Deconstructing Church

Dust is a common theme throughout the Bible. Dust is a common theme in my household! Just last week I wrote ‘Dust me’ in the thin covering on my daughter’s TV stand. It is still there. Although I would love her to actually do the chore, it does still make us smile. Fun dust.

From dust we were made, in the creation story, and to dust we shall return. Our physical form returned to the earth from which we came. Be that through burial, cremation and laying to rest of ashes or spread far and wide in a firework as a beloved of mine will be soon. Treasured dust.

But that’s not the only mention of dust. Jesus tells us ‘If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet.’ (Matthew 10:14). Not just leave that place but do not even take a modicum of dust from it with you to the next. No cross contamination. How we act, how we welcome, how we listen demonstrates who we are, what we are made of, and if we are good dust or bad. Good to nourish the world around us with, or if we are more of a pollutant that should be contained where we are. Dangerous dust.

If we are of God, we should be the juiciest, moistest, most worm infested and nutritious soil there is – and that is a sentence I never imagined writing before in my life! Our dust should be sticking to everyone’s shoes, they should be digging us up and throwing us liberally over their gardens. We should be desired dust, not shaken off like coarse sand which stays in your socks for weeks after a visit to the beach. We should be delighted in and treasured, even if we might be a little bit stinky, because of the good we will do. Fertilising dust.

We are told of numerous occasions in the Bible when those in deep distress covered their heads with dust. Job’s friends Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar, Joshua, the daughters of Zion at the fall of Jerusalem. Ahab sat in sackcloth and ashes in repentance for his misdeeds, as did David. In these circumstances ashes represented humility, these well known characters – many of them leaders – lowering themselves before God in the acknowledgment that they were only dust themselves. In recognition they needed him. Calling him into their situation and asking for help. In the western world where we consider ourselves modern and above such things, our times of deep distress are often hidden behind closed doors and handled with a box of tissues. I wonder how much healthier we would be as a society if we could give ourselves permission to wail from the depth of our souls in lament at how fragile we recognise ourselves to be, and just throw ourselves onto God’s saving grace as the creations of dust that we know ourselves to be? Lowly dust.

Have you ever thrown the phrase ‘Eat my Dust’, Bart Simpson style, at a rival as you win a race. Not particularly gracious maybe, but actually biblical. Once Satan has successfully tempted Adam and Eve into taking knowledge which was not theirs to have, God condemns him to crawl on his belly in the dust for eternity. This is what allowed the life-giving serpent imagery of the feminine divine to be subverted into the satanic snake we more commonly see today. But it also gave rise to more bible references about pushing our enemies into the dirt, such as in Lamentations. Eating it, in fact. You can’t get more lowly than eating the dirt from which you were made. Shaming Dust.

It almost feels like we have come full circle, from dust being the wholesome material of creation, to dust being the ultimate material of subjugation. We have become aware of the power of dust from being told to brush it off our feet, to using its power through our mourning and repentance rituals, to demonstrating our power over others by shoving their faces in the dirt and calling that victory in God’s name. Is it ever so?

Victory in God’s name is wiping the dirt off the faces of crying children and tending to their wounds. Victory in God’s name is laundering so many clothes to keep them going for so long because you have a household to run. Victory in God’s name is leaving dust on the shelves because you’re exhausted from opening your home to so many people in one day, ministering to each and every one, but doing so gladly because that is who God called you to be.

I am writing this as I reflect on my adored Nana’s funeral yesterday. Her life was a victory in God’s name. Not because of what she did, but because of who she was. The best dust ever in existence was used to make my Nana, and now it is back to dust once more.

Stardust.

Peace be with you.

Here is the text of a sermon I gave to The Ordinary Office community on Sunday 18th September 2022 about grief.

Grief.

We are surrounded by it at the moment. The very public grief of the royal family as they have lost their matriarch. For many of us, our own grief at the loss of the Queen, a constant in our lives. For others of us, we may have personal griefs we are trying to hold while we are surrounded by wall to wall ritual, rites and memorials. Patients on palliative care pathways reminded of what is to come for their loved ones as they face their own end of life journeys. We know grief is powerful, for even Jesus wept in the presence of Lazarus’ tomb. The world is so very heavy right now.

Grief comes in many forms. For example, over the summer I managed to get back to my hometown, and the beach I grew up by. Getting my toes back in the sand was heavenly. Realising I could only get a few metres onto the sand before it was too much, was crushing. I had to sit and watch from a distance as my family collected shells, plodged in the surf and enjoyed their freedom. I have learned to value what I have; dozing on the sand hearing the waves and feeling the breeze on my face was blissful. But oh what I would have given to get my feet in the water. My overriding emotion that day was grief.

