Do people really change?

I’d never been interested in religion. I always saw the church as the bag lady of spirituality, wheeling around a load of old tat for no obvious reason. I preferred a large joint, an available woman or the rush of a career that aimed for the top.
I began in broadcasting, working alongside the young Turks of the 70s such as Kate Adie and Jennie Murray at the BBC in Bristol. But when I found myself lacking in the necessary talent to really make it big, I switched my attention to the dark arts of advertising (more smoke and mirrors to hide behind than in broadcasting), and ended up at Saatchi and Saatchi in the late 1970s.
My long term goals included a Bentley Continental, a large property in the sun, and enough money to use whenever I couldn’t get no satisfaction.
So it is with some surprise that I find myself 30 years later living in a small vicarage in Norfolk working as a vicar with a wife and two young children. I have less money now that at any time in my life, and yet I have never felt richer.
Do people really change? It is a question that still needs a clear answer. But in my case I can see a definite before and after. Before in my flat in Notting Hill Gate, at the Carnival with a party on the balcony overlooking the police barracks in the school below; joints all over the place, the stereo blaring out ‘Let it be’ in the vain hope that we could lessen any potential for violence.
Today making marmalade, while the children plant sunflowers in the garden, ready to show at the Harvest Festival Service.
Where did it all go right?
Well, of course, I had a conversion. First the obligatory trip to the Himalayas, then the Damascus road and ‘seeing the light’ (you really do see light actually!), and finally the dreadful realisation that I was becoming a Christian (a crushing blow to my self image and having the same effect as the bubonic plague on my friends).
Goodbye advertising (in spite of Tim Bell’s attempts to appeal to my sanity), hello Jesus.
Do I regret it? Not a moment of it. Someone the other day accused me of being content. And I had to own up to it. Gone was the ravenous black hole of need that consumed anything in its wake: drugs, drink, women, cars, music, shopping, holidays, and acclaim. Anything that promised to satisfy, but never did. And in the place of ‘getting what you want’, was ‘wanting what you get’.
Albert Einstein was once asked “What is the most important question you can ask of life?” and he answered ,“The most important question you could ask would be “Is the universe a friendly place or not?” Being able to answer ‘yes’ to that question changes everything. You are no longer fighting life, you are working with it. You may have various problems and issues, but if the universe is a friendly place and you cooperate with it, then what was previously dysfunctional becomes ordered.
A Buddhist friend once told me that the purpose of practicing Buddhism was to live life more skilfully. Somehow I had stumbled upon a way of doing that – God knows how.
When you accept that the circumstances of your life are in some way the means you have for transforming yourself, rather than something you have to fight against, everything becomes a lot easier.
It didn’t all happen at once, but gradually I noticed how I was less driven, and appreciated what came my way more. True, I lost most of my old friends and ran out of money, but I gradually began to recover my love of life. I was happier with less.
Accepted as a priest in the Church of England I went to train at Durham University. Finding myself slightly pissed at a Fresher’s fair at the age of 40 was very liberating. I joined ‘dramsoc’, acted in Romeo and Juliet, began reading the Guardian in Cafés and was elected President of the college. It was as if I was starting adult life over again and I was being given a second shot at it.
I met my wife in my first parish and married after 46 years of being single (Kingsley Amis once said the male libido was like being chained to a lunatic for 50 years). I have never been happier.
I do experience being a changed person. Deep down I am of course the same, but it is the way I have learnt to negotiate my way through life that has changed.
Someone once said that after 30 a man has nothing to learn from success, but everything to learn from failure. I think I know what they mean now.

First book launch for ‘Developing Consciousness’.

