Hello. Yes, I'm terrible at blogging. Well, so was Jesus. And I don't hear you criticising him.
Or is that Him? Never was sure about he capitalisation thing. Seems odd to me.
Here are some things that pass through my cavernous and all powerful mind.
Asdon't
Today is Easter Sunday. C and I managed to effectively 'do lent' and stay away from supermarkets for the last few weeks. We were going to celebrate our own briliance today by going there to buy Easter eggs, but wouldn't you know it - they're shut. For Easter. Or maybe they've simply gone out of business without my child-like impulse buys to sustain their income streams.
Anyway, it was a good thing to do, and we'll probably more or less stick to it, with the odd trip to stock up on Lapsang Souchong and chorizo. We've spent less, and the local food is loads better. Best of all has been the meat - my goodness, it is beautiful from the local butcher. And the vegetables from the garden centre farm shop place are lovely. And that's not all. There's the sense of interacting more with the area a little - getting to know the people who run the smaller businesses a bit. It has been a good thing, and I recommend it.
Four Lions
In other news, I met Chris Morris. This was tremendously exciting and I think I managed not to be too embarrassing when I shook his hand and screamed 'You are, literally, my God. Please have sex with me!' Or something. It's all a bit of a blur now. But it was very pleasing. His new film - Four Lions - is a very funny and insightful pieice of work which will probably be hard to track down but is certainly worth it. Maybe I'll just buy everyone the DVD for Christmas. That'll make for a cheery boxing day - suicide bomber comedy.
Who Joy
Doctor Who season is upon us once more, and so last night the house was full of people. I love these evenings. People, wine and time to talk. (Not during Who, though, obviously. That would mean certain death.) Matt Smith seems very fine, and I am confident that we are in for the best season yet. I love Doctor Who so much that I sometimes want to cry.
Maybe if someone made a really good, HBO style TV show about Jesus, I'd feel that way about the Gospel too. When I actually get into the bible - usually when it's read out loud and with some passion - I get it, and think it's great and life changing. And that's good. All I'm saying is... maybe it could be broken down into 45 minute episodes and set to a kick ass soundtrack. And have some attractive women in it. And cliffhangers. I like cliffhangers.
I should probably go, before blasphemy overtakes me. Happy Easter, everyone. Send chocolate.
Sunday, 4 April 2010
Thursday, 11 March 2010
... and cookies
Finally watched Milk. It's bloody amazing. Largely due to an unselfish performance at its centre which puts me in the unusual position of agreeing with Oscar (I thought Mickey Rourke's turn in the Wrestler was unbeatable until tonight).
Anyway, I think lots of things about it, but I'm notoriously bad at articulating thoughts soon after a viewing. I liked the way it was filmed, and the integration of archive footage was beautiful; the faded film stock reminding us that this was not just a story, this was real. Biopics are difficult to structure in a narratively satisfactory manner, but this was masterful in its signposting, early on, of its ultimate destination.
Anyway, it led me to reflecting on something I've been thinking about for a while. A number of years ago I was involved in a series of debates, both formal and informal, whereby my church attempted to address the issue of homosexuality. It was a strange and difficult time, and important in lots of ways. A good many people supported the exploration of homosexuality in a Christian context, and were prepared to consider change. I used to think it was a brilliant and brave thing, and that we acquitted ourselves well. But the further away I am from that time, the more I feel an acute sense of regret and shame.
I had several opportunities, one of which was literally in front of a microphone at the head of the congregation, to express my point of view about the whole 'Does God hate the queers or not?' debate. I was very much on the 'or not'side of things, and tended to suggest that it might not be a bad thing to consider that being gay and being Christian were not mutually exclusive. You know, given that we were intelligent beings living in a civilised society with an understanding of language, culture and history. I was generally well spoken and, if I do say so myself, reasonably witty.
