How must it feel to have your homeland occupied by the enemy? To be dispossessed of your land? To have your home bombarded and reduced to a pile of rubble? How must it feel to lose relatives and friends? To lose possessions and dignity? To be surrounded by devastation, chaos and uncertainty? Not knowing where the next meal may come from or whether you even have a table to sit at? How would we cope with no electricity, no running water, living the life of a refugee in a climate of fear? What must it be like to be frightened by the callous actions of extremists? And equally fearful of your own emotions which may boil over in desperation demanding justice and revenge?
For an ordinary bloke wanting to live a peaceful, meaningful life, earn a living, care for a family, bring security and protection to those you love, and maintain a grip on beliefs and values, a life in that kind of environment would be severely restricted. Even when a cease fire is declared, providing an opportunity to look after the wounded, it’s a fragile peace and experience suggests it will not last. Conflict will resume and there will be yet more suffering.
Sometimes our hearts can feel like that enemy occupied land. Battle weary, battered and bruised after yet another enemy onslaught. Every now and then there is a temporary cease fire. A chance to regroup. New hope and encouragement to keep going. Yet, after only a brief respite, another bombardment comes, threatening to destroy much of what we had salvaged from previous wreckage. Enemies know how to target with precision any weakness in defences. Their aim is to destroy, immobilise, silence and distract. They know how to create disunity, cut off supplies, prey on the vulnerable, sever communication and create exhaustion.
Options are limited in a situation where what’s happening is outside our control. We can remain victims, hunkering down until the next cease fire, longing for peace, yet existing and surviving rather than really living, but at least being close to roots and family and all that is familiar. Or, we can gather all those we love and anything we can salvage, and start out on a path that is unfamiliar, heading for a destination which is unknown, taking on a new adventure with hope of a better life. Whichever option is chosen, we’ll need to cling to the hope that even though life at the moment is not how we imagined it would be, the best is yet to come.
The last time we ascended the hill to the Pepper Pot we followed in the footsteps of a trusted friend. He was an outdoorsy kind of guy with a keen sense of direction who’d walked this path many times before. As the guys forged ahead, we wives followed behind, aimlessly chatting and taking little notice of the route. It was a bright summer’s day and the well worn paths were clearly visible. However, on this occasion, the forest floor was a colourful carpet of fallen leaves, every path obscured. And without a knowledgeable guide to show us the way, hubs was relying on memory and instinct to discern which route to take.
As we approached yet another mystery cross roads in the woods, a local dog walker clocked our confusion. Indicating a low level wooden post, nestled against the tree line, he offered this friendly advice: “Just follow the waymarkers. As one disappears behind you, and the next one is still out of sight, you will start to panic. Just keep walking in the same direction until the next waymarker appears.”
And so, on the strength of his word, we kept travelling in the direction the previous waymarker had pointed towards. We ignored the beckoning finger of hopeful trails calling us off in other directions. The comforting signs and sounds of civilisation were left worryingly far behind. Tumble down ruins, consumed by nature, whispered ghostly tales of long ago. Reassuring recollections of the last reliable waymarker began to evaporate, along with our resolve to go where it led. As the woods became denser, the sense of panic which the kind stranger had so confidently predicted, ambushed us in a darkened dell.
In life and hikes, panic can fuel wrong turns. It’s interesting to note that when the way ahead is unclear, there’s an understandable human longing to turn back. To go back to where I “know”. Or to give up altogether. Once, in the city of Birmingham, I was so utterly lost that I just sat on a wall and wept. Or I might disregard those who’ve walked the path before me, or rationalise that some movement is better than no movement so I just sort of freestyle it, running wildly, hoping to wing my way out of a thick fog without taking wise counsel.
But together, we held our nerve, believed the words of the kind stranger and patiently trusted until the next waymarker appeared. We also trusted, to some extent, in our own sense of going up hill towards the summit, where the Pepper Pot was located. We knew for certain it was up there, because we remembered eating cheese and beetroot sandwiches while resting against its base. We remembered taking in the magnificent views stretching out across Morecambe Bay.
