Author: inertus

Tom writes:

We were recently on holiday in Holland. Staying in Gouda, we visited Sint-Janskerk (St John’s Church, named for John the Baptist) as part of our wanders around that small city. Like the rest of the Netherlands, Gouda is very much a Protestant city, yet unlike most of the country, Gouda’s adopting of Reformation principles was not as extreme in its iconoclasm as many places. This means that its vast, central church has medieval stained glass windows that remained in place while most other cities destroyed theirs. So attached to these windows are the people of Gouda that, when the German army invaded in May 1940, they removed them from their usual locations, packed them in crates and hid them in various locations in the surrounding city and countryside. Following liberation, the windows were all back in place within a year! They have gone on to install further windows, including some very modern ones indeed.

Both my wife and I were deeply touched by this story, and I particularly appreciated the way in which a people with a deep Protestantism had nonetheless avoided the worst excesses of iconoclasm – something I think we Protestants have too often been guilty of. At the same time, I think that we people of faith do need doses of iconoclasm to provoke us and make us think. Which in my mind leads us the Stone Roses.

Pioneers of the “Madchester” scene, I have long been intrigued by The Stone Roses’ frequent use of religious imagery in challenging ways. This is found most notably in two songs – “I am the resurrection”, and “Love Spreads”. Of the two, it is the latter that I most frequently find myself drawn to. In it, songwriter reflects on the passion of Christ – a remarkable thing to do in a song written for mainstream production and release. And this isn’t me just thinking that the language can be interpreted that way – Squires is on records as being clear that this is what the song is about. Yet, it offers this reflection on the Passion in a deeply iconoclastic way:

“Cold black skin
Naked in the rain
Hammer flash in the lightning
They’re hurting her again
Let me put you in the picture
Let me show you what I mean
The messiah is my sister
Ain’t no king, man, she’s my queen”

Yes, Jesus in this Passion is a black woman. And before you think this is some modern, “woke” revisionism, I’d remind you this was written in about 1992 or 1993 and released in 1994 (the production of the Stone Roses’ second album, The Second Coming (yet more religious iconography) was infamously long and tortuous), and inspired by a book published in 1988 (The Women’s History of the World by Rosalind Miles).

Artists have always done interesting things with faith stories – just go check out those Gouda windows if you want evidence of that! And one of the most important things creators of icons do is beg questions of previous icons. That’s why art is risky and dangerous, but it’s also why we need it. When those of us who are people of words get dragged down in precise meanings and technical language artists can pop our pomposity and draw us to large visions, even when that includes questioning some of the imagery that precedes them and us. Who knows, in amongst the iconoclasm, the playing with images, and the seeming profanity, maybe we’ll once again encounter the profound:

“Love spreads her arms
Waits there for the nails
I forgive you, boy
I will prevail”

Marc writes:

I feel like Mumford and Sons and Pharrell Williams wrote their song in response to Jack Johnson, but it was 20 years in the making!

Jack asks “Where’d all the good people go?” And Marcus replies “Good people, been down for so long, and now it’s like the sun is rising…”

Is there a shift happening? Is the sun rising? 

I regularly find myself asking where all the good people have gone. Don’t get me wrong, I see them locally and on the micro scale, but on the world stage, where are they? Where are they when I turn on the TV, or scroll the news on my socials?

Every time I get a glimpse of someone good breaking through, I have my hopes dashed when they’re not allowed to be good because of the louder voices shouting them down or systems shutting them up.

“And I’m done being tired”, and want to be inspired…

Maybe the problem is that I expect to see them taking the lead loudly. Perhaps it’s my expectations that are the problem. Maybe it’s that the good is happening and rising from the ground up, and as it swells it’s like the sun rising. Maybe that uprising is the wake up call we need to the revelation. 

And what if seeing those glimpses of God is all I need to give me the courage to release my own capacity for good? “And in my soul something is stirring now and I’m not worried… You better get ready to see now”... And what if I add my good to yours? That could be unstoppable!

