Is all well?

How often do we say to people, ‘I hope you are well?‘ and then move on without listening to the response – really listening, I mean. Perhaps with so much of concern in our world at present it is perhaps understandable that we don’t really want to hear yet more bad news.

‘When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea-billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say: It is well, it is well with my soul!’


Whatever my lot? What a challenge this week – any week – this is. These words are part of a hymn written by Horatio Spafford in 1873. They are no idle words: Spafford knew tragedy. His four year old son died of scarlet fever and then, in 1871, much of his property was destroyed in the Great Fire of Chicago. He worked tirelessly as a lawyer and Presbyterian church elder in the fire’s aftermath to help the 100,000 homeless, and the families of the 300 who died and, two years later, planned a holiday in England and Europe as part of his friend, DL Moody’s evangelistic crusade.

Last minute work complications caused Spafford to delay his departure from the USA but his wife, Anna, and their four daughters (Anna, Margaret Lee, Elizabeth and Tanetta) went on ahead. Tragedy struck again: their ship, SS Ville du Havre, was sunk following a collision with an English iron sailing ship off Newfoundland. It sank in twelve minutes with the loss of 226 lives and only Spafford’s wife out of their family survived by clinging to wreckage. She was rescued and progressed across the Atlantic to Wales where she sent Spafford a brief, tragic, telegram: ‘Saved alone’.

Horatio Spafford set off immediately to be with Anna. The captain of his vessel showed him the spot where the SS Ville du Havre sank and it was after this that he penned the hymn, ‘It is well with my soul‘, quoted above. Later, when he reached Moody, he said: ‘It is well; the will of God be done’. Anna gave birth to three more children but, again, tragedy struck when their only son, Horatio (named after his father and their first son), died aged four years.

Anna and Horatio Spafford’s family tragedies are no doubt much greater than anything we shall face, DV, but can I (can you) echo what Horatio wrote: ‘whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say: It is well, it is well with my soul’? How are you today?

Alone and at peace?

Michael Collins, the ‘forgotten third astronaut’ of the 1969 moon landing, died last week aged 90. I can remember as a 13 year-old boy being allowed to stay up late and watch this historic event on black and white TV. My diary records the mission nightly, with more or less the same comment each day for a week, conveying a little of the suspense of the incredible venture: ‘Apollo 11 still all right‘. After the success of its return, I was then inspired to go out and use my pocket money to buy an Airfix model of Apollo 11 and to persuade my parents to let me have a telescope for my next birthday.

It was, of course, Neil Armstrong who captured the imagination with his ‘one small step’ and, to a lesser extent, Buzz Aldrin, who also caught everyone’s attention back in 1969. Typically then and subsequently, Michael Collins avoided publicity but his role in the Apollo 11 Moon Mission was vital. He was left alone for 21 hours whilst Aldrin and Armstrong were in the lunar module or on the Moon and every time his orbit took him to the dark side of the Moon, he lost contact with mission control at Houston. ‘Not since Adam has any human being known such solitude’ is the reference in the mission log. Collins had the vital task of maintaining a precise orbit so as to ensure the safe return of his fellow astronauts. In addition to being for a while ‘the loneliest man in the universe’, he it was who looked down on the Earth and commented on its beauty and its fragility – a clarion call to environmentalists today.

In his 1974 biography, ‘Carrying the Fire’, Michael Collins wrote: “I know that I would be a liar or a fool if I said that I have the best of the three Apollo 11 seats, but I can say with truth and equanimity that I am perfectly satisfied with the one I have.” In a world where there is so much striving to be ‘the best’, or to be ‘one better’ this is such a telling comment from a man of great integrity and humility. Can we say this, too, of the role we have in life – and be at peace with ourselves and God?

(A slightly expanded version of my weekly ‘thought for the week’ sent to TISCA Heads and Chaplains.)

A life well lived

In Easter week, the UK nation and our world mourned the passing of His Royal Highness, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. This is a man who has stood head and shoulders above so many, in countless different ways, and yet has served the country and his Queen with grace and humility, seeking never to extol his own successes or virtues. Only now has the general populous been privy to the vast array of his credentials and achievements but we have also had illuminating insight into the enormous influence he has held in so many areas of our national and international life.

