It is wonderful bringing people from the parishes to this
place, and to share some of my experiences, but on this occasion when I was trying
to find out once again what God wanted of me, it was good to be on my own with
my two dear friends who gave me all the time and space I needed.
You know why the battlefields of France and Belgium are
important to me -- it all stems from a book my grandfather wrote (although he
never got it published) about his experiences in the First World War and in particular
his friendship with Karl Siegel.
And for me this part of my journey was picked up in 1981
when I took 100 or so scouts to camp near Gatehouse of Fleet in Scotland. I was with Neil, in Edinburgh Castle,
navigating the scouts carefully through the Memorial Chapel, concerned about
the welfare of all the exhibits in the Memorial Chapel, when Neil challenged me
as to why I wasn't showing much interest in what I saw. I told him quite plainly that I was indeed
very interested, but my immediate concern was the safe passage of the scouts
through the chapel. Subsequent discussions led us a couple of years later to do
the trip to France and Belgium, my first such trip, and it was there in
Passchendaele Cemetery that I distinctly heard God say to me not to waste my
life.
I had already been to one selection conference (for
ordination into the Church of England) in 1978, and was unceremoniously turned
down, and I vowed never to go again. But following this experience in
Passchendaele, and much discussion with a variety of people, including my
vicar, I decided that this was what God wanted me to do -- and here I am 27
years later an ordained priest of 22 years. Incidentally on the subsequent train trip (last
week) Neil and I once again stood outside Edinburgh Castle, and we talked about
those heated discussions in 1981. Also
on the trip to Northern Ireland, and on the way to catch the ferry in
Stranraer, I called at the very site we camped on.
This trip to France was also different because I was looking
at it specifically through the eyes of suffering -- and God. It also followed on from the exciting and
challenging trip to Northern Ireland, where I had seen the results of much
suffering, and an undiminished faith and trust in God.
Loaded with my camera and quite a few poetry books --
especially poems by the wonderful Wilfred Owen, we arrived at Vic and Diane's –
who run a wonderful bed-and-breakfast near the town of Albert, which I have
already mentioned, and I can highly recommend it to anybody. All our parish trips been based here.
I took many
photographs, read much poetry, wanted to find out more about people who were
shot at dawn, and to discover more about the poets. I also wanted to find out
what God wanted from me as a Christian and as a Priest as I enter another phase
of my life. Those of you who have read
my postings will have seen that I have achieved all this.
But what can I reflect on what I think of suffering,
spirituality, and life in general.
The first thing I would want report is how much fun we had. I
really have a feeling that perhaps I have in the past taken it all a bit too
seriously. God is in the lighter moments,
the laughter and the fun. It is quite
transparent that when we were trying to be very holy, that was when we were
laughing the most. And we laughed
quite a bit, and the more I thought about God the more I have a smile on my
face. It has to be said that I was very
relaxed -- this is a great feature of my sabbatical realising just how stressed
and wound up I had got. I also really
feel God doesn't have to be searched out -- he/she is there with you wherever
you are, and however you feel, and in whatever situation you find yourself in.
The second point I would make is on a visit to Talbot House
in Poperinge. Talbot House -- the idea
of "Tubby" Clayton the Army chaplain in the First World War, who went
on to develop TocH. I even managed to
climb the steep steps to the chapel (which was in the roof area), knowing the
chapel had been stripped of everything other than a cross and a painting as it
was being redecorated.
Yes I been there before, but this time it was very different
-- very special. That place was holy because
I was seeing it as it was without all the trappings or the trimmings -- my mind
went back to those years during the war when men would come together to worship
God from completely different walks of life, different ranks in the Army,
different backgrounds, different personalities -- coming together to worship
the same God.
I couldn't help but think wouldn't it be great if this could
happen in our parishes -- where people just came together to worship God
without all the trappings, and the baggage which goes with it, without the
squabbles, without the hang-ups. I stood
in the chapel some time just praying and taking in the moment. Yes God was with
me, just as he had been with countless other men (and women) who had stood in
the same place over the past near on 100 years.
And then the poems -- I have been to Wilfred Owen's grave on
many occasions so this time I didn't feel the need to go, but I was reading his
book about his last year, and reflected how the news of his death reached the
family on the day of the armistice. How
tragic. Just imagine how his parents
must have felt – and his parents would feel just like millions of others would
have felt through the years, at hearing of the death of a loved one in war,
violence or as a result of terrorism. And
then I discovered a poet I hadn't heard about before and have spent time
reading his poetry. I went to see his
grave which was near where we were staying. Killed in action on 1 July 1916 -- as I
blogged at the time another example of the sheer folly and tragedy of war.
All this along with my problems with those who were shot at
dawn, led me to write to poems myself. They are not brilliant but I feel they say
what I want to say. Some have been kind
enough to say you have been touched by them, while equally others say they did
nothing for them. That’s what it is all
about, of course.
And then I had time at Passchendaele -- the greatest length
of time that I have ever stayed there since that day in the mid-1980s. Yes I really
did pray for many people in that spot, and especially for all those who have
hurt me, annoyed me, got up my nose, wound me up, and it was so precious
remembering all these people, along with the many many other people who have
been involved in my ministry in so many ways.
I always try to see the best in everybody -- people often
criticise me for this, but I really do believe that we are all capable of the
greatest goodness, and equally of the worst nastiness. It is the importance we place on God in our
lives, at least in my case, which I like to think has kept me on the right
side.
Our trip this year was conducted in some of the coldest
conditions I have experienced. Cold and
snow! My cancerous bone hurt more than
it has ever done, and indeed as I write this some three weeks later the pain is
still there.
I have not much more to add about our trip to France and
Belgium which hasn't been covered elsewhere in my blog.
I have tried to set out by extending my perception of
spirituality -- a spirituality which should be energising and life-giving. So
far in my sabbatical I feel I have achieved this. France and Belgium gave me
much time for prayer, reflection, and “just being”, this has been built on during my round
Britain rail trip of last week, which I shall reflect on and share in the next
few days.
Auschwitz and Jerusalem have still to come, and I have no
doubt that it is in these two places that I will find the greatest challenge
when I come to looking for God in the suffering and struggles of our world.
Regarding my own situation -- I do realise that God is with
me through my condition and in my condition. Perhaps I need to be open more to
what God wants me to do! More open and more
trusting – in God and in those who are closest to me
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