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Tom writes:

There are many songs that take me back to parts of my childhood summers, but the one that really gets me smiling is Reef’s “Summer’s in Bloom”. When I hear it, I’m immediately back in Somerset, hanging out at Greenbank outdoor pool, or in the beer garden of the Street Inn, or up the park with cider from the local farm. Or maybe the memories are from further back, of cycle rides through the local estate (the kind with gamekeepers, not council houses) with my cricket bat on my back to get to the club I played for, of evening adventures up the Wrekin with the youth club or Scouts, or camping out in the field behind my mate’s house. There’s a million and one other memories it brings flooding back as well, all of them bringing a smile to my face.

Yet, here’s the thing: the album Glow, from which this song comes, wasn’t released until January 1997, when I was already 18 and part way through my third year of A-Levels while of my mates had already moved off to university or found jobs. And so the song that has me bathing in memories of glorious childhood and teenage summers didn’t come out until I was almost 20 and those days were behind me! Why is that? Well, in part it’s because it’s Reef, and the couple of places it mentions in the lyrics are places I can identify – indeed, my sister lives not far from Cinnamon Lane in Glastonbury. I never went swimming there, but a Westcountry accent singing about summer swimming is just bound to take my mind back, isn’t it, even if it’s to a pool rather than a river? And from there, the mind does the rest!

Of course, the reality is that not only is it strange that a song not released until the end of my childhood should so strongly remind me of the childhood it played no part in, but the reality is that I don’t think my summers were ever quite as glorious as I remember. I’m pretty sure it’s a case of rose-tinted (sun)glasses! While I can’t describe my childhood and teenage years as bad (I know I have friends whose childhoods are genuinely entitled to that description and stronger), they were far from perfect – I was both bullied and a bully, who struggled at times to fit in socially and who developed physically quite late. I’m also pretty certain that I only went to Greenbank a handful of times, and I definitely only camped in that field the once! Yet, I definitely look back with fondness to those summers, whether amid the wheat fields and playing fields of Shropshire, or amid the play parks and beer gardens of Somerset.

I suspect church life is very much like this too. When we look back we remember with fondness the full churches on a Sunday, and over-flowing Sunday Schools, and gloriously sunny picnic outings. I’m sure those things existed, but I am not convinced they were a weekly occurrence in most of our churches most of the time. And even if they were I suspect we weren’t yet old enough to experience quite how much energy they required of the leaders and organisers, and that it was a good 30-40 years ago at least!

Honestly, fond memories of the past are a good thing, even if they are heavily filtered through pink prisms. Yet we have to be careful that the memories that make us smile don’t catch us in the trap that is nostalgia. Time is a one-way road and we can’t go back. And anyway, the past is a foreign country, they do things differently there. We are where and when we are. So, as I listen to Reef sing of past summers in bloom, I’ll continue to smile about those that happened when I was younger than now I am, but I’ll also make sure I put my focus on enjoying the summer that’s in bloom right now!

You can find Reef at a handful of festivals this summer – find out more here https://www.reeftheband.com/

Tom writes:

Gill’s much-loved Blur aren’t the only band making a come-back this year. Another band doing so are Foo Fighters. For sure, they haven’t been gone that long, but on the back of the sudden death of drummer Taylor Hawkins (a drummer who steps into Dave Grohl’s seat and not only succeeds but thrives is a drummer who will be sorely missed!) the question was understandably asked by fans as to whether they would be back again. It was undoubtedly asked by the band too.

Yet here they are, back with a new drummer, Josh Freese, and a new album – an album I personally think is one of their most powerful to date. Understandably, it is an album that audibly processes the grief that the band experienced at the sudden and unexpected death of their great friend and drummer. It is also, as songs such as The Teacher make clear, also an album that includes Grohl’s processing of his grief following the death of his mother – a woman who played a significant role in supporting and encouraging the Nirvana drummer and Foo Fighters frontman’s career in music.

To me, the track that stands out the most when I listen to the album is ‘The Glass’, which opens with the lines “I had a vision of you and just like that I was left to live without it… I found a version of love and just like that I was left to live without it… Waiting for this storm to pass, waiting on this side of the glass, but I see my reflection in you, see your reflection in me, how could it be?”

In these words, I find something of the truth that I try to encapsulate when I am given the deep privilege and awesome responsibility of leading funerals.

