Going Back to Church After Lockdown

Last week I did something I have not done in what seems like years. I used to do it regularly, and it felt as natural as a habit that was easier to keep than to break. This time however it was a calculated decision, one I took with slight trepidation and which felt strange and at first a little awkward: - I went to church.

Re-emerging from lockdown has been both liberating and unnerving! I hadn’t realised the extent to which I had been accustomed to social isolation and how hard I would find meeting and chatting to new people. I struggled with singing and realised how much I’d become merely a passive observer of ‘online worship’. Being together with others to worship God was good however – Christianity has always had a deeply communal spirituality and is never a solo-pursuit. During lockdown there are members of that community who have had children, lost loved-ones, married or separated – moved houses or jobs. ‘Being with’, rather than just ‘hearing from’ these folks was significant.

Full normality has not yet returned however. The place reeked of hand-sanitiser; and social distancing imposed unnatural barriers between people who would naturally shake hands, or embrace after a long-time apart.

Then of course, everyone was still required to wear masks. Mask wearing can prevent the spread of potentially infectious droplets; and also ruins a community’s ability to sing together! And mask wearing has been a highly contentious matter in the re-opening of society. That is not least because the inconsistencies in the rules have been glaring and bizarre. Why do a socially-distanced congregation have to mask, but then the nightclub over the road can pack people in for no-distanced, unmasked dancing and mixing? Or more glaring perhaps, why do a wedding party have to cover their faces for the service and then head off to the reception for unmasked ceilidh-dancing? What can explain such double-standards?

Some Christians have claimed that this is evidence of state hostility to Christianity. Others suggest that the government wrongly assume that while clubs and restaurants are full of the young and healthy; churches only contain the aged and infirm – a stereotype which is as inaccurate as it is unhelpful. My suspicion is that concessions have been granted to the entertainment and hospitality sector (which have not been extended to the churches), for the more simple reason that jobs and tax-receipts rely on allowing these places to provide the best possible experience for their guests.

If that is the reasoning behind the policy, I find it troubling, for Jesus famously said, “You shall not live by bread alone” – and pointed people to live not just materially but spiritually complete lives. That is, he called people to live in the deep connection to God which he came to give us; and in deep community with one another. Such things are of infinitive value but are unquantifiable, and more awkwardly: untaxable. That does not mean that they should be treated with less respect, or unvalued however. Jesus affirmed that while we need our ‘daily bread’ because our physical needs are legitimate; we also need ‘every word that comes from the mouth of God’. (Matthew 4:4). That’s why next week, I’m going back to church again – to hear the word of God preached, to sing and to share community with others. It’s not necessarily the easiest choice but I believe it is the wisest. Our governments might treat this with some contempt, but I suggest that it is in expressed love for God and neighbour that something of infinite value is found.

The doors of Christian communities across Scotland will be open this Sunday, it might be worth a look in – even if it’s been a while.

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This article first appeared in The Scotsman, 2/9/21

Take One Day At A Time And Use It Well

Suffering and affliction gatecrash our lives when we least expect it. Pain is the unwelcome guest which forcibly intrudes into our homes and ­families. Torment is no respecter of class, race, religious or political affiliation, age or nationality. Rather it is our vulnerability as humans which unites us, as we stare into the unsettling truth of our own mortality.

It is in this context that many ­people turn to those of us in the Christian churches, to ask the bigger questions of life and existence. The responses that Christians offer vary, but I offer five things that I have learnt personally from suffering.

The first is to separate the ‘why’ and the ‘how’ questions. In his book, Walking With God Through Pain and Suffering, which Timothy ­Keller wrote while being treated for cancer, he firstly explores the ‘why?’ questions, but counsels his readers to turn straight to section two, the ‘how can I cope?’ section, if they are in the ­middle of raw grief.

There is a time for philosophy and theology, but also a time for pausing that conversation until we are able to breathe more slowly and reason more carefully.

After the death of a young friend, I found that even good theological answers to the ‘why?’ questions were no emotional anaesthetic. ­With ­intellectual resources such as part one of Keller’s book, or helpful books such as C.S. Lewis’s The Problem of Pain, those could come in time.

Second, it has often been observed that there is one thing worse than ­suffering – and that is suffering alone. This week, as our church has been saddened by the tragic loss of a young life, we have gathered together to weep, to pray and to welcome ­anyone who wants company.

Some have come full of faith, ­others have come with none, all have been welcomed. This is what we are required to do, “bear one another’s burdens” as biblical ­wisdom instructs. Like many ­churches and communities around the country, we are learning that tears are OK, silence is OK, and that fellowship is essential.

