Jameswoodward’s Weblog

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning

The end is where we start from

T S Eliot  Little Gidding

Now there is a story behind each of these words and the process that I have been deeply engaged with in recent weeks…..what an adventure!!

Endings                                     dis – engagement

                                                     dis – identification                           separation

                                                     dis – orientation                               dying

Neutral Zone                         outer distancing                               transition

                                                    inner re-orientation                        choas

New Beginnings                   mystery                                                 incorporation

                                                   surprise

                                                   movement                                            renewal

Dying, and behold we live     2 Corinthians 6: 9

The Ashdown Diaries

Volume One 1988-1997

(Allen Lane 2000 £20 642pages)

I have been meaning to read this for some time and finally discovered a copy at the bargain price of £4 in a second hand bookshop in Oswestry covered market. Waiting can yield great results for the patient!

I confess that I did not read every word of the mammoth tome – but is was revealing and illuminating for a number of reasons. It begins with Ashdown’s election as leader of his party on the 28^th of July 1988 which happened to coincide with the day when the men from the Inland Revenue came to party HQ to recover monies owed to them. Ashdown inherited a bankrupt organisation with little vision of self confidence. The volume ends with the triumph of the 2^nd of May election 1997 when the Liberal Democrats won 46 seats. These pages are part of the story of the reshaping of the centre ground of British politics. What surprised this reader was the astonishing revival of the party given the internal chaos and wrangling that Ashdown had to manage over this decade. There are some very surprising allies and detractors!

Further – what humanises Ashdown is his constant confessions of nervousness and absence of confidence. These doubts make him more real in the world of spin and image.

I decide to pass by on the accounts of his visits to the Balkans. I may well return to these pages at a future date – and no doubt it will form a substantial part of his forthcoming autobiography (A Fortunate Life).

What is most significant in these pages is the account of the emergence of New Labour and Blair following John Smith’s death. Blair offers Ashdown a place in Government ‘even if there is a majority’ and so we are given a very multi dimensional portrait of Blair and his advisors without the varnish of spin! It is not edifying.

The other picture that we are given is of the impossible pressure that politicians live under in the modern age, constantly living under the glare of the media and battling for any balance between the private and the public. Short nights of sleep, hate mail, long journeys and endless difficult negotiations with colleagues who want their own way are a small part of an unenviable life.

A good bedtime read. But don’t buy it – look for it on the library shelf or in the bargain section of a second hand bookshop.

tunnel ceaselessly

I think all the time about invisible work.
About the young mother on Welfare
I interviewed years ago,
who said, “It’s hard.
You bring him to the park,
run rings around yourself keeping him safe,
and there’s no one
to say what a good job you’re doing,
how you were patient and loving
for the thousandth time even though you had a headache.”
And I, who am used to feeling sorry for myself
because I am lonely,
when all the while,
as the Chippewa poem says, I am being carried
by great winds across the sky,
thought of the invisible work that stitches up the world day and night,
the slow, unglamorous work of healing,
the way worms in the garden
tunnel ceaselessly so the earth can breathe
and bees ransack this world into being,
while owls and poets stalk shadows,
our loneliest labors under the moon.

There are mothers
for everything, and the sea
is a mother too,
whispering and whispering to us
long after we have stopped listening.
I stopped and let myself lean
a moment, against the blue
shoulder of the air. The work
of my heart
is the work of the world’s heart.
There is no other art.

From Alison Luterman, Invisible work.

POWER OF SILENCE

In silence the flower buds gently bloom,
In silence they waft their sweet perfume.
In silence grows the blades of grass,
In silence I pen down my verse.
Speech is silver, silence gold,
Good deeds silently performed,
Is more eloquent than words!
In silence lovers cuddle and sleep,
True love communicates through
oceans deep!
Look at the mountains towering so high,
Clouds kiss their tops and silently
float by!

In silence the monks move their prayer
beads,
In silence they perform their charitable deeds.
In silence the sun rises and shine,
In silence the moon beams softly smiles.

