St George and St Gabriel, Stockport

Canonisation isn’t something that happens to ordinary folk like you and me.  To become an official saint you have to go through lots of steps.  Firstly you have to be dead and other steps include having a miracle attributed to you.  So, how about becoming an unofficial saint?

Well, not so “unofficial”, it seems.  Many times in his letters Paul refers to the members of the Christian churches as “saints”.  Romans is an example: “To all God’s beloved in Rome, who are called to be saints,” he says in the opening lines.  Towards the end he says he’s going to Spain, but first, “I am going to Jerusalem with aid for the saints.”

As Christians it seems we are called to be saints.  Someone “holy”, perhaps – another word that we might not be too keen to apply to ourselves.  Perhaps because we have a vision of  a “holy Joe”, on the street, Bible in hand, shouting salvation to all the passers by.

In English the word “holy” is related to three other words: wholeness, health and healing.  So you could say that becoming a saint and growing in holiness is a healing journey.  A journey we can undertake every day.

Chris Dawson

I listened to a programme about the singer song-writer Joni Mitchell.  Joni was a folk singer, who came from Canada to America to find success.  The folk scene was very much alive in America, as it was here, during the 50s, 60s and early 70s. 

As I listened, I found myself humming, “Where have all the flowers gone?  Long time passing,”  lines I knew were from a folk song of that era – but which one? And then the lines, “When will you ever learn?  When will you ever learn?”  Not one of Joni Mitchell’s, as it turned out,  but an anti-war song by Pete Seeger.  Ironically, inspired by a Ukrainian folk song.

Anti war songs are no longer top of the charts – as far as I know.  Yet there is plenty of war about.  Either side justifying their actions.  Or, as the poet Seamus Heaney put it:

All throwing shapes, every one of them

Convinced he’s in the right, all of them glad

To repeat themselves and their every last mistake,

No matter what.

(Philoctetes – The Cure of Troy)

Jesus wept over Jerusalem, because they couldn’t see what was happening:  “Would that even today you knew the things that make for peace!” (Luke 19: 41-42).  No doubt he is weeping over Gaza, Haiti, Sudan, Ukraine…..

Chris Dawson

Don’t mix religion and politics.  Don’t talk politics or religion at the dinner table.  It will only cause a row. 

A little while back, MPs from the governing party objected to the Archbishop of Canterbury’s stance on the Rwanda Bill.  Though he is a member of the Upper House of Parliament, they saw his criticism as meddling in an area outside of his territory.

The Church of England has a part to play in the workings of the state.  It’s the Established Church.  Bishops sit in the House of Lords.  But does that mean it mustn’t rock the boat?

I sometimes wonder what those who object to bishops and priests speaking out, know about the heart of Christianity.  It’s easy to separate the Church, in all its guises – the wonderful architecture, the beautiful singing, the pomp and ceremony – from Jesus, the Jewish, radical rabbi.  From Jesus the revolutionary.  From Jesus’ teaching and example. 

Not to mention his clashes with the religious and political establishments.

Politics is about power and influence and relationships.  A perspective that says, “Everyone is of equal value” and “Love your neighbour as yourself,” might just be a force for good.

Chris Dawson

To begin, a very Zen story:

“Give me the best flower that you have,” said the man to the florist.

“Every flower here is the best,” replied the florist.

At these words, the man became enlightened.

It’s a delight and a surprise to turn the corner and see the daffodils, primroses and anemones beneath the trees in Bell’s Paddock.  Before them there were snowdrops and crocuses. All signs of Spring.  But which of them do you like best?

What about Ash Wednesday, Holy Week, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter Day?   Like the Spring flowers, they return each year in the liturgical round.  Each year a reminder of life and death.  But which is better?  Which do you prefer?

What would it be like to have “no preference”, just to be open to and to appreciate what each offers?  I think that is the path to enlightenment.  Enlightenment may surprise us  more than once and at any time – a new insight, a greater understanding, a deeper recognition.  It is a process, and, as T. S. Eliot says in Little Gidding:

“… the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.”

Chris Dawson

“Your Amazon Prime subscription needs renewing,” said the automated telephone message.  We don’t have Amazon Prime and never have.  “This is the fraud department at your bank.  Two payments have been made from your account…” Which bank is that? 

Someone trying to deceive and take advantage.  Relying on our trust.  Playing on our fears and insecurities and hiding behind their anonymity.  

When we lived in small communities we knew our neighbour.  We knew who to trust.  Connection and cohesion were essential for survival.  Shared values and expectations too. Of course it wasn’t perfect.  There were always those who pushed the boundaries and some stepped outside the community, or were pushed.

Stepping outside the community and breaking trust can happen in a moment, or it can be planned over time.  It can be in response to feeling hurt and rejected, an attempt to gain love and recognition, for personal gain, or even revenge.  Fear too, can play a part.  

We see it all in Holy Week, in Jesus’ tight knit community of disciples and the fickleness of the crowd.  In Pilate’s vacillations Judas’ betrayal, Peter’s denial.  Yes, these events were on a scale that had world shattering consequences. 

As did Jesus’ response: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Chris Dawson

The holy season of Ramadan has just begun for followers of Islam.  For Christians the  season of Lent is nearing its end as we build up to Holy Week.  Both Ramadan and Lent are best known as seasons of denial, for fasting and giving something up. 

