Adventures of an armchair activist (a reluctant radical)

For the past 20-30 years I have had the privilege of knowing some amazing people who are living out incredible, radical lives: people who have actively campaigned for social justice, human rights, disarmament, or care for our planet; people who have been criticised, vilified, and arrested for doing what is right; people who have chosen to live in deprived urban communities; people who have given of themselves to serve others, who have welcomed homeless people, ex-offenders and addicts into their homes; people who have chosen to buck the trends of our culture and live simply and sustainably, or in community.

So, surrounded by dynamic, inspiring radicals, I have tried to emulate some of this in my own small way. The principles these people stand for are all principles I want to uphold. I long for justice for all, an end to the inequalities and oppression of our culture; I long for peace and non-violent approaches to tackling divisions; I long for a world where we do not exploit the earth or its inhabitants; I long for a society where those who are most vulnerable are protected and cared for.

A reluctant radical

And yet, for all my aspirations, far too often, I seem to end up frustrated, or half-hearted in my attempts to live out my beliefs. I try to live a life of simplicity, but love my comforts too much. I try to travel sustainably, but find myself too tied to my car. I try to stand up for justice, but just don’t seem to find the time to get properly involved. I try to show compassion and care for the vulnerable, but sometimes it just seems too exhausting. I try to shop ethically, but can’t seem to get round those corporate giants. For all I may decry this injustice and exploitation, I keep coming back to the reality that I am one of the privileged elite – a well-educated, wealthy, white, able-bodied westerner. And as such I have to acknowledge that, far from bringing solutions to all of this, I, too, am part of the problem.

I suspect I’m not alone in this.

How then shall we live?

But rather than give up, thinking it is all too difficult, I thought it might be good to explore what we can do: to consider the little steps we can take that might just make a difference; to share some of the steps Lois and I have taken, and those we’ve struggled with; to commit to dipping our toes in the water just a little bit more; and to invite others, too, to share your experiences as armchair activists, or reluctant radicals.

In a world where consumerism seems to rule, where injustice is rampant, in which our planet is being ruthlessly exploited, it must be possible to live ethically.

So I will try posting a few blogs and see where that goes. And if you’d like to join in the conversation, please do add your thoughts.

March 25, 2019

Holding Scorpions

A week before our recent trip to Jordan, Lois and I had been on a retreat at Mirfield in Yorkshire. The theme was meeting God in the garden. The context could hardly have been more different from our visit to the Wadi Rum wilderness. But while in Mirfield, I had been deeply moved by a Stanley Spencer painting of Christ in the Wilderness.

The Scorpion is one of a series of 18 drawings and 8 paintings completed by Spencer to give some expression to his understanding of Lent.

We didn’t encounter any scorpions during our time in Wadi Rum, but being in that place, surrounded by the untamed wilderness, it was not hard to imagine the struggles Jesus must have gone through as he faced his own demons.

I had somehow been drawn to this painting; something in it spoke to me. There was a wildness in the harsh reality of the terrain, and the sinister form of the scorpion that disturbed me. But, more than that, I was struck by the vulnerable tenderness with which Christ was holding the scorpion and seeming to gaze on it, not with horror or dread, but with sorrow and compassion.

That day in the wilderness…

Did you sit there, in stillness, holding a scorpion in the palm of your hand?

Did you wander, barefoot, among the rocks and the sand?

Confronting the harshness of the reality of life? Holding it,

tenderly;

gazing with compassion?

This creature that you had made. Why?

And God saw all that he had made, and it was good.

Poisoned. Dark.

Something to be feared.

Hunted.

Crushed.

Your eyes –

eyes of sorrow for what it has become,

for what we have made it, and

for what we fear.

Twisted.

Poised to strike.

An angel of death.

What is it that we have taken and so twisted?

Affection, affirmation, ambition?

Goodness and beauty?

Comfort?

Security?

You see, also, the scorpions in my life.

The hard shells, the poisoned barbs.

And you look with sorrow.

And compassion.

You hold us, too, in the palms of your hands.

Gazing –

Seeing beyond our hard shells.

Drawing out the goodness within.

Not afraid, not shying away.

You hold that reality.

In love.

Can I, too, hold the scorpions in my life?

Without fear, or running away?

Not denying their existence, or

shrinking back from them.

