Poem: Two Trees – Lockdown poems 5

April 24, 2020August 4, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

The next poem that came from this Lockdown is a little different from the others at first glance. Once again, it was emerged on the page, and has had minimal tweeks. I was intrigued to find it there. Its subject is the trees in the Garden of Eden, and it asks tentative questions about human nature, and the human experience, which they raise for me. I have wondered before why the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil was prohibited, when so many religious systems seem very preoccupied with such knowlege. I have wondered too how Jesus’ warnings against judging help us understand that, and balanced those warnings with the image of knowing a tree by its fruit, as he advises us to do.

I find it helps to allow the images – of trees, and fruit – to grow in our minds, and see what kind of shoots emerge. This is not a theological exploration, but a poetic instinct. Here, I have been asking questions of myself, in a kind of uncertain echo of a chatechism, and allowed the questions to be there, partially or inadequately answered. What if there is a choice, moment by moment – the fruit of the knowlege of good and evil, the fruit of life? Might that have something to say to us as we seek to choose life, again and again? Can we say yes to life, moment by moment, even in these moments?

I don’t have two trees growing in the centre of my garden, but I do have this tree, whose early morning shadow delights me. I hope you can make it out. The early light was tricky. I thought I’d offer it to you to see if it might help give another image to add to the trees in this poem – a growing tree and its shadow.

Two trees – lockdown 5

Two trees grow in the midst of the garden; the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. paraphrase from Genesis 2:9

What if we stand
in the middle of the garden,
choosing the wrong tree,
moment by moment,
again and again?
There they both grow –
tall, beautiful,
pleasing to the eye,
laden with fruit.

And we are drawn to one,
not the other, at least at first.
Wanting power to say things are
this, or that, the illusion of
control, wanting to judge,
wanting to be right.

Do we need to lay all that
hollow fruit aside in order
to eat from the tree of life?
I think so, yes,
Maybe empty-handed is better.

And what if we had made
a different choice
from the beginning?
Chosen that other tree,
unprohibited,
free.
What indeed!
And yet we did not,
and ever since, we have
hungered for its fruit.

And can we choose differently
now, each day, each moment?
I think so, yes, I think that we can
set down the fruit that
sours and spoils,
and choose life
again, and again,
and again.

Poem: Yes – Lockdown Poems 4. For Earth Day

April 22, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

This is the next lockdown poem to emerge – today, here, is clear blue, but we had some stunning clouds a few days ago, and it was good to take a few moments to watch them.

It’s Earth Day, when we look to our place as part of the wonderful whole that is our home, the Earth, and look also to our responsibility to tend it. One of the things I am experiencing in this time at home is a greater sense of connection, of love, for all that makes up the place, the ground that I’m part of here. I feel this love and connection are deeply significant. I wonder if they are the necessary roots of a better way of living, one that acknowledges our dependence on the living Earth, and works to heal our environmental crisis, the crisis the living Earth is facing, including us. These deep connections, this gratitude and love are, I am coming to think, more important than we know. I touched on these themes in a talk I gave at Girton College Chapel, and if you’d like to, you can read more about that here.

I hope there are ways, however small, that you can find connection with the natural world where you are. Whether you can or not, you are welcome to join me here in your imagination, and sit in the sun.

Yes, thank you – lockdown 4

The white clouds are coming now,
sails spread, a fanciful armada
on a soft southerly wind.
My skin feels the heat of the sun,
surprising. And I say thank you, and yes
to the blue and white of the sky,
to these various dark bees
among the comfrey,
heads dusted with pollen –
yes, drink your fill,
yes, thank you

To the peacock butterflies waiting
open-winged on the grass,
until another flies by,
and they rise and dance
as perfect as silent larks.
yes, and thank you

To the bright leaved hazel,
to the dark flowered fritillary lilies,
the yellow dandelions and their
white butterflies,
All, yes, thank you.

