Living Wittily

"...they maintain the fabric of the world..." Valuing work and each worker is more than mere nostalgia

When I was 11 and 12 my brother and I lived in a railway carriage. The farm cottage was too small for a family of five, and the carriage was the outside supplementary house room. It had a wood fired stove (health and safety and risk assessments were still some way off), it stood a few yards from a burn which could be a gentle stream or a raging torrent, fed from the hills a mile or two behind us. The burn had trout that grew as long as 12-15 inches, and we often guddled for them in the deeper pools.

It was a lot of fun still being at primary school and having that kind of independent space. When the weather was wild the flues of the fire whistled, rain battered the windows and the felted roof, and the burn came up the three foot banks - only a couple of times overflowing. The railway carriage was one of the thousands cut from the rolling stock after the Beecham butchery of the railways in rural Scotland. It smelt of pine and paint, and on top of the stove you could make pancakes!

So a powerful wave of nostalgia swept through me when I came across this old carriage, sitting on moorland backed by sand dunes up at the Ythan nature reserve. It's still standing, but won't for many more years unless someone renovates and restores and makes it watertight. I hope they do. These are now historical artefacts, what's left of a way of life long gone and all but forgotten.

Looking at its dilapidated condition, you can still see the lines and the workmanship of a century ago. Joiners and engineers, upholsterers and welders collaborated in a joint project of skilled craftsmanship by tradesmen proud enough to take pride in their work. Progress is inevitable, but not inevitably benign for everyone affected by it. Work is an essential part of human community, an activity that brings dignity to the worker, and the self-respect of each person as a net contributor to society and to the common good. Such a high view of work is much less valued today, and that too brings its deficits in human fulfilment and community health.

Such thinking about work, labour and skill leads me back to one of my favourite passages, from Ecclesiasticus 38. It is a celebration and thanksgiving for the skills and creativity of various trades and crafts and arts, and their value in 'maintaining the fabric of the world.' And look out for the repeated phrase 'they set their heart on' - that is the clue to good workmanship. The worker embodies skill and energy focused to purpose. This piece of work matters, and so it matters that it is done well. 

²⁴ The wisdom of the scribe depends on the opportunity of leisure;
    only the one who has little business can become wise.
²⁵ How can one become wise who handles the plough,
    and who glories in the shaft of a goad,
who drives oxen and is occupied with their work,
    and whose talk is about bulls?
²⁶ He sets his heart on ploughing furrows,
    and he is careful about fodder for the heifers.
²⁷ So it is with every artisan and master artisan
    who labours by night as well as by day;
those who cut the signets of seals,
    each is diligent in making a great variety;
they set their heart on painting a lifelike image,
    and they are careful to finish their work.
²⁸ So it is with the smith, sitting by the anvil,
    intent on his iron-work;
the breath of the fire melts his flesh,
    and he struggles with the heat of the furnace;
the sound of the hammer deafens his ears,^[m]
    and his eyes are on the pattern of the object.
He sets his heart on finishing his handiwork,
    and he is careful to complete its decoration.
²⁹ So it is with the potter sitting at his work
    and turning the wheel with his feet;
he is always deeply concerned over his products,
    and he produces them in quantity.
³⁰ He moulds the clay with his arm
    and makes it pliable with his feet;
he sets his heart to finish the glazing,
    and he takes care in firing^[n] the kiln.

³¹ All these rely on their hands,
    and all are skilful in their own work.
³² Without them no city can be inhabited,
    and wherever they live, they will not go hungry.
Yet they are not sought out for the council of the people,
³³     nor do they attain eminence in the public assembly.
They do not sit in the judge’s seat,
    nor do they understand the decisions of the courts;
they cannot expound discipline or judgement,
    and they are not found among the rulers.
³⁴ But they maintain the fabric of the world,
    and their prayer is i the work of their hands. 

 

Looking for the gift of random loveliness

You need places where you can think. And when I say think, I don't always mean reasoning things out; I often mean a more desultory form of thinking. Like reflection, when you gaze inwardly and play with ideas, or take memories out to look at them, or ask ourselves how we are feeling. I was once playfully critiqued by an avid sermon listener for my (too) frequent use of the word 'reflect'. John thought a phrase like 'think about' was fine, whereas 'reflect' suggested something more abstract, maybe even verging on the pretentious. I could see what he meant, and I cut it back a bit and found other ways of inviting people to engage, ponder,and yes, think about. But I still like the notion of reflecting, both looking for illumination and gazing inwardly at the thoughts that might shed light.

So, you need places where you can think in that reflective, ruminative way that is open ended but nevertheless wants to explore possibilities, analyse how and why we feel what we do, or take time to listen to our heart. A walk alongside the waves on a beach is a necessary and recurring joy for me. A walk by the sea places me alongside rhythmic movement that, like a metronome, helps my inner world of thought and mood to regain and then sustain an inner rhythm less frantic, more attuned to the harmonies around and within, resetting the beat and timing of life.

Of course, reflection encourages introspection, which is no bad thing in itself. I have a fairly strong introspective strand, and a lifetime of reading, writing, and busy social engagement with people often means the tension between wanting to be alone and wanting to be with people. So the beach is a good place for such relief. Solitude is not loneliness, and spiritual writers have long distinguished between the two. In solitude there is time to listen to our life, and to become reacquainted with who we are becoming

When I walk the wave line I am often focused on the sand, and whatever the sea deposits there. I've learned to pay attention to shells, stones shaped by friction, wood worn smooth and reshaped, and often the happenstance arrangement of such fragments along the edges of the tide. To stop, look, see, gaze, even study this particular randomly placed artefact of the sea is an exercise in pondering the trivial, except that once you start looking and reflecting, something happens. A mind has noticed; an imagination stirs; a coalescence of thought, feeling and present circumstance give this previously unnoticed shell, a significance which may transcend that attended moment.

The photo is one such captured moment. A mussel shell contains sand, seawater and reflected sky. An accidental microcosm which left me with a deep sense of wonder at the casual beauty of something so transient. It provided a moment of gratitude and something hard to describe, but what I might call amazement. The shell had been home to a creature now gone, and was now a useless discard. Except that I saw it, admired its beauty, and felt a surge of gladness for the gift of such random loveliness. 

In a time of great sadness and slow recovery, I've found such immersion in the detail of life around me helps in the hard work of adjustment. They are gentle reminders of the everyday miracle of life, consciousness, and our ability to see and interpret the world. A discarded shell has the power to grant a sabbath from sorrow.