Ten or 10,000 reasons

Matt Redman's song 10,000 Reasons occasionally becomes a bit of an ear worm for me: singing out words of blessing in response to God's love and goodness. Even on that day when our strength is failing - still our souls sings out ten thousand reasons to worship God's holy name.

Over recent weeks I've been pondering what makes the place where I worship day by day somewhere that speaks of blessing and song, goodness and love. This blog is 'a view from Stag Hill'; a view from a cathedral which looks out over a town; a cathedral on the level with The Mount; a cathedral looked down upon by the Surrey Hills.


It's a place rooted in the rhythm of daily prayer. The architect Sir Edward Maufe's design means that those prayers offered in a place of light and space, without ornamentation. Breath taking and awe inspiring; still generating a 'wow' factor despite the temporary scaffolding (which is itself a beautiful engineering feat!).  It is more than a light space; it is hub of activity. It's a place of prayer which hosts fosters relationship.

In 1963, the then Bishop of Guildford, George Reindorp, gave thanks that the newly consecrated cathedral had been 'prayed alive'; he gave thanks for the dignity, music and beauty of the worship. He also gave thanks because his hope for a cathedral as a lively centre of learning was being fulfilled. He talked about commuters and lectures, organ recitals and small group discussions.

He expressed a deep longing that the cathedral should belong to young and old, ordinand and bishop. He spoke of a mother church that was 'loving, warm, friendly and welcoming'. In the midst of his hopes fulfilled hopes and answered prayers, he spoke of not only human engagement, but also of being moved or touched by the Holy Spirit.

 

So, what of my hopes, prayers and aspiration? What are the things about my work here on Stag Hill which give me ten - or 10000 - reasons to praise God? Where are the blessings which reflect something of the love and goodness of God - both when our hearts are full of joy and when our strength is failing?


One: as a parish priest, I was moved by the way in which we gathered at times of celebration, grief and remembrance. My story was woven into the local stories, all held in the story of God's love for the world. At a cathedral, the same is true - albeit on a different scale. The cathedral is a place of commemoration on occasions such as the  WWI Vigil in 2014 as well as place where transition at achievement is rejoiced in - from university graduations to young enterprise awards.

Two: I am privileged to work with a team of exceptional musicians - our organists are amongst the best in the country - who teach and inspire young people. The choir has a repertoire which include the best of the choral tradition - from Bryd and Tallis to Herbert Howells and Tarik O'Regan.

Three: the cathedral stands next to the A3 - which might be a modern pilgrimage route! For some, it is a tourist destination as coaches turn off on route from London to Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight; visitors enjoy tea, cake (a refreshment break!) and explore the building (and building restoration). For others, its a place of particular heritage interest - textiles, local history, archives and oral history.

Four: it is great fun to welcome hundreds of school children over the course of the year. Some will be taking part in season workshops during Advent/Christmas or Lent/Easter - crafts, prayer and story telling. Others come for Sixth Form Question Time - to hear a panel of experts and leaders respond to their questions about ethics, politics and faith, and, in true QT style, to continue the conversation with their own views.

Five: cathedrals are places of solace; places where we can explore our curiosity. Guildford is no different. It's open every day: candles are lit; prayers offered; messages left. Some might want to sit quietly - valuing the serenity and anonymity; others might want to ask questions of the guides or join in the worship.

 
Six: The view from Stag Hill is a wonderful vantage point; the view from the tower (on a clear day) gives us a glimpse of London!  As I drive up the A31, walk up the hill or step off the train, the cathedral - with its golden angel - is also a marker of returning home. Perhaps I'm not alone in that - appreciating a regional 'marker' and a place of 'belonging'.

Seven:  Since arriving five years ago, the cathedral has embraced the arts. It's hosted an amazing range of concerts: from local choral societies to male voice choirs; orchestral work which has raised the roof;  children taking part in Surrey Get Vocal. The bright space and clear sight lines enables the cathedral to be an unique place to exhibit large scale art exhibitions. Chris Gollon told the story of the incarnation and women in the Bible afresh; or the bold canvases of Catherine Clancy took us on an spiritual journey from the dark night to resurrection hope. Local artists exhibiting their work here is a celebration of human creativity.

