I've been snooping

You can learn a lot from reading your daughter's RME exercise book (Religious and Moral Education, in case you're about to ask).

It seems they've been learning about Special Occasions recently. There's a sheet about family special occasions, and I've found out some interesting facts. Here are a couple of the questions and answers:

Does your family ever eat special food, wear special clothes, make a special journey?

We sometimes have golden syrup sandwitches (sic), J20, and brunch on Sundays.

How do you decide what you should all do on special occasions?

We try to do the same every year but sometimes we decide to change it a bit.

Lovely insight into our family's special moments.


On another subject:

Name two people you admire and say why.

1. I admire God because he created the whole world and he keeps us safe etc
2. I also admire 16-yo and 13-yo my big brothers because they teach me things and are kind to me when I am sad.

Ah, very touching.

Further back in the book, I can see the class has been doing some thinking about beliefs.

My beliefs

Three belifs (sic) for a happy school

1. be kind to everyone
2. try your best at every thing 
3. give everything a go

Three belifs for a happy family

1. don't annoy your brother/sister
2. tell your mum she is good at cooking
3. help at home

Well now, how about that? Number 2 shows pretty shrewd insight, wouldn't you say?

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Back to school

I don't know if you remember, but way back last August, I enrolled to do a Masters in Christian Ministry. I've just completed the first year. It's the big casualty of our move back to the UK. I would love to finish it, not only for the content per se, but also for the sense of achievement that would be. I have occasionally fantasised about graduating - gown, hat, certificate, that kind of thing - and it's always felt good.

People here ask if I can transfer the credits and finish in a university in Britain, but I don't think British universities are open to that kind of credit trading (I may be wrong here). They then look at me with a "wot?" expression on their faces, because that is so very standard over here. But credit transfer or no credit transfer, I am hoping to continue in some shape or form. The city we will be living in has a university known for its theology department, and I'm hoping they will have me. The only question is whether to try and sneak in this autumn (which feels rather overwhelming), or to take a year to settle, focus on the family, and apply for next year, giving myself time to think more carefully about what area of theology I want to engage with, and to do lots of preparatory reading. I think I've just answered that question for myself.

Husband is enjoying having a nascent theologian in the family. I use words like 'theodicy' and 'post-modern' quite a bit, and have opinions on the way the Enlightment has affected the church. I no longer say things like "I suppose God might be a Trinity, but who knows? and why would it be important anyway?" (though hmmm... my old self did have a good point, come to think of it...).

I started the course (you may remember) with the attitude of "well, this might be fun, and you never know where something may lead, and I can always drop out if I don't like it". I was wondering if I should get a job instead. I'm so glad I tried the Masters, though. It's been like a door opening into an intriguing new world. I have struggled with some things. It hasn't been an easy ride at all. I have found some of the ideas difficult to grasp, I have discovered strong and uncomfortable opinions I didn't know I held, I've not always found my classmates easy to be alongside. But... I have loved it. I have loved going out on a Monday evening and leaving everything else behind (bad timing, though, Monday evening). I have loved the intellectual challenge. I have loved the confidence that comes with having to give class presentations. I have loved rediscovering rusty academic abilities. All those skills developed of old, which have laid dormant for 25 years - they're all still there. It was like meeting old friends. For example, I couldn't think of a conclusion for one essay I was doing, so I simply typed the sub-title "Conclusion" above the last paragraph I'd written, and ta-da, job was done. I found I'd said all I wanted to say, and had already summed it up adequately. Then I thought to myself "oh yes, I remember that old trick now". See? An old friend.

I could write at length about the topics I've covered, but you might be tempted to insert "Conclusion" before long, so I'll keep it brief. One of the really great things about the course is that it gives students a lot of freedom to pursue our individual interests - you'll see that in each of the four classes I've taken.

Church History
I thought this would be dull and boring, but, as I wrote on the course evaluation, "I have discovered my inner church historian". It makes so much sense of present day situations, if you have even a very scant knowledge of the history of the faith. For my paper on the topic of my choice, I wrote about the Crusades and Modern Day Guilt. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Christian/Muslim relations are going to be increasingly important in the century we've just begun, and I feel that the Christian church in Europe has a deep sense of guilt over the Crusades that somehow stands as an invisible block. So I looked at the whole topic of whether you can apologise for wrongs carried out in past generations. I discovered that there have been attempts by groups of Christians to do just that, and plenty of historians who say that the Crusades were such a mess, over so long a period of time, that it's impossible to say who should apologise to whom. I also discovered a rather fascinating 13th century theologian, called Ramon Llull, who wins the prize for having the most L's in a 5-letter surname, and who would be an excellent PhD subject, because he lived in Majorca, and of course any serious research into his life and writings would necessitate several lengthy trips.

