I’m reading a book that has been talked and raved a lot about by Christians in the past year or so: ‘the shack’ by William P Young. It’s very readable and offers fresh revelatory perspectives on God, especially the persons of the trinity and the relationship between them, and on some of the riches of the life of faith; but as fiction and writing I’d say it’s not great. There’s too much tell and not enough show, so that many of the depictions, especially of Jesus relating to Mack, are saccharine, a bit cringey, cheesy, and leave me cold.
I’m struck by the contrast with the powerful emotional effect of the last half hour especially of the recent bbc ’emma’. now jane austen cd be considered a bit girly, but getting past the frocks, bonnets and other period frippery, I have to say, I was impressed, and I’m interested how the story achieved its effect. The crunch comes when emma learns that her less sharp-witted friend harriet has feelings for the gallant and principled mr knightley - life long friend of emma - and when she’s given reason to believe the feeling may be mutual. The threat reveals to her her own love of knightly, and she laments that she’s been so busy looking after other people’s hearts that she’s neglected her own. The girl who has up to now been rather snobbish and feels immune to the currents of love ordinary flesh is heir to, is suddenly vulnerable, her heart exposed. She had taken a significant step toward humility in her penitent response to knightley’s rebuke over her treatment of miss bates, and now her journey is completed. So we as the audience has moved from dislike to sympathy - our heart goes out to her, and the stage is set for the happy resolution.
Anyway that’s my lit crit over for one day. I studied this one at uni, that’s my excuse.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Thursday, 29 October 2009
the big move
Like buses: no post for two months, and then suddenly two on one day. I’ve just been up at my parents’ old house in bridge of weir, near Glasgow. They finally moved south to lymington near Southampton today, after nearly 27 years at The Laurels in BOW. A father and son team swept through the house like a force of nature, driving us on to clear stuff as fast as possible from shelves and cupboards. Mother was somewhat flabbergasted how much stuff there was in all kinds of nooks and crannies.
I wonder what they made of us? In churning through all the stuff, they quite possibly picked up that we’re a ‘religious’ family. I’m struck by the contrast, between their ruthless practicality and efficiency, and the sheer impracticality, inefficiency, apparent intangibility of the ‘religious way’ as it CAN so easily be lived. Strikes me it’s so easy to make religion a fantasy land, a comfort blanket. To some extent I feel I lived it like this a lot in the past. You don’t feel any kind of ‘practical pressure’ from God - that comes from other people and the circumstances of life. But Christianity could lay claim to being a very practical faith, and Jesus was a man of sweat and blood and tears. How do I work out my faith so it engages, is relevant to, has purchase with people who are by nature ruthlessly practical?
I wonder what they made of us? In churning through all the stuff, they quite possibly picked up that we’re a ‘religious’ family. I’m struck by the contrast, between their ruthless practicality and efficiency, and the sheer impracticality, inefficiency, apparent intangibility of the ‘religious way’ as it CAN so easily be lived. Strikes me it’s so easy to make religion a fantasy land, a comfort blanket. To some extent I feel I lived it like this a lot in the past. You don’t feel any kind of ‘practical pressure’ from God - that comes from other people and the circumstances of life. But Christianity could lay claim to being a very practical faith, and Jesus was a man of sweat and blood and tears. How do I work out my faith so it engages, is relevant to, has purchase with people who are by nature ruthlessly practical?
alone in the wild
i wrote this a month ago but then my laptop broke down, so here it finally is...