In silence my God I invoke,
In silence rise my incense smoke.
In silence my inner-self unfolds,
In silent prayer my hands I fold.
In silence, with Him I communicate,
In silence I surrender to my fate.
In silence I beg Him to make me whole,
In silence to Him I surrender my soul!
In our noise polluted world, silence is
difficult to find,
But I know, one day, this Silence shall be
mine!

Saint Mark the Evangelist, is the traditional name of the author of the Gospel of Mark. The tradition identifies him with the John Mark mentioned as a companion of Paul in Acts, who later is said to have become a disciple of Simon Peter. John Mark accompanied Paul of Tarsus and Barnabas on Paul’s first missionary journey. After a sharp dispute, Barnabas separated from Paul, taking Mark to Cyprus (Acts 15:36-40). Later Paul called upon the services of Mark, the kinsman of Barnabas, and Mark was named as Paul’s fellow worker.

His feast day is celebrated on 25 April, the anniversary of his martyrdom. St Mark is also believed by various traditions to be the first bishop of Alexandria and the first Pope of Alexandria. He is considered the founder of the church in Alexandria, according to the Coptic church understanding, and thus the founder of Christianity in Africa. His evangelistic symbol is the lion.

                           Yes is a world,

                               and in this world of yes lie

                                            skilfully curled,

                           all other worlds.

Welshpool

Consider the delights of this mid Wales market town. Friendly, interesting, well stocked, steady, slow and satisfying are some of the adjectives that come to mind.

Here is a typical trip. Drive down the high street and park near the library where the car can be safely stored for a couple of hours for the small price of £1! Friday is market day offering a tempting fare such as: welsh butter (very bad for you which is another way of meaning that it is very delicious!), freshly baked brown bread and (cooked up by the local WI and sold at an astonishing 75p) spiced lamb pasties. This is pastry to die for and eaten in large quantities you probably will….

W H Smith’s stocks almost everything one might need including on this trip a laundry marker pen for £2.50. I drop off some excess junk at the local charity shop and then head for The Oak (a refurbished hotel with an up market bar and bistro) for a coffee (freshly brewed form a huge Italian machine) and a relaxing read of the papers.

The large  butcher delivers the best rack of lamb you could ever eat – though the very jolly butcher apologises for the price of Welsh lamb. ‘I don’t understand’ I exclaim,’ there seem to be plenty of them around’. This causes much laughter with the lads chopping and trimming meat.

A walk up the High Street to see what Mr Anderson has in the window of his family antiques shop. That dresser is still there and I wonder how much that drinks cabinet is?

Back to the car via the vegetable stall that delivers pots, an onion and some rhubarb for the price of the car park.

And this list could go on. Ignore the shopping malls, the cities, the crowds and all that noise. You can’t beat a small Welsh market town.

Thatcher and Sons: A Revolution in three Acts (Allen Lane 2006)

Simon Jenkins is a clever, insightful and careful writer. I read this volume after the considerable publicity following the thirtieth anniversary of Margaret Thatcher’s historic election in 1979. It was one of those books that I bought a few years ago following reading an enthusiastic review in a Sunday newspaper. I tried a couple of times to read it but without success. Sometimes you need to be in the right mood to read a particular book!

To my surprise I could hardly put this down. Lucid, well researched, sharp and witty judgements characterise the pace and course of the argument. What emerges is a picture of the murky, unpredictable and at times just sheer nasty business of politics.

The history of Britain for the last three decades have been dominated by one figure- Margaret Thatcher. Jenkins shows that the sheer force of her leadership over her cautious party transformed both the country and the nature of democratic leadership. There are many who admire the strength of her vision and the energy of her determination that turned the country around. Some are thankful of the liberation of the rich from high levels of taxation. Her triumph in the Falklands War gave her an international status that attracted the admiration of world leaders.

I remember the effects of her policies on the industrial north. The widespread attack on the traditional industries of the north east took the heart out of many communities including the one I was born and brought up in. I worked in Consett following the closure of the steel works in the mid 1980’s to discover a depressed and impoverished community deprived of hope and a future. To my surprise when I moved to Oxford I met a senior executive of British Steel who dismissed my concerns as liberal hand wringing – ‘one day you’ll understand that this decision was complete economic sense’ were his parting words to me.

