Green Patches

Graduation

Yesterday saw the senior Greenpatches heading for the fleshpots of  London to celebrate Ms GP's graduation. It was a wonderful - if emotional time. In fact, Mr GP was so overcome that he dropped the camera; though luckily after all the snaps had been taken. For myself, I'm trying hard not to overdo the maudlin reminiscing about Ms G's first day at playgroup nearly twenty years ago - those little Startrite sandals -  and was it a red Clothkits frock she was wearing or  rugby top and matching kilt? (Sniff!).

We may also have been the only parents to have smuggled champagne into Methodist Central Hall inside a pair of neon pink wellies!  Anyway, all went like a dream. We'll even forgive the powers that be  getting our offspring's first name wrong (the story of her life!).  Afterwards -  we duly headed off in search of sticky cakes - taking in a teensy diversion along the way; Church House Bookshop being within a stone's throw, I couldn't very well pass up the chance to have a quick browse, now could I?!

Green Places

" We cannot make the Kingdom of God happen, but we can put out leaves as it draws near. We can be kind to each other. We can be kind to ourselves. We can drive back the darkness a little. We can make green places within ourselves and among ourselves where God can make his Kingdom happen."
                                                 - Frederick Buechner, The Clown in the Belfry

Cats and colanders

I'm shattered - after - by Greenpatch standards  a draining week. GP cat and I are similar in not a few ways; including cussedness, love of solitude and an ability to snatch the odd forty winks, anywhere, anytime,  any place. Apart from the usual, the last few days have been big on company: saw my 'partners in crime' on Monday, somebody else Tuesday. I've a (for me) quite New and Significant Experience coming up later next week, so midweek met up with a friend to catch up and bolster self - confidence, Thursday ditto. All positive. Then yesterday saw me whizzing off down to leafy Surrey with a twofold purpose. Firstly to meet up with an old schoolfriend (What with 25 years to catch up on we got through a lot of chat and even more wine!). Then on  to visit an aunt. Sadly, our uncle died earlier in the week. This wasn't altogether negative, far from it; I think that the eventual funeral really will be a celebration of his life. On today to an excellent Enneagram workshop - of which more later - maybe. Sunday - church  - with BBQ (or given our climate - inside a queue). Monday, all systems go  for daughter's graduation (and get out those blister plasters for my posh shoes); Mr GP takes off again to climb ever'y mountain. Then to round it all off - New and Significant Experience. By the end of all that we'll have clocked up quite a mileage on the railway, and even more on the poor body, mind and soul. Stop the world; I want to get off!

Mountain climbing

Mr GP arrived home safely last night after his mammoth cycling experiences in the alps. I love the diagram charting his progress (above). Just one question, though: Why is he shown climbing up the mountain but never cycling down?

If you, too, have a head for heights, you'll love the clip below, taken by another competitor.  If like me, you begin to get the wobbles using the escalator on the London underground, you might prefer the Sound of Music's version of 'Climb evr'y Mountain.'

http://www.vimeo.com/5464145 

Of course, the simiilarities  to the spiritual journey is  too obvious to resist. Kelvin Wright has put it  beautifully in his blog:

...The spiritual life is like mountain climbing

Some people are mountain climbers. Some others -the "riders" - through wealth and good fortune are able to rent helicopters and take a fast trip to the top of the mountain. From the top, the helicopter riders enjoy the magnificent views and the the sense of serenity of which they have heard the mountain climbers talking . The riders might be tempted into thinking that their experiences are thus the equivalent of the climbers - superior even, as they have not had to spend so much time and effort; but of course they are mistaken. Mountain climbing is not about the views and the sense of serenity, even though these things happen often in the course of a climb. The benefits of climbing come through facing and overcoming obstacles; through developing skills which will spill over into everyday life; through the transformation which happens when a worthwhile task is undertaken. If the climber gets  to the summit and, for all the climb, cloud has obscured the view,  little if anything is lost. Conversely, if a climber is forever stopping to admire the view and seek a sense of peace, s/he will never make it to the top. By concentrating on the experiences which are peripheral to climbing, the riders miss the whole point; and the more entrancing the view from the top, the more danger they run of never becoming skilled climbers. It is possible that someone labours their whole life climbing mountains but never once manages to reach the summit. That person is still a far superior climber, in every way, to someone else who can helicopter themselves to the summit on a daily basis and at will...

For the rest of his reflections on Peak Experiences go  here.

Saturday's cyclists are definitely skilled climbers.

 

Gardening tips - part 3

credit freedigitalphotos.net

All  of which  of course, is a lead-in to a profound 'thunk'  - to  which  the pic provides a cryptic clue. Some might say 'tenuous;' the cucumber's only there because I wasn't able to provide a photo of John Bell's keynote red shoes. Though, in true 'Blue Peter' tradition, Here's One I Found Earlier .  (Thank you, Mr Gnome!).  All will be made clear...

It's been a funny old week, beginning with major gasworks  chez Greenpatch, and ending with two men and an excavator digging up whole swathes of our front garden. There's gardening for you! (Don't worry it was planned). Mr Greenpatch - aka Mr M/The lycra'ed horror has been busy climbing ever'y mountain in La Marmotte 2009 . Or from all accounts falling off them. I've still to see the extent of his injuries when he gets home tomorrow!

More seriously, a member of the extended family is gravely ill. I'm awaiting the news - although I know what said news will be.

