For several years now, 2nd February has been known as Time to Talk Day, when mental health charities and activists commit themselves to helping people to talk about their own and others’ mental health.
We all have mental health – just as we all have physical health – and it can be good or bad. The most commonly quoted statistics say that one in four people will experience mental health problems, with one in ten suffering at any given time. We also know that in our communities, complex mental health conditions are more common than in the wider population, probably because of the stigmas associated with our gender identities and sexual orientations. This fear of people’s reactions can also be a barrier to finding effective treatment. It is unfortunately also true that churches are not always safe places to discuss or disclose mental health conditions. Poor mental health can sometimes be interpreted as an indicator of a lack of faith, and some symptoms are interpreted as a person being ‘difficult’.
Jesus met a man forced to live outside his hometown, in the caves near where his erstwhile neighbours kept their pigs. He was harming himself and talking in a way that people couldn’t (or didn’t choose to) understand. Only Jesus approached and addressed him directly, asked him his name, and offered help. The man had for so long been identified by his problems that he even gave his name as “Legion” for the many ways in which he felt attacked by his thoughts and feelings. Relieved of them, he was calm for the first time in years. He didn’t lose his history – and the people around him are unlikely to forget it, even if they bring him back into the community – but he was in a position to make his own decisions once again and he chose to rest at Jesus’ feet amongst the disciples.
It is not always easy to follow God in the midst of crisis, particularly when your mind is in chaos, but it should feel safe to be amongst the people of God. The people of God who follow Jesus are called to have the courage to stand with one who is isolated even from their experience of themself and to ask their name. In the midst of crisis, it is hard to feel loved or wanted, but a hand held or a shared cup of tea can reach through the Legion of difficult, destructive feelings and anchor someone to the world and the people around them.
I have always had difficulties with my mental health – just like some people do with their physical health – and one of the ways it manifests for me is a fear of being on my own. I find it hard to sit in silence and pray when I am feeling unwell, but sharing with a prayer partner or being part of a congregation is very soothing. Others find it hard to be in a group when they are anxious or depressed and might forgo church for a time. Reaching out to someone you’ve not seen for a while might not feel like much, and you might not even see its effect, but it can be the difference between a bad day and a better one.
Our mental health is precious. Get to know what soothes your spirit, and take time for it regularly. If you think someone else might be suffering, don’t be afraid to reach out to them and invite them to name their pain. When they are ready to ask for help, they will need someone to be Christ to them.
If you are suffering today, please reach out to someone and know God is with you.
As we come towards the end of 2016, I think we are all reflecting on the changes that have taken place in the past twelve months, as individuals, as a community of believers, as a nation, and worldwide.
Uppermost in my mind are the effects of the political changes of the second half of the year. After the referendum on the European Union in June, we saw a recorded increase in hate crime across the board, but particularly racially aggravated incidents. The xenophobic language of the leave campaign seems to have contributed to this increase.
Similarly, following the election of Donald Trump as President-elect of the United States of America, there was a renewed sense of threat against our churches, against black people and other people of colour, and against the LGBT+ communities. The language of the campaing appeared to give this permission.
That Advent comes in the end of the calendar year, amidst the shortest and darkest days, reminds us that Christ is a presence with us in all our own times of cold and fear, and encourages us to look to the future. The Nativity stories we read in the Gospels tell of a family living in a politically hostile landscape (Roman Palestine) who were forced into seeking asylum in Egypt because of the whim of a corrupt ruler. The birth of Christ gives us hope because it overturns corruption and the status quo through the simple subversive image of God as a child fleeing for his life. That is the Unexpected Peace we are commemorating with our service this Sunday.
The Christchild is alive in every young person desperate to leave Alleppo. Mary’s loving care holds fast in every mother, stepmother and mother-figure who protects the vulnerable. Joseph’s steadfastness is present in every father or protector who places themselves between the court of public opinion and the righteousness of God to keep the law of love.
As Lorraine reminded us last week, the peace of Christ is not a reality in our world yet. Advent reminds us to pray continually that the Prince of Peace will come once again amongst us, that God’s Rule of Love of will create the world anew, and that we will be agents of unfamiliar peace, unclear hope, unrevealed joy and unknown love.
