No Room at the Inn: God & the Refugee

Between 1999 and 2002 the sight of Kosovan Albanians was not unusual in Timperley, Cheshire. A group of 62 of them lived at Meadow Court, on the outskirts of the village, which had become an emergency refugee centre.  The Minister of the local Methodist Church, Rev Bruce Thompson, had pressed Trafford Council to use the facility and became heavily involved in looking after the refugees for the duration of their stay there. Café Sundae sent their intrepid reporter Rob to talk with Bruce and find our more about his experiences.

 

A cold wet Manchester evening forms as I prepare to interview Bruce.  As the distance between Manchester and Taunton (where Bruce is currently based) is too great for our respective diaries to negotiate we meet in 2 places – in my imagination and in my memory of previous meetings with Bruce. We therefore talk via e-mail. I turn my imaginary tape recorder on and the interview begins.

The Balkans have a history of being a tinder box for the start of conflicts. Most famously the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was shot by a Serb nationalist in Sarajevo thus sparking the beginning of the First World War. After the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe, Yugoslavia – a country created in the wake of that great conflict – broke up and the old nationalist tensions began to arise again. The nineties saw 2 Balkan wars – in Croatia and Bosnia –NATO grew tired of the unrest in the area and sent armed forces to intervene. Then in Kosovo the Serb minority took up arms and waged a bitter and ugly war against the Albanian Kosovar population. Much has been written about the conflict and the allegations of genocide and resulting war crimes trials, and it’s against this background that Rev Bruce Thompson saw a need that he and Timperley Methodist Church could meet.

One of the first things you notice about Bruce as he talks is his quiet enthusiasm. As he explains all that happened there’s an intelligent passion that comes through and leaves you in no doubt about the depth of his convictions and the energy he has at his disposal to complete tasks such as bringing a group of refugees to safety in Timperley. “Oh it was an enormous task,” says Bruce, “We were never without things to do. It took over our lives.” Which begs the question ‘So why get involved in the first place?’ Bruce explains how he had seen the news reports of the NATO airstrikes and heard the stories of thousands of Kosovans massacred. “Someone wrote in a newspaper that ‘our moral imagination had been fuelled by memories of the holocaust.’ The sight of a million people from the poorest region of Europe being forced from their homes, crossing mountains in deep snow, with few possessions and provisions, often separated from the male members of their families meant that we had to do something.

Our 1999 Easter Sunday Service of Holy Communion triggered my own involvement. My congregation and I shared an act of solidarity with the Kosovars fleeing persecution in which the bread and wine of communion were left untouched on the table and we broke off imaginary bread and drank imaginary wine. This was an overwhelming act. Shortly after that we were asked to participate in collecting supplies to be taken to Kosovo by a convoy of lorries. The convoy left Manchester and I felt compelled to watch it leave. I placed my hand on a lorry and prayed and I realised that a convoy like that has no room for passengers; maybe God had something for me and the community I serve to undertake.” Bruce explained to me the complicated processes involved in opening up Meadow Court as a refugee centre, and the ways he worked with Trafford Council and the Altrincham Muslim Association. I am amazed even by the amount of work that needed to be done before a single refugee has even arrived. “Timperley Methodist Church should be very proud of what was achieved by her members during that time,” says Bruce, “The experience not only changed the lives of the Kosovans but also the lives of the helpers. Without the support of the Church it couldn’t have happened.”