But I’ve come full circle to Jack again… “It’s your show now, so what’s it gonna be? Cos people will tune in” and what are they going to see?

“Welcome to the Revelation”

Find out about all 3 artists at:

https://jackjohnsonmusic.com/

mumfordandsons.com

pharrellwilliams.com

Tom writes:

It would be wrong of me to say I’ve only recently found the music of Sam Fender. As a regular listener to Absolute Radio, I’ve been hearing his music since he first broke onto the major music scene with “Dead Boys” in 2018. But I will admit that it’s only recently that I really started listening to his music. And the more I listen, the more I’m impressed and moved by what he writes and sings. This impact really hit as I listened to his most recent album, People Watching, for the first time.

As I listened through, I heard the expected voice of life growing up and living in the post-industrial North East of England. It is neither an accident nor a surprise that Fender’s songwriting themes bring frequent comparisons to Bruce Springsteen – blue-collar/working class reflections on life, loss and love. Then I reached “Little Bit Closer” and I almost had to pull over (I was driving at the time) so I could focus on what I was hearing. This was, it seemed to me, something new.

Fender’s work has always had a sense of compassionate ethics, but it has always seemed to me to be rooted in a general sense of humanism. He didn’t, unless I’d missed it (always possible, remember I was generally hearing but not properly listening), do faith. But not here! Here, God is put front and centre.

Of course, this is Sam Fender, so this is no evangelistic, worshipful celebration in the way of Rend Collective or similar. In fact, for much of the song, it feels like God and the Church – or at least the particular expressions of church that Fender appears to have encountered when younger – are on trial. Without entirely dismissing the purposes of the Church he nonetheless questions some of its behaviours as he, his family and friends have experienced it, challenges the theological positions and attitudes it takes, and compassionately sides with those that the Church has frequently damaged and cast aside. At one point he is clear he would rather burn in hell than abandon the friends and family he knows and loves.

He is also willing, in public, to ask the question, “What is God?” and to acknowledge that he himself is not a believer, while at the same time clearly yearning for something that speaks of a bigger picture and a greater meaning. In the end, he says, he finds that in love – and through love he seems to be drawn closer to that greater meaning.

As I heard Fender make these challenges, ask these questions, admit this need for something more, I found myself thinking he was a lot closer to answering the question “What is God?” than he might imagine, and thinking the Church might have greater success in helping people ask and answer that question if it openly listened to the challenges Fender lays down. The Church is called to share God’s love, yet too often we are frozen, mummified, too bound up in the need for certainty and success that we fail to simply walk alongside our neighbours, holding conversations, and enabling people to simply get a little bit closer to the God who loves us beyond our wildest imaginings.

Find out more about Sam Fender at https://www.samfender.com/

Kristie writes:

When I look at you
I see your power
But when your blues come around
You’re so hard on yourself

I suspect I’m not the only one who is sometimes hard on myself, or forgets my own power.

Thankfully, I came across Luka Bloom whilst living in Ireland some 25 years ago and when praying recently, this was the song that came back to mind. I love how God can respond to prayer!

But when you’re low
Where do you go
Who helps you come around?

This week (12-18^th May) is Mental Health Awareness Week and this year’s theme is celebrating the power and importance of community. These questions are great ones to ask ourselves – who helps us; where do we go when we’re feeling low; who supports us and reminds us we’re not alone?

When I look at you
I see things you don’t seem to

For me this is what a good friend, counsellor, and God does – offering me a way of seeing myself that is gentle and kind, rather than hard and harsh. Especially when the world is tough.

Life’s not easy
Sometimes the heart aches
I will sing a song for you
Don’t be so hard on yourself
Don’t be so hard on yourself

I wonder if you too could hear these words as if God is singing them to you?

Find out more about Luka Bloom at https://lukabloom.com/

Gill writes:

This week’s Friday Fix gives more than a passing nod to last week’s FF because it was in listening to a revisit of Mike Peters’ choice of songs on Sounds of the 80s with Gary Davies last week that inspired a reflection on this anthemic song from Big Country.

