Home away from home

Off I went to Leafy Suburb Church for Evensong tonight. As I always am, I was glad I went. Leafy Suburb Church has been special in so many ways.

My first piece of liturgical music was sung there by the choir, in honour of Ambassador for Compassion. The choir let me sing with them, too, and though I'm only there about once a month I feel part of things, part of a sort of community-within-a-community. It's not the belonging, I think, that gets to me. I think it's that I emphatically don't belong and yet am still welcome that's so powerful. I can't come to most of the rehearsals, I don't live anywhere near the parish, I can almost never be there for the main events of that church, and yet what I do have to offer is accepted, openly.

When I first spoke to the vicar about writing a piece of music I was so scared, so scarred by previous experiences. You know, I don't think I'd willingly spoken to a priest for years, never mind initiating contact. The first choir rehearsal I went to, to figure out what the choir might be able to do, I was so nervous, so unsure what to expect. At the first service I went to I was uncertain and uncomfortable, so uncomfortable about participating in a Christian act of worship.

And yet all along the way I have been met with friendliness, acceptance, love. That meeting with the vicar was exactly as informal as I needed it to be; that first choir rehearsal was entirely unremarkable. That first Evensong service was uncomfortable for me but it was somehow okay that I was uncomfortable, and the vicar said "God loves us to bits" in her sermon. The first time I sang in the choir it felt like coming home, and every time I go back I come away feeling a strange lightness. It's always bittersweet, knowing I won't be back for a month or maybe more, but I am always glad I went. And occasionally, I find the same feeling at other places. There were bits of Greenbelt that were like that, and K's vicarage is, and taking Communion for the first time in so many years certainly was, and I went to a midday Eucharist at a city cathedral a few weeks ago where I nearly cried with the sense of welcome I felt. But Leafy Suburb Church was the first and I guess that makes it sort of sticky, so that every time I go back I'm reminded.

I don't think that the issues with the letting agents are going to go away and I will still be mightily pissed off if I end up having to move -- either in the next month or two, or this summer after our contract expires. But I am much-comforted tonight by a small community in an unremarkable leafy suburb which, for me, has been a model of what church can be like, and which reassures me I have another sort of home than the sort over which letting agents and their ilk can have any say or sway.

Thanks be to God.

Advent Year A

I had avoided starting an Advent discipline; I thought maybe doing some writing every day, or some sort of music-related thing, might be useful reflection. Then I realised that it would just be one more thing for me to be perfectionist about, and that maybe "getting through Advent" is discipline enough for those of us with responsibility for leading others in worship.

These last few weeks I've been leaning heavily on friends, getting lots of hugs online and in person, being listened to patiently by people who really are rather too busy but manage to make the time anyway. The message that has been coming through is that the care and support that pulled me out of the pit last time are still there.

The last few days I've also been e-mailing one friend in particular, not with my usual meandering e-mails full of the adventures of the day with added musings, but even longer letters full of rather a lot of analysis, comparing my last serious depressive episode with how I'm feeling now. She's sparing with her advice but has had some useful insights.

I could spend several hours and many paragraphs explaining how I've come to this conclusion, but I think I do need the structure of some sort of Advent discipline right now, and I think it needs to be something gratitude-based. Not to beat myself over the head with my many blessings, and not to ignore or discount the mess the world seems to be in and the huge amount of work ahead to make God's kingdom known, but to hone my perception of God in everyday life.

I don't want to make this too complicated or too rigid so I am going to go with a daily gratitude list and try not to sweat too much if I miss a day.

1) I am grateful for the green tomato chutney I just ate with cheese and crackers. I made this earlier this year out of tomatoes from the garden -- we had a bumper crop and couldn't manage to eat them all fresh.
2) I am grateful for the group I performed with this evening, who have in their way become a big part of my life over the last couple of years.
3) I am grateful for the care and attention immediately directed my way when I started to talk about low mood or depression or whatever this current dark cloud is.
4) I am grateful for all the care and attention that people normally show me, when I'm not in crisis management mode and nothing is "wrong" but things are just ticking over. Even if I can't see it, or don't normally notice it... right now I assert that I believe it is there.
5) I am grateful for the heated underblanket in my bed. I have trouble not seeing this as extravagant and wasteful, to be honest, but in the cooler weather we've had recently and with the lack of insulation in the home we rent, being able to climb into a warmed-up bed and let the muscles in my back relax properly is a huge help.

And it is late, and I am tired, and that underblanket is sounding mighty good about now so I will stop there.

Leafy Suburb Church

Off I went to Leafy Suburb Church last night; I probably could have attended a service more locally, but I wanted to touch base with some people there. It takes me an hour and a half to get there and the same again to get back, and it's a rather fiddly journey with three changes. People sometimes speak of "thin places", places or times where the boundary between heaven and earth seems especially fragile... and I think I don't usually like that language, because the word "seems" is so easily dropped and then we start to think that one bit of Creation is somehow more holy than another.

But if I believed in these "thin places" I think Leafy Suburb Church would be among them, for me. I am particularly susceptible to a strong awareness of God while I am there, and even better, to a feeling of belovedness, a sense of being loved and cared for by God.

Some of that is because of the ministry of two women, one of whom was so very dear to me even before she started there, and one of whom I hardly know but who has been full of welcome. It pains me to admit it, but I do feel safer with women in charge. That isn't a reflection on Gentle Vicar who leads Nearest Church, or on the kindly, rather grandfatherly vicar at Long Walk Church, or on various other male clergy I have come across... it's just that I am slow to overcome past hurts. And so I thank God for women's ministry in general, and for these two women's ministry in my life.