Alongside that  are the latest in my own wanderings - call it gardening for the soul. I've applied for a course. Not in an area I've not considered before; in fact it's been right there in the background for quite a while. It's simply that the decision to apply was a snap one. Whatever happened to Franciscan balance? Come to think of it's hardly a term to apply to Francis himself. Whatever his good qualities, balanced he was not!  It is, if I'm honest with myself, a long shot; I'm trying hard to regard the whole affair as a learning experience, regardless of outcome. Which so far, I've managed, in fits and starts.

 What's helped, (and here's where the cucumber comes in ) has been simply taking time to reflect, read and pray. It's strange what sometimes happens when you do. The profound 'thunk' started whilst I was listening to John Bell's talk from last year's Greenbelt - on Faith in a Failing Church.  He mentioned the accounts of the Israelite wanderings from the book of Numbers; of the grumblers, the 'Back to Egypt' waverers, who although they're at the border of the promised land, are so terrified at the reports brought them by the spies who've gone ahead, that they'd rather turn back to the miseries of slavery. They refuse to move on, Moses begs God not to let them return to Egypt as a result of which they're condemned to wander  in wilderness until the last of the misery-guts have died off!  Now I know I'm taking things out of context; the passages are dealing with those who are reluctant to embrace change.  However, for me the message that came through to me was this:  I have travelled a long way these last few years; gained tremendous ground; grown in ways I'd not thought possible. Whether the answer to   the present situation may be - yes, no, wait, go on to something completely different - I can't 'go back.'  When I've done that in the past, not been true to myself,  something inside me has died. And I'm very much in the way of living!

Gardening tips - part 2

I suspect that playing the stats game would not be considered a suitable occcupation for a Franciscan. Still, it's fascinating to see which search terms land folk on this blog.  'Gardening'  has  attracted quite a few hits. Poor things;if they were expecting Alan Titchmarsh   they must have been sorely disappointed!

Angelic Choirs

Following on from my gardening tips  Greenpatch dog and I made a happy discovery the other night. You can read all about it here.  With their melifluous tenor tones, our hairy horrors could set up as a double act. Heavenly music indeed! Even if our neighbours might beg to differ. 

Gardening tips

Believe in the voice God has given you: It is the voice of an apprentice angel. Believe in the voices God has given other people.

John Bell, Iona Community, in Heaven Shall Not Wait

The faith of a cabbage plant

 

What is the Kingdom of God like? What shall I compare it to? It is like an Honesty seed which a ma…(pc alert!) person  took, planted on their windowsill before potting out in their garden. It grew  and became an ever so slightly bigger plant, and the slugs, snails and others of the Almighty’s tiny  creatures which wander wild and free perched in its branches and redesigned its leaves into a subtle, minimalist masterpiece.

You'll guess from the above that my ongoing attempts to cultivate Lunaria Annua  have hit yet another setback.    Though happily, the same doesn't apply to my potterings  on the faith front. These last few weeks have yielded quite a few points  for reflection, and I'm happily musing on seeds, wheat, honesty and integrity.

To return  to my green fingers -  or lack of them - I spotted some huge clumps of Honesty plants in the park this morning, so if the worst comes to the worst, I'll know where to replenish supplies. Just as well; The Franciscan sisters at Compton Durville are generous to a fault but I think when they invited guests to 'take advantage of [their] wild garden', wholesale harvesting of this beautiful plant wasn't quite what they had in mind!

Never mind, my plants may pick up and meanwhile the paper offers some handy hints.

Incidentally, I became terribly excited earlier after discovering that Lunaria is in the same plant group  - Brassicaeae as the humble mustard seed. My spiritual antennae began to go into overdrive. (Yes, I heard the Luke 13 parable  twice on Sunday and yes, I am trying to grow the tiny seed we were given then.Sad, I know!).  Said thrill was slightly dampened, I must admit, on learning  that they also  share the classification with over 3,000 other plants, including the ever so glamorous cabbage, cauliflower and turnip. 'The Kingdom of God is like a cabbage? I think not.

Though when I was  gardening  this evening, I spotted a bushy, yellow flower growing in amongst the 'birds 'n bees' assorted flower mix. It looks sort of familiar. I've checked it out and you'll never guess...it might just be....

Singing, stats and tacks

I've discovered yet  another procrastination tool over on my other, Wordpress blog. The best part of the  new wibsite stats package as far as I'm concerned is the listing of the most popular search terms used by visitors. As I've said here  I seem to be the blog of the week with the cycling fraternity, judging by the number of folk who've discovered me via searches for the Etape Caledonia of tacks on the road fame.  Poor things, they must have been sorely disappointed to encounter my muddled musings. Still, now I've discovered the secret,there'll be no stopping me.

Unfortunately, my attempts to spread a little culture  round the blogosphere appears to have fallen on deaf ears. Maybe if I'd learnt to sing 'Daisy, Daisy' instead of Purcell it'd be another story.

How are the mighty fallen

Thanks to Ian for his kind comments on Mr GP's triumph in the bread making department yesterday. I'd not realised the appropriateness of the picture - it being Corpus Christi and all, until church prayer group later that day or I could have elaborated on the theme. Anyway, I did have some fairly profound thoughts stemming from John 6, which I'll spare you here. I'm munching this morning's attempt, (multiseed) as I type. Tastes fine, but the texture is  - how shall we put it - on the heavy side.  Careful chewing is required, I think.  With Mr GP's £160 filling at the dentist yesterday and Steve Tilley's reflections on mouth ulcers  in mind I'll err on the side of caution. Co-operating with the Almighty in his endless creative dance  and attuning oneself with the Spirit's music is one thing; lying speechless and helpless whilst the dentist hovers over  you with his drill is quite another.