Leadership 
I'm not in any position of church leadership, so I didn't think this would be terribly relevant to me, but a lot of it was about the development of personal spirituality, and so it was. Terribly relevant. I did a rather zappy presentation (though I say it myself), with photos and youtube clips, on Women and Body Image. I based it on two texts which had nothing to do with church or religion, but tried to think about how good theology could, and should, enable women to feel better about their bodies. We do not HAVE bodies; we ARE bodies. Why do we all fall victim to the idea that there is a perfect standard to which we should attain? What can we do about the fact that most women feel their bodies are so un-perfect? I can't remember how I tied that into "leadership", but as I said, the course is pretty flexible in that way.

Basic Theology
Yes, well, in my opinion there is nothing basic about theology, so that's an oxymoron right there before we've even started. My special topic was the Problem of Evil (Guilt and the Crusades, Women and Body Image, the Problem of Evil... I am nothing if not ambitious in my choice of topics). I didn't reach any conclusion on that thorny old problem of why an omnipotent, all-good God would allow evil and suffering in the world, but I had a pretty good canter round the course. I still think that if I was God, I'd have done things a bit differently, but, well, I'm not. And I guess God knows what he's doing. I sat in on one of Husband's undergrad classes, which was fun.

Dimensions of Worship
Ooh, this was fun. We had to go to worship service in two churches outside our own tradition, and then reflect and write on the experience. I went to the Eastern Orthodox Cathedral in town, which was beautiful, and an Episcopal service, beautiful in a different way. If I'd had more time (wasn't getting the house ready to sell, dealing with the prospect of an international move, single-parenting while Husband was away), I would have made the effort to venture further outside my comfort zone. I wanted to go to the church of the African American pastor who came to speak to the class, and respond with a vigorous "Ay-men" after each and every one of his sentences (can't you just see me?). Maybe I'll have time over the summer to do that, before we leave. There was a section on the Arts in Worship, and (for all the aforementioned reasons), I cheated, by digging out an old blog post - one which I'm very fond of, actually - imagining Jesus paying a visit to the toy shop where I work, and trying to recast it as a drama skit. I'm embarrassed even just writing that, and it didn't work very well at all, but it achieved my main objective which was to do with being brave, and speed rather than quality. Oh, and I also did a presentation on Food and Worship, in which I looked at the totally dysfunctional relationship our culture has with food. And gave everyone Ghiradelli dark chocolate to eat.


So there we are. Doing the MA was one of the best decisions that I've made. As I said in an email to the Prof in charge of the course, "It has been fun and exciting, opened new windows for me, challenged me, nurtured me, given me confidence, and enriched my life". It also taught me that sometimes the best decisions are ones that don't seem to make a huge amount of sense, and you're not sure why you're making them. Hurrah for randomness in life. And maybe it isn't randomness. 

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The Christmas story

Christmas is coming, in case you hadn’t noticed, and here at The Iota Quota I’ve been thinking about Herod. Just to get into a festive mood.

Now Herod was not a nice man. Oooh no, not a nice man at all. If you’d been around at the time of the Nativity (and please, Americans, do we have to pronounce it Nay-tivity? Can’t we just stick to N’tivity? Please?)… If you’d been around at that time, you’d have heard very little about the shepherds and the angels, I’m guessing, because life would have been completely dominated by the horrific events instigated by Herod. Do you remember? He didn’t like the idea of anyone challenging his rule, so when the Magi pitched up, with their stories of the special star and the special baby, he came up with a plan, and ordered all the infants under the age of 2 to be slaughtered, in front of their parents. I’m told that fourteen thousand babies died. Fourteen thousand. Herod was not a nice man.

Mary and Joseph slipped away to Egypt, and somehow, down the ages, those other babies and their weeping, scared, scarred parents have been relegated to second place in the story. Well, I’m remembering them here.