This seemed a good point to change tack, so I asked Bruce about the Kosovans. Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he began to answer. “The Kosovans that came to Timperley were the forth flight to come to the UK,” he says, “Most were physically hurt and in need of serious medical treatment. One young woman who came to us had only been married for 6 months, she developed leukaemia and died within 4 months. One man was paralysed from the waist down, underwent a huge number of operations and died just 2 years ago after struggling here for 8 years. One family of five children – 2 brothers, 2 sisters and one cousin – survived a major massacre that claimed almost the rest of their entire family. These teenagers all had severe gunshot wounds and underwent major surgery over many years. Some were completely broken – physically and mentally. Most were terrified and deeply worried for their families left behind or missing. Even now, 10 years on, the wounds still hurt for many of the Kosovans. It takes a lifetime to deal with some issues.” Bruce continued with a heart wrenching account of how most of the refugees had left their homes with nothing, often at gunpoint, and how they had had to be supplied with the most basic things when they arrived in Timperley, “People were very generous to begin with,” continues Bruce, “The manager of a local bed store ordered his staff to strip the display beds and pack as much as possible into the back of one of our volunteers cars. And the owner of a large toiletry company filled the boot and back seat of his car with soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, shampoo etc from the staff shop.”

“Was there any opposition?” I asked Bruce.  He replies that there was none while the war was underway, “The images on the TV news highlighted their plight and almost everyone was moved by them. However once the war was over and as time moved on the Kosovans had to endure comments such as, ‘Why are you still here?’ or ‘I thought the war was over’ and so forth. The public’s reaction wasn’t helped by the right wing press, not least the Daily Mail with talk about ‘bogus asylum seekers’. There is no such thing as a ‘bogus’ asylum seeker. If you’re seeking asylum then that is a fact. 2 of our helpers received BNP literature through their letterbox denouncing our work.  To the best of my knowledge the material wasn’t received by anyone else in their street.”
The next question seemed an obvious one – “How did you deal with the opposition?” Bruce’s face develops a look of determination. “We pressed on regardless.” He says. “We tried as best as we could to ignore the ill-informed comments fostered by those with a different agenda and we tried as best we could to promote the frustrations of the Kosovans at not being allowed to work and also the wonderful contribution of the children to local schools.  Over the time the centre was open I learned never to back down when challenging an injustice, it can be done with grace and courtesy but there can come a point when you have to steel your nerves and actually fight for what is right, true and just. When I originally saw the media images of the war I was moved, but I was also deeply concerned about the limited response of the Christian Church to the plight of the Jews and others in the holocaust, yet here was a genocide before our very eyes less than 2 hours flight from Manchester.” I pause to take in the words, but Bruce – it seems – is just getting warmed up, “Jesus invites us to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless etc. and to be able to stand alongside others, whatever their faith, culture or standing in society is an incredible privilege – we all have so much to learn from one another.  As we’re coming up to Christmas we should remember that Jesus was born a refugee, so we can say that God is present in the stranger. You will recall that shortly after his birth the gospel according to Matthew has Jesus and his family fleeing the wrath and forces of Herod and taking up residence in a foreign country. On one occasion in the Old Testament – the Hebrew Scriptures – we are directed to love our neighbours. On no fewer than 24 occasions we are directed to welcome the stranger. Anyone who votes BNP is clearly not fulfilling the Christian obligation to welcome those from another country or culture; nor are they celebrating the rich diversity of humankind granted us by our Creator. As a Christian I rejoice in what I might discern in those who bring a different experience and perspective to my life, community and nation. We are all the better for such input.”

It’s obvious to me by the way Bruce talks that he speaks of a time that is very dear to his heart and I wonder what he hoped to gain from bringing the Kosovans to Timperley. “Nothing,” Says Bruce emphatically, then he adds, “But we got more than we ever could imagine.” My curiosity is pricked however, “Bruce,” I say, “You’re a Methodist Minister bringing a group of Muslims into the community of the Church – Surely you hoped to evangelise”. Bruce shakes his head, “The thought of converting the Kosovan Albanians to Christianity was never in my mind. It would have been an abuse of my position to manipulate or coerce people who were in a most vulnerable state. One local minister went in with that view and got absolutely nowhere. The Good Samaritan didn’t help the guy in the gutter in order to get anything out of him – he did it because the guy was in need!”