Mike Pence attended a performance of the extraordinary – and deeply political – hip-hop musical Hamilton last night. The cast and crew had been told in advance that he would attend, and chose to use their platform to speak out about their alarm at the way the country has responded to his election.
This statement has caused quite a stir, as I’m sure you’re aware. Firstly, President-elect Trump has argued that theatre should be a “safe space” and that Mike Pence has been denied that, and secondly many people have argued that something about the time and the place was inappropriate – that VP-elect Pence paid(?) to see a show and not to be hectored.
The Theater must always be a safe and special place.The cast of Hamilton was very rude last night to a very good man, Mike Pence. Apologize!
Honestly, though, I don’t think the theatre has ever been a “safe” place in the way Mr. Trump seems to mean. Art is not neutral; however it is dressed up and presented it is part of the cultural conversation.
In the specific case of Hamilton, we are invited into the violent and turbulent political world of the 18th and 19th centuries where dialogue is anything but polite. The sheer diversity of background, culture, education, and politics is reflected in the rhythms and styles that shift and change around each character. From the prose style of George Washington to the superior and dismissive ring to George III’s brief appearances to the boisterous young revolutionaries everyone has a voice and those voices are almost constantly in conflict. The viewer isn’t safe, or contained, but drawn into a political conflict that feels so real it’s impossible not to see in it the echo of the Puerto-Rican American man who has lived in a country suspicious of his language and heritage whilst laying claim to the very country that heritage springs from. This is made all the more stark by the decision to cast professional productions entirely with performers of colour, with the exception of George III.
The musical also challenges the assertion that the USA is in any way a monoculture. As well as the way in which it highlights early differences in state culture, the founding fathers and their allies are shown to be a mix of heritages and backgrounds with influences ranging from the writings of the French revolution through to family culture, tragedy, and upbringings across the British colonies. Hamilton is described as, “A bastard, orphan son of a whore and a Scotsman dropped in a forgotten spot in the Caribbean…” and once gleefully cries to the Marquis de Lafayette, “Immigrants: we get the job done!” This is not neutral to current trends in dialogue; on the Hamilton Mixtape, a whole track with this title is dedicated to how we talk about immigration in the 21st century (lyrics, Spotify).
We could pick almost any piece of musical theatre and find similar controversy. Picture the moral outrage that was poured over Jerry Springer: The Opera, or the horror with with Georges Bizet’s extraordinary opera Carmen was greeted when it opened.
When a writer and composer set out to tell a story, everything about the way they choose to tell it reveals who they are and what they believe. Jerry Springer: The Opera lays the blame for the blame culture squarely at the door of talk shows and ‘reality’ TV. Prosper Merimée’s Carmen (on which the opera is based) places the blame with Romani culture for Carmen’s behaviour, and her murder, whilst the opera can be read as a more nuanced work that seems to view a man and his female victim as equally culpable when jealousy causes José to kill Carmen. You don’t have to agree with these viewpoints to be drawn into the story, or to enjoy the music. You don’t have to realise you’ve been exposed to them to be influenced by them. Whether we like it or not, art is political and artists have a major platform.
When I had my own opportunity to write for the stage, I chose the pantomime Cinderella, because it is so easy to parody. I was writing for two performances to a maximum of 1,000 people (I think about 600 saw it in the end) but I knew I had one chance to convince some of them that panto is more than a vehicle for last year’s I’m a Celebrity runner-up, and that I had a real chance to show that there is validity to telling our childhood stories through a queer lens. Yes, it was daft, yes, most of the best jokes were classic panto set-pieces, but even that microcosm of the theatre started with the idea that I have a right to see people like me on stage – an inherently political idea. (A side note, we had as our director the marvellously talented Luke Davies, who has continued this sterling work and you should all support him in that.)
Would I have used my platform to ask a man who has the potential to take my rights away to protect us instead? Perhaps. I hope so.