The first part of that truth is that grief is a perfectly natural and appropriate response to death. In this day and age that seems always wants smiles and laughter in celebration of a life lived well, those of us committed to speaking truth must be clear that the death of a loved one or loved ones hurts, deeply, and to diminish that hurt is to deny the way in which we are left to live without the vision and love of the one who has died. As I lead funerals I hold onto my memories of funerals I experienced in South Africa where wailing and sobbing were an expected, normal part of the occasion. To misquote the oft-used, and mis-understood, lines: death is most certainly not nothing at all.

Yet, at the same time, as a Christian minister I am called to acknowledge another truth – that death is not the end nor the final word. There are, of course, numerous ways to explore this. For me, the way I have usually offered to congregations is to consider that all love is but a part of the great love of God, who is indeed Love itself, and that since there is nothing in all creation, not even death, that can separate us from God’s love in Christ then so there is nothing that can separate us, not even death, from the love of the one we see no longer, nor separate them from ours.

To grieve is to demonstrate that we love. And our love is a reflection of God’s love, which has overcome even death. So, while we see dimly through the glass, nonetheless we can rejoice in the ongoing, undefeated love we have experienced and which is reflected both in our grief and in the ways we continue to live as reflections of the love we have known, still know, and will know into eternity.

Find out more about Foo Fighters at https://www.foofighters.com/

Marc writes:

Every summer from the age of 10 to 21, I packed my bag for at least one week’s camping with a bunch of young people of my age. The Christian camps gave me a good basis for a lot of the things that make me who I am today and every year I got reintroduced to Jesus.

Every year the scene was set to learn what it is to be a Christian in the world, and at some point in the week, there would be an opportunity to respond to the Gospel and recommit myself to Jesus. In the years when I did multiple weeks in the summer, I had multiple opportunities to repent, and came back doubly sure of my salvation, at least for another year.

The youth worker in me reflects on those days with a whole range of emotions. I’m appreciative of the passion and concern that those faithful servants had to the gospel and the attention they paid to the salvation that I needed to know about and own. Yet I’m also aware that emotions play a huge part in the moment as well, and wonder how we create the same space without the fear of lost salvation lingering with those who have already responded.

How do we introduce Jesus without the hype, salvation without the guilt and shame, and response without repetition, wonder and worship without worry? The reality is that my faith was never the same outside of those “mountaintop” moments, when life rushed back in quicker than I was able to wash the week’s dirt off my dusty feet, in spite of my best intention in that moment.

Not only is this song one that sounds like summer to me, but it reminds me of those moments. It reminds me of that feeling of coming back closer to Jesus and our relationship having that much-needed “kickstart” after being a bit lax and neglected in the interim. It speaks of rediscovery, recommitment, and a desired intentionality.

I sometimes miss those days, and sometimes I forget to miss those days. I am not sure I am always that good at creating the opportunity for the love to kickstart again in my relationship with God, at recognising where I’ve got complacent. I’m saved. I don’t need another altar call. What I need is to spend time on the relationship I have.

Find out what Example os up to at the moment – https://linktr.ee/exampleofficial

What songs remind you of summer?

Are there any summer memories that as soon as you hear a certain song, it takes you right back there?

What would be on your summer playlist?

How about sharing a song and reflection with us on the Friday Fix – we love a summer vibe. Just get in touch with Gill on thomasg@methodistchurch.org.uk with your thoughts…

Gill writes:

I’ve been meaning to write a Fix about a song from The Proclaimers for quite a while, but I was spurred into action by a little snippet of news the other day. That snippet was the fact that the official ‘King’s Coronation Playlist’ had originally included a song from the duo but there had been complaints because of their anti-monarchy stance, so it was withdrawn from the playlist.

I’m sure Charlie and Craig (The Proclaimers) probably don’t care a jot as to whether they were included or not. Newswise, it was just a storm in an espresso cup but for some of us, it grated a little bit – perhaps because it feels a bit symbolic of our times. There appears to be a rise in intolerance of views and actions that might ‘rock the boat’ or that question the system. Wouldn’t a King’s playlist that included musicians with differing views be an example of how to embrace difference?