Well, now - now I've seen the years pass and seen the lack of change - I wish I'd been a lot less well spoken, and that I'd forsaken gentle wit for something a bit more forthright. Something a bit more like a list of the horrors suffered by gay people around the world. Just a simple, long list, pointing out the killing, bullying, repression and torture inflicted upon this minority by stupid, ignorant people. I wish I had read the list out, and then drawn attention to our response. Our response, as a church of Jesus Christ.
That response, from a great many people in a church I considered home, was to say no, we cannot be a church that accepts gay people as anything other than second class citizens in need of fixing by us better, more Christian people. Furthermore, we cannot agree to disagree on this. We refuse to share a church with those who think otherwise.
Not everyone thought this, and not all of those in opposition did so without thought. Some people were scared that this was the beginning of the end for a comprehensible belief system. Some wanted to accept the people but could not bring themselves to challenge long held beliefs. Some may have had other, more deeply rooted concerns that I was not privy to.
But there were many whose opposition was instant, angry and lacking in any desire to dialogue. Those whose idea of a 'proper' church outweighed their imperative to love, to protect, and to fight for justice rather than a perceived version of morality. They were stupid, and they were cowardly. And, now I look back on my weak and feeble challenge to their idiotic points of view, I realise that I was too.
Anyway, I think lots of things about it, but I'm notoriously bad at articulating thoughts soon after a viewing. I liked the way it was filmed, and the integration of archive footage was beautiful; the faded film stock reminding us that this was not just a story, this was real. Biopics are difficult to structure in a narratively satisfactory manner, but this was masterful in its signposting, early on, of its ultimate destination.
Anyway, it led me to reflecting on something I've been thinking about for a while. A number of years ago I was involved in a series of debates, both formal and informal, whereby my church attempted to address the issue of homosexuality. It was a strange and difficult time, and important in lots of ways. A good many people supported the exploration of homosexuality in a Christian context, and were prepared to consider change. I used to think it was a brilliant and brave thing, and that we acquitted ourselves well. But the further away I am from that time, the more I feel an acute sense of regret and shame.
I had several opportunities, one of which was literally in front of a microphone at the head of the congregation, to express my point of view about the whole 'Does God hate the queers or not?' debate. I was very much on the 'or not'side of things, and tended to suggest that it might not be a bad thing to consider that being gay and being Christian were not mutually exclusive. You know, given that we were intelligent beings living in a civilised society with an understanding of language, culture and history. I was generally well spoken and, if I do say so myself, reasonably witty.
Well, now - now I've seen the years pass and seen the lack of change - I wish I'd been a lot less well spoken, and that I'd forsaken gentle wit for something a bit more forthright. Something a bit more like a list of the horrors suffered by gay people around the world. Just a simple, long list, pointing out the killing, bullying, repression and torture inflicted upon this minority by stupid, ignorant people. I wish I had read the list out, and then drawn attention to our response. Our response, as a church of Jesus Christ.
That response, from a great many people in a church I considered home, was to say no, we cannot be a church that accepts gay people as anything other than second class citizens in need of fixing by us better, more Christian people. Furthermore, we cannot agree to disagree on this. We refuse to share a church with those who think otherwise.
Not everyone thought this, and not all of those in opposition did so without thought. Some people were scared that this was the beginning of the end for a comprehensible belief system. Some wanted to accept the people but could not bring themselves to challenge long held beliefs. Some may have had other, more deeply rooted concerns that I was not privy to.
But there were many whose opposition was instant, angry and lacking in any desire to dialogue. Those whose idea of a 'proper' church outweighed their imperative to love, to protect, and to fight for justice rather than a perceived version of morality. They were stupid, and they were cowardly. And, now I look back on my weak and feeble challenge to their idiotic points of view, I realise that I was too.
Monday, 8 March 2010
Prevarication waits for no man
Not blogged for a bit, due to unreasonable people at work expecting me to do my job. Well, i say do my job. What I really mean is 'generate a massive amount of pointless paperwork to show to people from outside who don't trust us enough to let us just get on with things'. Still, needs must.