Some of it is the choir. They have been as welcoming as can be.

The the choir were kind to me when I was in touch about a sort of secret project (long since completed). Last Easter I could hardly be said to have embraced Christian faith -- I'm still not sure about some of the essentials -- but on that Easter Sunday I did know, pretty clearly, that I really would rather be in the choir than in the congregation. I guess the choir knew it too, because I was welcomed with open arms. Now when I am there I sing in the choir if it is a choral service.

I started attending Leafy Suburb Church because I wanted to visit Ambassador for Compassion, and to do a bit of research for the aforementioned secret project... the "church" bit was rather secondary. The congregation were as friendly and welcoming as the choir later turned out to be. AfC made sure I had someone to sit with, but always people greeted me, and mostly they remembered me. At last night's non-choral service I was reminded of this by someone who doesn't usually attend the Evensong services I can get to; she came up and introduced herself, and without actually asking if I needed anything seemed to make clear that if I did, I could ask. It may well be that there is some committee or other that deals with whose turn it is to be welcoming but it didn't feel like that. It didn't feel stilted or contrived or something she was doing because it was her "turn"; it felt like the most natural thing in the world to happen there.

Even the building helps, I think. It's not a large church, but it is an old one, and those ancient stones feel cozy rather than constricting, comfortable rather than claustrophobic. We all have to sit rather closer together than we might choose to in a larger space and this is, I think, good.

It is all rather wonderful, in the sense of being full of wonder. I'm sure it isn't perfect, but the overall effect is such that going there stopped being just about seeing AfC quite some time ago. It has become something else, something halfway between retreat and pilgrimage, a place to sit and rest and a place to grow, a destination and a step along the journey. I leave with happy reluctance, feeling well-nourished, ready to go out into the world but also ready to stay in church much longer.

Thanks be to God.

Worth it...

I wrote previously that I'm teaching a dear friend of mine and we had a bit of a discussion about whether she should pay me.

That brought a lot of things into focus for me in terms of how I look at money and time and work. I had a lot of talks with various friends in person and online, trying to figure out how to respond specifically and more generally. In the end I came to the conclusion that any money anyone gives me as a concession to the fact that I cannot live on air, rather than anything approaching fair compensation. Money is just not the motivating factor for my work, and I do work based on whether it seems fulfilling and worthwhile, not based on whether or how much I will be paid.

But with that said, with the establishment that money I receive from this student or from anyone is a concession, a gift, I should have been comfortable about it, yes?

What I realised is that I'm really not. It's a little easier to accept money from people I don't have such a strong fondness for, and from people whose financial situation is clearly much better than my own, but I still run into all sorts of internal objections about value and worth, despite the very pragmatic point that at the moment I am not yet earning enough to pay my own rent. That's partly about thinking it's impossible to put a monetary value on human labour, but it's also about thinking I don't deserve the good things of this world, rejecting the gifts I have been given. Since we need money to live in this society, it's in some twisted way a rejection of life. I was thinking about this over the weekend, wrestling with it really. How can I judge what is worthy and what is not, who is worthy and who is not? I can only experience the world as myself -- and that experience says the world has pain and joy, bitter and sweet. And there are people far more deserving of sweetness who only get the bitterness, people who should have only joy and instead endure terrifying pain. And as much as I yearn for joy and sweetness, as much as I have some human drive to meet my basic physical needs, I don't honestly feel I deserve them.

My refusal to engage with financial issues in a constructive way is either a rejection of the world or a rejection of myself. Maybe a rejection of the idea that I have any right to be here...

So, yesterday I saw a spiritual director. I met her a few weeks ago and we had a chat and some lunch and I decided that yes, this would be a constructive thing to try. It's not that I don't think God can tell me whatever God wants me to know about what I'm meant to do, but more that I have such difficulty listening.

I wasn't sure, on my way to our meeting, what I would bring up. So many of the things that were weighing heavily on me a few months ago are complete non-issues now, or issues I'm happy to just sit with and see what happens.

I should have known that the financial stuff would come into it. Really, I should have known. And in the meeting itself I didn't feel like we were getting anywhere. We discussed various social and professional issues around accepting payment for services even from friends, but I've been through those again and again, and they're clear enough, but they are of this world, not of God's kingdom. We talked about opportunity cost, about having finite time to do all the work we might feel called to, about not having the resources to "give to everyone who asks of you" let alone everyone you might like to give to. We spoke of the difficulty for anyone in deciding who is worthy, who is not. We touched of God loving people anyway, spent some time on dependence on God which means that we cannot save ourselves through works or faith or anything else but it is God who saves, but this doesn't mean we can just throw in the towel and stop trying.

It was good to air these things, to go through them yet again, but it didn't feel like there was any sort of breakthrough. I've not been for spiritual direction before, I'm going into this without an idea of what is "meant" to happen or how things work. It wasn't unpleasant, but I was still left wrestling with this idea of how to accept that even if money only seems relevant to me at the most unimportant levels, even if money can never be an accurate indicator of worth anyway, people pay me because they recognise some worth in what I am doing.

About five minutes down the road I thought, "hey, WAIT A MINUTE!... God thinks I am worth dying for, so bugger what anyone else has to say about it. The only one who can accurately judge the worth of any human being is God. The judgement has already been made."

