Big baby

 

"You must understand, that for a daughter to protect her father's image is natural; Freud built a whole career around it."

(Amon Goldfinger)

   

 Dad

(All photos: Gigi album) 



My mother had difficulty conceiving her first-born, my sister, and was then told she probably wouldn't have any other children. There's a little over eight years between me and my sister; by the time I came along, Mum and Dad were seen as older parents. I wasn't "tried for", nor planned for; I wasn't even expected.
Initially, I was diagnosed as gastric enteritis. When Mum's symptoms persisted and she returned to her GP, he confirmed that she was actually about three months into another pregnancy. When Mum told Dad, he had to have a sit down for a while. He apparently told Mum she'd have another girl and said "This one's certainly taken her time."
In fact, I was born two weeks before my due date; probably the first and last time I've ever been that early for anything. In contrast, my sister had been two weeks late, emerging after a day and a half of labour. I arrived in just two hours. My eagerness hadn't compromised my size: the nurses told Mum I was one of the biggest babies ever delivered on their maternity ward. I'm sure she was thrilled. The hospital in south-west London has since closed down, but I'm pretty sure there's no connection.
After Mum died, I sorted through the rest of Dad's personal bits and pieces that she'd kept for years. I have his pocket diary from the year I was born; his entry for the day I arrived reads: "9.15 am, BIG baby girl! Nine pounds fifteen ounces!" I don't know whether it was because his plump, gurgling white-haired baby resembled the vegetable, but my Dad immediately wanted to call me "Chou Chou"; French for "Little Cabbage". Fortunately, my mother wouldn't entertain the idea. She suggested "Barbara" after her closest sister and their own lovely mum, who Dad was devoted to. Dad suggested "Babette", then "Gisele".
I love my name: I thank my Dad eternally for it. I grew up loving the ballet I was named after, as well as the musical of Colette's book "Gigi", the diminutive pet form of Gisele or Giselle. I bristle a bit when people tend to call me "Gee Gee", with a hard rather than soft "g"; but it's a tiny irritation after nearly becoming Chou Chou. "Cabbageonsea" sounds particularly unsavoury.
When I was fifteen, I stomped off to rally against a local fascist group. They insisted on parading their neo-Nazism through the friendly, multi-cultural area I had grown up in and my Dad's sense of justice and idealism bubbled in my veins. Swept along with older, more seasoned protesters, I joined some lying down in the main road, so that the fascist group and the mounted police protecting their right to march would either come to a standstill or trample over us. Clearly, I hadn't really thought this through.
Hauled up by my collar by a weary riot officer, I garbled something about a "******* Police State", much to my great shame now. I was told to behave or I would be taken to the nearest police station to cool down. Obviously I didn't behave enough; two hours later, I was in a holding cell in south London with a handful of others. Now terrified, I announced I wanted a solicitor. Then I did what any self-respecting freedom fighter would do. I asked for my mother and burst into tears.
Mum was so ashamed that her youngest was in the local nick that she wouldn't come with Dad to claim me. He looked both worried and relieved to see me; now I realise he was also quite bemused. The sergeant told him I needed a "good talking to". My Dad nodded, signed for me and said absolutely nothing while we got in the car and drove home.
I was used to Mum's Irish, ginger temper. My Dad hardly ever lost his temper with me so when he did, I knew it was Bad. About five minutes from our house he stopped the car near the local shops. I started to cry again. He gave me a proper handkerchief. Finally, in his most Poirot accent, he said: "What did you think you were doing? What have you got to say?"
"Well, the thing is -"
"Shut up. Your mother thinks you should see a child psychologist. Luckily I can't afford one. Your mother thinks you're going to kill her by giving her a heart attack. Do you want to kill your mother?"
"No Dad."
"Why suddenly the politics? Why aren't you like other girls?"
"Mum says I get this from you?"
"Shut up. And do you think you'll be doing this again?"
"Well, there's a rally up in London in a couple of months and I thought..." At this point, I realised I might be pushing my luck.
"OK, this is what's going to happen. I will collect you from the rally in London and bring you home. You will never insult a policeman again, unless he's a bad policeman. When we get home, I will shout and swear at you and clip you over the head. Then I'll send you upstairs without any telly or any food. Your mother will be satisfied and I can get on with my work. Are you hungry; do you want some chips before we get home?"
And that's how it went when we got back. Apart from one thing: Dad never did get to collect from the rally in town. A couple of months later, just as I straggled past my sixteenth birthday, my Dad died. He hadn't quite made it to fifty nine.
This Sunday is my father's birthday; I write the same thing in my own pocket diary now each year, marking the age he would be now. It makes me more aware of my own I suppose, yet even at this age I'm aware that I'm still very much that big baby. I still want to be like my Dad when I finally grow up. I'm fairly hopeful he would like this blog.
I recently heard one of Dad's (and Mum's) favourite tunes set to the hymn "Vaster Far Than Any Ocean". I was aware that the melody "The Carnival Is Over" is traditionally used as a hymn in the Netherlands, but I'd never heard it in church here before. It was like a warm. reassuring hand at my back. The piano version included here is achingly lovely. The tune made so popular by The Seekers was originally adapted by Tom Springfield from an old folk song about Stenka Razin, a notorious rebel leader in 17th century Tsarist Russia. Folklore tells that Stenka came to a particularly sticky end. I doubt that his Dad ever went down to collect him from the fray to buy him chips.

"Like the little girl who's not very cute - her teeth are funny, and her hair doesn't grow right, and she's got on thick glasses - but her father holds her hand and walks with her like she's a tiny angel that no one can touch. He gives her the best gift a woman can get in this world: protection. And the little girl learns to trust the man in her life. And all the things that the world expects from women - to be beautiful, to soothe the troubled spirit, heal the sick, care for the dying, send the greeting card, bake the cake - all of those things become the way we pay the father back for protecting us..."

