You gotta believe in something....

I find myself in the slightly unusual place of feeling as though I have nothing to say. It’s not as though there hasn’t been interesting things happening, either: the Womanspirit Rising conference I went to in early November in Christchurch was amazing, and there has been plenty of interesting things happening in other spaces. It’s just that …. I don’t have words for them. Maybe if I just try and reflect on stuff, words will come.

Womanspirit Rising felt like me finding my foremothers: all those courageous women who fought for justice and lived their spiritual truths in the third feminist wave in the 70s and 80s – and suddenly there they were, and there I was. I was the youngest by about 15 years (which was mildly depressing, in that I really hoped there would be other women my age finding their truth and journeying) but it was immensely inspiring to talk and be with women who have walked the same road I am walking. It has been so lonely at times over the last few years, exploring what it means for me for the Divine to not just wear a female face and form, but to BE the feminine divine, with all the change of emphasis and turning around that that has meant for me. At the conference, I realised I was not alone, but somehow I need to get other women travelling with me.

There were a mix of women from all backgrounds: christian, pagan, Wiccan, “nones” and “dones”, but all of us were looking for that great brightness who has come with so many names over the years: Inanna, Isis, Ishtar, Hekate, Kali, Mary the Magdala, Mary Queen of Heaven, Hine-anu-one, Hine-nui-e-te-po, Brigid, Dana – the dying and life-giving one.

For me, I think the gift of the day was the sense of connectedness with all of these women and their journeys and stories – the sense of weaving together the rope that is stronger than any one of us alone. It was kind of summed up in this gorgeous clip (Nina Paley You Gotta Believe):

I love the dancing Goddesses in this video - all those ancient ways we recognised her, grooving away in their own way. I especially like watching the Venus of Willendorf having her party, with all her wobbly bits grooving too. Such freedom in who she is!

So am I finding freedom in who I am? What a good question, and to be honest, I don't know yet. What I do know is that there is so much more below the surface, below that carefully-cultivated christian top layer. The "spiritual archaeology" my new director recommended is giving me the "permission" I think I still needed to look at those other layers: Grail myths, Egyptian mythology, music, storytelling, water - even endo and all its attendant lessons that I never wanted to learn but had no choice about. Who knows what will come of it? I don't, but I warrant that Someone does....

Just a last thought - I remember reading Mary Daly's quote that 'The word "sin" is derived from the Indo-European root "es" meaning "to be'. When I discovered this etymology, I intuitively understood that for a woman trapped in patriarchy, which is the religion of the entire planet, "to be" in the fullest sense is "to sin".'

What does "sinning" look like if it also means becoming or being? What might that look like? Now there's an interesting question!

A little self-care

Tonight is the dark of the moon - last night I could feel the last of the moon "buzzing" and it was so unsettling. Tonight, after a long walk in the park in the sunset with daughter, I am collected and calm. I have kitty company and the silence I have craved all day. 

I've found myself making some interesting decisions lately. Making choices for me, to explore parts of me, or just do some things that make me feel grounded.

One of them is booking a ticket just for me for Johannes Moser's cello recital at St Andrew's on the Terrace this Sunday: he's playing three of Bach's cello suites (1, 3, and 4), which I completely adore. I am taking myself off to the concert by myself, as I am not going to miss a chance to hear (some of) the suites live. Yo-yo Ma has released a third album recording of them and is now touring the world with the suites again - if he comes here I'm going, no matter where I might have to go to hear them. My lovely brother sent me a live recording of Yo-yo Ma playing all six in a row as part of the Proms season in London a few years back and it is absolutely my go-to music. I love Bach in any form and for any reason, but the suites are special. I came late to them - I forget how I came across them but they have captured my heart. 

Other things are booking to go to the Women's Spirituality conference in Christchurch in November - the flight times are pretty ugly but I wasn't going to miss that one. I didn't ask anyone either: I just told hubby I was going! I have read some of the papers from the original conference 30 years ago and I really want to network with other women who are exploring what spiritual living might look like in the 21st century, when it seems that all we have gained in the last 40 years might be lost again. 

I've also joined a Tai Chi class at work - I did Tai Chi at a previous job and really liked it. This class runs in lunchtime once a week (which is better than after work for me) and the two I've done so far made me feel so energised and so grounded - I was sparkling full of energy and ideas in the afternoon! I may need to book out the afternoons after Tai Chi for project/high concentration work to make the most of that!

Hubby and I are continuing to enjoy Ceroc dance on a Friday night - we'd missed a few classes due to being sick and it was so good on Friday to get back to class, catch up with the friends we're making there, and get back on the dance floor! 

Another thing I've done is book out every Friday as a no-meetings day next year - either to work from home or do concentrated project-type work or study. With the pace of change heating up next year, it seemed the sensible thing - take control of my diary before other people got near it! I suspect those Fridays will become really important as my uni papers begin next year too - also a scary thought but another thing I am doing for me. 

The most interesting of those things is entering direction again.... I am really looking forward to company on the way, especially as I am travelling "home by another way". 

Praxis

My husband is awesome.

A few months ago, he came home from a gallery setup in great excitement (he volunteers at the local art society - he is a potter and photographer). The pottery exhibition he was setting up included a piece he thought I would like. He dragged me down to the final setup (he was protecting me from the exhibition opening - I loathe openings! Too many people in a small space trying to sound important and pretentious about art!) to show me something. One of his friends had made a copy of the Venus of Willendorf out of clay, mounted on a stone block. He bought it for me....

And then, for my birthday, he got me a singing bowl. I have been wanting one of them for so long - every time I went into TradeAid or anywhere else I was gently ringing all of the bowls... So now the Venus of Willendorf has a candle holder in front surrounded by a malachite bracelet, and a singing bowl, and a koru, and a huge chunk of amethyst geode that hubby has had since he was a boy, and flowers when they are fresh.... It's quite a lovely place on that part of the display unit, and there is something about ringing the bowl when I light a candle that brings peace like silent snow. 

The whole display unit is bristling with candles anyway, as we have our tending candles up there for when we Tend the Flame every 20 days from sundown to sundown, in honour of Brigid (St Bridget, Bride, Brigid - Celtic fire goddess, keeper of hearth and inspiration and also co-opted as a saint). We've been Tending for more than a year now as a family and it's something we all enjoy. We use an electric candle overnight and when we're out of the house but try to use a real flame the rest of the time. 