He is risen!

Yes, Mr GP has at long last managed to crack the secret of getting bread to rise. The answer is...salt!

Wednesday

Wednesday  chez Greenpatch is fruit and veg day, when Abel and Cole  deposit a small, mixed box, stuffed to the brim with all sorts of healthy bits n pieces on our doorstep.

They're one of the UK's best known suppliers of organic fruit and veg, with a range that's expanded over the years to include a wide range of other groceries; they even supply drinks, chocolates and cleaning materials. Opening our weekly box is always a surprise, if not a challenge, as, like them apples  we're forced to employ all our ingenuity in working out how to use up all our supplies before next week's delivery comes round; (not a bad dilemma to have, all things considered). I smiled when I read about the "How the hell do I use  this?" , even more so the occasional "What the hell is this?" moments. These happen in the Greenpatch cuisine, too...frequently.

Happily, the Abel and Cole weekly newsletter has come to our rescue, with a page of hints on how to use up those veggies that insist on lurking forlornly in the far wastes of fridge and cupboard. My personal Greenpatch speciality is stuffed potatoes and veg soup. (Garlic this week, as we've a bunch of droopy celery to use up!)  And for more ideas, they've pointed us towards their Food Waste Manifesto, created last summer.

To go back to them apples - food and cooking in Saltaire, Yorkshire,  their latest blog 'reviews' a typical Abel and Cole mixed box, with a comparison of cost, quality and convenience with similar produce from one of the leading supermarkets.  Do have a look.

We'll get back to you when Mr Greenpatch's famous organic apple cider experiment (currently gurgling ominously in a corner of his dressing room) reaches completion... Watch This Space.

Serially disorganised persons, read and learn!

Worried sounding text to beloved son: “R u OK? Haven’t heard from you for ages! nunX”

Even more worried response: “Who you?”

  ‘Nun’, not knowing whether reply indicates son bound, gagged and struck down  with amnesia or, as is more likely suffering from the after-effects of post-exam celebrations,  replies: ” Your mother, of course!”

  Then a thought occurs; ‘nun’ ferrets around in address book. Ooops!

When somebody changes phones it is advisable to change their details in your address book straight away,  not take the lazy way out and rely on doing all future texts on the back of their change of number notification.

Happy hens

Or what they call in France bien eleve.
 

Franciscan Fragrance

Or for the cynics amongst you, Friday afternoon displacement activity; even those 'Crazy Prophets' lose their allure by this stage in the week, and, as they've had more than their share of attention lately, I can relax and blog with a clear conscience.

Inspired by Susan Pitchford's newly-launched Florilegium  I've decided to don my pinny, wield the secaturs and watering can and allow you a whiff of some of the Franciscan-scented Flora that regularly find their way into my feedreader.

So - to Florilegium  which, as Susan explains, is a collection, or a bouquet of writings:

 

I'd like to gather some of my favorite bits of writing by various authors, adding a little commentary but mostly letting the quotations speak for themselves. I hope it will grow into a garden that will be a pleasant place to linger for a bit. Enjoy!

I'd also recommend her writings on her journey into TSSF: Following Francis - The Franciscan Way for Everyone, Morehouse Publishing 2006, to anyone wondering about starting out along the Franciscan path.

Dave Chambers, is a Licensed Lay Minister (Reader) in the Anglican Diocese of Liverpool and has been professed in TSSF (Third Order Society of St Francis) for eight years. He blogs as  Pax et Bonum - Musings of a Scouse Franciscan.  He also has a good line in appalling religious jokes, especially ones with a Franciscan tinge!

Pachyderm NZ  comes from the New Zealand Province of TSSF. She works in occupational safety and risk management. As a left-handed person, I'm quite interested in her current research on the risks faced by left-handers, although, I don't think even I could manage to come to grief seated at a computer keyboard. Then again, maybe not...

She also loves Lush Organic smellies, which makes her a fragrance worth following, in my book!

Now to A Man Breathing, full-time firefighter and ordinand and another lay Franciscan. His blog is posted in memory of Fr Mychal Judge OFM, priest, chaplain, Franciscan and firefighter, who died tending to the first victims of the Sept 11, 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center.

Another member of TSSF in the UK, Good Goat  offers us Reflections on life, faith and everything.  If you like looking at life from different angles, you'll enjoy this blog. 

Last, but certainly not least, I'm sure most of you will have already  discovered Mike F's  Mercy Blog,  a long-established miscellany of wise musings from a Franciscan, ex-dairy herdsman, musician, writer and contemplative. Enjoy!

True Prayer

"I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear. But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all truth. He will not speak on his own; he will speak only what he hears, and he will tell you what is yet to come. He will bring glory to me by taking from what is mine and making it known to you. All that belongs to the Father is mine. That is why I said the Spirit will take from what is mine and make it known to you."

 John 16:12-15

It seems fair to say that our human experience is a paradoxical mixture of, on the one hand, a sense of connection and harmony with other people and the world around us and, on the other, disharmony and estrangement. The good connections are made and the possible healing of any arrangement gradually brought about through particular transformative experiences within our everyday existence. These may or may not be self-consciously "spiritual." However, this is prayer in the broadest sense. Prayer is, therefore, not just one activity among others - one that is self-consciously focused on the presence of God and our presence to God. Prayer embraces the whole rich mixture of event, action and receiving gifts that constitutes our relationship with God in the midst of human life.

