On this Mountain

Street Lighting

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 21:30:00 +0000

The remnants of St Francis continue for another week. This time, the church for which he had become patron for 70 years and more in a place far, far away from where he once trod. Assisi and Splott are miles apart. In more ways than one. A few years ago, I was really privileged to celebrate Mass at Assisi with a pilgrimage group from St John's School, Aberdare. We only spent a day in Assisi and it was enough for me to know that I would like to return. This morning we discreetly remembered the closure of St Francis' Church in 1969, forty years ago this week. In my reading of its history, one reason for its building was the lack of adequate street lighting which made it difficult or impractical or impossible, perhaps, for people to get to St Saviour's from Lower Splott. These days we have more than adequate street lighting!

It amazes me how the congregation at St Saviour's can fluctuate from one week to the next. Today there were 34 communicants, the previous two weeks it was closer to fifty. Somewhere we have lost or missed or missed out on 16 communicants. Where have they gone? Where are they? What has happened? Each one has a different story to tell, each leading a different life, at a different pace, with different challenges and changes. Should I call on the 16? Should I have a marathon week of visiting? Perhaps, yes. Indeed, yes!! And yet 'the Diocese' has decided that the Parish of Roath St Saviour is a half time post (three days including a Sunday) If, this week, I should call on the 16 people who have not brightened the doors of St Saviour's this Sunday (for whatever reason) that would mean, perhaps, 16 hours of visiting (give or take the travelling in between) which works out as two days, which leaves me with Sunday to...well, you get the idea. The nights are drawing in. The visting will continue into the late hours. At least, these days, there is adequate street lighting.

I wonder who decides what? Has there been an audit, a survey, a questioning and pondering, a 'looking into' and a 'looking at?' Has there been an asking of this question or that, a peering or perusing, an interest or an interesting enquiry? Not to my knowledge - which means little, I suppose. But I'm not aware that anyone (on a Diocesan level, that is) has been illuminated on what the parish would need for the Kingdom of God to be proclaimed in Splott. And so we wait for the 16 to brighten the doors of the church again on Sunday. What a welcome light they will bring. How warming. How lovely. How welcome a return. The Diocesan Strategy, meanwhile, remains in darkness about what is required. Meanwhile, we have more than adequate street lighting.

It is Dark Now

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 22:34:00 +0000

An early start. The alarm kicks off at 6.00 am and it's 15 minutes and three snooze buttons later that I eventually rise from bed. Kitty wants to be fed and sniff the cold air, and as I sneak open the front door I hear the squeek or squeal of 'Blackie' sitting outside, waiting, patiently, for warmth and breakfast. It is a cold morning. I feed him, and his black fur is cold. His ears are even colder. Half an hour (and a shower and shave) later I am making my way to the station, the lights of the city centre still bright against the autumn dawn sky. The 7.11 train to Aberdare is always relatively quiet and I spend the time reading The Times and writing notes. Today it is Mass and Blessing of Pets at St John's School, and there are several dogs, three small kittens cwtched together in a cat box, a tortoise called Shelly and a stick insect called Sticky. The Mass is outdoors. It is lovely and frosty, the sun low in the sky, offering only a gentle warmth. It has almost burnt out, it seems. The animals do not seem to mind being splashed by holy water.

I arrive home at One. The afernoon is spent meandering over the keyboard of my laptop, writing school assemblies for the new website, putting together the parish bulletin, arranging the Mass for the October Walsingham Devotions in Aberdare on Saturday and replying to various emails. I escape for an hour to watch TV. Repeats. Replays. Killing time. I have kicked off my shoes. Before I know it, it is after six and time to leave. I splash water on my face to revive me.

Tonight is Mass at St Saviour's. As I leave, as I sneak open the front door I hear the squeek or squeal of 'Blackie' sitting outside, waiting, patiently. I give him what he wants. He is satiated by a dish food. It is a brisk twenty minutes walk for Mass, there and back. On the way home a woman with red high heeled shoes stands on the corner of Sanquahar Street, waiting, patiently, for warmth and breakfast. She will get neither. It's been a while since I have passed any of the women who walk (or rather, stand) this way from time to time. I think they move from place to place or, perhaps more accurately, they are moved on from place to place. I keep my head down. Tonight I am not asked if I would like to trade. Across the Magic Roundabout, Tyndall Street is quiet and, for a while, I am trailed by two insinificant significant men who mean no harm but I always have my wits about me. The traffic makes it ways up and down, up and down, the neon lights of hotels glimmering in the night. It is dark now.

Too Wet, Too Woo!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 21:36:00 +0000

It's been a, well, rather 'wet' day today, to say the least. So much so that I got a taxi to Mass this morning...although was that more to do with meandering in the house, clutching at 'work' and leaving it to the last possible minute to leave, too late to walk?! My afternoon walk from Aberdare Station to St John's School was even more wet - it always rains more in the valleys, it seems! - and when I arrived at the lower gate of the school I discovered it locked - my short cut taken away from me - and so more battling with rain and a large umbrella which I, alas, after the Governor's meeting, left in school. My memory is not my stong point! I just hope it's fine tomorrow! Otherwise I shall put off the whole 'going out' thing altogether!

Meanwhile, this evening, I have been putting off the whole 'going to bed' thing! I have been using every possible available moment today to get on with a new resource. I'm working, as fast as I can, on a School Assembly Website, which gathers together what amounts to 8 years of delivering assemblies and writing dramas and other miscellaneous items as Youth Chaplain. Unfortunately, I am not the best person at filing things neatly away or even keeping notes at all (most of my homilies and assemblies, originally scribbled on bits of paper, get consigned to the bin) so many of my attempts have been lost in my memory bin, and that takes some sifting! My memory is not my strong point!

Now, then, what was I saying....? Oh yes, bins and filing, which reminds me: behind the closed door of (what I refer to as) my secondary study lies several piles of paperwork, all to be filed. Most of it, I'm sure - if it ever gets to a file - will never see the light of day again! Which makes me wonder how much purpose most of the paperwork we generate ever serves anyway. At the Governor's meeting today a request was made by several people (including myself) to receive items in electronic form. There is no more group or committee of which I have been a part that does not generate more paperwork than School Governors and I would far prefer it 'neatly' filed away on my computer than lying somewhere on my study floor! Mind you, with November 5th not too far way, all the paperwork I have received and created over several months, and which lies around lazily waiting to be filed and attended to, would make a great bonfire. It's a shame it's all so wet! It would make great burning. Too-wet, too-woo. Goodnight.