Third, our approach to these trials draws on the wisdom of Jesus who said, “do not worry about tomorrow, for each day has enough trouble of its own” – in other words, take one day at a time. For each day we spend processing grief or pain, we need to set our sights on making it through that day. No one can bear the weight of a ­lifetime of lost dreams and hopes; getting through the day at hand is enough, and together, with God’s help we will.

This also in turn can free us to ask, “how best can I use this one day?” For many people that has meant doing something to ease someone’s pain, or to do something truly worthwhile in the memory of someone we have lost. We do not have infinite days to live – but one day at a time, we might use them well.

Fourth, the uniquely Christian hope we offer is of resurrection. We believe that the reason that we grieve so much in loss is because a human being is much more than a mere ­functioning collection of ­molecules but is an infinitely precious bearer of God’s image – body, soul, mind, consciousness. Death then, cannot be reduced to a physical process, any more than Elgar’s Cello Concerto can be regarded as merely a series of vibrations.

This observation is embedded in the central Christian truth, that Jesus rose from the dead and that all who hope in him will ­similarly rise – thus our final great hope is not limited to life here, but in Christ our eternal ­destiny is glorious. In Christ there is hope – and with hope we can get through this day.

The final observation comes from a prayer of the Apostle Paul: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any ­trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” He’s talking about the spiritual experience that is more than the post-dated future hope of resurrection but is encountered here and now. It is to this end we pray, and seek to learn to calm our troubled souls by resting in Jesus.

These things combined are how we will get through this together, our day of grief and suffering, along with a welcome to anyone who wants to join the embrace.

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This article first appeared in The Scotsman, 16/10/19

Conival and Ben More Assynt

The last time I was in these hills, the almost hurricane-force winds prevented us from ascending to high-level which would have risked being plucked from the ridges which tower over the glistening landscape of watery Assynt. My wife has been suffering from Covid, and although she is over the virus, has been left with an extreme fatugue which is only now beginning to lift. And then some happy things co-incided, she recovered enough to go and see friends, I had a day off - and the weather in the North looked increasingly promising. So after work on the Wednesday, I hurled a load of kit into the car and pointed it's nose to the North and struck out in search of Assynt and limestone!

Pausing only to queue for fish and chips by the ferry-port in Ullapool, I found a forestry track on which to park, and grabbed a few hours sleep. By 6:30, the coffee was brewing and breakfast was cooking, and by 7:00 I was at the car park at Inchnadamph. I've been past here a few times, and spotted the car-park, and looked longingly up Gleann Dubh down which the Traligill River rushes frim the distant hills. This time however, I wasn't passing on the way to Lochinver, or family holiday cottages on the North Coast, but stopping, and booting up - as these hills were beckoning.

The 'no- overnight parking' sign here is clearly ignored as several cars and vans had obviously been there for a day or two - and one occupant wandered out for a chat as I arrived. The forecast had changed and was suggesting a cloudy morning and a wonderful afternoon, and several people were delaying their ascent. While contemplating this, the midgies descended in demonic black clouds, and so I set off. I'd rather walk in fog, than with flaming skin!

The path begins just north of the main road bridge over the Traligill River as it pours into Loch Assynt. and heads eastwards past a the hostel and a remote cottage called Glen Bain. The hostel is for sale, and if you want a beautiful location to run a guest house on the NC500, I couldn't imagine a more beautiful location.

After the cottage the track becomes a sometime boggy path which drives up the left hand side of the river and forks after a small forestry plamtation. The right hand track crosses the river and heads for the Traligill caves, but hillwalkers take the left hand side of the river. Higher up the glen the path takes an abrupt left hand turn and ascends steeply up the southeast flank of the mountain reaching the bealach between Beinn an Fhurainn and Conival near a lochan.

On this climb up met up with a party of four people, two paramedics and two police-officers (and one minute dog) who were very friendly and with whom I walked for the rest of the day. One of the great joys of walking alone in Scotland is meeting other people in the hills. There is, more often than not, a delightful cameraderie amongst hill folk, and the immediate swapping of stories, routes and places to stay. It happens a bit less when you walk in groups, but walking alone, seems to very often not remains that way!

Once on the ridge, to my surprise the path continued southwards, winding through the increasingly rocky landscape towards the top of Conival. Cloud still lingered here, but that didn't disturb us as the weather was forecast to improve, and we woudl have to re-climb Conival on the way back from Ben More Assynt anyway, so a view was promised not lost!

The east ridge of Conival which leads across to Ben More Assynt, is rocky, and in places slow going - but surprisingly holds a path which leads all the way to the summit - the second Munro of the day. As promised the cliud was showing signs of lifting, and when I awoke from customary summit-doze, the sun was breaking through. We were then blessed with stunning views as we re-ascended Conival and picked our way back to the hamlet of Inchnadamph.

All that was left then was some farewells to my new friends, and the long drive South. What a day!