And I have to edit some school children performing stuff and singing. Luckily this is fairly good, though it is time consuming. As a result, my brain power is running dangerously low. I find myself happy to stare at patches of light on walls, thinking 'That's nice...' I'm laughing at things that are only mildly amusing. I'm regressing. Save me before I decide to listen to Radio One.
The other day I turned on radio 4, and had a beautiful experience of the very *essence* of something. I switched on the radio, and there was silence. Complete silence, for about four seconds, and then someone with a rich, home counties accent said 'Is that right, Jennifer?' It made me happy, for reasons I can't really understand.
I've seen some good friends recently, drunk a lot of wine with them and found them all delightful and fluffy to be with. I've finished reading about Segal and am now onto Adrian Mole. I find his mid life sense of dislocation uncomfortably familiar.
Still no church. Mosaic is OK. Feel like I want a community that is nearer, though. I like to be among people, on a fairly regular basis. More thoughts on this when I have more time.
26 days until Doctor Who. I confidently predict Matt Smith will be brilliant.
I go now. Rejoice in the small things. And biscuits.
And I have to edit some school children performing stuff and singing. Luckily this is fairly good, though it is time consuming. As a result, my brain power is running dangerously low. I find myself happy to stare at patches of light on walls, thinking 'That's nice...' I'm laughing at things that are only mildly amusing. I'm regressing. Save me before I decide to listen to Radio One.
The other day I turned on radio 4, and had a beautiful experience of the very *essence* of something. I switched on the radio, and there was silence. Complete silence, for about four seconds, and then someone with a rich, home counties accent said 'Is that right, Jennifer?' It made me happy, for reasons I can't really understand.
I've seen some good friends recently, drunk a lot of wine with them and found them all delightful and fluffy to be with. I've finished reading about Segal and am now onto Adrian Mole. I find his mid life sense of dislocation uncomfortably familiar.
Still no church. Mosaic is OK. Feel like I want a community that is nearer, though. I like to be among people, on a fairly regular basis. More thoughts on this when I have more time.
26 days until Doctor Who. I confidently predict Matt Smith will be brilliant.
I go now. Rejoice in the small things. And biscuits.
Sunday, 21 February 2010
Wrapped up in books
Hello virtual world. I have hidden from the real world today, on the grounds that it looks really cold and rubbish, and with little prospect of tea. Inside my house are all manner of delights, especially since C went out to forage for biscuits. Was going to go to a church in Bradford tonight, but the snow put us off. Bradford tends to collapse in on itself immediately the snow starts, becoming a huge snowdrift that forbids exit. Maybe next week.
It has been a pleasant enough week, featuring as it did a complete lack of students and rather more than the usual amount of Steven Seagal. Yes, the book Antony thrust upon me and which I said. "What? Why" to, turns out to be very good. And I'm really not sure why. I had never seen any Seagal movies, at all. Not even Under Seige. I have watched three this week and have at least five more on my list, having picked up an amazing box of eight for £15 in York the other day. Eight! So far I have watched three: Under Seige, which was most enjoyable, Under Seige 2, which I actually preferred due to its excessive bonkersness and great villain, and Above the Law, which is surprisingly fun too. Maybe my brain has finally given up, but I'm getting a lot of pleasure out of these films at the moment. It's a world of stuff I've not really bothered with before.
To counteract this rather limited diet, and any fears of cultural stagnation that may accompany it, I have also watched Hunger - the dark and fearful depiction of Bobby Sands's hunger strike by Steve McQueen. No, not that one. The artist. It is not exactly fun, but it is brilliantly made and very evocative: when watching the prison scenes (which make up most of the film) I actually felt quite cold, and could almost smell the dirt and decay. I think I need to watch it again, though probably not for a little while. I think I was a bit caught up in how well it was made and wasn't quite involved in the human story.
