Drinks@ the well

Over the last few months, we have started a new group as part of Deep Water Dwelling. This group meets on the first Tuesday of each month at a local café or restaurant. Our first meeting began with a little hesitation as people gathered in the unknown. I shared a little about why the image of the well is important for me. Others then began to share about places they have had significant experiences. People tentatively shared stories or pulled a poem they had written from their handbag. The discussion circled from places of pilgrimage, to 'thin places', to the vastness and mystery of the Australian outback.

At our second meeting, we began with the theme 'Symbols that speak'. We discovered that some of us were more comfortable than others in thinking of our spiritual lives in symbolic terms. One person shared an image of a bowl where the crack were filled with gold. This created a great discussion about how we engage our failings and weaknesses in life. It was more obvious at our second meeting that as a group we held a diversity of understandings about life and its meaning. With our 'listen to learn' rule, however, each person was heard and their experiences valued.

Our third meeting will be held next week. Our theme for this month is 'the power of positivity'. How do we stay positive in life? What spiritual practices assist us? How do you see positivity in a spiritual way? The meeting will be held at Good Fellas Café on Bussell Highway, Margaret River at 7.30pm.

The principles of our meetings are:
* Listen to learn  - not to reply.
* Share stories and experiences to engage in the group - not to convert.
* If you think differently to someone, say "I have a different way of seeing that" - not "You're wrong"
* The group is open to all explorers - none of us have all the answers or the wisdom.

Meeting at the Well

Most of the time I am extremely grateful that I can walk into my kitchen and turn on the tap. Clear, potable water pours out without much physical effort or thought on my part. My only experience of having to collect my drinking water was when we lived in Tonga. At our first house, on the island of 'Eua, we did not have a rain water tank. The water from the tap was suitable only for washing as it contained particles of coral limestone. Every second day we would walk 50 metres up the hill to our neighbour's water tank and fill a bucket with clean water. As we did our best Jack and Jill impersonation, we would often stop and chat to someone or even catch up with our neighbours through their kitchen window while the bucket filled. The act of collecting water, a basic need, was also a time of sharing, meeting and greeting.

Wells, in more ancient times, were also places of meeting. People would travel many miles to find fresh water, but would also discover new faces and fresh smiles of other travellers who had come seeking a basic need in life. There was also an element of mystery surrounding many wells. These 'magical' springs of water, that never failed to produce, were often associated with spiritual legends from the surrounding area. People would come to the well believing it was a place they could be close to the spirit world and perhaps receive healing in their life by drinking the waters.

In January, I had the privilege of visiting once such well. Chalice Well, in Glastonbury, England, is perhaps once of the oldest and most well known well in England. It is thought to be over 2000 years old. It has many legends attached to it involving King Arthur and Joseph of Arimathea. People have travelled to this well for hundreds of years. People seeking healing. People longing for peace. People needing sustenance. These pilgrims have been from a myriad of spiritual traditions. The well, thankfully, has not been built over by a church or other place of worship. It is found inside a beautiful garden.

My time at Chalice Well was not long enough. I felt it was merely a prologue to a longer relationship. Even in the heart of Winter, the gardens were beautiful. It is described as a garden with many rooms, and there were many quiet nooks to be still and reflect as the water moved in different ways through the space. It was one of those places that "just felt right" for me. As I sat by the well head, I wondered about the thousands of people who had sat in the same spot. I pondered the many countries from where they came, the different ideologies about life, the range of ages and the reasons they may have come. I tried to imagine the different types of rituals, ceremonies and meditations that had taken place here. I speculated about how many lives may have been transformed in this place, how many people had gone home a different person. This was a space that did not exclude, discriminate, judge or even have the right answers. Chalice Well was just being what it had always been - a spring of living water.