I recently watched the channel 4 three parter, ‘alone in the wild’, following the experiences of a scot called ed wardle who was (of his own volition) deposited in the Yukon wilderness in Canada and left to fend for, and film, himself. Have to admit I was hooked from the start. Apart from anything else, he sounded intriguingly like a friend from Helens burgh who’s currently in New Zealand. I’d seen another solo tv explorer Benedict Allen wandering around Mongolia with a camera attached to his body with a similarly intriguing contraption, in ‘edge of blue heaven’ a few years ago. Now my sister and her partner who’s a mountain leader were of the opinion that this guy ed might have enjoyed the experience rather more if he’d had a companion, and they of course have a point; as it was he spent a lot of time feeling hungry, afraid (of bears), lonely and generally miserable. But on the other hand, his condition of aloneness, the vulnerability that engendered and the sense of watching a human being in an extraordinary situation being pushed to his psychological limits, for me made a very compelling programme. In the end, he gave the impression of being subject to an experiment into profound aspects of the human condition (not to put it too grandly!). One friend has commented that he cried too much, and he was indeed pretty distraught by the last episode. All I would say is, how would any of us be feeling after forty plus days on our own in the wilderness! (sorry racheJ). it’s funny how different things move us or leave us cold (or irritated). There’s plenty of emotional stuff in tv and films that I find pretty saccharine, but I’m not ashamed to say I actually really felt for this bloke in his distress! Witnessing a person undergoing perhaps the worst kind of emotional/psychological trial - prolonged solitude - for real, no acting. Solitary confinement is after all used as a form of torture.
But of course it’s hardly news that we need people. What left me pondering more was his comment about the wild itself, how he came to feel it was indifferent to his needs and suffering, it was just there. Interesting how his perception of it was affected starkly by whether he was well-fed or hungry (the latter most of the time). With food in his belly, he could see its utter beauty; famished and deteriorating, he saw it as ugly and hostile. This gave me a fresh perspective on nature, its relationship to God and man. In its lone raw ferocity and grandeur, it can feel like an enemy, yet in the religious view it is considered to be the creation of a being who cares deeply and tenderly for humanity. It’s not easy to reconcile these perspectives on God.. and yet could not a proper pondering of them lead to a richer, synthesised and ultimately more satisfying view of God? Quite possibly methinks…
I recently watched the channel 4 three parter, ‘alone in the wild’, following the experiences of a scot called ed wardle who was (of his own volition) deposited in the Yukon wilderness in Canada and left to fend for, and film, himself. Have to admit I was hooked from the start. Apart from anything else, he sounded intriguingly like a friend from Helens burgh who’s currently in New Zealand. I’d seen another solo tv explorer Benedict Allen wandering around Mongolia with a camera attached to his body with a similarly intriguing contraption, in ‘edge of blue heaven’ a few years ago. Now my sister and her partner who’s a mountain leader were of the opinion that this guy ed might have enjoyed the experience rather more if he’d had a companion, and they of course have a point; as it was he spent a lot of time feeling hungry, afraid (of bears), lonely and generally miserable. But on the other hand, his condition of aloneness, the vulnerability that engendered and the sense of watching a human being in an extraordinary situation being pushed to his psychological limits, for me made a very compelling programme. In the end, he gave the impression of being subject to an experiment into profound aspects of the human condition (not to put it too grandly!). One friend has commented that he cried too much, and he was indeed pretty distraught by the last episode. All I would say is, how would any of us be feeling after forty plus days on our own in the wilderness! (sorry racheJ). it’s funny how different things move us or leave us cold (or irritated). There’s plenty of emotional stuff in tv and films that I find pretty saccharine, but I’m not ashamed to say I actually really felt for this bloke in his distress! Witnessing a person undergoing perhaps the worst kind of emotional/psychological trial - prolonged solitude - for real, no acting. Solitary confinement is after all used as a form of torture.
But of course it’s hardly news that we need people. What left me pondering more was his comment about the wild itself, how he came to feel it was indifferent to his needs and suffering, it was just there. Interesting how his perception of it was affected starkly by whether he was well-fed or hungry (the latter most of the time). With food in his belly, he could see its utter beauty; famished and deteriorating, he saw it as ugly and hostile. This gave me a fresh perspective on nature, its relationship to God and man. In its lone raw ferocity and grandeur, it can feel like an enemy, yet in the religious view it is considered to be the creation of a being who cares deeply and tenderly for humanity. It’s not easy to reconcile these perspectives on God.. and yet could not a proper pondering of them lead to a richer, synthesised and ultimately more satisfying view of God? Quite possibly methinks…
Saturday, 17 October 2009
halloween party
radio script- revised
FX: halloween party atmosphere
A: What is it about Halloween that brings out the strange human urge to look like a complete freak?