I also want to add, by way of personal context, that Easter week was also one of mourning for the Reid family as my 96 year old father, Johnnie Reid, passed on, too. Whilst not well known, unlike Prince Philip, he also led a rich, varied and valuable life. Like the Prince he was a Naval man (Merchant Navy), and my Dad found himself working from Scotland to the Caribbean, Asia to Africa. He was a marine engineer and later came to work for twenty years in west Africa (where I was born) before returning to the UK and a multitude of roles and jobs including being a steward in a golf course, a security guard, a maintenance man and a gardener. Like Prince Philip, he was a man of loyalty (married, for example, for 66 years), someone of duty and integrity.

In reflecting on Prince Philip as a family man, he was in Her Majesty’s words ‘a constant strength and stay,’ ‘a rock’ and a source of counsel and refuge. My own father was all this, too, and not least to my mother. These are descriptions, as Christians, which we attribute to God, but it was through the Prince’s own faith and theological wrestling (qualities which I can’t claim for my father), as well as an openness and sympathy for the most ordinary of people that produced in him a spiritual and social roundedness which themselves are legacies for us to emulate. Forthright he undoubtedly was, and unafraid to speak his mind, but we are reminded that it was just before that first Easter when Christ himself, who did not stand on ceremony, overturned the tables in the temple and was open to misunderstanding by the reigning authorities.

In this past week, we have contemplated upon the agony of the cross as well as the triumph of the resurrection, and in our grief for someone so dear who has passed on, we reach out with the deepest sympathy to our beloved Queen and her family (and also to my mother and wider family in our own loss). However, we are also invigorated with Easter rising by so much of what we should all aspire to be in our own calling in life. Prince Philip’s name means ‘lover of horses,’ and ne’er was a name so apt. From expert polo player to dogged carriage driver, the picture of resurrection perhaps cannot be captured more poignantly than by the Old Testament picture of Elijah’s translation to heaven in a chariot of fire. This is one which indeed ‘spurs’ us on not to languish in grief but to set our faces towards the eternal, for as St Paul says in his triumphant declaration of Christ’s resurrection: ‘what is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable.’ In the crucible of death all our deeds, words, motives and intentions are tried by fire and what for each one of us is left that stands that is of lasting worth and has indelibly left its mark upon others for God’s kingdom?

We would like to think that over these past few days, the Duke will have received the heartening words from the True Giver of Rewards– ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant, receive the gold award which awaits for you.’ As we have heard, it will not have been just for those things which are noticeable and public, but for the small, personal and unwitting acts of kindness for which he will be remembered – and here again I reflect on my father’s desire to do right by everyone. Prince Philip’s life and influence itself lays down the gantlet to us all and begs the question: what we will make of our lives, whether it be nine or ninety-nine for family, our friends, our nation and for the Kingdom of the Almighty? My Dad’s 96 years also challenges me to consider what being loyal, honest and loving really means – and to sustain these qualities over such a rich, varied and adventurous life.

(Blog with thanks to Revd. Alex Aldous, school chaplain)

Check-Mate?

Last week we had Budget Day – the day when we trust that the Chancellor of the Exchequer will lay out plans for us as individuals and as a nation to emerge from this pandemic with a hope and a future amidst the debt and the devastation wrought upon us by COVID-19. For the world, for us all, this past year has been a tribulation: a time when we have felt in exile from our normal state of being and how we relate one with the other.

The prefix ‘ex’ can often imply ‘deliverance’ or ‘fleeing from’ – coming out of where we have been. The Exodus in the Old Testament was a positive freedom from slavery in Egypt and a moving towards a Land of Promise in Canaan. The Exile, however, many generations later spelt a time for the Israelites of being banished from one’s own land, resulting from their repeated transgression against the plans and laws of God, given as a manual for successful living as Kingdom people.

We might wonder whether there are ‘tax exiles’ or promises of ‘getting out of a fix’ when we reflect upon the etymology for ‘Exchequer.’ But not so: the word comes from the Old French ‘eschequier’ meaning a ‘chessboard’ or ‘chequered board,’ and woven into this is also writ the meaning of ‘reckoning.’ We can in our own mind’s eye envisage the board that we have inherited this year where there are fewer players, many others having fallen by the wayside and others embattled and reckoning with ‘check mate’ mentally, emotionally, economically and physically.