Cat and Mouse

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 21:08:00 +0000

It's been one of those days of sitting in front of the computer, I'm afraid, so what better way to end the day than sitting in front of the computer?! I have worked on various websites and resources, trying to get to grips with things that I've been mulling in my mind for some time now, pushing my mouse around my pad, clicking and reclicking, trying to get things right. It's been a game of cat and mouse: attempting to pounce on something that is worth pouncing on; trying to find that one thing that will make it all worthwhile. I think, at last, I have found it, although it will take some time to bear fruit. Another click of the mouse. Ha ha.

A colleague of mine, one who has embraced technology and the internet and blogging in particular as a means of communicating the gospel was once asked by the bishop how he found time to blog. I think that's a rather narrow minded misunderstanding on the part of the bishop, and I was comforted in a recent email conversation with my colleague to hear him say, 'No matter what anyone else says (especially those in authority) writing websites and blogging IS work. It's a form of open public reflective practice - words, images, presentation format, more than just writing or speaking and it does the brain good. Its' a way of sowing seeds, publicising, starting a debate maybe influencing things once there's a bit of an audience.' Another divine click of the mouse. Ha ha.

Tomorrow will be a very different day: Mass at 10 in the morning, followed by an erratic stuffing of 200 envelopes for a mailing I need to do, and then on the train at 12.15 for a School Governer's meeting in Aberdare. A day away from the computer. Mass, Meetings and Mailings. It's not all about mouse-pushing, you know! Meanwhile the black stray cat I have been feeding for some months now is asleep downstairs, curled up on the chair, where he has been for a few hours. Content. The other cat I adopted in May isn't too happy. She looks at me in disgust, looks at 'Blackie' with even more disgust, and then promptly eats his food. Soon 'Blackie' will be turfed out into the night. The one and only time I allowed him to sleep indoors the house was left with a, well, less than lovely aroma and I was left to scrub and clean. I feel a bit guilty about evicting him. But I'm sure he'll find a mouse or two.

Animal Instinct

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 18:40:00 +0000

So the former French President is poochless. Jacques Chirac has been forced to give away his dog who has now bitten him three times. The aptly named Sumo, a Maltese Terrier, is now enjoying life on a farm after, says Mrs Chirac, suffering from depression on leaving the Elysee Palace. The dog has had problems downsizing, it seems, from the freedom of the large palace gardens to a smaller, more modest apartment. Earlier this year, Mr Chirac was hospitalised after the dog sank his teeth into an unnamed body part. In the latest attack, Mrs Chirac said Sumo was lying quietly at her feet but flew into a violent rage as her husband approached, biting the former French leader in the stomach. "I was very scared because there was blood,' she said. 'It's terrible, the small teeth like that. He was going wild. He wanted to jump up and bite again.'

There were no bites or blood or scrams or violent rages today at St Saviour's for the Blessing of Animals on the Feast of St Francis'...despite the mix of one cat, three dogs, a hamster, two giant snails, two praying mantis and a dove. There are many stories of saints awash with animals: St Cuthbert having his feet dried and warmed by an otter, St Francis preaching to birds and befriending a wolf, St Kevin waiting patiently, palms up, whilst a bird nested in his hand, until the eggs hatched and the youngsters flew the nest. Holiness and intimacy with creation appear to go hand in hand, it seems. Are they just fanciful pieces of folklore, stories spun out of all proportion? Certainly when it comes to appreciating the natural world there is not always room for emotion or sentimentality. But sometimes, perhaps, there is room for intimacy and well, yes, love.

Whilst spending time (some years ago now!) on my ordination retreat, we were regularly attacked by a seagull who swooped down into the college grounds, its shrill threatening cry ringing in our ears, the flap of feather just a few (webbed) feet away. But the seagull could be forgiven. She/he was just protecting the young who had flown the nest. But I felt far from holy. Where was Kevin, Cuthbert and Francis when you needed them? Glorying, perhaps, in the splendour and wonder of creation, appreciating the flap of feather, the beautifully created bird of the sea. We were just watching our heads.

Link to Chirac Story

Spinning Saints and Pointless Pirouettes

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 13:13:00 +0000

I love the story of St Francis, standing at the crossroads, accompanied by his brother friars, and not knowing which way to turn. Francis instructed them to stand on the spot and spin and spin until he shouted, 'Stop!' The direction in which they faced was the direction in which they were to travel to share the gospel. It's a pertinent story for me at the moment because at St Saviour's tomorrow we will celebrate St Francis of Assisi - there was once a church dedicated to the spinning saint in the parish - closed forty years ago next Sunday (and next Sunday we shall remember the church that stood at the lower end of Splott. Not just in a melancholic manner but in order, too, to value the present and, of course, move on). However, the story is personally pertinent for another reason. For some time now I have felt a bit like those confused friars, standing at the crossroads, not knowing which to turn. Spinning, spinning, listening for the 'Stop' of a saint to break their seemingly pointless pirouette.

For more than a year I have been thinking about where to go next. Surely I can't remain as Youth Chaplain indefinitely. Where can I go? What shall I do? Since reducing my Youth Chaplaincy duties to half-time and adopting (or rather being adopted by) the people of St Saviour's Splott for another half-time post I thought, perhaps, I should return to parish ministry full-time and leave someone else to do what they can do for Youth Ministry in the diocese. Things appear to be going well at St Saviour's and there is so much to do and (accompanied by my 'Diocesan' naivety and my commitment to the parish) I thought perhaps it would be possible to stay there. Alas, the process hasn't been as easy or as quick as I thought. Spinning, spinning. Four months after attempting to arrange a meeting with the diocesan bishops I have finally received an answer to my very straightforward suggestion: the answer was quite easy to understand once I spelt it out! 'Stay as you are with the two half-time posts or apply for a job elsewhere.' I have paraphrased, of course. All along I have been dancing a pointless pirouette.

Here I was, after much spinning and standing still, not so much at a crossroads but at a T-junction. I even had a little list suggested by one of the bishops as to why it's really not so bad to leave your home diocese. I felt frustrated, overlooked, undermined and undervalued and, most importantly, as though I was going nowhere (apart from spinning on the spot). However, since the only two options available were to stay as I am or leave altogether, I have now reached my own turning point (as opposed to a 'spinning point' - the 'spinning' has stopped). So I have decided to stay as I am, in a manner of speaking of course. My decision doesn't mean that I'm not moving on - it means making the most of the few options available to me, looking at things differently, and taking things in a different direction. I have heard the 'Stop' of a saint and closed my ears, for now, to the bureaucratic banalities and parsonic perambulations. This is the turning point. There is no more spinning. I just have to cope with the dizziness now.

Time for One More?

