Like a Moth to a Flame!

Like a Moth to a Flame!

As a moth is attracted to a flame, so I am drawn to the magnificent sound of a church organ. I always want to hurry to the place it is coming from before the organist stops playing! This dates back to a Sunday morning long ago, when I was just four years old.  At the end of the church service my father lifted me up to see how the organ, with its two manuals and many pull-out stops, was different from our piano at home. 


The splendid organist (who taught at the RSAM, now known as the Glasgow Conservatoire) sat me up beside himself and gave us a wonderful “mini-recital”, showing me how the stops could produce sounds varying from quiet flutes to powerful trumpets and resonant double basses.  Although I loved playing the piano, I never forgot that day, and fancied learning to play the organ – but I had to wait until I reached retirement age before I finally had my first lessons!


These took place here, in St Columba’s Church, Ayr (formerly Trinity Church), on the lovely three-manual organ.  

Although by then I was a member of a church in Prestwick, I had very happy memories of this instrument, because my parents had chosen to attend Trinity Church after we moved from Glasgow to Ayr.  Then aged eight, I joined the junior choir, discovering the great pleasure of singing in a group.  But how extra pleased I was each year when, as Christmas approached, we moved from the church hall into the church to practise our carols, with our choir mistress at the organ!  (“Yes!!”)


Just after my twentieth birthday I set off to France, where I was to spend a year as an English language assistant.  On the evening of my departure, just hours before I caught the midnight train for London, my mother and I came to the quiet evening service.  The beautifully calm organ voluntary soothed my nerves as we entered, and the resonant tones of the final hymn Now thank we all our God filled me with courage at this, the beginning of a new chapter in my life.


Four years later, on a golden June evening, Bob and I sat side by side on a front pew in the otherwise empty church, while Leslie, the organist, played us his favourite suggestions for our forthcoming wedding.  We decided that the ceremony would end with Widor’s exhilarating Toccata from his fifth Organ Symphony.  We were thrilled to hear the triumphant power with which Leslie imbued it - all the more so because he was a small, rather fragile man, with only partial vision because of a childhood attack of measles. But when he played the organ he seemed like a giant.  On our wedding day we moved back down the aisle at a very slow pace so that we could hear as much as possible of the Widor, before going outside to have our photos taken!


Two other precious memories of family occasions enhanced by Leslie’s organ playing are of our first baby’s baptism and my sister Freda’s wedding.


This week there is to be another family gathering so, ‘for old time’s sake’ I began the week by attending the Sunday morning service at St Columba’s, once again revelling in the sound of the magnificent organ – and in all my memories associated with it.  Because Leslie’s successor, Matthew, was on holiday, it is a supply organist in the photo I took (just visible 
behind the flowers!)


I myself occasionally play the more modest organ at my Prestwick church (Kingcase) if Paul, our organist, is on holiday.  Here is the view I have from the organ! (The rather unusual cross above the altar represents John the Baptist’s description of Jesus: “Behold, the Lamb of God”.) 

I love playing the organ accompaniment for the congregation, especially when they are singing one of my own favourites, such as Martin Rinkart's one, which brought me strength and encouragement on that September evening sixty years ago…


‘Now thank we all our God, with heart and hands and voices, who wondrous things has done, in whom his world rejoices; who from our mothers’ arms has blessed us on our way with countless gifts of love, and still is ours today.


‘Oh, may this bounteous God through all our life be near us, with ever-joyful hearts and blessed peace to cheer us, and keep us in his grace, and guide us when perplexed, and free us from all ills in this world and the next.’

Amen

Deo gratias

A Treasure Rediscovered!

A Treasure Rediscovered!

What is this life if, full of care,

  We have no time to stand and stare.  

                                                No time to stand beneath the boughs                                                                                     And stare as long as sheep or cows.                                                                                           No time to see, when woods we pass,                                                       Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass…

So begins Leisure by W. H. Davies which has long been one of my favourite poems (as my dear friends Suzanne and Pascal can testify!)  Today I am feeling as pleased as a squirrel which has just rediscovered a particularly delicious nut!  Last night I came across a joyful item which I wrote seven years ago, describing a special weekend when I had felt strangely blessed.  Now I’d like to share it with you.  It was all inside this lovely card.

Beveridge House, St Andrews, 25.2.2012

‘Today I had the joy of hearing a song thrush!  It was here in St Andrews, up in a tall tree, in a garden in the side street into which I had wandered when trying to make my way from the B&B to South Street, one of the three main streets in the town centre.


