Living Wittily

Golf and human achievement - The courage and greatness of Seve Ballesteros

I don't play golf anymore. In truth, I never really played golf all that well. But years ago, for about three years, I played often, and with enthusiasm, and to pastoral purpose. It was in response to one of the most difficult pastoral situations I ever encountered. Offering to play golf with someone who became my friend, was a way of relieving the pressure and distress he and his family were going through living with a daughter dangerously ill with a long term eating disorder.

So we played golf - every week - regardless of weather. I'd never played before. My clubs came from a charity shop - I later sold them to an antique dealer! We played the municipal course for three years. All this came back to me yesterday in the frozen fog with visibility down to 50 metres or less. We were walking past Barshaw Golf Course. In the 1980's I played some of my most adventurous golf there - in freezing fog. We played with luminous yellow or orange golf balls. Nobody else was daft enough to play in fog so we had the course to ourselves. The Course Supervisor never charged us on such days, I suppose that was his way of helping the afflicted.

Life eventually worked out better for my golfing fellow sufferer. His daughter recovered. I had accompanied her and her family through several years of anguish and fear, and eventually conducted her wedding, sharing with my golf partner in crime, one of the best days in my pastoral life.

All this came back yesterday as we walked past Barshaw Golf Course, shrouded in fog. My flirting with a career in golf never had the chance to grow into a serious relationship. But it did make me start watching golf on TV. Which brings me to the reason for this post. Last night I watched the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Awards. As a Scot, year on year I wonder at some of the awards - coach of the year Fabio Capello? Eh? Well anyway.

For myself, the high point of the programme was all about golf, and human greatness. The award to Seve Ballesteros provided one of those rare but unforgettable moments of TV at its humanising best. Around the time I was hacking my way round Barshaw Park, 25 years ago, Severiano Ballesteros burst onto the world stage as the most charismatic and gifted golfer for a generation. He went on to win 5 majors, over 70 titles, captained the Ryder Cup to victory - and in the past year or two has confronted life-threatening illness with enormous courage and dignity. Watching him last night, speaking with humour and humanity, accompanied by his friend Jose Maria Olazabal, it was obvious to me that we were looking at a great man. A lifetime achievement award was so completely right. Decency, passion, vision, the gift of joy and of giving enjoyment, skill and that indefinable magic that makes a great player also a great human being - qualities professional sport needs today more than ever. Seve described his struggle with illness as the greatest fight of his life, his sixth major. On and off the course, his example has enriched so many - I wish him well, and am glad to have watched him play the game, of life as well as golf, as it should be played.

Recognising those smile moments as signs of sanity, sanctity or sagacity?

Recent reasons for smile and laughter

"Spooks" is back, plausible enough to be scary, implausible enough to enjoy.

A meal with two friends who are amongst the best conversationalists around

One of said friends recalled the job-interview question we all get asked - "Hobbies"

His description of the face of the high flying kingpin who asked, when he replied, "Tunisian Croquet and Gaelic singing".

A gift of another Poetry CD which will instill serenity, lift imagination and humanise thought during urban driving.

The face of a student at that precise moment when an important penny dropped with a life changing ping

The migrant redwings raiding the local rowan tree supermarkets as they stock up for Christmas and the long journey back to Scandinavia later

A Thornton's chocolate covered bar of marzipan delivered at the exact moment of need - though with me, when it's marzipan, each moment is exactly right

A friend who bought a new (not  cheap) umbrella in M&S on the windiest wettest day of the year, and described its brief life and messy death on Argyll Street less than a minute later.

The many hundredth affectionate dunt on the head from our 17 year old cat who uses the Glasgow kiss to focus the owner's attention on the absolute priority of the feline need for affection

A new book delivered - Oh come on! That had to be in any list of recent smile inducing events in my life!

Internet browsing versus love of books

I know. The post title is a set up. There aren't only two alternatives. But I suspect that out there most people opt for one or the other as the default route to information.

Of course surfing the web and reading a good book aren't mutually exclusive. But I still think Susan Hill's observation comes as a dunt in the ribs to those of us too easily lured along the labyrinthine paths of that endlessly seductive land called Worldwideweb.