 
Eight: Cathedrals contribute to the local economy as an employer and by hosting a range of commercial events. That's true in Guildford too - from festivals to open air cinema, conferences and vintage fayres. It offers opportunities for volunteering as a guide or shop assistant for example. However, its contribution to social capital is also extensive - through a range of civic gatherings involving those of all faiths and beliefs.

Nine: Bishop Reindorp's vision of a cathedral as a place of learning is still true. That does include Lent Talks - this year's series is on 'Creation and New Creation' - but it also involves offering space for debate and learning on a range of issues in the public square. Over recent years, I've had the pleasure of hosting lectures on surveillance, human rights and freedom of speech; sustainable development, ethical decision making and care for farmed animals. 

Ten: The events that take place here whether in the Cathedral or in our marquee (aka 'canvas cathedral'), enable us to extend a welcome to all generations. Those in residential and nursing care come to enjoy a rich programme of coffee concerts; listening to jazz, arias, songs from musicals, classical music or rock choirs. Those who care for younger children enjoy family activity days - such as the forthcoming 'Mothering Saturday' event with the opportunity for crafts and creativity, card making and spiritual reflection. 

 
As the Theos Report Spiritual Capital puts it:

The present and future of English cathedrals lies particularly in their ability to enable and sustain a range of connections – between the tourist and the pilgrim; between people and the traditions from which modern life cuts them off; between the diverse organisations and communities that share the same social and physical space and infrastructure yet never meet; and between a people who may be less Christian than their parents but are no less spiritual, and the God who made, sustains, loves and hopes for them to join Him at His table [p. 62]. 

So, that's my 10 (or 10,000) reasons: what are yours?

© Julie Gittoes 2017 

Walking with Mary, from Magdala

Selwyn College, Cambridge is marking the 40th anniversary of women being admitted to read for degrees - including a sermon series on hearing women's voices from Scripture, through the lens of female preachers. It was a delight to be back in a place which was so formative for me as an ordinand and research student; it gave me pause for thought too, as 1976 was also the year of my birth!  I took Mary Magdalene as my chosen woman - drawing on the texts 2 Corinthians 5:14-17 and John 20:1-2, 1-18. Who is this Mary? In liberating her from our preoccupations with power and sex, might we rediscover a courageous and passionate woman who walked with Jesus? Might we walk with her from Galilee to Jerusalem, cross to tomb - walking into a life and light, letting go and discovering our calling?

Jesus said to her, 'Mary!'

Mary Magdalene: a woman so explicitly called and known by name; and yet a woman whose identity has often been shaped by our own preoccupations with power and sexuality; a woman whose own story has been conflated with nameless women; yet we remember her. The fragrance of ointment; the outpouring of tears; penitence, faith and peace. She's more than a feminist icon; she is a witness to the good news of reconciling love. Yet, myth, fantasy and speculation obscure that calling.

In the Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown reduces Mary Magdalene to the matriarch carrying Jesus' secret blood-line. In Scorese's film The Last Temptation of Christ, we see her as the embodiment of the power sexual desire.  In the musical Jesus Christ Superstar, we glimpse a woman enthralled by Jesus; confused by the intensity of her passion and spiritual longing. She sings: I don't know how to love him... I've had so many men before.

Lady Gaga: Judas 

For Lady Gaga, Mary Magdalene is a woman in love with a man who betrayed her.  As the video for Judas opens, Jesus and the disciples roar into town on motorbikes; Gaga's Mary narrates her story: In the most biblical sense, I am beyond repentance, Fame hooker, prostitute wench... She's a holy fool. She wants to love Jesus. She's torn between her demons and her virtue.  And as waves break over her in slow motion, we hear the trickle of water poured over Jesus' feet, and over Judas' too.

Lady Gaga is a woman who has had tremendous success and courted controversy; her identity has been formed by Christian imagination and she talks about her fears of being ensnared by past choices; she's the epitome of re-invention, provocation and fluid self-expression, with an affinity to those who feel marginalised.  Why is she drawn to Mary, from a small village called Magdala? Is it because her story expresses a deeper longing for healing and hope?

