Winter Days: Silversmithing Class

In August, I signed up on a whim for a class at a local arts centre – 10 Wednesday evenings learning how to work with silver.

Annoyingly, I lost about five of those Wednesdays to work, illness or sheer bloody exhaustion. The autumn drew in and it got dark and I found it harder and harder to leave the house once I’d got home.

The other five were great fun. I got to: use a saw, use a blowtorch, hit bits of silver with a hammer, solder bits of silver to other bits of solder, use a polishing machine, use a pendant drill. The tutor was great: he showed us how to use things and then let us get on with them, and encouraged us strongly to come up with our own designs. This is pretty much exactly how I learn and work, so I thought it was great.

I made a ring, a bangle and a sort of torc (the last I need to polish up). I was reasonably pleased with all of them – largely on the level of ‘I made a thing!’; they were not perfect by any means, but still, making a thing is pleasing enough in itself. I would need quite a lot of practice to get good, that’s the trouble, and one evening a week – often an evening that doesn’t actually happen – isn’t enough. And of course one’s restricted in terms of tools: I have neither the money nor the space for my own workshop, and can do very little without one.

I enjoyed such of the course as I was able to get to, but I think that at the moment I need to stick to things I can do on the dining table. In the end, perhaps the most useful lesson I learned was how much I can reasonably expect of myself on a work evening.

Winter Days number goodness knows what: things ending, things beginning

When a door closes, a window opens. Or, when the door closes, we can finally see the light from the window that was open all the time. May it be so. Even so, I think all my doors are still on the latch at the moment.

Things ending: this month in which I begin the new year at my own speed, getting a head start. Things beginning: this new year.

Things ending, run to the end of the reel and wound up, flapping a little as the momentum runs itself out.

Things ending: my twenties. A decade of transition, of exploration, of losing my confidence and finding it again. A decade of trying things on for size, of ridiculous impulses and paralysing fears.

Things beginning, ever so slowly. My life as a writer who gets paid for writing. ($3: a token amount, token perhaps in more senses than one. A notification arriving 31st December: how’s that for a cosmic message? Except of course 31st December doesn’t mean much to me in terms of endings…)

Things beginning, and having to choose between all the bright wonderful things that might begin, in favour of the one or two that will.

December Days 25 (26): everything, and then some

Contextual theology: faith in what?

‘Contextual theology’ is spot on. If I’d got my act together and written this yesterday, I would have waffled at length about the Incarnation, and what it means about the importance of the present.

Context is inescapable. We cannot stop learning about our universe; things change; what we once thought was true turns out to be only a tiny part of what we now know to be true.

Faith in what? Faith in God who is infinite. Everything that I can imagine that God could be, plus everything I can’t imagine. God in whom we live and move and have our being; God who contains everything that we know – and that everything is always expanding, and that what we believed yesterday is not enough, and what we can imagine today is nowhere near the truth.

It isn’t so much that what we knew yesterday is wrong; it’s that we understand more about it. The new truth doesn’t contradict the old truth; it builds on it, reaches beyond it, adds dimensions upon dimensions to it. The more we know, the more we understand, the more we are able to appreciate the wonder of reality and of how much we can never know.

What we knew yesterday was good, but we have more of it today. One has to take all the evidence into account. Integrity demands it.

December Days 24: Remembered

An anonymous friend asks:

What would you like to be remembered for? If someone were writing an obituary, what you want them to include? Which achievements are you proud of?

I would like to be remembered as –

– the author of Speak Its Name, which I would like to have made a difference to somebody
– more generally, as somebody who could write, and did
– a person who was not afraid to admit how difficult it can be, whatever ‘it’ might be
– a committed trade unionist
– a singer who was prepared to sing
– someone who tried very hard to see things as they really are
– more than anything, a person of integrity

December Days (late to the party)

Knowing that my mind would be occupied with Reverb, I’d thought that I wouldn’t have the space to do December days, and was feeling a little bit wistful. I’d forgotten, though, that Reverb (Kat’s version, at least) stops on 21 December, so I can do a mini version. I’ll take it through to Epiphany.

