Advent Photos - Part 3

They're a little late, but here's the third and final collection of photos I took as part of the Rethink Church Advent Photo-A-Day Challenge.

Release

Comfort: my mother in law died at the end of October, so I
made a memory box for my father in law to fill with
reminders of her.

Provide

Joy was the word of the day, and it is this one's middle name.
It suits her.

Acknowledge

Exult: every time I searched for 'exult' in my Bible app, I got
references to 'rejoice'.

Shine: the light shines in the darkness, and the
darkness has not overcome it.

Awake

It was interesting to take part in the challenge, and notice how much I was paying attention to the word for each day, reflecting on the meaning of the word for my life, and how it fitted into the context of Advent. My style of photography changed, too: it became much more 'journalistic', and I took more photos of people than I usually do. I'm looking forward to Advent 2018 already...

Advent Photos - Part 2

This Advent, I've been taking part in the Rethink Church Advent Photo-A-Day Challenge. Here are the photos I've taken over the past week :

Prepare: I somehow found myself agreeing to sing at a carol service
dressed as an elf. I needed a hat. Fortunately, I have a good sized fabric stash.

Glory: God's glory is like someone I catch a glimpse of as they 

disappear round a corner, or like the setting sun between trees.
I know it's there, but I don't always manage to keep it in sight. 

Voice: in the youth small group that we (my husband, my friend and I) lead, 
we wrote letters of support to prisoners of conscience. 

Might: https://open.spotify.com/track/1OASalZ8rCFS0pdlobUyfY

Carry: each year, we have the opportunity to fill gift bags for
vulnerable people in our city.

News: yesterday, I sang backing vocals for Santa. :-)

You may have noticed that I'm a photo short here. For several days last week I wasn't able to do whole lot because of back problems, but I did listen to a lot of music, and the old carol It Came Upon A Midnight Clear seemed to sing extra loudly to me (particularly the verse about 'painful steps'). So, fitting quite nicely with the theme of 'revealed', I give you an audio snapshot from my favourite Christmas album of 2017: https://giantsandpilgrims.bandcamp.com/track/it-came-upon-a-midnight-clear

Advent Photos

I grew up in a church culture that didn't really make much of it, but Advent is one of my favourite times of the year. I've tried to find different ways of engaging with the season of Advent before on my old blog, Dust Bunnies, but this year, I thought I'd join in with an Advent Photo A Day challenge on Instagram. There are lots out there, but I've gone with the Rethink Church challenge, from the US United Methodists. I'm discovering that what I like about this is that I haven't set the theme for each day, so instead of just loitering in thematic territory with which I'm comfortable, I find myself having to do a bit of work, which means paying greater attention to, and reflecting more deeply on the coming of Jesus than I might otherwise.

Below is a gallery of this week's pictures. I haven't posted much from day to day in the way of explanation for each photo. Maybe you'd interpret the theme in a completely different way.

Open

Presence

Kindles

Known

Percieved

Awesome

Remember

Tenderly

If you feel like joining in with the photo challenge, you can find more information here. Giants & Pilgrims' beautiful new Advent-themed album, The Joyous Mysteries, is available here.

We Who Sing Pray Twice

One of the things I promised myself I would do a while back was to take a few 'worship field trips', for want of a better expression. I wanted to delve into, and in some cases, revisit, ways of worshipping which don't feature a whole lot in the evangelical/charismatic culture which has been the background to my faith for so long. Although worship is primarily about God, there's no denying that it's also about us, too, and I think our diversity of preference for how we worship is no accident.

Last week, I ventured out to something new. I'm not good at new, especially when there are people involved, but I've found over the last few months in particular that the benefits of trying something new usually outweigh the costs, so I took a deep breath and was Very Brave. I must admit, I felt a Bit More Brave when I discovered that a lovely friend was also planning on going. The something new in question was We Who Sing Pray Twice, an evening of singing and silence at Whirlow Spirituality Centre here in Sheffield. During the session, we learned three simple four-part chants and then sang them together in the chapel there, which has rather good acoustics. Here's one that we learned:

https://open.spotify.com/track/3AyWQobwUFCOvD8XekTbIc

It's been a very long time since I sang anything like this. I think I was about 16 or 17. It's difficult to describe the effect the singing of these songs had on me. There was something of God residing in the combination of those four parts, and to be in the middle of the sound - to be a part of the sound - was a very profound thing, especially for a lover of harmony (that's me I'm talking about). There was a sense of holy joy which stayed with me for a long time after I came home that night, and I suspect that there was more to it than the effects of communal singing-related endorphins.

