Living Wittily

My very own personal advent miracle which I unreluctantly share with the whole wide world

One of Sheila's Christmas card photos of our garden - this was before the big precipitation of Saturday.

Now I'm not one for ad hoc Advent miracle stories in which we all find our own angels doing their thing on our personal behalf.

But here's what happened.

I spend most of Sunday morning digging our way out of the house and clearing the drive.

Then I do the same for our neighbour who isn't up to that kind of thing now.

Next up the hill through snow deep enough to come over the tops of my wellingtons, to clear the road for my car, and to remove the 9 inches of frosted snow from it.

Job done I collect the snow shovel, scraper, long handled brush (only way I can reach across the car roof being so diminutive myself)

Walking back down I'm greeted by Dempsey, the big daft dug from next door, lolloping around in snow carrying his blue ball.

Drops it at my feet and demands I throw it - which I do, and it disappears into a snow drift.

Dempsey hasn't a scooby doo where it went, and sits there waiting to see what this thick wee human is going to do about it.

In a reversal of roles, he sits there and I go and retrieve it. 

Then in for a hot tea and a Nick Nairn crumpet - at which point I look for my keys.

The bunch of keys, car, house, and every other locked premise I'm repsonsible for.

  Somewhere in the deep snow, between the car and the house (50 metres or so of 18 inch deep all but virgin snow) somewhere, I dropped the keys.

Easily done. I had gloves on - was sure I'd pocketed them - clearly had missed, and the keys fell soundlessly into the snow.

At which point the snow plough went up the road and I had visions of my keys bulldozed under tons of snow and probably now buried till Spring.

The day got worse - more snow, so heavy it wasn't wise to be out poking in snow looking for keys.

So bad the car struggling up the hill outside the door had two people with shovels and grit helping it up the road.

I make a list of who to phone and how to get new keys, spare keys - the whole thing an embarrassing amount of trouble for other people.

Doorbell rings.

A polite person in white, holds out to me a bunch of keys which he knows are mine.

An angel. An Advent messenger. A heavenly visitor, who has for once heard my self-centred petitionary prayer to have my blessed keys returned.

A miracle. A sign that I am favoured amongst men!

Well. Actually. A man with a shovel who had been digging away the snow to get the car up the hill and who had come across a bunch of keys.

One of them was the Honda car key - only one Honda owner nearby. Keys must be mine. Rational deduction, not miracle.

Aye right! Sometimes the miracle is the coincidence of circumstances - what are the chances of dropped keys, deep snow, snow plough, stranded car, man with shovel, clink of keys and Honda logo, all coming together to that point when my doorbell rang and I'm faced with a man smiling through a layer of snow handing me my keys, for which I had prayed with intermittent desperation, once I'd stopped cursing my own carelessness? Huh?

Anyway, the rest of the day was spent in the wondering afterglow as I pondered these things in my heart :))

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For those interested, I have posted a more traditional Advent reflection over at Hopeful Imagination.

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow.....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A mid afternoon blizzard courtesy of Siberia and the North Sea!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our patio table on Saturday....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And then on Sunday morning pictured from the warmth of the living room.

And then there's me, looking suitably satisfied but knowing that the next snowfall will mean a repeat exercise. Exercise being the operative word because this beats an exercise bike for fun, aerobics and general physical work.

Till the snow is finished, clearing it seems futile, but it's a way of trying to pretend we can deal with whatever the world throws at us. An exercise in futilityperhaps, human pride maybe, and male delusion certainly!

The Theological Excitement of Advent, and Hopeful Imagination

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given...." Advent is for me a time of theological excitement, a recurring reminder of the vastness and modesty, the miracle and ordinariness, the inexplicable mercy and unobtrusive normality, the indescribable gift and the unforgettable story, of what God was about when that child was born in Bethlehem. There are themes in the nativity stories that have fascinated and frightened, inspired praise and provoked puzzlement, giving many food for much thought while others could only swallow the stories with a pinch of salt. Virgin birth, divine promise, incarnation, divine intervention, angels, Christology, miracles and mysteries - not one of them a theological no-brainer.

