Ash and oil

 

I hold Wednesday evenings to be holy. Wednesday evening is the primary point in the week when my running club gathers. A community made up of those who practice, to varying degrees, all faiths and none, I am their priest and they are my people.

I decline to attend congregational business meetings on Wednesday evenings, for that is when I run alongside our parishioners. I listen to their confessions, offered in hope of counsel more than sacramental absolution, and more in hope of the sacrament of being heard than in hope of counsel. I open the chapel for them to sit in the still darkness and light a candle in holy defiance of evil. I hallow their concerns for their families, and I trust them with the honest concerns I have for my own family, because the gift of listening that they extend to me reminds me of the great goodness of humanity: in their dishonest words and actions, politicians and media billionaires do not much represent the common people, and I need to be reminded of that on a regular basis.

But once a year, I make an exception. Not for business agendas, but for palm ash mixed with fragrant oil. For making the sign of the cross on foreheads with my forefinger, a sign that brings together our common shared humanity taken up into the life of God by and with and in Jesus. The visible symbol of all the largely hidden connections mentioned above. Ash and oil, a blessing and anointing of our frail and beloved and fruitful nature. One Wednesday a year that helps to sustain the other Wednesdays (when I put on strange clothes and do a strange thing).

So, this Wednesday at 7.00 p.m. I shall be found at the altar at St Nicholas presiding at Holy Communion instead of at the sports club ready to set off on this week’s training session. But for those who run, and those who don’t, I shall also be found at the open church throughout the day* offering space to pray for peace in Ukraine and Russia and beyond, and optional ashing for those who wish to receive it.

* 8.00 - 9.00 a.m., 10.00 a.m. - 1.00 p.m., 3.30 - 4.30 p.m. and from 6.00 p.m. onward.

 

Surprised by joy

 

Silksworth parkrun ends with a long, steep bank. For some, it is a killer, having already run four-and-a-half kilometres. But for quite a few, something happens at the bottom of that bank. Knowing the run is almost done, their hearts rise to the challenge. With renewed vigour, they take it in their stride. We used to start and end half-way up that bank. Today someone told me that they used to find that a killer; but that they had never found having to run the full way as hard, and I agree (I think not starting up hill helps).

Today, we were able to return to parkrun, after a break of a-year-and-a-half. Around 160 runners and volunteers turned out. And it was joyful. Joy, written on the smiles and, in some cases, tears, on 160 faces. And for me, the joy of being able to welcome them back, as Run Director this morning. As I surveyed the scene at the finish, I was deeply thankful.

Joy is the emotional response to wellbeing, and also to the realization of desire. When we experience wellbeing, our hearts lift up, are strengthened, and overflow. Joy enables us to face the challenge—to get up that bank—for wellbeing is not the absence of challenge, but the presence of harmony, within ourselves and among a group We all need to experience joy, not least in the face of ongoing challenges, and today, at parkrun, we did.

This joyful response is not a throwing of caution to the wind. The return of parkrun has been the culmination of many long months of careful planning, of implementing adaptations to practice in order to make the event as secure as possible. And it was great to see everyone embrace that today, marshals and runners alike, all playing their part in keeping one another safe—wellbeing: harmony between people in a community.

If you need some joy in your life, you might find it walking, jogging, or running 5K at 9.00 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

 

Place

I have always been drawn to spaces, and the flow of movement through spaces. In my final year of high school, I undertook a Geography project, mapping the land use of several square miles of the west end of Glasgow. As is the way with schools, the finished map was still displayed on a corridor wall, facing the Geography classrooms, years after I left. That year, I won prizes for both Geography and History, and spent both on books on principles of Architecture. On leaving school, I worked as an architect’s draftsman before setting out on the first year of an Architecture degree, though I dropped out, switching to Biblical Studies, after that first year.

Spaces, and their connections to other spaces, fascinate me. Places, I find more complicated. I have lived in Sunderland since October 2013, and have not found it an easy place to love. Perhaps that is because I am an outsider, an in-comer, into a place fiercely loved (if, often, run down in conversation) by native Mackems.

But spaces only exist in places, and it seems that everything I am reading lately has been speaking to me of place, and love of places, love of a place. Louise Penny’s latest Gamache mystery, All The Devils Are Here, this time set in Paris, but with her trademark delight in place, be it Paris or Montreal or Quebec City or the fictional village of Three Pines. Elizabeth Strout’s collections of sparse short stories set in a fictional community on the Maine coast, Olive Kitteridge and Olive, Again. Winn Collier’s authorised biography of Eugene H. Peterson, A Burning In My Bones, conveying Eugene’s deep grounding in his beloved Flathead Valley, Montana. Love of place. Love of place. Love of an actual place (even if it finds literary expression clothed in a fictional place).