( Adriana Trigiani)

"Another baby you say? A big baby? How big??"

The Little Cabbage.

 "The Carnival Is Over"  (Piano solo version - pianist, sadly, uncredited)

"I'd like you to be a teacher, if you want to be a teacher. It's been a good life for me. But more than I would like you to teach, I want you to learn something about this world."
(Tony  Liegeois - Dad)

Keep the earth below my feet

 

"The true object of all human life is play. Earth is a task garden; heaven is a playground."
(G.K. Chesterton)

Due to my technical difficulties in recent weeks, I've had thoughts for a particular post flapping around in my full little head since the feasts of the Ascension and Pentecost. I started thinking about our notions of heaven and earth and what store we might set by any separation or unity of the two.
The ascension of Jesus to heaven has always provided atheists and sceptics with massive heartburn. Bible critics point to the mythical cosmology of the New Testament in particular, citing the structural convenience of heaven above, earth as the middle ground and the depths of the underworld below; furthest removed from the celestial realm. Sceptics have also suggested that accounts of Jesus' ascension tidily discredited any possible ongoing claims of Jesus appearing within the growing Christian community. Yet the tradition of Jesus' ascension, professed in both the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds, is certainly accepted and respected across the Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant churches. The bodily ascension is seen as an obvious and unequivocal sign of Jesus' humanity and divinity, of his participation in our story and God's power and love.

Jesus refers to heaven and the Father there throughout his ministry, accepting his inevitable return and promising us the same rise. Sounds a bit too pie in the sky to be feasible? We wordy humans refer to heaven constantly as we respond to both the minutiae and more unusual stresses or pleasant surprises in our daily lives. It's very, very hot in Brighton at the moment, but far from drawing comparisons with any fiery pit down below (and I don't mean the Antipodes), Brightonians and tourists alike exclaim that this is "heavenly weather", "heaven on earth". My neighbour described her leafy back garden as "paradise" earlier.
 It seems most of us grow up with the notion that there is a heaven "up there": somewhere over the rainbow; even higher than the sky, beyond the sun, in another dimension; infinity and beyond. We can calculate and probe the centre of our earth; we can salvage from the ocean floor. We know how to make fire and usually how to put out flames. Yet no rocket can ever really touch the sky. "To infinity and beyond" may conjure up ethereal realms but nitty gritties such as maths and physics are always in the elusive mix. We can hazard a guess at what the Neanderthals preferred for midweek dinner, but we can't quite calculate the edges of the universe; where our world might end and another could begin.

I like the Pentecostal symbolism of Spirit enfolding air, water and fire: the rushing wind that heralds Spirit, the water of baptism and the tongues of flame that anoint and inspire the Apostles. I understand now that the fourth element, earth, is found in the Apostles themselves. Man is grounded and of earth itself. And it's essentially a wonderful place, unimagined and still misunderstood by us, for all our scientific and philosophical digging. Whether you subscribe to the Big Bang Theory, the Bigger Big Bang Theory, or believe in creation by a higher power, we did not make this earth which supports our vast ambitions alongside the most microscopic, ancient ecosystems. Of course there are inherent extremes of temperature and terrain across this planet, but so many of the world's crisis and problems are due to man's mismanagement and lack of safe-guarding.
People starve, not because of some vaguely discriminating natural law or the survival of the fittest. A huge proportion of the finest arable land is used to grow grain to feed an increased animal population to satisfy meat consumerism. In the United States alone, 175 million tons of cereals and vegetable protein, suitable for human consumption, is fed to livestock bound for just 28 million tons of animal protein, often in the form of "fast food".

I assure you this is not a vegetarian rant. In what we constantly refer to as developing countries, the use of land to create and maintain an artificial food chain has resulted in misery and famine for millions of our neighbours. One acre of land used for local cereal or vegetable production will respectively produce five and ten times more protein than one acre used for meat production for market elsewhere. In the case of crops such as soya, the probable increased protein yield is thirty times more.

The terrible human consequences of the shift of focus from food to feed were dramatically evident during the Ethiopian famine in 1984. Ethiopians starved in front of our TV cameras, but Ethiopia was harvesting a wealth of linseed and rapeseed for European livestock. We wept as the redoubtable Michael Buerk reported on famine and desolation on an epic, biblical scale. The region held by many to be the location of the Garden of Eden was described as "hell on earth".

Ordinary people responded with what was seen to be extraordinary kindness. A dishevelled potty-mouthed Oirish punk called Bob shouted, swore and sweated and celebrities suddenly found their own feet of clay could actually help kick political butts. The BBC and CBC footage from 1984 still makes me cry: as it did for so many other people, "Live Aid" changed me and the way I saw the world, man and God. I remember the concerts as though they were last week, not thirty years ago. Unfortunately, the famine in that region and others has proved endless. Charity surged and continues to flow but common sense and economic justice still don't amount to much for governments and the corporate world.
It's both a tragedy and a travesty that 80 percent of the earth's hungry children live in lands with food surpluses which are fed to animals bred for consumption by the affluent. It's a terrible irony that tens of thousands in the so-called First World die every year from diseases exacerbated by affluence: heart disease, strokes, diabetes and some cancers. Many years ago, a lovely old man in a loincloth and blanket pointed out that the earth has enough to sustain man's needs but not his greed; we nodded at Gandhi's wisdom and smiled at his naiveté.