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 08:37:00 +0000

I spent the day at home yesterday. Not a bad place to be after six days away. And yet the holiday mood still clung closely. Still a good holiday read waiting to be finished, still the lethargy and laziness hanging around. I spent a lot of my holiday time reading, relaxing, walking, eating, drinking, meandering and musing, enjoying the pleasure of nothing to do. I took exactly the correct number of books. Two volumes of the 'Chronicles of Narnia'(one of which I completed on my arrival) a little children's book called 'Once' by Morris Gleitzman, a larger teenage read called 'Twilight' by Stephanie Meyer, and 'The Knife of Never Letting Go' by Patrick Ness (which I completed last night). Each of them was a good read - for very different reasons. I am, at the moment, still immersed in the genre of young people's literature, which is a far more subtle, complicated, demanding, creative and creatively profound genre than many people may imagine!

Yesterday, I caught a video trailer on Stephen Fry's website abut the stories of Oscar Wilde, where Stephen hails Wilde as so many different things and describes how discovering his works when he was young changed the way he viewed literature and language. He was particularly enamoured by his children's stories - they are indeed a moving example of parables, powerfully crafted, language cleverly mastered, delivering truth through story and words. It would be such a waste to think that many adults miss out on what this genre offers! For me, reading a novel, is as good a spiritual read as any devotional book! And children's literature features very strongly in that!

The best Children's literature does indeed deal with important issues, and sometimes rather surprising issues and images emerge. 'Once' deals with the real horrors of the Jewish Holocaust. Aimed at 9 to 12 year olds it is written with sensitivity and fragile honesty. 'Twilight' - although dressed in the fantasy horror world of vampires - really deals with love: what it means to love and be loved, and what it means to be human. 'The Knife of Never Letting Go' has all the ingredients of a book that I really shouldn't enjoy (with talking dogs and spaceships and all!) but it worked beautifully, which meant that I found it difficult to put down: it deals with issues of choice and repsonsibility, what it means to grow up and become a man, what it means to know the truth of who we are, and how we discover and understand the world (and there isn't even a happy ending!) Now that I am home I am very tempted to pick up one or two books that have been lying around the house for some time, waiting to be read or waiting to be completed. But alas there is work to do! A long list has already emerged on my note pad of things to do today. Or do I have just time for one more parable before work really begins?

The Farmer and the Head Mischief

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 12:56:00 +0000

A school is a very different place when the children are not there! So after Mass this morning it was nice to have a tour of Moorlands School today to meet the staff and children. My first visit had been a Governor's meeting and there was a distinct absence of children then and no real idea of what the school felt like! Today though was different! A quick coffee in the staff room and then a wander from class to class, seeing children at their work (and play!), having a quick conversation with members of staff and children alike. 'Are you a Head Mischief?' asked one little girl. I knew what she was asking...but I was neither a head mistress or 'a head mischief!' It reminds me of one of my visits to a primary school when I was a Curate in Barry. 'Are you a real farmer?' I was asked in the playground. I didn't, at first, know what the little boy was asking. Me? A farmer? Of course not. At least, I don't think so. Was it something I was wearing? If I turned to look behind me would I see a flock of sheep that had sneaked up behind me in a Disneyesque fashion?! Ahh, farmer! I quickly told him that, 'No, I wasn't Farmer Dean. I was Father Dean. Now he had to work out what that one meant! But soon he was busy rescuing his ball from the drain! Perhaps he never gave it a second thought!

This afternoon it was another school. This time the more auspicious surroundings of the Cathedral School in Llandaff to work with a group of Year Sixers to plan a Mass for a Chaplain's conference (to be held there in February). The task today? To explore what we would do if we could change the world! There were many different propositions! From having 'Chocolate Friday' when everyone in the world was given chocolate (why stop at Fridays I thought?!) to making sure that everyone had a job or a home. Perhaps the chocolate idea wouldn't be too favourable in the eyes of the recently announced £1.4m strategy from the Welsh Assembly to tackle obesity in children aged 7 to 13 years - but perhaps it was an apt suggestion from a pupil in a school where Roald Dahl was once a pupil!

It's been many years since I picked up a Roald Dahl book to read. In fact I only ever remember reading one or two when I was a child. At the moment I am making up for lost time and making my way through the Chronicles of Narnia (none of which I have read before!) I started with The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and have just started The Magician's Nephew but even though they are very slim volumes, simply written for children, I always seem to be ready for sleep as soon as I clutch the pages! It's where I'm off now I think. So it's up the stairs I go, clutching my C.S. Lewis! Maybe I'll get to the third chapter tonight before I fall asleep! I'm not sure why I'm so tired...maybe it's all the farming I'm doing!

On the Buses

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 11:51:00 +0000

I am impressed by their missionary zeal, their rapid response, their colourful collection of words clinging to the sides of buses up and down and across the country. The people behind the Humanist Advertising campaign which splashes a moving message across our towns and cities simply reads: 'There's probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.' I don't see the problem myself. The campaign was began in response to various Christian advertising campaigns that have appeared in the same place (and whose webistes promised 'non-Christians an eternity of torment in a lake of fire.' Ouch!) I'm not sure what worrying or lack of enjoyment I experience as a result of actually believing that there is a God, mind, but the Atheist advertisers have, in my mind, every right to spread their message. 'There's no God.' 'Probably' Or as Richard Dawkins says, 'Almost certainly.'

Since I gave up my car a couple of years ago I have spent much time on buses and trains and have rather enjoyed the experience. There have been a few occasions of frustration caused by late arrivals, non arrivals, delays and missed buses but apart from that I quite like travelling by public transport. For the most part things work well. The journey gives me time to think or read or grapple with the crossword or catch up with some work or watch the world go by or, rather, watching the world watching me go by. Criss crossing through each other's lives, all going somewhere, anywhere, moving on, moving away. I wonder how many of my fellow travellers worry about the existence of God or if their lives are only half enjoyed because they just don't know what or who is out there or up there or if there is anything or anyone anywhere that makes it all worthwhile.

A Christian bus driver has refused to drive a bus that carries the campaign. I see his point but I won't be waving the next bus on because of what message it carries. Rather, I shall see the irony of being carried along by a bus that proclaims that there probably isn't a God. After all, I shall be planning my school assembly (to be delivered to a mixed bag of Christians, atheists, agnostics or 'couldn't care lessers') or writing a homily or grappling with the crossword or watching the world watching me go by: making my way through my day, through my life, trying to get somewhere. Like everyone else on the bus. Or maybe, just maybe, I shall be on a bus telling me that 'Every little helps' or one that entices me to try the new Flame Grill Burger from McDonalds. Either way, I hope I shall arrive safely.

The stories may be found at:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/hampshire/7832647.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/7813812.stm

What day is it, again?