Invitation to go deeper into love of the place where I find myself. To the extent that I already love this place, it has come about, little measure by little, as I have walked the parish, and run through the city. Walk, and run. Walk, and run. At three miles an hour, and six. Well worn pavements, well-worn shoes. Cardiac exercise, training the heart.

 

Sunderland City 10K

00.49.23

new 10K PB (previous 10K PB 00.51.27)

242nd of 1241 finishers

 

On running : 5

As I contemplate the wisdom of running in the Sunderland 10K tomorrow, I am also contemplating five times the Bible draws on running to impart wisdom…

 

Hebrews 12:1

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us,

A confession: one of the things that most puts me off competing in races is the crowds of spectators. Not that I am embarrassed to be seen out running—I like passing other folk out and about, and saying hello!, or thank you! if they step aside—but I hate crowds. They are my idea not of heaven but of hell. And so it is sheer gift that, for my first road race, spectators are being actively discouraged. Nonetheless, I am sure that I shall see several other members of the running club—both competing and cheering on from the sides—and that their encouragement will energise me, renewing my strength on my way.

We don’t know who wrote the letter to the Hebrews, though one possibility is Prisca/Priscilla, which would make her our only female athlete in the pack. She urges us to remove excess baggage, those unnecessary burdens that weigh us down—think back to Ecclesiastes—and the sin that distracts us, that is, whatever gets in the way of our relationships, coming between us and others. A competitiveness that inspires us to do our best, and bring out the best in others, is good; a competitiveness that seeks to boost our egos by taking others down, or that diminishes our self-image in comparison with others, destructive. Life itself is not a competition: we run together, rejoicing in the gift of life, each one who takes part receiving the goody bag with its t-shirt, medal, and other gifts. And Prisca continues, if you want to know how to do this well, look to Jesus, our founding chairman and our team coach.

Tomorrow morning, I shall run my (first road) race. I hope it will not be my last. I intend to enjoy it. And I hope that I shall also be an encourager, of my fellow runners.

 

On running : 4

As I contemplate the wisdom of running in the Sunderland 10K tomorrow, I am also contemplating five times the Bible draws on running to impart wisdom…

 

2 Timothy 4:7

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.

I love running at this time of year, when the days are long. On Monday morning, before breakfast, I went out for a 10K run with a dear friend of 26 years standing, who had stayed with us the night before. Though we have been friends for such a long time, we had never run together before. It was a glorious morning, the day having not yet become too hot. We set out in a light rain, though that ended almost as soon as we had started. We ran into town, across the bridge, along the river, to the harbour, and back again. I ran again on Wednesday evening, a light training session at the 400m track, focussing on form ahead of Sunday’s race. And on Friday evening, at a steady pace on another route.

I find it so much harder to get out in the winter months, when it is dark. Then, I need the knowing that there will be others with me: the not wanting to let one another down (on the one hand) and the encouraging one another (on the other). Or if it is cold or raining heavily—as was forecast for Sunday, though it now looks like the rain might hold off until Monday. But, then again, it might not.

Paul knew that his life is drawing to an end. He writes to his adopted son, Timothy, passing on the baton to the next generation. And in searching for the right words, he turns to running: I have finished the race. Keep going, without me. Finish your race, too. And in order to do so, you will need to put in the distance, with persistence, whether the days are favourable or unfavourable. You are doing really well. Keep going.

 

On running : 3

As I contemplate the wisdom of running in the Sunderland 10K tomorrow, I am also contemplating five times the Bible draws on running to impart wisdom…

 

1 Corinthians 9:24

Do you not know that in a race the runners all compete, but only one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win it.

This will be my first Sunderland City 10K. I have studied the map, but I have not run the course. I have read through the instructions concerning where to arrive, and at what time, and what I need to do before, during, and after the race. But I have not done any of this before; and, in fact, no one has, entirely, because the ‘usual’ instructions have been adapted in response to Covid-19. I am hoping that there will be plenty of stewards and marshals, and that the course will be well-marked. I have studied maps before, and always found that nonetheless I depend on others to help keep me on track.

In the Greco-Roman world, the Corinthian Games were second only in prestige to the Games at Olympus. The imagery of athletes competing for the victor’s wreath would be entirely familiar to the congregation listening to Paul’s letter being read aloud. They have boasted in their freedom. Paul affirms freedom, but with a necessary corrective: the exercising of freedom requires self-discipline. Athletes must not only train, hard; they must also compete according to the rules, or be disqualified. So, in exercising freedom, they too must run away from that which would diminish a life of love, and pursue that which would be in keeping with such a life.

Such a big part of enjoying running is enjoying the company of those I run with. They are a caring community, supporting one another, helping me to press on, in life as well as racing. I give thanks that they choose to exercise their freedom in this way.

