Fair weather swimming
Last weekend I got to see an amazing sight: over 1,000 members of a relatively rare species active in their native habitat. I’m talking about serious sea-swimmers in the Bournemouth Pier to Pier swim; an amazing event that raised over a quarter of a million pounds for the British Heart Foundation. How do you spot a serious sea swimmer? Generally, they will be wearing a dry robe (any place, any time of the day), holding a hot water bottle in the colder months and talking about air and sea temperature (did you know that in the UK, the sea is warmest in September? Although my wife disputes this and says it is actually October.) I am married to a card-carrying member of this species and can only admire everyone who took part in the Pier to Pier swim.
Unlike my wife, I didn’t grow up near the sea and don’t have salt in my blood, but a deep love for the sea is growing in me. The sense of endlessness; the feeling of being ‘on the edge’ of things; the forever changing sky at the horizon; the sound and rhythm of the waves and breakers: the list of things to love goes on and on, much like the sea itself.
One thing that is surprising me though is the enjoyment of being in or on the water itself. We’ve borrowed a few different pieces of kit from the Watersports library and had lots of fun with them, but I’ve also enjoyed just swimming in the sea (strictly summer months only). I’m not a natural, the process of entering involves a lot of oohs and aahs and generally takes at least ten minutes- you know the routine: acclimatising in stages- toes, then knees; that challenging midriff area, elbows, then finally shoulders. My wife doesn’t understand the art of this process and goes from zero to 100% submerged in seconds. Doing it that way misses the realisation that it really is ‘alright once you’re in’ though.
Anyway, when you finally are in (and however you get there) and move away from the shore, there is a connection to the water, a stretching out and loosening of muscles, the sensation of being in the unknown (are there sharks down there in the depths?) and that peace as you get further away from the sand and the shouts. Sound is different on the water.
At Ocean Church we explore the idea of water being spiritual. I think there is something about the vastness of the ocean that confronts you with your own smallness and finiteness. The power and the unknown, the mystery and the beauty point to a creator. Being in or on the water is definitely a way of engaging with and experiencing that- even if it is just for the summer months.
People describe the sea as their ‘saviour’ or ‘refuge’ or even ‘heaven’: language often associated with spirituality. How can we engage with this in the water? A link to infinity and eternity; power and mystery. A chance to clear our heads from all the white noise and tune in to our creator. Psalm 42 says “Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.”
It’s lovely when you’re in, who wants to join me? Whether fully emersed and wet suited up; only fair-weather swimming; or even just on the shore, could we meet with the one “who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand” (Isaiah 40:12).
Adventure of the emotions
Normally I enjoy a trip on a train. I’d brought a book with me as usual and was preparing for a relaxing hour or so on a relatively quiet journey. This time, I just couldn’t concentrate. I was hyper-aware of my surroundings, taking in the sights through the windows and the sounds of wheels on tracks. My mind was running through a variety of scenarios. And then it was clear to me – these were nerves, this was anticipation. Despite being a full 24 hours before running a marathon and only being on the journey to pick up my race number, my feelings had taken over my consciousness. During the rest of the journey, I had the space to be more fully aware of those emotions and the effects they were having on my body: the flickering of my pupils, the mild jittering in my stomach, the thumping of my pulse. They were real. At the time they were significant. I was nervous because I had been training (no pun intended) for eight months; there was nothing more I could do to prepare; and it mattered to me. It may only have been a small act of recognition on my part, but I was able in some way to embrace the nervous energy in my body.
My experience on a train into London marks out roughly the level I’m at, as I consider what setting out on an adventure of the emotions might involve. For me, feelings were not regularly discussed at great depth in the household I grew up. I often find it difficult to articulate my mood or feelings precisely because I’m not sure how I feel. It can be something I struggle to discuss, not from awkwardness or embarrassment, but because I’m less confident. I regularly process changes and events in my head, attempting to make sense of them, rather than following my heart. If anything, I probably developed a habit from childhood of supressing feelings. As a result, going on an adventure of the emotions is not something I feel well-prepared or practised for. But that’s ok. I suspect that as with map-reading, knowing where you are starting from is probably helpful if you want to make progress towards a desired goal.