The view across Morecambe Bay
I sighed in gratitude as each waymarker breached my sight lines. Grateful for the kind stranger who had tipped us off. Grateful for those who’d gone before us and taken the trouble to mark the way. Each humble wooden post held a grouping of three, wordless signs. A faded, but plainly visible, ancient chalky white image of the distinctive Pepper Pot, about six inches tall, along with a faded, ancient chalky white arrow. Beneath both of these was a sharper, clearer arrow sitting within a small disc of man made material, some kind of plastic or acrylic.
These simple signs were obviously installed some years apart, possibly decades. The old and the new had been created using very different skills, methods and materials. But united in a single purpose they remained, clinging to the wooden post in all weathers, fully aligned in the truth they declared. As each waymarker appeared, then disappeared behind us, we followed the direction they pointed to, growing in confidence and faith that, in its own time, the next one would be there to guide the way to our destination.
The “Pepper Pot” at Silverdale, Lancashire
Val’s latest book Notes from the North end of Nowhere (published by scm) is available here.
Digital Editor’s note: I’m pleased to welcome Tim Farron as our Sorted Magazine Guest Writer. Tim has been the Member of Parliament for Westmorland and Lonsdale since 2005 and served as the Leader of the Liberal Democrat Party from 2015 to 2017. Tim is also the host of Premier’s ‘A Mucky Business’ podcast, which unpacks the murky world of politics and encourages believers around the UK to engage prayerfully.
Tim writes: Central London has felt an increasingly feverish place to be over the last year, and this weekend was no different. Thousands gathered in the city for three different organised groups.
The Unite the Kingdom demonstration marched in support of extreme right activist Tommy Robinson, with signs mourning the death in prison of a man who had been arrested in the Rotherham riots over the summer.
Another group organised by Stand Up to Racism marched in counter-protest to this demonstration.
And yet another group, the United Families and Friends campaign gathered in Trafalgar Square in memory of those who have died in police custody, and was attended by the family of Chris Kaba. This was after the Police Officer who shot Chris Kaba in 2022 was cleared of his murder last week. Three different groups of thousands of people, choosing to protest, all fuelled by raw emotion.
The right to protest is important, and we should consider ourself blessed to live in a country where such demonstrations – whatever we think of them – are freely permitted.
After the heat and noise of the weekend, Parliament looks this week to the budget on Wednesday. This budget is an especially long awaited event. Most new governments introduce their budget just a few days and weeks after they have been elected to power, but the new Labour government has chosen to take its time until now. Soon we will know what the government’s financial plan for the country will look like.
The passion and protest of the weekend seems a world away from the dry and complex array of numbers we will be subjected to on budget day.
Of course, Chancellor of the Exchequer Rachel Reeves does not have a lever to control peoples levels of satisfaction in their work, or community cohesion, or collective passion about aspects of culture. The levers available to her are taxation, public borrowing, spending on the NHS and other services and the like.
But the day-to-day decisions of government and the scrutiny of their decisions are intimately linked to the culture outside the walls of Parliament.
It is good for politicians to receive the sobering reminder occasionally that there is only so much that they can really control. Especially for a politician in government. There has been much talk in the lead up to the budget by the government of a £22bn black hole in the public finances. It is a statistic usefully employed to prepare the ground for a ‘painful’ budget of difficult decisions. It is a reminder that while it seems nearly all public services are desperate for more support – from the probate office to the prison service – that there is also precious little spare money to go around.
This all paints a bleak picture of an uncertain few years ahead. Financial uncertainty and instability creates cultural uncertainty and instability. People become afraid for their personal circumstances and for those of their families – they may then blame others for their predicament, sometimes it will be politicians who have the finger pointed at them but often it can be other groups in society who cannot reasonably be held responsible, but nevertheless find themselves the focus of people’s anger and frustration. Social and ethnic groups so often fit this bill and become scapegoats. We need to watch out for this and defend those people when this happens.