In other news... we're trying to give up supermarkets for lent. So, no Asda, Sainburies etc. This seems like a great idea at the moment, but I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll soon run out of something that we have no idea how to resource outside the walls of a big, corporate entity. Where do I get Lapsang Souchong, for example? I'm hoping the effect will be that we are forced to discover the cheapness and moral worth of local shopping. But it's quite possible that I'll just go "Hurrah, it's the end of Lent!" with greater vigour than usual, like that time I foolishly tried not drinking for 40 days.
Er... yeah. So that'll do for now. I've forgotten how blogging works, if I'm honest. Is this even interesting? Just in case it isn't, here's a list. Another thing me and C are doing this year is watching films on an alphabetic basis. So we watch a film beginning with A, then B etc. Not to the point of pain - we're allowed to watch cool stuff outside of this regime if we feel like it. But it is an interesting discipline that leads us towards films we might not otherwise consider. So far we have watched:
About a Boy
Benny and Joon
The Changeling (not the one with Angeline Jolie - a much more mental one)
Dean Spanley
The Emperor's New Groove
The Forgotten
The Green Mile
Hunger
Off now to drink more tea and contemplate the wonder of Seagal's ponytail.
It has been a pleasant enough week, featuring as it did a complete lack of students and rather more than the usual amount of Steven Seagal. Yes, the book Antony thrust upon me and which I said. "What? Why" to, turns out to be very good. And I'm really not sure why. I had never seen any Seagal movies, at all. Not even Under Seige. I have watched three this week and have at least five more on my list, having picked up an amazing box of eight for £15 in York the other day. Eight! So far I have watched three: Under Seige, which was most enjoyable, Under Seige 2, which I actually preferred due to its excessive bonkersness and great villain, and Above the Law, which is surprisingly fun too. Maybe my brain has finally given up, but I'm getting a lot of pleasure out of these films at the moment. It's a world of stuff I've not really bothered with before.
To counteract this rather limited diet, and any fears of cultural stagnation that may accompany it, I have also watched Hunger - the dark and fearful depiction of Bobby Sands's hunger strike by Steve McQueen. No, not that one. The artist. It is not exactly fun, but it is brilliantly made and very evocative: when watching the prison scenes (which make up most of the film) I actually felt quite cold, and could almost smell the dirt and decay. I think I need to watch it again, though probably not for a little while. I think I was a bit caught up in how well it was made and wasn't quite involved in the human story.
In other news... we're trying to give up supermarkets for lent. So, no Asda, Sainburies etc. This seems like a great idea at the moment, but I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll soon run out of something that we have no idea how to resource outside the walls of a big, corporate entity. Where do I get Lapsang Souchong, for example? I'm hoping the effect will be that we are forced to discover the cheapness and moral worth of local shopping. But it's quite possible that I'll just go "Hurrah, it's the end of Lent!" with greater vigour than usual, like that time I foolishly tried not drinking for 40 days.
Er... yeah. So that'll do for now. I've forgotten how blogging works, if I'm honest. Is this even interesting? Just in case it isn't, here's a list. Another thing me and C are doing this year is watching films on an alphabetic basis. So we watch a film beginning with A, then B etc. Not to the point of pain - we're allowed to watch cool stuff outside of this regime if we feel like it. But it is an interesting discipline that leads us towards films we might not otherwise consider. So far we have watched:
About a Boy
Benny and Joon
The Changeling (not the one with Angeline Jolie - a much more mental one)
Dean Spanley
The Emperor's New Groove
The Forgotten
The Green Mile
Hunger
Off now to drink more tea and contemplate the wonder of Seagal's ponytail.
Sunday, 14 February 2010
Going to see a man about a God
Waiting to go to church. Not enthusiastic. Can't work out why.
Currently trying out a new place - Mosaic in Leeds. And it's good. The talks make sense, don't go on too long and are backed up by actual bible stuff. The worship feels like it's been thought out in advance but still has the flexibility to allow authenticity in the moment. The people are friendly enough and seem to welcome new people, rahter than the usual Christian practice of glaring suspiciously at anyone who's been coming for less than five years.