And in our room, I have a statue of Mary as Our Lady of Grace that I've had for years, and candles in porcelain pots, and alabaster pots, and it's all about intentions and honouring her. 

It's kind of odd actually. The Venus of Willendorf is earthy, ancient, fat and full of grace - not pretty, but powerful. Our Lady is porcelain and gold, serene, delicate, pregnant with possibilities, yet slim and beautiful. Quite different images, but both have such power, such courage. Brigid's Flame is fire - heat, light, inspiration, warmth. Earth, Air, Fire - maybe I am the Water? It is certainly my place of inspiration!

Planning ahead

I was doing something tonight I haven't done for many years - at least 8, maybe more. I was on a university website, working on an application to study. Victoria has just launched a Masters in Health (Workplace Health and Safety), with the inaugural students starting in 2019. I'll be one of them.

That's a fairly scary thought actually. I know I'm good academically and I know I've always done well at uni - and the last lot of study was 4.5 years part time through Massey doing my GradDipOSH. The scary thought is that I've got a demanding job, a busy family life, and all those other things going on in life. Looking back, I'm not quite sure how I fitted in my Massey study with a baby and a full-on consultancy job - thank heaven for hubby being at home! I guess I'll adapt but it's just a bit scary.

However, it's the right time to do it - it'll take about 5 years and that will still have me mid-career with about 15-20 years of practice left, so it makes sense to do it now. I've always wanted to do a Masters and for various reasons it didn't happen. There's a lot going on in the field that I need to keep up with to bring to my work, so it will be a good chance to refresh myself. So here goes - jumping in with both feet! Hopefully by March I'll have a few more things sorted at work so it won't be so busy...

Sense of divinity

Last weekend was an interesting one. I went to the Progressive Christian conference held at St Andrew's on the Terrace. The Friday chimed with all of the work I've been doing on breaking stigma around mental illness at work, and preparing for Mental Health Awareness Week and the launch of all the resources we've been working on - but it was doing it from a different angle. I have only been in a church three times since the abortive St James' AGM in March and in that time my thinking has really shifted again, so I was a bit nervous about being with people that described themselves as Christians, as my experience of people who use that term are often anything but loving and compassionate.

However, I was pleasantly surprised - I met people that I could have genuine conversations with about issues that mean something to me: how we treat our Mother the Earth; how we treat other people that wear skin over their divinity; how we walk with kindness and gentleness in the world; how we find Godde, God, Goddess - the Greatness that is the Brightness of All - in the midst of all things and in everywhere.

The most interesting sessions were the one that Emily Colgan ran on reading the bible from the perspective of Earth, employing a hermeneutic of suspicion that I am familiar with from feminist theology. I found this helpful as I haven't touched the bible for months, preferring Matthew Fox's theology, the Gnostic Gospels, or Goddess writings. There may be a way back there for me, employing the hermeneutic of suspicion again.

The best session of all though was Sande Ramage's Jungian "releasing the Christian ties that bind" session. I cried - suddenly it seemed I had found someone else who has travelled the same route I am travelling, and is further along the road. When she talked about her experience of divinity as Goddess and swapped between he and she as naturally as breathing, it felt as though I had found what I had been trying for years to get into the church.

Not sure where this leaves me though. I will continue to read, to seek. Hubby and daughter gave me a singing bowl for my birthday, which now sits alongside the pottery version of the Venus of Willendorf that one of hubby's pottery friends made and we bought a few months ago. It is astonishing, the sense of divinity that comes when I ring the bowl and light a candle. Maybe that's all I do for a bit: small ritual actions, lighting candles, calling on her, singing bowls, breathing, walking on her breasts the earth. Smelling the jonquils in my garden. Sinking into the depths of the wonderful bathtub in our gorgeous new bathroom that hubby built. Being aware. Writing. Poems are beginning to bubble again....

Discovering a feminine Godde

“And the Lord said…” preached the priest at the parish I was attending, and suddenly, everything changed.

“Why does it have to be “the lord”?” I thought. “We know God is above and beyond gender, but I only ever hear God referred to using male pronouns and male terms. Can God be Mother as well as Father? Can God be … Lady?” That thought was the beginning of the seismic shift in my theology, my practice, and my life.

Until that moment, I had lived my faith in a conventional (but hopefully courageous) way. I studied English Literature and Religious Studies in my BA, and then went on to complete a Bachelor of Ministries degree from the-then Bible College of New Zealand, with a focus on spiritual formation. During my time at BCNZ, I returned to my Anglican roots, and was Confirmed as an Anglican not long after I married my husband in 2001.  

I joined the Third Order Franciscans not long after we married, and I transferred my vows to a Benedictine community a few years later, as I found the Benedictine vows of stability, conversion of life, and obedience to God a much easier fit for a married woman than poverty, chastity and obedience! Our daughter, then aged 4, assisted me at my vows by vesting me in the Benedictine habit – she has grown up with a mother who works fulltime, is married and a nun, and is quite happy with all of that, as is my husband who is my strongest supporter!

Fast-forward five years. My small family were attending a small Anglican church and living our lives as a youngish couple with a small child. Everything was seemingly normal. I was reading voraciously, as is my lifelong habit, and one of the books I read around that time was Sue Monk Kidd’s The Dance of the Dissident Daughter. And then, from left field, comes this thought: why do I never hear God addressed by female names? And following on from that, what is wrong with being female, that (according to Augustine and other male early church leaders) means women cannot be seen as imago Dei, fully created in the image of God as women?

St Augustine said that,

“Woman does not possess the image of God in herself but only when taken together with the male who is her head, so that the whole substance is one image. But when she is assigned the role as helpmate, a function that pertains to her alone, then she is not the image of God. But as far as the man is concerned, he is by himself alone the image of God just as fully and completely as when he and the woman are joined together into one.”

I dived into the most serious theological and historical study I had ever done (including the six years I spent doing my degrees) – certainly the most fraught. This felt like a life-or-death situation – the life or death of my ability to respect myself as a woman, the life or death of my ability to connect with the divine.

Is there historical and theological support for calling God by female names?

