Deconstructing Church

A light that shines in the darkness. That we hold at the centre of all our lives. Our endeavours. Our celebrations. Our times of desperate prayer in loss and sadness.

As we start the Advent season, we gather our thoughts around the light of the world to come, and the hope which he brings. We refuse to accept the status quo, to live in the darkness, and we look towards a changed future. One we must wait for, but know is to come.

Since the Covid-19 pandemic began disrupting lives two advents ago, we have grown used to waiting for what is to come. For better times ahead. For light to come in the darkness. Surely two years in, we should be living in the light? Our Christmastime should have come? Yet still we have longer to wait. How can we speak of hope?

Truth is, at times I don’t know. But what I do know is that to lose hope is a dangerous thing. To hold no hope is to be in a place of despair. The promise of Christmas is that hope will come. The gift of Advent is that it is ok to be still in the waiting. We don’t have to lock into repetitive news cycles and social media gloom. We can be intentional about reflection in the waiting. We can be prayerful in cultivating hope.

This first Advent Sunday, my prayer is that we may nurture hope, knowing that while the wait feels endless, Jesus is coming.

Amen

Peace be with you

We’ve recently moved house, and with that comes lots of trips to the local tip. Nearby is a drive through coffee shop, where we often stop and reward ourselves, especially as I am still on the Long Covid recovery path and even just driving there and back while my husband does the heavy lifting is exhausting for me. So we drive through, park up, sit and watch the world go by. In front of this old Church.

Many locals think it is horrible, and wish it could be flattened. I love sitting with my lemon tart and sweet milky tea, contemplating the sight in front of me. The plants weaving through the brick work. The different colours nature presents against the stark uniform stone. The scents drifting over, reminiscent of the incense which would have drifted down the aisles but so much purer, in their natural, organic, form.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve done a bit of online research and the interior photographs available from ‘urban explorers’ are also beautiful. There is some amazing tilework in there, and the stained glass would have been stunning. But what always strikes me about this Church is that long after the people left, nature continues to speak. We’ve made it ugly with boards, fences and wire. But the natural reclamation only adds to the story of the worship held within the building. This is the planet continuing to grow, thrive, bloom, do its thing. What is that if it isn’t worship?

It also reminds me of the ongoing tussle within the church as an institution. The traditional, trying to stand firm while the cracks continue to widen. The organic, growing theologies, often seen as weeds but beautiful in their own right, just trying to thrive. Intrusive or complimentary? Harmful if not tended to, will pull the building down if neither is adapted to the other. It strikes me there is a powerful analogy there to explore. Natural reclamation within the Church?

And above it all, the cross stands proud still. A symbol of God’s enduring presence as everything continues below Them. Very striking.

I took this photograph on my last trip as I think there is still a lot of meditation and reflection on this to be had. You are welcome to share in this with me.

Peace be with you.

‘That’s mental!’ ‘There are crazy discounts right now!’ ‘He’s just blind to the truth’ ‘You’re so lame’

If you really start to think about it, our language is absolutely rammed full of ableist terms and phrases. As a disability activist, I will hold my hands up and say I have got it wrong, publically and recently. On an almost daily basis I find myself about to say something, thinking about the root of what I was about to say, and choosing differently.

When I was little, it was common to use terms like spastic (and derivatives), mongol (and derivatives), retarded (and derivatives) to describe people, all coming from authentically used disability language. I have Music Therapy text books on my shelf which are still set texts and still use such terms. We would not use them now as mainstream language, we know they are offensive and in general society has actively chosen better. We choose to honour the wishes of the communities living with those disabilities, using person first language, or not, as guided. We choose to listen to the experiences of harm indicated to us by people living with such disabilities and adapt our behaviour accordingly.

So why is it so difficult to do the same with more mainstream disabilities? Mental health, visual impairment, hearing impairment? ‘I told you to put the washing on this morning, are you deaf?’ ‘Come on ref, are you blind?’ ‘That tune is mad man!’

The same context applies. We have clear voices telling us using such terms and phrases are problematic at best, harmful at worst. Yet as a collective there can be a sense of ownership, even entitlement, to use our language, metaphors or phrases from literature that comes above our acceptance of the impact these terms have.

Our use of one word or phrase may not cause clear harm in the moment. But consider the impact if we all challenged our own language habits, made new actively inclusive choices, listened when innocent responses were pointed out to be problemmatic, and learned from disability advocates instead of seeking to defend the status quo? I’m happy we no longer use ‘handicapped’, ‘invalid’ and ‘uneducable’. Let’s keep the movement forward.

Peace be with you

Trying to make sense of a world that appears to have abandoned it, we look to you, God of hope.

Bring us light in the darkness

Bring us health in the sickness

Bring us gold in the cracks

Bring us incense in the air

Bring us water in the desert

Bring us greenery in the wasteland

Bring us peace amidst the din

Bring us calm from within

Amen

Peace be with you