I applaud the cast of Hamilton for acknowledging their role and their platform, and choosing to use it. In the wake of a spike in violence, vandalism, and hate crime in the wake of his election to the office of Vice President I, too, am looking to Mr. Pence and Mr. Trump to say more than, “Stop it,” and to protect the people of the country they have pledged to unite. I am grateful Mr. Dixon’s gentle reminder to the audience that no one comes to the theatre to be booed, and would hope that if I were in his position I would have had the courage of my convictions to do the same.
The theatre is not “safe space” where the world is shut out. The theatre is where the world works out its politics, its philosophy, its meaning. Vive le théâtre! Vivent les artistes! Vive la révolution!
People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors. –
Edmund Burke, Revolution in France
For many people, this week has felt like it will be remembered by future generation as a turning point. The election of Donald Trump as the 45th President of the United States of America felt impossible mere weeks ago. Both those who voted for him and those who voted for other candidates feel a change in the nature of US politics from the era of the first black President to the election of a disruptive candidate pitched against the ‘establishment’.
We cannot, of course, look forward into the future. Only God can stand outside time. We can only look to learn from our past. In the recent past, the ‘Brexit’ vote seemed to give permission to people who harbour racist and other descriminatory views to express them publicly in protest or hate crime, and many fear a similar permissive culture emerging in the United States of America in the weeks to come.
Many MCC Churches in the USA are preparing themselves against that possibility, offering extra support, and creating prayer spaces for people who feel vulnerable as a result. Many the most vulnerable will be Trump supporters who are people of colour or allies who had believed that their candidate’s election would be a source of unity, and not division.
As we seek to become Christlike, we know that we are Christ’s hands and feet in the world today. It is for us to seek out, speak for, and protect people at risk in any part of the world where hate and division takes hold, whether it’s speaking against a racist demonstration at the Monument, reporting a hate crime, or sharing the writings of marginalised people to amplify their voices.
We cannot ever say how Jesus would have voted, all the candidates are beloved Children of God and created to serve God in their calling. We can say that he put himself between a mob and a vulnerable woman (John 8:1-11), that he shared water with a victim of persistent racism and misogyny (John 4), and that he cared for the sick regardless of their social position (e.g. Luke 7:2-10). We must equally receive the stories of others and care for them, regardless of their politics, their religion, or any other arbitrary human division.
This is particularly important as we enter into commemorations of war, destruction, and loss of life. Our interim Moderator, Rev. Rachelle Brown, has gifted us with this prayer for the week:
We learn from Jesus that love is greater than fear.
In this hour, we pray for those who are afraid.
In times of uncertainty, we believe
God makes way for new life.
We offer ourselves
to be communities of spiritual transformation.
May the light and love of God begin healing us
and grant us wisdom. Amen.
After trying very hard to focus on the positives of getting through week 3 of Fresh Meat on Tuesday, I had a bit of a rough time at band on Wednesday. I’ve moved from playing the second part to sitting on the front desk, just for the next concert, and I’m finding playing solos stressful since I’m out of practice at playing on my own. We also had a guest conductor, who was excellent, but that’s always a little nerve-wracking. I started hyperventilating during a solo line in West Side Story which took me way out of tune and made me think about all the different kinds of things that go together to make it possible to stick at playing when you’re a slow-learner and an amateur.
It’s tempting to think it just comes together by accident, but I found myself remembering all of the supportive people I’ve learned from over the years., I realised that non-musicians may have taught me more about playing well than I realised. It’s not all about lessons, practice, and rehearsals.
1. Mistakes are not the end of the world
This one is obvious, right? I’ve made at least one mistake every time I’ve picked up my instrument, but I am almost always freaked out by them – especially when anyone else can hear, and even more if they comment.
When I started public speaking with Aylesbury Speakers (part of Toastmasters International), I was worried about evaluation. Every speaker is evaluated and given feedback based on specific targets for the role or project and suggestions for improvement.
Hearing feedback from both established and new speakers has undoubtedly improved my presence, posture, and presentation when I speak in meetings, at church, and at work. It’s given me confidence that I can be in front of a room without freaking out, and more than anything it’s taught me that everyone has room for improvement and if I am not the most naturally gifted in the room I can still learn and work and get better. Listening to the feedback from others even won me an award, once.
