A Godde who is not afraid of the dark

This is inspired by a mixture of recent mealtime conversations in our new home, a podcast about "God Our Mother", a church service during people who were feeling pretty desperate for things in their live to change knelt while one of the leaders read a prayer for them, Remembrance Day... Just life from the past week really.

I read that some people are using the word Godde instead of God to emphasize the feminine side of the Divine, so that's how you should read the poem. The title is inspired by a line from the podcast during which Christena Cleveland, a social psychologist and theologian, talks about the Black Madonna.

Our Godde who is not afraid of the dark

Her arm is a pattern of overlapping crescent moons
Even though her nails look too short to make a mark
Please stop
Please stop

I’ll kneel in the grit for you
Take marks in my knees for you
Kneel in the grit
Would I though?
I didn’t even look for a white poppy
I wore no poppy at all
Frozen by shoulds and overwhelm
I know I hate war
So would I fight for you?

The Feast of Trumpets, Brighton style

Of course the day after the rare occurrence of me drinking too much wine, my church celebrated the Feast of TRUMPETS. My head said why, why, why? Gwyn had asked me to write a poem for the service, I'd not heard of said Feast. I ran out of time to write, anyways. But the morning was a poem itself...

It seems trumpets are only the icing on top
Of a day that runs deep and rich and sweet
Meanings layered like the apple slices on the table in the centre
Shana Tov! Happy (Jewish) New Year!
God said "set aside a day to remember that time I told you you were my own special treasure"
Five boys run to the front, volunteering to light four candles
The fourth is blown out to allow the smallest one a turn
This is a day to rest, reflect
Sing of the beauty of creation, the Creator
Becky tells a story with firewood and knife
of a sacrifice, atonement
A story  - foreshadowing a world-changing tale
Look back, look forward
We remove shoes and walk silent through the waters, conscience cleansing
Ruben makes a dive for the gap in the blue sheets draped over tables
We don white paper robes in varying sizes, cut out by Jean
This is not a people who do things by halves
Love is our judge, we are covered
Hannah mutters that she's way out of her comfort zone
Cackle and crackle as we take our seats again
Then, at last, a call to gather around the table
From which homemade treats have filled our nostrils and tempted our tongues all morning
Honey drizzled over warm cinnamon roll
Pomegranate sprinkled over golden cakes
Trumpet shaped biscuits - a "labour of love by Leanne and Carmella last night"
Taste and see that HE is good
The paper robes catch our crumbs
The kids' handmade "trumpets" screech wild
Finn parades his trombone
Robbie pounds his familiar rhythm on the djembe next to me
Wake up and remember
Look back and look forward
We shout-sing hymns out of tune
Tears of laughter rolling down cheeks
At the madness and mayhem of our family
I'm aware of the people visiting for the first time
It's not always like this...
We murmur prayers for the dear-ones we carry in aching chests
Tears of longing rolling down cheeks
Look back and look forward
The Feast of Trumpets
Waiting for final reconciliation call
Waiting for that day
When the waiting will end

I Was Raised (An attempt to sum up my spiritual journey in a less-than-5-minute poem)

As the blog title says... this is an attempt - to put some of the last 30 years into words --

I wrote this for a performance at a Poets & MCs Battle event for Brighton Fringe, at Komedia, so needed it to make some sense to people who weren't familiar with a Christian upbringing. And I was on the 'Spirit' team (battling the 'Sceptics') so it forced me to dig deep to find the hope often buried under cynicism. I definitely didn't find it easy to write!

5 minutes and words alone in general will never be enough, this is only a slice and simplification of the story. But it's a start. An offering. It's cliche but I think faith is most certainly a journey and things change day to day. For most of us. I don't think it's healthy to stick in exactly the same place, even if that makes it all a lot more uncertain. Performers on both the Spirit and Sceptic teams agreed that an open mind was really important and there were elements of doubt and hope and questionning in all perspectives.

Anyways, here goes!