"Too much internet usage fragments the brain and dissipates concentration so that after a while, one's ability to spend long, focused hours immersed in a single subject becomes blunted.

Information comes pre-digested in small pieces, one grazes on endless ready meals  and snacks of the mind, and the result is mental malnutrition." 

Susan Hill, Howards End is on the Landing, page 2.

The afterlife of a new idea

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The human mind once stretched by a new idea never goes back to its original dimensions. 

(Oliver Wendell Holmes)

The above one liner was on a picture in my friend's house. I read it late on Saturday night / Sunday morning after returning from a fancy dress birthday party at which I was judged the best dressed hippie - or clown. I have a photo to prove it, but not sure I want to put it on public display.....

A strange mixture of a day - of funerals and laughter

Yesterday was a strange mixture of a day. Made up of attending a funeral standing for over an hour in a packed church; being at the afternoon session of our Baptist Assembly; having a meal out with friends between Assembly sessions; and then the evening Assembly session through most of which I was by then exhausted.

At the funeral met people I hadn't seen for anywhere between 35 and 5 years - some of them thought I'd aged. Is it that obvious 35 years on.....? The funeral itself was for Linda. We've known Linda and Jim for, well, 35 years, nearly all our married life, and been friends all that time. The funeral service was an experience that even this experienced pastor found heartbreakingly comforting, emotionally overwhelming in a way that seems even the day after, both inexplicable and right.

You see Jim presented the eulogy for Linda, preceded by a Visual Tribute of family photographs showing Linda as she was from baby to this year. And in what Jim said, he ministered to those who were there sharing in his love and gratitude for the life of his wife and lifelong friend. Then this man who couldn't sing, told of how during Linda's illness he took voice coaching so he could sing at her funeral, the love song that had meant so much to them as a couple down the years and in these past months. Being their friends for all these years, knowing the two of them, and hearing a non singer singing so well in leading a congregation, is simply one of the most moving events I've ever shared. And this was no exercise in denial - we all knew the reality of what was lost, and along with the promise of comfort within that loss, the deep human bonds of recognition that lie at the heart of love and loss, joy and grief, life and death - and how in the best friendships, these are shared.

May Sarton the poet once warned against wasting life's deepest experiences by being so busy in life we move on without assimilating and understanding what they have done to us. So maybe sometime later, when all of this is assimilated, I'll want to write something more - and only with Jim's permission. For now I am simply humbled though not puzzled, by how the love of these two people was made so astonishingly evident and then given as a gift to Linda, and us.

And the rest of the day went by in a haze - except the moment at the evening Assembly Session when, sitting with my friend Catriona of Skinny Fair-Trade Latte fame, the hymn THESE ARE THE DAYS OF ELIJAH was announced.

That was a moment of clarifying mischief, electrifying accidental providence, belief-defying coincidence (or did I pre-arrange it - no honest, I didn't!!) Eye-contact with Catriona came dangerously near irreverent guffaw. Instead I sang it with triumphalist gusto! If you read this Catriona, you can explain the metaphysical implications of your least favourite Assembly hymn being chosen at your first Scottish Assembly.

A strange mixture of a day.................

Turning right, yellow boxes and another failed experiment in counting to ten.

Sitting in the car waiting to turn right at the yellow boxes.

Murky early morning drizzle makes visibility a bit of a challenge.

Car coming the other way stops and the driver waves me across. Courtesy & Invitation

I see a cyclist coming up the offside of his car and wait for him to pass.

The cyclist waves his acknowledgement and I wave back. Gratitude & Courtesy

At the same time the driver behind me starts leaning on the horn. Impatience & Anger

Four travellers meet at a busy intersection, three of them see each other.

The fourth can't see beyond the car that's in his way.

I'm glad God didn't answer my muttered prayer for the horn happy motorist.

Would have been far too painful.

But I hope God will answer mine -

that the God of mercy

will bring to maturity

that one fruit of the spirit

of which, after decades of practice,

and serial prayer marathons,

I still have a serious deficit.

Now which one is that?

"Conformitas Christi" and a "CHICKS" Concert.

Conformitas Christi!