On this glowing, fine day, I truly don't wish to put anyone off their barbecued beef or even their bean burger. Yet under the same unremitting blue sky, military experts warn today that Britain must "be prepared to go to war" in Syria to effectively end the conflict there and keep chemical weapons out of terrorist hands. The United Nations has already called the conflict in Syria the worst humanitarian conflict of the past twenty years, estimating 100,000 fatalities so far. Millions of Syrians have already fled or been displaced and hunger and disease breed in their tracks.

Man should never be prepared to go to war: it's a chillingly pointless statement when you strip away ideologies and strategies, flags and uniforms. We tend our gardens and man our borders for personal preservation. The ancient indigenous populations knew that we belong to the earth rather than vice versa; we are indeed borrowing it for and from our children. Herbaceous borders are lovely but boundaries and division confine as well as protect. It riles me particularly when people say:"You guys believe in God - why doesn't he stop the war?" God doesn't start war; if all men really believed in God, heaven and hell and themselves, they wouldn't start it either.

It's seen as human nature to seek comfort, provenance and heaven on earth. Walking across the Level here in Brighton, I see folk seeking enlightenment or oneness with the universe through various cultivated substances. The Sanskrit word "nirvana" literally means "blown out", as in a candle, referring to the stillness and peace of mind which remain after desires, dissentions and delusion are extinguished. But you can't drink your way to Spirit, or smoke your way to heaven.
I do believe that we encounter people, places and events that help us on our individual paths to heaven. If we're fortunate, we recognise our soul mates along the way. If we're blessed, our soul mates recognise us back. There's much beauty to be found on earth and much more to aspire to beyond. I believe we should embrace and cherish this world rather than reaching to pull the next down to us, like a fruit-laden branch to be plundered and muddied.
 

"On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it."
(Jules Renard)

 

"Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in."
(C.S. Lewis)

 

www.cafod.org.uk
www.careinternational.org.uk
www.doctorswithoutborders.org
www.oxfam.org.uk
www.savethechildren.org.uk
www.syriarelief.org.uk
www.unicef.org.uk
www.wateraid.org
www.worldvision.org.uk
 
 

"Below My Feet"  Mumford and Sons

"Keep the earth below my feet;
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak.
Let me learn from where I have been;
Keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn."
(Dwane, Lovett, Mumford, Marshall)

 

 

"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair."
(Kahlil Gibran)

 

 

"Sweet moderation, desert us not" (Billy Bragg)

"No-one would remember the Good Samaritan if he'd only had good intentions; he had money as well."

"I owe nothing to Women's Lib."

(Margaret Thatcher)

Few people will probably be as divisive in death as in life as Baroness Margaret Hilda Thatcher. Aside from the rather beautifully staged pomp of her funeral at St Paul's Cathedral last week, her recent death has also sparked demonstrations and even some parties, from the former mining communities of the north, down to our very own economically challenged Brighton. The latter is of course infamous for all Thatcherites after the Provisional IRA bombed the Conservative Conference at the Brighton Grand Hotel in 1984.

I feel such "celebrations" are pointless as much as they are in poor taste: the woman has died; berating her "I'm alright Jack" attitude by parading and parodying it after her demise seems grossly hypocritical. But do I feel Margaret Thatcher should have had a ceremonial service with military honours, one step down from a full state funeral? Do I feel that those of us who pay our dues to this country and live increasingly hand-to-mouth should foot the estimated bill of £10 million? Hell no.

I can remember my Mum referring to "Thatcher the Milk Snatcher". Much has been made of Margaret's rise to become the first and still only woman prime minister of these lands. Yet her womanhood was as far removed from my ideals of the protection and equality of femininity as her historical female premiership was from my mother's long widowhood on a pension compromised by motherhood. Margaret Thatcher wasn't unduly bothered about lighting the way for other women: her cabinet was famously a "wimmin-free" zone.
I respect and accept that other members of my own family and some friends remain true-blue Thatcherites. Mine is the socialism of my Mum and Dad; a welfare state with the emphasis on a hand up rather than stop-gap handouts. A grocer's daughter from Grantham, Lincolnshire, she was fortunate enough to marry a rather wealthy man who cushioned her climb up the political ladder. She was a shop keeper's daughter who, sadly, seemed to forget the price of a loaf of bread. 
I'm in agreement with such diverse talking heads as Ken Livingstone, Geoffrey Roberston QC and Gorgeous George Galloway who attribute many of the UK's socio-economic problems today to the destruction of industry and financial de-regulation which featured so heavily in the Thatcher administration. Human rights lawyer Roberson has described the era as one of "unalloyed greed", sold on the huge deception that, pretty much left to their own devices, bankers would allocate resources rationally and for the general good. Thus began a decline in saving and investment and an accumulation of private and public sector debts; a path where the cracks would eventually creep all the way to the banking crisis of 2008. 

The destruction of manufacturing jobs was temporarily masked by opportunism and get-rich-quick schemes; skilled work gave way to a welfare "class"; house-building was usurped by estate agency. It appears to many of us that the policies of Cameron's government have a chillingly familiar ring to them, but there will be no bonanza of new oil to come to the government's rescue, or the country's. 

So clearly, not a fan of Margaret Thatcher then. I admit that I cringed once more when I saw the reportage of her quoting St Francis of Assisi's prayer for unity and harmony as she took office in 1979. But I was even more uncomfortable and very sad watching reports from former industrial communities in South Yorkshire and Scotland of jeering and mocked-up funeral pyres, toasting Maggie's decline in hell. Whilst I object to paying for a song and dance about the death of this elderly lady, I don't wish to see anyone jig on someone else's grave. Margaret Thatcher may not have been for turning, but her death from cardio-vascular distress and stroke, following treatment for bladder cancer and dementia, confirms that the baroness is definitely not returning.