Can I confront the harsh wilderness of our world?

The evil, the suffering.

And somehow hold it

In love.

March 14, 2019

Silence in the wilderness

Wadi Rum

The 40 days of Lent are typically a time to reflect on Jesus’ 40 days being tempted in the wilderness, and the Israelites’ 40 years wandering through the wilderness on their way to the Promised Land. So it seemed somewhat appropriate that on the second day of Lent, Lois and I headed south from Amman to the desert wilderness of Wadi Rum in Jordan.

It may not have been 40 days, let alone 40 years, that we spent there, but we did manage a bit over 40 hours taking in the wild majesty of that place.

How does one convey the wonder of such a place? It was unlike anywhere I have ever been before. The barren, thirsty land of rocks and sand; the huge, towering landscapes of weathered rocky outcrops; the deep, shadowed canyons; the unexpected fields of purple and white flowers; the seemingly lifeless shrubs and trees that nevertheless sprout green shoots; the wandering flocks of sheep and goats; the Bedouin tents defiantly holding forth against the harsh and bitter terrain; the muted palette of ochre, sienna, russet and olive; the vast and vibrant blueness of the sky; the symphony of stars dancing through the heavens …

For me there was something deeply emotional about being there. At times I felt quite overwhelmed by it all: to be present, in complete, deep silence, surrounded by such timeless grandeur, within which my own life seems but a momentary speck of dust. As I sat on a rock in the early dawn light, I felt I had no choice but to be silent myself.

Let all mortal flesh keep silence…

November 14, 2018November 14, 2018

Reflections on retirement 8: Losing track of time

On Tuesday this week I cycled over to the University for a meeting I’d organised with my research team. It was a nice, sunny day – unusually warm for this time of year. As I cycled I pondered the themes arising out of our research on Serious Case Reviews.

At the reception desk of the conference centre they could find no record of my booking. After a while searching, I looked up my booking reference only to find that the meeting was on Wednesday. I had booked the room for Wednesday, told the rest of the team it was on Wednesday, and written it in my diary for Wednesday. But somehow I had got it in my mind that the meeting was on Tuesday.

So I cycled home again.

And as I cycled, I pondered the themes arising out of my time management in retirement.

It isn’t the first time I’ve failed to look at my diary, or turned up for a meeting on the wrong day, or at the wrong place or time. But somehow, being retired and not having a structured routine to my week seemed to make it less surprising on this occasion.

In the run up to my retirement, a number of people pointed out to me the challenges of managing the twin demons of boredom and busyness. So far, I haven’t suffered from the first, and don’t see any realistic prospect of it haunting me too much.

The second – busyness – seems to me a much more real adversary. When I hear myself describing to others what I’m doing with my time, and the things I am committed to, I start to wonder whether this really is retirement. In the six weeks since I stepped out of paid employment I have been on a silent retreat; visited Jordan and Sweden on child death review projects; analysed data for our Serious Case Review research programme; preached in our local church; made a leaflet display stand from recycled wood; drafted my application for a PhD; seen both my children and my parents and a number of friends; cut down some trees in the garden; spent five days in London at the Department for Education; given evidence in two court cases; and read five books.

And yet it really does feel so much calmer and more relaxed than when I was working. I am loving the freedom of waking up in the mornings and wondering what to do today; of being able to spontaneously go out for a walk with Lois; of spending time in the garden; and of saying no to any requests to take on any new projects. I value the opportunity to truly focus on a small number of ongoing projects, and give my mind to them without feeling distracted by too many other competing demands. I am appreciating the peace and beauty of Breathing Space. And I’m looking forward to the eight weeks we’re about to spend in SE Asia and New Zealand.

So, demons may flee. What I think I am experiencing is a new fullness of life. And that doesn’t leave much room for either boredom or busyness.

And it does mean that I can enjoy the fresh air and exercise of a needless cycle ride, without feeling frustrated by all the things that I could have been doing instead.

October 21, 2018October 21, 2018

God’s Gift of Rhythm

All Saints 21^st October 2018: Sermon Notes

Read Ecclesiastes 3: 1-13

Mars bar spirituality

‘it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil’ Ecc 3: 13

Reflect on God’s gift of rhythms in life:

Rest – food, sustenance, refreshment

Play – drink, celebration

How do those work out in your life?

