Virtual Methodist

After a long, dry period my brain is working overtime again, some thoughts flowing from a good place, others less so. This piece is, just as it says, a product of a disturbed night's sleep, prompted by rumination over recent events and the experience of a couple of friends, both in the past and currently. But following on from some reading and writing I started during my sabbatical, I woke to read dome notes I made when reading Paula Gooder's "Journalling the Psalms", and particularly Psalms 23 and 40. There are numerous Psalms that seem to owe their origins to the times when David was unjustly on the run because of others' betrayal, either being hunted by Saul's forces, or during his son's rebellion. We don't know whether they were written by David or inspired by his story, but they have continued to speak into others' stories, including my own, right down to the present day, even though few of us (thankfully) have experienced the exis...

I haven't been writing much new material recently beyond sermons and funeral addresses given that my "free time" has been taken up by packing and unpacking boxes and assembling flat-pack furniture. I've made no secret that Sally and I were in no great hurry to move from where we were previously living, but w e all need a change of perspective from time to time and our recent re-stationing has afforded us the "opportunity" of both de-cluttering and gaining a (physically) new panoramic perspective on our home city of Belfast. This includes the smattering of wind generators on the hills on the Antrim-side of the city, which some regard as an intrusion on the rural landscape. The following piece emerged slowly over the past couple of weeks, clearly influenced by Christopher Nolan's "Odyssey". (ps. The attached photo is not of that Belfast wind farm,  but some in midwestern USA about 10 years ago. My cameraphone is too inadequate to capt...

The word that I frequently use at the conclusion of my blogs is, as most of you will already know, found repeatedly in the Psalms. Throughout my sabbatical I've been doing some reflecting on the Psalms and I am now returning, both to work, and a piece of writing, collating and revising the many responsive paraphrases of the Psalms I have done over the years, and part of that has involved thinking how to "translate" this word. Most modern translations have given up trying to translate it as its meaning is uncertain. The consensus is that it is a musical direction of some kind. Some have suggested that it is derived from a word meaning "lift up", though there is no agreement on what the reader is being encouraged to elevate! The majority opinion, however, seems to be that it is the equivalent of a musical rest, a pause for reflection, and that is the sense I have opted for, using the phrase "And breathe" (which as some 4 Corners veterans will know has a ...

Just back from a swift visit with my wife to my mother in law in Ayr. As a youngster Ayr was a frequent holiday destination, and I wasn't to know at that stage that I would end up marrying a lassie from that vicinity. On Sunday afternoon, before leaving, we took a short visit to the beach at Seafield on the southern edge of the town, which would have been a regular haunt of my wife's when growing up, but we found it much changed from previous visits... Since 2020 it has been the subject of one of the many projects around the UK seeking to re-establish sand dunes as a coastal erosion and biodiversity initiative using discarded Christmas trees as the foundational matrix for trapping the sand... A mere 6 years has made a discernible difference, and I was surprised when doing some research later that I haven't found more written about it... merely a couple of articles in local papers announcing that they were going to try this, but no "before and after" pi...

I'm in London as part of my sabbatical and found myself in a time warp last night and this morning watching the news of the riots in my home city, with a friend and colleague caught up in the midst of them, trying to make a difference. I'll leave it to others back home to comment on things on a deeper level. My prayers are with those involved in the original attack that lit the blue touch paper, and those picking up the pieces including the emergency services and those in East Belfast Mission... But this is my initial, emotional response to the whole mess with credit/apologies to Paul Brady . Four decades ago I sat in a city not my own, listening tearfully to a song that sang about the skies of Lebanon burning, with television pictures of women and children dying in the street, whilst back home we were sacrificing our own children and leaving twisted wreckage on the roads... carving tomorrow from a tombstone. Many tomorrows have come and gone, and too many tombsto...

Yesterday was, as noted previously, the last of the lasts in this circuit, after spending the last 13 years back in this part of Belfast, and 8 years as Superintendent of Belfast Central Mission. Thankfully the BCM board are letting us stay in our current Manse until after I have had my sabbatical and move to my new post in July, so I won't have to spend all of my sabbatical filling boxes. But I cleared my office at BCM HQ in Grosvenor House on Thursday and posted the attached photo on social media. This is the first of two pieces prompted by the photo (I haven't finished the other one yet). Throughout my time in BCM when at that desk I have been very aware of the pictures of the 11 previous Superintendents looking down on me... wondering whether they would approve of what I was doing or where things were at. The space left for me as the 12th Superintendent in that seat always had a certain inauspicious sense of "completeness" to it, although I genuinely h...

Many years ago when I was only a first year ministerial student, the minister I was serving with assigned me the challenge of preaching on the phrase "he descended into hell" from the (old style) Apostles Creed, at our Good Friday service, as part of a series we were doing on the creed at the time. It took me down a whole rabbit hole looking at medieval theories of the "harrowing of hell" which has stuck with me down through the years because of their poetic power. And  there is also a part of me that finds it hard to shake off the medieval imagery of hell that you find in the attached picture of  "Christ's Descent into Hell" by a follower  of Hieronymus Bosch (mid 16th cent.)  from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, NY.   However,  when I look back at the text of that sermon (yes... I've surprisingly still got it though, for good reason I have never preached it again) I didn't major on that idea. That's because the original Greek text of the ...