Sometimes we hold our own personal grief. Sometimes, it is shared. On Monday as we witness the State Funeral of the Queen, there will be much shared grief. But we also recognise the grief of those who have had appointments cancelled. The grief of those who have lost income when their bank accounts are already worryingly low. The grief of those who are completely overwhelmed by the upheaval in the world and just needed the day to be routine – yet business are closed, carers are absent and they sense tension in the atmosphere. Perhaps not comparable to the grief of losing a Queen. But to someone whose world consists of their immediate sensory experience, who has no concept of a Queen let alone who she was, the disruption and desperateness is not comparable at all.

It is 70 years since the last death of a monarch in Britain. Since that time we understand so much more about grieving. About inclusion, trauma. About human contact, such as holding a loved ones hand through their hardest of days. Why, I wonder, has Operation London Bridge not taken such developments into account. As King Charles has been under intense pressure, travelling the UK, scrutinised over pens and had his demeanour analysed, should he not be curled up under the duvet with Camilla sorting him out hot chocolates and rubbing his feet while they binge watch the latest Bridgerton? My last bout of grief, I spent a week playing Little Alchemy 2 and getting up to 625 items from the basic 4. No regrets – although I haven’t touched it since. And I certainly wasn’t in a fit state to be doing the household admin, let alone conduct matters of state importance.

For some the collective expression of grief has been helpful. The pilgrimage-like scenes we have witnessed as people queue to see the Queen’s coffin have been incredible. For others, it has all been too much, and that must be respected too. We can learn from the experiences which differ from our own. For those who saw the Queen as proactive in oppression and colonialism, we should listen to their voices and seek to understand. If the treatment of Meghan, Duchess of Sussex isn’t enough evidence systemic racism is embedded throughout the fabric of our country, I don’t know what is. A person’s life is never made of a single thread, but woven with multiple strands.

Wherever you personally sit on the scale of grief, be it overwhelmed with emotion or barely interested, be it related to Queen Elizabeth or something else. Know that you are not alone. This is where the strength of collective expressions of grief come into play. When we all pause together, as we have the opportunity to do on Monday, we can reflect on the Queen’s life, our own lives and anything else on our hearts. Dave and I will be around on Twitter should you need us. I would encourage you to take the opportunity on Monday to be with others, or to be with God, in contemplation and reflection. Sit with your emotions, if It feels safe and appropriate to do so. You may want to visit the place which eases your soul, spend some time in nature or contemplating an image of beauty. Because the flip side of grief, of course, is joy.

We have made no secret that Dave and I have had tough paths to walk in our journey recently. Joy has felt distant recently. Yet The Ordinary Office brings us joy. Sharing with you all brings us joy. I spend far too much time stuck on this sofa nowadays, but the birds I can watch out of my window bring me joy. Listening to the weather changing. The trains coming past. Seeing the silly things my cats do. I have learned to intentionally seek the joy within the grief. Focus on what I can see which cheers me instead of what I have lost which grieves me. It is a discipline, it is hard and it is not to be flippantly expected of everyone as a life lesson. I don’t always manage it. But I intentionally seek to.

So, as we enter this next week of official mourning, all that comes with it, and with many members of our community having different feelings about it, let us be intentional about seeking joy. Strange advice maybe. But let us take joy in the crispness of the music our exceptional musicians are delivering ceremony after ceremony – highlighting the importance of arts education in our schools. Let us take joy in the small steps of progress towards equality and inclusivity we do see, with women in previously men only spaces. Let us take joy in the outpourings of love outweighing the outpourings of hate.

Let us remember that grief exists because we loved in the first place. In verse 22 of our gospel reading Jesus says ‘Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.’ Joy honours that love just as much as grief does. God doesn’t promise us a life free of grief. But they do promise us a life filled with joy. I wish you more joy in your life today, and always.

Peace be with you.

I make it a key part of my presence online to encourage others, intentionally working to build others up as I have been invested in (1 Thessalonians 5:11). Yet I have seen a saddening trend recently, of amazing ministers, advocates and activists becoming frustrated, disillusioned and downcast. Easy to see why this would be the case in the troubling times we live in. But the worst part of it is, I have seen comments where such godly people have questioned their abilities to minister, queried if their sermons or activities are ‘good enough’ and in some cases, watched people who have inspired me walk away from their calling altogether.