2. Your true limits are way beyond where you think they are
When I was 11 I had an excellent PE teacher. Mrs. Jarrett was a big believer in knowing your body and its capabilities. I have always suffered from crippling period pain, but there was no pain she couldn’t teach me to stretch our or run off, and to this day I know that if I can bear it, 2 naproxen and an aerobic warmup will do more good than any amount of chocolate when Aunt Flo has her cramping face on. (She also gave me my one and only D on a report card, for dance, but it came with a 1 for effort, so that’s nice!)
Since Mrs. Jarrett’s dance lessons I’ve not been afraid to tell people I have period pain or anxiety and can’t do my best work. I’ve learned to take recovery breaks if I need them, and perhaps most importantly I’ve learned that the limit is always a bit further away than you think it is. When I think my facial muscles are done, and I’m too tired to try again, there’s always a bit more to give.
3. Your strengths matter more than your weaknesses
I used to think that you couldn’t be thought of as good at something unless you were an all-rounder, and that unless you found each skill equally easy you may as well not bother. It was my maths teacher that taught me otherwise. At school level, I generally did pretty well, but I found maths deeply frustrating. Sometimes I mastered a concept instantly (this seemed particularly true with more abstract maths) and sometimes I could practice endlessly but would never be able to memorise or reproduce the mechanic without the text book in front of me.
I was trying to explain this to my teacher one day, when she said, “You’ve got a flair for mathematics, but it would be easier if you didn’t need to be perfect”. After all, you can get an A in an exam without answering every question correctly.
I am better at rhythm than technique. I take notes well, and remember them, but can’t always apply them without significant personal practice. I’ll never be a virtuoso, but I can always work on improving tone and technique if I at least know I’m in the right place at the right time!
4. It’s not all about you
I am not my whole section, I am not the whole band. In a largeish section like the flute section of a concert band, you can afford to share the load out without feeling like you’re rubbish or lazy.
When I was 20, I wrote and produced pantomime (a queer version of Cinderella) which was an exercise in pressure and absurdity with a mix of complete and utter amateurs from the LGBT Society (including me), and some tremendous amateurs from the Drama Society and Stage Crew. Cinderella was my baby, I put my degree and several friendships at risk to get it done, and worked on every detail I could manage. It was the get-in at the Bloomsbury Theatre before my friend Jen kindly-but-firmly took me aside and suggested that, just maybe, focusing the lamps was not my job right now and if I didn’t want each and every member of Stage Crew to tear me limb from limb I might like to stay out of the way until the technical rehearsal.
Point taken. I can only work to my own skills. Between us, as a section, we can decide to put some parts down to one player only, or dovetail long runs, and stagger breaths on long notes. There is nothing to be gained by wearing myself out trying to play for everyone and making it sound lousy in the process. (Incidentally, letting people get on with their own jobs is a lifesaving skill in ministry, too!)
5. More than anything else, it’s about banishing The Fear.
This was Wednesday’s insight. The idea that exercise
requires mind-over-matter is not new to me(especially in my case, getting out for a run at all is the last thing I usually want to do). I learned early on when I was training for the Royal Parks Half Marathon that walking in a long run was my worst enemy, not because of the effect on my body (which could be restorative), but because getting back up to a run was hard to do without feeling the need to drop down again every time it got hard.
When I started going for runs for fun, Emily bought a ‘Blerch’ t-shirt from The Oatmeal that says, “I do not believe in The Wall, I believe in The Blerch” (full comic). I wear the t-shirt and matching socks when I’m especially unkeen to go out or take on something new.
The new insight for me, when I was trying to convince myself to get through the solo line in One Hand, One Heart, was that I found myself thinking, “I got back on skates, I can do anything.” From there, it’s only a short leap to remembering the mantra that Derby is as much about mental toughness as physical fitness, and then it all clicked. If I can’t skate when my emotions are out of whack, why do I keep trying to play when I feel lousy without taking the time I need to calm down? After all, depression and anxiety take a huge physical toll.