It was whilst the Jews were in exile that the prophet Jeremiah proclaimed God’s words: ‘that when the seventy years are completed in Babylon, I will come to you and fulfil my gracious promise to bring you back to this place. For I know the plans that I have for you: plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’

After such a year, we might well be feeling that our own chessboard has been decimated, and there is nothing that any Chancellor can produce out of a hat to right the wrongs, heal the hurts and mend the chequered past that we may have endured. Yet the real hope for those of faith is that as we travel through the desert of Lent and towards the cross of Easter, that God always has the last word – that nothing is too great for him to overcome and redeem. But he first gently whispers the additional words after the above promise: ‘call upon me, pray…seek me and find me when you seek with all your heart.’

We do not know the move of our Great High Chancellor of the Exchequer Above – His moves, like some players on the chessboard, may not be predictable by us mortals – they may move sideways and backwards before moving forward, but our faith assures us that He is the one who holds the plans and it is we who are challenged to trust that He knows our futures – ‘plans for good and not for evil’: those plans, we can be assured, will be for us ‘ex-ce-Lent’ as we call, pray and seek Him.

(With thanks to Revd Alex Aldous, Chaplain at Prestfelde Prep School)

You’re on mute! Or…

It is the fate of lockdown. We cannot sing, play or make music together, but if ever there was a chorus that has rung out like a clarion call on Zoom’s sound waves over these COVID times, it has been the unequivocal mantra: ‘You’re on mute.’ We’ve all done it; we’ve all been there – we chat into the void and wonder why there is no sympathy for what we’re saying, but it’s because we’re not using our voice in the right way: to borrow the axiom of yesteryear’s technology, we’ve not ‘adjusted our set.’

Amidst the maelstrom of 2020, now leaking inexorably into ’21, there have been many voices which have vied for attention and a multiplicity of issues, personal and social, have screamed to be heard. But as individuals and communities representing the voiceless in our nation and world, there are times when we might look in the mirror and lament: ‘you’re on mute.’ It is easy to accuse others of being on mute: the government, the councils, the powers that be – we claw for answers to this crisis and claim that ‘they should have spoken earlier.’ And for some of us, maybe as we turn our faces heavenward, our cry might be: ‘Lord, why are you on mute; why don’t you answer? Why are you causing us so much pain?’ At times, the psalmist echoes such sentiments, as in Psalm 28: ‘To you I call, O Lord my Rock, do not turn a deaf ear to me, for if you remain silent I shall be like those who have gone down to the pit. Hear my cry for mercy as I call for help.’

Pete Greig, author of ‘God on mute’, provided this powerful reflection as he wrestled with this issue: ‘I asked for strength that I might achieve; He made me weak so that I might obey. I asked for health that I might do greater things; I was given grace that I might do better things. I asked for riches that I might be happy; I was given poverty that I might be wise. I asked for power that I might have the praise of men; I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God. I asked for all things that I might enjoy life; I was given life that I might enjoy all things. I received nothing that I asked for, all that I hoped for. My prayer was answered, I was most blessed.’

To hear, as God hears and to see as God sees, is indeed an ‘adjustment of our set’ – our mindset, our perspective and the way we view the world and ourselves. It could just be that we’re being called to listen in new ways – first  to hear the pain within His heart; and then the overflow from this eustachian canal will be to hear the needs on our doorsteps and give them our voice.

Heartbreak

It was on this day (27th January), 65 years ago, that the King of Rock, Elvis Presley, released his first million-selling single ‘Heartbreak Hotel,’ achieving the accolade of reaching the ‘top five’ of Country and Western, pop and Rhythm and Blues simultaneously. The lyrics were inspired by a recorded tragedy of a man jumping from a hotel window through jilted love.

‘At Heartbreak Hotel
Where I’ll be–where I get so lonely, baby
Well, I’m so lonely
I get so lonely, I could die.’