It seems ironic, really, that the reason why I chose to reflect on this week’s song is because of The Proclaimers’ ability to write songs that bring people together. So anyway…

If you’ve ever had the opportunity to see The Proclaimers perform live, you’ll know that this song really takes on a life of its own. This song, and ‘I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)’, are when the crowd really takes over in the singing stakes. And something curious also takes place. The whole crowd develops a Scottish accent. It really does. Try singing this song without pronouncing ‘worth’, ‘earth’ and ‘you’ with a strong Scottish brogue – and you’ll see what I mean.

We’ve covered the unifying elements that music and lyrics can bring in previous Fixes before. The power, passion and healing that collective singing can bring is remarkable. It can gather together people from vastly different backgrounds and create a connecting point that transcends any barriers. Music really can be the catalyst for peace and solidarity.

In my humble opinion, it is songs about love that offer a great opportunity to tap into emotions and understanding that most of us can relate to. The simplistic narrative of this song takes us on that complex journey from a broken heart, upset, or trauma:

My heart was broken
My heart was broken
Sorrow, sorrow
Sorrow, sorrow

And it starts to reveal the effect that the power of love can have…

My heart was broken
My heart was broken
You saw it, you claimed it
You touched it, you saved it

My tears are drying
My tears are drying
Thank you, thank you
Thank you, thank you

My tears are drying
My tears are drying
Your beauty and kindness
Made tears clear my blindness

This doesn’t mean that everything is sorted and life is all hunky-dory; it means that you are not on your own. That someone- a friend, family member, partner, carer, God – is with you and helping you to see the way ahead. It may still be bumpy, but a bumpy ride with a passenger is way better than one travelled on your own.

The beauty of this song is that it encapsulates more than the romantic love that many ‘love songs’ allude to. It’s inclusive, not exclusive. It can be about anybody or anywhere that has touched your heart and enabled you to glimpse hope; that the beauty of people (or places) and kindness shown to you can clear my blindness.

And then the song climbs to that gentle crescendo which just requires a good bellow from the top of your lungs. There’s a sense of relief and release, of humility, of recognising that we’re of worth, and of accepting that life is a gift.

While I’m worth
My room on this Earth
I will be with you

And that gift of life comes from something much bigger than us. Love, Lifeforce, God, Chief – however you want to understand it. We’re gifted precious time in a wonderful world alongside some incredible human beings (and lots of other beings too!) and it’s not us that has control over that.

Some of my ‘most favourite lyrics ever’ lie within this song and capture a sense of divine intervention in a musical nutshell –

While the Chief puts sunshine on Leith

and goes on to a great little prayer of thanksgiving

I’ll thank Him
For His work
And your birth
And my birth
Yeah, yeah, yeah

Of course, those of us who have ever lived on the east coast, like those who live in Leith, will know that sunshine can often be smothered by a cold, dank and gloomy sea fret. There’s many a time when I have driven back to a home close to the North Sea and thought “It’s a lovely warm evening here in Lincoln/Morpeth – I can sit out when I get home,” only to be welcomed by a major drop in temperature and misty cloud which scuppered any such plans.

Maybe that’s a good analogy about life sometimes – spiritual and otherwise. The sun is always there – sometimes you can see, feel and enjoy the benefits of it, and sometimes others are enjoying the benefits whilst you are enveloped in a cold fog (and vice versa). The sun is always there, behind the fog – trying to break through. The fog may persist for longer than you want it to but it will eventually lift, and at least for a few minutes you’re more appreciative than usual of that lovely sunshine.

A couple of years ago, our family of three had been on a bit of a ‘bumpy ride’ together and we decided on a fairly spontaneous short break to the Cairngorms to help reset. We arrived in Edinburgh around 0900 to break the journey and walked up Arthur’s Seat to stretch our legs. It was pretty dull weather, with a chill in the air as we set off, but as we neared the summit, the sun broke through and as you looked down, you could see the sun shining on Leith. It brought a smile to our lips, a tingle down the spine, and a sense that everything was going to be alright.

And for the rest of that day (as it is for other challenging days), this song was all that I needed to hear (and sing).

I took a photo of The Chief shining sunshine on Leith!

The Proclaimers are still performing and you can find out more here – https://the.proclaimers.co.uk/

Having provided the Good Friday Fix, here’s a follow-up that can be used as an Easter Day Fix if you would like: https://spotify.link/h5OWQJIaRyb. Courtesy of Tom Osbourne.