‘It’s not often that I lose my bearings, but I’m glad I did so today, not only because of the thrush’s wonderful singing, but also because I met a lovely student in that same street.  When I asked if she could direct me to South Street, she told me that she was going in that direction.  We walked along together – after standing still to listen to the thrush.  I pointed out how it was singing each different phrase two or three times over, and told her that because thrushes are now, alas, an endangered species, I was particularly glad to hear the singing of this healthy specimen!


‘From her accent I could hear that she was from Australia or New Zealand.  From Adelaide, she explained.  She reminded me of a friend, Karen, from New Zealand, not only because of her accent, but also because of her physical appearance.  Both she and Karen love Scotland and feel at home here – due to their ancestry, they think.  She told me that she was studying astrophysics.  When I expressed my admiration, I added that my attitude to the moon and stars was poetic rather than scientific! – for example, the strong feeling whenever I look up at the moon through the branches of a tree that this could be a woman doing the same thing in any century since the world began.  She assured me that she too felt the wonder of moments like that.  She just loved her subject.  Believing that God created the universe, she wanted passionately to find out how the stars had come into being, and felt that whenever she was in her astrophysics class, God was beside her.


‘When I mentioned Richard Dawkins’ book The Magic of Reality and my anger at his narrow atheistic view of “reality”, she agreed, adding that his arguments were flawed, and asked if I had read The Dawkins Letters which refuted his theories.  We agreed that it was not a case of Science or Religion but rather of ‘not only but also’.  At this point she reached her destination and I went happily on my way, delighted to have met her.


(Continued at home, 27.2.2012)  ‘The reason for my being in St Andrews at all was that I wanted to see a young student friend, Simon Lamb, playing the part of the writer, C.S. Lewis in the play Shadowlands.

  Simon had met me off the bus earlier that afternoon and had walked with me to my B&B.  On the way he had shown me the entrance to the Barron Theatre, where the play would be performed that evening, then St Salvator’s Chapel where the next day he would be reading the first lesson, from the Old Testament, at the Sunday morning service. This would be a special service commemorating the founders and benefactors of the University, which dates from the year 1413.  Afterwards two wreaths would be laid (one of them by Simon, as the Chief Usher) at the spot on the pavement outside the church where the Protestant martyr, Patrick Hamilton, was burned at the stake for ‘heresy’.

‘Later, wanting to find out more about Patrick Hamilton – whose initials ‘PH’ are set in a cobbled part of the pavement – I found a bookshop and went in to enquire if they had any booklets about St Andrews which mentioned him.  To my surprise they did not.  However, I found the lovely thrush card, which I bought as a glad reminder of “my thrush’s” wonderful song, and of the opportunity of sharing my pleasure with the girl from Adelaide.  On impulse I bought a second thrush card for her.  Outside, I stopped at a little round table in front of a café which was about to close.  As I wrote a little message of thanks to ‘The Young Lady Astrophysicist from Adelaide’, a wee black and white male wagtail came hopping right up to my feet, looking for crumbs.  Magic!  I stood absolutely still while it hopped fearlessly around, and I enjoyed murmuring sweet nothings to it!   After popping the thrush card through the letterbox of the house where the girl had left me, I wandered farther down South Street – where a lovely black, grey and white shaggy dog approached me and sat down in front of me, letting me caress his head and tummy while I murmured more sweet nothings and smiled at his waiting owner, who said “You’ve got a new friend, Seamus!”  Another few moments of delight!


‘Such simple but profound pleasures the whole weekend! - for which I thank God: the thrush, the wagtail, Seamus the shaggy dog, an enthusiastic black spaniel puppy near my B&B, a butterfly in the University Chapel fluttering around the pulpit (beside me) as the Moderator of the Church of Scotland delivered the sermon, and later that day, when I was with my son Michael, daughter-in-law, Wendy and my two granddaughters, Roslyn and Mhairi, in the grounds beside the Cathedral ruins, a little daisy which four-year old Mhairi picked for me, saying, “Here, Gran.  Keep it!” (I did, and it is still attached to the last page of the ‘thrush card’.)

‘Voices…  I began this little account by writing about the lovely musical ‘voice’ of the song thrush.  But it was Simon’s voice which had brought me to St Andrews – his remarkably resonant voice, which I first noticed when he was only about eleven and I was the guest pianist at his primary school’s Christmas service.  He read the lesson from Luke’s Gospel with such remarkable fluency and understanding that I sat up and took notice of this obviously talented boy.


‘Last Saturday, after my arrival, we had a good talk in Northpoint Café.  He was unusually quiet and serious as we discussed what he was going to do with this voice of his – his special talent.


“I just don’t know,” he replied.