I was pretty nervous beforehand – not quite knowing what to expect, or how to approach it.
Arrived mob-handed with wife, mother, sister in law and two children (anything to make up the numbers!).
The event was at the Christian Resource Centre in Norwich. They kindly provided wine, juice and crisps (most of them ‘hoovered up’ by my children, aged 5 and 7).
To begin with it’s like throwing a party and wondering if anyone will turn up. All those books spread out waiting to be bought, and the staff hoping that they have not laid it all on just for the author’s family.
But no, people began arriving at about 6.45 and it sort of turned into a drinks party with me rushing about trying to chat while keeping one eye on the door to make sure I welcomed any new arrivals.
By 7.15 there were about 70 people there (phew, thank you for all of you that came) and I got up to speak.
I kept it to 10 minutes with a couple of readings, and then left the stage while I was still ahead.
It was weird signing the books. I wasn’t quite sure when to just sign my name, and when to put a message in it. Still don’t know if I got it right.
But people were really kind, and I think we sold between 40 and 50 books.
It all ended at about 8.30, then it was home for large drink.
It is difficult to gauge how well it is going down as no one has read it yet. It is that blissful time between the launch and the reviews. Then people start telling you what they really think!
So it’s on to Waterstone’s next Tuesday for the second Norwich Launch!

Death? No Thanks

Death and Taxes, the only two things in life that are certain.
One you can avoid, the other you can’t.
We are all getting older every minute.
And nowadays we are being asked to think more about our pensions, the care that we will have in our old age, and even where we would prefer to die.
But we still do not think too much about our own deaths.
Most of us prefer not to dwell too deeply on the subject.
Apart from not wanting a horrible death, we tend to shove it to the back of the mind.
To begin with we think we will live forever. We have our parents and grandparents to go before us.
Then it is just our parents.
And when they go, we really begin to feel that we are next.
Our mortality becomes very apparent.
We realise that more people are dying around us. We become sensitive to that ache or pain, that mole which seems to be itching – could it be C….?
And so the reality of death begins to dawn. It is no longer ‘way over yonder’, but merely ‘a way off’.
But, however old we get, we rarely make our peace with it.
We still do not want to talk about it, think of our funeral, or plan the details. And if we ever do mention it to others, they quickly move us on – “don’t be morbid… you’ve got years yet”.
Yet, like birth, death is an integral part of life.
You cannot live without dying. It is one of the two bookends of life. And to fully live you have to be prepared to die.
To be prepared for death. When we say that, we generally think of “getting our affairs in order “– wills, funeral, and the mental attitude to actually dying.
But I think there is a more vital stage than that.
During our lives we should carry our deaths around with us.
To be perfectly alive and in the moment, we have to live with the fact that we are going to die.
It is a cliché that we should live every moment as if it were our last, but I am suggesting that we should live every moment in the knowledge that we are going to die.
Not to do so is like playing a football match and thinking that there is no end to the game, whereas in actuality you’ve only got 90 minutes.
That time constraint creates a focus for action.
In life we think we’ve got ‘forever’ (when we are young), or ‘quite a time’ (when we are middle aged), or ‘not quite yet’ (when we are old).
But death is a ‘now’ thing. We are to embrace the possibility of death. To know what it feels like, to reach for it.
We should get to know our death; know how we feel about it; consider its possibility daily; so that when it comes we can say “Welcome friend, you are a part of my life and I have prepared myself for your coming”.
For to welcome death daily is to live in a right relationship with life.
It enables us to treasure what we have, and not to take it for granted. To make correct decisions based upon the idea that what we are deciding is within a finite structure, not an infinity of possibilities.
It also makes us consider the darkness in death, which makes the darkness in life less dark.
To live with death is not to forsake life; it is to embrace life fully.
We cannot fully live unless we are prepared to fully die.
As Shakespeare put it:
“Be absolute for death; either death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.”

I do not 'Enjoy!'

Why is it that I want to scream every time a waiter puts down my food and says ‘Enjoy!’.
There is nothing outwardly wrong with it, but I find my insides curdle whenever someone says it to me. I think it is the assumption that they are claiming authorship of the experience I am about to have. No! It’s my experience, nothing to do with you!
There are certain words and phrases that we seem to instinctively hate, for one reason or another.
I also hate the word ‘devastated’.
“My hamster died and I was completely devastated.”
“I found out that he was going out with someone else – I was devastated”.
It is such an over-used word that seems to be used out of proportion to the actual meaning. Hiroshima was devastated. The origin is de-vestare to lay waste.
Another one is ‘Hello!’ (pronounce: hell-oh-oh with the intonation going up on the first oh) in the sense of ‘You think I like you? Well ‘hell-oh-oh! Wake up and smell the coffee. You are completely deluded'.
Again it is the assumption that I hate, that I am in some way insane, and not getting the point that I find so insulting.
Hey Ho – getting older makes you crankier!
Any words or phrases that you hate?

