Today is White Ribbon day. White Ribbon is a campaign against male violence towards women, asking society to get involved and particularly asking for the voices of the good men around us to be raised in support – https://www.whiteribbon.org.uk/
It coincides this year with the World Cup, and so often male violence escalates if sporting teams fail miserably. The campaign then asks men to consider some of the things they can do to alleviate some of the pressure on women – both those they know and those they don’t – especially right now.
It’s so sad isn’t it, that such a day even has to exist, but we’re in that place where it does. Not just in this country but across the world – the oppression of women is everywhere. Denial of the right to education, the right to choose how to dress or wear their hair, the right to make decisions and choices about their health and welfare, the right to have the careers they choose, and even the right to have access to the beloved sports grounds that some take for granted.
Into this space then comes this lovely song of solidarity from While & Matthews. A song that says we have you in mind, we care and we want to hear your stories, a song that says you’re not on your own and that we have your backs.
As a woman of faith, I don’t always find scripture easy on the subject of women. Old and New Testament stories are full of oppression towards women, exploitation, and decisions by men about what they should do and how they should behave. Jesus was different, though even he was sometimes caught up in the rhetoric of the day and it took the odd argumentative woman to push back so that we could see more clearly the way of God.
Thankfully my own denomination has come a long way but there are some Christian men that profess to know best about the role of women in church life and beyond it. The language we use and the differences and distinctions we make which accidentally marginalize women are still around. If we need women to be less ‘at risk’ then what we say and do really matters.
Let’s sing this song of solidarity instead then, and if you get a chance today give the White Ribbon campaign a plug. No woman needs to feel threatened, abandoned or alone. No man (or woman) should stay silent in the face of violence towards women. No woman should be prevented from being all that God intended for them.
The other day, I woke up recalling the piece of music called “Gabriel’s Oboe”, the main theme for the 1986 film ‘The Mission’, with Robert de Niro, Jeremy Irons, and Liam Neeson. I then discovered that the following night there was a TV documentary about Ennio Morricone who composed the piece.
It’s such a beautiful piece of music. One that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand out, one that touches my soul and evokes deep emotional resonance. Resonances of joy, sadness, passion, service, sacrifice and, of course, mission. Indeed, I know from social media friends that others are similarly impacted by it and it’s a piece of music that has been used at both weddings and funerals as it so remarkably seems to suit both the hope and sadness of life.
If you’ve not heard it before, do take a listen to it.
Story of the film
The film itself tells the story of a Jesuit missionary going to South America to try to convert the natives. At times, the film is very brutal and highlights many of the ills of the colonial era. The main character, Father Gabriel, plays his oboe and this piece of music in an attempt to connect with the native population. The tune then continually re-appears through the film in various guises as the story unfolds.
From when I first saw it, it was a film that taught me so much about culture, power, violence, faith and sacrifice. Regular Friday Fix fans will know that the ‘Fix’ is meant to reflect on the lyrics of a piece of music and how they have connected life, spirituality, faith and our shared journeys. The trouble with my choice here, is that there are no lyrics for Gabriel’s Oboe. So, I’ve got special permission and am drawing on a couple of quotes from the film to reflect on the significance of this piece for me. I hope the purists are ok with that …
The first quote is:
“If might is right, then love has no place in the world. It may be so, it may be so. But I don’t have the strength to live in a world like that.”
With so much trauma, loss and violence currently going on in our world, I have often felt like this of late. I really don’t want to be here, going through all the stuff we are going through. Many days it feels like I don’t have the strength. Yet something gets me through the days; off to bed at night; and up early next morning. I don’t know if that’s my simple humanity and default survival instinct compelling me to carry on or something of God. I’ve certainly found myself increasingly drawing on the idea that each new morning brings new mercies, new grace, new opportunities, and the chance to make a difference in the world. So on I press…
The second quote is a brief conversation between two of the main characters.
“Rodrigo Mendoza: Father, I’ve come to ask you to bless me. Father Gabriel: No. If you’re right, you’ll have God’s blessing. If you’re wrong, my blessing won’t mean anything.”