Thinking about this story, I’ve noticed something this time round that I’ve never noticed before. The Magi. They’re meant to be the good guys. Wise, rich, exotic, generous, journeying patiently, seeking diligently, wearing fancy crowns. But they did a bad thing. They went to see Herod on their way to Jerusalem. They were warned in a dream not to go and see him on their way home, but it was too late by then. The damage had been done. Why did they do that? Why did they go to Jerusalem? Couldn’t they just have steered their camels to Bethlehem? They must have known that Herod was bad news.

I think they went to see Herod, because that’s what powerful people do. They like to hang out with other powerful people. No doubt they were well-received, and treated royally, and who doesn’t like to be treated royally? And listen to what they said: “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East, and have come to worship him.” Yes. Because we all like people to know when we’re about our religious business. If you’ve made a big effort to go on a spiritual journey, it’s a shame if other people don’t know about it. Especially if it has involved a bit of hardship and a few trials. But Magi, my friends, your desire to be kingly and to have your mission weightily appreciated may well have cost the lives of fourteen thousand babies.

I’m disappointed in the Magi, frankly. It’s disconcerting when you see the flaws in the good guys. I’ve always preferred them to the shepherds, actually. I mean, they had to trek across nations following a mysterious moving target, while the shepherds were conveniently right there just by Bethlehem, and had the benefit of a skyful of angels telling them what was what. All they had to do was straighten up the tea towels on their heads, and walk down the hillside. They're always depicted with a lamb or two, but let's think about that for a minute. They would either have taken the whole flock with them (bit cosy in the stable), or they'd have left someone in charge on the hillside, in which case they wouldn't have needed to take any with them at all. Maybe one of the heavenly host tipped them the wink. "Psst. Take a lamb with you. You know... A lamb...? For the symbolism...?"

My favourite character in the story, though, is Mary. And I’ve seen something new about her this time round too. When she and Joseph escaped to Egypt, how horrible that must have been for them. They must have felt such awful, dreadful relief at having protected their precious baby, their firstborn, from Herod’s henchmen with their instruments of death. But I’m sure they felt horrible guilt too. Can you imagine? Escaping when fourteen thousand didn’t? The news of the slaughter must have reached them, and they must have been sick at heart. How did they cope with it? When they returned from Egypt and went to Nazareth, did they avoid Bethlehem? I bet they did. To have a living child among such bereavement would have been a most terrible burden. The lesser burden, but a terrible burden nonetheless. Terrible, and so lonely.

We’re not told very much about Mary at this point, but we are told that she “kept all these things, pondering them in her heart”. I love that. If there’s one thing that I’ve learnt from all the mummy blogs I read, it’s that there is quiet pondering a-plenty that goes on in a mother’s heart. I suppose Mary had more to ponder than most of us, what with the visitation from the Angel Gabriel, and the donkey ride, and the shepherds, and the Magi. And just think of the pressure you’d be under to look your best after the birth, if you knew that your picture was going to be on Christmas cards for several millennia?

Yes, I think Mary must have had very many lonely and difficult days. I'm glad she had Joseph. Obviously a great bloke, choosing to stick with her and look after her, though she was carrying a child who wasn't his own. We're thinking the Dad from Little House on the Prairie meets Atticus from To Kill a Mocking Bird.

Whatever you think of the historical reality of the Nay-tivity, you’ve got to admit, it’s a great story. Tell me, who’s your favourite character?

Religion

I thought it was time I wrote about my experience of religion in the Midwest. This has long been tucked away in my ‘not sure I want to go there on my blog’ folder, along with guns and obesity. Now there’s an attractive pair of bedfellows.

The first thing to say is that it’s very British, this reticence to talk about religion. How did that happen in Britain? Is it too personal? Is it too sensitive in these multi-cultural times? I have to say, I have found it refreshing here, to have it off the taboo list. When we arrived, people asked “will you be looking for a church?” much as they might have asked “which sports are you interested in?” And whether we’d said yes or no, either would have been fine. It’s something that people are much more relaxed about. I know the Bible Belt has a bad reputation, and perhaps we’ve just been lucky, but I can’t think of any occasion on which I’ve felt pressured or offended by any church or individual. I suppose it would be fair to say that as we did the rounds, looking for a church we might call home, we didn’t exactly head to the ones that advertised themselves as unpleasantly fundamentalist and Bible-bashing. But you know, even as I type that, I’m trying to think if I’ve come across some that would fit that description, and I honestly can’t think of any. I conclude that a very little of that kind of stuff has gone a long way in fostering an unfair reputation. I guess they must be around. Perhaps they just don't have a sign outside saying 'Unpleasantly Fundamentalist and Bible-Bashing'.