To my great delight (and relief), there is ample biblical, theological and historical evidence for addressing the Most Holy by female names. I discovered that the translations made of the Bible had frequently changed female names for people, as well as mistranslating female terms and names for the divine. For example, the ancient Hebrew “El Shaddai” is usually translated “The Almighty”, assuming that the term derives from shadad, burly or powerful, or shadah, “mountains”. However, many Hebrew scholars now understand that El Shaddai derives from Shad meaning breast – El Shaddai therefore translates as the Many-Breasted One. The ancient habit of translating the Tetragrammaton, the four-letter name for God, as “LORD”, further reinforced the incorrect assumption that only male language was acceptable to name the Most High.

The usage of “Father/abba” to relate to the Holiest is only used 4 times in Mark, 15 in Luke, 49 in Matthew, and 109 times in John (the Gospels were written in that order, from around 60-120AD) - surely a sign of a growing community usage, rather than Jesus’ actual words. Given the Gospels had earlier sources now lost to us, it is possible that the term “father” was used infrequently by Jesus, and was then latched onto by his followers as a quiet and subconscious way of reinforcing the Graeco-Roman worldview of men as pater familias, the head of the household, and its use encouraged and strengthened through the years by those reinforcing male leadership and power.

I came to understand that, if we only use male names for God, then that subtly implies that only men are made in God’s image. When we use only male terminology for God and for people in our liturgy, worship, preaching and teaching, we subtly reinforce this incorrect, outdated understanding of God and imply that maleness is “normal” and somehow being female means we are less.

Theologically, we understand that God is omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient, and as omnipotent and all-powerful, God will not be limited by gender, and nor should our language for God put God’s power and presence in a box of limited male terms. St Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179) called God Mother in her sermons; so too did Julian of Norwich (c1342-1416). Yet despite extensive biblical, historical and theological evidence, including discussions within our own Anglican tradition in New Zealand and overseas over the last 50 years or more, we still continue to primarily name God by male names.

I began to look closely at the liturgy and Bible translations we use. I translated the entire Benedictine daily prayer cycle into gender neutral and expansive terms (where female and male names are used equally) for my own use as a Lenten devotion in 2014. I then tackled A New Zealand Prayer Book/He Karakia Mihinare o Aotearoa. I wrote a version of the Eucharistic liturgy p.404 that removed all male terms for God, replacing them with female or gender-neutral terms. Not being a priest, I was not able to use this, but it was an exercise in trying to find out what it might feel like to be in a liturgy where God was addressed openly as Sophia, Mother, Lady, She. I began to look for versions of the Bible where the names for God were not changed, and discovered both The Inclusive Bible, and even more powerful, The Divine Feminine Version of the New Testament, and began to experience the scriptures with a new voice.

I found that I could not keep silent about the explosion of love that I had felt since I had openly embraced calling God by female names – my favourites being She Who Is, following Elizabeth Johnson’s book of the same name that was the beginning of the strong theological backbone I needed, Sophia (the Greek translation of Hokhmah or Wisdom), and Mother or Lady. I began to think about Jesus as the incarnation of Holy Sophia in the continuation of the Wisdom tradition, which a lot of scholars had identified, and reflected that the Holy Child could be thought of as the Child of the Mother. I began to discuss my discovery of She Who Is with others.

And that’s where things got complicated.

There was a lot of support, often from older Christian friends that had gone through the second wave of feminism in the 1960s and 1970s, several of whom had been closely involved with the Anglican Church and the Prayer Book Commission. There was also stonewalling, accusations of heresy, and refusal to engage with the theology and history, particularly from some male priests who clung to patriarchy like a ragged, worn-out old blanket that they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, let go of.

I tried everything. I spoke, with love, to friends and acquaintances at churches – my own and others. I spoke with my husband and daughter, who have both journeyed with me on this discovery of She Who Is Godde (the term I now prefer for the divine – it is an old medieval spelling for the divine, and is completely neutral with no male connotations such as “God” has). I spoke with passion to our churchwardens and parish priests, describing my journey and trying to engage with them over the theological and historical information I had gleaned through at least five years of intensive study, prayer and reflection.

I felt unwelcome in regular church liturgy because I only ever heard Godde named by male names, and that no longer named my experience of her. I changed the words when I was singing hymns (first resigning from the church choir) and participating in liturgy, substituting she for he so I could be present in church. When I used a female name for Godde, Sophia, Holy Wisdom, when leading intercessions one Sunday in 2016, I was formally censured by my parish priest and removed from all rosters in the parish where I, and my dangerous ideas about Godde, might be expressed publicly. Patriarchy was rampant.

I did find allies – people that felt the same as me, who had sought Sophia/Wisdom and found her, as we are enjoined to do in Proverbs and Wisdom. They helped me keep up my courage. In the end, in desperation, I sought a meeting with our People’s Warden asking what I could do, as our parish priest completely refused to engage in conversation about this topic with us. The Warden recommended we put motions to our parish AGM – which we did, seeking removal of male terms when the whole of humanity was meant, and seeking education for the parish and changes in our language for Godde in church.

So how did it all turn out? Well, the parish priest would not allow the motions on the naming of Godde to even be put at the AGM (giving us no warning of this so we couldn’t even amend the motions) and refusing to allow discussion on the naming of Godde. I wasn’t even allowed to speak to the motion I was trying to put (which had been notified to the parish according to the correct protocol, three weeks before the AGM). The priest tried to undermine the motion on naming of people by putting a much weaker motion from the chair, but at least there is some intention to remove terms such as “mankind” and “man/men” when they are intended to refer to all people. The motion on educating the parish on the female names for Godde was passed, after my husband spoke with calm eloquence, identifying that his experience of the journey was that knowing Godde by male-only terms was missing so much of the richness of Godde’s nature.

And where does that leave me? I am still reading, still researching – trying to identify what it might do to the way the church treats people, the way Christians treat people, if we viewed Godde as our Mother. How might we respect her world, if we thought about it as birthed by her? How might we show love one to another, if all of our people could see and hear of Godde in terms that show that, no matter what flesh you are born into, you are fully born and bearing Godde’s image? I am still lighting candles of hope in her name, praying in the stillness of the night sky, walking the beach and hearing the water crash on the shore, filling her footprints left there by some other person who walked before me and carries her name.

I am calling out her name in the world, and naming patriarchy and misuse of male power wherever I see it.