Poem: Red Leaves – Lockdown Poems 3

April 21, 2020April 21, 2020 / andreaskevington / 2 Comments

I’ve been spending time with my notebook, while we’ve been in lockdown. Usually, the words come from what’s going on around me, grounding myself in my ground. I am aware how fortunate I am to have sight of new leaves, as here, but I hope these small verses give you a place where your imagination can connect with the spring, wherever you are.

They are just moments as they come.

The subject of this poem springs from the story of Moses and the Burning Bush, which you can read about here.

A moment in the garden, shared with you.

Red leaves lockdown 3
Oh, the sun through those red leaves,
shiny and shining,
And here, too, the smokebush,
just kindling to red flame,
before the leaf-smoke thickens,
as the sun’s light strengthens.
You can almost feel them growing,
as you bask in their cold fire.

It’s all holy.
All this good earth.
As my knees feel the
softness of grass,
and the air smells so of green,
and of the damp warming soil,
and grass, and primroses.

Yes. This place.
Yes. This time, even this.

Poem: Owls – Lockdown Poems 2

April 17, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

Welcome back, thank you for joining me again. I hope we can take a few minutes to rest here.

I’m sharing another of my lockdown poems – simple, largely as they appear from my pencil – in the hope you’ll find some companionship, something that helps. This one begins not in the garden, with light and green, but in the middle of the night.

Waking at night, or disturbed by dreams, thoughts race away. If I remember to catch myself, I try to pause, to breathe, to notice. Sometimes, you’re lucky enough to hear something wonderful, which breaks through the patterns of thoughts.
It’s been owls for me, lately. The night has its consolations.

Owls – lockdown poems 2

Three nights now,
I have heard a pair of owls
in the garden.

Startled awake, suddenly,
by a fragment of
remembered news,
of fear,
and then, suddenly,
there they are –
the owls, calling
to each other, and,
it seems, to me.

Now, morning, and I look
up at the solemn black windows
of the barn, great eyes,
one shiny with a film of sky,
one matt and sightless.
I am glad we did not fix that glass.

There is room for an owl’s drawn in wings,
room to fly into that attic darkness,
where the peacock butterflies blink
their wings awake after the winter,
room to fill that desolate space
with life. May it be so. May it be so.

Poem: Today, sound. Lockdown Poems1

April 15, 2020June 10, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I am writing during this lockdown – as a way of expressing something, as a way of grounding myself in the physical experience of where I am, of keeping some kind of a record of what this time feels like, which is very different from what watching the news feels like, at least for me. What emerges from this practice is simple, free, unpolished.

My notebook comes with me into the garden, and so it’s to the garden that I invite you now, especially if you are in a place where you have no view of green growing things, and hear no birdsong. I am aware how fortunate I am to have such a place, and how much harder it is to navigate this time without sight of spring. So I hope that, as I share these poems with you, you can come outside in your imagination, and sit on the bench, and rest awile in the sun.

Today – sound.
Lockdown poems 1

Today, it is quiet.
Cars, if they pass at all,
come one by one, strung out,
separate,
dark beads running along
a dark thread.
The old sound comes, and goes,
comes, and goes.

Here, today, in this green space,
we hear, instead, the buzz of
long-tongued bees, feasting
and drunk among the primroses.
Primroses, spilling yellow,
everywhere, in the lawn
on which a faint dark
line threads – the path
of a soft deer
who comes by night.
And above, now,
buzzards and hawks
have the high sky to themselves,
flying in their wide circles.

I hear now, as if for the first time,
full birdsong, triumphant, liberated.
Suddenly an audience has turned
from its spent tables
towards this wide green stage,
and listened, amazed,
as loud song rises louder,
louder, knowing it will be heard.

Poem: Easter 2020 Lockdown poems 9

April 14, 2020June 10, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

I have been writing this lockdown, and am sharing this poem with you first, although it is not the first I have written. I am sharing it while we are still in the season of Easter – a strange, isolated Easter it’s been.

I wonder, though, if it is more like the first Easter than our usual celebrations, in many ways. I wonder how it will seem, when we look back at it.

Easter 2020 Lockdown 9

It wasn’t loud, or triumphant,
that first Easter.
The worship places were not full
of people shouting, together,
Alleluia.