I was raised 

I was raised in the holy city of Basingstoke
On a diet of memory verses -
I could recite a Psalm, or three, or four for you
List the books of the Bible
Sing you a hundred modern day hymns
I was raised on communion and creationism
On revivals, prayer meetings and baptisms
Notebooks filled with prayers and prophecies
My childhood heroes were missionaries

Not overwhelmed

Spent the weekend with friends who are actually family, my crazy creative family that loves to dance and drum (and eat cake) and fill the space with colour and laughter and give all that they are the the One that inspires and outspires - breathes out life and love too deep for words. But here are some words, a humble offering, because being in that place I can't help but watch and listen and move and when I take a break from the dancing, pick up a pen and write...

Dancing in the rain, almost

We had our last 'Creative/Movement in Worship' evening on Saturday - well last one before I go, anyways. As usual, it was a time of freedom, of dancing, of laying down all my doubts and questions for a while and letting go, being thankful, playing, remembering God's love and bigness and the things that are most important to me. All in the company of some wild, creative, beautiful ladies. I can't always believe it's the same me who sits behind a desk all day, who isn't at all as sure about her faith as she used to be, who seems to soak in the cynicism around her like a sponge. But it is. That's why these times are important. That's why I dance.

Going to vs. Being CHURCH

So I didn't go the 11am church meeting on Sunday.  I didn't sing. I didn't sit at the back on a chair and fight to stay awake through the long sermon, like I often do (just being honest!).  I didn't go inside a church building.

But this weekend, I definitely 'did' church.

Hubby came back from the pub on Friday evening with two new-ish friends.  We sat in our tiny flat munching on pizza and talking about connecting with God, and chasing after him, and the struggles and the questions.  We were challenged and we are changing as a result.

On Saturday I danced and laughed and clapped in a friend's living room with her and her smiling little daughter and we celebrated friendship, and children and the fact that even the tiniest ones love to move and make music.

In the evening we sat with husbands around the fire and took photos to try to capture the beauty of faces and fire and food.  We looked up at the moon, and sparks floating silently into the night sky, and wondered at the Creator and the mystery of Him entering the world as a man.

On Sunday I travelled to the Lizard with a friend and her family - that southerly most part of the land.  We found ourselves in a tranquil campsite, a blessed space, where we sat under an apple tree with our selection of flags.  We joined young and old from near and far to worship the one that first loved us.  The clouds blew away and we held up shining banners under the blue sky, rippling in the wind, like the breath of his spirit.

Little girls joined us, running across the grass barefoot with colour trailing.  Declaring. "Just one touch from the King, changes everything". A lady suffering from two types of cancer found her agonising pain to be gone.

Hallelujah.

A man danced with the silver flag and afterward we share stories with him and his wife, living in the wigwam with their four kids.  They are on an adventure, as we all are, waiting, listening, encouraging along the way. Another connection, another jump of excitement in my belly, God is moving, his people are moving, who knows what is to come...

We are the church, and God cannot be contained.

Scoop

You scooped me up – out of the drowning grey
and now I
I scoop you up – glistening palm pools of liquid life
I splash you over my face to clear my eyes
let you drip down cheeks and chase away tears
I gulp you down
So thirsty so thirsty
Rivulets trickle down my neck
I feel you
refreshing weary shoulders
washing away yesterday’s regret

And inside,
You
Pour down gullet eagerly waiting for your touch
reach my deepest parts
waiting for so long
so long
they’d forgotten what it was like
to have life coursing through
resuscitating the dry bones

Slowly the hidden parts begin to stir
seeds planted long ago slowly crack open
and newness creeps forth from ancient roots
A story written before remembering
finding a window to escape from
catch a breeze
and be heard whispering through branches
dancing onto the fresh leaves appearing
willing them to grow
and bear fruit

Advent: God-child

This is part of a poem by Alberto Caeiro that I read at the Advent event in the House of Prayer this evening.  We were talking about the craziness and wonder of God coming to earth in the form of a child...

In heaven everything was false, and in conflict
With flowers, trees and stones.
In heaven one must always be serious.
...He fled to the sun
And climbed down the first ray he caught.
Now he lives with me, in my village.
A child with a beautiful smile, and natural...