The Dean of St Paul's Cathedral, the Very Reverend Dr David Ison, played a central role in last Tuesday's very public funeral. He took up the deanery at St Paul's after his predecessor resigned over the "Occupy London" protest furore, when anti-capitalist protesters camped outside the Cathedral, close to the Bank of England. Dr Ison has also linked Mrs Thatcher's policies with those of today's coalition. He told CNN International that: 

"You have to ask yourself the question: why it is, 23 years after she left government, Margaret Thatcher is still such a controversial figure and I think part of the answer is we still haven't come to terms with the hurt and anger many parts of society have felt because of the legacy of her policies. And there is some real work to be done here about the relationship between the rich and the poor in our society and how we can work together, instead of being opposed to one another. That's a particular agenda that I think that this funeral will be throwing up and highlighting."

I don't believe the gun carriage and the silencing of Big Ben were appropriate  but I do believe that respect and prayer for another person's passing are. May she rest in the peace we all eventually aspire to, no matter what our earthly advantages or failings. 

"Between the Wars" Billy Bragg

"I kept the faith and I kept voting, 

Not for the iron fist but for the helping hand; 

For theirs is a land with a wall around it 

And mine is a faith in my fellow man; 

Theirs is a land of hope and glory , 

Mine is the green field and the factory floor "

(Billy Bragg) 

"Make me a channel of your peace: 

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 

In giving of ourselves that we receive, 

And in dying that we are born to eternal life." 

(St Francis of Assisi) 

Congratulatio Papa Francisci! White smoke in dark times

White smoke from the chimney at the Sistine chapel in Rome about three hours ago signified to the world's one billion plus Catholics that we have a new Pope. I'm so glad to see the Conclave decide relatively quickly: this feels definitive and positive; reassuring in the face of the recent divisions within the Church and derision from without. 

Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio, from Argentina, is the 266th Pope: the first Latin American pontiff; the first non-European to be elected in over a thousand years, the first Jesuit Pope, the first Pope Francis.
His initial address to the euphoric crowds was confident but humble: it also felt very personal and indicative of the man. He not only gave the traditional blessing but asked the people to pray with him and for him and for Benedict, the Pope Emeritus. I found this very touching. He likened his election to being "fetched" from the very edge of the world. Around forty two percent of the planet's Catholics are from Latin America, although Catholics have notably been leaving the faith in that region in recent years. It seems significant that our new Pope hails from the developing world. 

As a Jesuit, the former Cardinal Bergoglia will be used to looking after himself and living a no-frills existence. He's a Vatican diplomat but is not a university professor type. Regarded as an exceptionally spiritual man, he rides the bus in Buenos Aires from his simple apartment where he cooks and fends for himself, eschewing the more luxurious accommodation and private limousine afforded to cardinals. Of course, this simple life will necessarily change now: hopefully the man will not.

Known to many in Buenos Aires as "Father Jorge" as he visits the poor, he's created new parishes and restructured administration; no mean feat itself in bureaucracy riddled Argentina. A man of quiet but firm voice, he's been outspoken on many issues, including same sex marriage. In 2010, when Argentina became the first Latin American country to legalise marriage between same sex couples, Father Jorge actively encouraged the clergy and the people alike to continue to protest. 
At seventy six years of age, he is perhaps an older new Pope than many of us expected. He was actually the runner-up of the last Conclave in 2005, with the second highest number of votes in all four ballots at that time. He became Archbishop of Buenos Aires in 1998: his role there has often involved speaking publicly about economic and social distress. Although not overtly political, he hasn't hidden the social and political impact of the Gospel in a large country rocked by economic crisis and with a history of social injustice. He studied Liberal Arts in Chile and has a degree in philosophy and a master's in chemistry. In 1973 he was elected Superior of the Jesuit Province of Argentina.
The Jesuits are traditionally "God's Marines": an evangelical, apostolic ministry which today spans more than a hundred countries across six continents. Spanish-born missionary St Francis Xavier was one of seven men along with founder St Ignatius Loyola who pioneered the Jesuit way. In 1534, they professed their vows of poverty and chastity and a special vow of devotion to the Pope. The new pontiff's break with tradition in choosing to become the first Pope Francis may reflect this Jesuit background. Alternatively, he may have chosen the name in honour of St Francis De Sales, the mystic and educator; or of course St Francis of Assisi,  the gentle patron of animals and the environment. What has become clear is that this Pope is a grounded man of humility and a pastor at heart: truly what the Catholic Church has called for at this time.

"Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.

Where there is hatred let me sow love; 

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

Where there is sadness, joy."

(St Francis of Assisi)

King's speeches

"Faith is taking the first step even when you can't see the whole staircase."

(Martin Luther King Jr.)