So, next week when we get to the concert and I’m feeling anxious, I’m going to try and remember that my mistakes are unimportant, I can push on past my limits, I have strengths as well as weaknesses, it’s not about me, and I can do it if I can just keep calm and carry on.
So I’ve finally bitten the bullet and taken a tentative step towards learning to play Roller Derby. I went to a taster day at Oxford Wheels of Gory a couple of months back, and have just got home from Week 3 of an 8-week ‘Fresh Meat’ course. There is no doubt I look less like Bambi today than I did back in September, but I’ve already had a good taste of the difference between a Good Week and a Bad Week.
This week was a Bad Week, because last week I fell about 10 mins before the end of the session (not unusual) but for the first time ever I fell backwards. I hit my head pretty hard, and because the symptoms of concussion and of insomnia are pretty similar (and I’ve had insomnia since May) I did have to get checked out at Minor Injuries and took a day off work.
When I got home tonight, I wrote this on Facebook,
Training made me all philosophical today. I didn’t plan on being scared of hitting my head again but kept coming up against The Fear.
The thing is, though, that I have an anxiety disorder so I get The Fear when someone rings the doorbell, or I forget to answer an email, or for no bloody reason at all! I was scared of riding without stabilisers until I was 8, I was scared of rounders balls until I finally hit one when I was 10, I was scared of walking in Himalaya and I’m still scared of making mistakes, and of falling.
But if I’d never fallen and broken my leg I might not have met Emily. If I hadn’t ever risked rejection I’d never have worked, studied at UCL or Oxford, or been part of the early years of LGSW. I’d have a totally different group of friends, or hardly any at all.
I think I can do this. And you can do that thing you’re worried about. And if I can’t? I think I’d make a perfectly respectable NSO*, after all.
Next Tuesday is a whole other opportunity to learn new things, and this week was definitely not a total washout (I have finally managed to stand still on skates, without even trying!). I hope I still feel this positive next week but the lovely, lovely thing about Derby in general, and OWG in particular, is that everyone is determined to be kind and positive and let everyone take their own journey at their own pace. That culture is exactly what I was drawn to and it’s been lovely to realise that it’s not just a front(!)
*Non-Skating Official – scorers, penalty officials, etc.
Remember, remember the 5th of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot!
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot.
On this day in 1605, a young Catholic man who felt persecuted under the successive Protestant governments of Elizabeth I and James VI/I entered a chamber under the House of Lords where earlier a group of his co-conspirators had hidden barrels of gunpowder. His intention was to blow up the Palaces of Westminster whilst King James was in the House of Lords opening Parliament. He was tortured and executed for treason, and in his name we still burn ‘Guys’ on bonfires along with the ironic fireworks to celebrate an explosion that never happened.
This conspiracy had far-reaching consequences. After eighty years of religious turmoil, the Catholic conspiracy added fuel to sectarian rhetoric and fear of Catholics amongst English and Scottish Protestants. When James’ father (Charles I) took the throne and married a French, Catholic princess, it would be one of the major factors that caused the Civil War that was to follow, and the rise of the radical Protestant (or ‘Puritan’), Oliver Cromwell.
We see the echoes of religious persecution and the Gunpowder Plot resonate through the history of the British Isles. Lack of forgiveness fosters resentment that creates conflicts such as that in N. Ireland. Why do we still respond so unforgivingly to threats that appear to come from other cultures and religions?
We have not learned that persecution leads to threat in a vicious cycle, so we see regular articles that accuse young children fleeing Syria of being grown men seeking to infiltrate our country for Daesh. We have not understood that our actions have consequences, so men still shout at women wearing headscarves and veils in the street, and are then shocked when their sons and daughters are able to be coerced into believing that they would be safer in the war zones of Syria, or Iraq.
We have withstood hate crime and persecution in the LGBT+ communities for centuries. (Indeed, one reason James VI/I was so unpopular was his reported bisexuality.) We see our friends forced to return to nations where they are at great risk, and we must be a part of the solution. God will forgive those who persecute us. So must we – seventy times seven times.