In response to my post of a couple of weeks ago, Angela has sent me an unlooked for gift. Thanks Angela - your gift arrived on a day when I was at the kind of meeting which I call a suit meeting, and it gave me an option for later in the day! So, I'm now the proud owner of a sport shirt with the motto "Conformitas Christi!" embroidered in red! With a hoodie carrying the College Logo, and a sport shirt making theological statements of experiential fact, I'm wondering if clothes that either say our convictions explicitly or in code, or that say who we are by advertising, are forms of brand awareness promotion. Only thing is - you wear something that says you're a Christian, there is a question of being consistent with your clothes. Which was what Paul meant when he spoke of Christian believers, having put off their old garments and being clothed with Christ - I think, maybe, as one exegetical option...

Then last night Sheila and I went to a concert in our local church, sponsored by the Arkleston Singers. Local folk who make up an amateur singing group, help raise money for local and wider based charities through public concerts. This one was on behalf of Country Holidays for Inner City Kids (CHICKS). Children and young adults who are disadvantaged, have experienced abuse or neglect, or where parents are not able to cope with them at home, are provided with a week's holiday in Devon and Cornwall. The short video was a beautiful thing to watch and hear. Most of it was the young people themselves telling what their holiday meant - the first time a 14 year old had seen the sea and wanted to know where the deep end was; the young girl who had ridden a horse, the lad who had climbed the climbing wall twice, and come down twice without falling, he said. And they canoed, had water fights, long climbs up hills, and all in the company of trained adults and volunteer carers. One youngster, who had arrived frightened and withdrawn, pointing to the CHICKS logo on a carers shirt and saying it meant being safe. At the end of the holiday they get a personal photo portfolio of them and their friends, a lasting memory of how life can be, that can become hope giving and something to hang on to.

For years I worked within the children's hearing system in Scotland, and I understand the hugely affirming and renewing impact of supported fun, the gift of freedom and friendship somewhere else, for children whose ususal living place is heart breaking - for whatever reason. Sometimes God has to dunt us in the ribs to notice something significant is happening. Standing in the middle of the Arkleston Singers was someone I'd met for the first time 6 hours earlier at the meeting of suits in the University! She too had changed clothes in order to be part of the occasion - and we agreed that the evening was the more significant event, when measured by the criteria of the Kingdom of God in which the valuing and cherishing of children is a key competence - and a sign of Conformitas Christi!

As to the concert - well Mozart's 'Ave Verum', the spiritual 'When I go down to the river to pray', Abba's 'I have a dream', the more contemporary 'You lift me up', Howard Goodall's soul touching arrangement of 'Love Divine', John Rutter's 'Gaelic Benediction' - and Billy Joel, Lloyd Weber. The singing was polished and passionate, the accompanist more than icing on the cake.

Yesterday was one of those days when you live through it and don't realise how much living was in it till you think about it and even blog about it. Hard work verging on tedium in the morning and afternoon, and enjoyment verging on tears in the evening - and in both places folk trying to do their best to make the world work better. In different ways, for different reasons, but the seed often grows secretly, and the Kingdom mindset is to believe in the life potential of seeds. Whether one growing secretly, or countless scattered on rock, among thorns, hard worn paths and good soil - whenever and wherever, seeds grow. The birds, thorns, the trampling feet take their toll, but with life bursting force, seeds grow.

Crowded trains, scowling train drivers and exuberant passengers.

On the train going into Glasgow to meet Sheila around 4 o'clock Thursday.

Stop at Corkerhill and it seems the entire student cohort of Cardonald College want to get on this train.

Three loud talking and laughing female teenagers threw themselves into the seats opposite and beside me.

The one on my side dunted me as she landed, turned and smiled which I think was an apology.

In front of me on the table a glossy Now Magazine, and the girls across from me picked it up and looked at me. No I said, it isn't mine! One smiles, laughs at her pals, and then they flick through it using the various pictured celebs for slagging off target practice.

As we draw into Glasgow Central another train drew alongside and the driver with a permafix unsmile was within four feet of our window. All three girls waved and smiled and he looked across - but his mouth didn't flinch one millimetre towards that place where life might look half tolerable for him.

Which sent all three of them into near hysteria mixed with incredulity at their failure to coax him back to the world where it isn't all so grim.