How many things that made you cry when you were just sixteen, with joy, anger or sadness or from sheer movement of the spirit, would make you weep like a child again today? 
Due to snow, sickness and work, I'm quite behind with my posts. I sincerely and particularly wanted to write something for "Martin Luther King Day", traditionally observed as a holiday across the United States on the third Monday in January since 1986. On 15th January this year, Dr Martin Luther King Jr would have been eighty four years old; instead, on 4th April, the world will remember that it is forty five years since his assassination. This year, MLK Day fell on 21st January, coinciding with the inaugural celebration of U.S. President Barack Obama's second term of office.
I dithered about posting this on Monday: I appreciate that some of my friends from the United States are not supportive of Obama's economic policies; and many Catholics are affronted by his views on homosexual partnerships and women's rights to choose abortion. Personally, I found it both pertinent and poignant that the first ever black president of the United States was being sworn in for an historic second term, with bibles belonging to Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King. I was further moved that Obama deferred to King in his inaugural speech, that all men must be a source of hope to the poor, the sick, the marginalised, the victims of prejudice:
"Not out of mere charity, but because peace in our time requires the constant advance of those principles that our common creed describes; tolerance and opportunity, human dignity and justice. We the people declare today that the most evident of truth that all of us are created equal -- is the star that guides us still; just as it guided our forebears through Seneca Falls and Selma and Stonewall; just as it guided all those men and women, sung and unsung, who left footprints along this great mall, to hear a preacher say that we cannot walk alone; to hear a King proclaim that our individual freedom is inextricably bound to the freedom of every soul on Earth."
When I was fifteen, a few months before my father died, I was sporting two long plaits, an array of anti-racism and anti-this-and-that badges and a permanent petulant frown. My Mum asked Dad to talk some sense into me. She was worried that I was drawing attention to myself by going on rallies and antagonising local fascist groups (I'm sure the National Front in south London found my ribboned plaits particularly irritating). She wanted me to steer clear of anything political, be a bit more "girly" and throw myself more wholeheartedly into the school dances that the nuns organised for their young ladies with the boys from the local Catholic boys' academy. My Dad was a very wise man: instead of talking to me about anything calling itself "politics", he spoke to me about natural equality, justice and goodness. He told me that the late Senator Bobby Kennedy and Dr King were two men with very different backgrounds and voices who shared the same spirit and vision. This became an essence of equality for me.
Baptist minister King became one of the world's most powerful natural orators. My Dad had the transcripts of two of King's most quoted and iconic speeches; "I Have a Dream", from 1963, and the sadly prophetic "Mountain-top" speech, given the day before his death in 1968. He told me to read them and try to understand that real justice had more to do with gentleness and faith than with aggressive sloganeering and political clout. They made me cry. They didn't stop me attending angst-ridden rallies, shouting at the fascist groups in Lewisham High Street (before running away) or being needlessly uppity with the local police, who were only ever caught in the middle. But they touched me in a far deeper and more lasting way than any teenage-targeted rhetoric or subsequent trendy bandwagon cause.
After hearing Obama's own emotive yet punchy inaugural speech on Monday, I decided to listen to King's speeches again, now with the (sometimes dubious) benefit of You Tube. After all these years, the same words made me cry again. Some might say I haven't grown up much: I would say my finest dreams, like those of my father, haven't aged.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." 

"I have decided to stick to love...Hate is too great a burden to bear." 

"Let no man pull you so low as to hate him."

"Never, never be afraid to do what's right, especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake. Society's punishments are small compared to the wounds we inflict on our soul when we look the other way.” 

“Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane." 

"I agree with Dante, that the hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in a period of moral crisis, maintain their neutrality."

"In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."

"Only in the darkness can you see the stars." 

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." 

"It is cheerful to God when you rejoice or laugh from the bottom of your heart."

"A man who won't die for something is not fit

to live." 

"I have a dream that one day little black boys and girls will be holding hands with little white boys and girls... 

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character... I have a dream today."

(Martin Luther King Jr.)

" I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free / One"  The LighthouseFamily

King

"And in the days of those kings the God of Heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed"

(Daniel 2:44)

The Solemnity of Christ the King was established as a feast day by Pope Pius XI in 1925, as an antidote to the extremities of secularism. The intention was to proclaim Christ's royalty over individuals, society, governments, and nations. The feast also marks the end of the church year as the last holy Sunday in the west's liturgical calendar. As well as Roman Catholics, the day is observed by many Anglicans, Methodists and Presbyterians and the Russian Orthodox Church. It's necessarily a moveable feast, always falling between 20th and 26th November: the new church year begins on the first Sunday of Advent, no earlier than 27th. Today is the feast of Christ the King, 2012.
Regal titles are bestowed on Christ throughout the Scriptures: King of Israel, King of the Jews, the King Eternal, the King of Kings. Pope Pius wanted to remind Christians that ultimate allegiance is due to a spiritual ruler in heaven, rather than to any earthly supremacy. We live in an age dripping with hollow honours, "reality TV" celebrities, quangos and unquantifiable qualifications. I admit to voting in the recent local polls to elect a Police Commissioner only because my socialist background seems to compel me to use my vote in any election; seemingly only one of only a few hundred people in Brighton to do so. If you asked me right now to list the line of succession to the British throne beyond Charles and William, I would have to put down my cuppa and think about it for some time.

We currently "boast" a coalition government, clamping together two camps of voters who traditionally have little in common. Across the Atlantic pond, the newly re-elected president will have to sit down with a houseful of representatives who wanted The Other Guy to get in. Around the globe, armies, politicians and monarchs endlessly shape-shift into dictators and genociders. As blue-collar icon Bruce Springsteen, himself rather ironically referred to as "The Boss", observed about men and power: "Poor men want to to be rich, rich men want to be king; a king's not satisfied till he rules everything."

Privilege and power often lend themselves to corruption, but you and I and all the other common or garden folk are also fiercely ruled in other ways; by our fears and addictions, our debts and desires. It feels very credible as well as comforting to celebrate a king as a liberator, an advocate and a saviour; who finds a way into this world in a manger, on a donkey and through the breaking of a loaf of bread.

"Alexander, Caesar, Charlemagne, and I have founded empires. But on what did we rest the creation of our genius? Upon force. Jesus Christ founded His empire upon love; and at this hour millions of men would die for Him."

(Napoleon Bonaparte)

"I am within the mark when I say that all the armies that ever marched, and all the navies that ever were built, and all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned, put together, have not affected the life of man upon this earth as powerfully as has that One Solitary Life."

(James C. Hefley)

"I am an historian, I am not a believer, but I must confess as historian that this penniless preacher from Nazareth is irrevocably the very centre of history. Jesus Christ is easily the most dominant figure in all history."