I don’t for one second believe God’s belief in them changed. God loves each and every one of us thoroughly, fiercely and relentlessly. As we give, so they love. As we lean in, so they pour out. As we struggle, so they understand. God is not a strict teacher, marking our sermons with a red pen. Reflectiveness is good, but if we who speak to the world of God’s word truly believe in our call to do so, we must remain in a place of confidence that our words come from that call. From that relationship we have with God. Any doubts, test them in prayer with the spirit, or with a trusted spiritual advisor. I may have sermons which in time I would develop differently, but at the time I spoke them, they were from the heart and what I felt was needed. I will test the words the Holy Spirit gives me, yes. But I will not second guess them. God has not given me false words yet.

I can feel readers shrinking back from the confidence – even arrogance. Yet Jeremiah tells us those who wish to boast should do so only about the Lord, his love, justice and righteousness, and how he delights in such things. (Jeremiah 9:24). Life gets difficult, and complicated. We can’t always do what we want to do, in the way we want to do it. But we who know God can always speak of their love. How, when the world is falling apart, God sustains us. How, when our moods slip and our worlds close in to one room, one relationships, one step at a time, God protects us. How, when our senses are overwhelmed and our bodies are freefalling, God grounds us. We can always give our testimonies, even when we have nothing else to give.

‘Yet what I can I give him: give my heart.’ In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti tells this truth perfectly. I have been so blessed in my journey with online church over the last two years to see this playing out so strikingly. People who cannot get out of bed but will still record a prayer for a weekly service. People with so much to manage in their own daily routines but who still volunteer their time to share with others. People who can always be counted on to help out when needed, whatever the role required. People who spend their lives as prayer warriors, covering the activity of others with intercessions and thanksgiving as their way of maintaining involvement once their physical strength has waned. Whatever their contribution, when given with their full heart, it is more than enough. It is rejoiced over. It is celebrated with love.

Let me encourage you today. Wherever you are on your journey, however you serve God, whatever you do and however you feel. God loves you. Be bold in your ownership of your relationship with them and their call on your heart. Give back heart-fully, and you will be rejoiced over. It will always be more than enough. You will always be more than enough. Be blessed.

Peace be with you.

When there are no words to say, listen, Listen.

Listen to the sweep of the wind; whoosing, whispering, still. Listen.

Listen to the call of the birds; cackling, calling, singing. Listen.

Listen to the motions of the insects; chirping, chittering, buzzing. Listen.

Ground yourself in the sounds around you. The nature around you. The world around you. The earth, the sky, the weather.

From your garden, your window, an image. Make one, paint one, imagine one. Still yourself in prayer and sink into God’s peace. They gave us the beauty of the world so we always have a refuge.

When there are no words to say, take refuge. Listen.

Peace be with you.

I’ve had enough change for a while.

My soul is often restless. Before I complete one thing, I’m focusing on the next. Years of moving through the education system, then entering the teaching profession which values reflective practice and continuing professional development. Retraining, building a business, diversifying due to Covid. I’ve been through a lot of change, and that’s just in the professional aspect of my life.

It has been exhausting. And it has caught up with me.

We don’t talk about the cost of professional development enough. The constant need to gain promotions, get to the next level, make more progress. More, more, more. Yet while we are focusing on the next point on the pay scale, the next qualification HR require or the next degree necessary to validate gained expertise in an area, what are we not focusing on? What do we leave untended?

I came to a crossroads recently having faced multiple knockbacks in a row seeking my next big change. One of them would work out, right? I was due a new challenge, and all the work I was doing was building towards something? Well, apprently not. Everything fell at the final hurdle. Decision time – to push harder, or to stop? Thing is, stopping is not in my nature, whereas pushing myself very much is.

Yet wisdom comes with age, or perhaps I am just worn out. This time it was right to stop. This time it was right to just stay exactly where I was. ‘Do you want to write about my call on your life or do you want to act upon it?’ God asked me as I prayed over my next move. I want to do act upon it, was my instant response. I want to serve, and if that meant stepping away from pursuing longer term goals and into the daily grind, then that is what I must do.

The gift has been in what I have found there. Peace. Respite. A sense of partnership with God free of distractions or demands. A confidence and security in my faith as the foundation of all things, not my own works or efforts. My soul is well, when the world is not. It is quite a new experience, and I rather like it!

I’ll aways be open to what arises, as I aways have been. This attitude plus prayerful discernment has brought me this far. But perhaps I’ll be less hungry for change in the future, and more willing to settle for the status quo. Let God work their change in me as I stay still long enough to let them …

Peace be with you.