‘At that point, I still didn’t know if his acting was better than his prolific writing.  But that evening I certainly discovered that it is very good.  He was splendid in the principal role of the middle-aged C.S. Lewis – a real tour de force!  He has also the gift of a photographic memory – very useful for an actor, I imagine!  Altogether, he seems to me to be born for the theatre, but I shall follow his career with interest, whatever he chooses to do.’


Postscript. Shortly afterwards, I used Simon’s silhouette from the flyer of the play to create a little laminated card for him to keep in his wallet.  I added a quotation from Shakespeare’s Hamlet.

Words which apply to each of us!

Deo gratias

Rainbow Path of Renewal

Rainbow Path of Renewal

To crown all there must be love, to crown all together and complete the whole. (Colossians 3: 14,15)

This is my good friend, Rev Liz Crumlish, pictured earlier this month at the Gay Pride 50 march in Glasgow.  The combination of her church minister’s dog-collar and the Gay Pride rainbow banner proved to be a strong attraction for many of the lesbian and gay people present.  Liz is married with two grown-up children.  She and her husband have just celebrated their 38^th wedding anniversary.  So, being “straight” makes her support of the gay community all the more noticeable.  Several people hailed her as their role model.


Liz was ordained as a Church of Scotland minister over 20 years ago.  At present she is co-ordinator of the church’s Path of Renewal project, which seeks to change the mindset of both ministers and congregations.  The aim of the project is to take the Christian message of Good News, and practical support, out to their local communities rather than passively hoping that somehow new members will turn up at their church one Sunday.  As you see, Liz certainly practises what she preaches!


This year Gay Pride events around the world added ‘50’ to the title, in commemoration of the Stonewall uprising on June 28 1969 which led to the foundation of the gay liberation movement.  It took place at the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village, Manhattan.  The Public Morals Squad of the New York police regularly raided gay pubs, evicting anyone who was “not dressed in a manner appropriate to their sex”.  But that night patrons thrown out on the street had had enough.  They began to throw bricks back at the building and were soon joined by many other protesters. News of the riot spread far and wide; within weeks Greenwich Village residents organised activist groups in order to establish places for gay men and lesbians to be open about their sexual orientation without fear of being arrested.  


In 1990, after my daughter Linda had “come out”, I attended a conference entitled Changing Church Attitude?  Speakers were from various Christian denominations as well as from the gay community.  Here are some quotations from the Report on the Conference:


‘The Church of Scotland’s position demonstrates a degree of tight-rope walking.’

‘
To talk of hating the sin and loving the sinner simply adds to the confusion, when the so-called sinner does not recognise the action as sinful.’


‘It is up to individuals, whether heterosexual or homosexual, to decide for themselves what are the limits of responsible behaviour.’


‘My aim is to make Christian churches safe for lesbian and gay people.’  


How glad I am – almost 30 years later – that society in general has become more accepting of gay people, and that Liz and her fellow followers of the Path of Renewal are helping to ‘change Church attitude’!


Back in 1990 there were very few books by or about lesbians.  One, however, had caused quite a stir when it was published in 1985: Oranges are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson.  The central character, Jessica, is regarded by the woman who adopted her as specially chosen by God to become a preacher for their Pentecostal church – until she falls in love with another girl and is cast out as a sinner.


 I imagine that young lesbian readers would have had their fears confirmed of becoming marginalised, and of never being made welcome in any church.  However, as I think about that book, I am reminded of a delightful coincidence which made me laugh!


On a wonderful trip to Melbourne in 2005, Linda and I had just arrived at  the rented house she had found on the internet when, on entering the living room,  I immediately gasped in astonishment at the sight of a pile of table mats, the top one of which bore the same ‘Oranges’ design as a tray I had in my living room at home.   

Linda had invited some friends to a meal the next night – lesbian friends she had met on her previous stay in that lovely city. As we all sat down at the table (with me very aware that I was in a heterosexual minority of one!) we spread out the place mats and I chortled with delight to find that half of them showed lemons - a timely little reminder that ‘Oranges are Not the Only Fruit’!

Deo gratias!

a little church

a little church

From my bedroom window I can see this cheery sunflower, one of several which Jim, my neighbour, has successfully grown this year.  (Mine tend to get munched by slugs and snails!)  Just as I was about to take a photo of this splendid specimen, a bee obligingly arrived on it, sharing my pleasure!

The photo reminds me of the amusing front cover of a little book which Sally, my elder daughter, gave me one Mother’s Day many years ago.   