 Philip Sheldrake, Befriending our Desires, p 58-9

 

A new beginning?

Be conscious of God, and  speak always the truth. (Koran)

 From BBC News  report of President Barack Obama's keynote  Middle East speech in Cairo

Feeling a touch on the green side

...after the early morning antics of the resident Greenpatch dog. Given the choice, I'd opt for a musical awakening any time.

Ascension Day

According to the 100 Years Ago archive section in OldChurch parish mag:

Ascension Day was well kept. We had a peal of eight bells [my italics] at half-past five in the morning, and all the Celebrations, including the Choral at 7, were well attended.

The mind boggles! Can you imagine what the reaction from parishioners would be nowadays if they were rudely awakened at crack of dawn  by Bob the Bellringer and his band of merry men? Contact the local council Environmental Health department? Phone the Bishop? 

Also, the account doesn't specify exactly what number constituted 'well attended'  way back then, but somehow, I suspect rather more of the faithful would have turned up to greet the happy morn than would now. Ah -  the good old days!

'To Live Is to Choose'

...So, choosing (or discerning how to choose) does not simply involve detached, rational thinking even though there has to be a place for that. We have, in a sense, to dive headlong into our experience, into our desires, in order to discern truly. For to discern our deepest desire involves an act of commitment as well as an experience of enlightenment. To discern is not, on the one hand, purely a deeper level of awareness or, on the other, merely a decision. It ultimately involves moving further towards a harmonious relationship with who we most genuinely are as people. This in turn means coming to a realistic acceptance of how we are situated in the  world of place and events. Discernment, in other words, is a matter of continually reaching out for integrity.
Philip Sheldrake in 'Befriending our Desires,' DLT, p 103-4

More Roots and Shoots

Jesus said, 'Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
John 12:24, quoted in The Principles of The Third Order, Society of St Francis, Day One



God's call to any individual is the most perfect for that one, and our integrity stands or falls by our endeavour to be true to the reality of that call.
Mother Elizabeth, CSF in Corn of Wheat - the life and history of The Community of St Francis, p86                                        

Wessex Wanderings

The Greenpatch duo returned yesterday after spending a gloriously sunny Bank Holiday weekend in Thomas Hardy country; objective: to   wander o'er hill and dale  on two wheels  in  the Tour of Wessex Cyclosportive  on Mr GP's part, and  to potter, ponder, paint and procrastinate over a nice cup of something - on mine.  Mr G succeeded on all counts; he's pictured here proudly displaying his gold standard certificate, after a gruelling three days slog.  Meanwhile, I clocked up most of mine, even if the cups of something weren't as numerous as I'd thought. Sherborne has plenty of teashops, but you needed to be really  quick off the mark to find a seat,  as I discovered. She who hesitates is lost!

 It also has far too many pretty little shops selling all kinds of tempting trifles, just the kind to make you hastily redefine the definition of 'wants,' and 'needs.' So, in typically perverse Greenpatch fashion, I shopped til I dropped (not!), coming away with a couple of postcards, a small gift for a friend  from the Abbey shop, and...hold your breath...two books from the  Abbey secondhand stall, bought for the princely sum of 75 pence total. 

Though I'll admit to one rather special 'extravagance - ' bought with a booktoken given me by some friends as a profession present.   K and Y, if you're reading this, I was thrilled to stumble across the late John O' Donohue's book of blessings: Benedictus   Many, many thanks, again.

Shopping apart, I found the town a wonderful place for both pottering and procrastination.  Nowhere was more than a quick stroll away, the sun shone, the people were friendly, and as for the Abbey....I read somewhere that it scores high on the 'wow' factor and I can see why.  I spent a good few hours just sitting opposite in the close, gazing and watching the world go by. 

Sunday's Eucharist at the Abbey celebrated the 1300th anniversary of the Abbey's founder, Abbot of Malmesbury and first Bishop of Sherbourne, St Aldhelm. I'll admit to not ever having heard of him. But the  description of him in the sermon by the Bishop of Ramsbury as a lyre playing, riddle, comic song and ballad writing 'Pied Piper,' going out to engage with the people of the area 'in their own space and in the earthy and rich language which was his own,' certainly put that right. Shades of St Francis there, I thought. Though whether the Bishop had quite  intended to inspire the picture I saw in my mind's eye, of an ale-swilling chubby chappie, rolling his way round the town, tankard in one hand and lyre in the other, remains to be seen!

Ascension:not just a load of hot air

Taking a tea break here from my wrestling with the prophets. No, not these crazy gentlemen, thank goodness    .   My course just now is looking at the early prophets.  Monty Python's depiction makes me giggle, but  of course,  feeds into all the popular stereotypes of them as being long-haired, loin-cloth clad loons (itch, itch - must be psychosomatic),  with a handy line in glorifed fortune telling and psychic jiggery-pokery. As opposed to their true function  as God's messengers, highlighting where folk were falling short on matters of social justice and   practical outworking of the Sinai covenant.  Hardly  glamour personnified , but then Real Life never is.  I sometimes find myself panicked into  demanding  to know my life's future pattern laid out in three neat bullet points, (all beginning with the same letter!) RIGHT NOW!  Of course, life just ain't like that.

