it confronted the Christian tradition spreading from Rome (tomorrow's destination!). Then out of nowhere he inserted the story of my hero St Martin of Tours as one who inspired Aidan. All of a sudden the wealth of tradition, practice and the span of history hit me and I realised just how many connections I am going to make.

Which makes my next thought a little ironic - how do I disconnect from such a connected world? I thought I had logged out of or diverted most of my regular communication channels - only to discover that one device was still very much logged on to Facebook. I must admit I enjoyed a sneaky peak - but I am genuinely trying to avoid contacts with 'normal stuff'. Perhaps it is not possible and to be honest I don't want to become isolated but it is an interesting exercise nonetheless.

Then a surreal moment - I have just discovered my radio is broadcasting wall to wall Christmas songs - 'Smooth Xmas' is apparently back on air! The whole business of preparation for my sabbatical has skewed my sense of time and I cannot grasp how imminent the  festivities actually are - so found it really rather odd. But, I must say I am enjoying the music!

I am however determined to avoid Christmas carols - at least the traditional, sentimental ones - as much as I can. As years go by I find I have less and less patience with the sanitized version of the Incarnation story they portray. They stem from an interesting but dubious pseudo-historical portrayal. I am sure we can find a new song to sing which may not make us feel quite so warm and cosy but might just get us closer to a real understanding. Meanwhile bring on Slade, Lennon and Wizzard et al ... some sentimentality I can cope with :)

Back to Aidan - his story provokes many questions around recognizing and following opportunities that are laid before me. I hope there will be many in the next few weeks and suspect they may lead to big changes.

God ever before me
God protecting behind me
God strength on my right
God power on my left
God supporting beneath me
God uplifting above me
God in love enfolding me
God within me and about me
God with me always    (David Adam in 'Flame in my heart' St Aidan for today)

letting go

Time to 'let go'. One service to lead and one (unscheduled) meeting - and then ...  Emails and phone calls will be dealt with by others - meetings will happen and I won't be there to influence the course of debate, I won't be able to meddle - which is of course my favourite activity!

Letting it all go has been the hardest bit of preparation and I worry about the loose ends I have left - and probably worry even more that everything will be fine without me!

There is of course a real Advent theme here so perhaps it is right that I wrestle with it. The idea that God 'dwelt among us' as one of us only takes on meaning when we understand that God was in some way becoming vulnerable. I have always found the Jesus as 'fully human' bit of traditional Christian teaching easier to grasp than the 'fully divine' take on it.  Jesus faced the realities of life (and death) and could not be in control all of the time. I need to work through that thought.

As I was struggling to find a way of expressing all this, a friend posted the picture above on Facebook. It has given me the kick I need to stop worrying and get on and enjoy new discoveries.

I remembered too a bit of liturgy I used earlier in the year - slightly adapted - it sets me on my way. 

As Columba laid down his books and the security of the monastery

So I will try to lay aside what is past and look to the future.

As Aidan and Cuthbert let go and travelled hopefully on

So I let go hurt and pain and travel with hope

As Hilda changed direction and relinquished cherished plans

So I leave behind familiar patterns and take new steps into the unknown.

above the treeline

The other day I turned to a book I first read in my very early days of ordained ministry (so nearly a quarter of a century ago!). I found it hard going back then and only over time and many attempts to re-read it, have I begun to unearth its real riches. It is a book about a journey, a journey of the spirit, and perhaps only as I walk my own journey of searching can I really reach for its deepest insights. The book is called 'Above the Treeline' written by a Dutch theologian, who remarkably held teaching positions in both Protestant and Roman Catholic theological faculties. (That ability to grasp insight from across the spectrum may well be one of the subliminal messages of the book which keeps me hooked).

Reading it now I find that I can finally reach the end of the final chapter. The book takes the reader on an imaginary hike up a mountain. That hike starts in the hustle and bustle of the contemporary city with all its distractions and competing claims. As the walk begins there are moments of peace as the journey moves through lush meadows but then there is a disturbing period in the wooded foothills. Here it is easy to lose direction, to become confused, frightened, taunted by glimpses of light which offer the false hope of a way out. It is here that I have previously become stuck in my reading - perhaps too often feeling that it held too many truths.

As the journey goes on the writer describes the joy of breaking free from the darkness of the wood and seeing the brightness of the open sky, glimpsing the world laid out below and the starkly beautiful rockiness of the mountain stretching up beyond. But, here it is not easy going - there is danger, there are choices to be made without the benefit of familiar landmarks. 'Above the treeline we get into a harsher climate: it is cold there; sometimes there is mist and sometimes there are storms. Certainly there is a good deal of sun, and there are wide views...but we are unprotected there: the path is difficult and hard; we have to climb...There are no longer any houses where we can live safely; we have to live in tents.'

The last time I spent any significant time in such high territory was on my 40th birthday epic adventure, cycling the Alitplano high in the Andes. Barren, but beautiful landscapes and thin air (we reached nearly 4500m) captivated us and left us struggling for breath. Perhaps the most remarkable event happened each night as we camped by the side of the road and without fail a group of local people would gather near us, unasked, not speaking or really acknowledging us they stood guard over us all night and at dawn disappeared to their homes which we never saw. They could hardly have comprehended what we were about yet somehow picked up our sense of adventure and our vulnerability.

I am about to emerge above the treeline again - I shall once more appreciate those who quietly watch over me as I seek new perspectives. I feel hesitant and vulnerable - for too long I have been stuck in the wood - my life dominated by a complex diary, energy draining meetings and argument which seems always to lead further into the darkness rather than toward the grandeur of the mountain top, The journey through Advent and beyond
will force me to ask hard questions and seek new insights. I want it to change me and leave me with the courage never to enter the woods again. I know physically where the journey will take me (and there won't be any mountains involved except those I fly over!) but I am seeking more. Finally I sense the challenge and the opportunity, the freedom and breath above the treeline and I want to stay a while.