He taught me everything.
He taught me how to look at things.
He points out to me all one can find in flowers.
He shows me how funny stones are
When we hold them in our hand
And slowly look at them...

The New Child who lives where I live
Stretches out one hand to me
And the other to all that exists,
And thus the three of us follow whatever road is there,
Jumping, singing and laughing,
Enjoying in our common secret,
The knowledge that there is no mystery
Anywhere in the world
And that everything is worthwhile

Advent, Quakers and World-Changers

"Do you try to set aside times of quiet for openess to the Holy Spirit?  All of us need to find a way into silence which allows us to deepen our awareness of the divine and to find the inward source of our strength.  Seek to know an inward stillness, even amid the activities of daily life.  Do you encourage in yourself and others a habit of dependence on God's guidance for each day?  Hold yourself and others in the Light, knowing that all are cherished by God".

(Advices and Queries #3)

This morning I returned to the Quaker meeting in Penzance, to carry on with the whole 'stillness' thing.  I knew a little bit more what to expect after my last visit.  There were less people there and the room was freezing but everyone was very friendly and welcoming.

I spent the time reading some of the Advices and Queries (as above) and also the beginning of Luke.  I love reading about John the Baptist, and Advent is about the coming of Jesus into the world, but today I was more struck by the stories of those that ushered in those two amazing men: John's parent's - Elizabeth and Zechariah, and Mary and Joseph.  It's so easy to skim over texts so familiar and often read.  Today I tried to imagine just how it must have been... especially for Elizabeth and Mary.  Two normal, good-hearted women, going about life, unlikely to be expecting anything out of the ordinary.  And then, in an instant, the visit of an angel, and everything changed.  Two miraculous pregnancies shook their world and their sons changed it.  It's pretty hard to imagine, really, but I reckon I'll be pondering on it more.

Not many people spoke during the one hour of quiet, but what was said focused on the death of Nelson Mandela this week, and stories were shared of joining in anti-apartheid protests, visits to South Africa, and of the minute's applause at the Penzance rugby ground on Friday night.  Here was another man who had a tremendous impact on countless individuals around the world, and on the destiny of an entire nation. It's incredible, really. I know he was not perfect, but none of us are, and he never pretended to be.  Which makes me respect him more.

May we not forget the lessons learned.  May we learn something from these faithful men and women who lived both ordinary and extraordinary lives.  Who spoke up for the oppressed and called for change.

Hold yourself and others in the Light, knowing that all are cherished by God

Quakers and Surfing

Today I went to a Quaker Meeting for the first time.  I've often thought about going to one and never quite got round to it.  I was saying to hubby last night how I wanted to go to something quiet and reflective on a Sunday, and he reminded me to see if there was a Quaker meeting close by.  Turns out there is - in Marazion and Penzance.  I went to Penzance, mainly because I know where to park.

It was pretty much as you might expect if you've heard anything about Quakerism - people sat in a circle in silence for an hour with occasional interjections/reflections shared by some there.  Apart from worrying I'd fall asleep and fall off my chair (which apparently has happened!), I appreciated the time of stillness.  After that there was more talking and sharing and coffee and general welcoming.

I don't know much about Quakers, but I know they are big into Peace and serving others.  So that makes them worth checking out in my book.  I like the fact that they strip everything back and keep it simple.  This is a section from their 'Advices and Queries' book:

Worship is our response to an awareness of God.  We can worship alone, but when we join with others in expectant waiting we may discover a deeper sense of God's presence.  We seek a gathered stillness in our meetings for worship so that all may feel the power of God's love drawing us together and leading us. (point 8)

I'm not great at sitting still and my mind wonders like a crazy thing, but I would like to learn to be better at silence, at meditating and at focusing.  My main thoughts that had any sense of direction happened to be about surfing - which I spent 3 hours attempting to do yesterday.  It was a lot of fun and a beautiful day, but I was quite frustrated as I kept seeming to nose dive.  I was wondering today if perhaps that was because I was always looking down rather than ahead.  So my body followed my eyes.  I thought if I had held my head up instead and focused on where I wanted to get to, that I might have balanced better...