Some of my background in emotions is cultural, echoing the attitude of keeping a stiff upper lip. These were not especially developed by my upbringing in church, where perhaps knowledge was more prioritised than feelings. When I learned stories about Jesus’ emotions as told in stories in the gospels, little was made of his feelings. I knew Jesus wept when his friend Lazarus died but I don’t recall links being fully explored about the impact of grief. I was taught the story of Jesus upturning tables in the temple because he was angry but potential connections between the indignation that we may experience today at corruption and injustice could have been developed more. I was aware Jesus was alone and full of despair after the last supper but wasn’t encouraged to draw on experiences of feeling helpless where no one seems to understand your plight. Perhaps a re-reading of some of these stories may serve as a starting point as we reflect on our own emotions and how to link them to faith.
Adventures of the body
“Lord of all pots and pans and things… Make me a saint by getting meals and washing up the plates.”
Brother Lawrence
From a young age, I have noticed a number of football players and other athletes making the sign of the cross before competing. I used to be sceptical about their actions but maybe those who do it are on to something.
Sometimes our experiences of church create the impression that singing songs is our primary way of worshipping God. We can develop a casual use of the word ‘worship’ where essentially all we mean by the term is a focused time of singing. Comments about ‘not enjoying the worship’ or ‘the worship being less good at one church than another’ can pass across our conversation. This type of worship can certainly form part of an adventure of the body but surely, to quote Tim Hughes, “There must be more than this.”
Romans 12: 1-2 says, “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, on the basis of God’s mercy, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your reasonable act of worship. 2 Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewing of the mind, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
When this passage speaks of worship, it is in the context of presenting our bodies as living sacrifices. What does this mean? Many of us have lost, or were never taught, how to make our daily lives an act of worship. We never learned to recognise the presence of God in our activities, work and actions. We find it difficult to express how our lives at school, work or home are part of our lived expression of faith. This quest is one we can continue to explore, whatever stage of life we are at.
In the exert that begins this reflection, Brother Lawrence’s poem links simple actions to the ongoing process of becoming a saint, a follower of Jesus. It is interesting to note that there is no reference to feeling the presence of God in these actions, no lifting of the spirits or ecstatic encounters. Maybe at times these will come but they will probably not be the norm. It does seem that Brother Lawrence was on this path of attempting to be a living sacrifice, making the more mundane areas of this life an act of worship. Our bodies can be used every day in actions that do this and these may form part of exploring an adventure of our bodies.
There’s a challenge though. How do I mow the lawn or hoover or hang washing in a manner that is consistent with a life lived as worship? How do I do my homework or help with household chores in a way that is a sacrifice? Although these might be helpful at times, it probably doesn’t mean I have to be praying or listening to ‘Christian songs’ whilst doing these things. There is probably a risk of creating a binary distinction between spiritual and non-spiritual actions if we just focus on somehow adding Christian language to them.
One simple practice that some people follow is the habit of saying grace before a meal. This is an easy way of recognising God in the everyday. But do we pause before preparing the food or when clearing up afterwards? Do we even need to pause? I’m not sure if there are neat, one-size-fits-all answers. Could it be that these could differ depending on the circumstances we face?
Adventures of our bodies include being responsible for them, seeking to follow advice on good practices for diet, exercise and sleep. Perhaps these are simple places to start on our adventures, a dipping of our toes into the waters that deepen as we pursue what we may encounter. Potentially we can come up with our equivalent of the footballer crossing themselves before playing a match – a symbol, a quiet refrain, a mantra – before we start a task to recognise that what we are about to do is part of our ongoing, everyday worship. Perhaps we could place a visible symbol in places we frequent often such as our desks, the kitchen sink, the laundry basket, to help stimulate the openness to recognising that God’s work is in all work. It would also be interesting to explore and discuss this further with others to find out what they actively do to recognise that all work is God’s work.