B: What ya talking about?
A: Well just look at her – big nose, wart - I take it she’s a witch. I mean, if you're gonna turn up as a woman with supernatural powers, why not go for the hot pants and the bullet deflecting bracelets? She just looks like an extra from the Addams family.
C: D’you mind? That’s my girlfriend.
B: Lighten up mate. It's just a bit of fun.
A: And what’s THAT? Looks like it's come back from the dead – and what’s it eating?
C: That’s my girlfriend!
B: It's a zombie y’thicko.
A: Ooh, scary. But they’re not real though are they.
B: No. Hang on though. Supernatural power? Coming back from the dead? Sounds a bit like that Jesus bloke dun’it?
A: Yeah. An’ he WHA real.
FX: halloween party atmosphere
A: What is it about Halloween that brings out the strange human urge to look like a complete freak?
B: What ya talking about?
A: Well just look at her – big nose, wart - I take it she’s a witch. I mean, if you're gonna turn up as a woman with supernatural powers, why not go for the hot pants and the bullet deflecting bracelets? She just looks like an extra from the Addams family.
C: D’you mind? That’s my girlfriend.
B: Lighten up mate. It's just a bit of fun.
A: And what’s THAT? Looks like it's come back from the dead – and what’s it eating?
C: That’s my girlfriend!
B: It's a zombie y’thicko.
A: Ooh, scary. But they’re not real though are they.
B: No. Hang on though. Supernatural power? Coming back from the dead? Sounds a bit like that Jesus bloke dun’it?
A: Yeah. An’ he WHA real.
Monday, 10 August 2009
Something for the summer
A couple of radio thoughts in the pipeline for august...
BARBEQUE SUMMER
Now last time I checked, we were supposed to be in for a barbeque summer. I had the flowery shorts, the sausages ready, everything. So what happened? Looks like it got rained off. Can you rely on anything these days? Well hang on, I just read something about a steadfast love that lasts forever. Wasn’t talking about the missus. Or the dog. Or my relationship with Facebook. It was about the love of God. Solid. Strong. Reliable. Like my new barbeque set. I think. I haven’t had a chance to try it out yet.
music bed: always take the weather with you- crowded house
CONNECTED
While we’re all a bit strapped for cash, we’re happy to do without some things, like nights out, and the trip to Barbados. But we don’t want to miss out on stuff that helps us stay in touch, like the mobile phone and black berry. We like to be connected. Some people are looking for a spiritual connection as well. Exciting to think the feeling could be mutual – that God might just be looking for us. King of the universe, just a prayer away. 24/7, waiting to hear from you, and from me. For free. (pause). You won’t get that from your average network provider.
music bed: valerie- steve winwood, or connected- stereo mc's
BARBEQUE SUMMER
Now last time I checked, we were supposed to be in for a barbeque summer. I had the flowery shorts, the sausages ready, everything. So what happened? Looks like it got rained off. Can you rely on anything these days? Well hang on, I just read something about a steadfast love that lasts forever. Wasn’t talking about the missus. Or the dog. Or my relationship with Facebook. It was about the love of God. Solid. Strong. Reliable. Like my new barbeque set. I think. I haven’t had a chance to try it out yet.
music bed: always take the weather with you- crowded house
CONNECTED
While we’re all a bit strapped for cash, we’re happy to do without some things, like nights out, and the trip to Barbados. But we don’t want to miss out on stuff that helps us stay in touch, like the mobile phone and black berry. We like to be connected. Some people are looking for a spiritual connection as well. Exciting to think the feeling could be mutual – that God might just be looking for us. King of the universe, just a prayer away. 24/7, waiting to hear from you, and from me. For free. (pause). You won’t get that from your average network provider.