...which made me think about life, and how I often end up looking down at my feet, and then I sink.  Like Peter walking on water - when he took his eyes of Jesus and looked at the waves around him, he lost faith and sank.  Yes maybe this is all a bit cliche but it's where I'm at.  I've been looking at the negatives, stopped being thankful for things, felt myself sinking, wanted to give up.  I want to look up, look ahead.  It's scarier, it feels safer to look down to be honest.  But perhaps I need to trust myself a little more and trust God a lot more.  Perhaps then, I'll surf to the shore.

God and beauty

I've just bought a new book... "Transparencies of Eternity" which is a collection of reflections by the Brazilian author/philosopher/poet/professor Rubem Alves.  I've read some of his stuff before and really enjoyed it so I'm pretty excited about this book.  I think it'll be one to consume in small bite-size pieces to chew on and mull over.

Here's some tasty morsels from the chapter, "Does God exist?"

Beauty is a volatile entity - it touches the skin and quickly vanishes.

What we refer to with the name of God is like that: a great, huge Emptiness that encompasses the whole beauty of the universe.  If the glass were not empty, we wouldn't drink water from it.  If the mouth were not empty, we wouldn't eat fruit with it.  If the womb were not empty, life wouldn't grow in it. If the sky were not empty, birds, clouds and kites wouldn't fly in it.

...There is too much beauty in the universe, and beauty cannot be lost.  God is a bottomless Emptiness, an infinite wooden trough, who wonders through the universe picking and gathering up all the beauties and guaranteeing that none will be lost, and saying that all that was loved and lost will return, and be repeated.  (p.24)

I don't feel like I've got much to add to that, just that he's beautifully put into words what my heart attempts to articulate.

Some beauty from my weekend, Gwythian Bay, Cornwall

Sweet... (Jam)

Sweet
but, not fake
- not just 'nice'
sweetness of earth and growth and life and sun and rain and fruit and careful hands and fire and movement and waiting and seasons and sharing
you are far from ordinary
yet so often ignored; left on the shelf
We do not take a moment to pause and consider
the strength and flavour of your sweet love

When the sun shines through the glass
rubies glow
treasure contained in a jar
like your son
and
somehow, like us, now

Tucked into the fridge door
spread across a piece of wholemeal
we utter a silent thank you
hope in the morning -
you make the bitterness bearable

And you
hover on finger tips and lips
sticky...
I want to be covered in you!
such a small jar
is there enough to cover all my sour parts?
the widow's oil did not run out
you are always enough

A sigh of relief
a gift
a welcome
an every day
and a special occasion
you are for all times and all seasons

And the pot of goodness
reminds me
of a story of trust
of the way you capture our hearts
and spark dreams
and invite us to join you on adventures

I am amazed again
at the way you enter into our lives
and make them a story to be told and shared
the way you direct our paths
and whisper mysteries
like ancient recipes

like...
how to make jam

At a creative worship workshop the other day we chose different objects and wrote about how they could reflect God!  

Rock

When Moses said, when David said, when the Bible says, when the song says, when I say...

That ‘The Lord is my Rock’,

What do you think of?

Do you picture a mountain?

Standing proud, chasing clouds

Challenging you to scale its heights

Overcome fears

And share the view?

Do you think of a craggy cave

With secret crevices in which to hide?

Dark depths that hold no threat

A fortress against the enemy

A refuge in which to rest until the storm has passed

Or about the rocks that lie mismatched

Crosshatched

Along river beds or cliff bases?

Beckoning you to clamber over them

To feel their surfaces beneath your feet and hands

Each one wears its past like a map

Fractures and fissures and unexpected colours trace their origins

I like a big rock with a polished coat that sits beside the sea and soaks up the sun

After a dip in icy water, i climb onto it and lie, eyes closed, lashes dripping, and feel the heat seep into my skin

Or do you imagine something a lot smaller?