Inside, the pages were blank, to allow for the copying of favourite prayers, hymns and other inspiring quotations.  Sally had started it off by copying her favourite poem by the American poet e.e.cummings (who avoided capital letters, unless referring to God).  I love it too, so have decided to share it with you today.

a little church

 i am a little church (no great cathedral)

 far from the splendour and squalor of hurrying cities

 – i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

 i am not sorry when sun and rain make april.

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower; 

my prayers are prayers of earth’s own clumsily striving

 (finding and losing and laughing and crying) children 

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing 

birth and glory and death and resurrection; 

over my sleeping self float flaring symbols 

of hope, and i wake to find a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church (far from the frantic 

world with its rapture and anguish) at peace with nature 

– i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

 i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to

 merciful Him Whose only now is forever; 

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence 

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

Wednesday Evening in the Secret Place

Wednesday Evening in the Secret Place

(Contains some strong language!)

This may seem like a Sequel to last Saturday’s post, The Secret Place, but is actually a Prequel!  Keen to complete it somewhat earlier than usual, because of other commitments, I took my notebook and pencil with me to Glasgow on Wednesday of last week.  The key points, plus illustrations, were already clear in my mind, but I hoped that en route I would be able to compose the narrative text to join them all together.  But alas, on the bus any hopes of concentration were dashed when a girl two seats in front of me got out her mobile phone and began a loud chat which lasted all the way to Glasgow.  Exasperating!

After my grandson Owain and I had enjoyed a good chat over a lovely Italian meal, he accompanied me to Central Station in time for the 8.30pm Ayr train. We gave each other a big hug, then I got on board and, eager to get down to my writing, was pleased to find a seat with a table in a quiet coach.  

Just before the train departed, a youngish woman in a pretty summer dress appeared and sat down across the aisle, two rows in front of me. Quickly she nestled down sideways with her back to the aisle, took out her mobile phone and began a VERY LOUD chat with an invisible ‘Walter’! (I have altered the names she used. Not knowing hers, I’ll refer to her as LV (Loud Voice).  I feel a bit guilty about repeating her conversation verbatim, but the following was repeated so often that it became imprinted on my memory…)

LV: Hi! Can you come and get me at the station?  What?  Why? Is there something wrong? Are you okay?  Oh, I see… No, she can’t come.  I’ve asked her already.  And my mother won’t.  She’s furious, all because of Bill.  She didn’t say anything, but I know she’s mad.  Bill didn’t let anyone know he was home.  Five times I rang him, and he never answered until the fifth time when I told him Mother and Father were on their way to rescue the dogs because of the heatwave.  They were mad with him when they arrived and discovered he had come back hours before that and never let anyone know.  Imagine! Five times I rang him and he just didn’t answer until the fifth.  And there I was at my lunchbreak, thinking “Why am I doing this?”  He knew fine I was trying to get through and just didn’t bother answering.  They were all worried about the dogs in the heatwave, and here he was there all the time… What?  Oh, there’s mince in the fridge and you can just boil up some potatoes…Oh, wait till I tell you something funny that happened at work.  There was this African couple came in, and she told me she wanted some nice dresses for the church.  For the church!  Imagine!  Oh my God.  It seems they dress up to go to church over there. Well, guess how much she spent?  Two hundred?  No, much more than that!  She chose two fairly ordinary dresses at well over a hundred pounds each, then she went on to buy much more expensive ones, and finished up taking eleven!  Eleven!  Over four thousand pounds in the end!  They’re going back to Africa this week and she wanted a store of posh dresses.  I can’t wait to see Annie’s face when she comes back tomorrow. She hardly sold anything on Monday or Tuesday and here am I on my first day back, selling all these expensive dresses.  She’ll be mad!  Aye, it’s been some day, I can tell you…  But imagine Bill not answering the phone all those times and everyone afraid about the dogs in all that heat… 

(At this point a man who’d been sitting two seats behind LV jumped up, rolled his eyes at me and muttered “I can’t stand this any longer!  I’m off to the next carriage!” – upon which I stood up, leaned forward and called over to LV.)    

KB: Excuse me!  I think we’d all rather not hear the story of the dogs in the heatwave all over again, or the mince and potatoes, or any other of your private details.                             
LV: WHAT?  Mind your own f…ing business!

KB: Well, I could if you switched off your f…ing phone!  I’m trying to write a story, and I can’t concentrate, you’re speaking so loudly.  And I’m not the only one. The man sitting behind you couldn’t stand it any longer, so he has just gone into the next carriage.”

Astonished and somewhat shocked at what had just come out of my mouth, I sat down, a little shakily. Although sometimes tempted to swear, I try to avoid doing so, and particularly dislike the ‘f’ word”!  And how, I thought, could I be so stupid as to lay myself open to ridicule by saying I was writing a story?

