As every parent knows, September and the start of the new academic year is a shock to the system, especially if both parents are teachers themselves. After several weeks of lying in of a morning, it’s back into the old routine; up with the lark to make sandwiches, get breakfast on the table and in our case chivvy the girls to do an hour of music practice before they leave for school. As I write this, I can hear Charlotte’s moody ‘Moonlight Sonata’ on the piano fighting Katy’s wailing violin from the adjoining room. Though they don’t always appreciate it, they’re fortunate to have a mother who can dart from one place to the other to keep them at it.
Like most Christian parents, Rachel and I have tried to encourage the girls to squeeze in a short time of prayer and reflection to the start of the day, but to be honest that has often been a struggle. One faithful God-parent has sent Bible notes from time to time, but Charlotte has rarely incorporated them into her daily life. We’ve also tried to persuade them to read good literature since they were old enough to do so for themselves, and we’ve certainly had more success over the years with this campaign. However, the telly and the computer are always a bigger draw after a long day at school for obvious reasons.
Nonetheless, in the last six months we have found a way of killing two birds with one stone! It began by reading a chapter or so of the Bible at the breakfast table. This was endured rather than enjoyed, to be honest, until I began reading them an excellent adaptation of Pilgrim’s Progress by children’s author Geraldine McCaughrean. It’s an excellently written and beautifully illustrated abridgement of Bunyan’s original novel about Christian’s quest for the Celestial City and it has helped us to establish breakfast reflections as a permanent feature through reading a short passage from a novel each day.
Since then we have read ‘A Christmas Carol’ and ‘Animal Farm,’ but the most popular by far has been ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’ by Harper Lee. Was there ever a better book to impart the essence of Christian values to children, or maybe even more so to adults? Indeed, in the novel we see very clearly the tragic ignorance of the adult community through the eyes of eight year old Scout as she learns the facts of life from her wise and humane father, Atticus. This quietly heroic lawyer stands against the prejudice of a whole town to defend the Negro, Tom Robinson against charges of rape, but beyond that he gently but firmly combats his children’s innate impulse to dismiss others they have as yet barely understood. Toward the end of the story Scout, the narrator, sums up her father’s philosophy: “Atticus was right. One time he said you never really knew a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them.” However, good novels like all the best art don’t impart values by preaching, but by enabling just what Atticus exhorts his children to do; they get us to see a vivid picture of the world through the multiple perspectives of their cast of characters and thus to recognize how complex morality can be. Through identifying and empathizing with a range of characters, we perhaps become more forgiving of ourselves and others. Above all good novels are able to transform us through stimulating our imagination as we construct the writer’s world through the building blocks of their language.
So for now the Bible has been left on the shelf at breakfast time, as we work through some modern classics. Yet, in truth, this sacred book is really a whole library of novels in itself, interspersed with much poetry (liturgical and prophetic), proverbial wisdom, a sequence of letters, and that strange apocalyptic work which rounds off the entire body of literature in the cannon. In my own times of reflection, I have begun to read ‘The David Story,’ Robert Alter’s acclaimed translation of the two books of Samuel in the Old Testament which tell the epic story of King David’s rise to power in Israel around 1,000 BC. In his introduction Alter encourages the reader to regard the telling of the story in much the same way as one would approach one of Shakespeare’s great history plays. In other words we should avoid the mistake of seeing them just as a chronicling of events from the life of King David in order to preserve a meticulous record of Israel’s history, but rather recognize the great literary technique employed to draw the reader into the intriguing world of court life in Israel at the time, and above all the inner lives of the protagonists. This craft of story-telling he argues enables us to explore the profound political and spiritual themes which interested the writer and to place ourselves in the shoes of the key players like Saul, Samuel, David and so forth. Moreover, some of the episodes like the slaying of Goliath, for example, clearly draw on universal narrative features such as the idea of an unknown warrior stepping up to deliver a King and his subjects from a monster in response to the reward of a princess. This literary model was later used in many of the folkloric tales of European literature. In literary terms the towering figure of Goliath takes on the symbolic significance of the gigantic obstacles we often face to put our faith in the living God. The figure of David who discards the borrowed armour from his King reminds us that “the Lord does not save by sword and spear,” but through our trust in his providence. In the same way Shakespeare’s dramatization of the battle of Agincourt may have taken some license with history, but through his characterization of ‘King Harry’ in the play, he reveals universal truths of the human condition which teach us much the same message as that of the Goliath narrative. Discussing the book of Samuel in his introduction, Alter states’ “the writer feels free to invent an inner language for the characters, to give their dialogues revelatory shape, to weave together episodes and characters with a fine mesh of recurrent motifs and phrases and analogies of incident, and to define the meaning of events through allusion, metaphor and symbol. The writer does all this not to fabricate history but in order to understand it.”