A rock you can fit in the palm of your hand

Like the smooth black stones my grandfather used to collect

Now that he’s gone

I keep one on the mantelpiece

My thumb strokes it

And remembers

Or how about a grain of sand?

Sifting through my fingers

They remind me of my insignificance

But also of a promise

And that God knows

Just like he knows the number of hairs on my head

Just like he knows whenever a sparrow falls

Each grain could tell a story

Each one used to be part of something bigger

-A stepping stone, a cave, a cliff, a mountain

Each one could be traced back to its father

The rock from which it came

BUT

Rocks shake and rocks break

They crack

Fall back to earth

They splinter and quake

And crumble and tumble

And destruct and destroy

And I’m not sure how safe you are and how neat a comparison this is?

But you’re not neat – are you?

Beaver said of Aslan, ‘He is not safe, but he is good’

And so I long

Whatever shape you come in

To be a chip off the old block

My Father

My rock

Spirituality is always about how we see. It’s not about earning or achieving some kind of merit. Once you see rightly, the rest follows and the road widens. You don’t need to push the river, because you are already in it—and floating along! The Great Life is already living within us and we only gradually learn how to say yes to this always-existent Life. This Life is so large and deep and spacious that it even includes its opposite, death.

Adapted from 'Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer' pp.32-34 (Richard Rohr)

Hem

I wonder if we are the hem of his garment

The tip of his royal robe

The segment that sweeps along the ground

As heaven dances upon the earth

Splendor meeting soil

Stirring up the dust

Bound to be a little frayed

Bound to bear the marks of a journey long and hard

Bound to unravel a little at times

But even the thread is golden

And there is a master seamstress

And you would think the trimming would lose its allure

That the filth it sails through would ruin it beyond recognition

But in this upside-down kingdom

It is the stains that make it more beautiful

And in this upside-down kingdom

The gown glows most brightly in the dirtiest of places

And because it is an upside-down kingdom

Perhaps we are not hovering on the distant margins of the heavenly One

As he hangs loftily high above us

Perhaps here, on the boundary

Between

Seen and unseen

Lost and found

Despair and joy

What is and

What is yet to come

Is where

He is most present

And so perhaps this fragment

Of a breathtaking garment

Is actually

The most glorious

Katrina Quinn May 2013

Tornadoes

A wind blows

It moves the branches that have been hanging heavy for too long

Moves them until the trees are waving and dancing their praises

Them that thought they could not be moved

Them that believed they could not dance again

The wind will even shake the rocks

Will move the things we thought would never change

But do you know what will do more damage?

Tornadoes

Tornadoes of a different kind to what you’ve seen before

Because the wind stirs hearts

The wind starts picking up the dead leaves and whisks them away to uncover forgotten ground

The wind echoes off shards of broken glass and a new song rises from what was once deemed hopeless

And the wind stirs hearts

Stirs them to remember

Stirs them to dream again

As they catch a scent on the breeze of something ancient as the stars

And promising as the dawn

Stirs them to move

Stirs them to believe that the surroundings could look different

As they begin to move and move and move

They spin through the streets

And they run through the dark places

And the wind causes embers to throw off sparks

And the sparks cause creativity to catch alight

Light where before there was none

Streams in the desert

And LIFE and colour and music and newness and rhythm and rescue and refuge and places of safety and restoration and healing and peace

Hearts like tornadoes

WE are the tornadoes

Fiercely gentle and

Unafraid

Spinning and spreading the breath of God out into homes, streets, villages, towns, cities, nations

In workplaces and walkways and supermarkets and studios and gyms and gardens and schools and pubs and clubs and beaches

And what can remain the same once a tornado has passed through?

Can't quite believe it

Hi.

Guess who's got a job?  Meeeee!  Woo hoo!  I'm pretty, no VERY happy.  Partly because it means there's more chance of us being able to pay the rent next month (gulp. all part of the adventure, no?!) and partly because it's just the kind of place I wanted to work.  A small cafe/restaurant in Penzance serving good coffee and tasty fresh dishes - mainly fish.  Everyone who comes in seems to enjoy it and plan to return.  And the couple who run it are friendly, relaxed and only a little older than me.  Can't quite believe it!