I find myself stuck at this point. Many many times in my head - most Sundays in my early blogging days - I have written amusing blog posts about an English woman’s perception of church life here. And I could reproduce one of those here, and make you laugh. I could. I mean, we all know that God, underneath His impressive ability to stand up for all nations, is really English. We have the best hymns, we have the best buildings – cold and draughty, with hard bottom-aching pews, just like they should be. We understand that when you leave church, you exchange two sentences about the weather, shuffle your feet a bit, and then head home for a decent Sunday roast. That’s how God planned it. I’m sure it’s in the Bible somewhere. They don’t really appreciate that here. They worship in modern buildings, which are warm and comfortable. They have guitars and keyboards instead of organs. They make way too much eye contact as you walk through the door. They even have people specially to do that, who wear badges saying “Greeter”. And there’s hugging too. I know, I know. It’s just not right. Not right at all.

Over time, though, I have gingerly crossed some lines. I find I can’t write that post any more. Where I used to see a room full of people who didn't seem to understand how to do church properly, though they were having a good stab at it, I now see a community of people living health-filled, grace-filled lives, gathering for worship, and I know I am privileged to be of their number. These are the people who stood with me and my family in the dark days of last summer. These are the people who brought us dinner evening after evening, who took the children off for whole days, whose phone numbers I could have called at any time, day or night, sure of receiving help. These are the people who stood with me in the anxious times when waiting for test results, who shared my relief when these were good (mercifully often), and who fell to their knees in prayer on my behalf when they were bad. These are the people who rejoiced with me when my hair grew, who allowed me space to be sad, be angry, be happy, be weird. These are the people who have puzzled over my odd European perspectives in discussion, and who have embraced my English eccentricities. These are the people in whose company I have wrestled with things, questioned things, faced things, and laid things down. These are the people who I know will carry me in their thoughts and prayers after we’ve (eventually!) left the Midwest, as I will carry them.

I have learned more and received more than I bargained for, here in the Bible Belt. I could tell you a whole lot more about that, but I’m going to sit back now, and watch the comments box go strangely silent. I suspect we’re all British here, when it comes to religion.

There is one thing I miss, though. Because religion is so much more acceptable here, there was an edginess about being a Christian in the UK that I don't experience now. There used to be moments, moments which I loved, when I'd be talking to a mum from school who I'd known for a while, and I'd drop into the conversation that I went to church. The conversation would hesitate, just briefly, before she would express polite interest, or not, while her face would have written all over it the suppressed exclamation "but Iota, I thought you were NORMAL!". I'm a bit of a rebel at heart and I do miss those moments, so if some of you could oblige in the comments, that would be nice.

Mr and Mrs God in the Creation Kitchen

Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed quite a few posts around at the moment on the subject of talking to children about big questions: death, faith, God? Is it Easter that's brought it all out?

Anyway, I thought I'd tell you about this fab book that I recently discovered. This isn't a sponsored post. I have no connection with the author or the book. I just like it. I found it, less than half price, in a bargain box of books in my local supermarket, amongst all the princess sticker books and Disney. It was rather a surprise.

The blurb says this:

Deep in the heavens, in a space without beginning or end, Mr and Mrs God are hard at work. They've got frying pans and mixing bowls, beaters and whisks, and an oven big enough to roast a star...

You get the gist.

I'll tell you what I like about the book. I love the fact that God is both Mr and Mrs. I would love my children to grow up to be comfortable with the idea of God as both male and female, on an emotional as well as intellectual level. Hurrah for The Shack, which helped us all along the way with this one. Remember the days (you won't unless your children are a little older than mine) when a baby book always referred to a baby as 'he'? Now it would seem quite bizarre if a baby book did that. I'm looking forward to the day when talk about God is similarly unfettered from its male history. It'll probably take a bit longer to establish a new norm than it did in the baby book market, but I'm hopeful. That's the first thing I like about the book.

The second thing I like is that Mr and Mrs God come across as hugely fun and imaginative, and that creation is portrayed as a big lark and adventure. Our tendency seems to be to take anything religious too seriously, so it's always a plus when there's a bit of jolly fun going on.