Sometimes, the best a government can do in such uncertain times is to demonstrate basic competence! A government that is responsible with what it has, is realistic about its limits, and seeks to do right by the poorest and most vulnerable in society with the resources it has is a gift of what theologians call ‘common grace’. A free gift from God that no one deserves but from which we all benefit.
The decisions made on tax and spending may or may not generate the same heat and noise as a culture war protests, but they have a far greater impact on the culture in the long run. A reckless budget, like the now infamous budget announced by Kwasi Kwarteng in Liz Truss’ short lived time in Number Ten, can cause financial shockwaves, trigger inflation and worsen the cost of living crisis. With that came an inevitable rise in cultural instability and anger.
There will be countless impossible to predict consequences from whatever decisions Rachel Reeves announces this Wednesday. The impact on small businesses, incomes, pensions savings, the price of a bus fare, or a pasty, or a pint of beer, or a litre of fuel… there are so many potential consequences that its best to wait and see and weigh things up in the days after the budget itself, no matter how tempting it may be to politicians to make assumptions now!
So we should for Rachel Reeves to carry these responsibilities well and she would act justly especially towards those who have the least and with sober and wise judgement.
Culture and politics are not disconnected. Politics shapes culture just as culture shapes politics. As my friend Andy Flannagan has pointed out, it took changing the law to enforce wearing seat belts in cars for the culture to catch up. As always, let’s remember Jesus’ parable that the wise man builds his house upon the rock of his teaching. Jesus guarantees that storms will rage and waves will rise, but that those houses built on the rock will not fall down. So lets pray for careful stewardship of the public finances and that this might also create some calm and stability in a culture that feels to be rising to a boil.
As the travel companies so often advise, please allow extra time for your journey.
It sounds so very obvious, but over the years, I wish I’d left early, be it for travel, appointments, the airport or the dentist (OK, not the dentist). Rushing is what I tend to spend my life doing. And it’s mainly because of one simple, debilitating habit: I like to calculate how much time it will take me to get somewhere, and then leave with exactly that amount to complete the journey. This means that I am constantly clock watching while getting to meetings (my church office is 28 minutes and 30 seconds away if traffic is light).
This habit means that I feel frantic as I dash to the airport (one hour 14 minutes), hoping and praying that I’ll be there on time, feeling massively stressed throughout the journey and arriving somewhat emotionally fractured. Ironically, in trying to achieve more, I achieve less, because my head is brimming with anxiety and I waste the journey time; instead of reflecting or planning, I’m too busy worrying that I’m going to miss that plane.
Ironically, I am a very punctual person and I believe that being late is insulting, because a delay costs other people time. When I am late, not only am I delayed, but it tells those that I am meeting that I do not consider their time to be important. I know people who were probably late being born, and have been consistently late ever since. If they arrive punctually, then it’s a surprise. Now they have a reputation for not keeping their word.
In a way, being late is theft. Horace Mann put it rather bluntly: “Unfaithfulness in the keeping of an appointment is an act of clear dishonesty. You may as well borrow a person’s money as their time.” Sometimes, being late brings total disaster.
There’s an episode in the Bible where we can be certain that a delayed arrival created all kinds of problems. Samuel had agreed to meet nervous King Saul, and he was just a little late. I’m not talking 20 minutes, or even an hour. Saul had been told to wait a week for Samuel to arrive, but even then, Samuel missed the deadline, and Saul’s demoralised troops began to scatter. Saul panicked and offered sacrifices; a job reserved exclusively for the priesthood. We’re not told why Samuel was delayed, but his lateness certainly had dire consequences. So keep your word. Don’t say the cheque is in the post if it isn’t. Leave early. And be on time.
