Michael Henderson attacks Alan Bennett

I

In today's Daily Telegraph journalist Michael Henderson launches a tirade of negative comments about the author and playwright, Alan Bennett, who has produced works of sheer genius such as The madness of King George lll, The History Boys and Talking Heads. 

 In what I consider to be an appalling piece of journalism, his article is peppered with comments such as'He used to be the wittiest of chaps, Alan Bennett. Beyond The Fringe, the alternative variety show that propelled the diffident Oxford historian into showbiz in 1960, may now belong to a different world, and was probably not quite so funny as people would have us believe...'

and

'The Government that has legalised homosexual marriage is dismissed by this grumpy homosexual as “this contemptible administration”. Nigel Farage, Boris Johnson and Jeremy Clarkson are rounded up as “seemingly jokey demagogues” who are granted an excursion on Have I Got News For You to prove that “their opinions are not really as pernicious as their opponents pretend”. This is the stuff of fantasy. It’s light entertainment, Mr B, not high table at All Souls'

and

'The truth is that Alan Bennett, superb playwright, outstanding essayist, first-rate wit, famous homosexual, has become a bore.'

No, the truth is Mr Henderson, that your article indicates you were short of material for your column and the result was  imbalanced, and at times confused, rhetoric.

Alan Bennett's works still entertain and amuse us, and will do so long after Mr Henderson comes to the end of his term as a Daily Telegraph columnist.

 

A poem for Christmas

Christmas Is Really For the Children

Christmas is really
for the children.
Especially for children
who like animals, stables,
stars and babies wrapped
in swaddling clothes.
Then there are wise men,
kings in fine robes,
humble shepherds and a
hint of rich perfume.

Easter is not really
for the children
unless accompanied by
a cream filled egg.
It has whips, blood, nails,
a spear and allegations
of body snatching.
It involves politics, God
and the sins of the world.
It is not good for people
of a nervous disposition.
They would do better to
think on rabbits, chickens
and the first snowdrop
of spring.

Or they'd do better to
wait for a re-run of
Christmas without asking
too many questions about
what Jesus did when he grew up
or whether there's any connection.

 

Steve Turner

The road to Bethlehem - journey's end or beginning?

I have come to the end of my short series 'The road to Bethlehem' and I wish you a very happy a peaceful Christmas.

I have sympathy with  occasional churchgoers at Christmas because once the crib is dismantled and the congregation reverts to the faithful few, there is little to which they can relate. I was ordained as a priest 32 years ago, so I have been a part of this annual ritual for a long time. I have studied the Christmas stories in the bible in the light of the rest of the bible, both the old and new testaments, as well last the writings of liberal and progressive theologians, among them John Robinson, Don Cupit, David Jenkins (former Bishop of Durham), Karen Armstrong, Bishop John Spong and Marcus Borg.

The creeds and doctrines of the Church have not evolved to make sense of the life we lead in the 21st century. Technology and education allow us to see and understand our world in a way that was beyond the dreams of the biblical writers and their early readers. The world was not created in 7 days, but evolved over millions of years, and the God we claim as creator is not a supernatural being but can be described as 'the ground of all being'. Although, for me, Jesus is the way to God, there are other paths to God trodden by those of other faiths, and we should be able to worship and talk together. Jesus had two earthly parents and was fully human and he is, and always has been, myinspiration and my guide.

My faith is nurtured and grows within a community of Christians, now as it has been throughout my life. My experience of those varied communities is that within them many people have the same doubts as me and want to find a faith which is meaningful to them. St John said that God is love and where love is, God will be found.

I was privileged to train 5 curates in the final 15 years of my active ministry. The first thing I did when they came to the parish was to give them a copy of the church electoral roll (300 members), indicating those I considered needed, or would appreciate a visit, and then to familiarise themselves with as many others as possible on the roll. My reason for this is that pastoral work is the beating heart of ministry and evangelism. Run as many courses as you like, but know and love your community and God, who is love and the ground of all being, will become a reality. All of those curates became excellent priests with pastoral hearts.