I cannot un-see or un-know what I now know, the experiences of her love I have had. My image of Godde is forever changed – much bigger, wider, deeper, more beautiful, richer. I am a different person since I encountered Godde the Mother, Godde the Creatrix, Godde the Incarnate Child, Godde Holy Wisdom. I have found my image was in her all along – I just couldn’t see it, because the language we use for God told me that only men were made in God’s image. Women were only mothers, not fathers – but now Godde is my Mother I can find myself in her.

I will not participate in my own invisibility

I saw that quote today, and I like it.

Today has been a day of me deciding that I will stand up for what matters to me. I heard about the "Women's March on Washington" in protest of the inauguration of the Orange Despot in America, and I decided that I would attend that march. Even more beautifully, my daughter (aged 10) also decided to go, in her full Girl Guide uniform, as she identified that Guides is about including everyone.

I have never marched before. I have never protested before. But now, I cannot stand by silent, as a complicit bystander, in what I see going on in the world. My friends, who are rainbow, inclusive, women, black, progressive, are frightened. I cannot be silent. So I marched, with nearly a thousand Wellingtonians.

I saw a number of placards I liked: my favourite was "Kate Shepherd sent me".

Then, this afternoon, I met with a friend from church to discuss language for God, which was really encouraging as she uses feminine names for God as well and would be happy to see them used in public worship.

And tonight, we met with the church wardens to discuss naming and language for God - for the first time I feel that someone is listening. The question will be whether there is doing as well.

I will not participate in my own invisibility. I see these three things linked: I am finally having the courage to stand up and say that this is not okay, that the silencing of some of God's most ancient names and nature is not okay, and that it is an issue of justice as well as a issue of understanding and seeing God's depth and beauty - and I finally have the courage not to be a bystander or complicit any more.

It's really tiring though....

Hagia Sophia, holy Sophia, wholly God

This year promises to be an interesting one. As part of seeing the new year in, the whanau and I reflected on what our dreams were for 2017, and what the best thing was from 2016. 

For me, the dreams for this year could create an interesting time. The work dream is to find my joy in my work again as I experiment with new ways of working, particularly with contracting. 

The more interesting dream comes out of some events recently. I frequently lead the weekly intercessions at our parish, and early in Advent it was my turn again. These are the prayers I led our parish in on 11 December:

Blessed One, this day we celebrate the joy you bring us.

You came to us in an ordinary event

Of a refugee mother giving birth

In the only shelter that could be contrived.

In the joy of the face of the exhausted mother,

The joy in the face of her husband,

We see a very ordinary miracle.

We pray for ordinary miracles:

Life, peace, hope, joy, love.

Holy Wisdom, Holy Sophia,

Bring your ordinary miracles into the faces

And lives of those in pain, in places of war,

Or affected by your restless earth.

Holy Wisdom, holy Spirit, hear our prayer.

Coming One, in this Advent we remember the baby who came,

Jesus, Light of the World,

The baby born of a refugee teenager.

And we know you promise to come again

In joy and love and peace and hope.

We pray for teenage mothers, refugees,

And those for whom this season means fear and violence.

May they know your peace and hope.

­­We pray for those for whom Christmas is a reminder of loss,

And for those who have gone on that have left a hole in our hearts.

Holy Wisdom, holy Spirit, hear our prayer.

Holy Sophia, Wisdom Spirit of God,

We pray for leaders everywhere

That they would hear your voice,

Listen to your heart, and act with justice and compassion.

May they follow your star,

See your love and kindness,

And return by another way, changed.

Holy Wisdom, holy Spirit, hear our prayer.

Most Holy, may we look with your eyes,

Hear with your ears.

Help us to experience your coming

In the touch of those we love, the smells and tastes

That make this season special.

May our senses show us your ordinary miracles.

May we have the courage and kindness

To share those ordinary miracles

With those that we find it a challenge to love.

Holy Wisdom, holy Spirit, hear our prayer. Amen.

Quite simple and innocuous, I thought. Apparently I was wrong. I got a snarky email a few days later from the vicar telling me that I shouldn't have named God by her ancient name of Sophia in church, and that I wasn't to lead intercessions again until after he had "talked to me" in January, as it "wasn't appropriate" to name God by a female name in church and "someone had complained". 


I saw red. I still see red, as this is the third time he's tried to do this - he told me I couldn't edit the church magazine after I wrote an article about Sophia, and that I wasn't allowed to even submit any articles on that subject, and now he tries to remove me from the intercessions. Patriarchial oppression and censorship at its clearest and most obvious. 


I will not allow someone else's narrowminded, patriarchal, androcentric ignorance allow the knowledge of Sophia's beauty to be crushed again. The vicar seems to be of the opinion that the only person that this affects is me - well, he'd be wrong there. I asked a whole lot of people I know that this matters for to speak to him, and the next day in church (I wasn't there - I was both too angry to go, and wanting to visit a friend of mine in hospital) lovely hubby spoke during the "sharing" time at the end and identified how much discovering Sophia had meant to both him and me - and why I wasn't there, because the vicar was trying to shut me down. 


Lovely hubby also helped me make my Christmas present: he got a t-shirt printed for me that says "Hagia Sophia | Holy Sophia | Wholly God" on the front, and "Wisdom-Sophia is vindicated by all her children" on the back. I wore it to church yesterday, and intend to wear it to church every week.

So my dream for 2017 is that we see full equality in the language we use for God in church. And I am going to fight for it. I have been fairly quiet, asking nicely for this to be included especially as we combined the 9 and 10.30am services recently and changed all the liturgy, but as nothing has happened its time to get significantly less vocal - and significantly more Anglican. After all, the Fourth Mark of Mission says that we are called to "Transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation." Patriarchy is an unjust structure of society and it's time that our language for God reflects our commitment to a just society where women and men are equal in Sophia's sight and made in her image. 

Back home by another way

Okay, I'm back. You may have wondered why it's been almost a year since I've blogged here. Lots of reasons: work - I was on a busy fixed-term contract and am now working fulltime in consulting again; home - getting settled into our home here on the hill; family - spending as much time as I can with those I love; and a huge amount of thinking and processing in my inner life that I couldn't write about.

But I'm back here. And I want to offer something to anyone who's still out there and is coming home by another way too.

I wrote this last night after lighting the candles on my altar again. I have been searching for an appropriate blessing for candle-lighting and couldn't find one, and last night this welled up.

