Having just returned from holiday, I have been appreciating how important it is to both maintain and break established rhythms.  Holidays seem to give us natural breaks in daily rhythms that are much needed chinks of space and light in an otherwise packed schedule.  Returning to those rhythms is difficult, and at the same time healing, as we settle back into routines – perhaps more aware than before of being taken out of context, and the sharp focus that we are thrown into as we come back into a familiar context.  Something of that sharpness of focus struck me recently when I was walking away from a church meeting late at night.  The poem reflects some of my thoughts as I stopped to pause. I stopped and looked

I’ve been giving a lot of thought over the past month to what it means to really listen – to listen to the inner workings of our own heart.  But also, and much harder, to listen to the inner workings of other peoples hearts.  To listen to the silent voice that is not heard ; to listen to words that are not expressed ; to tune in to the voice of God underneath the human words.  It is something that not many of us can do – and I find it hard at the best of times.  I remember hearing  a monk giving a talk about life in a monastery.  He commented that one of the first things people find when they join the community is that they think they are good listeners, but that in fact they only listen to surface noise.  What we need to listen to is the unheard, the unknown, the voiceless.  There are times in our lives when we need others to listen at the very deepest level. Listening

In the odd moments of what has been a very busy week of music exams and teaching, I have found time to explore the diaries of Etty Hillesum. They were written between 1941 and 1943, but rather than exploring life in Holland during the war, the diaries are firstly a journey through her inner world, only sometimes moving into the restrictions placed on Jews in daily life. It is a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a deep thinking woman, who tries to find meaning in the horrors of the war.

I attended an ordination service today.  It was a wonderful occasion of celebration and praise, and a time to mark the journeys of those being priested.  As I sat in the service though I began to wonder about reality.  What is real, or more real, than something else?  Can I say that the cancer ward is more real than the church service that I attended? My first reaction was, yes, of course the pain and humanity of the cancer unit is more real than white robes and coloured scarves.  But then I began to reflect that perhaps both tried to get to God through different routes  – a kind of wordlessness.  The one through wordlessness of pain, and the other through wordlessness of power and glory. So perhaps neither is more real than the other. Reality

Having struggled to sleep in the humid heat for the last two nights, I finally took matters into my own hands, and slept in a tent in the garden last night. I got a good night’s sleep, and even had a little breeze blowing through the tent to keep me cool.

Night life though is completely different to the life experienced by those of us that function by day.  The odd fox wandered past, snuffling its way by the tent, hoping to find some remains of food ; Smaller mammals that looked suspiciously like mice ran alongside the tent ; I’m sure there were a few bats around too, although without a skylight it was difficult to tell ; and then there was the army on exercise on the ranges – sounds of a full scale battle echoed around the night air ; finally I was woken by the dawn chorus -  a wonderful mix of birdsong, and full of the exuberance of summer.

Turning points. What is it about different moments in life that we look back on as turning points.  Sometimes it is a moment of celebration – a wedding, baptism, birthday.  More often though it is an indescribable moment when we know that horizons have changed, perceptions shifted, and new directions found.  They are unpredictable moments, and often completely outside human control – but we know when we have found a turning point in life.  Something has changed.  It might take months or years to work out how, but something has shifted.

Having spent most of yesterday in the hospital to have fluid drained from my abdomen, I soon realised that hospitals run on a completely different planet and time scale to the rest of civilization.  In many ways it was a frustrating experience, but it is also a good lesson in living ‘in the moment’.  Perhaps not the easiest of places to dwell – I remember reading Rowan Williams remarks on ‘the unbearable present moment where Jesus is’ – but still a rich and rewarding place to be. If you want to read more, have a look at my reflection on The hospital.

There are so many different definitions of prayer.  The one I love and use most is one that I heard several years ago – ‘prayer is wasting time with God’.  So much of the time I am conscious of not wasting time, of making the most of every minute – and yet here I am being encouraged to be reckless with time, and to waste it ; to practise abandon, and dwell with God.  It is a definition that runs counter to everything in our western culture, and yet I get the sense that if I can practise this recklessness with time, there will be a richness to be found in being with God.

I also love Teresa of Avila’s reference to prayer as being ‘nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends ; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us’.  Again, there is the idea of recklessness in relation to time – it is a learning curve for me.  I have written a short reflection on Prayer – there may be more to follow

In the middle of so many things going on healthwise, I have been conscious today of the words of Gilbert Shaw (given to me recently) that are pinned over my desk :

Your work is STANDING – holding things without being deflected by your own desires or the desires of other people round you.  Then things work out jsut through patience.  How things alter we don’t know, but the situation alters.

It is good to remember that there is just as much value in ‘being’, whilst events rush on around us ; and that so much of ministry is about standing still, and being a presence in a noisy and chaotic world.

I have been reflecting over the last few days on consonance and dissonance.  I was inspired by suddenly finding Schoenberg’s piano pieces op. 11, and exploring the harmonies whilst playing the pieces.  They are considered ‘transitional’, that is neither tonal nor twelve tone, but somewhere in the atonal field in between.  I find them incredibly beautiful – and thought provoking in terms of why I find dissonance in music so freeing.  Of course dissonance is a relative term – what I consider dissonant, someone else might consider harmonic.

In an attempt to find some clues, I have been reading Music : soul, city and cosmos after Augustine by Catherine Pickstock, in Radical Orthodoxy, ed. John Milbank.  It will take several readings for it to make sense to me, but I have been struck by Augustine’s idea that music becomes the science that most leads towards theology ; and that for him none of our harmonies are perfect.  There will be more reflections to follow over the coming days, but interesting food for thought.