It is late, and I am tired, and I don't know how much of that realisation will stick, how much of it I would have come anyway if I hadn't had yet another conversation about all those surface issues. I suspect this is something I don't get to learn once, but instead will keep tripping over.

But it means I can perhaps put aside my own evaluations of worthiness and my concerns about whether it is right for me to accept payment. The judgement has already been made, and here I am in the world, and let's deal with the pragmatic stuff, like getting to the point where I can pay my own rent. I'm not going to take any money dishonestly and I'm not going to chase after it and abandon my standards of what my housemate has called right livelihood, but I can perhaps accept it a little more lightly, not get so worried about whether I really deserve to be in this world. I can get on with doing the work, even if people insist on paying me. It doesn't have to be an argument, it doesn't have to be turmoil. I have already been judged worthy. So has all creation.

Thanks be to God.

Running, but not really catching up

My computer is back, with a shiny new hard drive. It'll take me a while to finish getting the software I need onto it, but it's very good to have my own machine to work on again, at least.

I've not had much time or energy for else but work, online. I could make my excuses but you'll have heard it all before -- lots of work to do, performances, joint problems making me tired, students requiring extra care and attention at the moment. I started this blog in the last half of the last year of an intensive performance-based degree. I've only ever blogged when I don't really have time!

I'm still thinking of you lot. I'm still playing, praying, singing. Still throwing myself into hymnody, still getting a drip feed of psalmody from the Daily Office, still taking Communion.

Morning Prayer (or is it Evening?) has had lots of the book of Revelation in it recently. I have to say, I know it isn't meant to be literal, and there's all sorts of rich and beautiful symbolism, but this lampstand thing is a bit weird. I kindof like it, even as I think to myself, "Well, you might remove my lampstand from its place if I don't repent, but if I don't repent then surely the only reaction I'd have to a mis-placed lampstand is to put it back again or go to IKEA and get another one... I wonder if the instructions for assembling flat-pack lampstands are as convoluted as all their other ones?" and so on.

I'm loving bits of the daily prayers for between All Saints' Day and Advent. "In the darkness of this age that is passing away may the light of your presence which the saints enjoy surround our steps as we journey on." Only it just sounds wordy when I write it out like that... but when I'm praying it's all about the light.

A dearly beloved friend wants some music lessons, and naturally I volunteered my services. She asked about my rates; I hadn't intended on charging her anything, not a single penny. She isn't comfortable with that, so we'll work something out... but in thinking about how to approach it I've figured out a little more of how I relate to money. See, she said it "wouldn't be fair" not to compensate me for my time and expertise. As a musician, my work doesn't work that way. My life doesn't work that way. If I were to get up every morning and thinking "I'm only going to do any work if I know I'll get fair compensation for it", I would do no work at all. Being a freelance worker means that I have to accept that much of my work is not going to bring me any obvious or direct financial reward; being a musician means I have to accept that the work is worth doing anyway. So I do the work, and see any money anyone gives me as a concession to the fact that I cannot live on air, rather than anything approaching fair compensation.

I'm looking forward to teaching this friend. I've heard some of what she can do... but she gave up participating in music almost entirely a very long time ago and has only just recently started to engage with it again, to practise and even perform a little. She notices the problems, the rusty skills, the uncertainty, and the years of silence weigh heavily on her. I see and hear a musician waiting to grow into who she is, and needing a little help and encouragement -- not a lot -- to get there.

I found an orchid, in a big glass pot. Someone had left it by the rubbish bins. I brought it home, cut back the spent flowering stalks, gave it some water and a nice windowsill, and we'll see if it blooms again.

Hope! saith the holly.

So I did sit and eat.

I realised, talking to Kathryn last night, that it would be a matter of when I decide to receive Communion, rather than if.

Put like that it didn't make much sense to wait. What would I wait for? Being ready? Being worthy? Isn't that somewhat missing the point? If a dear friend sees that you're hungry and invites you in for a meal, you don't stand around on the doorstep with your coat on, wondering if they really mean it.

I'd like to write that it was a profoundly moving experience, that there was some shift in perspective at that moment. That would be dishonest. It didn't feel all that different from my more usual going up and receiving a blessing, except that the wafer stuck to my teeth. I had the same feeling of slightly nervous apprehension beforehand, the same creeping focus on one moment and one moment only and forgetting everything but the presence of God, the same pounding heart afterward. I'd like to compare all the various sensations and ideas and thoughts, take things apart and analyze them until I can find out how this is actually any different, but I can't observe from a neutral position. There is no double-blind test for sacrament. It's as gloriously mundane as every other part of this sacramental world.

And yet... I can say I feel a little lighter, somehow, more buoyant. There's a great deal of relief in just giving in. There was no wondering afterward whether I should have taken part, no throbbing regret about not being able to trust, no wrestling with myself over whether I'd done the right thing. That much, at least, was easy, and I almost wonder what I waited so long for.

That's how I feel now, anyway. It will be interesting to see how I feel in a few days.

Words

This morning I played the organ for one of the hymns at Nearest Church. I had help. Networking Organist handled all the complicated stuff with stops, because the organ has been undergoing repairs lately and I've lost track of which bits work and which bits don't and I'm not quick enough yet to adapt mid-phrase if I realise something is wrong.

It went well.

It's sort of preparation for a few weeks from now, when Networking Organist isn't going to be there and I'm meant to play for the entire service.