This idea has always spurred me on to doing whatever it is I’ve been doing at any one particular time. We don’t need the blessing of people, if God is behind what we are about. Sure, it’s nice to feel folks are on your side, but that often just satisfies the self and massages the ego. It might even be of more benefit to those giving the blessing than those receiving it and going about the mission and business!
I feel at a bit of a crossroads in life at the moment. There’s uncertainty, curiosity, and a little fragility. But I’m pressing into the hope of a better, peace-filled world and looking to join in with what (blessing and mission) God is up to.
At the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, we will remember them.
Remember who? On the first Armistice Day in 1919, it was to stop and remember those (younger men mainly) who didn’t come back from ‘The Great War.’
Little did people know that twenty years later they would be living through a second World War, and that Armistice Day – the 11th November – would evolve into today – Remembrance Day – when we stop to reflect and remember the impact that war has on us.
According to the Imperial War Museum, there are around 90,000 memorials across the country. Most of these will be the centrepoint for an act of remembrance today and this weekend. For some communities, the memorial is venerated – behind gates or closed off; for other communities, the memorial is accessible where people can sit and gather.
Sometimes, the memorial can (ironically) become a focus of conflict itself – like the one I found myself in the middle of as a town youth centre manager. Historically, generation after generation of young people in the town had gathered on the steps of the memorial, but it suddenly became an issue to a few older people in the town for some reason. There wasn’t any damage or disrespect happening but it became a heated topic in the town for a little while.
So I found myself at a Community Safety meeting one evening asking questions about the memorial – the sort of questions you can ask when ‘you’re not from around here.’ One question I asked was about the age of the men (because it was all men) inscribed on the plaques – so I pointed out that many were a similar age to the young people who gathered there now.
Then I asked about the names of the inscribed – many who shared a family name with the young people who gathered there now. All had lived and breathed in the town; some had even been a bit of trouble at times like their descendants.
That’s the thing that always strikes me about these memorials that many of us will gather around in the next day or so. That they are predominantly memorials to the young. Younger people from those towns and communities who didn’t return from the battlefield or who didn’t survive other acts of war, and so consequently will be ‘Forever Young.’
I’ve written before about the impact that my school exchange to West Germany (as it was then) had on me. Unlike my parents and grandparents, I didn’t experience the clouds of a World War; but I did experience the continual looming pressure of the Cold War. This was particularly tangible in the early-mid ’80s when Reagan and Chernenko had their fingers over the ‘button.’
Let’s dance in style, let’s dance for a while.
Heaven can wait, we’re only watching the skies.
Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.
Are you going to drop the bomb or not?
Of course, they did not drop the bomb and here I am growing old gracefully. But it has to be said that growing up at that time meant (for me anyway) living life to the fullest and making the most of every moment. There was always an underlying sense that life could be taken away without warning and that we mere mortals had no control over it.
We don’t have the power but we never say never.
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip.
The music’s for the sad man
The song takes us on a journey that the world didn’t take in the end but it still has a poignancy which acknowledges the consequences of war. Younger people who didn’t get to live out their life’s adventures. Younger people who would never hear their generation’s music or get to achieve their dreams.
So many adventures couldn’t happen today.
So many songs we forgot to play.
So many dreams swinging out of the blue.
We let them come true.
Instead, they remain forever young.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
This week, we’re sharing a reflection from David who not only writes reflections for The Friday Fix, but also has his own blog – https://socalledsecular.org/ – and this reflection comes from there.
“So much of our intake of music is fleeting and transient. The muzak of the shopping mall. The radio playing in the corner of the workplace. The pub soundtrack drowned by our own banter and laughter. Occasionally, in these situations, we become vaguely aware of it’s presence. We may even declare to those we are sharing a drink with that we love this tune, but then our attention quickly returns to our chatter.
Music becomes the person we sit next to and ignore on the tube. Yet, any song however unknown, is a song waiting for hospitality. Waiting for the chance to be known to you.
Even in our homes, where we can choose the music we want to listen to, it often finds itself unnoticed next to us. Friends visit, drinks are poured, music is chosen, the conversation flows, and the song is drowned. Background music from your collection is an old friend waiting to be welcomed again into your midst.
