Anamnesis

This is my article for my forthcoming Parish Magazine - placed here so I don't have to write it twice! 

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November is a month most associated with a key Christian behaviour—remembrance [anamnesis / ἀνάμνησις].

As many of you may know, I have just returned from a two week Seminar at the International Centre for Holocaust Studies based in Jerusalem. The school forms part of the Yad Vashem institute which was created by legal decree in the 1950s, and its name is taken from Isaiah 56:5: ‘I will give, in my house and within my walls, a memory and a name’   -   יד ושמ  - and as it suggests, is an establishment entrusted with the responsibility and task of recovering and commemorating the identities of most of the six-million Jewish victims of the Holocaust/Shoah.

This month will manifest its most famous tradition of ‘anamnesis’ in Britain — Remembrance Day when of course we remember yet more victims of conflicts throughout our recent history. We will pause once or maybe more times for a minute or two to remember those who died to assure us of a freedom that we enjoy in our day, closing that moment with the words ‘we will remember them’.

A key part (and indeed a necessary part) of the great prayer of consecration which we pray during our Eucharist services at various times during every week is the Anamnesis—’we remember his dying and rising in glory…’ - the moment when we as Christians connect with the narrative of love and sacrifice embodied by Our Lord.

In all of these things we acknowledge that we are connected with a heritage, a past that has helped form us and continues to form us in the present. Our world is one of hurried progress, or a striving always to move forwards—and of course this is right and proper in its own way—but it is for nothing if we don’t remember. To fail to remember, to connect. renders us all as accidents in time and space, and as God’s People we are certainly not that. During the course of this month we will also draw to the end of another Liturgical / Church year and we wish ourselves ‘Happy New Year’ on Advent Sunday, maybe even opening a door on a calendar. It is right to take stock of the challenges and successes of the year that draws to its close so that we are best prepared for the year that opens out before us. We can pray for lost loved ones, celebrate our new arrivals, give thanks for many blessings and ponder the lessons learned from situations that didn’t go as we might have chosen. May God bless you all this month as we begin to prepare once again to remember the great moment of the Incarnation, itself a precious moment amid the chaos of daily life, itself connecting past with present so that all people may have a future.

Fr David

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NB - I can manage to write like a proper vicar when I have to!

On Being 'Loved to Death'

During my recent sojourn in Jersualem (had I mentioned that I had been to Jerusalem? No! Sorry - thought I had) we sat and listened to a very senior Rabbi, British born, who has the ear of the Pope and Tony Blair (to some of you, both these names would indicate a poor man who needs help, but I encourage you not to be churlish). In short, he is a Rabbi who knows his stuff and is a very influential player in the Jewish-Christian dialogue.

His words, not mine: "We [the Chief Rabbinate of Jersualem] don't really want to deal with Evangelicals; they just want to love us to death. It is hard to sit in a room with people who are only interested in converting us". 

In many quarters this is how all Christians are regarded, as a scythe-blade of supercessionists who are only happy when converting the world. I wanted to deny this assessment but then I thought back to just two experiences of my own:

1. When I was 19, and well beyond the point in my life when I felt a sense of calling, had put in 16 good committed years to church life, and had started to read Theology, I ambled into a church with a friend. It was a charismatic church, a superbeast of a place, but despite appearances I am a very open-minded chap, and my friend wanted to try the place out! Within an hour I had been identified, separated, and moved to a small room with three or four others - where I was invited to accept Jesus as Lord - they refused to accept my confession that I really was already spliced with Mother Church. Perhaps it is because I didn't put my hand up during the singing [I didn't need the toilet] that caused me to be identified. Needless to say I left - upset, vowing never to return to the place.

2. I was chatting to a homeless geezer who I used to help out with some electricity and provisions when he was selling Big Issue outside my emporium. He had told me of another Godshop that had invited him and a load of his mates in for a lovely hot dinner one hard winter. He gladly accepted, but while they ate, they were invited to accept Jesus as Lord, or [and I speak the truth] they would all end up in Hell. He had stood up himself to tell the swanky-suited sir that being homeless is as close to Hell as it gets, so it didn't matter if he accepted the invitation or not, really - but thanks for the chow!

It seems that most [yes, these days it seems to be 'most'] Christians are hell-bent on converting the world. Sixteen gazillion lovely people have been exposed to the Alpha Course (though I note that church numbers are still slipping, so where did they go? - a post for later), and mission after mission pop off like firecrackers 

- but what are we converting these people to?