I remember being so excited when Big Country appeared on the scene in the 1980’s – out of the same stable as my beloved U2, Simple Minds and The Alarm. Listening to this always leaves me with a strange mix of uplift and ache — like looking at a beautiful landscape and suddenly realising how small I am in the world. It makes me think about how vulnerable it actually is to keep believing in things — especially when life doesn’t always meet you halfway.

It doesn’t surprise me that a number of people told lead singer, Stuart Adamson, that this song is what saved their lives – Mike Peters included. A sad irony given the early departure from life that Adamson himself made.

I’m not expecting to grow flowers in the desert
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime

In a big country, dreams stay with you
Like a lover’s voice fires the mountainside
Stay alive

These are some of my all-time favourite lyrics in a song. To me, they speak of what it means to keep going when life isn’t flourishing the way you hoped. There’s no illusion of success or transformation — no flowers in the desert — just the quiet grace of noticing that even in the hardest seasons, there’s still sun, still breath, still something to be seen and felt.

I see spirituality here – it may be subtle but it’s definitely here. It even lives in the landscapes that the song evokes in my mind — vast, open, and wild. The song suggests that to live life in all its fullness includes risking heartbreak and sadness, being vulnerable and exposed, yet still to believe in something larger than ourselves — whether that’s love, hope, or the sheer scale and mystery of the world we move through. Some of us would call this God.

Sometimes, we need permission to stop trying so hard to fix things, and just to be — to look, to breathe, to see the sun. That feels like faith to me: not in answers or outcomes, but in the quiet, persistent value of being alive, even in wintertime.

Big Country are still creating music and you can find out more at https://bigcountry.co.uk/

Recent days have seen the announcement of Mike Peter’s death. Mike, the lead singer of The Alarm, has shown great spirit and perseverance in the face of a longstanding and complex illness. It seemed fitting then to re-visit a Friday Fix entry from early 2023 where Jane reflected on new music from a great band with him at the helm. RIP Mike, and thanks for the music.

Jane wrote in 2023:

The Alarm were a band of my youth. A band that the people I hung round with loved and played a lot! A band that seemed to have something to say and often with a faith bias.

Their album Strength was a must play and the memories that went alongside – beloved t shirts, unexpected turns at Greenbelt Festival, sweaty gigs in that sweatbox known as The Hummingbird in Brum – are all indelibly inked on my soul. This was 1985 or thereabouts, and as you can tell, it’s a while ago now.

Imagine my joy then when I heard a familiar kind of sound on my release radar playlist. Could it really be them. Well yes it was! A new single from a new album due for release this summer, Forwards was the cry and already the rallying style of this band was evident once again. Whoooaaa Whoooaa!

I’m certain that they have been making music over the years but my own encounters with them have been through retrospective tours and Mike Peters, their lead singer, reliving those glory days.

This though, felt a fresh reminder of where music could take you. Mike has been unwell with leukemia for many years and last autumn was no different to that. Even now though he looks forward to helping others through creating a new wellness space alongside creating new music.

Living for today. Trying to find a way forwards
On and on and on

Illness, grief or patches of immense despondency can lead us to get lost. People often express a sense of stasis when nothing seems to move and treading the water seems an effort. Life running is slow motion. This can often be true of society too.

My life is out there somewhere

I’ve been crawling through the wreckage trying to get myself back home to you…I’ve been searching for the way

I have no way of knowing of course whether this is a rediscovery of self, the truth of faith or a desire for a better world. It is though clearly about working out what comes next.

As people of faith we believe that God is part of that equation. Jesus declares “I am the way”. If we can do one thing today we may want to give a little thought to what the future holds for us.

“The way forwards”

and give a heartfelt nod of thanks to those who stir us up like The Alarm. Play it loud and search for the way at the top of your lungs.