But I feel really odd going in. And I try to leave as soon as the service is over. Like those people I used to criticise, who never got involved in the community and always scampered, back when I was leading services in Wakefield. Anxious to get back to my own, real life. The people there are clearly genuine. It's me that feels false. Like I'm spying on something I don't understand. Like a Dalek trying to sneak into a humans-only club and saying things like "Gosh, we humans are really... bipedal. Aren't we? Fellow humans? Bipedal?"
It could just be the shock of a new place after being so establised somewhere. In some ways this is a good thing. Take away what is familiar and see what is left. Turns out, in terms of being a participant in a standard service, there's not that much. I'm getting something out of the talks, and it's good to have a designated spot in the week for stillness and reflection - I do tend to fill my life with noise. But when I look at the people who are really into it - eyes closed, happy, experiencing something - I'm not there, and I'm not even sure I'm aiming for there. Hmm.
What I do have is community. Even though I'm not in my old church any more, there is a sense that I am still part of that bunch of people. Well, some of them. Again, it's stripped away the pretending: the people I still see are those that make the effort to keep in touch, or whom I make the effort to see. And these are good people, who make me better, and bring me wine.
Not sure what all this means.
In other news, I have been given a brilliant valentine present - a schmumf. This is not his real name. He is a lovely pillowy thing. For schmumfing. He makes me happy, and is good for putting my head on when reading. I am currently reading the following:
A book Antony lent me on Steven Segal which is suprisingly funny, despite having seen precisely none of his films.
Yet another academic text on Doctor Who (though this is probably the best I've yet read)
A series of unauthorised essays on Fight Club (though I'm not sure if I should have mentioned it)
A series of essays on British Horror films since 1970.
So that's me. Off to church. It is good, and it has the brilliant, redeeming feature of starting at 5pm. Genius. Done by half six. Pub. Chilli bowl.
Currently trying out a new place - Mosaic in Leeds. And it's good. The talks make sense, don't go on too long and are backed up by actual bible stuff. The worship feels like it's been thought out in advance but still has the flexibility to allow authenticity in the moment. The people are friendly enough and seem to welcome new people, rahter than the usual Christian practice of glaring suspiciously at anyone who's been coming for less than five years.
But I feel really odd going in. And I try to leave as soon as the service is over. Like those people I used to criticise, who never got involved in the community and always scampered, back when I was leading services in Wakefield. Anxious to get back to my own, real life. The people there are clearly genuine. It's me that feels false. Like I'm spying on something I don't understand. Like a Dalek trying to sneak into a humans-only club and saying things like "Gosh, we humans are really... bipedal. Aren't we? Fellow humans? Bipedal?"
It could just be the shock of a new place after being so establised somewhere. In some ways this is a good thing. Take away what is familiar and see what is left. Turns out, in terms of being a participant in a standard service, there's not that much. I'm getting something out of the talks, and it's good to have a designated spot in the week for stillness and reflection - I do tend to fill my life with noise. But when I look at the people who are really into it - eyes closed, happy, experiencing something - I'm not there, and I'm not even sure I'm aiming for there. Hmm.
What I do have is community. Even though I'm not in my old church any more, there is a sense that I am still part of that bunch of people. Well, some of them. Again, it's stripped away the pretending: the people I still see are those that make the effort to keep in touch, or whom I make the effort to see. And these are good people, who make me better, and bring me wine.
Not sure what all this means.
In other news, I have been given a brilliant valentine present - a schmumf. This is not his real name. He is a lovely pillowy thing. For schmumfing. He makes me happy, and is good for putting my head on when reading. I am currently reading the following:
A book Antony lent me on Steven Segal which is suprisingly funny, despite having seen precisely none of his films.
Yet another academic text on Doctor Who (though this is probably the best I've yet read)
A series of unauthorised essays on Fight Club (though I'm not sure if I should have mentioned it)
A series of essays on British Horror films since 1970.
So that's me. Off to church. It is good, and it has the brilliant, redeeming feature of starting at 5pm. Genius. Done by half six. Pub. Chilli bowl.
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