Usual rules: pick a day and tell me what you’d like me to write about.

22 December – the dammit list
23 December – #ChristmasMeans
24 December – How I would like to be remembered
25 December – Contextual theology: faith in what?
26 December
27 December
28 December
29 December
30 December
31 December – Things ending, things beginning
1 January
2 January
3 January
4 January
5 January – Silversmithing class
6 January – word for the year

Advent

Today is the first day of Advent, and, for me, the first day of the new year. I observe both this new year and the one where the calendar flips over to 2015, and spend the intervening month reflecting on the year past, and looking forward to the next one.

My Advent practice for 2014 includes the following:

The Meaning is in the Waiting (Paula Gooder) – a section a day
A Feast for Advent (Delia Smith, yes, that Delia Smith) – a section a day
– Advent candle (starts, irritatingly, at 1; I have burned the tip of it today, for 30)
– responding to Reverb prompts
– making an O Antiphons calendar (at the moment this consists of 21 purple-painted cardboard circles)
– as much rest as possible
– limiting personal purchases and instead making a daily donation to The Children’s Society
– bringing out one Christmas decoration every day

December is, inevitably, busy, and I’m still not entirely well, so some of these may fall by the wayside as I go through this. That’s normal. I hope, however, to be here almost every day, and deliberately, consciously, with myself every day, too.

Mary, Marriage and Misogynist Typecasting

I see that yet another wannabe Dan Brown has dug up an obscure but by no means lost ‘gospel’ that ‘proves’ that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene. I have still not forgiven Rev Arun Arora for ‘we are all broken’ (subtext: ‘but some are more broken than others’) but I have to admit that this smackdown-cum-summary is rather pleasing. I note with some amusement that this particular WDB has plumbed new depths of desperation by going for a text that has nothing to do with Jesus at all, but this isn’t really my point.

I would like to say first that I understand that the insistence on Jesus’ presumed celibacy has done a huge amount of damage. I blame Paul’s short-term thinking, and Augustine. Mostly Augustine, really. I can understand the attraction of a married Jesus for that reason alone. If we’d had a married Jesus, perhaps the Church would have grown up a little more sex-positive and a little less misogynistic. But perhaps it would have been even more difficult for a woman who did not feel herself called to marriage to carve out her own path. I don’t know.

Personally, I find it very useful indeed that there is not much about Jesus’ personal life in the Gospels. In the not-knowingness I find room for my late-twenties-married self, and for my late-teen-seriously-considering-celibacy self. I find room for my trying-to-be-out-bisexual self and for my boringly-conventional-het-married self. I find room for the self who doesn’t have children and for the self who might have children one day. There are hints in the Gospels of Jesus who knew about family life, and Jesus who occasionally had to get away from it all. And, if it comes to that, Jesus who created his own family from the waifs and strays he found along the way.

Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Jesus so much as I want to talk about Mary Magdalene. Why, if we are going to write ‘Jesus’ wife’ into the script, do we have to cast Mary Magdalene in the part? The Gospel of Thomas? The Gospel of Thomas would not be my first stop for sex-positivity or feminism. The Gnostics were a misogynistic bunch who thought that the physical world in general and the body in particular were irredeemably sinful. Marrying Jesus off to Mary Magdalene does not make the Gospel of Thomas any better than Matthew, Mark, Luke or John, look:

Simon Peter said to them: Let Mary go forth from among us, for women are not worthy of the life. Jesus said: Behold, I shall lead her, that I may make her male, in order that she also may become a living spirit like you males. For every woman who makes herself male shall enter into the kingdom of heaven. (Thomas-114)

To be fair, I could see Peter saying that. I could also see Jesus hitting him very hard with the cluebat. The Jesus we see in the Gospels doesn’t need Mary to be a man. Equally, he doesn’t need her to be his wife. He accepts her exactly the way she is.