As we are all aware, loneliness, this lockdown, has reached epidemic proportions and the homes that people have been confined to through ongoing restrictions have indeed become their Heartbreak Hotels: hearts that have been broken, through not reuniting with friends and loved ones they crave to embrace and hold and have the simplest of conversations with. The ‘Hotels’ may quarantine the body but never the mind, heart and soul. The Psalmist stated that ‘the Lord planted the lonely in families’ but it has become the Hotel of Discomfort that has separated them again and as we daily imbibe our news updates, we share the anguish of all who are in isolation.

It seems almost trite to provide easy religious messages to massage the pain that so many are enduring, but as humans created for intimate relationship, it would be wrong also not to point people back to our Lord. He it was who Himself endured loneliness, not just in coming to this earth, or in the misunderstanding of those who claimed to follow Him, but on the cross when He experienced the desolation of the Father abandoning him – why? so that we could be reunited with Him. It is the cry from numerous psalms that it is in our human desolation and out of our depths – brought on by any number of circumstances – that we call out and look up. It is as we are still before God that we are reminded that He, who knew anguish of soul, is the One who stands by us at the very worst of times. How do we know this? Because it was not only in His becoming like one of us and sharing our experience of humanity in all its glory and its degradation, but through the work of reconciliation on the cross that He restores, comforts and reminds us that we are not alone. Nothing about us, nor how we feel about ourselves or our condition can separate us from the love of God, and it is the promise of His holy and indwelling Spirit that He gives to us – the pre-eminent Comforter – that reminds us that we are not alone.

The monument to Presley’s hit, ‘Heartbreak Hotel,’ stood for thirty years in Memphis, but it was torn down to make room for the new Guest House at Graceland – now there’s a parable! We are all, as humans, welcomed into His house and habitation of  Grace, but he does not call us His guests, but as friends for ever: the ‘Heartbreak’ for Him is that not more of us welcome the move.

(Reproduced by kind permission of Revd Alex Aldous, Prestfelde School chaplain)

The Inauguration of the 46th

The 46 degree halo is a rare member of the family of ice crystal halos, appearing as a large ring central on the sun, with light entering one side of the crystal and exiting from another. Whether the 46th President sees himself and his inauguration in such a light and whether this day heralds a new era of transparency, reflection and refraction remains to be seen. What is certain is that the eyes of the world will be beaming down upon him and expect something iridescent in return. It would be a great reassurance if, in the back of Joe Biden’s mind, if not articulated in person, were the words on the lips of JF Kennedy exactly forty years ago: ‘Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country.’

At a time across our world where we have needed State and government intervention like never before, it might seem unpopular, and indeed cruel, not to ask for our country to respond to need and to those in dire straits. However, it is in those times when men and women are in a state most perilous, that the light can shine brightest. We have been privileged to witness over past months many acts of courage and fortitude in the face of danger – most noticeably in our hospitals and in care homes where men and women have put themselves at the utmost risk to save lives and are shining forth, amidst sacrificial sweat and tears. For all of us, there may be challenges in the home, in the virtual school, and in relationships we have, which may seem overbearing at times. We have grown up in a culture in the West where we have expected the Nanny State to look after us, and yet it is in digging deep, when life is at its most raw that we can ask again – what can we do for our country? What can we do for our community and the neighbours living next to us?

It is the 46th chapter of the New Testament, Luke 2, that we have the birth story of our Lord Jesus, where mother and father are near the end of their tether at the end of a long journey to register for the census, rewarded only with a stable as a bed. It is just near there that the angelic glory shone around those bedraggled shepherds and it drives these ordinary countryfolk to identify with their Lord and show support – and what was the result? They went back to their fields glorifying and praising God for all that they’d seen – such is the reward for those who seek to serve and find. For me, in hard times, when up against it, I have often fled to the psalms and particularly to Psalm 46 which shines out more than any crystal that the world affords: ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in times of trouble…be still and know that I am God…the Almighty …is our fortress.’ May those words be true for those across the Pond on this auspicious day, who claim ‘In God we trust’, whether Democrat or Republican. May it also be true for us whatever stance we may take in life, as we are open to the Sun of Righteousness shining through to bring His halo of love and light in the darkest of places: that indeed can and will bring an inauguration of something new for all of us in time to come… if we give him permission.