The vicar of my local church recently lamented the Biblical illiteracy of contemporary Western culture. I think this is partly because the Church has unwittingly turned one of the great literary masterpieces of all time into something it was never intended to be; a rather dry book of rules. Until we recover the magnificent literary dimensions of the Bible in the way Alter suggests my girls will perhaps opt to leave it on the shelf to gather dust. In the meantime we will shortly move onto another American classic, at breakfast: ‘The Catcher in the Rye.’
Friday, 18 September 2009
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Greenbelt
For my family, like many others who make the annual pilgrimage to the Cheltenham racecourse at the end of August, The Greenbelt Festival is one of the high-points of the year. As a teacher whose life is structured by the academic year, it comes at just the right time as I take a deep breath before plunging into the furious current of the new school curriculum. It is an extraordinary event which includes a breath-taking range of literary and arts events for all ages, talks on hot topics from climate-change to the Palestinian occupation, to sexuality and spirituality. It exists above all to explore the relationship between faith, the arts and social justice and thus nurture the spirituality of thousands of Christians year after year who participate. This was the 36th festival in fact. The Greenbelt experience was beautifully encapsulated in an article by one of this year’s key contributors Andy Tate, a lecturer from Lancaster University. “ For an inveterate chatter-box like me, the plethora of opportunities to drink tea and gabble endlessly about music, books and ideas is very heaven…Greenbelt has always existed on ‘the dangerous edge of things.’. it continues to wrestle with issues of faith and justice and to recognize that good questions are more important than easy answers.”
I am invariably challenged and inspired by the many great speakers who are invited to Greenbelt such as the late, great John O’ Donohue, an Irish poet and mystic who wrote the best-selling Anam Cara. I remember lolling on the grass and laughing in the sunshine as he held-forth in that inimitable Celtic brogue a couple of years ago. This time, however I was struck more than ever with the thought that no amount of discussion or analysis of spirituality and the arts can match the thing itself. There is, I suppose, that moment when we need to stop our chatter, and open our spirits to something more sublime if we are to enter deeply into the presence of the living God. The arts at their best can be for us at such times a form of prayer leading us like Moses up the mountain into “the cloud of unknowing.” This is the place where the air is somehow thinner, our breathing changes, and wonder is stirred as we see the world with fresh eyes. There were three arts events at Greenbelt this year which had something of this effect on me drawing me into what the festival organisers poetically termed ‘the long now.’
On Saturday morning we all went to see No Nonsense Theatre Company’s dramatization of the Old Testament story of Ruth which is about an old woman’s return to her homeland in a time of famine. This innovative drama group had developed their initial ideas for this production through a series of work-shops with economic migrants in the north-west of England. Since the company wanted to keep the play as accessible as possible for these women who had contributed their ideas during the planning stages, they told the story using masks and puppets against an evocative recording of middle-eastern music especially composed for the production. The masks like all the design elements of the show were beautifully crafted to bring the world of the characters vividly alive. Masks distil the essence of a stage character just as a painting does, by capturing a fundamental attitude in the features of the mask which is then heightened through the physicality of the actor. So, far example, the essential dignity and kindness of Boaz, the farmer who feeds and finally marries Ruth at the end of the story, was graphically illustrated in a way that goes far beyond words through the wide set features of the mask and the upright, rooted posture of the actor. I was struck as I looked round the all-age audience how attentively the young children were following really poignant moments in the drama. Before the Reformation and the Protestant Church’s preoccupation with The Word of God, the so-called common folk would engage with the stories of the Bible through the frescos on the walls of their places of worship. Sometimes when we strip away words we behold the beauty of human gestures as if for the first time and the meaning of the story comes into fresh focus. When Ruth silently receives a small sack of grain from Boaz after she has scrabbled in vain for the gleanings in his field, she notices there are some words embroidered across it in black letters. As the masked face angles to read them we see they spell KINDNESS. Nothing more needed to be said.