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 16:04:00 +0000

The people you meet. The three individuals who came to the morning Mass (it is still a nice surprise to see who finds their way to the daily Octave Mass - today, two older ladies: Stella who is, I am discovering, a regular weekday worshipper, and Peggy, a lady I met for the first time a couple of days ago and who remembers worshiping in the old St Francis Church and whose statue and altar have, in addition to her, found their way into St Saviour's. And then there is Sue, whose face is a familiar one from attending the regular diocesan youth events with her husband and High School son). After Mass I spend some time sorting a few things out in church and I meet a collection of people wandering up the Church path. One of them recognises me - she works at St Teilo's School. The rest are her visitors looking for names on the war memorial outside. They find the name they are looking for, and I hear the clicking of the camera as I leave them to their business of remembering. An elderly lady in the queue behind me at the Co-op Store asks what day it is. I pause awhile not being able to recall the actual day of the week. We are, for a little while, united in our confusion. I have no excuse. Age is on her side.

Later that afternoon, a phonecall. I have forgotten a funeral visit, and I rush out of the house, grabbing my coat and scarf and remembering the old lady in the Co-op store. What day is it, again? I rush across to Grangetown to meet someone whose elderly mother has died and whose funeral is next week at St Saviour's Church, and, for the duration of my rather brisk walk, I wish I had never abandoned my car several years ago! The son and his wife accept my apologies graciously. His mother had been born and brought up in Splott and had, in fact, been baptised at St Francis' Church. We talk awhile. Memories. Sadness. Some laughter. Leaving the couple behind I walk back across the bridge on the Taff Embankment. A lady in a red car beckons to me. She is a worshipper from St Dyfrig and Samson's Church and kindly stopped to give me a lift over the bridge and back to the house. She is on her way to her son's house in Splott to walk his dog, and she takes a slight detour to deliver me safely home.

When I get in I check my diary to make sure I haven't missed any other appointments or that there aren't any looming over me and which I need to pay attention to. But the rest of the day is free, it seems. I double check to make sure I have the correct day. What day is it again? Ah yes, Tuesday. The 30th. In my mind, the lady in the Co-op smiles at me. There is a twinkle in her eye. Age is on her side. I wonder what she remembers and what she forgets and if we have more in common than just forgetting what day of the week it is. And I wonder too if, one day, I will stand in the middle of a shop asking the person in front of me what day it is and if I will remember forgetting a funeral visit.

Home is where...

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 20:11:00 +0000

Back to blogging, I think! It's merely an excuse to do something constructive after sitting at the computer for over an hour trying to find some work to stimulate me, and discovering that I'm not really in the mood! I spent a a few hours the other day filing and refiling and so, apart from a miscellaneous pile of junk that seems to cling to my filing tray from one re-sorting to the next (and which should really be thrown out)there is nothing that I want to do. There are plenty of things that I could do but nothing that I want to do, which means that anything I choose to do will take twice as much time and twice as much effort. I am a great advocate for putting off until tomorrow anything that can wait! And so that is what I shall do!

On Wednesday I will be licensed as priest in charge of Roath St Saviour's. My ministry will change somewhat, I am certain - but that is a good thing, and I am looking forward to it. One can soon find themselves meandering through ministry and, whilst that is a good image (reminiscent of the Israelites wandering or meandering through the desert!), it cannot go on for ever! Having said that, God speaks in his own time and in his own way - even through our meandering lives and thoughts. In fact, I am reminded now that the footnote to this blog page involves something about 'meandering thoughts and roving reflections.' Journeys don't always appear to have any direction. In fact, there is nothing better than just wandering around sometimes, going for a walk nowhere, enjoying the scenery, or allowing your mind to wander! There doesn't always have to be direction to a journey. In fact, even when we do have some direction to our journeying, and we reach our destination, we always end up back home!

So, wherever God is leading my meandering life and meandering thoughts and meandering miniscule ministry, I hope I will end up back home! And you know what they say about where home is!

The Colour of Words

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 22:11:00 +0000

Earlier this year, during my Sabbatical, and between much coffee supped in Cardiff Bay, I penned a few things including several thousand words worth of short stories. They weren't particularly good but they did allow me to spill random words and images onto paper (well, onto the screen of my laptop, actually). Not knowing what to do with the stories I have finally succumbed to giving them a home on the internet. There are so many inane, banal and random words on here already I thought a few more wouldn't really make much difference!

The words probably won't mean much to many, if any, but they are there all the same. I think, in some way, they allowed me to spill some form of spirituality out (or, rather, to express one). I'm not certain what they mean or what they say or how they express anything that seems to lie inside my unconscious, semi-conscious, sub-conscious, small-brained mind but there they are. The stories seemed to take on a life of themselves and so whilst taking responsibility for everything contained within them, I also absolve myself of anything and everything they continue to say. They are their own beings with their own life and their own dimension and when I re-read them I really don't know where they came from.

If you read them please be kind to them. They are quite vulnerable beings really! They came to life between coffee cups ("I have measured out my life in coffee spoons"), written in the early morning or late at night, and so they emerged, thin eyed and blinking in the half light, not sure who they were or why there were there in the first place.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go through certain half deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh do not ask 'What is is it?'
Let us go and make a visit.
T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

The Colour of Words

Computers and Cleaning

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sat, 03 May 2008 14:14:00 +0000

I am beginning to make the most of the Listen Again feature on most radio web sites but in particular Radio Four. In fact, I have managed to turn a friend onto Radio Four. Those who are unfamilar with it may make rather strange assumptions about what kind of radio station it is: but it's rather like a slice of life: comedy, debate, news, politics, drama, magazine programmes...oh yes and the shipping forecast (which often lulls me into sleep at night!) Yesterday I listened to two different programmes: one featuring the author Jonathan Coe and the other an interview with Will Self. The subject of using a computer in writing emerged. Coe said that it contributed to the creative process and made writing richer. Self decided that it it didn't do anything for the process and he has reverted to the traditional typewriter which means, he says, he has to do all his thinking and much of his writing before he actually writes.

I can see the sense in both those comments. The time of reflection and creativity happens away from the desk when there is space and time for the mind to wander. But often, there is something amazing when you sit down to write and things emerge that you had no idea were there in the first place. I'm sure it's the same for the many clergy (and others) who will are preparing to preach tomorrow. Some will think it through first. Others will sit at a blank screen and just see what happens! As for me, well I have no idea how this blog entry will end. I was just stimulated by this thought of two succesful and rather different authors valuing the different processes of writing: the computer is both in and out.