Then there's the relationship between Mr and Mrs God. Trinitarian theology is, I'm told, very important in Theology circles at the moment (the reason for which has passed me by), and it seems that relationship is central to this whole deal. Well, I like how Mr and Mrs God work together, even if it does involve Mrs God saying to Mr God "How could you?" when his pelican gobbles up her nice bright fish, and then not speaking to him for a thousand years.

And if you're looking for a bit of theology in the book, you'll like the ending. I've always struggled with the whole 'free will' concept. It seems to me suspiciously like people trying to let God off the hook. "Well, God IS both perfectly good and perfectly almighty, and he COULD have made a perfect world, but then we would have been like robots and not had a choice about how we relate to Him (Her)." Choice? What, like some consumerist approach to shopping in the universe? Seems to me that if I was omnipotent, as well as being all-loving, I could have thought my way round that one, easy-peasy lemon-squeezy. Anyway, I'm not saying that Mr and Mrs God in the Creation Kitchen makes sense of it, but there's something about the final page that appealed to me. As they set the baking tray on the earth, and watch their baked man and woman get up out of it, the book closes:

"I wonder how they'll turn out," said Mr God.

"Who knows?" said Mrs God.

"We'll just have to wait and see."

It's not a theological treatise, is it? But somehow, there's something about it that I like. Perhaps it's because it's unresolved. I like unresolved.

So I like the characters, and the plot, and the text. I'm not so keen on the illustrations. They seem chaotic and not very well defined, which was probably to reflect the idea of the story, but for a child, I think they might be overwhelming. They're also a bit grey and lacking in colour, which again is probably a deliberate reflection of the story - where colour is used, it's not in the kitchen, but in the finished creation. But that's just my opinion. You might love them.

If you're going to be troubled by any creation story other than the Big Bang or the Bible, then this isn't the book for you. But if you want to put some fun thoughts regarding one of Life's Big Questions into your child's enquiring mind, and end up saying "well, nobody really knows exactly how it happened", then this could be the book for you. (But don't buy it if you're the mother of my godchild, as this is definitely a birthday or Christmas present coming his way.)

Here's a link if you're interested.

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It's a sign

Inspired by Long Aye-lander in Glasgow who is always posting photos of interesting signs and graffiti, I photographed an example from our neighborhood that I thought you’d enjoy. Here’s a picture which shows you the location (you can see I took it a while ago, when it was snowy).



It’s a set of four posts with reflective diamonds on top, to warn drivers that they’re approaching this T-junction, and that if they don’t stop, not only do they risk hitting cars on the road in front, but they will also end up in that ditch. (I so wanted to say ‘creek’ because that’s all American and Tom Sawyer-ish, and I just like the sound of the word, but truth and honesty compelled me to use the word ‘ditch’. Much less romantic, but we’re talking real life here.)

Then you need the close-up, to see what those letters spell out.



And there you have it. One of those moments in my life when I think “yes, there truly is a God”. You see, I’d had a particularly grotty morning that day. One of those mornings when you don’t even have an excuse for being moody and horrible. Just a grotty miserable morning. The sight of that graffiti made me laugh out loud, in the comfortable privacy of my minivan. It honestly did.

I like to think it must sometimes be fun to be God. Not much of the time, what with all the sadness and suffering and anguish in the world. But sometimes. I like to think of Her looking down, and thinking “Iota. She’s having a bad morning. Ooh, that’s a tough one. She’s not going to be impressed by those Bible verse bumper stickers that I get the local Christians to put on their cars. Oh no. Those just irritate her. What is it with her, anyway? Those bumper stickers cheer a lot of folk up, even if she thinks they’re annoying. I should know. I’m all-seeing and all-knowing. But not Iota, and ooh my goodness, certainly not Iota on a morning like this. Ah, I’ve got a good idea (though I say it myself). I’ll get her to drive down Hampson Street, and that fart graffiti will maybe give her laugh. Lighten the atmosphere a little. I knew it would come in useful when I got those kids to head out with their spray cans the other day. Yes. The fart graffiti. I’ll try that. Left indicator. Left indicator. Left, left, left. Turn here. Yup, there she is, on her way. Better get back to World Peace again – rather a trickier nut to crack that one.”

You can see I’ve just finished reading The Shack. You mean you haven’t yet? I thought I was pretty much the only one left when I did.