Then I went off to Leafy Suburb Church for their Harvest Evensong.

Harvest Evensong at Leafy Suburb Church last autumn was my first ever Evensong.

This evening the vicar asked if I'd like to do a reading. So I said yes, and had a look at the readings, and went for the New Testament one. The Old Testament one was a lovely bit of Deuteronomy but the bit about the strong hand and the outstretched arm always makes me think of Pesach and it was a bit dissonant somehow. So I read Philippians 4:4-9.

A year ago you would not have convinced me that I would be reading bits of the New Testament aloud to other people in the context of a church service.

I am very, very tired. And I have that not-sure-if-I'm-flying-or-falling feeling again, but it feels okay because I also feel very much held in the palm of God's hand. There's a lightness, a freedom to it, a sort of ticklish feeling.

Some of the words keep coming back.

Let your gentleness be known to everyone.

This is what I referred to yesterday in proclaiming the Gospel by deed and word. I'm not not NOT one for in-your-face pushy evangelism. Partly that's because I have such an uneasy relationship with scripture myself. Partly that's because I don't think it's necessary.

I do think it's possible to make the Gospel known by our words, without going all Bible-quoting at people. If I had to distill my understanding of the Gospel I'd whittle it down to "God loves everyone." And I think making that known through our words means speaking with love and care, even when we have to address hard truths. I have in mind a friend who I think manages to do this better than most, so that I think she must have spent quite some time learning it. It seems to me that she is always ready to point out something good in a situation, always looking for that which can be encouraged and expanded upon. She does not make pointless platitudes; she does not shy away from difficult questions for herself or others and yet she never seems to be attacking. I don't know if this is because of her commitment to truth or her commitment to kindness but I admire it greatly.

Making the Gospel known by our deeds, I'm sure I've discussed before, but I'll have another crack at it. If the Really Short Version is "God loves everyone" then the way to make that known is to treat people with love.

That is a very tall order. It is a very serious invitation.

I have to stop and sleep soon. But it seems to me that to treat people with love is a whole lot easier if you actually feel love for them. And how do you learn to feel love for people you might dislike, might feel threatened by?

I fail at this every day. But when I do manage it, it's because I remember that God created everything, and start looking for what is good r Godly in a person. I might only get as far as 'this is a human being created by God and so deserves my respect and care'. I might not get as far as that.

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

That does seem to help. Apparently the "think about" is translation from Greek which could also be "take account of". Take account of what is true, honourable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, praiseworthy. Count your blessings, in other words.

Not bad advice.

I like that St Paul in his letters addresses people as "beloved" (or this translation uses that term). I love sitting in church and being addressed as "beloved" -- once or twice it has been a very stark reminder that I needed to hear. I discovered, today, that I also love reading that, speaking aloud to everyone there and realising that I am reading to people I love, on some level. Leafy Suburb Church is maybe a very easy place for that to happen because I do care very much for some of the people there, but it felt bigger than that. In English culture we don't like to use these terms of endearment, of familiarity, or admit that we might love anyone. There's this stiff upper lip to maintain, you know. But within the liturgy it is sort of okay... I like that.

I am wittering. It is time to sleep.

Goodnight, beloved.

Placemarking

Had a hard time earlier this week. Everything's going well -- teaching continues to challenge and stretch me, and my students are a delight. I have some performance deadlines which are enough to motivate me to practise but not enough to terrify me, and things are going well at Nearest Church (which I need to find a better name for, but never mind): I'm getting involved, getting challenged, and also still feeling very welcome. Friendships old and new continue to grow and develop. My life is pretty good.

But I've been having a bit of brainhacking, or counselling as many people would call it. I'm dealing with the same issues that sidelined me in 2005, stuff about parents and trust and growing up. Yes, I had three years of therapy before, three years of going once a week to an appointment I mostly dreaded, spending the first half hour getting to the point where I could talk about things in any meaningful way at all and then the next fifteen minutes sobbing and the next five trying to regain enough composure to get up and walk out of the room. Those three years, and a lot of other help besides, got me to the point where I could venture out from under the duvet and actually do things. They got me to a point of functioning in the world again when I had retreated.

They didn't really deal with the reasons for the retreat. And if I want to remain functional -- if I want to keep doing things in the world without being ambushed at some point by uncontrollable anxiety -- I've got to do some work toward looking at some of those issues, painful as they are, at integrating those experiences into who I am now.

It's easier this time in some senses, because I am mostly functional. I get out of bed every morning. I practise most days. I don't cancel work, calling in sick because I don't have it in me to leave the house. But it's also harder, because doing these things means I have commitments I want to keep and there isn't always space for me to hide under the duvet if I'm frightened.

On Monday I had my appointment and oh, it hurt but oh, there was progress I think. And then I neatly folded my issues away into one corner of my brain and went off to do my teaching. It wasn't an easy evening of teaching, and on my way home while I was sitting on the Tube praying silently to myself those bastard issues unfolded themselves and I went from mostly calm and collected to being in tears. There is nothing quite as classy as crying on public transport, so of course that made me feel worse, and for a few moments I wondered if I was really losing it all again.

