If you have been following this blog then your reward will be in heaven because you haven't had seen much return for your vigilance thus far. 'Events' over the past weeks have meant that energy and opportunity for writing has been at a premium - well, non existent really.
I am grateful that I have had the time to really engage with them - even if it wasn't what I really had in mind when I first began thinking about a sabbatical, many months ago.
Someone once said that what is most personal is also most particular - in other words, what we learn in own experience is usually true for other people in theirs. A lot of my sermons work along this line - I listen to what the scriptures are saying to me and then offer some of those reflections to others in the hope that what has been spoken to this pilgrim will speak to others. The writer and Catholic Priest, Henri Nouwen, whose last years were spent working in L'Arche Communities alongside severely disabled people, was a big believer in this approach. If you have read his books or if you ever heard him (as I did once - all whirling arms and elastic facial expressions and heavily dutch accented English) then you know that he would open his struggles and discoveries before others - his vulnerability was strangely and truly powerful. However, sometimes what is personal is just not for public consumption - sometimes, time needs to pass. So I have little reflection to offer on the recent events that have absorbed my time - who knows, it may all become public in time - but some things are best kept between ourselves and God, who knows the secrets of our hearts.

Not a huge amount to add to what has gone before - the last week has seen more of the same really - gardening - painting - family stuff - its all been absorbing in its own way - physical - and a world away from my usual method of working.
I recently came across the following thought from that master of spiritual soundbites, Jonathan Sacks. It moves us beyond the 'Religion is a comfort blanket' approach that bedevils so much of current religious debate. Its been popping in and out of my mind - asking me to whether I have the faith and ability to listen to the voice of reality...
'It is not that faith is difficult. It is that listening to the voice of reality is difficult and faith is the courage to live with that difficulty.' Now take 5 minutes and think about it - and then try it...

Where have all the words gone ?

I realise that I haven't posted for 10 days - the reason is that I have been occupied with many things such as...

• Cleaning the greenhouse - and then re-potting lettuces that are now housed in a green house with a new paved floor and glass no longer caked in pigeon mess (they really are a pain - why did God and/or evolution allow them space in our green and pleasant land - what useful function do they preform ?)
• Clearing bamboo from the garden (I now believe that this is the devil's plant - it's roots spread every where, well under the surface and are incredibly hard to root out cleanly)
• Filling in holes and then painting the family bathroom
• Family stuff - which has been complicated and demanding (no surprise there)

All the of the above has taken more time then I had expected or wanted, however I also know that I needed a break from the sabbatical -almost a sabbatical from the sabbatical.
Four weeks ago I was aware that my mind was full of stuff - so much so that I couldn't read a book without my eyes glazing over after the first paragraph; I couldn't pray without staring into space. Preaching felt like wringing a cloth to squeeze out the last drop of water.
I needed a break from thinking, reflecting, writing and talking about God.
People joke about Vicars and the length of their sermons and how people fall asleep during them and how they are the most dispensable bit of the service - blah, blah, blah.
Well, this Vicar has felt for a long time the weight of responsibility that comes from speaking.
Somewhere in the Upanishads is a verse that describes God as the 'One before whom words recoil.' What can you say about God ? It is such a burden to say anything meaningful that does not sound trite, naff, one sided or disingenuous. A German theologian once said that all preachers preach heresy - in some ways this relieves us from trying to say everything in a 10 minute slot. And yet it is a struggle not to talk nonsense in public - especially when it comes to God and the ways of God in the world.
I needed a break from speaking - from weasel words - but also from thinking meaningful thoughts - from looking for the next good idea - from the next story I could drop into a sermon - from reflecting on what God is saying - from bothering and badgering God.

So I have been absorbed by weeds and walls waiting to be washed and coated - frustrated by how long these things take. I have done this knowing that God is big enough to look after himself without my help or my thinking and speaking - and I have also noticed, every now and then, a trickle of energy and a small space opening up inside me - giving me room to breathe and to see and hear the world and God afresh.

Julian and the long wait

Today is the day when churches remember Julian of Norwich, a 14th century recluse who had a series of visions whilst seriously ill. She spent the next 20 years reflecting about their meaning before writing of her experiences, in a book that was the first to be penned by a woman in the English language. Twenty years is a long time to take in working out what these experiences meant - what God was saying. Its a long time in our day - but in Julian's when the average life span must have been around 35 years and when the Black Death was wiping people out - twenty years was 2/3 of a lifetime.
It raises the question - 'What if I only understand what God is saying to me, many years from now ?' 'What if the worth or value of this time only becomes apparent a long time in the future. Have I got the patience for that - have I got the nerve to believe that a sabbatical might only begin a process that becomes clear a long time ahead. And what about the church in the current climate - What if the worth of someone's ministry is only apparent long after they're gone ? What if God is speaking but in a way that means we will have to hold our nerve and not get spooked by the long wait that is necessary for us discern and understand ?