music bed: valerie- steve winwood, or connected- stereo mc's
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
cruel nature, percolating spirit
Watched south pacific on bbc4 last night. some brutal instances of nature red in tooth and claw: man o' war birds with hooked bills plucking isolated tern chicks from cliff edge, then waving and snapping them in mid-air, helpless rag dolls. tiger sharks ambushing ungainly albatross chicks from below; nightmare from the deep, a ton or so of raw sinuous power thrusting torpedo-like to the surface and seizing the frail bird in its vice jaws, engulfing the doomed creature that flounders like a broken kite. but then the other, glorious side of nature, a super-pod of dolphins frolicking in the surf against backdrop of lord of the rings new zealand peaks, looping and jumping with the joy of being alive.
been pondering the stumbling block that can be posed by considering the bible to be the 'word of God' in a neat, boxed-in way. so conceived, it is all too easily blown aside for many by the stormy complexity of life, like a house of cards. it's only as i enter it with the expectant questing spirit of a child exploring a broad enchanted country, that i can submit to its wisdom, allow my spirit to percolate and revive in its truth, and then go out to be an agent of change in the world, broken bread and poured out wine. it's something to aim for anyway.
been pondering the stumbling block that can be posed by considering the bible to be the 'word of God' in a neat, boxed-in way. so conceived, it is all too easily blown aside for many by the stormy complexity of life, like a house of cards. it's only as i enter it with the expectant questing spirit of a child exploring a broad enchanted country, that i can submit to its wisdom, allow my spirit to percolate and revive in its truth, and then go out to be an agent of change in the world, broken bread and poured out wine. it's something to aim for anyway.
Saturday, 27 June 2009
High days in Haworth
Last Sunday afternoon, solstice, visited the Bronte mecca of Haworth. Bizarrely, a sixties weekend was in full swing; the home of the world's most famous literary family, was taken over by Bee Gees impressions, pink flares and bad Elvis wigs. Brilliant.
Hiked up to Top Withens, remote farmhouse ruin and supposed inspiration for gothic masterpiece Wuthering Heights. The stone plaque, placed there by the Bronte society in 1964, assures 'in reponse to many enquiries' that the farmhouse could only have been an incidental inspiration, as even when intact it bore no resemblance to WH. ('wuthering' apparently describes the kind of turbulent weather found on the yorkshire moors. Fortunately when I went, it was sunny).
On the way up I passed two friendly young women out to get trim. And then I passed them on the way down. Took a detour, and passed them again. And again. At one point I even back-tracked, thinking I hadn't come the best way, so passed them in reverse before revising my decision and overtaking them again. Frankly, it all got a bit silly. But we laughed about it.
Back in Haworth, stopped at the Old Hall Inn for a slap-up bangers and mash. As the outdoor table I sat down at was on a bit of a slope, the gravy flowed inexorably to one end of the plate and had to be marshalled with some dexterity.
On a (recently rare) spiritual note, I'm reading through Oswald Chambers 'My Utmost for his highest'. Let's be honest, for both atheists and Christians/people with a faith - we have some common ground here - God's reality and presence is far from 'obvious' all the time. It's quite possible to get through a day giving Jesus or the divine barely a thought. But OC constantly challenges me with the message that the spiritual is real. And that by 'doing the duty that lies nearest', taking a step with the little light you have and thus living in dynamic relationship with God, life can become a scene of constant unexpected delight, wonder and surprise. Rock and roll.
Hiked up to Top Withens, remote farmhouse ruin and supposed inspiration for gothic masterpiece Wuthering Heights. The stone plaque, placed there by the Bronte society in 1964, assures 'in reponse to many enquiries' that the farmhouse could only have been an incidental inspiration, as even when intact it bore no resemblance to WH. ('wuthering' apparently describes the kind of turbulent weather found on the yorkshire moors. Fortunately when I went, it was sunny).
On the way up I passed two friendly young women out to get trim. And then I passed them on the way down. Took a detour, and passed them again. And again. At one point I even back-tracked, thinking I hadn't come the best way, so passed them in reverse before revising my decision and overtaking them again. Frankly, it all got a bit silly. But we laughed about it.
