Seeing ourselves.

So I was told recently that on a zoom meeting, your own video feed is reversed, because (apparently) people find it easier to see themselves as they see themselves in the mirror, rather than as others see themselves.

I was reminded of this in Meeting this morning, as there is a clock in the background, which is backwards as I see it.

Others, of course, see my video the correct way around.

The way we see ourselves is not the way that others see the us. That is very true - not just in online meetings. Our own perception of ourselves is not the same as others see us, maybe not completely reversed, but different - because seeing ourselves as others see us is disturbing. We prefer to see ourselves differently.

I think there is an interesting conclusion here: sometimes we need to believe what others see in us, what others say about us. Sometimes, other people see us better than we see ourselves.

So you sit in a silent Zoom meeting?

I have been asked a couple of times how we do Quaker Meeting for worship online. "Do you have a zoom meeting and mute everyone?" - well, yes.

Is it peculiar? Yes. But then, a normal Quaker meeting is odd, if you think about it. We go to a place, and sit in silence. And yet, as many testify, this is a powerful time, a time of deep spirituality, of engagement with the divine.

So yes, we sit in silence, looking at a computer screen. It is a strange thing to do, but then engagement with the divine is a strange thing to experience. At a time when it is difficult to separate work and home, being at home and spending time quietly contemplating divinity is powerful. And - in my personal experience - is also helpful. It helps to have a time of calm and peace. It helps to bring this into the home/work.

Thin places

There was an interesting comment about thin places in the meeting today. Thin Places are from Celtic spirituality, and are places where people have experienced the presence of the divine. There are some well known places - like Glastonbury - that are traditionally known as thin places.

But it struck me in the meeting (and I ministered along these lines) that what makes a place "thin" is not the divine presence. What I have been experienced is that what makes a place thin is us - our presence. It is about our involvement, and about our ability to see the divine in wherever you are.

In lockdown, the strange blurring of home/work/church/whatever can make it really hard to find the divine in any of these places (and as they are all one, that is difficult). But if it is us who makes hte difference, then we can find the Thin Place wherever we are. It might be - who knows - that we can find the divine in our work places when we return to them.

That could be a revelation.

The Castle will never be rebuilt

We have been having "Virtual meetings" these last few weeks, which is an interesting experience. But it seems to be working.

This week a number of things came together and made sense (I would have shared them, but my laptop started dying just after meeting!):

1. Others sharing their challenges with the Easter story and the theology behind it. Just for clarification, unlike those who ministered, I do accept the "traditional" theological understanding. Allbeit not all the theological interpretations.

2. A song by The Flaming Lips - The Castle. This is where the title comes from. It is about someone whose mental health collapsed and who took their own life, but it also speaks to me of the problems of mental illness - that it changes a person.

3. The discussions I have seen around asking when we will get "back to normal".


My take is that we will not - and should not - get back to normal. We should change and move to a new normal. Going back is a bad move - we need to learn lessons form this time, and move to a different way of doing things. The Easter story - however you understand it - changed the disciples. They could never go "back to normal". They had to find a new normal, a new way of doing things.

The truth is, the castle can never be rebuilt. Nor should it.

Changing faith

So I have been obessing over a song I heard this week - a version of "A Sound of Silence" by Disturbed. It is a cover of the Simon and Garfunkel song

The original song is incredible, and still makes the hairs on the back of my neck tingle. The performance is perfect (as always). The lyrics are very contemporary, the music is not, but still works - it is still a good song. The original is as old as me (which is old!) - 1963, since which time the music world has changed several times. It is unrecognisable from the world that song was originally written in.

The Disturbed version bring out (for me) new nuances and ideas from it. And makes my entire spine shiver. Because it is totally right for the song, honouring the original, but also fresh.


My faith is based on Judaism - which is 6,000 years old. Reunderstood as Christianity 2,000 years ago. Most of my theological expression and ideas - most of the language of my faith - is no more than 150 years old. It has been my faith for a bit over 40 years.

And yet, if my faith is not re-envisioned, with respect for the history and tradition, but with a distinct focus on what is right not, it is dead. A living faith is one that is prepared to listen again, re-interpret. Of course, not all new ideas are right, but to be open for the new is so important.