Perhaps I should have thought about what I was going to write before I decided to take a break from my cleaning, and pretending that writing a blog is more important than sweeping and mopping my hallway and hoovering the stairs. But I've never been one for housework. It's nice when it's completed, but the process of getting there is one that rather bores and tires me. Next week, the house will be back to the same state as it was two hours ago! Since I'm sat at my computer maybe I should have a little look to see if there is anything else I can listen to again. Or perhaps, the best thing to do would be to Listen Again and carry on with the sweeping at the same time. Or maybe, just maybe, this time away from the cleaning is giving me time to decide on how to creatively tackle the lounge. I think I like that idea the best!

Serendipity

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 21:26:00 +0000

Tomorrow I will have been back in work for a week. In fact, on the Friday I had gone to Belmont Abbey for our annual Youth Department retreat. It's only an overnight stay and it's not really a rigorous retreat: it's a healthy combination of reflection and recreation. It was good to start back with that. It put me back in touch with the people with whom I work and was a reminder that I now really had to get back to work.

It hasn't been that easy, mind! Monday morning was spent replying to e mails that had built up over three months, and sorting through paperwork, and by the early afternooon I was, well, bored! So, there was only one thing for it: stop working! I decided I needed to ease myself gently into my duties! No point in overdoing it. But I know that by the end of Sunday, and our first 'e' event since I have come back to work, I will know that my sabbatical is well and truly over.

However, having said that, I think that the experience of my Sabbatical Leave will give me more of a healthy balance in the future. I have decided that many of the things I did and achieved on my sabbatical I will continue to do in some small way. I will read more, write more and make more time to go to the theatre and do other things that I really enjoy. I have recently revisited Ted Hughes' Birthday Letters and was struck by the last lines of the first poem, Fulbright Scholars: 'It was the first peach I had ever tasted/I could hardly believe how delicious/At twenty-five I was dumbfounded afresh/By my ignorance of the simplest things.' Just like my short time at Belmont Abbey, there needs to be a healthy balance of reflection and recreation, work and play, intensity and relaxation, sacrifice and serendipity...and the odd peach!

Sacred Siesta

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 15:41:00 +0000

There is, for me at least, an empty space in the middle of the day - the mid afternoon time, I mean - between, I would say, 2.30 and the early evening. Yes, it's a rather vacant time for me - not my best time of day! If I have been able to get up (fairly) early and do what I can up to post lunch, I am left with not knowing what to do or not having the impetus or enthusiasm to do the things I want or should. And so I find myself longing for the middle of the evening - usually about 8pm - when there seems to be a reason and permission to do certain things. It may be that the end of the day is ticking closer and so it gives that added impetus to get on with things and get things done. Alternatively, it also gives you permission to do nothing: the day's work is done and it's time to relax in a slumber in front of the TV and wait for the time when tiredness makes you unable to do anything!

Yes, it's the middle of the afternoon that's a useless time for me. Of course, it's rather different when you're in work or in a routine but when there is no routine or work forced upon you, or you are able to work to your own rhythm, things are made more difficult by the afternoon slumber. So, I propose a major change to the way we live! It will mean a number of things, I think, including a change in the weather which I think will be the most difficult thing to achieve! You see, the Mediterranean countries have got it right. At the hottest part of the day things begin to close down and slow down, and people take to their siesta time. Of course, each country that takes a siesta has its own specific practice or tradition but the idea is much the same. In parts of Argentina, for instance, it occurs between 1 and 4 pm and the time is held as 'sacred' - nobody wants to be disturbed!

I'm glad I found that word 'sacred' attached to my plans! My mind turns back to the words of the Psalmist: 'He gives to his beloved sleep!' (Psalm 127). In fact, I've just done a quick cross reference on biblical texts on sleeping and it rather supports my cosmic plan. Of course, sleep doesn't have to be about laziness. I wouldn't want to step on St Benedict's toes for whom laziness is 'the enemy of the soul' and who had a healthy and helpful work ethic. I've got some back up plans as well. If the weather doesn't change I may have to move to Spain or Italy in order to justify my Siesta! of course, I'm not averse to that option - it would be rather nice! But, since neither the weather nor the climate will change today, nor will I be magically transported to Rome (not today, anyway!) I think I may just switch off my mobile phone and go to bed.

Equus

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 22:44:00 +0000

The only plan I had today was to be sat down at 6.20 pm to watch Doctor Who! I never succeeded. But it was good to see Equus again! A few blogs ago I said I would love to see the play again. Indeed, next day I bought a copy of the play in Waterstones and read it through a few times and wallowed over some of the scenes and lines. But this afternoon, whilst talking to a friend about the play we decided on impulse to go to the theatre tonight. When I phoned the New Theatre this afternoon I didn't actually check to see if Equus was still running - I was working from memory (not always reliable!) We could have turned up to find we had bought tickets for Ballamory!

Ballamory wasn't there (maybe next time, heh?) and so it was another round of Equus! We were actually seated in the same row as I was sat on Thursday, two seats across. The rest of the row to our left was empty except for one person who turned out to be Keith Allen (actor, writer, comedian,director, etc etc and father of Alfie Allen who played Alan Strang in Equus). I didn't talk to him but one of my friends (always star struck and ever ready!) 'accosted' him outside the toilets and introduced himself. He tries to do the same when we see Russell T Davies sat down the bay having a coffee - I've always managed to restrain him! (My friend - not Russell T Davies!) Unfortunately, I was upstairs in the bar at the time and so he was left to his own devices!

Meanwhile, Keith Allen's son, no doubt, was busy preparing backstage for the second act - or recovering from the profoundly moving, and energetic ending to the first - maybe both - performed with amazing sensitivity and raw emotion, beautifully acted, delivered and directed. My friend's work done at introducing himself to celebrities during the interval it was time for the Second Act. I'm so glad it wasn't Ballamory!

I'm So Privileged!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 20:27:00 +0000

I've often wondered who my Assembly member is! Sounds staggering, doesn't it, that I haven't got a clue! Well that didn't last long - I've just done a little search! And I discover it is a fellow native of the Rhondda, Lorraine Barret who, by some coincidence, has been quite vocal on the Archbishop of Wales' recent comments on the Welsh Assembly. Maybe it's not so bad that I didn't have a clue who she was. After all, being a Christian, I should keep my political opinions to myself (that's not my opinion by the way but my Assembly Member's!)

Lorraine Barret - yes, that's right, my Assembly Member (well done, you're keeping up!) said this. "The archbishop can have his own views but I don't think he should use his position to try to influence society on a religious basis. I don't think religion should have any privilege in our civil society,." Now I must admit to getting a little hot under the collar at comments like that. Why? Well, not because I necessarily agree with the Archbishop. neither is it because I'm some kind of religious extremist but simply because it's not a privileged position that I want as a Christian and a priest, above and beyond the rights of everyone else. I simply want an equal voice without anyone putting me down or taking away my privilege as a citizen in Welsh (and, yes, British) society. And by that I mean the privilege of freedom of speech, the freedom of viewing the world from my perspective (or, hopefully, from God's perpective - if that's possible - we try!) and being able to say, with conviction, that I believe something is right or wrong because of the particular belief I have in God.