What are your rhythms of the day… the week… the year… seasons of life?

Sabbaths, Sabbaticals, and Jubilees

Take a look at three rhythms that God has ordained:

Sabbath – every 7^th day.

Read Exodus 20: 8-11 and Deuteronomy 5: 12-15

What do these passages tell us about the importance of a weekly rhythm? (you may want to look at Exodus 31: 12-17 and the penalties for not keeping the Sabbath) Why did God institute the Sabbath? (Look at the ‘therefore’ in each passage)

Sabbatical – Every 7^th year

Read Leviticus 25: 1-7

Jubilee – Every 50^th year (7×7)

Read Leviticus 5: 8-13

What do these two passages tell us about why God instituted Sabbath years and Jubilee years?

Read Exodus 23: 10-12

What do this passage and the previous passages tell us about God’s gift of rhythm in our lives. Think about how they relate to caring for ourselves, caring for others and caring for creation.

Fractured rhythms

What, in our society, is the biggest barrier to encountering God? Think about your own life and what gets in the way of you encountering God.

Read Isaiah 30:15,16 and John 10: 10

In what ways do my own choices and decisions take me away from God’s rhythms?

In what way does our society and culture take me away from (‘steal and kill and destroy’) God’s rhythms?

God’s promise

If we learn to align ourselves with God’s rhythms, God promises us peace, joy, life in all its fullness.

Take some time to read the following passages and remind yourself of God’s promises:

Isaiah 32: 16-20; Isaiah 58: 13,14; John 10: 10; Matt 11: 28-10 (The Message)

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

How do we align to God’s rhythm?

In Jewish tradition, there are three times of prayer each day: morning, afternoon, and evening. Jonathan Sacks, former chief Rabbi, describes these in relation to the three Patriarchs, and different approaches to prayer (Jonathan Sacks, 2009, Covenant and Conversation. Magid Books, pp129-134):

To stand – intentionally seek God, intercede: ‘Abraham got up early in the morning, went to the place where he had stood before Adonai’ (Gen 19:27)

To walk with God – taking time to ponder, meditate, commune with God: Isaac went out in the early evening to walk (ponder, meditate) in the field. (Gen 24:63)

To recognise those unexpected encounters with God – when God ‘bumps into us’: Jacob came to a certain place and stayed the night there… Then suddenly Adonai was standing there next to him; and he said, “I am Adonai, the God of Abraham, your father, and the God of Isaac.” (Gen 28: 11-13)

Some suggestions to take away:

Take some time out to reflect on your current rhythms: daily, weekly, yearly rhythms; think about the balance of work, rest and play
Make space to observe the rhythms of nature: daily rhythms; the seasons
Think about how you can incorporate rhythms of prayer in your life: to stand before God, to walk with God, to recognise when God bumps into you
For further suggestions and resources, take a look at our websites: unforcedrhythms.org

www.breathingspacecoventry.org

September 15, 2018

Reflections on retirement 6: Bereavement and Transition

The other day I walked through the corridors of Warwick Hospital for what may be my last time as an NHS employee. I thought back on all those days and nights – many years ago now – walking (and at times running) through similar long, pre-fab corridors as a junior house officer. Those days (and nights) are long gone now, and I can’t say that I miss them – certainly not the horrendous long hours and the relentless intrusions of the dreaded bleep – but I do look back with a bit of a sense of nostalgia.

Bereavement and transition

It is often said that retirement is a kind of bereavement. Looking ahead to my retirement, though, it doesn’t feel so much a bereavement as a transition. I guess I am privileged: privileged to have had a career that has been worthwhile and fulfilling; privileged to have also had meaning and worth in my life outside my work; and privileged to be retiring at a stage when I am able to look forward to all the new things I will be able to do.

But any transition also involves loss, and I recognise that for many that can be acutely painful. Particularly where retirement is accompanied by a sudden or gradual loss of significance.

So as I go through this change in my life, how do I make it a positive transition rather than a painful loss? There are three questions which I have found helpful in facing any kind of transition, which can be summarised in the three concepts of mourning, meaning and moving.

Mourning: How do I let go of all that has gone before?