To relegate music in these ways is to silence a voice that has a right to be heard, to ignore the stranger and to make our life poorer.
‘Listening is a form of spiritual hospitality by which you invite strangers to become soul-friends’
(Community of Spiritual Formation)
To offer music hospitality is to intentionally sit and listen. To be generous with our time and pay attention at the expense of all the other competing voices and noises in our world. It is to place music firmly in the foreground.
‘Spiritual listening is at the heart of all relationships. It is what we experience when we become a quiet, safe container into which the speaker is able to express his or her most genuine voice. There is a communion of souls.’
I don’t believe any artist writes or plays for their music to lurk in shadows, to be the ignored traveller on public transport. A true piece of art is birthed from deep within the soul of the artist and is offered to the world in the hope that there will be connection. That connection has no chance of being made if we keep the song in the background. If we become a safe container into which the music can express its most genuine voice the connection is possible.
When this connection is made, we allow the artist to speak into the space we create. With no other distractions we can immerse ourselves in the whole song. As we listen our brain will work in so many different ways to interpret rhythms, tunes and meaning of lyrics as well as interpreting the emotion of the piece. That moment when nothing else matters, when our eyes close, feet tap and our breathing falls into the rhythm of the song we have a true connection. We have a communion of souls. Our soul with the soul of the music and the artists and creator of the piece.
This is the way music is meant to communicate. This is the way music is meant to be listened to. Allowing music to speak directly to us, by not having to fight for attention, ensures that the true voice of the music is heard.
Intentionally listening to a fresh piece of music is to listen with the anticipation and expectation that we experience at the start of a new relationship. When we hear a new song that touches us deep down, we can experience the same excitement and thrill as at the beginning of a new love affair. A relationship with limitless possibilities, in which there is a deep desire to know all we can and, simply, to be known. It is to offer a generous welcome to the unknown troubadour and begin to walk an unknown path.
It obviously takes more than one listen to become soul-friends. Revisiting the exercise of truly listening will take us into a deeper and richer relationship. It will open up many different avenues and there is no real knowing where it will lead. This is true for all spiritual journeys.
There is a spirituality in listening to music, even to so-called secular music. Definitions for spirituality abound but at the heart of many definition is the idea that spirituality is concerned with more than the physical and material things of this life and focusses on the soul, the spirit of a human.
‘Hands’ was the second single from The Raconteur’s debut album Broken Boy Soldiers. Released in the summer of 2006, it reached number 29 in the UK singles chart.
It is a love song, a song about a relationship. As I listen I hear a song about knowing and being known. A song about the deep connection between two people. A song that is concerned with the spirituality, rather than the physicality, of love.
Help me get in touch with what I feel…
Help me find the good that’s inside me…
When you listen there’s a hope and I know I’m being heard
When you smile at me and I know, and we don’t have to speak a word
When you’re with me there’s a light and I can see my way
When you speak to me it’s a song and I know what to say
Offering spiritual hospitality to a song can form the sort of connection that helps us get in touch with what we feel, help us find the good inside.
To welcome and entertain a song is to expect that the experience will lift us above the everyday, stretch us beyond our own limits and reshape us. This is what makes listening a spiritual experience. This is why offering generous hospitality to music deepens our connection with songs and why our lives are so much poorer if we only ever leave music in the background.”
Life always has a soundtrack for me, I’m never without a song in my head even at the saddest moments. That’s why this song “Dance with life” resonates with me.
Life is such a gift, sharing it with people we love is to be treasured, making memories for ourselves and others. Making a positive difference to the lives of others is a feeling like no other.
In my head sometimes the dance is a proper dance like a Charleston and sometimes it’s a waltz or a slow smooch. It’s maybe a foot tap or at our lowest times, the flow of our tears and our grief.
The song talks about love, it talks about “making every second your last” or making every day count. But above all, it talks about leaving a brilliant light behind.
In recent times we’ve lost a couple of wonderful people in our family, but their brilliant lights live on. Their dance with life has ended, but we will pick up the rhythm and dance on.