There are times when I am jolted out of times of worship by a phrase or image that strikes me in an unexpected way, and whilst I may return to worship after a moment or two, the jarring image can stay with me. Be it the more poetic metaphors of traditional hymns or some of the Biblical language and images lifted in a cut and paste fashion in many contemporary praise songs there is often a niggle akin to Inigo Montoya's oft repeated line from "The Princess Bride" - 'I do not think it means what you think it means...' This happened to me yesterday with the phrase "Let your fire fall down." We obviously tend to think of this in Pentecostal terms, but rarely do we think of the revolutionary long term implications of that first Pentecost after the resurrection. But I've also been feeling a bit burned-out myself in recent months, and am hearing the voice of my wise friend Derrick Poole reminding me that "God wants us to be living sacrifice...

I was delighted to see that around three years after their removal from the former Ulster Bank building at  Shaftesbury Square, Belfast,  Elisabeth Frink's iconic statues have found a new home on the outside of the Ulster Museum extension in Botanic Park. Just a pity they hadn't appeared a couple of weeks ago or they would undoubtedly have featured in the treasure hunt I devised for my wife Sally's significant birthday... I previously wrote a piece about their unannounced removal , but given that I am currently planning to compile another collection of my scribblings during my upcoming sabbatical, this one a series of pieces with a specific sense of place here in Belfast, I thought I should revise both the poem and attendant blog to take account of their reappearance. As I previously wrote,  Elisabeth Frink  (1930-1993), a Sussex born artist was commissioned in 1961 by the Lurgan architects Houston & Beaumont and the Arts Council of Northern Ireland to create a s...

My wife Sally always wanted a magnolia tree in the garden. When I was appointed Superintendent of Belfast Central Mission and we moved into the manse on the Malone Road she at last got her wish and in spring it is a joy to look out on it each morning as it is coming into bud and finally full bloom, until the inevitable fall of the blooms with their sticky petals. She also recently came across a letter she had written one springtime to her mum talking about "feeling her sap rising" with t he change of seasons, a phenomenon she experiences and notes every year. But this year both in terms of weather and emotions, spring feels more like autumn, as we prepare to move again. In many ways I had hoped that my appointment here would see me through to retirement. But, for various reasons, it was not to be, and I go where I am sent... So I find myself in a season of "lasts" - last board meeting, last church council, last school assembly, and many more to come this...

A piece that I started in Rome after our walk, through the rain along the Appian Way (because we got off at the wrong bus stop) to visit the catacombs of St. Sebastian. I didn't get a chance to return to it afterwards in the busyness since then, until Steve Stockman asked me to contribute a couple of poems at an event on Sunday evening to give thanks to our 4 Corners volunteers and to reflect on our pre-festival Rime trip. I shared "In the Room" and "Brothers Embrace" which had been prompted by our different aspects of our trip, and which I have previously posted here. But I thought I would take anither run at this piece in the light of our festival theme if "Journey" and subsequent world affairs. So here it is There's a widely held belief  that all those roads that they say  lead to Rome, are always straight, driven right through or over every  obstacle, in order that  the armies of the empire  might not be impeded as  they went about ...

This needs no explanation, apart from to say for those less familiar with the New Testament, that in his letter to the Church in Phillippi, written from prison, Paul of Tarsus offers a different perspective (Phillippians 4: 8-9). But sometimes prisons aren't physical and we aren't always saintly. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is fake, whatever is dishonourable, whatever is twisted, whatever is toxic, whatever is hateful, whatever is shameful, if anything is deficient or deserving condemnation – focus on such things. Do what I clearly do rather than what I say. Let me be your model, and the devil will have a field day filling your heart and mind with bile that will overflow wherever you go. Selah

I have a memory that is well-fitted for table quizzes; a bizarre association of trivialities, dates, names, places that I can rummage through to find the answer or offer someone else enough information that they can fill in the blanks. I’m not good at remembering important details like real people’s names, birthdays etc out of the immediate context, and have never been one to quote at will pieces of text, be that Bible verses, poems learnt at school or even dialogue from parts that I played on stage in the past; once the curtain came down my brain seems to delete such information, or rather put it in an archive not easily accessible except on the rare occasion that I have returned to the part again. I can’t even easily retain pieces of poetry, or prose that I have written myself beyond the context for which I wrote it. So this week I found myself in a group where we were alluding to the image of “the mills of God grinding slowly but exceeding fine” in the hope of ultimate ...