(H.G. Wells)

 "How Great Thou Art"  Eddi Reader

By George... a new type of dragon

 

 "Upon this charge, cry God for England, Harry and Saint George!"

(from Shakespeare's Henry V)

 

Yesterday, 23rd April, was the anniversary of William Shakespeare's birth and death; also the feast of St George, patron saint of England. I wanted to post something nice and uplifting for St George's Day, but first I wanted to check the outcome of Sunday's march through Brighton by the interestingly named English Defence League. "Interesting", because of course England as part of the United Kingdom has a ready defence in her armed forces. The British Armed Forces are a professional force to be reckoned with: a combined strength of around 190,000 regular personnel and more than 35,000 volunteer reserves: the British Armed Forces constitute the second largest military body in the European Union. Charged with the defence and protection of the UK as a whole plus her "overseas territories and Crown Dependencies", they also promote her wider security interests and support international peacekeeping efforts. Nearly 10 percent of all serving members are from ethnic minorities.
Now, the English Defence League have a mission statement which I have taken the time to read: I was particularly interested to clarify the origins of their name and their obviously proud use of the cross of St George in their logos and promotions. Apparently, the EDL see themselves as "a Human Rights organisation that was founded in the wake of the shocking actions of a small group of Muslim extremists who, at a homecoming parade in Luton, openly mocked the sacrifices of our service personnel without any fear of censure".  I see.  Surely the key here is that this was a small group of extremists? I well remember the reportage of this inexcusable and pathetic behaviour, and the condemnation it drew from British Muslims. The web page does indeed appear to condemn racial prejudice and race-based violence; it acknowledges that there are personnel from ethnic minorities making an invaluable contribution to Britain's armed forces. But it also suggests that Halal restaurants and fast-food establishments should serve non-Halal dishes, out of respect. Hmm. Should pizza establishments be obliged to offer pie, mash and bread and butter pudding? Would I really go to my favourite Indian restaurant and enthusiastically demand egg, chips and a nice fried slice? Or is this simply directed at our Muslim population; and isn't that exclusively targeting? Somewhere, something in my head is still beeping "Racism". However gentle and bland the mission statement and their other formal publicity aims to be, I have read some of the forum comments on the website.
It was important to me as a Christian to be able to include St George's cross in this post, yet I was a bit apprehensive. In this week's New Statesman, George Eaton quotes from a recent poll that only six out of ten of those who describe themselves English associate their national flag with pride and patriotism, compared with eight out of ten in similar polls in both Scotland and Wales. Even more depressing, one in three of the English interviewees under the age of forty think of racism and extremism when they see St George's Cross. This sad attitude has been attributed to the reputation for appalling behaviour of some of our football supporters, but also to the toxification of the flag by the extremism and sometimes "street hooligans" membership of some semi-politicised, socially divisive groups. The red cross on a white background has been associated with St George since medieval times, adopted in the coat of arms and flags of several countries and cities of which St George is patron, notably England, Georgia, Aragon, Greece, Genoa and Barcelona. For centuries, and notably as carried by crusaders throughout Europe during the crusades, it has long been referred to as "God's Flag". This interpretation was carried to America by the early Church of England and Anglican communities. Recognised as God's Flag rather than representing any nationality, it is the only flag allowed to fly (in pennant form) higher than the United States national flag in certain restricted circumstances: specifically during church services for naval personnel when masses are conducted by a naval chaplain at sea.
During the first Crusade, the Pope decided that knights of different nationalities should be distinguished by different crosses. English crusaders originally wore a white cross on red; French crusaders a red cross on white, Italian knights a yellow cross on a white. However, at some stage, English crusaders began wearing the red cross. In the late twelfth century, Phillip II of France agreed to the English claim to the red cross on white. Subsequently, as the majority of Christian crusaders had been associated with the symbol, it became the standard flag of the crusaders. Already in widespread use, in 1277 St George's cross officially became the flag of England, with the three lions retained as the coat of arms of the monarchy. The cross may also be formally displayed by churches of the Church of England.