 So Maggi Dawn's reflections on the Ascension this morning  prompted  a wry smile:

But the disciples didn't really know what he meant. "Wait until you've been clothed with power from on high" was what he said.  - er, what? what does that mean?

Often we have little more to go on in life than the last set of instructions - the job we do, the family we have, the friends we've got. It would be nice to think we get instructions to go out and change the world. But most of the time it's a matter of just carrying on, hoping that something special will break through, but being faithful to what we know in the meantime.

I'll keep plugging away in there.  (Now, stop scratching!)

 

How Green is Your House?

Thanks to Steve Bishop of Ecotheology  for drawing my attention to this recently completed project. Read all about it over on Sage Oxford.

Hallelujah Chorus for Trappists

Courtesy of Bishop Alan Wilson's blog. 

Light relief after my Sunday afternoon perusal of the  Swine Flu leaflet, currently making headlines on the Diocesan website.

RIP 'Ridge!'

News from the Greenpatch menagerie.  Readers may remember my musings on the then resident  'Beardie' , close encounters with crickets at dawn and Franciscan humility.  After his owner  departed for university Ridge (!) set off on his travels, to the Big City then  to another home. Ms GP phoned yesterday with the sad news that our ex- Beardie Was No More. The intrepid reptile had developed multiple ovarian cysts. Yes, you read that correctly. In the time honoured tradition of Blue Peter, (Who remembers the Fred/Freda debacle?)  our grumpy old man turned out to be a grumpy old woman. 

RIP Ridgette (!)

What's a girl to do?

When a glance at her coursebook reveals the next thrilling task: "Look quickly through Leviticus 17-26!"  (groan).  (Apart from reaching for the chocolate biscuits, of course.)  Why, dive into her feedreader for some light relief. Mahler Tempo Markings  appears courtesy of Bonnie. Thanks to Weekend Fisher at Heart, Mind, Soul, and Strength for brightening up my afternoon.

Speechless

Yesterday, after a journey of three years officially, (though unoffficially) a good while longer, fellow novice J and I were both professed into the Anglican Franciscan Third Order.

I'm still speechless. (Thank goodness for small mercies!)

A Poetic interlude

I wander'd lonely as a cloud, ( googlesearching actually)
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all I once I saw  Steve Tilley's Mustard Seed Shavings
And after thinking thoughts wholly unbecoming to one who's due to be professed shortly, repented,
Said "Pace et Bene, Steve", and hurried off to smarten my profile,
(And  find the Franciscan equivalent of  a sharpened instrument).

Travelling light

As the picture above shows, the last part of Lent has seen the Greenpatches packing their backpacks and taking off for exotic climes. The last few weeks have seen our epic joint 50th birthday trip to Paris and Venice, more details of which can be found  over on my other blog. (Never let it be said that I don't take my cultural education seriously!). Mr GP is even as I type, taking off for a week of cycle training in Majorca, and I've clocked up the miles visiting St John's, Nottingham, Golders Green and sunny Coventry.

We were agreeable surprised at how  'untouristy' Venice was . Yes,  there were the inevitable  crowds on  the water buses and in places like St Mark's Square, but otherwise, there was plenty of space and loads of little streets and alleyways that you could explore (and get lost in) to  your heart's content.  Where there was a square, there was always a cafe (or three) a couple of churches and numerous little shops to wander round, so both Mr GP and I were happy. And, of course, for those nosey so and so's...people watchers amongst us, all you had to do was sit down with a coffee for an hour or so and half the world seemed to pass by.

Churchwise, I'll admit to being a bit of a 'philistine.'  Beautiful though they might be, I find there are only so many tombs and gloomy looking statues I can take before I start to suffer from spiritual indigestion. And in those which had a Franciscan foundation originally, I found it hard to reconcile the sheer ornateness of the interiors with the simplicity of its founder. I can remember my frustration in one, when having finally tracked the little Franciscan chapel down I found it roped off and alarmed. But for all that, and even with camera toting tourists abounding, I still found  some calm and  peace in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city.

Paradoxically, St Mark's was the only place I didn't have to pay to get into, as my visit was not long before closing time once the queues had started to die down -  and I only visited the main part of the basilica. Unlike some of  the other places, I could see this as a place of worship rather than as a kind of religious museum. I'd love to see it after dark, lit by candlelight.  Mass was being said off to the side as we were wandering round. I paused for a few minutes, and though my Italian is practically non-existent, yet I had no difficulty following the liturgy. Timeless. This, I think brought the visit alive for me more than anything else.  As at the souvenir stall when I succeeded in spotting a lone tau cross amongst alll the glitter. The poor women next to me got treated to a babble of excited exclamations in rusty French - my default language when English isn't an option. She took it remarkably well considering. After all, it's not everyday you find Francis!

Oops!

Oh dear! A friend sent me The Mom's Song , and Mr Greenpatches was so taken by it that he insisted I forward the link to our two offspring, currently at uni. I've never seen a reply arrive so fast! Within a few minutes I'd received two panicky e-mails, anxiously enquiring about the arrival of certain parcels they'd sent earlier in the week.  Ah, the power!

Yes, I know I'm displaying a conspicuous lack of Franciscan humility!

If at first you don't succeed

...try, try, try again.

So here, for the second year running, I'm proud to present the Greenpatch attempt at cultivating Honesty and Integrity.

Mowing away

 Inspired by her encounter with alfalfa sprouts, Ms Greenpatch sets off in search of the ultimate piece of garden machinery. 