You see, I find this whole argument tiresome. Yesterday I stumbled across the recent attempt of Chris Bryant (Labour MP for the Rhondda) to bring political pressure on the Church England to ordain women as bishops. Now, taking away the internal 'politics' of that issue within the Church, I find the whole thing quite flabbergasting. Politicians (or at least some of them - hiya, Lorraine!) say that religion and politics don't mix and shouldn't be mixed and, if you don't mind, if you are religious and you have something to say about society (or about politics or politicians or life or anything else for that matter!) then please take off your religious shoes at the front door if you don't mind, (I've just hoovered!) But they seem to have a lot to say about us! Now then, now that I have taken a new political step up - I'm looking forward to the next Assembly elections. I wonder who I shall vote for? Someone who says I should keep quiet or someone who offers me liberty and freedom and a voice to express what I believe? I've got a few years to think on that one! What a privileged position I'm in!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/7340176.stm

Being Disturbed

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 19:40:00 +0000

I love the theatre and I don't know why I don't go more often (money, maybe!) And it's just like me that when I do get around to going I go twice in as many days. Mind you, the visits couldn't have been more different. Last night I went to see French and Saunders at the Millennium Centre and this afternoon I saw Equus at the New Theatre starring Simon Callow and Alfie Allen. I thoroughly enjoyed both experiences but obviously for quite different reasons!

The ending of French and Saunders was, as you would expect, wonderfully absurd and hilarious with two of their most well known characters taking to the stage for the last time. Before the final punchline Jennifer Saunders had to hide her own laughter: she and they and we knew what was coming next. Things can be funny the second and third and tenth time around. Well, that's good comedy for you! Meanwhile, I would love to see Equus again, and although it has some funny moments the play is far from funny. It's the story of a disturbed 17 year old boy who blinds six horses for no apparent reason, and a psychiatrist who is charged with getting to the bottom of his behaviour. There was so much dialogue (and monologue) and it was packed, of course, with psychological insight, religious imagery, comments on society and what it means to be human, and all the time dealing with a rather disturbing subject with power, sensitivity and understanding. It was an exhausting journey and one that I can thoroughly recommend. At the end of the play it is the Psychiatrist who leaves us with his own baggage and issues: a strange reversal of fortunes.

When theatre leaves you with the wow factor, when it plays with your emotions, when you are on the edge of your seat or you can forget about the people around you and that person in the third row who coughs through the performance then it has done its job. Whilst I was entertained today there was also something else going on. Drama can deal with issues and open up conversation that debate and tired statements often fail to do. Often there is a truth that cannot be easily grasped but is all too well received. You may not know how or what or why but it meets us at a level that is often somewhere hidden away. I could, I suppose, write a summary of Equus and go into more detail with the issues and imagery and detailed dialogue, talk about the great performances (and they were great) but there is something more. Of course, I went to the theatre to be entertained, and entertained I was. But I was also disturbed. Don't get me wrong - we often use that word 'disturbed' to mean something quite negative (a disturbed individual, disturbed sleep, disturbed from work, Do Not Disturb!). But being disturbed can also be a good thing. When we are disturbed we are lifted from where we are or turned around to see the world in another way and pushed or prodded to look at things differently. Equus in that way disturbed me. How wonderful!

Of the Moment!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 16:43:00 +0000

I am coming to the end of my Sabbatical leave. Three months off from my duties as Youth Chaplain are, in many ways, beginning to look like they never happened! There was, in the beginning, both the daunting and pleasant prospect of having three free months to do what I had planned to do. They have passed quickly. I have not, by any means, achieved everything I wanted but then there will always be loose ends and I guess I will never be satisfied!

The idea was that, for three months, I would just write. I had a few ideas up my sleeve and a few things that I had started in my spare time that I wanted to complete and I'm almost there...but not quite. I could do with another three months! It's difficult to know when things are complete. Or perhaps I mean perfect. If that is the case then I will never reach my goal! So, it's not perfection I'm after - just satisfaction! I think things will only be complete after I have become bored by them and had some reason for letting them go and not attending to detail. I'm not entirely certain what I have to show at the end of this three months. I think I will only discover that when I can look back on it. The gift of retrospect is something that we have to wait for. Looking back is good. Meanwhile I am caught up with moving from one piece of work to the next, chasing perfection and never getting there, trying to make the most of less than two weeks left, as though the others never happened!

Meanwhile, I'm beginning to prepare myself for my return to work and looking at ways in which the return can be a new beginning. In truth, I have not really given an awful lot of thought to the next stage of things: that would have defeated the whole motive behind taking a Sabbatical in the first place. I have kept as strictly as possible to the reason I requested the leave. In fact, in the first few weeks there was a rather interesting and tempting job prospect that raised its head and, after a week of serious consideration, I dropped the idea because I didn't want it to distract from the sabbatical! There have been moments when I think that perhaps I was wrong not to have chased that opportunity but in other moments I think I was most definitely right. But who knows! After all, it's retrospect that allows you to see things a bit more clearly and by then it is too late! But that's how we make decisions - in the moment, trying to discover what the future may hold, weighing up possibilities and trying to see things clearly - before they've even happened! It's important to remember that God is 'of the moment' and 'in the moment'. I think it was Karl Rahner (although I may very well be wrong!)who spoke of the Sacrament of the Present Moment but whoever first came up with that phrase has presented a little gem. We worry so much about the past, we often fear or anticipate the future but it's where we are now and what God is giving now and how he is revealing himself now that is often overlooked and undervalued. So, as I chase from one piece of work to the other, as I try to look back at what I may have achieved or not achieved, as I anticipate the future and think about how I can move on I think I shall just continue to enjoy the moment! Now that's satisfaction!

The Bishop and the Bill

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 20:16:00 +0000

Of course, it was always going to be the case. Someone would be disappointed. Yet, there is little elation on either side of the issue, if the truth be told. The vote taken by the Governing Body of the Church in Wales as to whether or not women should be ordained as bishops is one that has many claims attached to it. It's a matter of justice and equality, a matter of mission, a matter of tradition, a matter of unity, a matter of being the church in the modern world, a matter of conscience, a matter of fact. So, where are we now? The so called 'traditionalists' are waiting for its return; those in favour of the motion are waiting for its return. Of course, it was always going to be the case.