The picture of the Madonna and Child is the focus of my first Advent blog post. It's from a school called the Master of the Embroidered Foliage. The early Renaissance artists knew a thing or two about theology as well as art - and they help us with the inexplicable mercy and the unobtrusive normality of the workings of the Advent God. You can read the post on this painting over at Hopeful Imagination. During Advent there will be a daily post at Hopeful Imagination - you may already have your Advent blog destinations arranged, but if you're looking for more, give it a try. 

A J Heschel - A face is a message

A human being has not only a body but also a face. A face cannot be grafted or interchanged. A face is a message, a face speaks, often unbeknown to the person. Is not the human face a living mixture of mystery and meaning? We are all able to see it, and are all able to describe it. Is it not a strange marvel that among so many hundreds of millions of faces, no two faces are alike? And that no face remains quite the same for more than an instant? The most exposed part of the body, it is the least describable, a synonym for an incarnation of uniqueness. Can we look at a face as if it were a commonplace?

A J Heschel, Who is Man? (Stanford University Press, 1965), pages 38-9. 

Isn't it wonderful irony that Heschel had one of the most unforgettable physiognomies of his generation? The best pictures of him show that same ironic but compassionate gaze on a world at once foolish and divinely loved. Anyway, my favourite Jewish author has been away too long from this blog.

Here he is again, compassionate and not ironic but eirenic, and he mentions the face as that universal means of recognition, by which we acknowledge each others' humanity. You see why I love this man?

The Psalmist's great joy is in proclaiming : "Truth and mercy have met together" ( Ps. 85:11 ). Yet so frequently faith and the lack of mercy enter a union, out of which bigotry is bom, the presumption that my faith, my motivation, is pure and holy, while the faith of those who differ in creed - even those in my own community - is impure and unholy. How can we be cured of bigotry, presumption, and the foolishness of believing that we have been triumphant while we have all been defeated ?

      Is it not clear that in spite of fundamental disagreements there is a convergence of some of our commitments, of some of our views, tasks we have in common, evils we must fight together, goals we share, a predicament afflicting us all ?

      On what basis do we people of different religious commitments meet one another ?

      First and foremost we meet as human beings who have so much in common : a heart, a face, a voice, the presence of a soul, fears, hope, the ability to trust, a capacity for compassion and understanding, the kinship of being human. My first task in every encounter is to comprehend the personhood of the human being I face, to sense the kinship of being human, solidarity of being.

From "No Religion is an Island". Read the whole lecture here

Salley Vickers and the joy of novels

I've just finished Salley Vickers' novel, Miss Garnet's Angel, and am about to read it again. Vickers lectures on literature and is a Jungian psychotherapist - she is also a writer who can do that rare thing, take religious, metaphysical and psychological themes and weave them into a narrative that helps us love and affirm our own humanity. The painting is by Vittore Carpaccio, and it features only briefly in the novel - it is however used on the cover. Once I've read the novel again I'll come back to this - but I'm happy to encounter a novelist I hadn't read before - and discover I have two friends for whom a Salley Vickers' novel is a favourite. 

Non vox, sed votum

Not the voice but the choice,

not the clarity but the charity,

not the harp but the heart,

that makes music in the ear of God.

Let your tongue reflect your thoughts,

and your thoughts be in tune with God.

16th century inscription in the church of San Damiano, Assisi,  

Vince Cable redefines the discourse of trust, trust me on this!

When is a pledge a promise? When is a promise binding? What is a promise worth if it can be unilaterally broken? Is a public pledge merely a statement of intent, or does it have moral force? The questions are important because on the trust of our promises, and the dependability of our words, depends the social fabric of a liberal democracy. Note, a member of which could be called a liberal democrat, which is a somewhat different creature from the members of the political party "Liberal Democrat".

Which raises intriguing and disturbing dilemmas. Because there is no doubt that the Liberal Democrat Party signed a pledge committing them to oppose a rise in student fees. And now Vince Cable, mouthpiece of the coalition on such matters, not only wants to renege on the pledge, promise and commitment, but wants to redefine the discourse of trust. You can read the whole sorry episode of linguistic gymnastics and ethical obfuscation here.  