Thankfully, Sweetie was home from work a bit early and when I got in Intrepid Anthropologist had nearly made dinner, and between the two of them I had lots of hugs. And people on the lovely lovely internet sent their own hugs, and some choice words which genuinely helped. I was terribly clingy and insecure but Sweetie was very patient (he really is SO kind). And shortly before I dropped off to sleep I had a very strong feeling of being carried, being prayed for. I don't know if it was these words from a friend that did it,
"Behold, he that keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep...
The Lord will preserve your going out and your coming in
From this time forth, for evermore"
or if there was some other trigger. But I am profoundly grateful, and I have kept coming back to echoes of that feeling over the past few days. It is intensely reassuring.

I'm also wondering how I can ever get things sorted out. I'm aware, you see, that I have a lot of reflection to do. This stuff I'm dealing with in brainhacking overlaps with some of my blogging here in fairly serious ways. There are issues around trust and abandonment and Eucharist and allowing myself to be fed, even if the church appears to be trying to limit access to God's table, and I find myself re-thinking my position on this in some ways which are rather scary to me. There are issues around abuse and intervention and how to respond now to people who once hurt me but no longer have that power, how to honour my parents, how to act in such a way that I have respect for myself without expecting that my actions can mend relationships that are deeply wounded.

Even though I am (moderately) anonymous, I don't know how much of this I can discuss here without maligning people who do not deserve it (and nobody deserves to be maligned). I don't want that to become an excuse for not doing the reflection, but neither do I want to speak ill of anyone. I need to be able to write about my own experiences but I also need to make it clear that these are just my experiences, that I do not have the whole picture and that I know I do not have the whole picture.

That doesn't go into the metrical psalmody from last night, or the stuff that's developing at Nearest Church, or the irony of the first person I went to church with in this country looking for a more inclusive church to attend, or my thoughts about same-gender partnerships and monogamy and my deep frustration that some parts of the church sanction these relationships if and only if they are life-long monogamy of a much higher standard than is expected of heterosexual partnerships. It doesn't touch on the big brown butterfly that flew around all our heads at the Eucharist this past Sunday morning, or the young man now deployed to Afghanistan.

I don't have time to blog it all.

Further updates as events warrant, I guess.

It's never quite simple, is it?

Went to Nearest Church again today.

The vicar was away and there were no smells but still bells. I'd never seen Communion by Extension before so it was interesting from that point of view. The sermon was given by the reader again -- I still haven't heard the vicar preach. But it was, while academic and erudite, a message of inclusion and hope.

I had a long chat with Networking Organist. Again. He does rather like to talk.

I can't go into a whole lot of detail here without destroying anonymity. But the situation at Nearest Church is not straightforward, and neither is the situation at Church-by-the-Station. Both are going through changes and transitions right now and nothing is stable.

Networking Organist has been generous and supportive, and has made clear on a number of occasions that I am welcome to make use of the resources at Nearest Church for my own education regardless of whether I end up in regular worship there. He also understands that I will get involved in the music wherever I end up and that it is important to me that I do not simply end up doing that as another part of my professional portfolio. He said, and I quote, "Any church you attend will find a way to use your musical skills, but I think you need to find your voice and develop your own role." I'm floored.

We spoke of the ways that might happen, and some of the obstacles to it at Nearest Church and elsewhere, and he reminded me again that I don't have to make any hasty decisions.

The path that seemed open last week, that of being involved musically at both churches, is looking clearer now. There is work for me to do at both. It remains to be seen whether Church-by-the-Station will be supportive.

Just went to my first Sunday service in Upper Suburbia. There are a few different churches I want to check out... maybe shopping around isn't the way to go, maybe it's better just to plonk myself down somewhere and make the best of it, but several options look like they might be suitable.

So at Nearest Church, people were warm and welcoming. I'm not entirely certain what I think of incense and bells, but I appreciate that it is meaningful to some. They are certainly in the Catholic end of the Anglo-Catholic spectrum, but they also emphasize inclusiveness and acceptance on their website and seem to be fairly involved with other local churches. They have a cafe they've opened recently which is excellent (I've been twice; good food, cheap too, and absolutely no pressure from anyone: just a friendly community space). The sermon was meandering but thoughtful.

There is a hint of a Song-shaped hole in the music. Different people mentioned various possibilities for paid work, which surprised me a little; I'd been thinking of what I might be able to contribute, but had assumed there would be no financial compensation until after some years of volunteering or apprenticeship, because churches are always strapped for cash. The organist is lovely, has similar views to mine regarding teaching and performance, gave me a run-down of the local church music scene, and is happy for me to essentially use that organ--quite a nice one--to teach myself how to play and write for organs (a major hole in my background, especially in the context of writing for small parishes who don't have many trained musicians and may not be able to get the resources for SATB a capella but can probably scrape up an organist on occasion and probably have organs left over from a time when people spent serious money on church music).

And it felt so good to sing again, to sing in worship with other people. And to go up to the altar for a blessing... it's been more than a month, and I don't know if it's just me, just wishful thinking, a sort of psychosomatic grace, but it feels like something happens there. That's for another post, perhaps.

I don't know if this particular parish is the right church for me but I feel more confident now that church, more generally, is right for me.

The last couple of days have been truly wonderful. I got safely to my destination and was fed and watered and really, what sort of hostess but a fabulous one leaves a bar of FairTrade chocolate where I am sure to find it? (I've been saving it for the journey back to London.) The dogs are lovely in their enthusiastic doggy way, the cats are more circumspect but an absolute delight, and the humans here, the humans here are fantastic! I have been made to feel so very welcome and I am grateful to have been given this wonderful gift. The time away from London but still among friends, the mental and physical space to work with the companionship of knowing others are at work in the same house, has been a retreat of sorts, right when I needed it most.