On the 21st October, 1854, a young woman named Florence Nightingale left England for Crimea, where a war was raging that was claiming lives on both sides in astonishing numbers and where the care for wounded and dying was almost non-existent. Her cohort of nurses included fifteen nuns, and a number of other women from different classes and backgrounds who shared Nightingale’s conviction that nursing was call from God on their lives. Her contemporaries included the extraordinary Mary Seacole, who set up a recuperation post behind the lines in Crimea, because she was refused the right to travel to a British field hospital because of her Jamaican heritage.
Women behind the lines found themselves working in desperately under-resources field hospitals offering what help they could to the men who were injured. Over 4,000 still died in the first winter they were posted, but Florence Nightingale’s position of some influence (as the daughter of a prominent and wealthy family) allowed her to make recommendations and resource training on her return to England that has gone on to save countless hundreds of thousands of lives since.
Florence Nightingale and Mary Seacole stand as part of those in the course of human history who have heeded God’s call to care for humanity above and beyond their own needs. We could name the martyred British nurse Edith Cavell (who was shot for saving the lives of soldiers without reference to nationality or uniform), or Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King. We could think of families like the ten Boom family who found themselves in concentration camps for hiding Jewish people. We could think of David Kato, who died speaking out for LGBT rights in Uganda.
In their tradition and honour, MCC set up the Global Justice Institute, which has been working for human rights around the world for ten years. They have small budget, and a big heart. They can be found around the world fighting in some of the most dangerous places for LGBT+ people and our allies. Their goal is not to impose their structures and ideas on local people, but to empower them to work for themselves. Please join us in prayer for them, and give what you can in this week’s offering. If you would like to give online, or set up a regular offering to the GJI, you can do so here.
God is a God of forgiveness, who pardons our injustices to one another. Let us be a part of bringing God’s new realm of justice and peace by seeking to correct what injustices we can see.
I had the lovely, but slightly strange, experience of running into an old friend last week. When I was 14 and took on a volunteering role, she was the manager of the charity shop I worked in. We then worked together for 2 years in that shop, and another two that she started up for a local hospice. In that time, I went through my GCSEs, AS Levels, A Levels, several friendships, and eventually moving away from home to start a life at university in London. I’ve never had any doubt that working with Pauline gave me a confidence that I never had around people my own age, and that in many ways learning to work in a shop that brought in people from all walks of life with a whole range of needs and intentions was an early step towards understanding what ministry meant.
I clearly remember one day two young men, about my own age, 17-18, came in and asked for some dresses to try. You very quickly learn when you work in a second-hand shop that your stock is a major source of outfits for local themed club nights, fancy dress parties, and dares. (I once managed to construct a rather good Peter Pan costume from just one day’s donations, but that’s another story.) I jumped to the conclusion that these two were looking for outfits for some kind of drag night, helped them to find their size, and left them to it. It was only later, when the assistant manager cracked a joke about the colour, “bringing out your eyes” to one of the young men that I realised he was the only one trying on clothes, and that he and his mate weren’t laughing.
I think that was the first time I stopped to think about safe space, anonymity, and the projections we cast onto other people. I have always had a more-than-average levels of privilege, being cisgender, white, able to learn in the specific ways our education system demands, etc., but I don’t think I’d really taken it until then. I had never thought of my position as being one that could be used to hurt other people.
I often wonder now if that moment changed anything substantial, or how often I still allow the preconceptions I was brought up with to penetrate my everyday thinking unchallenged, and how that in turn affects my behaviour. I was reminded of the words of the traditional confession, which acknowledges that we sin, “through negligence, through weakness, through [our] own deliberate fault”. This means that when we contribute to behaviours and structures that harm others, that is as much as sin as deliberate harm. And what we do to one another, we do to God.
What a joy, then, to be in a community of believers who commit to forgiveness! When you are next invited to share absolution with one another, and to accept your own forgiveness, remember that Christ forgives all of us, even when, “they know not what they do”. Remember also that we are called to accept that forgiveness and seek to turn it into strength to make ourselves anew in the mould of Christ, who resisted taking on any power that suppresses the weak, instead fighting in word and deed for those who are oppressed.