Like many people, I was shocked and horrified when stabbings, riots and counter protests took place in some parts of the country. At that time I had a commitment in my home city of Manchester – or Manc-hattan as we like to call it these days. I had felt perfectly safe strolling through sunny streets, where friendly folks went about their business peacefully, all of us oblivious to the skirmishes that would erupt just hours later.
In the meantime a well known digital tech giant began stirring the toxic pot. According to The Guardian, Twitter owner Elon Musk, shared a faked Telegraph article claiming that Kier Starmer was considering sending rioters to “emergency detainment camps” in the Falklands. The Telegraph described it as “a fabricated headline for an article that doesn’t exist.” Half an hour later Musk deleted his post but claimed that nearly two million readers had viewed it.
Disclosure: As a journalist I loved some of the engagement, connections, real life friendships, sources and news stories I discovered on Twitter. Less so in recent times. As the nonsense escalated so did my concerns and disengagement. I dithered as more media peeps drifted away. But when the fake news story broke, for me, a line was crossed.
I think it would be fair to say that the digital landscape is experiencing a time of unprecedented turbulence. A great Exodus has begun. Celebrities, businesses, politicians, lawyers, journalists, NHS bodies, some banks and key players have left Twitter altogether. Some organisations and individuals have simply reduced their engagement. Some have ceased engagement altogether but held onto their Twitter handle so others can’t nobble their name or brand.
Here’s what I’m seeing online: Other social media platforms are slowly increasing in popularity. Each of them works differently and will suit different requirements. Threads is becoming popular with media and creative types. It’s much smaller than Twitter, currently slower paced and feels less manic, but maybe that’s a good thing. Instagram seems to be well used by photographers, film makers, visual thinkers and designers. Linkedin has shape-shifted somewhat in recent times, but remains a great place to post, network and job search. I’m not such a fan of Tik Tok but I know some people who absolutely love it!
WhatsApp is particularly effective for sharing information or chatting within small groups. Most of my audio notifications are turned off, except for WhatsApp, because that’s where my real people hang out. And then there’s good old familiar Facebook with all its quirks! Public groups hold the annoying potential to be both helpful and unhelpful. But with diligent admins, private groups can function well as a means of connecting. These remain a popular choice. Individuals simply aiming to connect and communicate a snippet of news with their friends won’t go far wrong either.
When it comes to navigating social media, with it’s addictive pull and global reach, it’s important to be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. To remind ourselves that we are the head and not the tail. Social media is a man made construct. A powerful communication tool which is there to serve us. We do not serve it. If you take a break or ditch social media altogether I’m pretty sure nothing bad will actually happen. It’s good to explore different social media platforms. None of them are perfect, because they are full of imperfect people, but it may be worth a careful exploration until you find the places that works for you.
My friend is into ‘Astro Photography’. He regularly posts photos taken with a massive tele photo lens. They show the fantastic detail of craters on the moon, or night sky shots of galaxies far, far away. He takes great delight in explaining how many light years away these objects are and how long ago the light from a particular star started it’s journey to Earth. For all we know, that object may no longer exist yet we can see its light. If I’m honest, I can’t get my head round it all.
Science Fiction stirs up my imagination to think about what life might be like in a future world or on a planet in some distant galaxy. Sci-fi and fantasy story writers somehow manage to free up from the constraints of the way most of us see things now and imagine a different future. It’s become a hugely popular genre of books and films.
Documentaries have a similar effect. How amazing are the programmes which David Attenborough has made about life on this planet? Think of those weird looking creatures in far flung places or in the depths of the ocean. Unseen, unheard of, other worldly, yet real. So I find it surprising that despite all our 21st century progress in understanding, many dismiss thinking about an unseen spiritual world as irrelevant. Perhaps we need a restoration of imagination.
Having said that, imagination is like a coin with two completely different sides. One side can lead to fear and the other to security. People two hundred years ago couldn’t have imagined machines which could fly, remedies for killer diseases, or cooking things without the need for a flame of some sort. A video call with someone on the other side of the world, would have been laughed at. Yet in our world, these things are taken for granted. Science and Technology have taken away the fear of much that was unknown.