Back in Haworth, stopped at the Old Hall Inn for a slap-up bangers and mash. As the outdoor table I sat down at was on a bit of a slope, the gravy flowed inexorably to one end of the plate and had to be marshalled with some dexterity.
On a (recently rare) spiritual note, I'm reading through Oswald Chambers 'My Utmost for his highest'. Let's be honest, for both atheists and Christians/people with a faith - we have some common ground here - God's reality and presence is far from 'obvious' all the time. It's quite possible to get through a day giving Jesus or the divine barely a thought. But OC constantly challenges me with the message that the spiritual is real. And that by 'doing the duty that lies nearest', taking a step with the little light you have and thus living in dynamic relationship with God, life can become a scene of constant unexpected delight, wonder and surprise. Rock and roll.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Wimbledon church
Radio script (with tennis and crowd sound effects). Go to www.audiopot.org to listen to a sample...
Commentator:
And welcome to church. Break point. Ethel to serve. First act of service. Oh and it’s big, WARM hug at the door, picked up well by Stacy, returns nicely. Arfur, drop shot compliment, nice touch, placed beautifully, back hander but that’s ok, well received. Excellent conversation over there, deep, wide. Ooh and that’s a savage attack on Nigel but he blocks well, gentle reply, all smoothed over. Stacy almost slips through the net but picked up, great recovery. Oh and look at Ethel, great speed across the court, full stretch, going the extra mile. And a parting shot from Nigel, ‘I forgive you’, struck sweetly, absolute winner, Arfur left rooted to the spot, quite speechless.
Umpire: Advantage church
Commentator: Well that was a joy to watch, absolutely glorious. This game certainly isn’t over yet.
Commentator:
And welcome to church. Break point. Ethel to serve. First act of service. Oh and it’s big, WARM hug at the door, picked up well by Stacy, returns nicely. Arfur, drop shot compliment, nice touch, placed beautifully, back hander but that’s ok, well received. Excellent conversation over there, deep, wide. Ooh and that’s a savage attack on Nigel but he blocks well, gentle reply, all smoothed over. Stacy almost slips through the net but picked up, great recovery. Oh and look at Ethel, great speed across the court, full stretch, going the extra mile. And a parting shot from Nigel, ‘I forgive you’, struck sweetly, absolute winner, Arfur left rooted to the spot, quite speechless.
Umpire: Advantage church
Commentator: Well that was a joy to watch, absolutely glorious. This game certainly isn’t over yet.
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Mela
Much of last weekend was spent in the capacious Peel Park, soaking up the atmosphere and contributing to a good cause at the world famous (well, sounds as if it should be) Bradford Mela, 21 this year. I joined a group of young christians, some with mild hippy leanings, who go to a groovy-sounding church called 'soulspace'. They were representing a campaigning and networking charity called 'Speak'. The event title: 'Little Big Dress' - a spin-off of a fair trade campaign years ago called Big Dress, which involved the production of thousands of tiles of fabric stitched together into a giant lady's garment. They'd assembled a Mongolian style yurt (large round tent structure presumably designed to withstand the ferocious conditions of the mongolian steppe) and covered it with this colorful patchwork quilt. Now why didn't I take a picture of that?
All of which served to remind me - except the dress - of a heady trip 11 years ago across vast expanses of nothingness on board the Trans-Mongolian Express. With a travel agency which charged the earth called, suitably enough, 'Monkey Business'. Sharing a cabin with two English lads who'd been teaching English in Hiroshima and were now heading to the Paris World Cup. Of a large male American passenger who, upon realising somewhere several hundred miles from anywhere that the train was running a day late due to striking Russian workers, declared that he was being 'held against his will' and insisted on leaving the train and being escorted to the nearest airport. I wonder whatever happened to him.