Read the newspaper reports, glance through the various blog entries and email comments on countless web sites, read the editorial in the Welsh newspapers (sorry, the South Wales Echo!), listen to the Bench of Bishops, even, and people will suddenly say that having women in the episcopate is no different from a woman being a bank manager or a headteacher or a Member of Parliament or even the prime minister. It's all about equality! Of course, it was always going to be the case. Someone would be disappointed. But the disappointment (or one of them, at least, and in my mind, at least) lies in viewing the episcopacy as a human institution that happens, by some great coincidence or happy accident, to accomplish something within the church. Yet the episcopacy is far more than that. In fact, it's not that at all! Which is why it was sad that the Archbishop, in presenting the bill, did not really talk about the theology of the episcopate at all. So, let's leave the bishop and the bill at the podium for a moment and sneak into the streets and ask the people what they think. 'Do you think women should be bishops?' a woman in the street is asked by a TV news reporter. 'Well, yes, you can have women doctors and prime ministers and bank managers and headteachers? So why can't a woman be a bishop.' Ahh, but what is a bishop? That would have been the interesting question to have asked. Because there is something more, here. And we are missing the point. But of course it was always going to be the case.

So what is the case? What's the point of the episcopacy? What on earth (not to mention heaven) is a bishop? What has a bishop got to do with Jesus? What has it got to do with being an apostle? (And what is an apostle anyway - ask the woman in the street!) What has it got to do with mission and what has it got to do with the end of time? What has it got to do with male and female? What has it got to do with being human? What has it got to do with the designs that God has for the church and the world, for you and me? What has it got to do with being the Church? What has it got to do with transcendent truths that are hard to see in the street? What has it got to do with grace and failure, what has it got to do with anything we know and everything we would like to know? What has it got to do with the way that God shares his love with us? What has it got to do? What has it got that other means of 'leadership' haven't got? Alas, in a society that says it seeks (its own versions of) justice and equality you don't hear those questions asked on the street or in the pub or by TV reporters or even by many bishops and debators at the Governing Body. But of course that was always going to be the case.

Tipping the Scales

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 22:19:00 +0000

I'm sure I'm not the only person that has done a Google search on their name! It's a bit of a vain thing to do, really, and there was a time when all that the results threw up were the escapades of my namesakes! (I even remember once reading the obituary of someone called Dean Atkins somewhere in the States!) It can be quite a sobering experience when all you find is nothing or your name on a database or some passing reference! But really it's just a little exercise in an idle moment to see where you turn up and in what way! It's not Google specific, of course. You can choose whatever search engine takes your fancy be it Yahoo or Ask or Lycos or...you get the idea! Yes, it's vain. Very vain, indeed. But perhaps it's a natural gesture in a world where we try to be significant or stand out or stand up to be counted. And so when I type my name into that white bar on the screen I try to convince myself that this is just research or a little entertainment or a bit of self deprecating humour when all that is on the TV is Light Entertainment and Talent Shows that titillate. But really it's all rather vain. Yes, very vain. What little people we are!

Talking of little people brings me to the Gospel Reading for tomorrow (as I mull on my sermon) - that Sunday School Epic of Zacchaeus, the small man, being called down from the tree to take Jesus home for tea! The story has been the material for many a drama or children's song or simple lined drawings to colour with felt tip pens that didn't work and crayons that cracked, kept in a rusty tin in a cupboard that smelled of damp and biscuits (or is that just me?!) Yes, Zacchaeus was a small man, a short man, a man who couldn't see a thing when it mattered and who got swallowed up by the crowd and so climbed high to see what all the fuss was about. And in return he gets the honour of entertaining the one who has entertained the crowd. Suddenly this small man becomes significant.

I'm a bit worried about this trying to be significant but it doesn't stop us from trying. When we look at family photographs or party pics our attention diverts to our own face (or am I the only one?) We may be dissatisfied (or claim to be) with the way we look but really we are dazzled by ourselves, by our own significance or lack of it, whether it's catching our reflection in the shop window or being caught on camera. We are torn between loving and loathing ourselves when all that we need is something in between. Zacchaeus was just a member of the audience, trying to see what everyone else saw, trying to glimpse what everyone else had already grasped, an anonymous admirer or a curious member of the crowd. I love the phrase in the gospel when we read, 'But Zacchaeus stood his ground.' He didn't really care what people said about him or thought about him or (perhaps more pertinent in this day and age) wrote about him. It was his response to Jesus that mattered. We are little people, aren't we? Most of us are not and will never be well known or, well, famous (thank God!) but our significance lies in those words of the book of Wisdom: 'In your sight, Lord, the whole world is like a grain of dust that tips the scales.' (11:22). And if the whole world is just a grain of dust what does that make us? But in his sight and in his way we carry such weight and worth that we tip the scales but only when we are caught in wonder, when all we wish to see is Jesus passing by! And then, the scales will tip, as Jesus gazes up at us (yes, up at us! Isn't that amazing?!) and calls us down to where he is so that he may truly lift us up or, rather, be glorified in us and us in him.

On your own Doorstep!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Sun, 28 Oct 2007 20:35:00 +0000

Over the last few weeks Sunday afternoons have become a time to do something different! Years ago they were, for me at least, a time for sleeping as I slipped into that soporific Sunday sensation - but recently two of my friends and I have slipped into the challenge of visiting places that at least one of us haven't been before! This afternoon was a late start and we found ourselves down the road at the Cardiff Barrage, watching the water rising, the gates opening and the bridges lifted open for yachts and boats to squeeze back into the Bay. Last week we were at Caerleon clambering around the Roman Ruins. The week before that we were at the museum at St Fagan's. You get the picture that all of these places are really quite local. Sometimes when things are so close we make less effort to experience them - after all, we can do it any time! Nearness sometimes means never!

There is so much on our doorstep - on every doorstep - and we overlook them so easily, so that visitors to the place where we live can often see more of our own neighbourhood than we have ever seen ourselves. Perhaps that's the difference between a tourist and a resident. Residents take it all for granted and tourists seek things out and ooh! and ahh! at the sights and sounds.

Perhaps it's much the same with our own lives. We can take it all for granted: our gifts and glad rags, the landmarks and beauty spots of our lives, the things to see and share. The Gospel Reading at Mass this morning was the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector with a lesson in humility. Humility, of course, has nothing to do with low self esteem or a lack of self worth. It actually means acknowledging all that is good and worthwhile in our lives and attributing it to God, whilst realistically realising that the failures and fallings are very often a result of own weakness. Mmm, now I wonder where we'll end up next weekend? Who knows! We could go as far afield as two streets away or into town or back down the bay. No matter how far we go, life really is quite interesting on your own doorstep!