I would like to end with some words of John Shelby Spong (A new Christianity for a new world): '....Christianity becomes not something to be believed but a faith into which we must live, a vision that stands before us, inviting us to enter. I proclaim a God beyond creeds, a Christ beyond incarnation, a way of life that dares us to grasp the insecurities of our being and move beyond the boxes created by the security-producing churches of yesterday. To be ready to move into this not fully clear vision is to face honestly the recognition that that place where the church, with its binding creeds and closed scriptures, has traditionally dwelt is no longer a liveable place.'

The road to Bethlehem (4)

Ten years ago this month we bought a flat in Darlington and that was the beginning of a journey which eventually led us to retirement in Gainford where we are now happily settled.

At the same time the Sage concert hall in Gateshead opened and,  naturally, we have a special love of this iconic buildings and its position on the Gateshead Quays. On Saturday we attended a Christmas concert given by Inspiration, the choir to which our village choir, Scherzo, is affiliated.

The foyer of the hall was packed as various activities vied for space. The concert itself was an unforgettable experience. The choir numbered over 300 People and they were accompanied by The Royal Northern Sinfonia. The music was moving, spiritually as well in musicality, and the readings complemented the music.                   

For us, it was the perfect way to make the transition from Advent to Christmas.

The road to Bethlehem

One of the bonuses of being retired is that you do not spend the week before Christmas in a state of anxiety as to whether a) you will have all the services prepared and printed, b) you have contacted everyone who is taking part in those services, c) you have identified all those who need a pastoral visit or communion at home and d) you have done all your own Christmas shopping and written your Christmas cards.

And so I find myself, a week before Christmas, with time to meditate on the joy and wonder of this season. I shall use the time to blog, to share some of my own thoughts and to post material from other sources which reflect what is on my mind and what I believe about the incarnation. Please feel free to share this with others.

I have called this series of reflections 'The road to  Bethlehem'  because, like Mary and Joseph we are all on that road. That road, 2000 years ago, was a hard road to follow; hard in the sense that it would have been a rough track on which to take a pregnant woman. Hard,  because of the need to make the journey for registration purposes despite Mary's advanced state. Joseph had already accepted his responsibility to look after the woman,who was clearly carrying his child, and now he had to drag her 70 miles to his birthplace.

The road we follow each Christmas is a hard one too. We have to negotiate the paraphernalia which these days threatens to engulf what should be a simple celebration and remembrance of the birth of a baby who changed the world. Not only do we have to contend with the almost obscene materialism of Christmas, but we still try to deceive ourselves and others that the beautiful, well known birth stories are literally true. Only when we read them with the eyes of faith, with the intellect of 21st century thinking human beings and in the light of our vastly improved knowledge of the world we live in, will the incarnation have meaning for us. Only then will our carols and crib scenes speak to us of God's intimate relationship with his world.