There were about 150 marchers from the EDL at Brighton station on Sunday, rather fewer than the official defence forces of these islands. Several were wearing the cross of St George in their insignias, although some had their faces covered. They were met by more than 400 anti-fascism protesters: as one of my neighbours said, we may be a bunch of latter-day, seaside hippies in Brighton, but we don't take kindly to this kind of thing. Of course, the long-suffering police and their poor beleaguered horses were in the midst of it all. There isn't a chapter of the EDL in Brighton, but they've marched here before and I sense they will do again. Brighton doesn't have a history of racial tension and it's not what we want for the future of the city. The most recent census shows that nearly ninety five percent of the population is white with less than five percent of mixed race backgrounds or from ethnic minorities. Around sixty percent of the population call themselves Christian: less than two percent are Muslim. The EDL gathering on their mission in Brighton reminds me of the invasive presence of the despicable National Front when I was growing up in south London. They were times that grounded me and bonded me to my beliefs, but they're still unpleasant memories.
I wonder just how much these staunch self-appointed defenders and crusaders know about the man beyond the flag. George wasn't England's first patron saint. His veneration spread to the Roman empire from the Middle East during the fourth century. He was canonised in 494AD by Pope Gelasius, but his popularity as a militant Christian martyr and a medieval man's man really developed from Richard the Lionheart's devotion to him. Richard believed that the saint appeared to him to encourage him and his despondent crusaders. In 1222, the Council of Oxford declared 23rd April to be St George’s Day and he eventually replaced St Edmund the Martyr as England’s patron saint in the 14th century. In 1415, 23rd April became a national feast day.
St George is now probably globally known as the patron saint of England and legendary slayer of the dragon. He's also the patron protector of soldiers, archers, knights, saddlers, sword-cutlers, scouts, of horses, of those suffering from fevers and plagues... He's regarded as one of the most prominent of the military saints and is venerated in the Anglican and Eastern and Oriental Orthodox churches as well as Catholicism. Something of an exception amongst Christian saints, St George is also known and respected in the Muslim faith: his standing in the Middle East derives from a composite character pieced together from Biblical and Qu'ranic sources as well as folklore. Most Muslims revere Saint George, identifying him with the Prophet Elijah, and have long allowed Christians to celebrate an annual mass at his supposed tomb in Palestine, in what is now a consecrated mosque. The first church in the Middle East to be dedicated to St. George, in 514AD, was also sited in an existing mosque. In fact, the first recorded "George and the dragon" legend tells that he killed the beast at the seashore in Beirut; a popular shrine grew up there in the early 20th century.
Traditionally, George lived between  275 - 303AD, a Roman soldier in the guard of the emperor Diocletian. Disappointingly for the EDL, it seems very unlikely his feet walked upon England's green and pleasant land. There seems to be strong historical evidence that he was born to a noble Christian family, either in Syria or Turkey, and that he died in Nicodemia, about sixty miles east of the modern city of Istanbul. His father was a famed Roman officer named Gerontius and his mother Polychronia was from Palestine. The Latin name "Georgius" means "worker of the land". By the time he was in his late teens, both his parents had died; at this point he decided to travel to Nicodemia to present himself to the emperor for military service. Within ten years, George was promoted to the rank of tribunus, an imperial guard. However, Diocletian's favours were fickle: in 302AD, he issued an edict that all Christian soldiers in his army should be arrested and that his soldiers must make sacrifice to the Roman gods. The strength of George's faith came to the fore: he publicly renounced the edict and proclaimed himself a Christian. Nor willing to lose his best tribune and the son of a legendary warrior, the emperor offered George money, land and slaves if he would bow to the Roman gods and make sacrifice to them. George resolutely refused all his offers and bribes. Exasperated, Diocletian ordered his execution. Before his death, legend tells that George gave away everything he owned to the poor. He was tortured horribly at length, including laceration on a wheel of swords. He was resuscitated three times before he was finally beheaded, on 23rd April in 303AD. Apparently, witness reports of his torture and death led to the conversion to Christianity of the empress, Alexandra, and a pagan priest named Athanasius. The latter would become St Athanasius the Great and one of the acknowledged pillars of Christianity. George's body was taken to Palestine, where a cult of veneration quickly grew up around his story.

Eastern Orthodox depictions of St George slaying a dragon often include a young maiden, looking on from a distance. Traditional iconographic interpretation of the tale is that the dragon represents Satan or evil itself; therefore in this instance the Roman Empire. The maiden is presumed to be Alexandria, the emperor's wife. The legend of St George and the dragon originated during the Crusades. The western version evolved as the thirteenth century poem "The Golden Legend", originally an epic in Latin with a distinctly courtly romantic flavour that tinctures the holy narrative. This widely popular poem was recited in many versions, resulting in the localising of the adventure in very different places. Where and how this poem originated remains a part of The Golden Legend itself. Essentially, a dragon or perhaps a crocodile nests at the site of the water-spring at the city, possibly in Libya or the Holy Land. The people cannot collect their water because of the terrifying reptile; to pass to the spring, they have to offer it a sacrifice of a sheep, or failing that a maiden. Having drawn lots, one day the king's own daughter is the elected unfortunate. Enter St George, who faces the dragon, slays him and rescues the princess. The king and his people are so grateful that they immediately convert to Christianity. There are obvious parallels with ancient tales pre-dating Christianity, of Perseus' rescue of Andromeda from the sea-monster and even with Zeus' defeat of Typhon the Titan: yet George's dragon may often represent pagan cults. There have been various suggestions that George's tale is a Christianised version of that of older deities in indo-european culture. From the time of Hercules, wherever there has been a dragon, there has been a George.
St. George and his dragon sometimes surface around rural England in "Mummers plays" at Easter and Christmas: traditional folk dramas based on tales championing Christendom. On 23rd April, English scouts and guides groups often organise local parades and attend mass in honour of their patron. Traditionally, St George's Day is the day to wear the red rose of England in your button-hole. However, England does not celebrate it as Americans celebrate 4th July. In fact, you're more likely to see a St Patrick's Day parade in England than you would a St George's Day celebration. Personally and as a Christian, I would welcome the revival of his feast day as one of national festivities. I'm not so sure of St George's pleasure as a figurehead of groups like the EDL. St George was traditionally unafraid and intolerant of bullies and oppressors;  a defender of those unwilling to compromise their right to practise their faith. I wonder where he would have seen the dragon on Sunday outside Brighton station? As a peaceable vegetarian and Catholic, I do hope the EDL members managed to grab a tasty kebab before they caught their trains back home.

"Now order the ranks, and fling wide the banners, for our souls are God's and our bodies the king's, and our swords are for St George and for England"

(Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)

"Jerusalem"  sung by Paul Robeson

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"Gratitude is the Memory of the Heart": Sisters of the Good Shepherd

"The coming generations will learn equality from poverty, love from woes."