What is particularly troubling is that Mr Cable seems to genuinely believe, or disingenuously say he believes, that breaking a promise does not reflect badly on the Party's trustworthiness. That can easily be tested. Ask how many students will now trust the Lib Dems. Are our politicians so inept at ethics that they do not recognise trustworthiness is the characteristic of those who have shown themselves worthy of trust? Are they so out of touch with their ethical side they don't understand that trust is a judgement conferred not a virtue claimed? So entirely otherworldly (intersting word for the culture of realpolitik and discourse revision) that they missed the rather critical point that a pledge, or a promise, or a commitment - he uses all three words synonymously - is only as trustworthy as the person who makes it proves to be?

There are problems for all of us when public discourse is so malleable to political justification that reshaping of truth to Party expediency can be carried out with such sincere conviction and palpable evasiveness. If to "honour" the commitments made within the coalition require the breaking of promises in order to maintain the coalition, then either uphold the promise at the price of coalition partnership, or admit that you broke the promise and can't be trusted in your election pledges. It really doesn't work any other way. The only thing worse than breaking a promise is to insist you did nothing wrong, would do it again, refuse to apologise and insist that you are trustworthy and are working hard to honour commitments.

I realise it may be simplistic, and is near culpable proof-texting - but Jesus did say "Let your yes be yes, and your no be no". Mind you, he was no great politician either - and he had little use for coalitions of self-interest.

Great little one, whose all-embracing birth Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heav’n to earth.

A large print of Botticelli's "Virgin Adoring the Christ Child" hangs above my desk. I bought it at the National Galleries in Edinburgh and I've been to see it three times this year. I've written about it before, and with Advent approaching I thought it was as valid an anticipation of Christmas as the switching on of lights events, the premature carol-fest in every shop with piped music, or the early intimations of panic that it's time to write Christmas cards to all those who might send me one:)

During Advent I'll post a few meditations on several of my favourite paintings of the Incarnation. Some of the finest theology I've ever read explores the mystery of the Word made flesh, the paradox of how "unto us a child is born" could ever be made congruent with "Emmanuel", God with us.

One of the significant deficits in the spiritual theology of Evangelicals is the loss of transcendent mystery, impatience with that which requires our silence rather than our words, suspicion of image, icon and symbol, and therefore an impoverished life of the imagination, an atrophy of the sense of wonder, and the loss of devotional nourishment sought beyond the usual preference for words over silence, ideas before image, and praise as experiential celebration of the personal. Or is that only me? 

The contrast between the restored Botticelli above, and the same painting before its recent restoration is, to put it in the wonderfully pompous language of the Victorian Sunday School teacher, "instructive". A layer of discoloured varnish accumulated over slow centuries, so tones the colour down that it lacks brightness and contrast. So the vivid colours and detailed symbolism is lost. A masterpiece now lacks vitality. The richly textured embroidery of the robe is hidden, the detailed beauty of the roses flattened, the variegated foliage reduced to blurred green, and the light and shade, so theologically precise as illumined night, merges into mere foreboding shadow.

The restored painting recovers all that was hidden, overlaid, and deadened by decades of dust. Advent is a time when my capacity for wonder, beauty and adoration is in desperate need of the same process of restoration, recovery and enjoyment. Richard Crashaw's long poem, "In the Holy Nativity of Our Lord", describes the Advent disposition of wonder, and is perhaps the best commentary on Botticelli's masterpiece. The words would not be out of place as a description of the Virgin's thoughts - nor of our own awakening to the wonder and miracle that is Advent. 

Welcome, all wonders in one sight!

       Eternity shut in a span;

Summer in winter; day in night;

       Heaven in earth, and God in man.

Great little one, whose all-embracing birth

Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heav’n to earth.

Hauerwas on friendship.

