A Peasant Woman Digging

This picture of a Peasant Woman Digging was painted by Vincent Van Gogh in 1885. In 2013 it inspired a poem for a poetry writing project called Art in the Heart West Midlands which I participated in. Sadly despite positive reviews by the leader , Philip Monks, it did not make the final cut for the Iris of a Peeping Eye anthology launched at the Birmingham Literary Festival that year.

This picture is on display at The Barber Institute at Birmingham University and is a classic portrayal of the struggles of the poor, often women and often widowed. The poem is a reflection on that struggle and given the plight of the world’s poorest today am opting to re-publish it on this blog.

A single peasant woman digging in the fields
Body arched forward; rough hands grip the spade; back-breaking work.
As each slice of the blade drags up the clods of clay, 
Hoping to reveal a healthy crop, a just reward for her labours.

I surmise perhaps wrongly, the struggles of widowhood and self-reliance. 
I imagine her lonely and yet defiant, lost in thought while 
She gathers in her harvest; self-sufficiency, or perhaps,
As excess to sell to the passing traveller.

What if the crop is blighted?
Mother nature, so often benevolent and yet sometimes so cruel.
Thoughts turn to hunger in a world of plenty; I stand and watch
While she continues, oblivious to my presence.

Turn and turn again, the silence punctured only 
By the sound of steel against stone, as yet another earthen lump is dislodged.
I cannot see her face clearly, cannot determine if hers is a visage etched 
By years of hardship, or of softer features, retaining their youthful beauty.

Alas it is time to go; I would like to bid her adieu
But she continues, head down, relentless in her quest
To extract the precious fruits from this single patch of earth.
As I look back at her digging still, I am moved to contemplate....

For how long will this endure?

National Poetry Day 2022 – These Foolish Earthly Treasures

Today is National Poetry Day so I thought I would make one of my infrequent forays into the world of poetry, particularly poetry inspired by Holy Scripture.

For the past couple of years I have been training to be a Local Preacher in the Methodist Church, which has involved a lot of academic study similar to that I went through for my theology degree at the Queen’s Foundation in Birmingham.

As part of the course, we had to undertake various theological-themed exercises, one of which was re-imagining a parable and putting into a modern context. Trying to re-imagine parables into a modern context is not always as simple or easy as it sounds. Some like the parable of the Good Samaritan do lend themselves well to a modern reworking but others like the parable of the Wicked Tenants perhaps less so.

The parable I finally settled on to create a modern telling was Luke 12: 13-22, The Parable of the Rich Fool, which was included in the lectionary readings for the 21^st of June last which co-incidentally, was when I was leading a mid-week service at my local church so was able to include the poem in the reflection part of the service.

These Foolish Earthly Treasures

By how much do we measure the value of our lives?

The wise proverb declares a good name is to be chosen over great riches

and favour is better than silver or gold.[1]

Yet in our ultra-competitive, dog eat dog world we come to

Be defined not by quality of our character,

but by the quantity of worldly symbols we possess.

Shared inheritances create not satisfaction but arbitration,

To demand help and influence from outside the tent;

Where the superficial is elevated above the substantial

And succumbing to the prevailing culture

Deflects us from the greater riches offered by the Almighty.

The rich fool sits in his gated paradise

Surrounded by glistening abundance,

Status symbols of the latest vintage

Soon to be discarded for newer forms,

But only where the chosen few can enter.

What should I do he asks for space is at a premium?

I know, I will enlarge and expand in every direction

I will go upwards, outwards, downwards

Build back better as boundaries will allow.

And here I will store my goods and my chattels,

To take my pleasures, knowing they are mine for all time.

But then the all-knowing, omnipotent God

Having witnessed these boastful assertions,

Declares the rich fool’s life is now forfeit to the Lord’s decree.

Who will safeguard your riches now he demands?

Your high-performance cars, electronic gadgets, designer clothing and jewellery,

Your bespoke kitchen, with its wine cooler and American style fridge,

And not forgetting the widescreen, surround sound, plasma Tv.

This parable is told says the teacher to let it be made known,

That those who store up these foolish earthly treasures

can expect no pockets in moth-eaten shrouds; for

The Greatest Riches are those that are declared before God.

---

[1] Proverbs 22:1-2

Faith Meeting Faith thanks to the power of Zoom

These past few weeks we have all had to find different ways of keeping in touch with each other. None more so than faith communities as churches, mosques and other places of worship remain closed and access denied. But thanks to the miracle of Zoom that amazing new video conferencing platform, we can at least keep in touch as well as carry out our own acts of “virtual worship”. For Christians this meant that it was possible to lay on virtual services over Easter both during holy week and since. For Muslims, the Holy Month of Ramadan means that this year the sharing of suhoor and iftar meals also has to be carried out virtually.