By Sunday afternoon, I was beginning to feel somewhat dizzy through the combination of the crowds of festival-goers, intense seminars and the constant noise that is an inevitable part of Greenbelt. It was time to seek sanctuary in one of the rooms in the Grandstand set aside for an exhibition called ‘Visionaries’-working in the margins. This was put together for the festival by Wallspace who run an independent gallery in the 18th century church of All Hallows on the Wall in London. Visionaries in this context referred to two kinds of work; that of the dreamer who attempts to depict another form of perceived reality in parallel with the material, everyday world and secondly, a more prophetic vision, a necessary critique of life and institutions as they are, in favour of a vision of how they might be or should be. As I began to look at the paintings I began to slow down. I realized I needed to forget about the time-table of seminars which animated the crowds below and that I had to switch-off whichever side of the brain is activated by theological conundrums. I needed to awaken to the language of colour, line and form. What a relief! I was also aware how I was inclined to systematically work my way through the gallery as though reading a book from cover to cover, or making my way to the local store for a pint of milk. This doesn’t really make much sense in a gallery since each painting is a world in itself inviting us to lose ourselves within its frame and leave behind our linear lives with their notion of getting things done. Would it really matter if I only beheld one painting for the rest of the afternoon if it so captivated me? As I yielded to process of contemplation I was wonderfully refreshed by the exhibition though I sense I have much to learn about appreciating the spiritual power of the visual arts. Looking now at a postcard of one of the paintings from the exhibition, ‘Downland Discourse’ (above) I am aware how the artist, Noel White, invites the spectator to turn away from the devilish world of wild, frenzied activity and walk instead the winding sun-lit path in the company of the iconic saint on the left. At first glance the painting seems rather simplistic with the crude division of the landscape into colour and black and white. However, the saint is dressed in the same grey colour as the demonic world on the right of the image, whereas the devil tones in with the colourful side of the painting. The man in the middle who we are presumably asked to identify with, is drawn initially toward the seductive figure of the devil, but the artist has opened a window, as it were, for us to perceive the darkness and danger of what the demon promises so theatrically . The muted figure of the saint does not wave his arms around but walks quietly by our side. If we can pull ourselves away from the dazzling demon on our right shoulder, we will find a glorious paradise of rest and renewal symbolized by the leaping gazelles, embracing couple and bird in flight across the green meadows. The painting is in fact an icon, calling us to prayer.
Late on Sunday evening I took our tired girls to listen to their Mum playing selections from the work of one of the great spiritual composers of our time, Sir John Tavener with the excellent Greenbelt orchestra assembled by Harry Napier and conducted by the admirable Scott Stroman. Tavener’s music is inspired by the theology and liturgical traditions of the Russian Orthodox Church which he joined in the late seventies. The concert was staged in one of the vast conference halls from which all the seats had been removed which meant that many of the audience could stretch out on the carpeted floor below the stage. The house lights were dimmed leaving just a pinky glow bouncing off the high ceiling of the hall. This created the appropriate atmosphere of a vigil which many of the selections were originally intended for. For my children the music acted more as a lullaby and they slept through much of their mother’s heroics. Since many of the pieces were in homage to Mary the mother of God, that was perhaps exactly the right response for these worn out girls! The soloist was the cellist Matthew Forbes whose playing and instrument responded beautifully to the intense devotional mood evoked by the score. Perhaps music such as this is the most transcendent of all the arts drawing us beyond words and even images into silence and finally sleep. I left Greenbelt, as ever, ready for another year.
I am invariably challenged and inspired by the many great speakers who are invited to Greenbelt such as the late, great John O’ Donohue, an Irish poet and mystic who wrote the best-selling Anam Cara. I remember lolling on the grass and laughing in the sunshine as he held-forth in that inimitable Celtic brogue a couple of years ago. This time, however I was struck more than ever with the thought that no amount of discussion or analysis of spirituality and the arts can match the thing itself. There is, I suppose, that moment when we need to stop our chatter, and open our spirits to something more sublime if we are to enter deeply into the presence of the living God. The arts at their best can be for us at such times a form of prayer leading us like Moses up the mountain into “the cloud of unknowing.” This is the place where the air is somehow thinner, our breathing changes, and wonder is stirred as we see the world with fresh eyes. There were three arts events at Greenbelt this year which had something of this effect on me drawing me into what the festival organisers poetically termed ‘the long now.’