From what I read, the Greeks considered themselves a highly sophisticated and knowledgeable people yet they weren’t afraid of belief in the unknown. They understood that life had a spiritual dimension and they believed in something greater than themselves. Their knowledge still left space for imagining the unknown.
An ancient letter written to the first century Greeks reads: ‘No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him’. So what image do we have of the spiritual world today? Is it something for now, or do we reject it as irrelevant to modern life? Is it something to be fearful of? Does it deepen a sense of faith and hope? Or could it just spark our imagination?
Main photo credit: Joe Hill 2021 (Heart and Soul Nebula)
Digital Editor’s Note: I’m pleased to welcome Tim Farron as our Sorted Magazine Guest Writer. Tim has been the Member of Parliament for Westmorland and Lonsdale since 2005 and served as the Leader of the Liberal Democrat Party from 2015 to 2017. Tim is also the host of Premier’s A Mucky Business podcast, which unpacks the murky world of politics and encourages believers around the UK to engage prayerfully. He is the author of A Mucky Business: Why Christians should get involved in politics
Tim writes: Next week, backbench Labour MP Kim Leadbeater will introduce a Private Members’ Bill to introduce assisted dying for terminally ill people.
This will be a non-government bill, usually debated on a quiet Friday when most MPs are in their constituencies, and a route that rarely leads to a change in the law. However, sometimes a bill is given time to progress – and Keir Starmer has indicated his support to enable this, although the government will take a neutral position. MPs in all parties will be given a free vote.
Of course, this is a contentious topic and I will discuss my concerns in the coming weeks. Today though I want to look at how Christians should engage with this debate.
Firstly, we all come to this with our own beliefs, assumptions and experiences. I strongly oppose the legalisation of assisted dying but some Christians take the other view, and many people with no religious faith are as uneasy about the consequences of changing the law as I am.
So we must reject the lazy assumptions of those such as the National Secular Society who have chosen to frame the debate in binary terms. They expressed support for the bill because it would “prevent those suffering from having their choices limited by other people’s religious beliefs”.
Their call for “compassion not dogma” instantly dismisses ‘religious views’ as invalid and heartless. It shuts down debate rather than engaging with nuance.
Their argument is that you can have your personal faith, but don’t impose it on others. But secularism isn’t neutral and no one is saying that secularists must keep their faith out of public policy! The secularist faith is that there is nothing beyond this life, no accountability and no enduring meaning. These are legitimate assumptions, but they are based on a faith, an unprovable belief, that they are true. This shows, to put it generously, a lack of self-awareness by those who believe that only people who attend a place of worship have faith.
This approach insists that people whose worldview is informed by a religious faith must not use that worldview to inform public policy … while secularists are free to impose the outworkings of their faith and assumptions. I say this gently, but that’s a very inconsistent position. It doesn’t bear scrutiny and, I might add, it’s not very liberal!
This is a hugely emotive subject. Many of us, me included, have personally experienced the suffering of loved ones from cruel and degenerative diseases, and of course we long to take this grief away. But we will not make better laws if each side digs into a tribal trench and starts hurling abuse at the other.
I want to seek some common ground for a courteous national debate that encourages curiosity and respect on all sides.
As Christians we must acknowledge that our society does not recognise authority where we do. Quoting scripture to an atheist will get us nowhere. But loving our neighbour by listening attentively, doing our utmost to understand another’s point of view, I hope will.
So let’s recognise that people on both sides approach the issue from a sense of compassion.
Those of us opposed to changing the law are neither callous nor uncaring. And we must show respect to others, refraining from labelling their views as an easy or even wicked option.
Because we all desire dignity. Those in favour of assisted dying want to make it easier for people at the end of life to maintain self-respect in the face of pain and increasing dependence on others. This springs from a belief that we should have autonomy over our own bodies and, where possible, our own lives.