What a joy it would be to be able to create a space like this for people. This year, at Deep Water Dwelling, we are going to attempt to do so. Each month we are going to gather in a local cafe or pub for Drinks @ the well. It is not a literal well, like Chalice, but a space that is similar in its inclusivity, its openness to all people and its potential for transformation. The hope is, that in meeting at "the well", we can share stories of the spiritual journey, tell of experiences that have helped us along the way and nourish each other with living water. There will be no right or wrong answers, only depth in our sharing.

Our first Drinks @ the well will be next Tuesday the 7th of February. For our first gathering, I will share more about my love for wells and where this has grown from. We will also share about those places or symbols that are important for us. The plan is for each month to have a different focus. For more information please see our Facebook page or email deepwaterdwelling@gmail.com.

Meeting Didik (and other stories of hope and love)

A terrible old photo of Didik and I in the Bali Rock Cafe

My first real encounter with someone from a different faith to mine, apart from our guest speakers in Faith and Values at high school, was in a pub in Bali. Didik was a Javanese Muslim musician who was making a living playing Credence Clearwater Revival songs around Bali. He was a regular in the pub that we spent many of our evenings dancing in June of 1995. His music was great, but sometimes his lyrics were far from correct. I helped him to edit some of the English lyrics that he had guessed and then we got to talking about faith - as you do. He had never really spoken with a Christian about their faith and I had never spoken with a Muslim about theirs. I recall a large part of our discussion was about where we found God. I remember more his gentleness and humility. I walked away from that encounter struck by how much we had in common, rather than our differences.

My most recent encounter with people from another faith was a few weeks ago. I received a phone call at the church office. A young Muslim man was in town with his friends. They had made a day trip from Perth. He told me that he had found our number and was looking for a mosque in which to pray. After explaining to them that unfortunately there was not a mosque nearby, I invited them to come and use our space if that was suitable. Ten minutes later four young men were washing in our church, preparing for prayer. It was a brief encounter, but I was struck by their immense gratitude for the simple act of hospitality. I wondered what hostility these young men had met living in a society that is gripped by fear of the other. I also felt proud to be part of a wider church that, when not finding a mosque, we were the next place to call to find a place of prayer. 

In between these two encounters are many other stories of grace, open discussion, hospitality and understanding. I have been deeply saddened in recent times reading articles and social media posts that spread fear and damaging generalisations about other faiths. It is true that all faiths have those on the fringe who twist and contort the teachings to suit their own needs. It is true that all faiths have factions that have caused damage and hurt. On almost a weekly basis, I hear stories of people who have been hurt by the Christian church and now turn to other faith traditions or alternative spiritualities. Thank goodness the world listens to more than just these accounts of Christian faith. 

I have been criticised in the past for being more interested in working with people of other faiths rather than ecumenically within the Christian church. These accusations are not completely true, as I have made considerable efforts to work with people of other denominations and continue to work closely with our local Anglican priests. I do believe, however, that working with people of other faiths is vital in our time. The extremists in our faiths are hoping for division, hatred, fear and violence towards the other. This is where their power lies. We need to be building bridges and multiplying love wherever possible. And so, I would like to encourage people to share stories of hope, love, grace and compassion, particularly of those from other faiths, as frequently as possible. The stories are out there and they need to be heard as loud, if not louder, than those of hatred and fear.

A pilgrimage of sorts

Our family is about to embark on a journey of a lifetime. After months of saving and planning, we are ready to leave for our holiday to the United Kingdom. This is my homeland. I will be returning to the places where my life began and reconnecting with family, some of whom I haven't seen since I was eight years old. For me, the planning has been half the fun. Researching, booking accommodation and seeking out the not-to-be-missed sights has certainly been a project in itself.

As much as this is a family holiday, and there will be plenty of light entertainment, I am also seeing this trip as a pilgrimage of sorts. I have chosen to travel with a question. Not that this will consume my time away, but will sit with me much like my camera or perhaps my jacket (its going to be cold). The question is a personal one that was gifted to me by a good friend and will be important for me as we enter 2017.