Actually there's been several can't quite believe it moments.

Like, can't quite believe how many people helped us move and showed us love and support as we left Brighton.  Especially can't quite believe how much certain people did for us, even accompanying us on our move, shifting loads of boxes and looking after us in our first week in Cornwall.

And, can't quite believe this little bungalow on top of a hill is for US. All this space just for the two of us (and whoever comes to visit!).  A front garden, a back garden, a spare room, lovely kitchen AND the best view ever!

Can't quite believe that people have been waiting for us to return to Cornwall for months, praying for us then filling our cupboards with food and welcoming us warmly.

Can't quite believe we were given a car this year, AND it made it all the way to Cornwall, AND it's still going, being used every day now.

Can't quite believe we had all the money we needed for the move and everything it entailed, enough to not stress about it.

Can't quite believe that I only cried once during the whole moving process, and remained pretty unstressed the whole time, and didn't fall apart, and didn't have to up the 'happy pill' dose.

Can't quite believe that soon we're going to be able to surf.

Can't quite believe how brilliant my husband is, how he was uncomplaining through a toothache, and tooth removal even though I know he was in a lot of pain; how he is willing to do any job to provide for us; how he is already off helping make cakes and hanging out with old people; how he is patient with me and loves me even though I snore in his ear all night with my silly blocked up nose.

Can't quite believe how beautiful this land and sea is.

Can't quite believe that we've been so blessed.


Because it's not that we deserve it.

I know God is good and He loves to bless us.

but I also know life is shit sometimes.  And stuff doesn't always work out the way we plan.


So right now, for all this almost unbelievable goodness, I am ever so thankful.

The Light we are waiting for // Advent

On Sunday at church we focused on Advent, and on welcoming the Light of the World.  It was a contemplative and peaceful morning, with time and space to reflect and to pray.  So thought I'd continue in that vein with other bits and bobs I've gathered and let you do the same.  Don't rush :-)

This is what Advent means: to be chosen and upheld by God, to be filled with God's delight and Spirit, to bring justice to the nations, to hold God's hand and be God's promise, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison, to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness          (Isaiah 42:1-9).

From Friar Richard Rohr's Daily Meditations

Light shines through ordinary things and makes them extraordinary

"If we aren’t going to love the world around us, then we might as well pack it all up and go home. If we don’t love, and if we don’t bring freedom with us, then we are simply another religion, lumped in with the rest of them. But first, of course, we need to understand who we truly are and what we have at our disposal.

The truth is, the light of the world resides within us".

(Darren Wilson, maker of the amazing documentary, 'Father of Lights' )

The light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness has not overcome it

John 1:5

'The Lord is my light, my light and salvation
In God I trust, in God I trust'

Taize song

St Therese of Lisieux

On Sunday there were a whole load of old Christian books left out in the building where our church meets for anyone to take.  I picked up an Autobiography of Saint Therese of Lisieux, a Carmelite nun who died at just 24-years-old in 1897.  I don't know much about any saints, but I've been wanting to read more about people in the past who've devoted their lives to following God, because there's always something to learn, and I'm interested to know if over 100 years ago, a young woman faced similar struggles and questions to young women today.  I've just started it, and the language is pretty old school - it was translated from French   and published over 50 years ago, but I'm quite enjoying the 'quaintness'.  And already, have read something I'd like to share:

"The sun's light, that plays on cedar-trees, plays on each tiny flower as if it were the only one in existence; and in the same way Our Lord takes special interest in each soul, as if there were no other like it.  Everything conspires for the good of each individual soul, just as the march of seasons is designed to  make the insignificant daisy unfold its petals on the day appointed for it" (p.27)

The Poisonwood Bible

I've just finished reading 'The Poisonwood Bible' by Barbara Kingsolver.  It's a book I've been meaning to read for years, and so when I saw it on the second hand book stall by the station, I grabbed it.  It's the first time in a while I've read a book that I didn't want to put down.  It's so thoughtfully and cleverly written.  It's about an American family of four daughters, their mother and their baptist-minister father going to live as missionaries in the Congo in the 1950s.  Each chapter is written from the perspective of each of the four daughters, with retrospective accounts from the mother.  To be honest it's a pretty devastating tale of the pride and mistakes of men, and their consequences. (OK and a whole lot more but you'll have to read the book!)