Flame of love, heal us.
Fire of beauty, consume us.
Light of love, shine on us.
Warmth of hope, shelter us.
Stillness of peace, enfold us.

I have been finding my creative life is gradually returning: after a hiatus of many years, I am writing poems again. Or maybe that I'm putting myself in the way of poems, I don't know. But poems are coming. And they are coming mostly complete, which is really unusual for me.

In the time I've been away, "home by another way" has also become quite real in a way I didn't expect. I am learning to see God's face in the world she made, and hear her voice in places I closed my eyes and ears to in the past. I have found the truth of old, old stories and am learning to trust my heart and my instincts more than ever.

Home by another way. And yes, I'll be back.

I have been there

One of my uni friends loaned me 84 Charing Cross Road many years ago when I was a student. I didn't know the author at all but immediately resonated with her love of all things literature and all things England. The sequel, The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, includes a description of Helene Hanff's passion for England - how she used to go to movies just to see English streets and buildings.

Last weekend, we watched Paddington for daughter's birthday - we missed this one at the theatre last year and had promised her we'd see it. It was quite well done and almost as much fun as the books, but what got all of us was the locations. "We've been there!" "That's the London Eye!" "That's Big Ben!" and "That's the Museum of Natural History!" Tonight, hubby had a movie on from TV and it was the same - location-spotting. The movie was dreadful but on the odd occasion when I glanced up from my book, the locations not the action caught my eye. 

I've finally been there. I have walked those streets until I wanted to amputate my feet with a spoon and my knees were so crippled I was sure they would never straighten out again. I have ridden the Underground and a double-decker bus. I have been in the British Museum and seen the Mildenhall Treasure and the Elgin Marbles, and could have cheerfully stayed there for an entire week looking at stuff. I have scraped my jaw off the floor in the National Gallery. I have walked Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, and found my ancestors' memorials and the place where one of them was executed (long story). I have fallen in love with Canterbury Cathedral and will never be the same again. I have celebrated Evensong by candlelight in York Minster and seen Mistress Quickly and Falstaff dodging around the Shambles. I have slithered around the Yorkshire Moors in the snow, and watched my family sledding at Chatsworth. I have walked in Chatsworth House and fallen in love with its gardens and library - and just fallen over in the snow! I have floated on Coniston Water and seen Peel/Wild Cat Island with my own eyes. I have walked through Hogsmeade and seen Hogwarts. I have eaten pheasant pie and enjoyed the warmth and friendliness of a 350-year-old British pub. I have touched the original Rocket and stood in the cab of Mallard. I have seen with my own eyes many-million-year-old dinosaur bones and stood inside a leaf at the Museum of Natural History.

I am blessed and very grateful.  

I really must watch Pride and Prejudice again and revisit Chatsworth-as-Pemberley....

Momento mori

The last few weeks have been tough for us. Between hubby and I, we have lost three friends and my uncle: one of hubby's friends from Camera Club, two of my Kinleith friends/colleagues, and my uncle. Death seems to be stalking rather close right now.

I can't quite put into words what I am thinking about. Momento mori, the remembrance of death, is a monastic activity: remembering that this earth is not all that there is, and that we live our life as well as we can in the 'sure and certain hope' that when we leave this place, when our journey ends here, there is a door that is opened and Sophia will welcome us home. 

That is my prayer for my uncle and our friends: that their doors have opened into a place of joy and love and hope; and for us that are left behind, may Sophia walk with us in the valley of the shadow and lead us to her hope. 

Take a bow

I got to work today to discover that a good friend and colleague from my Kinleith days died overnight - the second Kinleith friend to die in a week (the first was one of our electricians, also a friend). Added to the death of my uncle on Good Friday and it's getting somewhat painful. 

I don't have any real words to say, only loss and empathy for his family and other friends. He was an archer, a passionate medieval re-enactor, a larger-than-life person with whom I shared many long and cheerful chats, recipes, and fun. I helped co-ordinate his rehab when he cut his hand at work just after I started at Kinleith in 2012 and we became good friends through that process. It is partly his influence that meant I took up archery, even though I opted for all the mod cons on my compound bow rather than a bare medieval longbow. 

We went to the Taupo Medieval Faire that he started last year and grew to very impressive and entertaining proportions this year. We had a good chat there and he showed our daughter his dagger and sword - she was suitably impressed (so was I!). The crazy thing is that I never saw him shoot, even though he was mad keen on his longbow. He made all his own arrows and equipment - he was amazingly clever with his hands and loved making stuff - and he was a very gifted cook. His medieval recipes used to make me hungry just listening....

I will miss him. It's hard to imagine Kinleith without him. May he rest in peace and rise in glory - with his bow to hand. 

Alarums and excursions

In my last post we were entering into the darkness of Good Friday, having finished the mandatum and stripping the church. I fully expected to reflect on Easter itself, but, to quote John Lennon, 'Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans.' I was part of the Good Friday liturgies, and after I got home, daughter and I did some gardening in the glorious late autumn sun. We got a call just after we came in to say that my mum's youngest brother had died very unexpectedly.

This whole week has been a blur in many ways. My loss cannot in any way compare to that of my aunt and cousins and their children, but I loved my uncle deeply and it was totally unexpected. I asked for leave for yesterday and today so we could go down to Palmerston North for his funeral, and it turned into a fairly eventful trip.

It was pouring with rain on the way down, and just north of Taihape we blew a tyre coming down off the Desert Road, and couldn't find the jack in hubby's car (my brother-in-law has since identified that the jack in a Toyota Yaris is kept under the left-hand front seat?!) so we waited ages for the AA, and were eventually saved by a knight in shining armour on his trusty steed, disguised as a local farmer in a raincoat and rain trousers driving a ute.... so we cancelled the call to the AA.

We finally arrived in Palmerston North, found our motel, had a very nice Mediterranean meal in a little restaurant underneath it, and went wearily to bed, to be woken at 3am by the fire alarm going off.... We wandered around the Square for most of an hour before they let us back in the building (fortunately the rain had stopped somewhere between going to bed and the alarm). And got woken around 8.30am by daughter screaming in pain.... so we scooted her off to ED to try and sort her out (fortunately it wasn't as serious as it originally presented). Finally got to the funeral about half an hour before it started....