Coffee & Cake

Where I live in the West Midlands we have a Faith Meeting Faith group who were meeting monthly at a cafe in Walsall called Expressions. Between storm Dennis in February and now the lockdown, it has not been possible for the various faith groups to get together over our commonly held love of coffee and cake to seek a deeper understanding of what our individual faith means to us and how we relate to each other through our faith practices.

But thanks to the power of Zoom, we have for the past few weeks been meeting online and following yesterday’s meeting I felt compelled to post a little poetic reflection on the groups’s Facebook page which I have re-produced below for – I hope – your enjoyment.

Faith Meeting Faith 06.05.20

First there were five, then six and eventually seven

Gathering online one Wednesday afternoon,

Virus or no virus we’re here having a chat

Faith Meeting Faith thanks to the power of Zoom.

Rani’s our host with her genial smile

Then there’s Michael and Vickie then Margaret and Su,

Liam and Razia joined us later therein

Not forgetting the occasional four-legged friends too.

Since the lockdown began some eight weeks ago

We’ve had to adapt and to change and then improvise,

While are places of worship still remain out of bounds

So too is Expressions, where our faiths strengthened their ties.

No coffee or cake are we able to share

Each of us meeting in our own virtual space,

Where faith folk remain as ever compliant

Enduring this annoyance with a smile on their face.

The things we discuss are both random and topical

Involving rugby and gardening and breaking the fast,

Of sharing experiences, worries and desires

Each one of us speculating how long this will last.

So if you want a break away from this crisis

Schedule a space in your diary every Wednesday afternoon,

Where a virtual conviviality is always assured

It’s Faith Meeting Faith through the power of Zoom.

Reflections of Ancient Egypt

Gods of War, Gods of Peace,

Gods like Pharaohs, now deep in sleep;

Ancient Egypt, afterlife and re-birth

Celebrated by those left above the earth.

But in vaulted passages, only the dead can speak.

My Emmaus Road

This is a poem I wrote as part of a Theology module last year. I never got round to getting it published so I am sharing it now as part of NPD.

 

My Emmaus Road

Then they told what happened on the road,  and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread

Luke 24:35    NRSV

 

Who am I this confused soul?

Seeking a path to a destination as yet uncertain,

But yet wanting it to be made known.

Where faith and its joyful expression,

Are projected onto a canvas of Spiritual Renewal.

Where the actions of a life less pure

Are not weighed down by the chains of guilt,

But instead, are cleansed by the love of one

Whose love is greatest above all.

Unlike the travellers walking with the unknown stranger,

My eyes had become blind to the sacrifice Christ made for me

And yet; I kept venturing back, wondering, if, maybe, perhaps

But no: I moved forward, ploughing a secular furrow

Serving not God, but his nemesis instead.

 

I turned away from the true path,

Like the seed sown among thorns the word was heard,

But the cares of the world proved a louder calling.

Like the master of the talents, I sought to reap where I did not sow

And gather what I did not scatter.

A creed based not on harvesting the fruits of the vine,

But on the lure of pleasure and the pursuit of power.

Qoheleth’s wisdom became my Gospel, my source of truth

To take life as it comes; as surely the same fate comes to us all.

Yet when my own brush with mortality beckoned,

I began to seek a different path, where the seed could take root

And the word would be heard and acknowledged.

It is then that I find the path that I seek,

The community, the place, on my road to Emmaus

Where once again, Christ Jesus revealed himself to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friday Morning 01:30

The desk light shines its beacon across the top, where the PC lies open at a site called The Moth. The china mug with horses rests on a coaster, a treasured legacy from my late father. Insomnia grips me like an ancient affliction, and yet, it seems the best time for new creation.

The artistic mind fights its battles on so many fronts, like armchair generals, always willing to retreat or is it advance? At Writers Circle last evening, we plotted novels and opening passages, prose to stimulate & excite, characters fleshed out, plotlines made more concise.

A disposable fountain pen now sits in my hand, symbol of short-term society at a glance,the retractable pencil is banished to the pot, while I try to least give this new technology its chance. Essay, poem, sketch or short story, which genre should I turn my mind to tonight?I turn on iplayer for some much needed inspiration, seeking something a little less topical in flavour. Politics is so sterile today nobody trades real insults anymore; “Debate” is all about sound bites crafted solely for the 24hr news, not sure for what they intend: to inform, or to amuse?