As a Christian I believe in a dignity that is even richer and deeper. Dignity that is not found only in our abilities, mental capacity or control over our lives. Dignity that springs from the belief that each individual is a deeply loved, awesome creation of the living God, made in His image and therefore with intrinsic and unconditional worth.
This debate touches the heart of what it means to be human. We do not speak much of death in our society. We are afraid of losing control over our bodies, of suffering and losing our self-worth. And without the assurance of God’s love or sovereignty, people are seeking a new concept of humanity, on human terms. As Bishop Robert Baron puts it, we are seeking to be ‘inventors of ourselves’.
But if we believe that “God has set eternity in the human heart” (Ecclesiastes 3:11), this explains why these deep concerns resonate on both sides of today’s debate. We are still a deeply Christian society at heart.
This issue deserves careful, thoughtful and respectful discussion. In seeking to respond in this way, Christians can reject this debate as another outpost in the culture wars and instead place a renewed focus on the worth and deep value of each individual right to the end of their lives.
America in the mid 1800s was a brutal place, both for the wave of American settlers moving to new land, and for the native Americans already living there and fighting both the invaders and other tribes. The tally of battles, raids and utter chaos on both sides is staggering, history yet again showing us how bad things can get between people where territory is concerned.
A well-known figure from that era was Quanah Parker. His father was a native American and his mother was a European-American girl, abducted in a raiding party, called Cynthia Anne Parker. Quanah was a war leader of the Kwahadi band of the the Comanche Nation, a tribe that had dominated for a long time.
The Comanche were wild and nomadic; they had a fighting and raiding range of about 400 miles, which for the time was massive. One of the things that enabled their rise was the use of horses. The Spanish mastery of horses, and the huge culture of breeding horses and breaking them was absorbed into Comanche culture; they saw it and used it. Quanah Parker has been depicted riding one of his stallions bare-chested, with a war bonnet of eagle feathers, face painted, hair braided and a bow made from animal sinew. At the time, it would have been a real problem seeing him ride into your town.
Why does this matter? Well, Quanah Parker is also known, and criticised by some, for later becoming a rancher and adopting some European-American ways of life, for letting go of some of his own historic culture, dress, speech and more, although he always kept his braids. The horseback warrior changed; to some, he sold out.
We live in a time of confusion, of fluidity, of people searching for identity in a tide of shifting culture that says “This is it, this is who you need to be to be understood and accepted”. So how do we navigate it? Should we be the mounted warrior with a war bonnet, or blend in and assimilate as best we can?
For me, there is a different culture, a different set of codes or patterns to live by. Found in the Bible is the fruit of the spirit; things that will direct me towards living well, and living with my creator. These might feel like passive, defensive things, but when lived out correctly, you’ll be a warrior, with or without the eagle feathers.
A brilliant Head of Philosophy at Birkbeck College, University of London, C E M Joad, was not always a man of faith, but when he was asked on a radio programme which one historical figure he would most like to meet and ask just one question, he didn’t hesitate: “I would meet Jesus Christ and ask him the most important question in the world, ‘Did you or did you not rise from the dead?’”
You see, if Jesus Christ really is risen from the dead, it changes everything. It means that every word, every claim, every statement He ever made is true:
■That He came to bring life, to save the lost, to bring us all home. ■That He came to set us free from religion and rules. ■That He wants us to live lightly. ■That we can move mountains and heal the sick. ■That we are all His children. And that, ultimately, He won’t let harm come to us.
But it all hinges on His resurrection. If He didn’t rise again, then His claims about Himself were not true. In the words of C. S. Lewis, “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic, on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg, or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse.”
But if He did rise again, then how? The compelling evidence for the resurrection is hard to argue against. I have tried. Many of the greatest minds of our time have tried. The evidence is so stacked toward it being the truth that many scholars have found faith after setting out to discredit it.