(Khalil Gibran)

Photo: Gigi

Nuns - just how much d'you know about 'em? Quiet, retiring, gentle ladies who live away from the world as Brides of Christ, pray a lot and sing beautifully? Well, I was taught by nuns from the age of six; some were quiet, shy and retiring, others not so much! At various stages, nuns taught me to hopscotch expertly, play netball very badly, swear in French and Latin and how to tell the gender of a hedgehog (answer: with difficulty). I've known nuns to be feisty, grumpy, arty and hilarious. What the majority of them have had in common was a faith in God and a belief in the essential goodness of people.
I belong to a section of the Catholic Women's League outside of Brighton; recently, the group invited a lovely nun from the Philippines to talk at our monthly meeting. Some of the group had already met Sister Genny from the Sisters of the Good Shepherd when she joined the recent Parish Retreat. She's currently staying at Geo House in Ashurst, Hampshire; a retreat and mission centre jointly formed by the Volunteer Missionary Movement and the Montfort Missionaries. Those of us she spoke to, even briefly, on our coach journey were greatly impressed by her warmth, humility and the obvious joy she's found in the missionary work of her order. We were keen to hear her speak more about their global communities.

Sister Genny welcomed the opportunity to share the dedication of her congregation with the CWL: which is primarily to protect, educate and help women and girls around the world. The Roman Catholic Order of the Religious of the Good Shepherd (there is now an Anglican community for women which has the same name) was originally a branch of Our Lady of Charity of the Refuge, founded in seventeenth century France by St John Eudes. He was personally dedicated to opening safe-houses for prostituted and abused women and children. After the French Revolution, these established communities rehabilitated displaced women and orphaned infants. Genny reminded us that in times of war and social deprivation, women and children are often still the most affected.
The congregation was modelled on St John Eudes' order, founded by St Mary Euphrasia (Pelletier) in Angers, France, in 1835. The Sisters of the Good Shepherd today are guided in their missions by her words; she believed that "One person is of more value than a world". Canonised in 1940 for her lifelong devotion and fidelity, she originally used donations to "purchase" and house female African slaves who had been brought to Europe. In her lifetime, more than a hundred Good Shepherd convents were opened, establishing sixteen provinces throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, South America and the United States. In 2010, the congregation was comprised of more than five thousand Sisters working in seventy two countries, now including provinces in Oceania. Originally a cloistered order, it's now largely apostolic: with Sisters working and residing in deprived communities as outreach workers, social workers, special needs teachers, health care advisers, nurses and advocates for social justice and change.

She spoke movingly of the work of the order in her homeland. The Philippines is a huge archipelago of seven thousand islands and the Sisters now have communities spanning at least one hundred of them of them. Her family are indigenous to the country; the Philippines have multiple ethnicities, having been claimed by several empires over the centuries, only gaining independence in 1945. Genny told us that the indigenous population has historically been forced further into the mountains and forests. These areas are not only vulnerable to the scores of typhoons and seasonal floods which hit the islands each year, but have also been plundered by overseas mining and wood-trade corporations; unfortunately, I learned that one of the largest mining companies to stake a claim there is British. She stressed that it's often difficult to talk about a loving God to those with hungry stomachs. As well as educating previously unschooled children, the Sisters are involved in re-working rural areas to provide local trades and goods. One of the local communities of the Good Shepherd opened a training centre for young people; this centre now produces internationally acclaimed jams, marmalade and peanut butter!

With the twelfth largest population in the world, an additional eleven million Filipinos live overseas; 81% of these migrant workers are women, traditionally sending money home to the Philippines. Genny explained that sex-trafficking is still rife in the Philippines, as it is elsewhere in the world. Often, "jobs overseas" are promised to girls by neighbours or even family members; the girls are unwittingly sent across the world to a life of modern-day slavery. The Sisters provide a presence in airports and areas known to be part of this trade. As well as counselling abused women and children and providing sanctuaries, there are now Good Shepherd centres providing guidance on International Labour Laws and advising migrant workers on welfare rights and benefits and, of course, loneliness and homesickness. Genny had recently asked to visit the "red-light" areas in Southampton, a stone's throw from the leafy grounds of the priory she's been staying in. She says her personal preconceptions have been challenged by her experiences as a nun: how love for families and the need to survive and can still force the disadvantaged and marginalised to compromise and even endanger themselves. We may find the idea of prostitution distasteful, yet it's a strong love that will force a mother onto the streets for her child, or a daughter for her elderly parents. Or simply for food, to see another week.

"Hope has two beautiful daughters: their names are anger and courage. Anger that things are the way they are. Courage to make them as they ought to be."

(St Augustine)

In 1996, the Sisters of the Good Shepherd became affiliated with the United Nations as an NGO (Non-governmental Organisation). This enables them to actively work with or on occasion challenge the UN to promote justice and peace where there is poverty, inequality, victimisation and conflict. In the UK, some Good Shepherd homes have been taken over by Social Services, but there are still some communities in Newcastle, Manchester, Kent and London; also in Ireland. Sisters in the UK sell Fairtrade produce from Thailand to raise funds. "HandCrafting Justice" was created by the Sisters of the Good Shepherd in 1997 as a fairtrade marketplace for goods produced in developing regions sponsored by the order. The approach is holistic, providing spiritual empowerment and economic opportunity; telling the stories of the craftsmen and women to those buying the handmade goods. As well as Thailand and the Philippines, goods are marketed from across Africa, Asia, the Americas and the Pacific. And of course, you can shop "HandCrafting Justice" online! They have some truly beautiful and unique things: www.handcraftingjustice.org

Genny will be returning to the Philippines in May, to learn where her next mission will be. She spoke to me of working in her beloved homeland but also of her concern for the women and children in stricken Syria and Lebanon. She speaks about the work of the order and her own experiences without reference to notes and seemingly often without drawing breath! She speaks from the heart and is just naturally charismatic. Note to my brother-in-law if he should ever read this post: Sister Genny would dispel your notion that nuns are shy, silent and mousey and don't live in The Real World. Wherever she finds herself needed, I hope she'll stay in touch with her new friends in the UK.

 

"Gratitude is the Memory of the Heart"

(St Mary Euphrasia)

"A Woman's Heart"  Eleanor McEvoy (with Mary Black)