I begin with a poem by John Shelby Spong

Christpower

Far back beyond the beginning,
stretching out into the unknowable,
incomprehensible,
unfathomable depths, dark and void,
of infinite eternity behind all history,
the Christpower was alive.
This was the
Living
bursting, pulsing
generating, creating
smoldering, exploding
fusing, multiplying
emerging, erupting
pollenizing, inseminating
heating, cooling
power of life itself: Christpower.
And it was good!
Here
all things that we know
began their journey into being.
Here
light separated from darkness.
Here
Christpower began to take form.
Here
life became real,
and that life spread into
emerging new creatures
evolving
into ever higher intelligence.
There was a sacrifice here
and
a mutation there.
There was grace and resurrection appearing
in their natural order,
occurring, recurring,
and always driven by the restless,
creating,
energizing
life force of God, called the Christpower,
which flowed in the veins of every living thing
for ever
and ever
and ever
and ever.
And it was good!
In time, in this universe,
there emerged creatures who were called human,
and the uniqueness of these creatures
lay in that they could
perceive
this life-giving power.
They could name it
and embrace it
and grow with it
and yearn for it.
Thus human life was born,
but individual expressions of that human life
were marked with a sense of
incompleteness,
inadequacy,
and a hunger
that drove them ever beyond the self
to search for life's secret
and
to seek the source of life's power.
This was a humanity that could not be content with
anything less.
And once again
in that process
there was
sacrifice and mutation,
grace and resurrection
now in the human order,
occurring, recurring
And it was good!
Finally, in the fullness of time,
within that human family,
one
unique and special human life appeared:
whole
complete
free
loving
living
being
at one
at peace
at rest.
In that life was seen with new intensity
that primal power of the universe,
Christpower.
And it was good!
Of that life people said: Jesus,
you are the Christ,
for in you we see
and feel
and experience
the living force of life
and love
and being
of God.
He was hated,
rejected,
betrayed,
killed,
but
he was never distorted.
For here was a life in which
the goal, the dream, the hope
of all life
is achieved.
A single life among many lives.
Here
among us, out from us,
and yet this power, this essence,
was not from us at all,
for the Christpower that was seen in Jesus
is finally of God.
And even when the darkness of death
overwhelmed him,
the power of life resurrected him;
for Christpower is life
eternal,
without beginning,
without ending.
It is the secret of creation.
It is the goal of humanity.
Here in this life we glimpse
that immortal
invisible
most blessed
most glorious
almighty life-giving force
of this universe
in startling completeness
in a single person.
Men and women tasted the power that was in him
and they were made whole by it.
They entered a new freedom,
a new being.
They knew resurrection and what it means to live
in the Eternal Now.
So they became agents of that power,
sharing those gifts from generation to generation,
creating and re-creating,
transforming, redeeming,
making all things new.
And as this power moved among human beings,
light
once more separated from darkness.
And it was good!
They searched for the words to describe
the moment that recognized the fullness of this power
living in history,
living in the life of this person.
But words failed them.
So they lapsed into poetry:
When this life was born,
they said,
a great light split the dark sky.
Angelic choruses peopled the heavens
to sing of peace on earth.
They told of a virgin mother,
of shepherds compelled to worship,
of a rejecting world that had no room in the inn.
They told of stars and oriental kings,
of gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
For when this life was born
that power that was
and is
with God,
inseparable,
the endless beginning,
was seen
even in a baby
in swaddling clothes
lying in a manger.
Christpower.
Jesus, you are the Christ.
To know you is to live,
to love,
to be.
O come, then, let us adore him!

What a spectacle!

Half way to Middlesborough  for an accordion lesson, I realised I had lost one of the lenses from my spectacles. You my well ask how it is possible to wear spectacles and not to be aware that 50% of them have disappeared. Do spectacles become a spectacle when only one lens is present?

Steve, a virtuoso on the instrument, loaned me a pair of cheap reading glasses which saw me through the lesson and the drive home. Steve (steveroxton.co.uk) makes playing the instrument look as easy as riding a bike, but he produces a sound which I shall never achieve. Not to worry, I enjoy the lesson and I am sure the time was well spent.

I have always enjoyed the sound of an accordion, from listening to Jimmy Shand on the wireless and latterly The Vatersay Boys on Spotify. Both produce a truly Scottish sound, but one being very distinct from the other. Jimmy Shand plays in measured and rhythmic style, whilst The Vatersay Boys are more vibrant, making good use of drums and bagpipes. I have yet to decide which direction to take; the first step is to get the notes and chords right.

A journey in the afternoon to the opticians was fruitless, the shop having closed for the day. Fortunately, I have a spare pair as well as the borrowed ones and was able to begin to plan a school carol service I am leading next week in Woodlands. A priority in the next day or so is to try and find this tiny community up the dale. We have lived in Teesdale  now for over 3 years and are still discovering places we had not realised existed. Maybe I should wait until my spectacle mutates to spectacles before I venture far.