I have Andrew Wiggans to thank for my getting to know this song. He won’t remember who I am, and he certainly won’t know why he deserves thanks. And now comes the confession that I learned this song, word for word, so that I could sing it along to the jukebox in the Block 10 Common Room when he was in the vicinity, in the hope that he would notice me (him being a fan of The Style Council and all).
Yes. This song may be an eloquent and vibrant protest song, but I learned it in the hope of impressing someone who I wanted to notice me. Facepalm. I did get one tiny moment when the plan came together – at a party when we sang it together at the tops of our voices on the dancefloor and I got about a 5-second acknowledgment of my existence (and even a grin).
Anyhow.
The music of Paul Weller, especially in the form of The Jam and The Style Council has accompanied me through the years and I have to say that it never seems to age. In fact, earlier this week I declared that The Style Council seems to be providing the soundtrack to life at the moment. A ‘Long Hot Summer’ followed by the ‘Walls Come Tumbling Down’ anyone?
There’s a real sense of uncertainty in the world at the moment. What will Putin do next? Will we ever try to really address climate change? What on earth is going on with our government? Do our churches really want to deal with declining numbers or just pretend it’s not happening?
It’s all very unsettling and it zaps us of energy. We can’t see a way forward, or everything feels stuck. We start to question ourselves and our purpose. We throw our hands in the air and shout ‘what the …?’ or we pray.
I was half in mind, I was half in need And as the rain came down, I dropped to my knees and I prayed I said, oh, heavenly thing, please cleanse my soul I’ve seen all on offer and I’m not impressed at all I was halfway home, I was half insane And every shop window I looked in just looked the same I said now send me a sign to save my life Cause at this moment in time there’s nothing certain In these days of mine
I guess there are two simple ways we can go when things get this way. We can do nothing. Or we can do something. As Andy Dufresne says in ‘The Shawshank Redemption’, “you can get busy living or get busy dying.” Even though the thought of it is exhausting, I choose to get busy living. And we have the words of Isaiah 1:17 as a guide – “…learn to live right. See that justice is done. Defend widows and orphans and help the oppressed.”
That when you’re knocked on your back and your life’s a flop And when you’re down on the bottom there’s nothing else but To shout to the top
Shout to the top so I’ve sent a postcard to someone in Russia wishing peace and love.
Shout to the top – I’ve become a member of WWF to join in their action around climate change.
Shout to the top – currently writing a letter to my Conservative MP to encourage them to be concerned about the country more than their party.
Shout to the top by supporting work and initiatives that build communities and disciples.
I wonder what you’ll shout to the top about?
The Style Council may be no longer but Paul Weller continues to challenge us with his work. Find out more at https://www.paulweller.com/news/
Okay. So if you completed the title of this post with any of the following, then we think you might have a Friday Fix up your sleeve that you haven’t shared with us yet.
Linda
love
the One
the perfect beat
trouble
fun
So don’t be shy – just jot down some thoughts on a song that says something to you and email it to Gill at thomasg@methodistchurch.org.uk.
I love the radio. I was brought up on it really, and there was always one in the bathroom or in the kitchen long before tellies got everywhere or the advent of the Bluetooth speaker!
On a recent family festival trip, I even campaigned for space in the v. tightly packed car, for my portable radio. I was, in fact, allowed to take it.
In recent days – travelling home from the cinema – it was the car radio that revealed this delight. New music that stops you in your tracks. (as it happens, it’s from a film soundtrack of something due to be released this Autumn and it may within itself be enough to prompt me to take a look.) It’s a voice, music and words combo that pulls you in.
The time
We had together
A time
When all things were better
All of those moments
May have gone too soon
They meant so much
There’s a lot of grief and loss around in my life at the moment and for many of us, over the last few years, that’s been a constant. Often you push on through and it is not until you get a chance to stop and properly look at what has happened to you and those around you, that you realise what you’re really missing. My experience is that it comes in waves and the weirdest or tiniest things set you off on a path of repeated grief and deep reflection.
