Creativity and Holy Innocents

The creativity part of this post is simply an observation. While I was on retreat during my sabbatical I found time and energy to produce a number of poems as well as several drawings and paintings. I have never considered myself to be a poet or and artist and I never do these things except when I am on retreat. Yet a retreat gives time for reflection and to allow the creative process time to develop and mature. My day to day life, I conclude, does not give these opportunities, but this is something I am determined to address over the coming weeks and months. It is too enjoyable and satisfying (even with my poor technique) to allow to wither.

One of the poems I wrote concerned the dream Joseph had, warning of Herod’s impending genocide. As we commemorate the Holy Innocents, I thought I’d share it:

Joseph’s Dream

In my dream I hear
the clatter of hobnails on a stoney street
muted in the moonlight, so as not to stir to premature alarm,
and purposeful, feet that know
exactly where they are going,
what their orders are and what to do.

And in my dream I hear
a signal, and at that signal and on every door
a loud knock followed swiftly by
the splintering wood, loud raucous shouts –
no two second wait for legal niceties –
drowning the dazed, confused mumble
of those awoken by this 3 a.m. alarm.

And in my dream I feel and smell
the shock and fear of those roused early from their beds
to clash and clang of ringing steel.
I almost hear the rushing thoughts,
the “why me?” questions; “what have I got to hide?”
I feel the roughness of the soldier’s hands,
the strength and hardness of his boot.

And in my dream I see
the little streams of blood trickling
from a hundred doorways where
just yesterday a young child cried or screamed
or played or took a first step, said a word.
The streams collecting in the path outside,
the bodies left, of no more consequence
than tomorrow’s lunch.

And in my dream I feel
the pain and anguish of those bereft –
fathers and mothers, whose joys and hopes
lie dashed against the pillars of their homes.
I hear the wailing of a thousand tongues
and voices raised in grief:
Rachel weeping for her children.

And in my dream I see
a tyrant satisfied that now the threat
to undermine his power is allayed –
until tomorrow when some new plot
to seize his power may be uncovered,
feeding the paranoid frenzy once again.
No peace for the ruthless.

And from my dream, once woken,
this I know: the time has come for us to move
far, far away. No time to lose.
Tonight, the three of us will meet at edge of town
and, like our descendants, flee
to far-off foreign safety for a while –
until I dream again.

Holy Innocents is the dark side of Christmas – certainly not “for the children.” The Word becomes incarnate in a violent, politically motivated world like ours – a world where the suffering and death of thousands and millions is accepted without a murmur by the powerful as “collateral damage” to protect their interests. It is a stark reminder of what humanity is capable when it feels threatened.

Finally, here is a carol which is rarely sung in most churches over Christmas – the Coventry Carol in a setting by Kenneth Leighton sung by the choir of King’s College, Cambridge (nearly as good as the rendition given by our diocesan clergy choir last Tuesday).

Joseph

A few days ago Pete Banks (aka the banksyboy brief) posted a link to a fabulous track by The Killers – Joseph, Better You Than Me. Rather than embed the link here, I encourage you to go to Pete’s blog and have a listen via the link.

As I said, I think it is a fabulous track, and it reminded me of a meditation I did during the Spiritual Exercises on my recent sabbatical. Joseph is a somewhat neglected figure in the Nativity story. We focus a lot on Mary, the mother of Jesus, and on her obedience, and while Joseph gets his honourable mentions in Matthew’s Gospel his role in the story is often overlooked when we tell it at Christmas. Joseph takes responsibility for many of the major decisions – he carries through with the planned marriage in the face of local gossip and scandal; he takes care of Mary and the baby in difficult circumstances in Bethlehem, perhaps facing the questions of his extended family since they come from there; he takes the decision to seek refuge in a foreign country (Egypt) when their lives are threatened by Herod, and then to return to Nazareth when the situation allows. All this for a child that isn’t his!

Let’s spare a special thought for Joseph this Christmas.

More reflections on Jesuits

As mentioned in my previous post, I have recently spent eight weeks in the company of Jesuits, both on retreat and on pilgrimage. In many ways – and perhaps not too surprisingly – it has been a bit of a revelation. Hearing familiar stories from “the other side” can be quite an eye-opening and mind-broadening experience. How so?

Coming from an English Protestant background, I was aware of the historic Protestant view of the Society of Jesus (Jesuits), dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries. This view saw Jesuits as being the Pope’s shock troops, dedicated to undermining the Protestant Reformation in England and Wales and seeking to return its population to the true fold of the (Roman) Catholic church. In an age which saw any Catholic as a threat to national cohesion (there were penal laws against Catholics), Jesuits were seen as the worst threat. Many of the priests who sought shelter in the homes of landed Catholic families (many of which had priestholes to hide them from the authorities) were Jesuits, born to English Catholic families and educated on the Continent before returning to minister in secret.

The thing is, that while many Protestants were martyred in England under the reign of Mary, so, later under Elizabeth, James and the Commonwealth, were many Catholics. On one day during my retreat we commemorated the “Welsh Martyrs”, Welsh Jesuits who had suffered being hung, drawn and quartered for their faith and ministry. We were reminded that meeting as we did several centuries earlier would have been a huge risk for all concerned (and what would have been the position of an Anglican priest caught in this company, I wondered?). I found that hearing the story from “the other side” was disquieting and very challenging. How much baggage do we actually carry from the communities that form us? What are the negatives we unconsciously absorb and project onto others?

The Jesuit priests I met during my eight weeks were all very humble, spiritual men. They all seemed to have a real desire to follow the path of Jesus and to be concerned with practical care of the most vulnerable in society and with issues of social justice. The same is true of their female religious counterparts, and of other, non-Jesuit, priests and religious I met. I feel privileged to have been able to spend time with them and look forward to continuing my ecumenical connection with them.