A long Parish Council meeting occupied most of the evening. Amid the usual agenda items of dog fouling, the parish bonfire and church floodlighting, were a clutch of matters which created lively discussions. One was a plea from a resident whose wife has lost the used of her legs and whose mobility is dependent on an electric scooter. He bemoaned the lack of kirb drops in the village which made life difficult for them both. We agreed Durham County Council should treat this with urgency, despite their plea of a tiny budget for this facility across the county. They have admitted towns have priority. Good copy here for the Teesdale Mercury reporter who stoically sat recording the meeting for two hours.

Councillors cheered, metaphorically, when told we are now the legal owners of the 'island' which is the first sight visitors from the east on the A67 see of the village. We now have an opportunity to improve this walled green area.

A further plea came from the Gainford Football team who, it seems, are sending more balls into the River Tees than into the net. There was sympathy and a cheque to buy 10 balls.

It seemed rather appropriate to wind down watching a documentary about the magazine 'Tatler' which is essential reading for people who could not be any further from the Dales folk I have met today. It is all rather amusing but I am tempted to say also 'what a spectacle'!

Advent

                                              

That's the make of computer I am using, and it is a true reminder of the meaning and purpose of Advent. My computer is very slow and I have to wait several minutes for it to boot. Sometimes, I am impatient and try and hurry it on, but all that does is make things worse, usually resulting in a frozen screen.

The season of Advent means different things to different people but, to me, it is a reminder that we need waiting time to fully understand the meaning of the incarnation. People waited patiently for hundreds of years for the birth of the Messiah, and when he came he was not at all what they expected. They had the choice of rejecting this rebel from Nazareth or accepting him for who he really was, a human being with feelings just like you and me, but imbued with such an aura of holiness that people could see that God was in him. Those with vested interests, the powerful and the rich, plotted to rid themselves of this harmless baby who grew into a troublesome agitator. They succeeded, but not until he had gathered enough people around him so that his mission could continue.

Easter is the time when we celebrate the new life he gave us all, but only after the horror of crucifixion. Christmas takes us back to the birth of Jesus, told to us in vivid and familiar stories which the writers of the Gospels transmitted in a way which expressed their own personal memories and the stories they learned, as these stories were passed down the generations. They are not historical accounts, but they reflect how the Jesus story has changed ordinary people's lives.

Advent can seem like a long wait, especially for children. But the four weeks enable us to study the dreams and visions of the Old Testament prophets, the life and work of John the Baptist who 'prepared the way of the Lord,  and Mary and Joseph's long wait for the birth of their son who was ignominiously born in a trough (as a farmer's son in Winston insisted was where the cows obtain their food).

But most importantly, we have four weeks to prepare ourselves spiritually, to be worthy of receiving Jesus into our hearts, like the shepherds and the magi, and to be ready to proclaim on Christmas Day that we belong to him. Every morning when I switch on my Advent computer I shall use the waiting time to think and pray.

   

PS  On a  Christmas card I have bought for an as yet undecided recipient, two ladies are at a party and one says to the other 'A virgin birth I can believe, but finding three wise men.....'

PPS The picture of the Advent computer was hidden amongst the religious symbols!

A note from confusedneil.com

My wife is always telling me that I spend too much time on the computer/tablet/phone, and if not on them I can be found in the study making extraneous noises on a piano/accordion/autoharp/whistle/guitar.

Annoyingly my wife is usually right and it was on the way to an accordion lesson in Middlesborough that a series of events began which have almost convinced me that I need to radically change my lifestyle. I hope a meeting at the Vicarage earlier was not an omen though. Martin, our lovely vicar, revealed that he is to introduce an Alpha course in the parish. My acquaintance with the suave Nicky Gumbell's sermons over the years have failed to change my life as promised and I think I am too old in the tooth to let him have another shot.