Giving something up alters our rhythm and that offers us an opportunity.  An opportunity to do and see things differently.  Spiritually and practically.  To see the world and ourselves differently.  To examine our relationship with ourselves, with other people and with God. 

“It’s a bit late saying all this now, isn’t it?  Lent is nearly over and I don’t do Ramadan!”

One of the images of Lent that I carry is of the desert, of Lent being a dry time, with a kind of emptiness.  A desert full of scrub and nothing really alive – or so it seems.  Beneath the dry earth, awaiting the rain, are seeds and when that rain comes those seeds respond instantly and the desert blooms.

We can choose a period of Lent at anytime, or one may be thrust upon us.  We may find ourselves in a desert that seems dry and empty.  But when the rain comes, it blooms with new understanding.  A time of denial becomes a place of discovery.

Chris Dawson

“How did we do?”, the survey asks.  Well, he came to the door, handed me the parcel, took a photo.  I said, “thank you”.  He smiled and hurried off down the path to deliver the rest of his 132 parcels.

I was in New York for my godson’s wedding.  It was all very new and exciting and a little disorienting.  I climbed out of the yellow taxi, bag in hand, paid the fare, added a bit for a tip and strode towards the hotel entrance.  Immediately a bell boy grabbed my bag.  I didn’t need his help, but I was expected to accept it and, of course, most important, to tip him. 

I noticed in small print, at the bottom of the Mothering Sunday menu, a note which said that a discretionary 10% service charge would be added to the bill.  I would have preferred to express my thanks for by asking for 10% to be added to the bill.

Some people doing something as part of their paid work look as though they are serving you under sufferance.  You are a means to an end.  Others do it efficiently, but without any sense of connection.  No smile, no passing comment.  And sometimes there is someone who serves you with a relaxed kindness, with grace.  For that moment, they focus on you.  They give you their attention.  Attention is love.  And that is true service.

Chris Dawson

After the war, during the 1950s and 1960s the UK needed workers to rebuild Britain.  Irish workers came. But, as Paul McNamee, editor of the Big Issue  writes, “there was antipathy because they were the outsider, the other, easily cliched as boorish, threatening, rough men who would drink and fight and upset the social order.”

When our world is threatened, it’s easy to resort to stereotypes and cliché.  We pass judgement on the “ne’er do well” scrounging off the state.  We dismiss living in a tent in Cale Green Park as “a lifestyle choice”.  We ask, “Why can’t that Big Issue seller get a proper job?”  All the time judging from external appearances.  A conversation might give us a different perspective.

Rather than thinking “What’s wrong with you?”,  it might be more enlightening to ask, “What happened to you?”.  Just asking that question creates connection, empathy and understanding.  In turn that might lead to compassion – empathy in action.

So many of the Jesus stories are examples of responding compassionately to the outsider.  He was blamed for consorting with sinners and tax collectors.  His most well-known parable has an outsider – the Samaritan- as the “hero”.  His disciples were chosen not from the elite, but from down to earth working men.  Not a bad example to follow.

Chris Dawson

The Jews weren’t keen on the Samaritans in Jesus’ day.

Last Sunday we sang Cwm Rhondda.  That great Welsh hymn tune.  One often sung with great gusto by male voice choirs.  But it’s the first two lines of the words that struck me this time: “Guide me, O thou great Redeemer, pilgrim through this barren land.”

When I think of pilgrims and pilgrimages I first think of the great mix of people in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.  Each with a story to tell.  Other people will have fond memories of a personal pilgrimage, say to Iona, Santiago de Compostela, or the Holy Land.

Pilgrimages are journeys with a purpose, to a place we view to be sacred.  Yes, there is a destination, but the travel is equally important.  Indeed it could turn out to be more important.  We may discover more on the journey – about our relationship to ourselves, to others and to God – than at our destination.  Pilgrimage is a process.

We sometimes talk about Lent as a forty day journey.  We could treat it as a pilgrimage towards Easter.  Choosing the stories we read and listen to and the activities we take part in.  Devising our own route and allowing the insights to come. 

Chris Dawson

Yes Lent is a time of repentance, a time when we acknowledge our sinfulness and ask forgiveness for our sins.  It’s also traditionally a time when we “give up” something.  When we deny ourselves a pleasure – and take it up again when Lent has passed.

But how much do we want to focus on denial and on being “a miserable sinner”?  How useful is it?  After all we confess our sins every week and are re-assured that we are absolved of them.  Repentance – literally “re-thinking” – is about letting go and renewing ourselves.

The word Lent also refers to the lengthening of the days and, by implication, to Spring.  To changes in the light, to a time of growth and renewal.  So could we think of “observing” Lent rather than “keeping” it?  Making it a time to stand back a little.  To observe, to notice ourselves, our behaviours and our relationships.  To re-think and renew ourselves.

Growth, renewal and change  are challenging.  They raise questions and sometimes these questions don’t have easy answers.  As we proceed through Lent, could we be content just to let these questions arise and to be with them?  Answers often come from the most unexpected places and in the most unexpected ways.

“The first challenge of Lent is to open ourselves to life.”  Laurence Freeman, OSB.

Chris Dawson