In her words, the song, Judas is: 'a metaphor and an analogy about forgiveness and betrayal and things that haunt you in your life and how I believe that it's the darkness in your life that ultimately shines and illuminates the greater light that you have upon you... the song is about forgiving the demons from your past in order to move into the greatness of your future'.

Certainly, Mary Magdalene knows forgiveness. The greatness of her future refuses to be constrained by our interpretations.  When we reduce her to the archetype of dangerous seduction and sexual impropriety,  we discredit and disempower her.  Instead, her greatness, her future is in coming to the light of Christ and finding healing, wholeness and renewed purpose. 

Let's not elevate her to a role model of unobtainable piety or courage; for if we do, we miss the shadows of her fears and longing which echo ours.

It's her authenticity which is compelling: emotional intensity and faithfulness; mental anguish and deep conviction; a depth of love Jesus and a recognition of who he is, that in him God's love is made manifest. Yes, she sheds tears and pours out her heart; yes, she lets go of her own demons and allows forgiveness to fill her heart.

She walks. She walks with the one who is God with us - all the way from Galilee to Jerusalem.  And there she waits in agony at the cross and in sorrow at the tomb.   In exhaustion and grief, she has been utterly spent in love. 

 Mary Magdalene 

Chris Gollon

We can identify with Mary in a moment of heartbreak. Death wreaks havoc with our lives: the physical loss unleashes a rawness of emotion; grief silences us and yet cries out; relationships are disrupted; together we share stories; alone we crave intimacy.

Mary stands before an empty tomb and describes what she sees; what she fears and thinks she knows. Her words unleash in Peter and John fear and confusion - they run. They run away from her; they run to the tomb. There they find insight and bewilderment.

Mary doesn't run. She stands alone. Weeping

When questioned a second time, she repeats her conviction. This is death. This is emptiness.

Supposing her questioner to be a gardener, she meets his whys with her own ifs.

And into that space, that silence, is spoken one word:

Mary.

Named. Found. Recognised. Known.

Rabboni!

An instinct as powerful as grief overwhelms her.

In love she wants to reach out; to hold and be held.

It's such a human moment!

But the one she loves says: Do not cling on to me.

One of the reasons I think this story so affects me is that I recall hugging my father the night before major surgery and he said ‘don’t hold on to me too tightly, Ju’. And I thought how absurd because I wasn’t. Not physically.

But perhaps he had a better grasp of letting go than I did.  His human fatherly love was intensely real. Yet in the face of mortality, he could let go. He trusted in love divine in which we live and move and have our being; which meant for him death was the beginning of life, not the ending of love.

Embracing new life means letting go. It's a something that we all need to learn; and perhaps Mary can teach us how.  More than that, she points us to the risen Lord who loves us from loss to life, sorrow to peace.

In her grief, she is called by name; in her letting go she is sent. 

Christ Appearing to Mary Magdalen (Noli me Tangere)

Graham Sutherland

She cannot cling on to her risen Lord; but she continues to walk in his light.

She is called to walk further than she imagined. To walk from despair to hope; to continue to love and live.  More abundantly; more intensely; more lightly.  It's a profoundly sacramental pattern of life; all that we are can become a means of grace and hope and good news to others.   She goes to her brothers to face their needs and expectations with  the words 'I have seen the Lord'. 

This woman, this Mary, is the passionate, committed, intense and faithful witness to resurrection. Her pain, tears, honesty and longing are gathered up in this moment. She shows us how to live, moment by moment. She embodies the conviction we hear in Corinthians: the love of Christ which urges us on; the death that overcomes death; risen life lived for others; the liberation of not being regarded from a human point of view.

We are a new creation. In the power of the Spirit, may we, like Mary, witness to the love of God made manifest in Christ Jesus. Love that forgives the past; love that transforms the present; love that enlightens hearts, minds; love that brings the life that is life. 

 © 2016 Julie Gittoes

In the course of preparing for this sermon, a friend mentioned the icon of Mary Magdalene at Grace Cathedral (in the image below):

You can read more about the artist's story and the legend behind the image here It's a story which recognises her social standing, her conviction about justice and her ongoing witness to the power of Jesus' risen life.