I have hopes to visit three places that may help me to carry this question. The first is my first faith community, Alan Road Methodist Church in Ipswich. I was baptised there. I learnt about the Bible there. I sang my first hymns there (some of which are still my favourites). I began to learn how to serve other people there. This is where my faith journey began and I have many fond memories. I know it will seem small and 35 years will have seen many changes, but I am interested to see how I feel being there. I am keen to reconnect with this foundational place.

The second place I hope to visit is not too far from my hometown. I am keen to spend some time sitting in Julian's cell in Norwich. Those who have followed this blog for a while will know of my passion for the Mystics. Julian of Norwich was a counsellor and advisor to her community. She is known as the first woman to write a book and her near death experience brought her visions of God's love. She was an amazing thinker and theologian for her time. As with many mystics, she sat on the fringes of the church, but still remained a part. She was an amazing woman and I look forward to a little quiet sitting in her space.

The third place in my pilgrimage is Chalice Well in Glastonbury. This is one of the best known holy wells in Britain and is connected to many spiritual legends. The current theme for the well is "Many Paths, One Source"; a theme which resonates with my own ideas and theology. I see the well as a sacred place of depth, mystery and history. I know as I sit or stand by the well, I will be one of millions who over the centuries have visited this portal in search of hope and healing.

I am trying not to build up my hopes in seeing all three of these places. I know that time and the weather could work against me. So I've set a target of making it to two of them. At each place, and many other stops in between, I will carry my question like a precious stone. I do not know if I will come home with answers, but I will never know if I leave the question at home.

Blue Christmas and Aleppo

For the last five years, about a week before Christmas, I have conducted a Blue Christmas Service in my congregations. Almost every year, I question my sanity. Why do I put myself under pressure by adding another two events to my calendar? But I go ahead anyway, as a dim, glimmer of a memory reminds me this is important. And here is why.

Christmas is a time of "Joy! Joy! Joy!" If you don't get into the Christmas spirit you are frowned upon and, perhaps, guilted into wrapping some tinsel around your front door handle. But the reality is, not everyone is full of joy at Christmas time. Some have lost loved ones during the year, and the season only highlights the emptiness and the loss. Some have struggled financially, and the barrage of advertising only serves as a reminder of the "haves" and the "have nots". Some are living in pain or with illness and the isolation is even more real as families and friends gather together. Some are far away from loved ones, by choice or not. Broken relationships and the ease of travel often leave empty chairs at Christmas dinners. And all of this is before we start to look at the state of our world.

Our Blue Christmas service doesn't fix any of this, but it acknowledges the reality of life. It gives people an opportunity to stop, reflect, cry if they need to and know that it is ok to have feelings other than joy at Christmas time. We remember that the first Christmas story was not as beautiful as we tend to make it. It was a time of great turmoil and unease. We romanticise the stable, but it was probably an extremely unpleasant place to bring a child into the world. At Christmas we remember the coming of Jesus into this world, a man who stood beside the oppressed, the outcasts and the poor.

Our Blue Christmas services never attract crowds, but there is always someone; the woman who had battled breast cancer all year, the man who lost his mother, the woman battling depression and lingering ghosts from the past. Sometimes an unknown face will sneak in the back, shed many tears and leave quietly and anonymously. I may never know that person's need or how their Christmas will be. It's not so much about the words said, the songs listened to or the candles lit. It is more about a safe space created for people to be.

And so, what was going through my heart during this year's services? I thought of a dearly loved congregation member who died during the year. I brought to mind the families of those I have conducted funerals for in 2016. I thought of friends who have lost a young child this year. I wonder about people for whom we have provided food and shelter this year.

But the depth of my heart's cry was for Aleppo. I cannot comprehend what it is like to run for your life. I cannot begin to imagine the horror of seeing loved ones killed in front of me. I don't understand the despair, the nightmare it must be to feel forgotten by much of the world. I feel completely helpless. The enormity of the trauma and destruction is overwhelming. The easiest response is often denial. But I cannot ignore the pictures, the stories and the messages.