Our church is becoming polarised. If you aren't an Evanglical, you are more than likely going to be an Anglo-Catholic (until half their clergy bugger off - thanks boys, nice one ... not) - but very few are in the middle. The middle used to be a large swathe of church life where it seemed to me the real growing was taking part. It was the middle where the heat of charismatic worship and the correctness of catholic liturgy were set aside and nurturing took place. The middle is where families took their kids, where they did the prayers once in a while. The middle is where the sense seems to be spoken - the liberal view.

So what are we feverishly converting people to?

Christians have, I think become embarrassed about church life. We are so keen to specialise it that we have stopped some of the things that people know and love. Jumble Sales and Tombolas, Harvest Festivals and Cake Stalls have given way to Introduction Offers for the Newly Recruited - a course, some Tongues for some, a homegroup where you can properly intitiated and loved to death. 

Then what .... ?

What then .... ?

Anwers on a postcard.

Detescofication

No, I haven't got something stuck in my throat - I have been prondering the future effects of the Comprehensive Spending Review. 

As I sat and watched Gideon unwrap his plans I wondered what the real-time results would be. I noted, with some amusement that the word 'cut' was habitually replaced with the word 'saving' - prestidigitation perhaps but a shroud to the truth nonetheless. They are savings only for the Government, but without exception cuts for the rest of us. Euphemistic speechmaking at its best!

Anyhoo - I didn't want to become party political here so I won't. My role as priest is to watch and wait for the effects of these marvellous savings to become reality for the people among whom I work and to walk with them as they feel the pinch in their own way. 490,000 lost jobs - wow - that is two-thirds of the population of Buckinghamshire!

It seems to me that simple measures are the way forward, and this is but one example (not a comprehensive savings review) - and it surrounds the redistribution of wealth.

Using retail as an example, I turn my attention to Tesco. I am an example of Tescofied Man; a one-stop shopper, preferably online, for all my family's needs. Shame on me! I wonder what positive effect there would be on our local society if we all relied more on the local traders for our produce (lest we forget that it is still the harvest season). If I gave my bakery business to the High Street baker, my meat needs to the High Street butcher, my fruit and veg needs to the High Street greengrocers - and so on. I know Tesco employs lots of people, but employees-per-customer ratios for Tesco must be far lower than those for my local Butcher etc. Soon, many people will need jobs, and if we allow our shopping pounds to be more widely distributed, I wonder if more people will find some greater sense of security, that more jobs might be created somewhere. Maybe I am wrong, but I don't think so. 

For me, my Tescofication is a product of over-busy living, convenience and yes, laziness. I need to rethink how I live, and yes, even spend just a pound or two more on what I buy. Surely it would be better for every shopper to spend a tenner a week more on their needs and for that money to more more widely distributed not among shareholders, but among the business stakeholders in their own community. I must also commit to this on an ethical level too, and the excesses of some Fairtradeism might have to be re-thought too. 

In short, we as Christians need to support, first and foremost, our communities and neighbours. It will cost us time, cash and convenience, but in an age where the word 'saving' means 'redundancy' then we have little choice.

Mojo

I have good news and I have bad news - or bad news and bad news depending on your point of view:

The Curate is back, but I can't find my Mojo!

I have just returned from a fortnight in Jerusalem studying at the International School for Holocaust Studies, and since my return have shivered and frankly, lied a lot. I left Tel Aviv on a day when its temperature peaked at 41 degrees, and now languish in my corner of middle-England that is petrified under the oppressive temperatures scaling the dizzy heights of -1! 

Yeah, baby, yeah! I said I had lied a lot and I know you have scanned down to this point to find out how. Well, my lovely friends and family, upon my return, have asked: 'Did you have a good time?'. I say 'yes, thanks, it was a wonderful experience - a real opportunity'. I lied. The real answer is 'the experience was life-changing and valuable, but my heart was ripped out and sacrificed on the altar of ideological genocides; I have seen things that will give me nightmares for the years (and already have); but otherwise great, thanks'!

I am not complaining, for as a man I am unaccustomed to such a thing as that - but I returned to this blog from the other one I have been doing wondering how on earth I could be The Vernacular Curate again. Suddenly [for me, even if not for you] this stuff seems grotesquely trite and facile (and quite unlike the levitous Lesley's Journo-Blog) - hey ho!

With all this in mind, a dear friend (a reader - and good morning to you, for you will know who you are, Brother) stopped me yesterday and thanked me for this eyewash - a kindness for which I am deeply grateful. 

So, kids - I am back, but I seem to be devoid of me Mojo, Man. I deign to write this in the shadow of so much death and evil as this for me is living, and living is what I have to do. Life is the gift I am granted and if someone somewhere smiles or is glad to have visited this site, I have done some good in a world where we need every little bit of it we can.