On Saturday morning we all went to see No Nonsense Theatre Company’s dramatization of the Old Testament story of Ruth which is about an old woman’s return to her homeland in a time of famine. This innovative drama group had developed their initial ideas for this production through a series of work-shops with economic migrants in the north-west of England. Since the company wanted to keep the play as accessible as possible for these women who had contributed their ideas during the planning stages, they told the story using masks and puppets against an evocative recording of middle-eastern music especially composed for the production. The masks like all the design elements of the show were beautifully crafted to bring the world of the characters vividly alive. Masks distil the essence of a stage character just as a painting does, by capturing a fundamental attitude in the features of the mask which is then heightened through the physicality of the actor. So, far example, the essential dignity and kindness of Boaz, the farmer who feeds and finally marries Ruth at the end of the story, was graphically illustrated in a way that goes far beyond words through the wide set features of the mask and the upright, rooted posture of the actor. I was struck as I looked round the all-age audience how attentively the young children were following really poignant moments in the drama. Before the Reformation and the Protestant Church’s preoccupation with The Word of God, the so-called common folk would engage with the stories of the Bible through the frescos on the walls of their places of worship. Sometimes when we strip away words we behold the beauty of human gestures as if for the first time and the meaning of the story comes into fresh focus. When Ruth silently receives a small sack of grain from Boaz after she has scrabbled in vain for the gleanings in his field, she notices there are some words embroidered across it in black letters. As the masked face angles to read them we see they spell KINDNESS. Nothing more needed to be said.
By Sunday afternoon, I was beginning to feel somewhat dizzy through the combination of the crowds of festival-goers, intense seminars and the constant noise that is an inevitable part of Greenbelt. It was time to seek sanctuary in one of the rooms in the Grandstand set aside for an exhibition called ‘Visionaries’-working in the margins. This was put together for the festival by Wallspace who run an independent gallery in the 18th century church of All Hallows on the Wall in London. Visionaries in this context referred to two kinds of work; that of the dreamer who attempts to depict another form of perceived reality in parallel with the material, everyday world and secondly, a more prophetic vision, a necessary critique of life and institutions as they are, in favour of a vision of how they might be or should be. As I began to look at the paintings I began to slow down. I realized I needed to forget about the time-table of seminars which animated the crowds below and that I had to switch-off whichever side of the brain is activated by theological conundrums. I needed to awaken to the language of colour, line and form. What a relief! I was also aware how I was inclined to systematically work my way through the gallery as though reading a book from cover to cover, or making my way to the local store for a pint of milk. This doesn’t really make much sense in a gallery since each painting is a world in itself inviting us to lose ourselves within its frame and leave behind our linear lives with their notion of getting things done. Would it really matter if I only beheld one painting for the rest of the afternoon if it so captivated me? As I yielded to process of contemplation I was wonderfully refreshed by the exhibition though I sense I have much to learn about appreciating the spiritual power of the visual arts. Looking now at a postcard of one of the paintings from the exhibition, ‘Downland Discourse’ (above) I am aware how the artist, Noel White, invites the spectator to turn away from the devilish world of wild, frenzied activity and walk instead the winding sun-lit path in the company of the iconic saint on the left. At first glance the painting seems rather simplistic with the crude division of the landscape into colour and black and white. However, the saint is dressed in the same grey colour as the demonic world on the right of the image, whereas the devil tones in with the colourful side of the painting. The man in the middle who we are presumably asked to identify with, is drawn initially toward the seductive figure of the devil, but the artist has opened a window, as it were, for us to perceive the darkness and danger of what the demon promises so theatrically . The muted figure of the saint does not wave his arms around but walks quietly by our side. If we can pull ourselves away from the dazzling demon on our right shoulder, we will find a glorious paradise of rest and renewal symbolized by the leaping gazelles, embracing couple and bird in flight across the green meadows. The painting is in fact an icon, calling us to prayer.
Late on Sunday evening I took our tired girls to listen to their Mum playing selections from the work of one of the great spiritual composers of our time, Sir John Tavener with the excellent Greenbelt orchestra assembled by Harry Napier and conducted by the admirable Scott Stroman. Tavener’s music is inspired by the theology and liturgical traditions of the Russian Orthodox Church which he joined in the late seventies. The concert was staged in one of the vast conference halls from which all the seats had been removed which meant that many of the audience could stretch out on the carpeted floor below the stage. The house lights were dimmed leaving just a pinky glow bouncing off the high ceiling of the hall. This created the appropriate atmosphere of a vigil which many of the selections were originally intended for. For my children the music acted more as a lullaby and they slept through much of their mother’s heroics. Since many of the pieces were in homage to Mary the mother of God, that was perhaps exactly the right response for these worn out girls! The soloist was the cellist Matthew Forbes whose playing and instrument responded beautifully to the intense devotional mood evoked by the score. Perhaps music such as this is the most transcendent of all the arts drawing us beyond words and even images into silence and finally sleep. I left Greenbelt, as ever, ready for another year.
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