Where was I? Oh yes, technology. It began with a series of phone calls in the car ( l was not driving reader) regarding a crisis at the village hall which turned out to be a non crisis. The day continued with a string of emails in which I managed to confuse the Big Weekend committee talking about 2 bands, The Savage Myrtles and The Smoking Spitfires - that really is what they are called. The last straw was receiving a text message this evening but responding to one from the same sender 2 months ago. That REALLY had people confused.

I am left with 3 courses a) ditch the communication technology, b) give Mr Gumbell another chance or c) shut myself in the study.

I'll ask my wife!

Back to normal (whatever that is)

Have you noticed that when you return home after spending time away, as soon as you go through the door, it's as though you haven't been away at all. Homecoming is one of the pleasures of travelling, unless you are one of those itinerant people who have itchy feet and are already planning their next holiday.

There is, of course, the pile of mail on the doormat or, if you have a kind neighbour, it has been neatly placed on the table. I used to dread sorting through that pile, but retirement brings fewer letters of great importance. When I had sorted out this time's pile there was one letter for Kathy advising her that her winter fuel payment was on the way, a credit card bill and a party invitation for me. The rest was junk! And where, I might add, is my winter fuel payment?

We were back in time for Saturday's church jazz evening with village sax and clarinet player, Bill Goyder, with his quartet. What a great evening it was and it raised a good sum for church funds. Gainford seems to have an unlimited supply of musicians, with at least four bands that I know of, as well as three choirs. Sadly, the Gainford Singers will be giving their last concert next month, but the new community choir, Scherzo, is growing week by week, and will be singing at the Sage in Gateshead on the 10th December. OK, it's only in the large foyer overlooking the Tyne, but it's a  start.

In this morning's Eucharist, celebrating Christ the King, Martin reminded us that we are a 'saved' people - I've never quite understood the theology of salvation, even though I know it's supposed  to be one of the central beliefs of the Christian Faith, so a conversation with Martin is on my agenda.

Meanwhile Gegenforde prepares a suitable festive repertoire for the farmer's market at Raby Castle next weekend. Between Friday and Sunday I have to try and fit in 2 band practices and a performance, a Saturday family service at Gainford, Sunday's Advent service at Gainford, and an afternoon's Advent celebration at Winston.

So it's back to normal, the busy round of village activities and finding out all the gossip. I love it!

Pictures of the largesr standing stone on Barra (Brevig), with views

Our island parish (2)

Today is our final day and we catch the morning ferry tomorrow. Barra, its tranquility, beauty and people, is a difficult place to leave, you feel you are leaving something of yourself behind. The time has flown as usual but we are returning for three Sundays in May, when Gainford band, Gegenforde  will be joining us on the island for a week.

The weather has been mild with an occasional storm, far better than we had anticipated. This morning is no exception  and it looks as though the sun might shine. Just right for a stroll along one of the many deserted beaches.

typical pebbled beach

Our final evening will be spent with friends Graham and Mary who have very kindly invited us to supper. The perfect end to a perfect stay. They own the best Guest house, together with self catering accommodation on the island. If you are thinking of visiting Barrra then log on to http://www.barraholidays.co.uk

Our island parish (2)

It was 'goodbye' to Peter and Sandra as they boarded their flight to Glasgow this morning. It has been good to share this wonderful island and we enjoyed their company. Our last meal together was at the Castlebay  Hotel where we arrived to be welcomed by the chef and the waitress sitting in the bar waiting for us. Our own personal staff for the evening!

On our visits to the airport we have been impressed with the new baggage reclaim 'hall', indicating how busy this airport is....

On the way back to the manse we called at Barratlamtic, a large fish processing where we discovered they were preparing scallops and were more than happy to sell us a dozen which we will enjoy tonight.

The afternoon was spent visiting 3 neolithic sites with impressive remains of buildings and standing stones. The island's history goes back to at least that time and archaeologists at Sheffield University have undertaken extensive investigations.