In The Message’s translation of John 1:14 it says, “The Word became flesh and blood,
and moved into the neighbourhood.” When we try to imitate the incarnate God, the God expressed in human form as Jesus, we can try to live out Jesus’ values. As we embark on our adventures in and through our bodies, we can increasingly recognise that all our actions, from changing nappies to checking in on grandparents, from finishing homework without being nagged to playing with our friends, from completing paperwork to making lunches – all of this is the work. It’s all spiritual, it’s all part of it and it’s all God’s work. Embarking deeper on our adventures of the body will enable us to discover this more.
Adventures of the mind
It seems like it is difficult for politicians in our country to admit that they have changed their minds. When they do, it is often branded a U-turn or flip-flopping or another negative term. Is it any easier for people in church to change their beliefs? If we want to go on an adventure of the mind, perhaps we might need to.
Many readers of the Bible will be familiar with the word ‘repent,’ especially its use in the New Testament. The Greek word that is translated to give us the word ‘repent’ is metanoia which has the meaning of ‘changing one’s mind’. (It is a compound word from meta meaning ‘beyond’ and noia meaning ‘to think.’) If we are to change our minds, it means we recognise that we have more to learn or potentially we were mistaken. Thinking about something in a new way can be a sign of growth or development.
However, some of us were brought up with an understanding that repentance is bound up with having done something wrong. It is often a guilt-laden word, whereas metanoia is more focused on having a change of heart. Our adventures of the mind do not need to be guilt-trips, where we carry excess emotional baggage, but they are journeys of exploration and discovery. Maybe we should ask ourselves why God would want us to feel guilty about having the humility to recognise we don’t have all the answers and learning a little bit more from others.
One of the regularly repeated lines from a podcast I listen to is “All theology has an adjective.” (Theology means the study of God.) The point is that we cannot learn about faith and God from an objective perspective, free from our background and experiences. This is not something that I was taught growing up in church. Teaching from the Bible was delivered as the “truth” and the interpretation that was given was not presented as one of a range of possible meanings. In reality, the teaching about God, Jesus and the Bible that I grew up with was a white, Western and relatively wealthy theology. It just wasn’t presented that way to me.
This is not to say that it was all wrong or that nothing can be learned from it. I’m grateful for the foundations that I was given. But how often did I hear multiple perspectives or interpretations being mentioned during talks or sermons in church? It can be helpful to recognise there are other ways that stories or teachings from the Bible can be looked at and that these can give us a richer understanding.
An example of this is that much of what I was taught about the Bible was focused on the impact of Jesus’ death and resurrection for me as an individual. There was an emphasis on how Jesus died for me to save me personally. It was in my early twenties that I was introduced to understanding the Bible from a different perspective, namely Liberation Theology. Its focus on faith being about helping those who are oppressed today made me see stories from the Bible that I was familiar with from a different perspective. Thinking about the Exodus where Moses led Israel’s escape from the slavery under the Egyptians was so different when learning about it in another culture which did not have a history of being a world military power or having controlled an empire. It made me realise I only knew one part of the story.
Adventures of the mind are unsettling. They can be unnerving. It’s a road that well-meaning people within church may warn you against. If it’s going to be an adventure of the mind, it cannot be expected to be cosy all the time. Reading James H. Cone’s The Cross and the Lynching Tree was not a comfortable experience but it expanded my mind as links between Jesus’ crucifixion and the suffering under racism in America were made. Learning about someone’s lived experience of discrimination meant I was better able to rethink some of what Jesus went through in the Easter story.
As we seek to go on adventures of the mind, taking perhaps tentative steps, what might this involve? To start, we need to begin from the point that we don’t know all the important information already. It may mean exploring the unknown. Practical ways we may begin might involve reading a book or an article from a perspective we know is likely to differ from what we have already heard. We can listen to podcasts that include people from a range of backgrounds, cultures or viewpoints. When we meet or work or play with people from another background to our own, we can be genuinely curious about their beliefs and practices. We can ask what they find compelling about them and why they have chosen to join or stay within their tradition. Learning someone sees things differently doesn’t mean we have to accept all their views. However, embarking on an adventure of the mind can help us to discover treasures we would otherwise miss.