I've not been online much, my computer doesn't want to play nice with the wireless here. That's just as well, really.

I've been thinking about sacrament and ritual and blessings and our human perceptions of same a fair bit, but the thoughts aren't really getting as far as words yet. I love that sometimes in said liturgy (and rather more often in sung worship), it feels to me as if something significant actually happens. I don't know whether that perception has any link at all to objective reality, but I know that looking for a church in Upper Suburbia, one of the things I will look for is whether that sense of awe is possible.

Sekr1t Pr0ject continues apace. I have a draft of something I can use, now, and so in some sense one of my goals for being here has been met. I'll do a different draft too, I think, and then let them sit a few days and see which one I like best before doing any serious editing. Many thanks to those of you who have helped with the project in one way or another--yes, you will get to see the results if you ask. And if you come across something that strikes you as perfect, don't hesitate to send it my way, as I am still open to ideas. Sorry if that's too cryptic for those of you not in on the sekr1t. It's a surprise, you see.

Housing continues to be source of mild stress, in that the letting agents are asking for documentation that I can't get to them when I'm not in London and didn't realise they needed before I left. But I still have hope that it will work out in the end.

The dogs took us for a long walk in the wood this afternoon (there were trees! and sticks! and other dogs! and grass! and dirt! and wind! and mud! and roots! and flowers! and butterflies! and birds! and sun! and shade!) and are now having some serious naps in various locations. I am starting to think the dogs have got the right idea... but I think I'll pick at a bit more work before I try to do too much else.

peace that passeth understanding

The weekend went by fast. Monday tomorrow already? Oh dear...

Tonight at Evensong I was playing and singing, with a choir I play and sing with regularly. It was at a church I've never been to, a lovely chapel attached to an art college of some sort.

I really, really like some of the settings we performed. Or prayed. Much the same thing from my perspective.

Talking afterward with some other choir members, someone asked about the reader who had taken the service, and this sparked off a conversation about ordination and various people we know who have taken various holy orders. M who I was talking with was adamant that she had no aspirations in that direction. Not much later she was explaining one interpretation of the Trinity to me, in a fairly sensible and matter-of-fact way, and the funny thing is that it did make a sort of sense. And the touch on the shoulder while she spoke said, "It's okay to be where you are," as much as her spoken words took me beyond where I was. The whole thing took perhaps thirty seconds, we were packing up to go home in a roomful of busy people also packing up to go home, nothing like as intimate as it felt. But it seems significant, enough so that I'm writing about it here rather than going to bed. I felt like, still feel like, another piece of a puzzle has been put into place.

I don't feel I can repeat the explanation, which makes me a bit uncomfortable: I like being able to explain things on intellectual levels. I'm not wonderful with words but I generally throw great quantities of them at a concept until I'm satisfied, and yet there are no words for this and to be honest I barely remember what M was saying.

If I hadn't had the same feeling a thousand times while singing I'd be quite terrified right now.

I don't doubt that I'll continue to struggle with Trinitarian doctrine. I've felt less stressed about it recently than I used to, but it still niggles. But right now it niggles in a slightly different way.

I have no idea if any of this makes sense to anyone other than me.

miscellany; and a prayer for the clergy

Today has felt better than yesterday did. I got some work done in the morning, not as much as I should have done but more than yesterday! I saw a friend for lunch and another for an afternoon walk. I haven't had to take any painkillers.

Went to Leafy Suburb Church this evening.

There was no choir or choir director as it's a weekday. For someone who sings all the good bits of worship and sings all the bits that feel awkward, having an almost entirely spoken service was really very odd and rather hard work. But there was still a resonance to it that I can't explain.

The Eucharist seems strange and familiar to me, at the same time. The blessings over the bread and wine are near word-for-word translations of the equivalent Jewish brachot and I found that comforting for some reason. I keep coming back to what The Ostrich said about Eucharist and it sort of makes sense in a way I can't quite articulate. Maybe I'll get it eventually, maybe I'll even take communion at some point. But going up for a blessing seemed right, this evening.

I love having the Summary of the Law as part of worship. I think maybe I just need to print it out and stick it in my small prayer book and start saying it along with my other prayers.

The Peace, always a favourite part of childhood services, remains a favourite, and I was struck again by how welcoming the congregation there is.

I spoke to the Vicar briefly about the Sekr1t Pr0ject. I'll e-mail her, next week after everything is a bit calmer. Can't say more without risking giving the secret away--mentioning it at all is a bit dodgy in fact.

I find myself praying tonight for clergy. Deacon Friend has a lot to deal with and Holy Week is in some ways the worst time to deal with it, and in other ways perhaps the best. Various other clergy I know, online or in person, well or as acquaintances, are struggling with various things right now. And it's a tough week, a lot of hard work, trying to enable or facilitate or lead meaningful worship for others without losing sight of the important things themselves, trying to move Heaven and Earth and also trying to hold them together. I pray that the clergy I know and the clergy I don't know are granted the stamina and courage to get through this week. I pray that they will be offered help and support wherever it is needed, and be able to accept it. I pray that they are able to draw comfort and strength from the message of resurrection, unconditional love and eternal life that they are called to preach. I'm just a confused monotheist, but I care and I pray.

So, about this Jesus bloke...

Over at Telling Secrets there's a great post with some good questions. Do go read the whole thing.