So if He did rise again, it means this also is true: “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20). And if He is right here, right now. beside us, for us, and within us, then our day really should be full of joy and assurance! Jesus with us. Truth. Soak it in.
Digital Editor’s Note: I’m delighted to welcome Matthew White as our Sorted Magazine Guest Writer. Matthew is a priest, poet and songwriter as well as an accomplished musician and singer. He is passionate about faith, poetry and music and has always had a keen fascination with words. His debut book Propelled into Wonder was released in September 2024 (Wipf and Stock Publishers).
Matthew writes: Did you know that approximately 33% of the Bible is poetry? That’s effectively one third of the entire canon of Scripture devoted to various kinds of songs and poems! Followers of Jesus who regularly attend a church will be familiar with the singing of songs as an integral part of Christian worship and discipleship but how many of us actively make room in our lives (or in our services of worship for that matter) for poetry?
If you’re anything like me, you can probably recall, hum, sing or whistle the words or tune belonging to your favourite songs or pieces of music but how many of us can confidently recite a favourite poem that perhaps over time we may even have committed to learning by heart?
For indeed, the “heart” is both pertinent and significant when it comes to engaging with poetry as this is where the best poems emanate from and where the best poems gladly make themselves at home.
In stark contrast to the often laborious and tedious experience of reading a set of instructions or pouring over an academic textbook, the beauty and “magic” of poetry is that it is a medium which demands to be savoured, chewed, interrogated, ingested and pondered. Or, to put it another way, poetry is that which encounters us.
I am more convinced than ever before that poetry is a rich and dynamic gift from God, the very same God who is himself a dynamic hum of perfect relationship and who “spoke”1 the world into being. I am also convinced that good poetry necessitates being felt as well as read and, sadly, there are plenty of people out there who haven’t tried either.
Poetry has many benefits to offer those who afford it proper time and due reverence. One of the main things I have benefitted from is poetry’s uncanny ability to give a voice to those emotions and experiences that perhaps I would have otherwise found difficult to talk about or make sense of myself.
Poetry has the power to profoundly and wonderfully enrich our lives. Poetry can be a source of healing. Poetry can soothe and comfort as well as stir and agitate. Poetry can lead us to meditate and poetry can provoke us into action. Poetry invites us to slow down and helps us to become present, serving the particular moment or text that we find ourselves in.
As we continually open ourselves to a varied plethora of poets and poems and as we spend time reading (and I would advise speaking and listening to) the Psalms, we quickly discover that our experiences of loss, heartache, abandonment, bewilderment, anger and hopelessness are perhaps not as uncommon as we might think.
My new book, Propelled into Wonder (Wipf and Stock Publishers), is an original poetry collection containing many highs and sighs from the past decade of my life. Several of the poems in the book were written in the gruelling aftermath of losing my beloved father unexpectedly and suddenly to Covid during the lead up to Christmas in 2021. Others were inspired by a selection of my favourite people and places or born out of several incredibly joyful and unsavoury experiences from both within and outside the walls of the Church.
Propelled into Wonder is home to poems about faith, doubt, grief, leadership, beauty, childhood and love (among others). Many of the poems are accompanied by original hand drawn illustrations. My hope is that this book will inspire and speak to others in the same way that the poetry of others so often ministers and speaks to me.
In the book’s introduction, I write the following words: “If nothing else, my hope is that the words on the pages that follow are honest. Moreover, that they are honest in the way that the Psalms are honest, holding nothing back and declining that dangerous invitation to adopt an unrealistic state of permanent politeness, all in the name of showing God due reverence.”
If you are kind enough to pick up a copy of my book, my heart’s desire is that my words will speak to you, or even help you speak, and I am praying that my poems will become both friend and firebrand.
It was one of my favourite poets, Gerard Manley Hopkins, who famously observed in one of his most well known poems2: “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” Perhaps your world needs to be charged with poetry!
Genesis 1:3, Psalm 33:9
From the poem God’s Grandeur by Gerard Manley Hopkins