I wonder if it was,
strangely, more like this.
Strange. Shut away
for fear, for love,
behind closed doors,

quiet, while the world
fell apart, while dreams
lay cast aside, a coat
for a long-gone season.

And you came like a gardener,
maybe smelling of soil, with
sap-stains on your un-white,
un-shining clothes. You brought
earth and growth with you

to Mary, who could not touch you,
to others, behind those doors
closed against the world. You
met them in their shut away places.

Maybe you will meet us too,
in our scattered homes, afraid,
untouched, and working in shops,
and bending in fields, that we may
all eat in this wilderness,

maybe exhausted by
the work of healing,
and still holding the hands of those
who are passing into the darkness
of the tomb,
speaking softly in their ear.
Maybe these are the places you
are to be found, this year,
every year.

Jesus said, I Am – For Lent. Chapter 7, Vine

April 5, 2020April 5, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

This post – for Holy Week – is the next in the series based on my book, Jesus said, I am – finding life in the everyday.

It’s also Palm Sunday, when we think of the crowds laying down palm leaves. This year, such crowds seem very far away from our experience, as we are isolating at home. It’s a time when churches often fill with people, or process with branches. This year, we can’t do that. Instead, some are making palm crosses, or gathering greenery, to decorate their doors as a sign in participation in this time. It’s part of how we are all adapting to our situation, and finding ways of connecting, and marking times corporately. These things help.

My Palm Sunday leaves.

Back to another growing thing, to the Vine.

I do not have a vine in my garden, but I have so many other plants that are just opening up to new life.

I have been planting seeds. My veggie beds, rebuilt a few years ago by my son and a friend, have not been productive in the past, but this year, there are signs of hope. There are a few little shoots coming up, and raspberry canes beginning to grow. I hope that we’ll have fresh salad leaves before too long.

I’ve also been thinking of the wisteria, and the corkscrew hazel, in the light of this reading which tells of vines and gardeners.

This year, the wisteria is covered in long purple buds, and will soon be heady with scented flowers. Last year, my gardener worked hard to cut back the unproductive growth, to focus the plant’s attention on the buds of this year’s flowering.

The corkscrew hazel requires less skilled intervention – I can manage to tell which stems are coming up straight, and need removing so the wild disarray of the corkscrew can grow freely.

These moments of intervention are part of what happens here – I also love the wild flowers – or weeds, I love to watch what happens, what grows of its own accord. It is a hospitable place. I love the rhythm of managed and wild. I love the crowds of birds, the insects, the butterflies and bees that seem to thrive here.

This year, many are noticing and valuing the gradual creep of spring, the morning birdsong, the clearing skies, in a way they haven’t before. These small joys are opening up to us, and we find they are deeply satisfying. If we have a windowbox, or a garden, or a view, the subtle changes we see bring us joy.

Our Father is a gardener, we read.

John 15:1-17

Once again, we will just touch on some of the themes this image opens up for us. There is always more. Here are a few things, offered for your reflection – and some suggestions of how we might live inside this song of the vineyard.

There is a way of seeing the overarching narrative of the Bible that looks like this: three gardens – the garden of Eden in Genesis, the garden tomb of the resurrection and the garden city of Revelation. If we hold this narrative in our minds, we see a story of flourishing, of hope, of new growth despite the winters we encounter. Gardens and their gardeners are a theme that runs through the whole Bible text. Gardens are both beautiful and necessary, a sign of a settled life, a sign of peace and security, a promise of plenty. And within the garden, the vine winds and trails its way through scripture, a sign of the people of God in both testaments, their frailty and fruitfulness, their need of a gardener to bring out their best flourishing, their provision of fruit and, more especially, wine to gladden the heart, wine soon to be poured out.

We are invited to be part of this fruitfulness and flourishing. We are invited to be part of something bigger than ourselves, joined to others as well as to Jesus. We are invited to participate, and to contribute, to give and to receive.

As Jesus and his friend walked in the dark past vineyards, the image of the vine was real, fragrant, touchable. This song was no distant allegory. It was before them. What would they have glimpsed, in the thin light?