I'm having a little attempt to answer some of the questions for myself, here. Because really, a lot of this is what I'm trying to figure out.

So, here’s my question: Do you know Jesus? Yes, I know you do, but how would you describe Jesus? In your own words? Who is Jesus for you and why does he make a difference in your life of faith?

I don't know that I do know Jesus, really.

I know what some people say of Jesus.

My familiarity with the Gospel is somewhat rudimentary; I'm working on mending that, through daily reading and prayer. But I'm not a literalist, and I'm sufficiently cynical that I will always wonder how much of what is in the Bible is entirely context-dependent, I will always wonder how much of what people wrote is true in any sense. Sometimes, that doesn't seem to matter much: the Summary of Law speaks to me on a level that doesn't take into account literal truth in any sort of rational way, it just feels right. But even then, there's this bit of me that says, "Okay, nice idea, admirable idea, I'll buy that, I'll try to live that way, but how do I know that it's this Jesus guy who said it? Hillel came pretty close for all that. It's an idea that was floating around at the time, it needed a story." It's all a bit too convenient, and I can't accept on any rational level the authority of a text that isn't even consistent within itself on that level.

If I were to say that the Bible is a finished work rather than a snapshot of an ever-growing library, then I might have to conclude that Jesus was a person who was hugely inspiring to a number of people. I know how I feel when I have am falling in love with someone, how my entire world revolves around them and I think they are the Best! Thing! Evar! (better than kittens!) and I want to tell everyone I meet how shiny they are. I can see an extrapolation of that leading to the conclusion that a person is somehow more divine than the rest of us, somehow sent by God for the benefit of the rest of us. The psychological wrenching shock of the crucifixion would make that an easy leap to make, I think.

But... somehow, that doesn't really feel like the right answer. I can't put my finger on all of why. Partly it's that I don't accept the Bible as a standalone, finished work. I think there's a very strong possibility that it is still in progress.

I said that I know some of what others say of Jesus. Contemporary accounts are part of that, too. And most of that isn't so much in the form of words as in the form of actions.

There is Deacon Friend, who reaches out to those in need no matter how great her own suffering, who has turned her life upside down and inside out in some very unfavorable circumstances to pursue a vocation to priesthood. There is Catholic Friend, who has provided so much practical and moral support through some very difficult times of my life and who takes so much care to speak truth and reduce harm. There is C of E Friend, who balances his public and private life in a way that makes me think even someone as strange as I am (for I am, in some ways, less strange than he) can perhaps find a community and fit in without dishonesty or confrontation. There are many other examples, people who seem to be doing what I perceive as God's work in this world, moving heaven and earth to help others. Many of them seem superhuman in their stamina and I can see, in some of them, that their ability to do this work is tied up in their relationship with God. For many that relationship with God is very much in a Christian context, inseparable from their relationship with Jesus. And that's one of the things that does make Christianity itch for me, does keep me curious about Jesus: if so many of the people who make this world worth living in are Christian, if so many of the people who I would actually trust with my life are Christian, then maybe there is something to it. Maybe I was wrong to walk away.

There are plenty of examples of people I think do God's work, or at least have been Godsends in my life, who are not Christian. Some belong to other faiths, some to none. Some of them are not even theist. And yet all seem to have the same modus operandi: that nobody, alive or dead, is worthless, that we are responsible for compassionate action in the world, that the world is interconnected in ways too deep and complex for us to understand, that unconditional positive regard (that's, er, love) can change the world. The theists among them would expand that to say that we are all loved, unconditionally, that we are all God's children.

And I think that maybe that's what Jesus was getting at, too. And whether the Gospel is an accurate historical account, a mythology, or something somewhere in between, it says Jesus was so committed to this message that He was willing to die for it. That this message is so important, so sacred, that even death couldn't kill it, because love is stronger.

I don't think that Christianity is the only religion that has these linked messages of God's love for us and our invitation to act for God in the world, to become an active part of God's work. But human beings love stories, and as stories go, the Passion is a pretty good illustration of those messages--whether it's true in a strict historical, rational sense or not. As a metaphorical thought-shorthand it works very well. And I don't know about you, but I do need metaphorical thought-shorthand. I need images and symbols and rituals in my life because without them I get disoriented and lost.

If some visitors who weren’t Christian came in today because they wanted to meet Jesus, who would they find? How would you describe Jesus to them?

I guess I would try to explain what I already explained above. I would say that the story of Jesus' life and death and resurrection is one that assures us we are loved and invites us to participate in the world in a loving manner. I would explain that the more loved I feel the more I also feel called to love the world as much as I can, that service from this position of an overflow of love becomes a joy rather than a chore, that when I am exhausted or discouraged or frightened or lonely or hurting it is love that keeps me going and that I seek to augment my awareness of God's love so that I can augment my love of the world so that I can augment my awareness of God's love, that it's a cyclical process, that love is stronger than fear, love is stronger than death. And that doesn't seem, at first glance, to have much to do with Jesus at all. Maybe I can understand the meaning of the story without accepting that it happened as literal descriptions would claim.

Here’s the important question of faith: How would you tell others about who his is and where to find him? And, would they know that any of that is true by how you live your life? One of my favorite images of the church is that of one hungry beggar telling another hungry beggar how and from whom to get bread.

If I had to point to a text to sum things up I don't know where I'd start. If I were talking about my own personal experiences, then I guess I'd start with how other people have affected my own spiritual path. I'd say to find Jesus look for love in the world, try to see the love in any situation, add to it if you can, and especially add love if you can't see any.

