Monday, December 03, 2018

Should I stay or should I go?

When is it better to encourage children to keep going with something hard, as opposed to allowing them to withdraw from the fray?

Parenting in the early years involves making these choices for someone else. "He doesn't want to do swimming / football / beavers / the party. And a) he's free to decide or b) it'll be better for him in the long run if he does."

While responsibility for others clarifies the sensation of struggle in these decisions, it is a struggle we fight always, long and hard, on our own behalf.

Rowan Williams dedicates a chapter of Silence and Honeycakes (about the early Christian desert fathers and mothers) to 'fleeing'. And another to 'staying'. Hermits 'flee' the world and it might be seen as escapism. But Williams talks about the courage and determination it takes to face up to one's terrifying self largely in isolation, without distracting stimulation to sweeten reality.

'Staying' is also part of the deal: a hermit (or monk, nun etc) is committed to one, usually small, place forever or at least the long-term; to living alongside a small set of people, however irritating; to completing the same, simple tasks day after day, without hope of 'success' (or even progress).

This might seem safe and dull. But it can take courage, determination and discipline to stick at something in this way.

I once wondered if people fell into two 'types'. I might have put myself in the 'flee' category. Or, more favourably, described myself as an independent adventurer.

I am learning to see a bit more nuance, more depth. When I'm doing something, be it a relationship, a conversation, a task, I tend to compulsively stick at it until it (or I) is finished. This is my Stay self. It can be very good. But since few things in life really can be 'finished' and some completions leave a bitter taste in the mouth, what better permission to let go of these duties than a brave new world of 'fleedom'  - new job, break-up, new city, etc? Armed with this self-understanding, I'd like to think I'm a bit better at making those choices.

There is no blanket rule of right or wrong in these choices. But getting to know ourselves really well (which in itself is a kind of dogged insistence on staying put) helps us see what's really going on behind our decision making.

And, I expect, a similarly tenacious insistence on paying attention to our children can help parents guide them towards good choices, too.



Monday, October 15, 2018

Gifted children

Sometime between the ages of 10 and 20 (scientifially proven, yep), people lose their ability to receive gifts.

I notice this most starkly in the run-up to Christmas, when the intensity of present-exchange highlights the problem. I could rant ad infinitum right here.... but I can be a bit annyoing when I do that. So, limiting myself to one observation: what is this insistence on everyone in a gift-giving network spending the same amount of cash?! We may as well adorn a turkey with a wreath of tenners and eat one each.

Young children are natural born warning signs for gift-giving gone wrong. They don't play the game with self-absorbed benefactors claiming to 'make sacrifices' for them while actually wanting something in return. They don't sweat about paying us back in kind. And they are visibly wrung out by excess and consumerism.

But they absorb generosity and love unashamedly. They barely even say thanks. What rotters!

Grace is a mysterious thing. Accepting it is all about letting go of the idea that you have the potential to become more deserving of gifts. Again, children show us how to do this: they soak up greedily as much love and attention as we can give them, without for one second thinking they deserve it or that they need to repay it.

I have sat in a lot of churches that tell me I can never be more or less deserving of God's love: that it is a gift. That the sun shines on good and evil alike. And then tell me, in almost the same breath, that my life is only acceptable if I embrace a particular lifestyle; a particular penchant for religious activity; a particular set of beliefs.

Four decades into my life, I am still realising the extent to which I need to ignore this nonsense. No wonder Jesus wanted to hang out with the kids.......





Monday, September 17, 2018

Raising Cain?

Did you hear the one about Mary and Joseph's parenting methods?

Me neither. Funny that.

I mean, if you'd raised someone considered by millions to be the Son of God, wouldn't you expect there to follow efforts to produce a 'how to' guide in your honour? But no. Not much at all, as far as I can decipher.

Alice Miller is also surprised. An influential psychoanalyst and philospher, she describes a society obsessed with original sin and the Eden story, criticising its impact on young lives. She wonders why Christians ponder so long on the character of an inscrutable heavenly father, who places a forbidden tree and a deceitful serpent in his paradise garden, but fail to examine the character of Joseph and the specifics of Jesus' human upbringing.

We can't glean much. But there are hints about Jesus' childhood. Mary considered her son a gift from God and prioritised him from the moment of conception. The child's wellbeing was paramount, with both parents making big life changes in order to accommodate and protect him. As he got older, he had the confidence to disobey and argue his case, without any apparent fear of punishment. As he reached adulthood, his mother accepted his authority, advising friends to go to him with the problems they first brought her way. He turned out pretty well. And the bond between mother and son remained deep and strong: even in the midst of torture, Jesus felt compelled to take care of his mother.