LV: Hey, Walter, you’ll never guess what’s just happened. This woman has just told me to stop talking to you – and guess why? She’s trying to write a story, she says!  Oh my God, what’s she like?  She’s just sh..e!  She should get a life!  What a nerve!  How dare she try to stop me talking to my family.  What’s that? … Yeah, right, I’ll tell her that! (Laughter.) I know.  She’s sh..e!  She should get a life! 

The next few minutes were taken up with double forte variations on the same theme!             I gave up all hope of writing and instead turned to Peter Millar’s lovely booklet The Small Owl Calling, which a friend had given me recently.  It is subtitled Reflections in Uncertain Times.  On page six I read a quote from a writer called Richard Rohr:

 ‘The people of the Way…  Throughout the first five centuries people understood Christianity as a way of life in the present...  By followers enacting Jesus’s teachings, Christianity changed and improved the lives of its adherents and served as a practical spiritual pathway…   The Way was based on Jesus’s teaching (recorded in Mark 12: 28-34): You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbour as yourself. ‘

“Sometimes easier said than done!” I thought.  I could just about reach out and touch the nasty vibes between ‘LV’ and myself!  But then, what was the use of writing about prayer in the Secret Place if I didn’t put it into practice?  So, I silently withdrew into my own Secret Place and prayed, “Dear God, please help to sort out this mess.  Please send your Holy Spirit to show me what to do now.”  I relaxed as I awaited instructions, then felt I was being told just to sit still, keep calm, and wait.

I began to feel sorry for ’LV’.  She seemed to be the sort of person who couldn’t stand being alone, in her own company – she just had to talk to somebody.  I always feel it’s a shame for a person like that – it must be very lonely, to be unable to be content with one’s own thoughts… She had asked for someone to give her a lift home from the station, but that wasn’t going to happen…  That day there had been some kind of discord in her family…  Bill, who presumably known she was trying to phone him, had refused four times to take her call. Suddenly I felt a surge of compassion for her – which I silently directed towards her.  Then:

LV: “Who’s that I hear coming in?  Oh, is it? Right, will you lift the wee one up to the phone…  Hello, my wee pet!  I’m on my way!  See you in a wee while!... Right, Walter, don’t worry, I’ll just get a taxi. Bye!”  (She put the phone down and turned to me.)  Well, have you written your story?

KB: No, I gave up and began reading instead. 

LV: (indignantly) You shouted at me when I was only wanting to speak to my family!

KB: Well, I didn’t mean to shout!  But I had to call loudly because you’ve got such a strong voice. And I didn’t want you to let everyone know all your private details.

LV:  But that’s what my voice is like – loud!  I can’t help it. (Now with tears in her eyes), I was only wanting to speak to my family.  Do you have a family?   

KB: Yes, three grown-up children and four grandchildren.  What about you?      

LV: Two sons.  And (her voice dropping to a confidential moderate tone – MV instead of LV) four months ago I became a Gran!  I have a wee grandson!

KB: That’s lovely.  Tonight I had a nice meal with one of my grandsons.   

MV: Oh. What age is he?                                                                                                        

KB: Twenty- four. 

MV: (incredulously) Twenty-four?!

KB: Yes, twenty-four. (Then, glad to have found away to change the subject) Well, what age do you think I am?

MV: Dunno – Late fifties? Maybe sixty something? 

KB: Seventy-nine, nearly eighty.

MV: WHAT?  You’re kidding me!  I don’t believe it!  You don’t look that old!

KB: Well, my hair may not yet have turned completely grey, but I can tell you that my stiff joints remind me every day that there’s no mistake on my Birth Certificate!  So now, you see, you can just think of me as just a crabbit auld wumman who needs peace and quiet!  Just you forget me, and remember your success story today when you sold all those dresses!

   MV now saw that the train was approaching her station.  She stood up, and started towards the door, when she suddenly turned back, came over to me, bent down and gave me a hug, laying her cheek against mine.  “Thank you!” she called, as she went off.

I was astonished! - but extremely grateful for the complete turnaround in events.  To my surprise, a woman in a seat behind said to me, “Well, I’ve learned something from you tonight.  I couldn’t have been so patient with her!”  I replied that I had just felt sorry for her and that I was amazed about how everything had turned out.  “I didn’t do it; I was only a channel!”, I said, wishing that I could mention the Secret Place!  But the train was now at my station.  As I walked along the platform I grinned, thinking “Nice one, Holy Spirit!” and, of course “Thank you, God!”

Deo gratias