Stanley Hauerwas is as honest as the day is long in his theological memoir, Hannah's Child. The book is littered with insights that only make sense because they emerge from a life on which Hauerwas has reflected with honesty and reported with candour. And there are moments of delightful humanity, when Hauerwas contradicts the popular version of his personality as a truculent Texan of theological self-deprecating genius. Here's one of them:

I discovered the gift of friendship. Indeed I discovered I had a gift for friendship. I love and trust people. My love and trust may at times be unwise, but I prefer the risk. I am not stupid. I do not like fools or pretension. But I love interesting, complex and even difficult people. Thank God, they often love me.

I do not think that questions concerning the truth of Christian convictions can be isolated from what is necessary to sustain friendships that are truthful. I am not suggesting that Christians can be friends only with other Christians. Some of my most cherished friends are with non-Christians. Rather I am suggesting that if what it means to be a Christian is compelling and true, then such truthfulness will be manifest and tested through friendship.

See! Self deprecating genius. That is as good a description of what friendship is as I've come across, and one which says well where I am myself when it comes to friendliness as a disposition towards others that is life enriching.

The radical disconnect between managerial leadership and the graced community

What is the connection between leadership and management? And what then is the connection between leadership, management and grace? And finally what is the connection between leadership, management, grace and an authentic way of being the Body of Christ in the world?

My problem is one of resistance to and suspicion of theologically misleading discourse. Leadership and management are about efficiency, control, direction, achievement, development, intentional actions, presumed effectiveness and humanly contrived success. All of which is fine in the company, the business, the  commercial organisation, the corporate entities that make up most of contemporary social structures. But is the church that is the Body of Christ a corporate entity of the same order as all the others in the world, or even entirely of the same ontological sphere?

The church exists to embody the life and reality of the risen Lord Jesus, the Body of Christ. And as such, its organisational principles, its ethos and values, its convictions and actions, are likely to be qualititatively different, perhaps even threateningly alien, to the principles, ethos, values, convictions and values of other corporate bodies with no transcendent affiliation. Or is that just too radical? Is such a disconnect between the culture of managed commercial and political society and the culture of the church just too unreal? Are the basin and towel embarrassing relics, revered symbols, sacred ideas - or are they part of a story that is to be lived, practiced and perpetuated in the witness of the church? And is the table, set with bread and wine, the place for private, individualised devotional reverie and remembrance, or the place where we are reminded of that vast disconnect between power and brokenness, between management and mystery, between the lust to control and the passion of surrender, and that surrender which is the Passion.

So any discussion of church leadership which presupposes forms of management and hierarchical models of direction and authority, for me will always be judged by those radical symbols of disconnect - the basin, the towel, the table, and yes, the cross. Which brings me back to the awkward and disconcerting juxtaposition of the words management and grace. And to that table around which Christians gather to be reminded of how different from the pervasive cultural norms we are called to be. And to be recalled to a way of life, a form of being, a lifestyle of convictional practices that show why this disconnect, this radical difference is not only necessary, but is the benchmark of faithfulness to a Gospel of grace which enables and renews the mind, heals and restores the heart, beckons and summons the will, humbles and lifts the spirit, breaks down the barriers of our mistaken self-confidence, and remakes in us the capacity to trust, to love and to serve.

Grace and management presuppose a different order of relationships; leadership and grace only co-exist in Christian discourse and practice when acts of service, not expressions of authority and power, bear witness to that example that was given at the heart of the Christian story, and is told out around the Christ-given table. At that place, the Christian table, the radical disconnect between the styles and activities of managerial leadership and the lived practices of the Body of Christ as a graced community are most visible, and there witness is borne to the way of Jesus.

And if you ask what that means in practice - I'm sorry the specifics will only arise in each of our lives when we make those choices that mean for us what it meant for Jesus who laid aside the garments of status and took the basin and the towel; and when we learn what it means in our own living, in this particular relationship now, to not count our own status a thing to be clung to; and when grace as gift, as being weak yet strong, as being generously given thus a generous giver, as not looking to our own interests, when grace not our own overriding intentionality, takes of our not much, and multiplies it in blessing to others. Because that's what God is like.