In my experience, the advice circulating on being a good 'Christian' parent doesn't touch on the kinds of things we observe in Jesus' parents.

I wonder, with a few suspicions, why on earth not? But perhaps that is for another post......



Monday, June 19, 2017

Learning addicts?

I am currently pondering the (a?)morality of learning, thanks mainly to the addictive and enlightening Sapiens.

The connection between humanity's woes and its obsession with knowing more, knowing everything, has always intrigued me. Our intellects can make us really miserable and yet being 'smart' is nearly always what we desire.

In the book, Harari discusses knowledge as power: the successful colonialists were those who learned most carefully about terrain and culture. Knowledge has given mankind mastery (great word!) over its world.

In my faith tradition, the founding myth concerns (wo)man ingesting more wisdom than was her lot. The curses that follow are: painful childbirth, female dependence, hardship in labour, conflict between man and animal, divorce from a God-ordered world. Such demonstrable realities help make a case against the pursuit of too much knowledge.

According to Harari, there is little or no evidence to suggest people are happier now than they were in their less well-informed hunter-gatherer days.

But ... the direction of cultural travel is always towards increased wisdom and education. Can we condemn this? Admitting to and wanting to remedy areas of ignorance has led to much good stuff - like huge reductions in child mortality. Or breathtaking excellence in innumerable fields, that bring joy to many.

If someone (individual or corporate) tries to stop you gaining knowledge or self-advancement, or rails against society doing so, they are usually suspect; motivated by self-interest.

It is also worth asking how bad was Adam and Eve's behaviour? Genesis doesn't neatly condemn their attempt to gain divine wisdom. Read Chapter 3: 1-7 and you'll be surprised by the lack of judgement. We add, or at least enhance, that tone with hindsight, to help us wrap our instinctively judgmental and insecure minds around the difficulty of the story.

Our pursuit of knowledge as a means of mastering our world is certainly problematic. I suspect it is also a part of human nature we will never escape. You can argue that the 'morality' of learning depends on the motivations but you don't clear up the problem. Motivations are almost always mixed. We all at once want to understand someone else better because we care for them and because we want to control them. Flowers and weeds grow together.

I suppose it is good to consider our own relationship with the pursuit of knowledge. We can think about learning more of what really makes us and others happier, rather than what we feel driven to know by fear. We can avoid using our learning to control or belittle others - or puff ourselves up.

And, if the one maxim that Knowledge is Power is true, we do well to consider the other, Know Thyself. In my busyness, distractedness, susceptibility to believing life is best spent gathering more, I can get trapped in a state of real ignorance about my true identity. I might spend a bit more time learning who I am and what I have to offer, and a bit less scrutinising and judging others / the world for what they lack.





Monday, April 24, 2017

You're wrong but I love you.

I suspect I'm getting old on this topic of disagreeing well. Unsurprisingly, with a general election now imminent and our media (nation?) apparently incapable of sensible conversation, it keeps cropping up. 

Atheism for Lent - another of my favourite drums - began with an excerpt from a graphic novel set in a pub frequented by Batman, the Joker et al. By some kind of magic, violence and seeds of violent intent were prohibited in this hostelry and so, even for sworn enemies, it was a place of safe encounter.

This excerpt set the tone of AfL, encouraging participants to declare truce while ferociously analysing our ideas about (No) God.

Two tangential TED talks were flagged by coursemates. Megan Phelps-Roper describes how conversations on twitter, of all places, gently led her away from the fundamentalist beliefs she cherished at Westboro Baptist Church. She lists the ingredients of Good Disagreement. Along with the more obvious - thinking the best of the other person, for example - she exhorts us to actually say what we think. Sounds obvious .... but how often are we courageous enough to do this? To be braver than the quick "I disagree" followed by swift departure? Or the quiet gossip with an ally later? To spell out carefully why we disagree and attempt to articulate what it is we believe?

Margaret Heffernan goes on to say that honesty without disagreement is actually futile. You can express as many heartfelt, informative, accurate points as you like and it doesn't change anything. You need a worthy adversary to uplift your point by disagreeing with it, if it is to shine with any useful kind of truth. This committed, brave disagreement is in fact a type of love.

I suspect most of us disagree badly because of our own insecurity about whether the other person likes or loves us or, more fundamentally, whether we are loveable at all. This is human nature. So we need to create places like that fictional pub where we can practise disagreeing well and try to face those who do the same.

We need to make spaces where church leavers and almost-leavers are listened to very carefully with no desire to change them. Where backslapping, self-congratulatory, tribal politics is undermined by those from within each and every 'side'. Where friends and family are encouraged to make us defend our opinions, to keep us on our toes.

I do not want to go through life being told and allowed to believe that I'm right. I mean, I do. But I don't. Get me?