Alone Together

This is the text of a short paper entitled Alone Together: Towards a Theology of Singleness which I presented at the Society for the Study of Theology Conference in Durham this week. The Conference theme was  Redeeming Human Nature. This work is the beginning of a longer project on the theme 'Alone Together' - and giving this paper at the start of a period of Extended Ministerial Development Leave was extremely helpful in terms of framing the question and exploring other strands of research for this topic. In thinking about an image to use as I transferred this paper to my blog, I wanted to avoid stereotypes of solitude or 'togetherness'. So in the end, I've used one of Chris Gollon's works which hangs in my hall way at home. She's called 'Crock of Gold' - but I think she expresses something of our human capacity to radiate the light and glory of God - alone, together.

Single is...

'"Single" is, ironically, a complex word' says  Jana Marguerite Bennet in her book Water Is Thicker Than Blood (p.84). It is frequently used to describe various states of not being married, perpetuating the idea that singleness is a lack of something.  Questions about marital status seem so black and white. Yet the word 'single' masks the complexity of how we form households and the diverse network of people with whom we share our lives.

In this paper, I will make some observations about why 'singleness' might be a focus for our theological anthropology - including social context and pressures with the church. Although those factors demand our attention when it comes to mission and pastoral care, my primary concern is how we underpin that with a theological understanding of humanity. The question of how we live well - alone together - takes into account our need for companionship, intimacy and solitude in the face of mortality. This questioning is rooted in God's creative and redemptive movement towards the world. To think about being alone together is not yet another set of binaries; but perhaps generous spacious way of thinking which God, in Christ at the centre; but which also opens up a way of relating well in the world, in the power of the Spirit.

Crock of Gold  - Chris Gollon (2013)

Alone Together
 
The phrase, or more precisely those two words, 'alone together' have stayed with me since hearing my colleague Mark Oakley describe the truths he discovered after surgery; the truths about masks we wear to fit in. And when the medics have left him he addressed God saying, 'ahh alone together at last'. God and creation; God with us; you and me; in relation to others. Together. Alone. To think this way takes us into the abundance of Genesis 2 and the stillness of Mark 1; it takes us into the ecclesial vision of life together shaped by Bonhoeffer and Hardy.

Children, widowers, divorcees and the never married are all 'single'. We will all be 'single' for some or all of our lives. Patterns of work and serious illness might mean that spouses spend time having to live in a way that is 'single minded' if you like, in terms of ordering practical aspects of their lives, emotional resilience and relational intimacy.

That we find 'single' problematic is not just matter of definition. There are a number of social and ecclesial pressures which demand a more adequate theological response. There's both a nervousness about sex and what it means to be married but open to relationship; plus a tendency to equate intimacy with sexual encounters, rather than cultivating and cherishing bonds of friendship, intellectual curiosity, support and appreciation.

Perhaps too there's added pressure around our language of discipleship and particularly leadership - typified in the presumptive 'your spouse will...'. In many contexts, we've grown to accustomed to certain ecclesial role models (as evidenced by the comments about the marital status of women who've become bishops).

Households and friendship

Our scriptures are quite subversive on that - offering a rich diversity of 'households' within the church, including Lydia a (presumably) financially independent business woman. We may also be aware of the emotional pressure at work - to fulfil the ideals of an implicit hierarchy of discipleship by dating with a view to marrying.  It does indeed tap into deep human longings - the plot of London Spy turns on Danny recollecting a conversation with Alex about being 'the one'. A contemporary twist, perhaps, on 'Reader, I married him'.

There have been some wise and resourceful responses from Kate Wharton on navigating such pressures (Single-Minded: being single whole and living life to the full, published 2013); but it still leaves open some of the deeper questions which demand engaging with and changing societal and ecclesial culture.   There are over 26 million single person households in the UK and in the 2011 census, the percentage of those who are married dipped below 50% for the first time.

Added to this, the statistics on loneliness in the UK have been given human context by the BBC documentary The Age of Loneliness. It was narrated by those who were in a more nuanced sense single: students, widowers and new mums; the unemployed, divorcees and those will fulfilling careers. It is an inter-generational issue not related to marital status. If that is our social context - the world in which we witness - it is salutary to remember that those who attend church report higher instances of loneliness than the national average. Cultivating a vision of living well alone, together becomes even more of an imperative.