Everything about the current conflict in the middle east seems somewhat surreal and there is no telling where it will take us. But I was "delighted" to find that T-shirt sellers were quick off the mark with their "merch..." A comic-book codename betrays Callousness. A video game brought to life Brings death. Rockets rain down and drones Devastate. Leaders choose to cause chaos To distract. Old men with adolescent mindsets Lash out. One merciless monster eliminated By another. Advocates of bloodthirsty deities Exult. Markets plunge and marketplaces Destroyed. But T-shirt sellers see Opportunity. Not a people but a djinn Liberated. Again leaving innocents Erased. Selah

A reflection based on my current Lent reading  "The Missing Peace"  by Chris Whittington, and thinking about Jesus' prayer practice.  The irony is that this Lent I have never been busier, with impending changes, a certain book launch and a range of "routine" pastoral issues. So it could be a case of do what I say, not what I do, although I am looking forward to putting some of this into practice in my sabbatical after Easter. After hearing bad news.  Before sharing good news. Before big decisions. After major events. When overwhelmed withdraw. Retreat in order to advance. In place of busyness stop. Answer noise with silence. Absent yourself. Check out. Choose solitude and find in that place that you are never alone. Selah

Another brand new piece (hence its not in the new book), this time flowing from both the liturgical, season, the place we find ourselves in globally and the particular season that Sally and I find ourselves in at present. Wilderness is a repeated Biblical theme, ranging from the experience of the people of Israel in their Exodus from Egypt, through to Jesus' period of preparatory testing, and other individuals in between. It is portrayed as both a place of escape and of trial. It prompts some to look back longingly to slavery, others to wish for death, whilst the Psalmist seems to pine for it and the reliance on God it required. Physically I love wilderness spaces, but thats because I know I am only a visitor. But ending up there emotionally with no assurance of an imminent entry into a "Promised Land" is not my favourite experience.  Ironically Bono and I have both drawn on the same source for our inspiration, namely Richard Rohr's "The Tears of Things." Ho...

I've been thinking a lot about next Friday's launch of my second collection of poems, and the reasons why I write poetry. I have repeatedly said that I am under no allusions as to my technical skill (any training I have recieved has been perfunctory and I've largey forgotten most of it) or profundity. Most of the poetry I write (with the exception of the "place poems" that I have written for events like the Wonderful Wander) and primarily personal, allowing me to get disordered thoughts out of an unfocused brain. I have never expected my poems or this blog to draw large numbers of "followers" ( the very idea makes me shudder), though I am pleased, and sometimes astounded when something I write seems to ring a bell with people... so the idea of having one printed collection of poetry never mind two is frankly mindblowing. What follows is the piece which acts as the "opener" in my 2nd colection, and expresses not only the form and fu...

Cheonggyecheon stream in Seoul, South Korea, daylighted from sewers in 2003. Image: Kaizer Rangwala, Flickr. As I said yesterday's poem was the last of the new pieces I wrote for this year's Wonderful Wander, but we didn't use it on the walk.  Instead Mylie Brennan read this piece which I wrote a few years ago and which, consequently DOES feature in my new collection "Hedge Songs," which will be launched next Friday evening.  As I said on the walk and when I originally posted this poem, daylighting is a contemporary urban environmental movement, encouraging urban planners to uncover culverted rivers and discover the difference that properly managed waterways and green spaces can make to the wellbeing of those living and working in cities. The UK has been relatively late to this global trend, but it might have a special resonance in my home city, which is actually named after a long-buried river. On our walk this year, after we left the banks of the Lagan we large...

The last of the new pieces written for this year's "Wonderful Wander", but this one was unused due to time constraints and a slight change of route.  It was written about the Thomas Thompson Memorial Fountain on a traffic island at the junction of Bedford Street and Ormeau Avenue. It was erected in 1885 by Eliza, daughter of Dr. Thomas Thompson, in memory of her father who was one of Belfast’s pioneers in the fight against cholera, advocating for clean water supplies in the face of sceptics who believed that the disease was caused by an atmospheric "miasma".  It was listed in 1970 but has long ceased to function as an operational fountain. The local Linen Quarter Business Improvement District have, over recent years, cleaned up the fountain and aspire to fully restore it, but even in the decade or so that I've been aware of its history the inscruptions on the red sandstone structure have become more indistinct. Hence the following poem... A memor...

Continuing my deluge of poems in advance for the launch of Hedge Songs next week , here is another piece written for last week's "Wonderful Wander." It was great that my mate and fellow poet  Jim Deeds  was able to be back wandering with us this year, though we retained the services of Dr. Mylie Brennan to keep our facts straight and the average age down! As the three of us talked over the route in advance it was again interesting to note the different and similar perspectives of our city between Jim and me, him being brought up in the west as a Catholic and me an east Belfast Prod. Both our households got our "lemonade" from the "Maine Man" (see yesterday's poem), but as we talked about the Ormeau Road where we would come out of the Gasworks, he reminded me that in various parts of the city, including at this junction, in the "bad old days" the side of the road you walked on led to a presumption of whether you were a catholic of a protes...