For me, this has been a gradual process: stepping back from hospital work and nights and weekends on call; dropping my clinics to focus more on my academic and specialist work; and now leaving paid employment with the NHS entirely. As I look back there is so much I am grateful for: my colleagues; the families I have worked with; the things I have achieved in my career. I can recognise and celebrate the contributions I have made to protecting children, supporting families, and encouraging and empowering other professionals – both locally and nationally. At the same time, I can accept the things I haven’t achieved; the mistakes made; the unfulfilled dreams: the closure of our child health MSc; the doors closed on a return to Cambodia; my lack of promotion to an academic chair; my failure to establish a sustainable local team for responding to unexpected child deaths. And I can acknowledge that there will be aspects of my work that I may miss: the interaction with my colleagues, children and families; inspiring teaching sessions with motivated students; chairing our local serious cases sub-committee…

Meaning: how do I make sense of this transition?

In a way this, for me, is quite an easy question. And in this I recognise, again, just how privileged I am. I can look back on the journey my career has taken, and see lots of meaning and purpose in it. While at the time there were aspects which were perhaps harder to make sense of – my repeated failure to pass my MRCP exams; the traumas we faced in Cambodia; the gradual disintegration of our academic child health team; the frustrations of unsuccessful grant applications – overall, there has been a sense of purpose, of doing something worthwhile, and now, being able to move on to new opportunities. Looking back I can see how my life and work have had meaning, and how it has unfolded in a path that has brought me to where I am now, with all the skills and experience I have gained along the way. And I am blessed in now being able to take that expertise and apply it in new areas – both nationally and internationally, as well as, perhaps, developing new areas of interest and engagement.

Moving: how can I make the most of this new phase of my life?

For me retirement is a wholesome and positive moving forward. I am looking forward to the new opportunities it brings. To be able to take the skills and experience I have gained over these years and use them in new and inspiring ways. And to enter into a more gentle pace of life, one where there is no longer the pressure to achieve or be productive. There is so much I am looking forward to: being more involved in the rhythm of life at Breathing Space; working from home, looking out at the beauty of our garden; morning toast and coffee with Lois; helping create the house and garden as a place of peace and serenity; pursuing other projects here in the UK and abroad; starting a PhD; spending time with family and friends…
And, for now at least, no longer walking down long, pre-fabricated hospital corridors.

June 30, 2018

Reflections on retirement 1

A new stage in life

So, it is finally happening. In three months’ time I will be retiring. So I thought it would be a good opportunity to reflect on what this is like; what it means for me; my experiences of 31 years in the NHS, 21 years as a consultant paediatrician and 13 years in academia; and on what lies ahead for this next stage of my life.

Pausing to contemplate this recently, it felt to me that this wasn’t so much retiring from work as moving on to a new stage in life, developing further my unique sense of calling or vocation, and embracing new opportunities, freed from some of the constraints of paid employment.

I do feel privileged to have been able to pursue a career in paediatrics and more recently academic child health, and to have worked in what remains one of the best health institutions in the world. It has been a great blessing to have built up expertise in a field I enjoy and feel passionately about, and to be able to use some of that expertise for children and families. And now it feels even more of a privilege and blessing to be able to retire from paid employment and develop further in these and other areas.

What am I on the planet for?

One of Lois’ favourite questions as a spiritual director is ‘what are you uniquely here on the planet for?’ As I reflected on this recently at a Retreat Association conference in Derbyshire, it seemed to me that the answer to this revolved around two core motivations which are working out in three key areas of my life.

Belovedness

The first core motivation revolves around a deepening sense of my own belovedness: recognising myself as a beloved child of God, unique, valued, and (in spite of my weaknesses and imperfections) with much to contribute, much to enjoy and much to learn; and from that, longing that others, too, might know something of that same belovedness and worth.

Hope

The second core motivation is one of hope: a longing for a world in which there is no more death or crying or mourning; where there is no more violence and abuse.

So how do these two motivations work out in the different dimensions of my life?