Perhaps I will write a poem, a short concise verse, a few musings on those loved oneswho have passed to their eternal rewards, while those who are left, return to the grind knowing they are still being watched from heaven above. The screensaver appears, my Grandson, Michael, resplendent in his Ladies Man Sweater, now nine months old and already trying to walk, memories of his father in years past, a new generation to bear the family name, a lot to live up to; God willing, he’ll be equal to the task.

It is 03:30, and only the scratching of my pen can be heard against the enveloping silence;I sketch out ideas, checks lengths of verse and use of iambic pentameters, even the creaking of old floorboards cannot disturb my literary thrall. They say the darkest hour is before the dawn, but at least the moonless sky guards against distractions. At last I feel the arrival of welcome slumber, so I put down my pen and close the book.

 Fortune indeed may favour the brave, but only when you’re lucid enough to join in that number.

My Spiritual Journey Continues – Despite the ONS Statistics

According to Tim Ross of  The Daily Telegraph, a survey by the Office for National Statistics or ONS, has found that some 23% of Britons claim no religous conviction at all. Furthermore, the proportion of people describing themselves as Christian fell from 71.3% to 68.5% as at March of this year. The ONS interviewed some 400,000 people during its survey to quantify religious belief in the UK; taken across the population as a whole, it would indicate some 14 million people out of a total population of 60 million, have no religious belief at all. Read full story here.

So on the one hand, just under a quarter of the population describe themselves as having no religion at all, yet almost 70% still regard themselves as Christian, even if they no longer attend church services.  As I often found during my managerial career, statistics can always be manipulated if you’re clever or unscrupulous enough, to say what you want them to say. Altogether confusing isn’t it?

Naturally the secularists are extremely happy about this state of affairs, as they see it as further proof of the “long term decline in church attendance.” Certainly with a regular attendance of just 1.13 million at its services, the Church of England has a mountain to climb if it’s going to encourage some of its deserted flock to return. This does not mean to say that there aren’t areas where the church is thriving, and contrary to what the ONS and the Secular Society will have you believe, there seems to be plenty of participation among the younger members of society. At my local church – Holy Trinity in Clayhanger – the music is often led by teenagers, something which I have personally witnessed across all Christian denominational services I have attended in the past. As a parent, I know from experience that getting young people motivated to attend a church service or engage in some other related activity isn’t difficult. The challenge is to maintain that enthusiasm in the face of so many other pressures, particularly in the secular world, where the cult of celebrity worship presented by the  X-Factor and OK magazine seem to offer a lifestyle attainable only by a lucky few, and even then, with a very short shelf-life.   

My own spiritual journey from baptised Roman Catholic to Anglican convert continues as before. I have found the friendliness and support I have received from the local Anglican community immensely re-assuring, when continuing to take those steps I started on back in August. The birth of my Grandson some 5 weeks ago has added further impetus to this journey, for I would like him to grow up in a world where organised religion doesn’t become a minority pastime and where churches, particularly the established ones, continue to provide spiritual comfort and guidance from the oldest to the youngest.

Last weekend, the other half and I were in York at a reception held by her employers. On the Sunday morning I achieved a personal ambition of visiting another great cathedral, York Minster, which looked absolutely stunning in the autumn sunshine. Having first done the touristy bit, I joined the congregation for choral matins, something I had never experienced before. As I sat in the Quire – see picture below – listening to the great cathedral organ and the wonderful choristers, I became totally absorbed by the beauty not only of the music, but by the text found in the Book of Common Prayer.

York Minster Quire - taken from the High Alter

While this high-church ritual may not necessarily find favour with those who prefer a more evangelical approach, I came out feeling I had been part of something very special, as did the other fifty of so other people who also took part.

Perhaps Mr Keith Porteus-Wood from The National Secular Society, can explain that one!

I’m On a Spiritual Journey – Destination Appears Known

No this is not the first line of a top-ten smash hit, although if might be if Sir Elton put a tune to it. LOL

This journey and its intended destination, has been something I have been contemplating for some time, but have only recently taken the first steps to making it a reality. I recently wrote about this to a friend who helped inspire my decision, and have re-produced part of that correspondence below, in the hope it might prove useful to others who may find themselves in my position

For some time now I have been contemplating my “spiritual” direction, which has been re-awakened largely as a result of my writing and campaigning on issues that are important to me. This led to me re-joining the Christian Socialist Movement (CSM) as a first step, then subsequently the Co-operative party. For me, one’s faith should always be an extension of their politics, whatever the secularists might say.

Increasingly, I find myself estranged from the Roman Church into which I was baptised and raised. This is not only because of the abuse scandals, but also because of  the rigid doctrines and authoritarian teachings emanating from the Vatican in recent years. After Pope John Paul II died, I felt then – and still do – that the Roman Catholic Church missed an opportunity to modernise, by electing Joseph Ratzinger to the Papacy instead of Cardinal Mario Martini, the Archbishop of Milan. 