Embarrassed by this virtuoso facial performance of negative emotional equity I muttered to the three of them, 'Apologies on behalf of my generation'. The one holding the magazine looked at me and said one word 'Awthatsawrightyourcool'

By the time I met Sheila at Queen Street I'd stopped floating, buoyed up by such proximity to fun, energy and young possibilities of life, grinning in defiant goodwill at those daft enough to make a career out of joylessness.

Oh, and while we're on the daft stuff. While waiting for Sheila's train to arrive, I noticed a woman eating chips while texting a friend, and managing both with considerable dexterity. Presumably, despite the fact that the phone keypad must have been getting a bit slippery......multi-tasking develops in ever stranger combinations, huh?

Run the race (against Usain Bolt) set before you

 

                                                                                                   

This is what sporting stars do - help our children dream dreams, celebrate life in the body with a laughing crowd, say yes to fun and friendship, and smile at the thought that given another 15 years this wee boy might be an Olympian - that's right, the gift of a dream.

Is this not the best sporting photo of the year so far - at least in the category of athletics and PR?

Sunset as a stressbuster on the M5 and M6 on a Friday

Augustine, Dante, Bunyan, Jonathan Edwards to name only four. They all used their descriptive powers to create unforgettable images of Hell. A whole genre of fiction describes various manifestations of Hell on Earth. But to my knowledge no one has written an entire novel, or a terrifying sermon, or a poetic masterpiece of epic proportions on one of the most vivid and diabolically convincing contemporary images of life rendered futile, of hope intentionally made sterile, of soul corroding and mind dissolving frustration, of that concatenation of circumstance and coincidence of misfortune, of that collaboration of evil purpose and collective ignoring of consequence, that is the M5 and M6, on a Friday afternoon, as it lies before the Scottish pilgrim journeying from Malvern to the celestial city of Glasgow -  334 miles away.

Because fellow travellers and pilgrims together, that's what I did yesterday from 3.00pm arriving home around 11.p.m. The exquisitely moderated anguish of travelling miles in first and second gear, viewing thousands of traffic cones - (are they self-replicating these things?!) -  is now enhanced by overhead messages informing you well ahead of time of the six mile tailback, the serial congestion at consecutive junctions. So you turn on Radio 2 for the travel update from Sally Travel and find that the roads around the M5 and M6 are likewise congested - beginning to sound like a motorway system with a serious chest infection and the antibiotics are not working. So no escape routes or less stressful diversions. It isn't any comfort to know that once you are past Birmingham and Machester there is a further 6 mile tailback in both directions south of Lancaster, result of an earlier accident and long term roadworks with closed lanes. And yes I did consider trains and planes but serial meetings in different parts of the country at different times of the week meant nothing came close to working.

Nevertheless. And I mean nevertheless in the biblical and theological sense of a truth that reconfigures reality, that offers an alternative worldview, a happening or utterance that, despite present circumstances, nevertheless construes existence in a new way and points towards hopefulness. So. Nevertheless. That eight hour journey had its moments of revelation. Somewhere between Birmingham and Manchester, across miles of hazy autumn dusk, spread one of the most glorious sunsets I've ever seen. For ten minutes liquid gold cooled across the clouds in a slowly worked filigree of light and shadow, woven in various shades and tones of yellow, orange, and red. This happened as I was listening to Brahms' violin concerto just as it closed the heart wrenching slow movement and the finale took off. It's hard to sit on the M5 and M6 fuming and thinking black diabolic thoughts about hobgoblins and foul fiends in the shape of traffic cones, when an impromptu performance of a Creation makeover, with musical accompaniment, is put on gratuitously for anyone prepared to see and recover a sense of perspective, and be grateful for life, beauty, love, Sheila, Victoria Plums (I bought a box at the M&S in the Services), Brahms, God, and a home to travel to - and even Sally on Radio 2 whose job is to read that litany of despair every half hour, to drivers, the modern pilgrims, and to do so every blessed day. Yes, every blessed day. Sunset is a stressbuster - not the best strapline for God's creative extravagance but worked for me.

The sunset photograph can be found at Trucking Photographs - where there are other sunsets captured along the motorway - hopefully taken when the trucks were stationary..... Thanks to them though, for the free use of their images.