Alas Jenkins fails to offer a balanced view of the Thatcher legacy. The polemic, though entertaining fails to offer any substantial wisdom to this reader. What I unrealistically need out of political analysis is the contextualisation of politics and personalities into a wider social and moral view how what people need in order for us to thrive.

This is only part of the thesis of this book. Behind Thatcher march three men – John Major, Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. Jenkins argues that these three men are her sons – indeed that Blair is the most Thatcherite of the three, privatising far more relentlessly that Thatcher herself. We are led to believe that the Iron lady treated all these men, with varying degrees of conviction, as her heirs.

These three Prime Ministers have worked together across the traditional political tribalism of Britain to give us some kind of prosperity combined with a perplexing uncertainty ( brought to an astonishing head in the present economic downturn); offering us choice but leaving our society more divided and less equal; inflicting upon us a target driven culture overwhelmed by bureaucracy. In all this we have more spin and information combined with less substance in politics.

Jenkins reserves the sharpness of his pen for the centralisation of democracy. While Europe has succeeded in developing a local and empowered approach to governance we have set on an impossible desire to control from the centre. It is no wonder that we become disappointed with politics and politicians.

Whether the new compassionate Conservatism of David Cameron can deliver is form all this remains to be seen. In this book Jenkins establishes himself as a commentator of coherence and intelligence. His turn of phrase has the power to fill any writer with envy!

spring fever

Today, look: another day. Waking, wide open,
Afraid. Don’t dive into the library,
Into yet another book! Reach for your guitar,
Let love, let beauty, be what it is we do:
You don’t have to fly abroad, in order to kneel
And kiss the tarmac!

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going in and out of the door
where the two worlds touch.
The door is right there, look, it’s wide open!
Don’t go back to sleep.

I long to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Hearing this, love runs up to me, shouting:
‘What a bargain, buy, buy!’

Daylight, and the dancing dust motes.
The universe dances too; and so do our souls;
dancing with you, feet flying, they dance.
Can you see it, as I whisper in your ear?

All day and night, music,
one flute,
quiet, bright.
If it fades, we fade.

Rumi, transl. Tom Davis

Time and its passing. Just over eight days ago St Marys gave me a grand send off. We used the Church which was great and these pictures give you some sense of the gathered group and the food!!

the second course of cakes are hidden in the pews. Now Judith (Adlington) at last I find the real value of these extra seats – sorry give them the proper title – pews….! 

This assembled group were not all all we behaved after they dived into the drink – and careful viewers please disregard the bottles of mineral water on the table to your left!

  I had my picture taken with a number of youths from the parish !

Don’t tell anyone but this one travels all the way in from a neighbouring village which will remain ever nameless.

And there were speeches. A playful one from Steve Hill, the Churchwarden – which kept Sue Dilworth (forground right) out of trouble – which I can tell you takes some doing!

And – surprise, surprise I replied…..

Here are some extracts:

When I started this ministry in September 1998 I told the assembled crowd in the School Hall to Expect Anything !! So begun ten wonderful,exciting, challenging and blessed ten years.

Why? Because of you, this place and its purpose and its work. The community of affection and frienship has expanded ane deepened. Our adventure of faith has led us, challenged us and changed us.

There have been times of laughter and tears of pain – successes and failures – sun and rain. We have weathered all this together and grown through the rainbow of these patterns and fragilities.

You should feel proud of what had emerged – and what has the possibility of being harvested. This has been possible because of you – each one of you- your gifts and committments.

Three Temple events give substance to this conviction- this sense of achievement of community, team work and friendship.

First. Our Lent groups and the way we have tackled our faith and its questions

Second. Our Funerals – its liturgy and celebration and the wau we have stood close to each other in the pain of loss

Third. Our Heritage Weekends – they just get bigger and better,

Terrific – people working together – drawing people in and holding people at important moments of their lives – offering who we are to God for grace.

Temple Balsall existed before I arrived – many years before- ad will thrive beyond my departure tomorrow. It is time to go and you must let me go and provide soem space to see what emerges for the future.

For all that has been – Thanks

For all that will Be – Yes!

Thank you. Keep well. Keep the door open. Take risks – and you reall can expect anything!!

Well poor things had probably heard enough of me but it was a warm and very memorable evening….