Tom writes:

Good Friday. How does one offer thoughts and feelings through music that might be appropriate on this of all days? Well, on this occasion, by offering a playlist, not a single song, and by offering it as part of a possible reflective liturgy.

Eight years ago, as a minister in Cornwall, I decided to try and offer a creative way into the Passion of Christ, and particularly the last sayings of Jesus on the cross. What eventually came into being was a service called, ‘Outro’. Its structure was simple – an opening and a closing prayer, bookending a repeating sequence of a scripture passage followed by a piece of popular music. Seven times repeated, in fact – one for each of the last sayings.

I’ve reflected on that worship experience a great deal since, including a published article (https://www.wesley.cam.ac.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/09-osborne.pdf), and even for a while ran a regular service at one of my churches in Essex, using the same pattern to reflect on a variety of themes (we called it ‘Ink-R-n8’). I know that while it may not work for all, it certainly works for some, including those who might not initially expect it to – one congregation member for Outro came most unwillingly, yet expressed to me afterwards how very glad they were they had.

So now I offer it here, in a rather different setting. I offer the following as a way of engaging:

– Find a Bible and mark the seven readings.

– Sit in a comfortable space – maybe a regular prayer seat, maybe somewhere outside, wherever, just make sure you’re comfortable, with access to your Bible and the playlist.

– Start by offering a quiet prayer to God – that you would know God’s presence, and that you would be enabled to hear God speak, through the words of scripture, the lyrics of the songs, the feelings the music might evoke.

– Read the first reading. Do so slowly. Perhaps do so out loud.

– Pause.

– Play the first track on the playlist.

– Pause.

– Read the next reading.

– Pause.

– Play the next track.

– Repeat the above four steps until you reach the end of the readings and songs.

– Pause.

– Finish by offering a further prayer to God. Offer to God all that you have experienced in the reading and listening, and ask that God would enable you to carry those experiences with you as you journey through Good Friday and Holy Saturday to Easter Day – and beyond!

The Friday Fix on Good Friday usually tries to somehow reflect the sentiment of the day.

This year, we will be sharing a playlist that has been curated by Tom Osbourne. The playlist will help you to contemplate the Passion of Christ by listening to and reflecting on seven songs that relate to the final words spoken by Jesus.

The Fix will drop a little earlier than usual – at 0900 – so that you might have the time and space to prepare and listen to the playlist as it suits you.

Mandy writes:

After writing ‘Into Temptation’, Neil Finn (the lead singer of Crowded House) found himself in an awkward situation.

He wrote so convincingly about the lure of a woman in a new blue dress that his wife Sharon thought he was having an affair and he had to work hard to convince her that the song was not in fact, based on his own infidelity.

It was actually inspired by an experience in a motel in New Zealand where Finn observed a men’s rugby team partying with a women’s netball team. Back in his room, he thought he heard a knock at his door, but when he looked out he realised a woman was going into the room of the rugby player next door.

And so the song begins…an exploration of that split second between anticipation and decision, possibility and reality, lust and regret.

Humanity is displayed in full force in this song. Being with the woman in the new blue dress can’t do any harm…can it? After all “a muddle of nervous words, could never amount to betrayal”

There is a moment that perfectly sums up the fleeting promise of a glance:

“As I turned to go, you looked at me for half a second. With an open invitation, for me to go into temptation”

Temptation can be a slow-burning thing but sometimes it is that split second, that look, that glance, a tiny thing which can charge the atmosphere and change the course of an evening, of a life.

Finn, who had a Catholic upbringing, also explores the nature of regret and guilt. Again, his songwriting goes right to the heart of human experience:

“The guilty get no sleep, in the last slow hours of morning.

Experience is cheap – I should have listened to the warning.

But the cradle is soft and warm….”

The world tips on its axis, burdened by guilt and there is no redemption to lighten the mood at the end.

In a sense this song could be described as a classic cautionary tale – don’t do this, kids – don’t give in to the temptations around you, otherwise things will go badly wrong.

It rests in perfect contrast to the abilities of Jesus to resist the temptations put before him by the devil during his wilderness experience, often explored in Lent.

So why does it work? It expresses the fallibility of humanity, the capacity that we all have to make a split second decision that could be amazing or catastrophic. Neil Finn invites us into that split second and challenges us to reflect on what temptation means for each one of us.

Find out what Crowded House are up to at https://www.crowdedhouse.com/