I've been thinking about it all week.

I've been thinking about how words are not very important. Not as important as we often think they are, anyway. All of the songs we sang were very simple. We sang the same (mostly Latin) lines over and over again, and it didn't get boring, or feel tedious or shallow. On the contrary, the repetition provided time and space for depth of meditation. The worship was as much in the harmonious sound as in the lyrics, and we didn't need bridges or tags, or any of those fancy things that we get used to thinking of as essential ('or how will the Holy Spirit know when to come?!').

I've also been thinking about how words are really important. I have to admit that I find the current crop of popular worship songs emotionally soggy and overwrought, as well as fairly 'me-centric'. As such, for me to sing such lyrics feels odd, and somewhat disingenuous. I feel like I'm singing someone else's song. Frankly, as someone with an emotionally soggy, overwrought inner life, it's helpful to sing songs which encourage meditative reflection, at least to begin with. When my inner world is given the chance to calm down, I can worship.

Finally, I've been thinking about how I saw a balance of the vertical and the horizontal in the singing of these songs. We were singing to God, yes (that's the vertical), but this type of song is meant for communal singing (that bit's the - well, I really hope you've figured it out): the fact that there are four parts means that you need to sing with, and depend on others, to fully realise the songwriter's original vision. Each part is equally important, and the success of the whole relies on the willingness of the participants to co-operate. And while the melody on its own sounds beautiful, harmonies are a reminder that while we can survive by ourselves in life, we were made to thrive with, and value, others. That's the antedote to the 'me-centric'.

What helps you to participate in gathered worship? What do you struggle with? What would you like the opportunity to try? Would you rather not sing at all? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

What Next?

When I first started to feel the pull away from being involved in mainstream expressions of gathered worship (for want of a better phrase), I spent a lot of time asking myself and God 'but what will I do instead?' 

I honestly didn't know. As I mentioned in the last post, I had begun to feel less than content with my part in things, and I was challenged by the idea that there might be folks left by the wayside, struggling to join in with the service for all sorts of reasons. I realised that somewhere along the way, things had shifted, in terms of my own response to developments in evangelical/charismatic worship culture, as well as in my personal faith journey itself. I also realised that I had spent an awful lot of time and energy on trying to be alright with aspects of the culture, and that had taken its toll. Time to step out, but how? Maybe I was asking the wrong question. Maybe, instead of 'what should I do?' I should really be asking just 'should I do?'

I'm not always patient, and although I try to be open to new ideas and perspectives, and I try to be aware of my own biases, I tend to make my mind up about what I think of things very quickly. Perhaps because I've been involved in education for a long time, I also spend rather more time thinking about what I can offer to others, and how I can help them, rather than what wisdom they might be able to impart to me. If I really am feeling the pull away from a world I know very well, and towards exploring issues I've been aware of but not fully engaged with, then I need to get into the habit of keeping my eyes open for opportunities to learn.

Each year for the last few years, I've attempted to acquire (or take to a higher level) a new skill: a few years ago, it was felting. Last year, I learned to use image manipulation software to help me with my art. For 2017, I took on something I knew I'd find very hard, because I'm so poorly co-ordinated, and I have some vision issues. I decided that I'd like to learn to spin poi. If you haven't come across poi, they are weights tethered to cords which can be spun in particular ways to perform tricks. They are available in a vast array of colours and varieties. Some brave and clever folks perform with fire poi; I am not that brave or clever. As I anticipated, I haven't found learning to spin poi easy at all, but it has been fascinating, and it has given me valuable insights into how I learn. I have been reminded, for example, that I struggle with being a beginner, when everyone around me seems so much more advanced. I have also had many (literally) painful reminders that in order to really understand how to do something, there will be failure along the way. I have learned to make a habit of telling myself that those who are better than me were also once like me, giving themselves bruises and getting tangled up in the poi lines. I have learned to take deep breaths and try again tomorrow if a manoeuvre doesn't work today. I have begun to develop more of an awareness of my body in space - frankly, I've had to if I want to avoid concussion. I've been learning to apply what I already know about muscle memory in the context of literacy to something very different. Like I said, it's been fascinating.