The wonderful thing about the relationship between Mary and Jesus as we see it in the four generally accepted Gospels is that it has very little to do with the fact that they are of different sexes. Other people try to make it about that but Jesus, in flagrant disregard of the conventions of the culture, sees her as fully human. Her place isn’t in the kitchen. I’m not trying to say that Jesus just sees her as ‘one of the lads’. One of the disciples, yes – but the point is that ‘disciple’ isn’t a ‘man’s job’. In Mary we see that everyone can be a disciple.

Mary shares the good news, she doesn’t cut cucumber sandwiches. She’s defined by her relationship to Jesus, yes, but in the same way that Peter is, or John or James. She greets Jesus as ‘Teacher’. She loves him deeply, but how constricting, to assume that it must be romantic love, that this is all women are capable of! (And then we have John, probably ‘the disciple whom Jesus loved’ – how very quick we are to assume that ‘love’ means something different here.)

If you accept the traditional identification of Mary with the woman taken in adultery (I don’t, personally) it becomes even more striking. If you accept that, then we see Jesus as perhaps the first person in her life (and, it sometimes seems, the last in recorded history) who isn’t interested in who she’s slept with.

I find the thoughtless attempt to force her into this extra-canonical role as ‘Jesus’ wife’ offensive beyond belief. We have in Mary a woman who exists in her own right, and whose existence in her own right Jesus recognises. We have a woman who loves and suffers deeply and visibly, who is brave, who is steadfast. We have a woman who defies convention. Why must we shoehorn her into one?

People have been obsessed with Mary Magdalene’s sex life for centuries. I don’t find this new take on the story any more feminist than the old one. A married Jesus? Fine by me. But as for Mary Magdalene, leave her alone. As Jesus said of another Mary, she has chosen the better part.

Table for One

You couples do not see me, you
who enter laughing, hand in hand,
sip from each other’s drinks, and share
an indecisive dish of olives.

I have my hands full here: fork
in the right; book
in the left. I turn
one-handed in the paper walls
of this, my chambre séparée.

The candle glows; the wine’s
a living garnet. O –

you need not pity me. I dine tonight
with Rupert Hentzau.

August Moon: day 16

Fast forward a year…

Dear Kathleen,

Good work noticing you’re ill and taking the day off work. ‘Better than this time last week’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘better’. And don’t worry about the butterfly attention span. Nobody is expecting you to focus on anything. You don’t have to do everything today, and working on getting better is still work. Don’t worry. You do get better at letting things sit and work on themselves.

Looking at you from here, I want to give you a map. I want to tell you, on the twenty-fifth of October, everything will suddenly become all right. Which is sort of true. You’ll see. This is the least glamorous part of the whole journey. You don’t know how far you’re going because every day looks the same and you don’t know yet how far you have to go. I promise you it’s not as far as you think. And nothing needs quite so much work as you think it’s going to.

Have a look back at how far you’ve come. Keep listening to Wenn ich mit Menschen- und mit Engleszungen redete. It is the most important letter in the world, and the music makes it more so.

Now. About being thirty. I’ve had a month to get used to the idea. It’s pretty good. You want to know about the ‘if not X, then Y’ question, of course you do, and of course you know that I can’t tell you which way that particular cat will jump. There are parts that I don’t know myself, particularly about Y. What I can tell you is that, as with all your cat-on-a-fence situations, you will go forward bravely whichever side it jumps, always remembering that there was, and still is, the other side. You don’t lose anyone you were, or might have been.

Keep loving. Keep trusting. It’s worth getting your heart broken. You are going to meet the most fantastic people this year, and the ones you’ve already met are going to turn out to be even more fantastic than you thought. You are going to reclaim every part of your life, rewrite all the stories that scare you. The people and things who reappear from your past are not as scary as you thought them.

You are brave. You always have been. Remember that it is all right not to be brave sometimes, that you are allowed to say how difficult it is. Ask for help when you need it.

Much love, and see you here in a year,

Kathleen xx

P.S. No, I’m not completely grey. Try Thirty-five 😉