(Reproduced with kind permission of Rev Alex Aldous, school chaplain)

Drops of grace as life stutters

As we approach the inauguration of the 46th President of the USA, we are being reminded that Joe Bidden is one among 3% of the world’s population who stutters – or stammers. Ed Balls, former MP, ‘Strictly star’ and Shadow Secretary of State for Education was once mocked in the House of Commons for stumbling over his words – someone else who stutters through life. I, too, count myself as part of this select 3%!

Not long ago I read in the Press about author Chris Young, who was trying to get in touch with his English teacher, a Miss Ward, from the late 1970s. Mr Young, who commended his teacher for supporting him after his mother died and his alcoholic father could not cope, tweeted: ‘I’d dropped into the bottom quarter for English at school. My English Teacher, Miss Ward, pulled me out of that ditch’. At the age of 13 years, Miss Ward ‘treated me like a rock star, loved what I wrote and got me to talk in front of the class’. He has now launched his first book! 

I imagine (and I hope) that we all have memories of someone who has stood by us, encouraged us and ‘been there for us’ when the going got tough. Whilst my early life was very different from that of the gentleman above, I can also remember a teacher who impacted me positively and immeasurably – and who also gave me confidence to speak in front of others. Her name was Miss Margaret Maclaurin and she was my elocution teacher at Prep School in Scotland in the 1960s.

My parents lived and worked in West Africa and were in a remote area of Ghana when the time came for me to go to school aged five. There was nowhere suitable for me locally and so I came to board, aged five, at Drumley House Prep School near Ayr. Whilst I have only fond memories of my eight years at Drumley, at some point in my early years there I developed a stammer. This was possibly a result of the separation from my parents (although I usually spent my holidays with them in Ghana or, when home on leave, in Paisley). Miss Maclaurin came to my rescue! She saw me once a week for elocution lessons and during this time not only did I learn a few ‘tricks’ (such as how to avoid using words beginning in ‘p’ when feeling tired and stressed), I also learnt about speaking in public. Where this was once the most disarming place for me as a stutterer, it came to be a challenge which I relished. Miss M taught me to learn poetry off by heart so that when I declaimed I could concentrate on expression, modulation and emphasis and not have to worry about the words themselves.

As a Head I had to speak in public almost daily and owe a huge debt of gratitude towards Miss Maclaurin. It was a delight to visit her in her home when she had retired and I was newly married and to introduce her to my wife, Rosalyn. So engrossed were we in conversation that we quite forgot that Rosalyn had gone off to the bathroom (and somehow locked herself in) – but that’s another story!

So, a challenge for us all during a time when life is stuttering in another way: think of someone who has had a positive impact on our lives in years gone by and why not surprise them with a letter, a card, a call or even a visit – just to show appreciation. It might prove to be a ‘drop of grace’ in their life at this very moment. You’ll never know if you don’t try it – and who knows, someone may do it for you, too! 

Speaking the truth in love…

Last week, a top official was dismissed from his office for stating that widespread voter fraud across the Pond was entirely baseless and without any credibility. ‘The question of Truth’ appears once more to be on trial. Stating something loud enough, irrespective of validity, and to people who massage one’s ego sufficiently, seems to be the norm… in certain quarters. In Roman mythology, ‘Veritas,’ the goddess of Truth is the daughter of Saturn, called Chronos (Time) by the Greeks. Time will certainly tell – truth always has a habit of coming out and the checks and balances put right, though at what cost?

Without truth, stability in society and trust and confidence between individuals cannot flourish – all of us need to know ‘where we are.’

Unconcealment

However, in our dealings with others, it is well to remember the philosopher, Heidegger, who made a distinction between the Roman and Greek conceptions of truth as their gods declared it. ‘Aletheia,’ the Greek god, he argues, essentially means ‘unconcealment’: in other words bringing out of obscurity and darkness that which needs to be brought into the light. ‘Veritas’, on the other hand refers to the Roman virtue of truthfulness, a state of being reflecting that which is right, but  winsome and sensitive. Just saying something which we believe to be right, is not enough, but it is how we say it.