It's brought up a whole lot of thoughts, memories, questions and feelings.  Partly because of a few similarities between my family (the Pikes) and the family in the book (the Prices).  In 1999 the Pikes - mum, dad, and four daughters (2 of them twins, as with Leah and Adah Price) - left Basingstoke, England, for Mkushi, Zambia.  Actually pretty near to the border with the DRC.  We were also in that place for about 18 months, like the Prices, and our experiences affected us all in different ways.  It was nowhere near as dramatic as in the book, for one we weren't in the jungle living in a rural village, but in the middle of a large farm block living on the campus of a boarding school.  And we weren't there during the country's fight for independence.  Zambia has never gone through a war.  Instead we learnt about the slave trade, colonialism and empire in our history lessons.  As one of just a sprinkling of white people in my class, aged 12, I sat at the back of the room, sinking lower and lower into my chair, wishing I could disappear, wishing my skin was a different colour, unable to express any of this in words that didn't sound empty and pathetic.

That's what reading this book reminded me of.  I still want to better formulate my thoughts, but here is my 'straight off the bat', unedited response:

I wish I’d read this before.  Years and years ago.  Now it’s brought everything back.  The guilt.  The inescapable fact of being white.  The ‘Sins of the Fathers’.  I’m sorry.  Forever sorry.  I carry this on my back but I don’t know if its my burden to carry.  Sometimes I forget, other times it nearly squashes me to the ground.  It is of no use to feel guilty, some say.  What does it achieve except to lock you up, silence you?  Sometimes silence is best, yes.  Be quiet and listen.  Let the children speak, let the mothers speak, let the trees speak, let the ground and the skies speak of what they have seen, of what they have lost. 

Do I carry the guilt to comfort myself?  Is silence a pretence, a wish to disappear, for the ground to swallow me?  Does my guilt simply become another burden for others to suffer?  I don’t know how to be.

Best to forget.  No I don’t think so.  How can someone ever forget being forgotten.  Being abandoned?  Being treated as though their life is worth nothing?  So we should not forget.  Can we at least be unified in remembering?  There are no words.  No comfort I can give.

Will the future be different?  I have not seen it yet.  Will equality ever be a reality?  Revenge solves nothing but I understand.  How do you turn the other cheek when there are no cheeks left to turn?  All of them whipped, burnt, starved to death.  Greed continues.  Corruption continues.  We are the products of our history.  We have a choice to do things differently but the choice is hard to see in the midst of the pain.  The consequences of others gain.

Man has made so many mistakes.  How could we ever unpick this mess?  And so many of these in the name of God.  God who puts the little children at the front of the queue.  God who became nothing in order to save.  God who had dinner with the lowest of society.  How dare you label your actions with His name.  That is the ultimate taking his name in vain.  I don’t care about you swearing, I don’t care about language except for the labels you use for the actions you do.  Blood taints the hands of the church, pride distorts the fervour of missionaries, it wasn’t supposed to be about black and white, wrong and right.  How did you read the stories of grace and mercy as an excuse to impose your Western ways.

Where was the loving people as you love yourself?  Where was the humility, the service? 

I don’t understand.  But then things are always clearer in retrospect.  It could have been me.  It hurts me to say it, and I hope with all my heart that I would have stood against the tide of greedy clutching, superior correcting.  But what do I know?  I could have been there too.  

*I realise that a lot of good has been done by missionaries, and people who follow God, etc.  But right now I'm kind of overwhelmed by the wrongdoing.