A winter vineyard looks as dead as dead can be. The bark flakes and pulls away. But, here, in the spring, buds would have been bursting out. What appeared dead was returning to life, throwing out tendrils, leaves, maybe blossoms. They knew the importance of the vine, and the care and wisdom needed to tend it and make it fruitful. Passover required the drinking of four cups of wine…. Their blood was warmed with wine as they walked through the chill of night.

…..

And in the spring, sap runs through its veins like blood – it pours through, swelling the hidden buds. This is a kingdom vine. The way life flows through it is like the way the Spirit will sustain Jesus’ followers after he has gone. The vine is loved and cared for by the Father. God alone is the gardener of this vine.

Remain

To a group of people who will soon be scattered in the darkness, who will abandon him, Jesus talks of remaining, abiding. He talks to them, assuring them they are already connected to the vine, already clean. What will happen does not change that for them He says this first, at the beginning of the song. All else that follows is held within the certainty that they are part of the vine.

Here is the melody of the song, and this is what we need to treasure – that we are also part of this vine, the sap flows through us.

The heart of it all is remaining in Jesus, as Jesus remains in the Father; remaining because of love, so that joy may be complete. We may not understand, but we an hold open the possibility of this love and grace and belonging.

Fruit

We have talked about abiding, remaining, but the purpose of the vine is the fruit and the purpose of the pruning is to increase the vine’s capacity to bear fruit. As Jesus continues his song of the vineyard, we see this fruit linked to a circular pattern of love – it begins with the Father for the Son, flows from the Son to humanity, who are then, for the second time, commanded to love in their (our) turn. The outcome of all this is joy – Jesus’ joy will be in us and our joy will be complete.

Love, joy… from there, we are naturally drawn to another mention of fruit in the New Testament – the fruit of the Spirit.

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. There is no law against such things.
Galatians 5:22-23

The branches attached to the vine have the life of the Spirit flowing through them. There is beauty in a fruitful vine, with its leaves, blossom and, in time, the ripening fruit. Our lives, filled ith the flow of the Spirit, can have such beauty. The life of Jesus, flowing through us, is transformative. Maybe Jesus is telling us here how the Spirit works, how our lives can be part of something greater. Connection to the soure of all life and love leads to flourishing. We are not isolated, purposeless, lonely individuals. We are part of the something greater, and we can live out our lives fruitfully.

Reflection and Response

Further Study

Read the account of the wedding at Cana (John 2:1-12). Reflect on the symbolic meaning of the empty jars used for religious cleansing, here filled with fine wine at a wedding.
……

Colossians 1:15-20. How does this image of Christ connect with your thoughts on the vine? How do all things hold together in Christ?

Prayer and Meditation
Lectio divina meditation – rooted and grounded in love
Read Ephesians 3:14-16, asking God to speak to you by drawing your attention to a word or phrase. Read the passage out loud, slowly, twice, leaving silence between and around the readings. See where your attention snags, what strikes you, and ponder that. If you are with others, hold a time of silence, then share your words or phrases.

Read again. On the last reading, be alert to anything that applies to you or your situation directly, any place where the Holy Spirit may be moving or guiding you. Thank God for what you have learned.

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. John 15:9

When you dwell on the idea of all being connected, and held together in Christ, does that help as you navigate this world in which we are more physically separate than we would wish?

Have you ever experienced anything that felt like pruning? What happened? What was that like? Offer any loss, any gain, through that process to God in prayer. Be alert to signs of new life that may emerge.
Our lives are seriously curtailed at present. Might there be, even in this real difficulty, some space where something new and better might emerge?

How can we connect in a time of disconnection? How can we show solidarity, and offer help, when the normal means of being together are not available for us?

Life and service

Connection and community
Take some time to connect with people in your community. Be on the lookout today, this week, for ways you can build connection with those around you. It can be as simple as taking a few minutes to speak to a neighbour, smiling at a passer by or something more.