The fact that my faith has origins 6,000 years ago doesn't mean there is nothing new to find, to understand. In fact, it means that there is good solid tradition on which to understnad the faith TODAY in the context of the world now.

Because without that, I would never have given the Quakers a try.

What does it mean to be British?

Or even English?

This is important to consider, as there has been so much abusive and hateful discussion around this. And I was recently made to consider this, and it made me think.

Well, we are made up of Celts - from various European sources - and then Roman, from Italy. Of course, the Roman influences also drew in from all parts of the empire, so that is itself quite a mix.

Of course, you also have the Angles and the Saxons, from what is now Germany, and that area. And then there were the Vikings who add to the complex mix we have - from Scandinavia. So even this far (lets say 1500 years ago) there is a good range of European blood in the genetic make up of the "British".

There is a different between "British" and "English", but the pot is the same, the actual mix being different. Of course there is variation across the country as well - with all of these roots, there will be a whole range of combinations.

Then we have the Norman Invasion - 1066 and all that - and there is a strong input of French blood into the mix. In fact, because of the nature of this invasion, many of the "British Aristocracy" are actually Norman by origin - or if not by origin, there is almost certainly Norman blood in the lines. Completing the European mix, and meaning that being English - from 800 years ago - meant being very strongly European.

Does it end there? Of course not. As we move onto the time of Empire, we spread across the world, and - consensually or not - there was Asian, Indian, African and Carribean blood included in the mix. Like it or not, being "British" means being global.


Some of those who want to claim being "English" as special might point to the fact that we are "Christian". Which is an interesting claim - given that less that 1M go to Anglican churches (the national church), and maybe 5% of the population regularly attend church*. Now I am not going to argue that you have to go to a church or similar to be a Christian, but to claim that we are a "Christian Country" when such a low proportion actually participate.

Of course, we have always had a challenging association with the Christian Church - when the Catholic church arrived, we disagreed (and conceded). We were sometimes welcoming reformers (and sometimes throwing them out), while eventually rejecting the Catholic authority entirely.

I think we are - by nature - more a folk religion people. I don't mean this disparagingly. I mean we like our religion to be rooted in here - this place, this land - and we love our traditions. We combine these and have something that might use the language of Christianity, but is a very British version of it. Which is very right.

But - crucially - it also means that we need to listen to other ideas, other challenges - especially, but not exclusively - other religions that have that sense of place. Or that sense of tradition, rite and practice.

Oddly enough, Islam seems like a religion we should accept and embrace, as embodying so much of what we embrace as our religion.


It is almost as if the real problem these people have with being British or not-British is something completely different.


*The figures are really difficult to identify - those who identify as Christian, those who attend annually, those who attend most weeks? I have gone with 5% as a reasonable approximation for the portion who might be actively involved in their church. It could well be up to 10% or even 15%, but the argument remains the same.

Community

When I have joined other churches, there is a comversation that happens and goes two ways.

Firstly, people ask "are you new in the area? What did you do previously?" - the process of discovering what I have done, what I might be able to bring to the place.

The other side is my discussions and telling those in the church what I can do and what areas I might be interested in.

It is the process of working out where I might fit, how I might be involved, because involvement is important - and I have always been one to get stuck in and put my skills and talents to use.

When I joined the Quakers it was different.

People asked me where I had come from, what my history was. That is natural, and is part of what I ask people who are new. My response was "I am not ready to talk about that yet" - which was true, as the few years before that were quite painful.

And the people just accepted that and we moved on. Because my experience is that in the Quakers what is critical is the "now", the immanent community that happens when a group meet together.

Just for clarification, I have given some of my story since, and there are roles I have taken on within the group. But that has been my choice - and I wouldn't ever deny that there is work to be done and roles that need filling.

What has struck me in the Quakers is this sense of "now". For the hour that we sit together, we are a community. The past (and the future) are less relevant than what God is doing with each person now, at this point in time.

That is my perspective at least. And it is a positive reflection, because it means that I can grow at my pace. As can each other person.