 

On running : 2

As I contemplate the wisdom of running in the Sunderland 10K tomorrow, I am also contemplating five times the Bible draws on running to impart wisdom…

 

Jeremiah 12:5

If you have raced with foot-runners and they have wearied you, how will you compete with horses? And if in a safe land you fall down, how will you fare in the thickets of the Jordan?

One of the highlights of my week is an early evening 10K run each Friday, always a different circular route, always starting/finishing at the pub just across from my house. It is a gentle way to transition from the week to the weekend, in good company. Wednesday nights are training sessions, with efforts and recoveries; but Friday is a steady pace. As we run, we talk; about our week, our lives, or as a distraction from matters that weigh us down.

Out for a run together, the prophet Jeremiah lays his complaint before God, that the wicked flourish while the righteous suffer. And in reply, God takes him deeper into the experience of running. Stretches Jeremiah out, until he is blowing his cheeks and needs to drop his pace—something I know all to well, from my conversations with fitter, faster runners on Friday nights. Is right there when Jeremiah stumbles and falls—something else I know about, from running with a pack. But this lesson is an intimate moment; for God shares that, just as Jeremiah has been betrayed by his own family, so God has been betrayed by his people. God is not indifferent to their wickedness; Jeremiah is not the only one grieved by it.  And God says that the wickedness will result in the land lying desolate, even emptied of the people; but then, I will once again show my compassion on them, will restore their fortunes.

We run all over the city, through neighbourhoods that appear quite desolate (even here, signs of hope, glimpses of God’s love) and through areas experiencing regeneration. The city as a sermon, delivered on the run.

 

On running : 1

As I contemplate the wisdom of running in the Sunderland 10K tomorrow, I am also contemplating five times the Bible draws on running to impart wisdom…

 

Ecclesiastes 9:11

Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favour to the skilful; but time and chance happen to them all.

I signed up to take part in this run over a year ago. You have to submit an estimated completion time, and friends from the running club encouraged me to make 50 minutes my goal. I was running 52, 53 minutes, so it was a good target to aim for, faster than I had ever covered the distance, but not unrealistic. And then the event was deferred for a year. And then I got injured. And then it never crossed my mind to adjust my time. And now, I am running 56, 57 minutes, and 50 is feeling a stretch too far…

The wisdom of Ecclesiastes is, Don’t sweat the small stuff (and, almost everything is the small stuff). But do be fully present to each moment, for they are fleeting, and they are gift (this is the Big Stuff, so easily overlooked). Breathe deeply, for each breath is fleeting, and gift. Run, with all your might—or don’t run, on this occasion, if your breath can be more fully drawn in some other pursuit—unburdened by comparison. But, don’t run half-heartedly. With less preparation than you hoped, you ran in a surprisingly fast time? That is sheer gift. You over-did your training, and ran out of gas? That, too, is gift, time and chance slowing us down, to savour the moment, that bodily ache, of being alive. Because, one day, you will be dead.

The worst thing that could happen would be to come to the end of life, and find ourselves before God, who asked, “How did you enjoy the gift of life you were given?” and to have to reply, “To be honest, I am disappointed; I always wanted more, from myself, from others, from life…”

My aim for tomorrow is to enjoy every moment. Whatever comes.

 

The labyrinth

There’s a bay just north of Seaburn where the land drops down an escarpment to a narrow field above a shallow beach. There in the field, overlooking the North Sea, someone has made a prayer labyrinth from found stones, has claimed this sparse strip as holy ground. The land of the venerable monk Bede, the first person to write a history of the English people.

Every ten paces along this coastline there’s a bench-seat facing out to sea, each one with a plaque screwed into the backrest, remembering a loved one who used to stand on this coastline and look out at the horizon. Some never crossed it, never left. Others went away, only to come back again.

This place belongs to Somewheres, to people who live somewhere, who are from this place—Sunderland—even after they are dead and gone. Or, rather, dead and not gone.

Me, I am an Anywhere, someone who can live anywhere. Like everyone else, I am a scoop of clay animated by the breath of God. But where God found that clay is anyone’s guess. My family are scattered to the four winds, my wife’s family also. We grew up 300 miles apart, and met in a third city entirely. We’ve all but lost track of how many times we’ve moved, still find an adrenalin to it. In the Bible, YHWH, the Creator God, is described as a wanderer. So is the satan, the accuser. And so am I.

An Anywhere can live anywhere, comes not from Somewhere but Nowhere. To the Anywhere, nowhere is Somewhere. We can live anywhere, but it is hard to do so Somewhere. Never mind the other Anywheres, the Italians and Indians and Chinese operating restaurants all along the promenade at Seaburn. You’re nobody in this town if you’re not from here. Invisible.

This is holy ground, but God, it is a sparse strip. One path there and back again, sometimes bringing you near the centre, only to turn you away.

We keep running, a 10K loop along the coastal path to the Souter lighthouse and back again. Past the endless benches facing out to sea.