Trust the Process

A few days ago I saw a friend to talk over how I could make best use of the sabbatical.
Amongst other things, he suggested that I needed to trust the process - that is - if you make space for yourself and God something will emerge.
He likened it to the story of Jesus in Luke's Gospel who 'has no place to lay his head,' but when he dies he rests in his Father, 'Into your hand I commit my spirit.' After resting on Holy Saturday he rises through the action and love of God on Easter Day.
So as the Sabbatcial unfolds - and as I begin to allow for the space and emptiness so that I listen and be aware of myself and God - I do so hoping that something will come to light - I just don't know what !

I am a big fan of the work of Simon Parke.
Simon used to be a parish priest - gave it up to atack shelves and write; now he is a freelance writer full time.
I realise that he is a bit like Marmite - he divides opinion - but what i appreciate about him is his original mind, honesty and humour. I don't mind that I may not follow his thinking all the way - I just appreciate the way he kicks my heart and mind into seeing myself and the world in new and helpful ways.
I saw the following on his Blog
www.simonparke.com/bloggers
and it made me smile:

Yesterday, I went to see an osteopath - not to be mistaken for a psychopath, which is a very different craft.
He is, of course, the best osteopath in the world, and revealed that I had torn my abductor muscles and may also have a hernia. I'm hoping that it isn't a hernia; hoping that very much. In the meantime, he's working on the torn muscles.
As he massages my damaged thigh, I ask endless questions:'Would Deep Heat help?''No - it makes no difference at all. It merely irritates the skin giving the impression of heat.''They're making alot of money from something that doesn't help.''They are, yes.''So what about the cold spray, that makes the affected area feel freezing. Surely that helps?''No.''OK. But I always feel better after a hot bath, so presumably that's helping the healing.''No - you just feel more relaxed for about twenty minutes. There's no healing there.'
It may have been at this point that I had to stop talking because the pain was too excruciating. A little earlier I'd said cheerily: 'Well, at least it doesn't hurt as much as last week!' He had stayed ominously quiet at the time, and now I knew why. He knew what was coming.
But I suppose my questions revealed a determination to speed up the healing process. There must be something I can do, something I can buy at the chemist!'Oh, there are lots of things you can buy at the chemist, Simon. But they're all placebos.''If I was a premiership footballer, I'd be in an oxygen tent.'
(My osteopath treats premiership footballers, international rugby players, athletes, the lot. On reflection, my body must be something of a disappointment to him.)
'Maybe,' he says in response. 'But in certain areas, technology can only make a very few percentage points of difference.''So it's really about time?' I say.'It's mainly about time, Simon, yes. The body needs time.'

And the Sabbatical is teaching me that my spirit needs time too.

Love after Love - Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
Give wine. Give bread.
Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you have ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


I discovered this poem whilst at Glasshampton Monastery today.
I wouldn't say that I am feasting on my life - but I have begun to nibble at the corners.

I think it was Martin Luther who said that if he was told the world would end tomorrow, he would plant a tree. I would go for potatoes - quicker in the growth stakes and edible.
So, today I got on my knees and began planting.

Someone asked what I was going to do with the sabbatical and I began by saying that there was small stuff to be done - like washing my cassock albs, (done today) buying shoes, (hopefully to be done tomorrow.)
They looked shocked and said surely there would be more to it than that.
And there is - I hope to have time to pray, read and look longer at the question of where I am in life's journey (and in ministry).
But the small stuff matters too - I put it on hold so much of the time because people, prayer and preaching (that's 3 words beginning with 'P' - it's so hard not to write and think like a preacher) come first - which is fair enough. But there comes a time when the small stuff needs attention too.
An ancient prayer from the Eastern Church begins, 'Lord, make us truly alive...'
So, on day two, I have started working on some small stuff - for life is truly made up of such details.

In the beginning

Some people have a clear agenda for their sabbatical - a program of study - pilgrimage - a host of new and interesting experiences.
I too considered starting a PhD or an MA.
I looked at Retreats.
In the end I chose nothing.
I did this partly because Linda has started an MEd and two of us studying seriously would send the household into freefall; someone has to wash, cook, chase children etc.
I also know that some things, like rest, creativity, reflection and prayer, need time and space.
So although there are a few things planned - trying my hand at rowing - a bit of decortaing, gardening, a short pilgrimage to North Wales in the footsteps of RS Thomas - and a week in a monastery in New Mexico - there is a still a lot of nothing in the sabbatical.
At this moment I am twitchy about the space that has opened up before me, but I also know that I need to hold my nerve and allow for emptiness.
So, in the beginning, on day one of the sabbatical, there was nothing - it's the best place to start.