…

ways you might be part of making a stronger community. Ideas could include:

using local shops

walking or cycling where you can.

with others, notice the needs in your community, and finding ways to bless and reach out – the elderly or housebound may require help, or young families, etc.

litter picking the streets around you, or clearing snow or leaves as appropriate

……..

Care for a garden, or a piece of land near where you are. Collaborate with others to enrich and bless growing and living things nearby.

Further reading – I recommend Richard Rohr’s book, The Divine Dance – the Trinity and your Transformation

The Rublev icon

Jesus said, I Am – for Lent. Chapter 6 – I am the way, the truth and the life.

March 29, 2020March 27, 2020 / andreaskevington / 2 Comments

This Lent, under the shadow of coronavirus, we are all giving up more than we anticipated. Some of us are staying inside, perhaps feeling anxious, while others work to care for the sick, and to provide food and essential services for us all. It’s a time when we need to find new ways of supporting each other, and connecting, as we thought about last week.

As we’re staying indoors at present, I thought I’d share with you some photos taken as we walked the Norfolk Coast Path a couple of years ago. It’s good to remember beautiful places we’ve been to in the past, and share them, and think about good things we’ll do, with such gratitude, again soon.

I did hear an excellent idea, especially if you have children who are missing their friends and their favourite activities….. Take a large jar, and write down on pieces of paper the names of people you want to see, and things you want to do, as they come to mind and you miss them. Make it colourful. You’ll then have a beautiful jar to look at, and a collection of things to really look forward to doing as you pull them out of the jar, one by one, when we are outside again.

We are keeping each other safe, keeping our vulnerable people and our medical people safe, by giving up our going out and doing things. This is a real act of love.

Back to our Lent series. Once again, these familiar stories and words of Jesus seem to take on an added depth of meaning as we consider them from inside – inside our homes, inside this strange time we are living through. Thank you for joining in. I hope that, by reading and praying together, we may be aware of all that connects us.

As we enter the traditional season of Passiontide, drawing closer to the Cross, we enter too, in our reading, an intense dialogue between Jesus and his friends, in which Jesus seeks to explain the terrible thing that is going to happen. To prepare them, and to show them the necessity for it.

We will touch on the themes of Way, Truth and Life here, and seek to work them into our days.
We are continuing this Lent series drawing on my book, Jesus said, I am – finding life in the everyday.

John 13- 14

Jesus knows that the time when he will be abandoned and betrayed by his friends, and then crucified, is getting close now. Knowing this, despite this, he loves them to the end. Knowing that the Father had put all things into his hands, he strips and kneels and washes their feet. He gives them bread. In doing so and by what he says, he tries to prepare his friends for what will come – must come. He does so with sadness and compassion. These are dark and difficult words. But, there is more. There is also a vision of love, service and life itself – the way of the Spirit, the Comforter. It offers them a way they can live when Jesus is no longer with them They do not want to see ahead to such a time. This next ‘I am’ saying is part of all this preparation – showing them a way forward – a way that will endure. Jesus is that way. He will remain that way, even after.

We are not there yet, though. We need to stand back a little and see more clearly

The towel

Jesus gets up from the table, strips off his outer clothes, wraps a towel around his waist and kneels to wash his friends’ feet. This is part of the way ahead – the way of love and service. It is an instruction for how they are to live when he is gone. They are to imitate this act – and a concrete task can help us through a difficult time. It is hard for them to receive it. This kneeling and washing, acting like a humble servant, is part of the self-emptying way that Jesus is following, a small foreshadowing of the self- emptying of the cross. The way of love and life passes through the darkness of death.

………

Glory

No wonder it was hard to grasp. This is what glory looks like: tying a towel around your waist, a friend leaving to betray you with the taste of bread still in his mouth, being lifted up on a cross.

What might it mean for us, to know there is glory even here?

This encounter between Jesus and Judas – as he washed his feet, as he shared bread with him – has given me much to think about. I wrote about it here.

However much they did not understand, his friends did seem to grasp that he was going to leave them. That this leaving would be for their good – that it would bring them the greatest good – was beyond them. The loss of Jesus could not be but terrible in their eyes.