More can be found about The Alarm at https://thealarm.com/

Corin writes:

Kelly Joe Phelps, to the uninitiated, possessed a unique talent as a guitarist, songwriter and interpreter of songs from the canon of country blues. Those of us lucky to see him live would encounter a low key, humble figure, who would spark alive through some incredible slide playing. I’ve rarely seen one man hold the attention of a room like he did. For those experiencing darker
times, his music speaks to the soul. No longer with us, he leaves a rich musical legacy.

Which brings us to ‘Roll Away the Stone’.

‘Early one morning here as I look at across a worn out plain
Dust bowl memories you can hear me shout
I want to roll away the stone’

This week, we celebrate Jesus’s resurrection. Death is conquered. The nature of reality has changed.

I have appreciated the counsel of a wise spiritual director for a number of years. At a period where it felt like many elements of life were disintegrating, she told me this:

‘The thing is, when Jesus was in the tomb he didn’t make the resurrection happen. The resurrection happened to him.’

There’s a moment of recognition where only surrender to God can transform the situation. These are the times when you’re out of options and the fixes ain’t working.

‘You must learn to forgive reality.’ Says Richard Rohr.

‘See that gate down yonder road, which one will I follow? I lose my shackles here. I want to roll away the stone.’

We want to roll away the stone, but every attempt has failed. We might call this the moment of grace.

Many years after this record, Phelps found sobriety, and released what would be his final album; ‘Brother Sinner and the Whale’. He shares what inspired the record:

‘It wasn’t just a general, hmmm, maybe I should pay more attention to God. It was more like, man, I had to do something or my head was going to blow up or my heart would stop.  I couldn’t live this way, think this way or feel this way any longer.’

‘Roll Away the Stone’ precedes this moment of recognition. In time, he realises he can’t roll it. Only God can do that.

The stone gets rolled when we’ve been through the death moment, the surrender. We wait for the resurrection to happen in this letting go. And this is what he discovered for real.

Tom writes:

Human beings are social beings. We need one another. We need support from others – to laugh with us in moments of joy and to weep with us in moments of sorrow, to challenge us when we become blasé and to protect us when we are in danger. To be human requires having neighbours.

When Jesus is asked who our neighbours are, he offers instead a parable that explores what it is to be neighbourly ourselves. And so, as I’m asked to reflect on Soul Support and the way we look for nourishment from others when times are tough, I find myself offering a song that reflects not on others offering us support, but rather the desire, the need, the calling to be that support, that protection, for others.

As Jesus dies on the cross, he continues to build community. He looks at his mother and his closest friend and places them in one another’s care. This relationship means that not only have they someone to lean on, but they also have the responsibility to let the other lean on them – to protect one another from the fiercest storms of life.

Human beings need one another, and as followers of Jesus we know that we are called to not only love God but to love our neighbours as ourselves. That works both ways – as we need support, so we are called to be that support for others, that we might be nourished together in body, mind and soul.

Follow Massive Attack on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/massiveattackofficial/

Mandy writes:

There are not many songs which can speak to your heart, nourish your soul and call you to action all at the same time. For me, ‘Hear My Voice’ does all three.

This song, co-written by Celeste and Daniel Pemberton, was nominated for an Oscar after it was featured in a Netflix film called ‘The Trial of the Chicago Seven’ – the story of a group of American protesters arrested and taken to court for demonstrating against the Vietnam War.

So far, so worthy. But it’s more than that. Quite honestly, this song sends shivers down my spine. Celeste’s elegant, powerful, voice. A measured yet insistent message. It could be heard as a prayer for a better and truer existence:

“Hear my voice, hear my dreams

Let us make a world, in which I believe

Hear my words, hear my cries

Let me see a change through these eyes”

There are too many situations in the world where the voices of ordinary people have been silenced. I am sure you can think of some current examples.

Conversely, there are also many places where change has happened because people have raised their voices and called out injustice, even at great personal cost.

This song nourishes my soul with its beauty, but it also challenges me to consider how I raise my voice, and for what purpose.

To criticise and tear down, or to encourage and lift up?

To speak words of hatred and prejudice, or to call out for a world which we can all believe in?

Find out more about Celeste at https://www.celesteofficial.com/