It seems to me that I need to take all this, and apply it to whatever comes along next. Since stepping back, a few interesting things have happened, and I'll try and reflect on these in future posts. The first thing that happened was that I got an answer to my original question - at least, part of an answer - and it came via the excellent Nomad Podcast*, and Professor Richard Beck, who I heard say this just as I was wondering aloud to myself and God about the very same thing:

"Sometimes I think it's good to worship on the margins, because...the margins are pretty dark, but if you go there, you find a lot of life and hope...if you go there and worship on the margins, you will encounter hope."

So this is what I'm doing at the moment. As often as I can, I'm going to a much smaller gathering my church runs alongside the main service, and I'm not going  - for now, anyway - to 'help out', or be in the band during the worship time. Like my adventures with spinning poi, I'm trying to be patient and open, and I'm trying to develop a different kind of muscle memory. I'm going to see who I will encounter, and what I can learn.



*You can listen to this episode of Nomad Podcast here: http://www.nomadpodcast.co.uk/nomad-119-richard-beck-the-devil-for-doubters-and-the-disenchanted/

Peculiar Stories

Welcome: I hope you'll make yourself comfortable here. This blog is called Peculiar Stories, and it's a line I borrowed from somewhere. As I'm sure you're aware, peculiar is defined two ways: one is different to what is normal, or unexpected. The other is particular to whatever it pertains, or special. You'll come to see, I hope, why this is a good name for this blog. But first, here's the background.

Earlier this year, I made the decision that after around a decade on the worship team at my church (where I have served as a vocalist, administrator and most recently, co-leader), it was time to step down. This past few weeks have seen a series of 'lasts': last time in the band on a Sunday morning, last team rota posted, last monthly newsletter published. It has felt strange, but right. Those who know me will know that I've been involved in worship teams and church-based bands for more than 25 years. Given that I'm 40 years old, that's a hefty chunk of my life. Music and God go together in my mind, and I don't think anything will ever undo that association.

Why then, you might well ask, am I hanging up my microphone? Nearly 15 years ago, I became a mother. I had one child, then another, and then one more. As my children began to grow and develop, I hoped that they'd enjoy music and singing and want to engage with God in that way, just like I had done all this time. To be honest, in spite of exposure during my teen years to imaginative, non-sung gathered worship experiences, somewhere along the way I had forgotten that worship could be anything but singing a bunch of songs. Anyway, as it turns out, only one of my three children really enjoys this kind of worship. The other two don't.

This wasn't something that, at first, I was easily able to come to terms with. I would expend a lot of energy trying to persuade them to engage, largely because I was worried about what people might think. But over the last two or three years, and particularly while I've been in leadership, I've become more and more challenged that while I'm happy to do the singing thing, they have become increasingly disengaged on Sunday mornings. And I've found myself with what is best described as a 'holy discontent' rising up within, and with questions that may not be new, but are begging to be explored, and maybe even answered, if that's possible. Questions like: why in the western evangelical/charismatic church is our gathered worship generally dominated by one pattern of doing things when we were created in such diversity? Should those who are uncomfortable with sung worship just suck it up and sing anyway? If gathered worship (whatever we mean by that term) is as important as we're told it is, why do we sometimes make it so difficult for some folks to join in - whether they're new to church culture, or they've been steeped in it since birth?

So, here I am, with no choice, it seems, but to step out of the river for a while, and with all these questions, and the increasing sense of being pulled out to the tributaries of church*, where things look very different. And while this is unsettling - seriously, I thought I'd be on the worship team for as long as I could climb the steps to the stage - I'm also beginning to get glimpses of what might be out there on those ragged shores.

I do hope you'll want to join me on this journey; travelling companions are always welcome. Bring a pack raft and a life jacket.

Thank you, Jo.

*When I refer to 'the church', for the most part, I mean the UK evangelical/charismatic church scene/culture, not specifically my own church. I know this is a somewhat difficult term, and I'm going to try not to make my strokes too broad, but I'm up against the limitations of language here, folks. I guess the Liturgists would point to 'the asymptotic fidelity of words'. I'll try and make it clear when I mean something different.  I also want to make it clear that I'm not about to single out any particular church for criticism, and I'd ask that if you want to comment, you don't, either. :)

You can find this lovely card at www.lovebettyann.com