And so, he tries to frame it for them.

Something profoundly essential is happening – terrible as it is – that will ultimately work for the good.

This is the only way.

A spacious home

Jesus gives them a picture of what the good will be – a picture of the host going on ahead to prepare rooms, or dwelling places. This is why he must leave, to unlock the door, to get things ready, to open and air the rooms. It is a large and spacious illustration, one that would conjure up Middle-Eastern principles of hospitality and welcome…..

There is an expansion in these pictures, and a deep sense that Jesus will go to considerable pains, even to the loss of his life, to bring home the sheep, to make a place in the Father’s house. Images of hospitality abound in the other three gospels, for the kingdom – images of banquets and wedding feasts and wide tables. Here, we find these: a large and hospitable house, a generous sheepfold.

It is entirely understandable that Thomas replies, “We don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” Now is the ‘I am’ moment: “I am the way, the truth, and the life”. Can we think of a person as a destination? For that is what we are invited to do. ….

As we seek to walk along the way of love and service, we walk along with Jesus. We remember that the earliest name given to Jesus’ people was not Christians, but followers of the Way. We walk with Jesus, and with each other, on this path. That is the way.

It is Jesus who is Way, Truth and Life all. That begins to shift us to a different way of understanding what these things might be.

The reality behind it all, the reality we can trust, is love. That is why Jesus goes on ahead through what we cannot, and then comes back for us again.

The way of love is not soft, comfortable or secure. It will take Jesus to hell and back. It will take him to the very worst that can be done to a human being. This is the way that humanity will see God’s outstretched arms, and be liberated to enter abundant, overflowing life. Jesus is making the way.

Way, truth and life are here.

“In him was life, and the life was the light of all people.” John 1:14

Reflection and response

John often has parallels, patterns in his Gospel. You might like to think about Mary kneeling to anoint Jesus’ feet (see last week’s post) and Jesus kneeling before the disciples. You can use the pictures in each post to imagine what it would have been like to be there. You might like to think about what they have in common.

Further Study

Exodus 12:1-28
Consider more deeply these themes of the Passover: slavery and servanthood; a meal overshadowed by death and departing. Do these help your reading of the last supper?

I am struck by the fact that the Passover celebrates liberation from slavery, and this newly formed Passover – the Last Supper – includes a command to imitate the actions of a slave – washing feet – in free loving generosity.

It might be worth opening our minds to consider how often the plagues we see in the Hebrew Scriptures are seen as connected to oppression, inequality and injustice. That’s a big theme, and a diversion from our current study, but it may be worth noticing as we consider what kind of world we want to help make when we do emerge from our time of isolation.

How do you respond?

Creative Response

Foot washing
You will need: water, washable pens, paper, kitchen paper.

Imagine Jesus kneeling before you to wash your feet. Imagine you are there, in that upper room. What do you feel at first? What do you feel at the end? You might like to paint your response.

You could use washable pens on your hands, remembering things that do not fit with the command to love. Then dip your hands in water and watch them become clean.

Thank Jesus for his loving sacrifice and his example. Thank him for the gift of forgiveness.

Remember a time when someone offered you love, and practical service. What was that like? Remember a time when you did the same for someone else.

Think of what it means to be a leader like this. Where do you have opportunities to lay aside status and simply serve?

Life and Service

Love
In every situation today, take this as your starting point: how can I best love and serve this person, these people?

My Father’s House
Think about times you have received hospitality, and given it. What stays in your mind?
Can you expand your current practices of hospitality – even a small step?

For both of the above, we will need to adapt in our current circumstances, and consider acts of service and hospitality even that make space for people, hold patience when people are stressed or afraid, considering new forms of hospitality and connection online.

And below, we will all need to use the option for those who have difficulty getting about. We can think of ways of doing a virtual pilgrimage with friends, perhaps sharing places that have meant something to us online, and describing the experience.

We can also plan what we would like to do when the time is right.