But I digress. Amongst the attractions of the Speak venue was a drumming workshop, where an enthusiastic African in trad dress sat in a circle of bongo drums and diligently tried to instil a sense of rhythm into an optimistic cross section of the general public. Also a very popular face painting corner which drew kids and their parents like bees to a honey pot. And a short drama about fair trade, in which I played the personification of an evil multinational corporation bent on squeezing as much out of poor exploited developing world workers as I possibly could. And cackling diabolically at appropriate moments. What can I say. Typecast as usual.
All of which served to remind me - except the dress - of a heady trip 11 years ago across vast expanses of nothingness on board the Trans-Mongolian Express. With a travel agency which charged the earth called, suitably enough, 'Monkey Business'. Sharing a cabin with two English lads who'd been teaching English in Hiroshima and were now heading to the Paris World Cup. Of a large male American passenger who, upon realising somewhere several hundred miles from anywhere that the train was running a day late due to striking Russian workers, declared that he was being 'held against his will' and insisted on leaving the train and being escorted to the nearest airport. I wonder whatever happened to him.
But I digress. Amongst the attractions of the Speak venue was a drumming workshop, where an enthusiastic African in trad dress sat in a circle of bongo drums and diligently tried to instil a sense of rhythm into an optimistic cross section of the general public. Also a very popular face painting corner which drew kids and their parents like bees to a honey pot. And a short drama about fair trade, in which I played the personification of an evil multinational corporation bent on squeezing as much out of poor exploited developing world workers as I possibly could. And cackling diabolically at appropriate moments. What can I say. Typecast as usual.
Thursday, 11 June 2009
Vulture networking
Weekend before last, when high pressure was melting the country, did a couple of nice walks. One with a group taking in Kirkburton village, Castle Hill and Emley Moor TV tower near 'uddersfield', tallest free standing structure in the UK. Fine aerial view of a cricket match from the hill as well.
And then Sunday afternoon, a solo tramp across Ilkley Moor, which sports what's called Yorkshire's unofficial anthem, Ilkley Moor bar 'tat (i know i've spelt that wrong..) Well, I went with a hat - a very fetching sun one. The moor ends abruptly at a road and Dick Hudson's pub, where I stopped for a shandy. A shimmering of black manes in distant field as a posse of horses cantered off.
Mon to Weds just gone, churches' media conference in Swanick, Derbyshire, examining the impact of the media, and potentially of people of faith within it. Some pretty high-powered not to say esoteric discussion. And an array of high-powered media types to boot. One of the trickiest christian events I've been at to just go up and talk to people over coffee. At one point I sat down and said hello to someone who also seemed to feel a bit outside the goldfish bowl. She turned out to be one of the fringe event speakers and a 'Dr' no less from the Faraday institute of science and religion in Cambridge. She introduced me to the term 'vulture networking' which, as it suggests, means to circle round particular individuals with a view to getting what you can out of the encounter. Apparently the key is to network in a spirit of generosity, trust and respect, and so be a 'star networker'! Rock on.
And then Sunday afternoon, a solo tramp across Ilkley Moor, which sports what's called Yorkshire's unofficial anthem, Ilkley Moor bar 'tat (i know i've spelt that wrong..) Well, I went with a hat - a very fetching sun one. The moor ends abruptly at a road and Dick Hudson's pub, where I stopped for a shandy. A shimmering of black manes in distant field as a posse of horses cantered off.
Mon to Weds just gone, churches' media conference in Swanick, Derbyshire, examining the impact of the media, and potentially of people of faith within it. Some pretty high-powered not to say esoteric discussion. And an array of high-powered media types to boot. One of the trickiest christian events I've been at to just go up and talk to people over coffee. At one point I sat down and said hello to someone who also seemed to feel a bit outside the goldfish bowl. She turned out to be one of the fringe event speakers and a 'Dr' no less from the Faraday institute of science and religion in Cambridge. She introduced me to the term 'vulture networking' which, as it suggests, means to circle round particular individuals with a view to getting what you can out of the encounter. Apparently the key is to network in a spirit of generosity, trust and respect, and so be a 'star networker'! Rock on.
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