Safeguarding children

A search to better understand abuse and neglect and how we as a society can better protect children and support families
Using my experience and knowledge to support others in the challenging work of child protection
Continuing to work that out through my ongoing research into child abuse; continuing my involvement with BASPCAN and Child Abuse Review; offering my expertise to the new National Safeguarding Practice Review Panel; and as a new opportunity, exploring the possibility of a PhD in theology, focused on a deeper understanding of abuse and neglect

Preventing child deaths

Seeking to better understand the circumstances and systems that lead to children’s deaths, to learn from them, and to work to prevent future children’s deaths
Supporting professionals and strengthening systems for child death review
Supporting families who are coping with the death of a child
Working this out with my ongoing input to the Lullaby Trust and SUDC-UK, and continued engagement with others in this country and overseas who are involved in child death review; and in a new opportunity, working with UNICEF and the National Council for Family Affairs in Jordan to develop a child death review system for their country

Creating breathing space

With Lois, to develop Breathing Space as a safe, sacred space where any who come can experience peace and beauty, and know something of their own belovedness
Sharing something of the blessings with which we ourselves are blessed
Seeking to live sustainably with respect and care for creation, and a commitment to justice and peace
Working this out through our home, retreat house and garden; our involvement in spiritual direction; running retreats and quiet days; being able to study and write, to be creative, and to enjoy the goodness and joy of our families and friends

Quite how all this will pan out remains to be seen, but at this stage, with the prospects of a more relaxed pace of life, and new opportunities opening up to me, it feels good. Roll on October!

May 3, 2018

Ooty to Marlimund Lake: a walk in the Nilgiris

The jungle

The metaphor of a jungle seems to fit India really well: a tangled mass of life, jostling upwards. Chaotic, vibrant, dark, mysterious. After a flight and a three hour taxi ride, we had replaced the hot urban jungle of Delhi, with the cooler but equally chaotic human jungle that is Ooty. The climb itself echoed the frantic struggles of life in India. While the dark jungle stretched, impenetrable, on either side of the road, our taxi driver joined the countless other trucks, buses, jeeps and motorbikes careering around the hairpin bends, fighting for that extra few inches of road space.

The tourist season had started and Ooty was heaving. Vehicles honked their way round Charing Cross, and crowds of people flocked to the botanical gardens and the evening Tibetan market at its side: colour, noise, laughter, life.

Our second day dawned bright and clear, the oppressive thunderstorms of the night before swept away by a cooling breeze. We had decided to seek out Marlimund lake – a small reservoir 6km to the North West of Ooty. Setting off from Jo and Mark’s house just up past Modern Stores, we climbed up a short lane to the YWCA Guest House Road, and so to the main Snowdon Road. As we climbed we marvelled at the cacophony of colours on the houses clinging to Ooty’s steep slopes: violet and pink, turquoise, red, purple and blue, orange, green, yellow – a frightening assault on our aesthetic senses.

The Snowdon Road itself zigzagged upwards, past faded colonial bungalows, new air-conditioned tourist resorts, and a host of other dilapidated buildings. In typical Indian fashion, Shiva and Ganesha, Mary and Jesus sat side by side in neighbouring roadside shrines and chapels. The bustle of the city gradually gave way to a more open, gentle ambience, just as the breeze blew away the rancid dust and grime of the inevitable piles of uncleared rubbish. We looked back over the sweeping spread of the Ooty valley, and ahead to the rolling hill country, brown terraces waiting for planting with the next rotation of carrots, potatoes and leafy vegetables. Further afield patches of tea plantations shared the space with spreading forests of eucalyptus.

Reaching Marlimund, we found a small gate off the road and scrambled down to the water’s edge, enjoying a snack and admiring the beauty of some simple water lilies, their pure white flowers, just tinged with purple and a splash of yellow stamens. It was good to sit there, enjoying the cool breeze, the clear skies, and the stillness of the countryside. We managed to find a way around the lake, appreciating the soft grass under our feet and the beauty of the scene. Not a soul was in sight as we walked – just us, some cows, and the wonders of nature. Countless melodies burst forth from the surrounding natural aviary. We were hampered by the absence of a bird book or binoculars, but nevertheless identified egrets, a wagtail, and the charming red-whiskered bulbuls, their little black crests sticking up proudly as they sang. We wandered up to the head of the lake and stretching valleys of eucalyptus, before picking our way through gorse bushes and reed marshes to return on the other side. Sitting on the grass, beside the lake, we paused once more, savouring the stillness, before setting off once more to head back.

We found a little paved track just beyond Sunrise – an old colonial residence lavishly restored to something of its former glory – which brought us down to the Havelock Road, and a quiet, gentle meander back to the waiting jungle of Ooty.