At the Blue Christmas service, we invite people to take a blue bauble or a star to hang on their tree or give to someone as a gift. I took a star for Aleppo. As the story goes, a bright star shone in that part of the world 2000 years ago. It was a guiding light, bringing hope to many. My Aleppo star is a constant prayer of hope for a people who have nothing left this Christmas time.

The Salt Doll

Last week, I was searching for a short. meaningful story to use as a devotion. As a result, I found myself completely engrossed in Anthony de Mello's The Song of the Bird. I love de Mello's wisdom that emerges from his short, sharp and often surprising stories. I came across one that really spoke to me and I vowed to return to it at another time. So here is the story.

The Salt Doll

A salt doll journeyed for thousands
of miles and stopped on the edge of
the sea.

It was fascinated by this moving
liquid mass, so unlike anything it
had seen before.

"What are you?" said the salt doll
to the sea.

"Come in and see," said the sea with
a smile.

So the doll waded in. The further it
went the more it dissolved till there
was only a pinch of it left. Before
that last bit dissolved, the doll
exclaimed in wonder, "Now I know
what I am!"

You see what I mean? So much wisdom in so few words. I think I could write an entire thesis on what this story teaches me, but none of us have time for that. So here it is in dot points.

• The journey is more important than the destination. The story doesn't tell us of all the important encounters that occurred in those thousands of miles leading to the sea, but we know they are part of the story.
• Always have a sense of curiosity and ask questions. This is how we learn and grow, by having an inquiring mind.
• We learn, not by being told, but by experiencing. The sea could have begun some lengthy explanation about its consistency, its breadth and its depth. Instead it said to the doll, "Come in and see". In experiencing, the learning becomes a part of us.
• In our learning about the other, we discover our own self. How true is that? In meeting people who are from different cultures or hold a varying opinion to ours, we are challenged to examine our own prejudice and long held assumptions.
• When we discover from where we came, we find our true self. There is something about knowing where you have come from that helps you to know where you are going.
• In discovering a deeper knowing about who we are and to whom we belong we are able to let go of the ego's need to succeed. In fact, in losing our false self, our true self is found.

Such a profound little story! So much to teach us!

What to expect in a Mandala Workshop

On the weekend, I had a conversation with someone considering hosting a mandala workshop for their community. They asked me what exactly happens at a mandala workshop, so I thought it might be worth letting you all know.

The mandala workshops offered generally last for three hours. They begin with an introductory session providing information about some aspect of the use of mandalas. Being a universal symbol, there is much to share. In the introductory workshops I try to give an overview of the use of mandalas that only touches on these different aspects. In subsequent workshops we can delve deeper into their use in various spiritual traditions, cultures and psychology.

After a time for questions and discussion, we then prepare to create our own mandala. The different tools and media available are introduced to the group and some suggestions given for how to begin. The group is lead in a short, guided meditation that links in with the theme of the workshop. Participants begin to create their own mandala. Sometimes this is slow process and at other times it happens quite quickly. I have seen participants walk away with one unfinished mandala and at other times with three they have completed in the time. It is the process that is important, not the final product.

The creative time is spent in quiet. Occasionally there is need to talk with others, but we try to allow each person to maintain their own space. Refreshments are available throughout this time and we usually play some soft music to create a contemplative atmosphere.Towards the end of the workshop we gather again as a group to reflect on the process. People are invited to share as little or as much as they would like. Creating a mandala can be a very personal and emotional experience. It can often be a time of healing and self discovery. We aim to create a safe place for sharing.

Participants in the workshops do not have to be "arty". In fact, it is often an advantage not to be. Unlike creating an artwork, the importance is not about choosing the right colours or using the correct techniques. There are no rules! So, if you think your community would enjoy hosting a mandala workshop let me know. We can tailor it to the needs of your group.