Look Elsewhere, The Curate is not here

Brother and sisters - while I am resident in Jerusalem for the Yad Vashem / CCJ Clergy Conference, I will be blogging under the alternative title

http://yadvashemccj.blogspot.com/

Please join me there - technology allowing. 

What I Have Learned

Blogging, and all things 'social meejya' are a new thing to me. I have been ordained a mere two years but the idea of Twittering while sitting in a theological collage lecture, desirable as that may seem, was just not a possibility. 

Blogging is another thing. Whilst around some time longer, it had the same qualities to me that journalling ones spiritual life. It was only me who didn't toddle into a prayer sesh with a notepad. 

Facebook caught me half-way through. It is a blessing and a curse, though I have stopped accepting application after application. I have no desire to manage a farm, be a pirate or pretend to own a Bugatti Veyron, though I did dabble with that for a while. I am of the old school  - pre-chat Facebook. Then you could log on, race your invisible car or blat some alien or other, accept ninety people as 'friends' although they aren't, then go home to bed. Now, you have to dive and out before someone spots you and chats. It is not that I don't want them to chat, it is more that I feel bad if don't reply to them when they start a conversation.

Anyhoo, this is me babbling. Twitter and blogging have put me into circles of people that I would never have dreamed of being amongst - an eclectic crew from all edges of whatever spectrum you have in mind. God bless them all and thanks to them for their company in all of this. I recognise the profound and valuable opportunity that this stuff has for a Christian with a mission-heart, as I hope I do. I don't regard it as an evangelistic tool per se, but certainly as a carrier of my God-virus.

Twitter is awash with the pious scrawling pious things ALL THE TIME, and it grates. Blogs are peppered with oddities which make one feel uncomforatable reading. Some make me feel that I am looking through a bathroom keyhole at shower time, and I don't think I like feeling that way. However, they are also wonderful places where people can get to know other people. 

Through Twitter and blogging in particular, I have learned to be me, the ordained me - that is, the me before but ordained, not some God-botherer with a halo. I have discovered that people actually seem to respond to who I am, not who I think I should be. We bloggers think we draw pencil-line drawings of our lives, when in fact the lines we drawn connect end to end, forming a vision of us that only those who read can identifiy, like some dot-to-dot picture. I have fast discovered that the best I can do for me and therefore for God, is to just relax and be me, infectiously, authentically me. Those who don't like can lump it or comment and argue with me (either is fine) - but may God bless this thing that we do. It actually does seem to make a small difference!

Soft Squidgy Bits

Some time has elapsed between the events that I am about to describe and this moment in time, so I can talk about them more comfortably. 

I might be a gob-on-a-stick here, but in truth I am a very private man who is incredibly private about private things, so this post will pain me. I have a clear purpose in writing it, however. 

Last new year, I did the whole 'resolution' thing. Eat less, drink less, pray more, take more time, enable more free time for Mrs Acular, devote more time to the Twins Aculae, and so on .... My other resolution was self-examination of an intimate nature, for health reasons.

Like a responsible adult male, I examined my testicles, but in a rather half-hearted sort of way - the way you look behind the sofa cushions hoping to find a tenner when you know you won't. Well, on my first flight, I discovered a lump on on my crown-jewels.

A funny set of things then happened, all automatically, all in quick succession. I didn't panic but I consigned the moment to my permanent memory. I recognised that this lump had the potential to be serious and maybe even life threatening. I felt a grief that there was the faintest chance that I might not see my babies grow into the beautiful women I expect them to. In that moment, I was again reassured I had married the right woman, was doing the work I was born to do, but that I really did need to sort out my will. I felt sad for me. I like being me, and I didn't want to stop being me. Being me has its ups and downs but it is fairly jolly in the end. I wondered how dying would feel and whether I would be any good at it. I knew in a moment that I must spare my wife the duty of compiling my funeral and that I must write my own. I was clear that the family would cope and that we have planned properly for such an eventuality, so that was ok! I was scared though. I was a little boy in those split seconds and I wanted my mum.  I was mortal and one way or the other, I would die.

Later tests revealed that it was a cyst, thank God. Oddly, I discovered at the same time that one of my kidneys is rather mashed up, but I didn't care really - not when I had my trews about my ankles and a kid of a sonographer playing with my knackers, things were already odd enough thanks. Anyway, the cyst remains and here I am a few months later aching with embarrassment that I am talking about my balls. 

The reason I have written this is that I must demand that all men reading this examine themselves next opportunity. Part of my own emotion at the time was that I feared that I had maybe missed the lump for months and that it might become terribly bad by then - the what-ifs. Gentlemen, you have my permission to go and fiddle with your rocks - go do it, and do it quickly - then again in a month and then again.