As one who worked for a lawnmower manufacturer whilst 'growing' her, I'd like to think that the  love of all things agricultural, horticultural and 'anythingelseural' has been passed down the generations - somehow.

Then when I look at the Greenpatch gardening record, maybe not.

As for mowing the lawn  en deshabille all I can say is...DON'T DO THIS AT HOME!

The joys of modern technology

I'm off to an event in Oxford tomorrow, and have just been sorting  myself out with directions from station to venue. You know, Multimap is getting way too clever for its own good. It was only when I noticed that the results page hadn't only attempted to measure my carbon footprint, but had decided in its wisdom -  that I was a 'small petrol car' (Herbie? A 2CV?) that I realised that the Shank's Pony option is now available! Hurrah!

Unfortunately, the Lean Green map machine ethos seemed to have given up when I pressed the printer-friendly directions button. Never mind. I'll follow my nose.

Encounters on the road...

...though not of the As I Walked Out One May Morning variety beloved of folk singers (and singing teachers, as I've discovered).  No, on the way back down the hill from what I supppose I'll have to refer to as Newchurch last night, I bumped into somebody from Oldchurch. We talked, briefly and I discover that they had only just realised that I'd left - from some info in the parish magazine.  As always with these meetings, they asked how I was finding the new place and as always, I found it tricky to give any sort of an answer.    I generally respond with something about it  being pleasant enough, albeit rather too early to form any sort of an informed opinion.  Privately. Well, at times it seems rather like being in a kind of no man’s land.  When I get there it’s fine. Pleasant, unthreatening. A nice, smallish manageable size. (Far less chance of standing around at the coffee hour feeling like a lemon.) Everybody’s perfectly friendly. There’s little or  nothing to push any of my ‘anti-church buttons.’ And I’m only now coming to realise just how much I’ve missed the space and quiet that I felt was so much missing in the old church setting.  I’m not in any way involved, completely ‘unrota –ized.’ Hence  no shreds of churchy politics, in-stuff, gossip to intrude on the peace. I’m not constantly fighting the background feeling of frustration at not seeming to ‘fit in,’  being unable to contribute in the way I sense I might, being a square peg in a round hole, or worse, the tiniest cog imaginable in the huge, monolithic machine that comes over in some places as the Church of England plc. It’s good to just…be… And yet….  Is it ‘home?’ Who knows? I don’t. I do wonder, however,  if I’ll ever again want to be as involved in any church to the extent that I’ve been in the previous couple. (Which if I’m honest, was at times, way too much).     

 

On the other hand, just occasionally, when I’m not wearing out my brain cells pondering the above ‘problem,’ I catch a glimpse, just the occasional glimmering of a something slipping by on the periphery of my vision. A glimmering of …well..freedom.  Maybe for now, ‘home’ is more of a secure ‘base’ -  a framework (similar in some ways to my Franciscan rule of life)  in which I’m equipped to go out and explore. On a good day, I think I can smell the approach of Spring.         

Shrove Tuesday

Forget expeditions up into The Loft, bleeding radiators and other Manly Things.  Here Mr GP tackles a task guaranteed to send a chill through all but the stoutest of  hearts: Pancake Tossing!

No, I'd not bopped him one with the frying pan. If you'd like to  read all about the beloved's latest antics, do pop over to Mr M's Tour de France.    

More Roots and Shoots

I wandr'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills. (In as much as is possible when you're taking Greenpatch dog for his daily consitutional!)
When all at once I saw a crowd; (very approximately, give or take several hundred)
A host of golden daffodils. ( Yes, I do know the difference between daffs and snowdrops. I'm not that stupid. You've got to allow me some artistic licence). 

 

Hurrah! Growth - at last! My name might be Greenpatches, but green-fingered I'm not. It's taken the best part of 11 years for this little lot to Go Forth And Multiply. I was on the point of giving up.

Hurrah again!

Round the World in 80 Faiths

 Recently  Mr GP and I have really enjoyed following the travels of Anglican vicar Peter Owen-Jones in the BBC's Round the World in 80 Faiths. Educated as we both were back in the dark ages (aka the Swinging Seventies), and in my case, at a Church of England school, comparative religion didn't exactly figure on the curriculum. In the realms of multi-faith knowledge I'm entirely self taught. Never mind, this last has helped fill in  a few gaps. And atheist and committed Christian both, its provided us with some good talking points. As Mr GP points out, he may not be 'religious' however, he's definitely a spiritual person.

I spotted a good crit of the programme this afternoon.Over at the moot community you can read  Ian Mosby's reflections with his telling conclusion:

So it is not surprising, that all over the world, all sorts of old and new forms of spirituality have arisen in a time of cultural plurality, and that with out power and control, religion is finding it hard to compete in the market place when it doesn't have the privilege to dominate.

 

So we return to why I believe that New Monasticism, Christian contemplation, and a rhythm of life are so important for new forms of church in this new context, because it is how we live that matters.  The greatest sadness for me, in all the programmes, is how 'aggressive' the forms of Christianity are, or where they are deliberately targeting desperate people.  We really do have power issues in many expressions of the Christian Church, many of which I could never participate in, let alone if I were de-or-un-churched.  We really need to get back into the inspiration game, and choosing powerlessness as modelled by Francis, Benedict and other Monastics.

Sad but true. Even allowing for editorial bias and selective filming, there were points when I felt torn between throwing a brick at the screen or crawling off behind the nearest sofa in total embarrassment. Sad indeed. Next week's  (final)  episode features a whistle-stop tour round Europe,

and judging  by the BBC's blurb I guess there could be some extremely uncomfortable moments.