On August 02nd last I ventured into an open church morning at St James C of E Church in Brownhills – there’s no Vicar currently at our village church – and as a result of talking to the Vicar, Dave, Josie the Church Warden, and other parishioners, I have since taken Holy Communion and attended an Evening Prayer service both of which I not only enjoyed, but was also made to feel very welcome at. My initial reticence was overcome when I was assured that there was no restriction on a baptised catholic partaking of Holy Communion in an Anglican Church; it’s a shame the RC hierarchy can’t find it within themselves to reciprocate.  Although I do know of one or two catholic priests who wouldn’t be too pedantic about such things. 

Like all potential converts, I have been immersing myself in church history as well as reading various church-related articles, and I am beginning to feel very much at home among the Anglican Communion.

 My friend Claire, (who is also a Churchwarden), and who helped inspire me, was delighted when I told her, replying ” We’re not bad us Anglicans.”  So far, I find it hard to disagree.

I think I know how this journey will end; I certainly know how I want it to end; and yes, it will result in a further blog or two!

Everyone I have spoken to including my former sister-in-law who is a committed Anglican, my daughter, and especially the good folk at St James’, Brownhills, have all given me the motivation to make those first steps. Now that I have taken them, I must endeavour to continue taking them.

I’ll let you know how I progress.

Spiritual Renewal

This poem documents my journey back into Faith in Christ following a period of serious illness firstly in the Anglican Communion before becoming a member of the Methodist Connexion in 2018. It starts with baptism and induction into the Roman Catholic tradition of my parents then growing up with the life of the Irish church rituals followed by teenage rejection of the same.

The second stanza begins with life upon returning to England, marriage and fatherhood in my early twenties and need to take life seriously including the dilemma of most parents with children of school age; to stay secular or suddenly find God!

This was an early attempt at writing serious poetry having previously dabbled in occasional verses until my Father’s sudden death in 2012 spurred me on to write more regularly. Although written in 2011 the poem below was first published in Scriptor 9 in 2012 but I have opted to re-publish in the year it was written.

               I

Satan’s works rejected, original sin cleansed and forehead anointed

Candles lit and promises made, God’s earthly stewards appointed.

Roman tradition is to be my spiritual thing, entering a culture

Where ritual is king; purgatory, idolatry, devotion to saints,

All part of my induction into the one supposed true faith.

No family bible have we to pass down, questions about religion typically

Met with a frown; sent to catechism classes from the age of seven,

To be prepared for the rites of communion and confession.

Uprooted from childhood to where once a Priest’s word was law,

And where a church still tried to exert its influence more;

My formative years are contradicted by Darwin and the theory of creation

While men in clerical collars, tried to dictate the morals of a nation.

As we grew older the less deference we showed

To the old established order they still wished to impose;

Where attendance at mass became less a devotion,

And praying for our souls, a foolhardy notion.

Hiding down by the confessionals trying to keep out of sight,

Still wary of the Priest who had the capacity to fright.

When Communion started we beat a hasty retreat,

Down the steep hill and onto Main Street;

With much checking of watches and impatient conversation,

Waiting for opening time, with feverish anticipation.

By the time I reached my majority, faith had become a thing of the past

With no more Benediction and the Ash Wednesday fast.

II

Returning to England at the height of my youth

To begin a new life where I knew not in truth, what I would find

Or if I would prosper, freedom to explore, to be amazed and to wonder.

Age twenty-three and with a family to raise, work became the priority,

No more chasing ambitions of fortune and praise.

Next came the schooling, and the dilemma most parents have trod:

Do we stay secular, or shall we suddenly find God?

Decision made and a Priest’s reference secured, time to show willing now a

Place is assured, to rejoin a community and practice the faith,

Which was given to us by God’s holy grace.

By my late thirties disillusion had set in, about life, about faith and

Circumstances therein; I settle again for a single man’s life,

Deciding that this was more preferable to strife.

For the next decade faith became even more fracturing,

Just weddings or christenings, and the occasional despatching.

In 2008 a brush with mortality, made me realise that life is too short to

Treat shabbily; I found myself returning to the Roman faith once again, but

Found it harder this time to accept its dogmatic refrain.

To my local church Anglican I ventured one morn, had a chat with the Vicar and

Found a welcome so warm; Charismatic / Evangelical is their form of expression,

Informal and joyous, it certainly left an impression.

I don’t feel like a defector, though some will still think me a fool,

At St James’ in Brownhills, I have found my spiritual renewal