The funeral itself was lovely, insofar as a funeral can be lovely. It perfectly reflected the character and passions of my uncle, who was an organist, a musician, a gardener, a passionate lover of God and people, a humble, funny, and brilliant man. He lived his life with gusto and humour, and his faith with courage and conviction. I don't know if he knew St Francis of Assisi, but he would have entirely approved of a quote attributed to him: "Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words." That was my uncle to a T. His gospel was love and compassion, dealt out with a quirky cheerfulness, a song, and usually a few terrible puns. He was unfailingly warm and caring to everyone who knew him, but he was never stodgy or heavy - that sly sense of humour was never far away.

It is awfully hard to imagine the family without him.

Maundy Thursday

And here we are again. Maundy Thursday. Feet are washed. Church is stripped. Pictures are covered. John Rutter's Requiem and Taverner's wonderfully emotive Song for Athene have been playing. Prayers on the floor of the living room with a lighted candle. Tears in the Garden. Songs at the table. Blazing moonlight and a touch of frosty dew.

Red things go faster

Last week, it was our 14th wedding anniversary. Hubby and I were supposed to go out for dinner to a lovely little cheap'n'cheerful Thai place we really like, but I ended up unexpectedly covering a training course out of town and didn't get home in time. We had a bit of a time-limit - we were planning our date together while daughter was at Brownies. Date subsequently deferred until tomorrow when she's at Brownies again!

Today it's officially the first day of autumn, but no-one bothered to tell the weather! It was an absolute scorcher: it was officially 26degC, but the thermometer was showing that in our hallway (one of the coolest parts of the house) so it was nearer 30 or more in the living room, and more than that outside. They take the readings at the airport! However, the sky is deepening into that gorgeous rich blue you only see in autumn, and the nights are definitely cooler. Waiting for leaves to start to change soon.

This morning, we braved the sun (suitably smothered in sunblock) for a good morning of archery down at the club: groups were a bit wide for my liking but we have had a bit of a layoff. After lunch, we explored the end-of-season sales in search of a new microwave: the one we had was a wedding present from my grandmother and had started to develop some slightly alarming characteristics, such as randomly starting operations when you opened the door, and not stopping cooking when the door was opened.... Obviously the interlock was going a little feral, and it was time to honourably retire it, hence the trip to the sales.

I love 60% off. I also love bright red. We needed a new microwave. Those three things came cheerfully together this afternoon when we found a bright red microwave at 60% off, along with a bright red food processor (of the sort bread-making hubby has been salivating over for two years now) also with 60% off.... Two appliances for half of the standard price of the microwave.

And now my kitchen will probably get a speeding ticket, because red things go faster!

Homesick for pilgrimage

I've often wondered whether it was possible to be truly homesick for a place that isn't really home. Last night, I got my answer: absolutely.

Part of our trip to the UK was a pilgrimage. We visited three cathedrals and several holy sites while we were over there. We started our pilgrimage on Christmas Day in NZ's northernmost Cathedral, Holy Trinity Auckland, which was pretty special as it was 200 years to the day since the preaching of the first Christian sermon in this land. We continued it with English cathedrals and holy places.

York Minister is jaw-droppingly beautiful. The feral GPS took us right into the centre of the old city within the walls - to the point that we nearly ran into the pedestrian-only zone through the Shambles (oops); but as a way to see the Cathedral, driving up Museum Street to the York Information Centre pretty much can't be beaten. The Minster just loomed up out of the frost, with the morning light behind it, shimmering on the golden stone, and the Heart of Yorkshire tracery in the Great Window catching the sun. Inside, it's even better. I literally had to scrape my jaw off the floor when we walked into the nave and looked up. I have never seen anything so lovely as those pillars of stone reaching for the sky, and the gilded bosses and ribbed ceiling. We did one of the guided tours, which was very interesting but quite long. I loved the crypt, with the tomb of St William of York (very simple, a single block of stone with a candle burning on it), and the ancient paintings. We went back later on that day for evensong in the quire. Candles, choir (a visiting choir - the Minster's one was on holiday but they were very good), and that thunderously gorgeous organ. Worship was a whole body experience: the feel of the organ, the smell of wax and candles, the music, the silence. Prayers offered for the prayer intentions left in the Minster. Very down to earth and grounded in reality, even in the midst of the glorious music.

Sheffield Cathedral on New Year's Day: very quiet and peaceful. Reminded me a lot of the feel of Wellington Cathedral of St Paul although it's much much older and looks nothing like Wellington's "big pink sarcophagus"! It's not one of the "famous" ones but it was very lovely. We liked the fact you could see the Norman, Gothic, and later additions very clearly, and it had a gorgeous chapel to the Holy Spirit that I particularly liked. It also had the coolest of all the nativities we saw: made of Sheffield steel, about 1.5m high, and somehow the makers had made that steel very winsome and gentle.

Grace Dieu Priory was not on our original itinerary: my sister-in-law suggested it as it was just up the road from their place near Loughborough. We got there by a very cold walk through English woods in the snow, which was interesting in itself: I was quite surprised by the lack of undergrowth, bushes etc - just trees, and they seemed fairly widely spaced. I don't think it was deliberately planted but it had a "managed" feel. The priory itself is a ruin, but it was beautiful. The stonework was all iced with thick snow, and the walls rose out of snowy fields. The late afternoon light was very kind to the stonework, and the whole place had a kind of breathless hush, almost as though it was waiting for something. It had the feel of a "thin place": it knew it had once been holy ground, and the sense of consecration was still there. It was very cold! Having the deep snow helped the sense of hush too. The pond beneath the priory was frozen solid (small daughter threw a good-sized rock just to make sure and it skidded for several metres!).

Most people wouldn't consider Stonehenge a holy place, but I do. Most modern scholarship seems to think that it, and the landscape around it, was holy to the prehistoric peoples, and that Stonehenge was a place of worship. I certainly sensed that when I was there: It is so old, so unbelievably old, and it was in use for over 1000 years for whatever the ancients did there. It has left a mark on both the physical landscape and the landscape of Spirit. I spent some time trying to listen to the place (rather difficult when it's swarming with tourists!). I got the sense that Stonehenge isn't quite sure what it is anymore, but that when it's quiet, after dark or at the turnings of the year, it would go back in time a long long way. It would be a place of awe, and to me, that's what worship is: finding the awe, the marks of our recognition of the numinous, in places, times, music, art, and people - the places where God has touched us and we have touched God.