 

Roots and Shoots

Continuing the sprouts theme  a dig round the  What's New section of the Third Order (TSSF) website has unearthed a report on a recent formation conference at the First Order Hillfield community. The attendees looked at the roots of  the various  Franciscan order rules  and their development  for the 20th and 21st centuries.  Interesting stuff. Especially the concluding thoughts by the author, Anne Spalding:

 

My one reservation about the conference was that I began to feel engulfed in words.

Do not mistake me, I like words. But Franciscan life, as I understand it, is a whole

life, not solely word-based. So what I would like to see is some Third Order groups

explore what a non-prose-based commentary on our Principles might be like ...

music, action, poetry, drawings and paintings ... What would you do?

Now there's a challenge for you!

 

The dangers of organic gardening

Trouble With Sprouts

Sowing Seeds

An honest religious thinker is like a tightrope walker. He almost looks as though he were walking on nothing but air. His support is the slenderest imaginable. And yet it really is possible to walk on it.   Ludwig Wittgenstein, 1948

                                        Thanks to Maggi Dawn for the reminder. I remember blogging about Honesty and his close cousin Integrity around this time last year. Readers (are there any?) might remember my musings on discernment, waiting and the excitement of trying to germinate the fragile Lunaria Annua.  Sadly It Was Not To Be.Whatever the  greenery was that thrust its way out of what I'd thought were the Compton Durville Honesty seeds, delicate it was not. It bore more resemblance to the monster Alfalfa Sprout in our daughter's Momiji animation brief. (Link to follow later). Sadly, once transplanted out onto the patio, the end came quickly. Does the Parable of the Sower feature killer slugs and caterpillars, I wonder?   And are there any  parallels to the Greenpatch faith? Well, yes and no. I'm not entirely certain that all my seedlings so far match the picture on the packet. I've had a few surprises yes. Have I encountered The Very Hungry Caterpillar and his less cuddly counterpart? Maybe. Transplanting features; I've moved churches. It's hard.  Honesty and integrity really are delicate plants, but as I move towards profession in TSSF I know them to be a vital part of my journey, wherever it leads.  

                                                                              

Fuel efficient stoves

Following my last post a leaflet from Practical Action  and a quick check round sites like those of Oxfam and similar revealed that far from being a giggling matter, animal waste is being put to practical use. In many cases this extends beyond mere practicalities, as for example in Darfur. You'll no doubt have heard of the ever present danger of rape that women face in the Sudan as they go about their daily chores - so as Practical Action explain, these stoves, made from clay and donkey dung, hold heat more efficiency and use less fuel. More efficiency means less fuel, hence less potentially dangerous trips needed to collect firewood. A sobering thought.

Though returning to the UK's less pressing problem of doggy doos, safe disposal of, I don't think Gilly or myself need launch our respective furry friends into the building industry just yet. As hubby pointed out, herbivore waste, with its added fibre is where it's at. I'll stick to scooping into our Lean Green Dog Latrine.

Dung!

Or to add a touch of Gallic je ne sais quoi  to this entry Crotte!  (Yes I can recall borrowing this one from the local library where we lived in France as if it were yesterday). Now, you'll recall that Guildford Cathedral has been immortalized in decomposing vegetable peelings. The Guardian, that guru on all things green has gone one further, with it's advice on 'offbeat' solutions to the ever mounting piles of doggy doos in our parks. (900 tonnes a day, apparently according to the Keep Britain Tidy Campaign.) Ladies and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Messieurs, Damen und Herren, next time you decide to re-vamp the patio, get yourself down to your local DIY superstore for some dog poo concrete!

Gaza

With thanks to the Mercy Blog. 

...When UN aid vehicles come under fire from Israeli tanks, and rockets are fired into an Israeli old people's home from across the Lebanese border, the pride and fear of men has catastrophically overcome their humanity in ways seen more clearly perhaps in Rwanda or Kosovo. There are ambitions to genocide, perhaps on both sides of this evil.

 

 …I don't quite know how to pray – but as I keep on saying in these pages, I don't have to:

…the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will. (Romans 8.26-27 NIV)

 

Moving on and new beginnings

Adapted from my other blog:

The End (Of Advent - and start of Christmas) is - almost  nigh. On the practical front, our  well brought up turkey and organic veg are on order, not-so-little Greenpatch and his big sister have  returned home from their various places of education. Greenpatch dog  and I have posted the last of the snail mail Christmas cards. Presents? Yesterday morning I  spread my current haul out on to the bed and played that time honoured traditional pre-Christmas game: See What You’ve Got And Try And Match It Up To The Intended Recipient.   And of course, we still have to  (Young Offspring Anti Seasonal Trauma Alert) gather the wherewithal for the nocturnal visitation to one’s abode by a certain hirsuite and rotund gentleman of indeterminate years and costume of tomato-like hue. Yes, the fact that the Greenpatch offspring are aged 18 and 22 respectively and that poor  HRGIYCTLH often has to set his alarm to wake him up so that he can do the dirty deed in the wee smalls after they’ve staggered in from the pub or party is neither here nor there. (End of Young Offspring Seasonal anti trauma alert). No wonder we’re hardly in fit state to Awake and Salute The Happy Morn after all that.  (HRGIYCTLH’s favourite tipple is a nice Crabbie’s or Stone’s ginger wine, by the way, in case anybody wants to know).