I hope that the way I live my life might say a little of this. I know I routinely fall short.

I am a genuinely caring and affectionate person; I try to communicate this, I try to let people know by my words and actions that I do love them. I know I often fail, or overshoot and come across as horribly forward and inappropriate (especially in British culture).

I am a teacher. One of the things I strive for in my teaching is to be honest with my students and respectful of them, to invite them to learn rather than intimidate them into it. Children really do get an awful lot of flak and I don't want to add to that. I try to make it clear that I am there to teach them music and the reason for that is that it is fun and worthwhile. I try to make it clear that some of what I teach them about music is applicable to learning other things, or to life in general. I try to teach them that learning to love what they are doing is more important than learning not to make mistakes, that learning to love a piece of music so much they want to play it for others is more important than passing exams. I try to teach them that practising is a tool, not a punishment, that it is okay for them to have bad days as long as they are genuinely trying their best, that I do believe they are giving it their best shot. Because I do, you know, maybe I'm just naive, but I believe every last one of them does the best that they can with the resources and information they have. My job is merely to try to frame the information in a useful way. I don't know that I succeed at any of this, but objectively I can say that I do not shout at my students as much as some teachers I have had, and that they do mostly seem to want to continue learning, and that today I had students smiling, rushing to their instruments as soon as I arrived so they could show me what they'd done this week. So maybe I do get it right some of the time, this teaching stuff, enough of the time to know it's worth it for me to keep trying. And maybe none of my students will see Jesus in that, but I hope they get the message that they are loved, they are worthwhile, that it is worth doing the best they can.

Here’s the thing: If you want to meet Jesus, you don’t need a formal introduction. All you have to do is walk with him, and let him walk with you. Put your body and your mind and your soul with him and open yourself to his presence.

And, believe. Amen.

I'm working on it. It sounds so simple, and yet I trip over my rational doubts so often. I don't seem to be able to relate to Jesus much except on a very metaphorical and symbolic level.

A lovely day

Oh, internets, I had such a good day today.

The weather was beautiful for cycling. I woke up in plenty of time and with more energy than I've any right to given my recent schedule; the normally-takes-thirty-minutes-mostly-uphill initial part of my commute was only twenty or twenty-five today. The glorious sunshine continued all day. The plums are in full flower now and the magnolias are not far behind. What a blessing.

Teaching was challenging and tiring, as always. Nothing about teaching today was spectacularly dismal, and nothing about it was spectacularly wonderful, except that teaching is always miraculous somehow. Some of my students are working toward exams, others have more personal goals; all are progressing, though not always in the directions they and I think we would like. Sometimes I have the joy of finding a student who responds well to my teaching and learns to love what is essentially a very difficult subject requiring much discipline and much courage. Sometimes, discovering with a student that actually, they don't want to learn this instrument or even this subject... sometimes that's still successful teaching. I am savoring the last few lessons with a student I've taught for several years now, she is at a point where it is time for her to move on, and though I'll miss her I know that this is right. I love every one of my students dearly and want to teach them as well as I can. I'm keenly aware that every challenge they bring me is an opportunity for me to improve as a teacher and grow as a person. And I get paid for this, enough to live on if I'm frugal. What a blessing.

After that I went down to Leafy Suburb Church for Evensong. The journey went well and I saw a rather beautiful sunset. I'm starting to be known at Leafy Suburb Church, everyone was very welcoming. Before the service I ended up discussing hymnody with... well, I'd have to call them friends by now really. There were some moments of perhaps not-entirely-Lenten levity. I feel welcome there. What a blessing.

The service itself was good. Hymns maybe a bit on the slow side--a Lent thing perhaps?--but two of them to tunes I know and love. Someone had printed out the pointed psalms and music for them and left them on the ledge and this meant I was able to join in with the choral psalmody in a way I haven't previously. I found myself whispering small bits of the Apostles' Creed, though I still find much of it I can't accept and so won't utter. And that, too, seems to be okay, seems to be accepted. There is a warmth of spirit, a goodwill and lovingkindness in the worship at Leafy Suburb Church which seems almost tangible at times. What a blessing.

Of course, I'm hopelessly biased about Leafy Suburb Church, because the main reason I make the journey all that way is to see Deacon Friend. I don't think she expected me to come to every choral Evensong. I didn't expect I would be able to but it has worked out that way so far. And so in a friendship that is mostly conducted on e-mail these days, today there were shared smiles, eye contact, commiserations over our respective deadline pileups, that near-instant visual appraisal of another's wellbeing that renders the small talk of "How are you?" moot except as a conversational placeholder, the polite and a bit tired (we'd both been working all day, after all) chitchat that in some relationships seems to bring people closer rather than hold them at arm's length. We're both very busy and Leafy Surburb is a good 90 minutes' commute from where I live, so we don't get to see each other much; every visit is a blessing. And every visit reminds me, in turn, what a blessing this woman is to the world and what a blessing this friendship is in my life, what a blessing so many other friendships are to me.

Even the journey home seemed charmed: I didn't have to wait long at either of the two changes, which always makes things a little easier. That's a small thing, but still very much a blessing. All of the little joys I've mentioned can be seen as small or insignificant in face of the trials and evils in this world, but not to acknowledge them and partake of them would just be to add to the trials.

What blessings did you notice today?