In Being Single, Philip Wilson reveals the isolation experienced by single church goers and (in his words), their 'over use' (Wilson, DLT, 2005).  He writes of the potential and challenge for the church, including the place of friendship. Friendship has become a significant category and indeed practice for thinking about ecclesiology (see comment below). Indeed, it is the category that John Pritchard draws on in Living Faithfully. He describes the church as a network of friends called to 're-vision the church as the place where Jesus is at the centre, living in his friends and empowering them to live his abundant life of each other and the community around. Then anything is possible' (Pritchard, 2013, p. 120).

Think single?

It is then that he issues the imperative to 'think single' - offering activities 'to reflect this diverse make-up' of the widows, students or unsupported by a partner for whatever reason (Pritchard, 2013, p.120).  If 'single' is a complex word; than activities is perhaps too simple a response. Singleness with the body of Christ demands of us a sustained engagement with being an embodied human being.

In the marriage liturgy, the couple say 'all that I am I give to you'. How we foster a sense of 'all-ness' which is good for personal and corporate flourishing, which doesn't collude with fierce autonomy; nor that we are incomplete apart from others; but which recognises that our identity in Christ is more important that our legal status is the question at the heart of a project exploring the notion of what it is to be alone together.

Turning to Genesis 2 we are confronted with the reality of being alone: As we contemplate creation - the glorious and tumultuous diversity of it - we respond with our whole being. We are in a profound way 'together' - we are part of the goodness of that create order; yet in the face of delight and responsibility, we catch a glimpse of the reality of being alone.

it is not right... to be alone

It is is not right or good for the man to be alone. He - you and I - need helpmates. We need companionship. Not God nor creation alone:  the well-being of the one, as Brueggemann puts it, 'requires a fresh creative act of God' (Brueggemann, Genesis 1982, p. 47). There is something good in being together. We share in work and creativity; we learn compassion and empathy. In the first instance, this is not about hierarchy, complementarity or marriage. Rather it seems to be an opening up of what it is to be human - in relation to other people.

As we shall see, that is also fragile and complex. But for now it is worth exploring further the language of sameness and different; the covenantal nature of being alone together. Again, quoting Brueggemann: 'the place of the garden is for this covenanted human community of solidarity, trust and well being. They are one!' (Brueggemann, Genesis 1982, p. 47).

This is a dynamic and generous 'one'. Genesis speaks of being bone of my bones; flesh of my flesh. Is there a transformative movement here beyond 'our flesh and blood' and ties of biological kinship and commitment. For we also use such language to speak of our belonging together as the body of Christ. We we are called by name in him; shaped together by word and sacrament; improvising together in the power of the Spirit.

The vision of Genesis of human companionship and shared endeavour turns to fragmentation. Life and knowledge are within our grasp: freedom, trust and calling in love are exchanged for autonomy, oppression and hierarchical ways of organising life (Brueggemann, Genesis 1982, p. 53).

Dan Hardy's language of extensity and intensity expresses the hope and reality, the dynamism of divine and human interaction. God creates in generosity and freedom. Intensity is that movement of love pouring forth in diversity and abundance; our response to that freedom means that that energy is spread outwards into the world. Extensity is the consequence of such spread-out-ness; we get distracted by our own desires and find ourselves caught up in complex social and economic systems, which draw us further away from one another and from God.

Part of that is that our identity is reduced to just one aspect of who we are: we are defined by race, gender, age and marital status. The fullness of who we are is impaired. If Genesis 1 reminds us of our primary desire or orientation as being made in the image of God; Genesis 2 reminds us of the glorious relational and material aspect of that.  But divine intensity continues - in redemption; in the formation of the human person; in Christ; in the Spirit.

A lonely place

In the midst of this, God reaches out to us. Mark's gospel begins with a direct assertion that this is good news precisely because Jesus is God with us in the midst of hurt and loss, delight and commitment. We are called to live with difference - whatever our marital status, gender or class - we are all gathered up together. We are a body, together; attentive to God in worship and to God's ways in the world. We are together with God and an innumerable company of pilgrims, yet also alone.