What in heaven's name is The Trinity?

Last Sunday was Trinity Sunday. Herewith a go as to what it all means.

(Remember, The willingness to be wrong is all!)

Thomas Aquinas put forward the idea that God is one substance that has three relationships, but that the relationships constitute the very nature of the substance.
This view of the Trinity suggests that essence of Salvation (or becoming ultimately safe and fulfilled) is not based on belief, but on relationship.
Salvation comes from our relationship with God.
Our task is not to literally ‘make disciples of all people’, but really to be in relationship with all people.
The power (God) is in the relationship.
In quantum physics, more and more it is the relationship between particles that is interesting.
God is therefore not something that we can understand with our minds, but know by being a part of a relationship.
Salvation is that readiness, that capacity that willingness to stay in that relationship with God.

Well that's what I thought on Sunday anyway!

Going no-where, and liking it.

Just back from a few days at a monastery near Birmingham (Glasshampton).
How amazing it is to be somewhere with no agendas.
Nothing to get done, no-one chasing you for anything (no kids - I hope they are not reading this!) no phones ringing, no-one knocking at the door.
It really shows what a different experience it is just to 'be' for the sake of it.
So much of our lives are spent chasing our tails; and when we look back - for what?
We always seem to be pretty much at the same place as when we started:
Born naked, die naked - but how do you spend the time in between, that's the question!
Ended up at 'The best tea rooms in the UK' (see www.witleytearooms.co.uk) after a 3 hour walk - bliss.
Except that there was also a three hour walk back.
Still, I got no-where and really enjoyed doing it

The Sound of Silence

I surround myself with noise:
Music, the radio, television, children, chatter, and appliances.
And when there is no noise, I create my own; in my head or out loud.
I feel comfortable with noise.
It reassures me that all is OK in the world. That normal service has been resumed.
That things are going on as they should.
That I am alright with the world, and the world is alright with me.
Noise is the modern comfort blanket: Muzak, iPods, phones – reassurance that we are still living and that the world wants our attention.
But it’s all on the surface and, as with the proverb about the swimming pool, all the noise comes from the shallow end.
When we hear silence it is deep, profound, and life changing.
When we are open to silence we are open to that depth, to the possibility of our lives being changed.
But we do this so rarely.
We get up to the noise of the alarm, we turn the radio on, we clatter about, we exchange inanities with friends and family, we go to work with noise, we work with noise around us, and we go home to sit in front of noise, until we go to bed, where the noise in our heads keeps us awake.
And I am not much better with people.
The worst thing that can happen is for the conversation to dry up and leave us with an awkward silence – meaning a silence that causes us to feel awkward things. So we say something to cover up the awkwardness, to make it go away.
In fact we often shape the way we converse to avoid those silences. I find that my whole relationship with some people is built around keeping the conversation going. Filling the gaps, entertaining the person I am with, rather than letting us both be.
And, of course, there is a complementary position with the other person who tacitly allows you to ‘make the running’, while they just concentrate on getting the ball back over the net – for you to hit it again.
The sound of silence is the sound of the universe speaking to us.
It is more profound, more meaningful, more nourishing than anything that anyone could say, and yet we often do all we can to avoid it.
It brings peace, it brings harmony, and it brings understanding.
The problem is that it also makes us feel.
We are forced to feel what’s going on in our bodies, and what’s going on around us. And because that feeling involves an element of pain, we try to push it away.
However, that feeling, that pain, is what ultimately heals us.
It tends our wounds, and it brings us to wholeness.
Silence between people brings understanding, it allows love to grow, and it fosters intimacy.
Yet we avoid it.
We avoid silence at the cost of our health, of our joy, and of our ultimate happiness.
For it is the silence of the Eternal Nature that brings into contact with who we really are.
In it, we can hear that ‘still small voice’ which speaks to us in our hearts and which leads us home.
And we continue to wonder why we feel lost.
Silence is the most under-rated and under-used free resource that is available to all.
Each of us could seek to experience it more, could seek to practice it more.
To do so would make us all richer.
What is the sound of silence? It is like the sound of one hand clapping.
To listen for it is to hear it.