From the Other Side

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Wed, 24 Oct 2007 18:40:00 +0000

Quite a different day today. Thanks to a colleague who was unavailable I was asked to take part in a debate on Halloween for the BBC Radio Wales programme All things Considered with Roy Jenkins (to be broadcast on Sunday). I'm always fascinated by the workings of Radio and TV, getting behind the scenes of something we only see from the other side. Not many people get the opportunity, so I was glad to say yes. I joined three others in the debate: a retired Roman Catholic priest called Fr Ambrose, Elin, a Christian historian (on the phone line) and Ray, an evangelical minister. I suppose I was not surprised by much of what the latter said: I knew I would often be a hundred miles away from much of his belief system. After the debate the conversation continued, until we were politely kicked out of the studio! Apparently, so he told us and so the statistics go, there are more Christians on earth at the moment than there are in heaven. Which was was a discreet way of saying that among the millions and billions of people who have followed Jesus in the past only those who followed his belief system have been 'saved' and get in through those symbolic pearly gates. I asked him if I was saved? The answer was rather vague!

Sometimes vague answers are good, especially when talking about the life of heaven. We can get caught up so much with the whats and hows and 'what's it like' and 'how do you get there 'and 'what do you mean by that' and 'why do you say what you say!' But it was fairly frustrating (though peculiarly predictable) that the answer to my question to his specific statistics on my own salvation was vague, to say the least! It was, perhaps, an avoidance of saying what he really wanted to say to me. But who knows?! I don't see things from his side of things!

The 'born again' experience necessary to the salvation of which he spoke was an event in time, a specific moment of accepting Christ as Saviour. All well and good but it said nothing about the ongoing conversion that one experiences when following Jesus, that continuous dying to self. It omitted the gentle moulding and remoulding, the mistakes and meanderings, the seeking and searching, the being found and the gentle acceptance of the person we are - as well as the person God wants us to be. It missed out the mending of broken hearts that come from a lifetime of pain and sometimes too much pleasure. And so I find myself, right now, left with a rather vague and unsatisfactory spiel on salvation, trying to get behind the scenes of something we only see from our side and, even worse, trying to plough through it in three paragraphs! So am I saved? I suspect God has a little more patience and understanding than we often give him credit. And considering my own little life that's just as well.

Flicking through Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Tue, 23 Oct 2007 21:01:00 +0000

I had a little treat today. I had £50 of book tokens to spend. I tried to spend them the other day but after half an hour of wandering aimlessly around Waterstones I left empty handed (apart from my two £25 tokens!) I guess I just wasn't in the mood for picking or choosing. Today, though, I was more amiable in my amblings and, clutching my bag, I wound my way from Waterstones to pick my way through the first of the books (finding myself, as I did, in O' Neil's for a quick Guinness and the first chapter). Reading, for me, is quite a sporadic occupation. I can read book after book after book, even at times finding myself having more than one book on the go, and other times I can go for weeks or months without turning a page. I have learned to be content with this: it's just the way I am!

It strikes me, too, that the way I read is often the way I pray. There can be times when prayer is like a page turner, an eager flick through the leaves that lie waiting to be devoured, craving the moments sneaked through the day when I can delve into those dark, deep, lovely moments of being alone with God. And other times it is laboured and languid, accompanied by little enthusiasm or devotion and sometimes missed altogether. I have learned to be content with this: it's just the way I am! Prayer is something that's so often spoken about and written about (I'm doing it now!) and read with eager longing, like looking through a cookery book, your juices flowing and craving the delights that lie within and which could so easily be brought to life with a little work and a few ingredients. The French priest Michel Quoist once wrote a prayer that contained the words 'so that all of life becomes prayer.' Yes, we do need those times aside, I know, those ordered, organised, ordinary times of flicking through the pages or delving into something deeper but it's only in order that the whole of life becomes prayer. Prayer is an attitude of life, a spiritual awareness and an openness to God that pervades and embraces the whole of our being. Not that the ideal of the latter should become an excuse for not going aside and getting down to the 'act of prayer,' of course. But there are many ways of prayer and many ways of praying, and the reason many of us find it so difficult is because we haven't recognised or acknowledged that what we are already doing is prayer in some kind of way.

So, back to me in the pub with a Guinness in my hand, flicking through the pages of my new book. It was a delicately human book and the words were beautifully spun, carefully chosen and fragile like a spider's web: the true story of a woman's heart breaking and finding her way through frustration and pain. They were only a few brief moments spent, snapped up from the busyness of the day, but there, for me at least, all of life had become prayer. And so, if I find myself intensely seeking out moments of prayer, pouring my way through words and silence, all well and good. And if I don't, then I have learned to be content with it: it's just the way I am!

It's Out Of My Hands!

noreply@blogger.com (Fr Dean Atkins) — Mon, 22 Oct 2007 09:49:00 +0000

The weekend is over and so is Access all Areas - an all day youth event at Rhondda Fach Sports Centre that we held on Saturday. Well, it's not quite over! I've still got the unloading of the van, the return of hired equipment and the unpacking and repacking of boxes before they become a mountainous obstacle in my hallway! In fact, over the last month, any visitors to my home have had to wind their way through an obstacle course of trunks and boxes and various other items - and at times it has been a job to even open the front door fully! I'm not the neatest or tidiest of people but being surrounded by such things does grate on you after a while and makes life that bit more difficult! The diocese has finally agreed to pay for some storage (an ongoing request for several years!) although I'm still waiting for the post to arrive in the hope that the documents I need to make this possible will be in my hands by this afternoon, and that by this afternoon the equipment will be well and truly off my hands! And that's a good thing!

Access all Areas was a good day, with lots going on - and the Sports Centre hall was a busy hive of activity. Most people seemed to enjoy themselves. It's really difficult to evaulate an event or initative that you have created and planned. Your expectations are so different from those attending. There is an image in your mind of how you want or think things should go and there is a danger of evaluating things in a despondent manner because it felt different or went different! Latterly, I have learned to be content with offering something and letting it have a life of it's own. I'm still a slight control freak but I am content, when the event is over, to be open to the possibility that the small seeds of something may grow out and elsewhere. Yes, it is important to evaluate and see where things could be improved but many things that grow and happen are just out of our hands! And that's a good thing.

It strikes me that this is the case for all of us but particulalry for priests. So much of what is done goes unnoticed and we never know the effects and fruits that grow from an encounter or something said or done. Our life can become cluttered with wondering what was the point of something or was there any worth in what we did or what we do. All good, from one point of view (including financially!) but from another, more personal and profound point of view, it's not really any of our business. So, today, I shall be content with unloading the Luton Van, returning the hired equipment, gathering up the fragments of a day's busy events, and let God do what he wants to do with whatever we have given him. And that's a good thing!