Mark recounts that Jesus goes to a deserted place, early in the morning, to pray. He had gathered around him a group of disciples who had responded to his call; he had begun to proclaim that the Kingdom of God had come near; he was reaching out to those in need bringing grace and healing. He had spent time in the intimacy of Peter's household. He was with us; together with others. And he went to be alone.

Prayer in this lonely place becomes a place of power, direction, strength and cost. We are called to lay ourselves open to the intensity of God's refining light that we might be strengthened and sustained in our discipleship. Our life together is rooted not just in corporate worship but also in our capacity to be alone. Bonhoeffer warns us that many people 'seek fellowship because they are afraid to be alone'; but he says let whoever 'cannot be alone beware of community' (Bonhoeffer, Life Together pp. 76-8). Silence and stillness before God shapes our day, being alone in meditation, prayer and intercession.

One Body & the Spirit's work

This time is not, says Bonhoeffer,  an 'abyss of loneliness' but time alone with the Word (Bonhoeffer, Life Together p. 88). The value of solitude is to be deeply away that we are loved; it is rooting all else in God's desire for us. It resources all of us for those times 'alone' in the world, in the dispersed life of the church: political imagination? We cannot risk  being alone, unless we are in community: bearing with one another, carrying griefs and burdens; rejoicing in gifts and joys.

Perhaps 'singleness' becomes less about self-sufficiency, but somehow a sign of freedom in Christ; which paradoxically points to our primary social reality. As John Bradbury puts it in 'Called to Become: 'the individual is the locus of the work of the Spirit of God: a human person can be led into a new social reality that fundamentally changes who they are' (Bradbury and Cornwall, Thinking Again about Marriage, SCM 2016, p. 144 ). This transformation of our personhood is what Hardy describes as abduction; as all that we are is drawn to God.

Within the body of Christ, we are still living in between times: we await the fulfilment of God's Kingdom, knowing that something decisive has happened in Christ. Something is deeply personal in effect, but also cosmic in scope. We hear the cries and groans and longings of the whole creation; and utter the assurance that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. We live in the midst of Romans 8.

Genesis speaks of one flesh; Paul writes of being many but one body. That entails a fruitfulness of relationship that transcends procreation; which recognises mutual care and affection; where the powerful do not overlook the weak.   Such language describes a whole personal relationship of love. The fruitfulness of Genesis is echoed in the spiritual fruit - becoming a little more patient and hospitable; joyful or self-controlled. It's a way of holiness. Alone together.

Letting go...

In this Easter season, we are acutely that of life coming though death. Of both Jesus profound expression of being alone together on the cross and in the grave. Of the way in which resurrection disrupts and deepens out being alone together; we could talk about Mary Magdalene's calling by name, her desire to cling on; her letting go and her commissioning. Alone she witnesses to those gathered together. In reflecting on how, we come to life in death; that letting go might actually mean deepening our love and care.

If Bennett laments that little has been written of the moral life of the single person: perhaps a Spirit let ecclesiology shaped by Dan Hardy is a good place to start or, in terms of this paper, to end.

He writes that: ‘understood in their fullest sense, both Church and mission are the social means of incorporating all the dimensions of human life in the world in their comprehensive fulfilment by God’ (Hardy, Finding the Church, p. 25).  I could say more about flourishing expressed as sociopoiesis, as good news for all humanity and the whole creation.  Or I could end with a comment on facing death; perhaps more attention should be paid to how all our 'letting gos' become signs of attraction to God and other.  It's less about one's marital status;  all our relationships are provisional, yet rooted in our ultimate hope of redemption. It's about our vocation in Christ to witness to the light, love, grace and beauty of Christ. Alone. Together.

Julie Gittoes   © 2016

Work on friendship:

Steve Summers, Friendship: Exploring its Implications for the Church in Postmodernity (T&T Clark, 2011); Guido De Graff, Politics in Friendship: A Theological Account (T&T Clark, 2006); John B Thomson, Sharing Friendship: Exploring Anglican Character, Vocation and Mission (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015); Samuel Kimbriel, Friendship as Sacred Knowing: Overcoming Isolation (Oxford: OUP, 2014).