Pilgrimage

You may wish to go on a journey with a spiritual purpose and particular destination in mind. You could travel far or go on a walking tour of local places of worship and ancient holy sites. You could use maps and photos to imagine yourself on such a journey if mobility is an issue. You can go with friends, or alone.

Take a look after the photos for another suggestion for walking the way….

These three are taken on a walk near Wandlebury Ring in Cambridgeshire.

Labyrinth

Make a labyrinth. It could be a large one in the garden, temporary and marked with twis or stones, on a roll of paper or old sheet for indoors, or a small one on paper you could walk with your finger. Walk it prayerfully, becoming aware of the presence of Jesus with you and you make your way.

Have a look online for suggestions and resources. This might be a good project for self isolation.

Truth

In the current state of our news and social media, I think this response below is particularly relevant. I would add to it now, as we are all empowered to generate our own content, and to share stories….. what are we spreading? Is it true, loving, kind? Does it promote understanding or division?

It is also worth considering how much news we consume. It is important to be well informed, but we can so easily be sucked into relentless news coverage which leaves us feeling passive and afraid.

Truth

Be on the lookout this week for where and how you learn about the world. Look at your news sources. Consider how you listen to more personal news from friends and colleagues. Whom do you trust and believe? If you do not already do so, consider fact-checking, and reading and viewing things from perspectives that differ from your own. What do you find out?

Be particularly alert to this question: does this presentation of the facts encourage love and peace between people, or fear, hatred and hostility?
Does it help or hinder me in loving God and loving others?

Thank you for reading.

Please feel free to share any of the material you find helpful, saying where it is from.

If you’d like a copy of the book, you can ask your local bookshop – some are taking phone orders and delivering, or order online.

Here are a few suggestions:

The publishers, BRF

Amazon

Bless you. Thank you for joining me, and with each other, in this walk.

A Poem for a time of isolation – Rooted

March 18, 2020April 3, 2020 / andreaskevington / 2 Comments

Update: 3rd April 2020.
While out for our household proscribed exercise this evening, we saw a pair of water voles playing in the stream where I saw the one in the poem. We stayed still for quite a while, and watched them in and out of holes in the bank, and back and forth across the stream. It was such a joyous thing to see! That, and the loud birdsong, and clear air, made a simple walk deeply satisfying.

I wrote this poem some time ago, after the joy of seeing a water vole in meadows near our home. It’s an experience I think about a lot. I thought about it today…. I will get back to the poem later, I promise, but I can’t go there yet. I can’t get to that place of stillness right away, I have to look at the things immediately before us as far as I can. Here is today, this morning, a very small beginning of a change in how we live…..

It’s so sad, this keeping away from ones you love. I, like many of you, have cried at the thought of keeping away from family and friends, and also cried when I have heard of doctors cancelling their weddings, and keeping separate from their own families, and working in such difficult conditions, to try to treat those suffering from the effects of coronavirus.

I thought about this on a small trip to the corner shop – not sure whether even this is a good idea, with the slightest of sore throats. I put on some old leather gloves, thin, so you can still open a purse, and pick things up, an old fashioned form of contactless.

There were hardly any cars, which was pleasant, and made it easier for us pedestrians to step into the road to avoid each other. I am grateful to those who counterbalanced this distance with a smile, and a hello. Two items only, for everything, in the shop, and even so, there was little. I knelt on the floor to retrieve the second last loaf of bread from the back of the lowest shelf, and thought that tomorrow, I would start baking my own as I felt so bad taking it. There was someone I knew in the shop, and our distant conversation, and distant air kissing, seemed to start a ripple of laughter, as others avoiding contact found they could still smile and wave to counterbalance the dance of solitariness, of avoiding each other, we were all keeping up, without music.

As an antidote, back home, I planted three rows of veggies – borlotti beans, butter lettuce, red chard – these gentle things help. What also helped was doing something that might help someone else….Yesterday, I tended the Little Free Pantry . It’s a perfect way for people still out, but who want to avoid crowded shops, to pick up or donate some food. I also added my name to the list of local volunteers happy to put things on the doorstep of others isolated inside. A little of this can help with anxiety. It can help us be reconciled to the distance we have to keep from loved ones.