I never knew
For only now
Can I truly see
How much that time with you
That time shaped me
So even though I was unaware
It can be someone who was dear to you but also someone who influenced you in your thinking or approach to life. An early advocate for you or a “single moment” influencer and their loss reveals how you were shaped by a person and your encounter with them. You may not have seen them for years, yet their influence remains strong.
The time
When all things were better
Will stay with me
For as long as I remember
So much I have done
Has withered away
But never these memories I cherish today
I think the memory is a wonderful thing, and even the little glimpses of those moments of joy, laughter and downright happiness can lift the soul. The shared working, the solidarity when the chips were down, the humour in the face of grave pain, the silly photo that speaks of a situation that comes back to you as clear as day, the very odd flash of something that happened. All to be cherished in recognition of something precious.
How could I have known
Just how strong they could be?
They changed my life
In ways I can’t believe
In those moments
We’ll stay forever
And so I thank you
For the time we had together
There is a deep sense of thanks that comes mixed in with all the other emotions. This is true of all things I guess. Death yes, but also divorce, estranged friendships, drifting relationships and brief encounters. They all build us into who we are. The precious snippets of time lead us to a new place and there is no embarrassment in holding onto them for their “forever value.”
I wonder then, in this moment, if all that was the kind of process that the early disciples had to draw on when writing about Jesus. Trying to articulate how he shaped them, the impact he had on them, the value of his wisdom, and the ongoing legacy of his teachings and spirit-filled existence. They could have kept quiet about him but instead, they used their precious time to galvanise a new group of followers that might keep his memory alive and connect us with God. What does that teach us today about ourselves and the value of story and memory, about times shared and those we wish we could relive?
Let’s be bold about who we are and who we value(d). Thankful for the time we had together.
It appears, certainly amongst my friends, that October is perhaps the most favourite month of the year for many people. In the northern hemisphere, it signals the transition from summer to autumn; in the southern hemisphere, the days are getting longer as the summer inches closer.
October is a month when we notice more about the world around us – the changing temperatures, the warmth of the sun, the leaves clothing the trees, misty mornings, cool rain, and petrichor – that confident smell of the earth.
It’s a month of significance – Black History Month, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, World Blindness Awareness Month and World Menopause Month. There are Thanksgiving Days in Canada, St Lucia and Grenada. 15 countries celebrate their Independence Day including Nigeria, Tuvalu, Cuba and Croatia. The UK & Ireland has National Poetry Day (6th October) and Sweden has National Cinnamon Roll Day (4th October) – evidence perhaps that it’s no coincidence that the country is consistently in the Top 10 of the world’s happiest countries.
For U2, ‘October’ is an image and an ominous word. According to lead singer, Bono, in an interview in 1982, it was a response to where they felt the western world was at in the early 80’s. He saw the 1960’s as a time when things had been in full bloom. There was plenty – modern conveniences, disposable income for many, space exploration, and so on. And then the ’70s and the ’80s hit and it felt like it was a time after the harvest, the trees were stripped bare and things become easier to see. Bono said ‘We’ve finally realized, maybe we weren’t so smart after all, now that there’s millions of unemployed people, now that we’ve used the technology that we’ve been blessed with to build bombs for war machines. October is an ominous word.’
October And the trees are stripped bare Of all they wear What do I care?
This atmospheric song with few lyrics encourages me to hang on in there. Seasons may change, and things may happen that frustrate, anger and cause despair, but God goes on through it all – with us. Things may get even colder and darker as winter looms ahead but there is hope that spring will come. That light and new life lie ahead – and that this time shall pass.
It’s not often that we humans embrace change very willingly, but October seems to buck that trend. It seems we run to embrace the cooler days and the overt change of the season. In 24 days’ time, it’s unlikely that there will be any signs of summer left and we (in the northern hemisphere) will be creeping into shorter days and longer nights. This month will hold our hand as we edge towards winter, letting go as it hands us over to darker, colder November. And the best thing of all is God is with us.
October And kingdoms rise And kingdoms fall But you go on and on
U2, as you are probably aware, are still making music. You can find out moreat https://www.u2.com/.
The Friday Fix 