I suspect the National Gallery isn't on a list of holy places for many people either, but there were so many wonderful works of art, many of them altarpieces or great artist's explorations of religious themes that it was definitely part of our pilgrimage. So many artists, so many places to go in the world through the art, so many themes of love and beauty, power and betrayal, peace and war and everything in between. Highlights too numerous to mention, but seeing Leonardo da Vinci and Raphael in the same building was pretty amazing, not to mention Holbein, Constable, Turner, Degas, and a whole lot more.

Westminster Abbey was a different kind of holy: the holiness of the ordinary, the holiness that we find through living our lives and contributing to society. It also turned into a very personal moment, when I found a shrine to one of my ancestors, and the tomb of another (a Dean of Westminster). Did not expect that at all! Partly because of the number of people there, it was hard to get a sense of the Abbey as a working church, except at the prayers on the hour (when one of the Canons requested everyone to be still for a few moments while they offered prayer). We didn't go to the prayers at St Edward the Confessor's tomb, although I did spend a few moments reflecting there. I found it hard to get a sense of the architecture too, because there were so many monuments and grave markers - I found some old friends, like CV Stanford, Howells, Dryden, Keats, Shakespeare, and rather endearingly, CS Lewis (no Tolkien though). Also Queens Elizabeth and Mary (in a shared grave, rather beautifully). Henry V, and Henry IV.

The jewel in the crown, and the finale of our pilgrimage, was Canterbury Cathedral itself. We were staying in the beautiful, peaceful Cathedral Lodge within the precincts of the Cathedral - it was tasteful, comfortable, and luxuriously beautiful in a very understated way. What was amazing was how the noise of the city just disappeared when you went through the walls into the precinct. The old city walls are stone and incredibly thick: the grounds are almost silent. The Cathedral opened on us like a revelation as we came through the gates from Quenensgate. After a very late lunch we went in. The sense of prayer and Presence hits you the moment you walk through the doors - there is a holy hush in the building not of any person's making. It just is. We were blessed enough to arrive about 15mins after Saturday evensong had begun (we got there about 3.30pm), so there was a tide of glorious music and resonant organ everywhere. We went to explore the crypt, beginning with praying at the Martyrdom of St Thomas Becket, and then visiting the various chapels in the crypt - all with evensong washing over us, even through the thick stone of the ancient Norman crypt. There are some very ancient wall paintings in one of the chapels that gave us a tiny sense of the riot of colour the Cathedral would have once been, but it was the atmosphere of the place that kept stilling us. The place where St Thomas' body lay, in the Chapel of St Mary of the Undercroft; the place where his tomb was before they built the shrine (that Henry VIII pulled down). The single candle that burns where the shrine once was. And of course the tomb of Edward the Black Prince. Over 1500 years of continuous prayer has marked this place. The very stones pray and praise.

The next day we went to choral eucharist there, in the quire, with the light blue and gold and red through the stained glass. Incense. Singing. Organ. Psalms sung to chant like I've never heard them before. Processions of readers, the Gospels, holy gifts. Receiving communion at the High Altar of Canterbury Cathedral. The taste of port on my lips, the holy body and blood. More singing, and hearing the purity of those boys' voices soaring in the Anthem.... Prayers, very down to earth, for ordinary blessings, ordinary pains, ordinary joys. Being encouraged to pray the Lord's Prayer in our own language - I started in Maori but got lost amongst all the English! Blessing the water for the holy water font. Finishing with Psalm 150 for the Recessional, soaking the stones in praise and prayer yet again.

And at the end of the service, gathering with Canon Nick in the Chapel of Our Lady of the Undercroft for our pilgrim blessing, giving thanks for the journey we had made and the one we were to make home. Holding Canterbury specially in my heart, trying not to cry as we left. None of us wanted to leave. Trying to carry Canterbury with me, St Thomas, the Martyrdom, the crypt, and the praise soaked into the stones.

Can I be homesick for a place I don't belong to? Yes, I can. I'm homesick for Canterbury. I am homesick for the Presence of that place, for the stillness, the silence, the beauty of the worship, the smell of incense, the thunder of the organ and boys' voices soaring in praise. Beautiful stone and light and glass. The warmth and kindness of the welcome we received from everyone. The place of martyrdom, destination of millions of pilgrims like us through the centuries. The place marked by God's presence and our recognition of God's presence.

Now I need to find those places here, find a way to bring it home to smalltown New Zealand, land of sheep, green fields and bright sunshine. It's going to be a long job.

And the truth comes out

Okay, there's a reason that the blog was a bit sparse leading into December and so far this year. We were planning, and executing, a major family holiday to the UK, and didn't want to splash it around digital media that we were away. I had no mental space for anything but finishing up work before Christmas and finalising arrangements for us being away: packing, booking stuff, sorting out keys for house-sitters etc, so the blog suffered a little!

We left Rotorua on Christmas Eve, driving up to Auckland, where we stayed with hubby's parents in the place they were house-sitting. We had a family Christmas with his family and my sister-in-law's family, which was very chilled out - barbeque and salad for Christmas is pretty much perfect here. Hubby, daughter and I went to Holy Trinity Cathedral for the Christmas Day sung eucharist, which was very special as it was the 200th anniversary, to the day, of the arrival of Christianity to New Zealand, when Samuel Marsden accepted an invitation from the Bay of Islands chiefs to preach to them in Oihi Bay. And for the cynics amongst us, Marsden spoke fairly good Maori and was good friends with a couple of chiefs who already spoke good English, so yes the message would have got across! It was special being in our northenmost cathedral for that day - had we not been going to the UK we would have gone up to Oihi Bay to be part of the celebrations. It was also very special to spend Christmas at Holy Trinity, as one of my old friends is the Dean there and it was lovely to see her and to launch our pilgrimage there.

We flew out on Boxing Day in blazing summer sunshine, travelling via Sydney, Abu Dhabi, and finally into Manchester. The journey was long, with very minimal breaks between flights, and I had to keep track of three passports, 9 boarding passes (3 each), four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a pukeko in a ponga tree.... We figured it out that we spent 27 hours in the air and about 36 hours in transit gate to gate, and somehow we landed on the day after we left. Don't anyone try to explain that to me - as far as I am concerned it's all witchcraft!