St Paul spoke of the need for us as citizens to ‘speak the truth in love’ and this is the challenge. Being dogmatic and ‘barking’ out a truth (to forgive the pun!) about someone or something may be technically correct but wins no favours and certainly not another person whom one may be wishing to ‘put in their place.’ It is how we say something, and exercise love with it, that is of greater importance.

In need of more grace

During this lockdown and in the midst of this prolonged pandemic, it is easy for each of us to feel tempers fraying and frustrations boiling over, and taking them out on others within our community and amongst our families is perfectly understandable, but not necessarily excusable. It is at this time that we all need to avail ourselves more of God’s grace and love, realizing that of our own resources we are frail. As the psalmist says: ‘I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to a rock that is higher than I.’ Of ourselves, especially in isolation behind our own walls, it’s so easy to shoot from the hip, to defend truth as we see it and make judgments which, though they may seem accurate are not always appropriate to articulate.

In the end, when it comes to truth, I am led to someone who declared in himself that He was The Way, the Truth and the Life. Truth, when it is clothed in flesh and soaked in love: He inspires us not to score points or put another down but always hopes, always believes the best, and always longs for God’s image in one another to be greater. Speaking the truth is good…speaking it in love is far better. ‘Love…truth…again.’

(Blog with thanks to Revd Alex Aldous, chaplain at Prestfelde Prep School, Shrewsbury)

Where are you from?

How often in conversation, especially with those we have recently met, do we hear the question: ‘Where are you from?‘ Whilst travelling in India, especially on the trains, I would often be asked ‘Where is your native place?‘ Then the question might be, ‘What is your good name?‘ and even, ‘What is your salary?’

As a TCK (Third Culture Kid), I find this question difficult to answer. I will often pause momentarily to try and gauge the questioner’s actual interest in my answer – and then respond accordingly. I might mention where I am living currently (Redditch, UK) or simply say that I’m British. If I’m being a little mischievous I may say I am Scottish (and note the reaction). If pressed on the latter statement I will be forced to say that I have a Scottish father (and English mother) but went to school in Scotland and worked there for twelve years – where my three children were born. Usually by this point in an initial conversation the topic will move on – the questioner was probably not that interested in my origins and was simply being polite.

And yet for me, the question of where I’m from resonates deeply. I was born in Nigeria, lived in Ghana for 15 years and (as already indicated) attended boarding school in Scotland. I married at university and then worked in Bedford, England, for three years before moving to near Perth (Scotland – not Australia) for twelve and then crossed the Wall again to live in Cheltenham for five years. Thereafter, we all moved as a family to India for nine years before returning for a further nine years to the south coast of England and, more recently, to the English Midlands. That’s over 15 different houses in my married life of over forty years. So, which one is home?

As with most TCKs, it’s not what it says in my passport that identifies where home is for me. I don’t look typically Nigerian (nor Ghanaian) – nor do I appear to be from Asia – and yet there is something very homelike when I go to West Africa, even to India. It has something to do with the colours, the smells, the childhood memories and, especially, the warmth of the people. Each time I have moved on to a new location, there has been a wrench but the transition has become easier simply because I have done it several times before. It is less to do with place and more to do with people. Less to do with roots and more to do with rhythm in my life.

I have just finished reading Jo Swinney’s book, ‘Home: the quest to belong‘, and this has helped a great deal in making mores sense of the question, ‘Where are you from?’ Jo is also a TCK (she spent much of her early life in Portugal) and, interestingly, attended Dean Close in Cheltenham as a boarder at much the same time I was there in the late 1990s. As a Christian, Jo Swinney weaves her faith into the book but she is also very down to earth, frank and realistic. Like me, she is still on a journey to our eventual home – heaven (listen to Jesus’ words to His disciples about His Father’s house having many rooms) – but in the meantime concludes as follows, and this is good enough for me, too, for the present: ‘Home is the place where we live (now)…is among the people who love us…is our culture, the language we speak, the food we eat, the books we read and the jokes we find funny. Home is our country, the landscapes and weather systems and the architecture. Home is within ourselves. Home is where we belong, the place we come back to. Home is the end of our quest‘.