My timing on another, sadder ending has been equally Greenpatchy and disorganised.  Announcing  that I’m leaving our local  church in the week  before Christmas isn’t maybe demonstrating  the best of timing, but then, I don’t think there ever is an ideal means of doing this . I’ve certainly discovered that there’s a difference between a planned, semi-official exit when you say goodbye properly (Two families including ours left my previous place at the same time; both in part due to house moves) and well…just fading out.  Though if I'm  honest,  I left emotionally and spiritually, months, if not several years ago.  Is there an etiquette to Church Leaving? I don’t know. As the  place I’m likely to join is in a neighbouring parish (last time round I changed countries!) it’s a weird feeling given the likelihood of bumping into folk from the old church.

It’s hard. Very hard. However, I know it's the right move . My 'final'  visit last  weekend,  was to sing with the choir in a great concert -  (I had to fight to stop myself coming over all unecessary during ‘Ding, Dong Merrily on High!’) which is a lovely way to remember the place. Then my fellow prayer triplees? Triplettes? (Sounds like a 50’s singing troupe!) enjoyed a nice lunch out this week, and we shall keep on ‘trippling,’  so it’s not all gloom. I guess the best attitude to adopt is that suggested by one of our local tertiaries: to think of the whole business as not leaving after ten years, but rather, moving on after growing through ten years.

Which reminds me. Talking of ‘Ding Dong Merrily,’ feast your eyes on Venn That Christmas Tune   courtesy of Youthblog.  You know, I could  get to like this mathematics lark. Now  that really  is a miracle!

Suitably Inspirational Advent Reflections

Twas the Saturday Before Christmas

and all through the house
boxes lay in chaos,
although [thankfully] no signs of a mouse

The stockings are missing,
almost declared lost
And there’ll be no gifts
Unless I get to the shops

I’d love to be snuggled all cosy in my bed
But thoughts of cooking and presents dance through my head
But me in my pjs, and him in his too
Instead take part in “how clean is your house - 2″...

Heartfelt thanks to Ferijen over on the wibsite for giving me a good laugh. Normal service will be resumed later.  

Eureka!

It's incredible where a spot of idle day-dreaming will land  you. Fascinating though my current wanderings through Exodus may be, come late afternoon, I'm fighting the urge to join the family cat for a quick snooze.  Don 't ask how an equally idle websearch led me to   this old blog entry on the Website of Unknowing. Let's just count it as one of those happy coincidences. How do we reach the comtemplatives?  goes a good way towards explaining just some aspects of the feelings of ambivalence I  struggle with in regard to my own faith journey and certain aspects of that part of the institutional  church to which I  belong. If 'natural comtemplatives,'  those of us of an INFP or similar bent make up such a tiny part of the population, then no wonder I've so often felt I'm banging my head against the proverbial brick wall in my attempts to fit in. As I was reflecting during a retreat last month, it's surprising that I've hung on for so long. One of my resolutions made during that time was to start putting out feelers to other churches; a daunting step after over ten years in one place. In a way, it's not unlike a mini 'Exodus' of my own. Not that it's fair to compare my 'home' church to Egypt, of course! Mismatches happen. Everybody's journey is different, we all change in the way we express our relationship with God as the years go by, and, often what nurtured somebody once, no longer holds true. And, if I'm honest, I could see the 'Exodus' beginning years ago. All that was needed was the courage to take that step into the unknown. Why have I waited until now? Who knows? God knows, maybe? (No, that's not a cop-out!).

Seabirding down the Franciscan path

 

Before I get a flood of comments informing me the above picture is of a stork, not a seagull - yes, I know. But in absence of a suitable gull, I'm sure we can all stretch a point - and our collective imaginations, for a few minutes whilst I explain the connection between birdwatching and my Franciscan wanderings.

Not long after I started down the tertiary path, we were away for the weekend with a group of folk who included a  lay Dominican to-be, who knew a bit about    my ummings and ahhings - mostly from reading my other blog. I was more reticent about my explorations back then. You know what it's like, I'm sure - when you're not certain yourself what you're about or aiming towards, and are half-scared that if you make any of it public, others will burst out in helpless laughter at best, or at worst...well, I'm not sure what I thought would happen.  A bolt of lightning from the Almighty, maybe? Hence  on said blog, TSSF was referred to as the 'C' word - aka 'commitment' a concept that hasn't always come naturally to me. So there we all were in the pub when R says something that sounds  like "I must take the chance to talk to GP about the seabird." Seabird?! O.K. I know that my hearing is none too good in crowded, noisy settings, but still...what on earth possessed them to think I wanted nothing but a cosy  ornithological chat? It took a good ten minutes or so for the proverbial penny to drop, and even then, we had great fun on the way home playing guessing games with the others as to what exactly this 'C' word was!

So, 'Seabird' it was. And has forever afterwards remained in 'blogdom' at least. I'm still a quiet, retiring sort of bird, though now more through natural shyness than hesitancy  about the rightness of the path I'm travelling.  Of the latter, I'm most definitely certain - even if the flight's not been easy, with patches of turbulence along the way. So, stork, seabird, whatever you want to call it, I'm looking forward to profession in about six month's time.

Ouch!

 

I arrived home this afternoon to exciting news from college: 

Everything is in the post today, including a new tutor.

Let's just hope that the poor thing doesn't get stuck in the letter box  - or worse, end up eaten by the dog!