However, the "day after we left" was somewhat different to the day we left. It was about 27degC when we left Auckland; Manchester was about -1degC with around 12-15cm of snow on the ground. Yes, snow. And 2-3cm of compacted ice on the roads, most of which hadn't been swept because the snow had only just stopped falling. Once we had collected our rental car (a Peugeot 208 - very nice to drive!), we discovered that the feral GPS wanted to take us to Sheffield over the Peak District, and the road was closed. So we had to find an alternative and the GPS wouldn't co-operate - we navigated nearly blind in the snow and took the long route from Manchester, up towards Leeds on the M67, and then down the M1 (once we found it) - the M1 was a little startling as the usual 3 lanes were reduced to around two-ish (because they'd only swept and salted some of it).

It was a slow trip to Sheffield, and when we got there, Feral GPS took us up a steepish lane that had not been swept and had about 5cm of compacted ice on it - by the time we discovered how steep it was, we couldn't turn around. The traction control on the Peugeot was working overtime, and we needed a push up some of it... And then we had to dig out hubby's grandma's driveway of about 20-25cm of fresh snow so we could park the car.

So a bit of an eventful start to the trip. Gosh it was cold!! And it was dark when we landed at just after 7am - the sun didn't rise until 8ish, and it was dark by 4pm. It felt weird that the sun at 9am in New Zealand is higher in the sky than at any time during any of the English days!

More to come on the trip later....

One of those moments

I had one of "those" moments today. I have recently taken up archery, after hubby urged me to give it a go. He used to shoot when he was a schoolboy and always wanted to try again. There is a good club here and he joined it a few months ago, and suggested I come along to try one day. I did, and was instantly hooked.

I've been shooting recurve since I started, using the club's equipment. However, when I got to shooting this morning, the head coach beckoned me over and set me up with a compound bow: he thought that it might sort out my laterality problem: I am strongly left-handed but my right eye is dominant, which has been making aiming on the recurve tricky because I keep trying to sight with my right eye (I've been closing my right eye but my left eye is significantly weaker). The other option was wearing a patch!

Getting set up for compound shooting is much more complicated. The bow itself looks like a spider web, with three strings, two pulleys (cams) and much shorter limbs. There's also a heap of equipment: front sight, rear sight (peep), stabiliser, and string release. I was shooting without the stabiliser (I was happy about that because the bow itself is pretty heavy and I found that it made my shoulder tired!) and it took some doing just to get everything sorted and draw it. But once the cams turned over and the string let off (the cams take up to 85% of the draw power once they turn over), and I sighted and released, the power of the thing just blew me away!

I was shooting from 5m just to get the feel of it and the arrows were at least 20cm deep into the target. And it was astonishingly accurate: the sights helped but it also felt incredibly natural to draw and shoot. My first grouping with it had all six arrows touching and I nearly hit one with another one. It felt like someone had handed me the moon....

I have felt a little bit dazed all day, actually. I can't quite believe what happened this morning. In fact, I'm not sure what happened but it felt good!

Octave stretches

It's the end of the Octave of St Therese. As she is my patron and one of my deepest inspirations, I keep her feast as a full First Class Feast, with an octave (which also includes St Francis and St Bruno, which is rather nice). I was deeply disappointed to find that the NZ Lectionary doesn't even have her feast day in it and so there are no designated readings, and the Order of St Helena Breviary that I use doesn't commemorate her either. I find this surprising because she was an amazing woman who has influenced spirituality in a whole new direction in the 20th and 21st centuries. Once you get past the early, saccharine interpretations of her and start to find her depth, she is deeply courageous and enormously inspiring. I had to go online to find readings and prayers for her, but it was worth it.

So, what has come out of these days of reflection in her light and in the context of her friendship? More movement towards Sophia, the One who is calling me, and a deep frustration that when I go to worship, all I ever hear is "he, he, Lord, Lord." It always makes me think about Jesus' saying, "Not all who call me "Lord, Lord" will enter the kingdom of heaven" (just so I'm not accused of proof-texting, I know that is not the context of what Jesus was saying, but there is a resonance for me). I find it so disappointing that the entire Wisdom tradition and all of the tradition of Jesus as Sophia's messenger lying squarely in the Wisdom tradition has been so completely forgotten and buried under a great stinking pile of androcentrism and patriarchy.

So where next? Home by another way? And what does that really mean for me, for my vocation, my faith? What is the "other way"? And who is Home?

Personality and prayer - some beginning thoughts

I was catching up with a couple of friends' posts on Facebook and spotted that an old friend posted a link to a Myers-Briggs personality test. I first did this nearly 20 years ago and came out as an ENFJ - but the E (extrovert) was very marginal, and was strongly modified by the NF, which turned me introverted. I got curious and tonight did the test again, and came out an INFJ (which I think is a better reflection of me anyway - and last time the E was only just barely an E).

The information on the INFJ personality type is scarily accurate for me and the kinds of work and prayer I like. I get a kick out of helping people - it's why I work in health and safety - but the bit I like is making sure that they don't need me any more. My aim as a consultant is to do myself out of a job with every one of my clients. I love order, I am an inveterate planner (and hate it when things mess up my plans) and I like being organised. I have a couple of things I am passionate about and I am known as a "terrier" when there's something to dig my teeth into. I have always been a perfectionist, striving to be better at what I do.

So how does this translate into prayer? I can't be a perfectionist at prayer. I am learning over the years just to show up, to pray as I am and where I am, and just to keep doing it, circling back over the psalms like a moth over a candleflame. One of the bits of information I read suggested that INFJs don't like formal prayer. That's completely the opposite of me. Praying the Office provides the solid scaffolding of my heart, and using set forms of eucharist and so on feeds me.

But, thinking about it, maybe it's the poetry of it that gives me a framework for my own inner silence. Certainly when I go to pray myself, it's in words and images that come from deep inside - but some of those have been internalised from years of praying and lectio divina. There is a drive to experience and to be, to learn and to love. It's what drew me to the Community in the first place. And maybe that's why COS is a better fit for me than the Franciscans too - Benedictines are about work and prayer, Camaldolese are about the Three Goods: solitude, community, and service/mission. That about sums me up really.