If we have to slow down, if we have to disengage, then maybe, having felt the anxiety, we can see if we can find some gifts within it.

Mary Oliver

Maybe, even as we acknowledge the weightiness and pain of the current crisis, we can begin to imagine how the world might emerge, how we might emerge, differently, from it.

Have you heard that dolphins have returned to Venice, and that those living in Wuhan report that the sky is blue, and full of birdsong now? Maybe, if we live more quietly, we will live more rootedly, more connected to our place and its people. Maybe, given time, a less frenetic, more sustaining way of being might be made. Maybe, we have an opportunity now, for some kind of a beginning, if not anew, then perhaps differently.

What would you like it to be? What kind of world, what kind of way of living, do we want?

HOW TO BE ROOTED

First, you must suspend
all effort, all purpose.

Simply crouch in the damp,
thick grass, and feel your
sense of self seep through
your skin, your feet, into the
air – the earth – the water.

And as the muscles
around your eyes slacken,
and you let in light,
you become aware
of a nuzzling in the
grass, an earth-dark
water vole sliding
into green water.

As your heart slows
a pheasant walks by,
bright among the grasses,
and three ducks fly low
under the oaks, the
beat of wings
all about you.

Stay still, and you will
sense the scrape
of the crickets through
the back of your hand,
and the tiny spiders,
yellow with newness,
weaving through your hair.
So that, when the
strong green tendrils
of the earth begin to
creep about your feet,
you will know in wonder
that rare thing –
how the world is,

unseen.

May you be blessed, and well. May you breathe deeply, and freely, may you know you are loved and connected to all, may you feel peace.

Remember you are dust….. Ash Wednesday, for life.

February 26, 2020 / andreaskevington / Leave a comment

I’ve been thinking a lot about being the same stuff as the earth as I’ve been pottering around in the garden watching spring emerge, and reflecting on the parable of the sower, and other stories Jesus told.

Ransoms, or wild garlic – as I made dumplings with them, and enjoyed them, I felt part of our local wood.

Today, Ash Wednesday, I emptied our Baxi grate, and carried the ash to the compost heap, getting covered in the stuff as a gust of wind blew. It was a far more comprehensive ashing than we normally receive in church, and it felt given to me, a reminder of my state as dust, ash, earth. As I stirred them into the first grass clippings of the year, and yesterday’s lemon peel from Shrove Tuesday, I thought about the beloved tree that we lost in our garden, and how it’s kept us warm this winter. I gave thanks for it. I thought too about Malcolm Guite’s Sonnet for Ash Wednesday, that speaks of the burning of the world’s forests. I though how complex and delicate our relationship with the rest of the natural world is, and how easy it is to abuse and neglect its care.

It’s good we have these days and seasons – Ash Wednesday is right for penitence, and even lament, as we consider how separately we have tried to live from all that is good and true and sustaining. How we have broken the Shalom, the peace and harmony of God’s intent for us and for all things.

It holds its own remedy, too. People are normally given a cross of ash at a communion service, the great reminder and restorer of our unity with God, with each other, with the gifts of the earth in the form of bread and wine. With the gift of Jesus. Also, a reminder that we are one with the earth puts us in our place, and that place, if we stay with it long enough, is a deep unity and kinship. And that circled my thinking back to the parables, back to the talk I gave at Girton College ten days ago. It might help in the context of the burning of our world, and our state of being ash and soil. Jesus told stories that speak deeply to our nature, and the nature of God and the world. As we are made of the same stuff as earth, we can rediscover that connection, and in it find hope for an amendment of life, living more fully and abundantly, more joyfully and humbly and thankfully.

As we enter this season of Lent, may we be quiet enough to hear the whisperings, and the stirrings, of – not just new life, but a new way of living. We can repent – the Hebrew word normally translated such carries a meaning of turning back home, the Greek of having a change of mindset. Both of these carry great hope – the reign of God is very close, all around, within us, if we but look and see.

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Andrea Skevington

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