Bruce still evidently has a lot to say, but our time draws to a close.  As we bid each other good-bye he reflects. “You know, I learned a lot through all that happened with the Kosovans.“  I am suddenly glad that I’ve forgotten to turn my tape recorder off, “I learned that as good as we may be at raising money to be sent off to worthy causes it can be too much to ask to care for those on our doorsteps. When we pray for an end to oppression and racial tension we presume the transformation of our world will happen somewhere else.”  I add that I agree and that often when we pray God’s answer is, “I could do that, but so could you. So why don’t you tackle this one?” to which Bruce adds, “And we must trust that we’ll be sustained, even when there’s no happy ending (which there can’t be every time) because God will still reveal something of such value that it will always be of benefit, if not at the time then at some point later. I learned to ask for the help of others,” Bruce goes on. “If they decline then it’s their loss but at least they were asked and there’s nothing lost on the part of the one making the request.  And I now know that the Christian Church does not have a monopoly on love, and nor does it have a monopoly on truth.”

As we part I congratulate Bruce on his part in this story, his humility seems almost dismissive, “I said at the time that if I never did anything again then at least I did this, for which I thank God, because without him I could never have kept going.”

I am inspired by the story I’ve heard and I drive home in silent contemplation. “…At least I did this…” I think, ‘how many of us have done nearly that much?’

Here is a man who made a difference, a man who almost certainly saved lives. I get the impression that despite the hardships and exhaustion he faced, if he saw a similar situation arise he’d be hard pressed not to do it all again.

 

Bruce’s book – Shelter From the Storm – is published by Epworth Press( ISBN 07162 0569 6) and is available through all good online bookstores.

Ship Ahoy! God & Somalia

It’s happened again.

Allow me to be a little self-congratulatory for a moment. Once again Café Sundae planned months ago to take a look at a topic which is hot news at the moment. I don’t know how we do it!

You should have seen in the news lately quite a lot about Somalia and the amount of piracy there is around Somali waters, and in particular at the moment the kidnap of Paul and Rachel Chandler from Tunbridge Wells. There is much concern amongst the international community about the pirates and the ease at which they operate from their Somali bases and a growing fleet of navy ships representing many countries patrol the waters near Somalia in an effort to make the waters safe for commerce – which until the Chandlers were taken was the main target for the pirates. But is this the best solution to the problem or are we just treating the symptoms of a disease that will continue to spread?

Somalia is a young country, but a very old civilisation. Cave paintings have been found there that date back to around 9000BC. Situated where it is it was on a major trade route between Africa and the Middle East it enjoyed the wealth of cultural exchange as well as the financial benefits. Fast forward to the Europe’s 19^th century land grab of Africa and the people of the area successfully repelled attempts by Italy, France and Britain to colonise the area. The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 heightens the importance of the straights of Aden as a trade route and brings about increased efforts by the Europeans to extend their spheres of influence on the Horn of Africa. The Dervish leader Mohammed Abdullah Hassan united the Somali people to retain their independence.

In 1920 Britain used aeroplanes against the Dervishes for the first time and Southern Somalia came under British influence. About the same time the North-East of the region came under Italian influence. British and Italian forces then clashed – particularly during the Second World War – to gain sole control of what was known as Somaliland. Independence came and Somalia was founded in 1960 when the British and Italian Governments both withdrew and allowed Somalia to become a united country. As often happened when a European country left a colony, there was a power vacuum and much squabbling amongst the various tribes living in Somalia and in 1991 the Government fell. Since then Somalia has been essentially governmentless – a situation which has led to the current state of near anarchy and the pirates being able to operate as blatantly as they do.

So what you have in Somalia is a fiercely independent country that was once an affluent and important society compared with its neighbours that has been brought to its knees in a very short space of time by European meddling. And to rub salt into the wounds a huge proportion of the world’s wealth gets paraded in front of its eyes as the huge container ships of the west sail through the Straights of Aden. The Somali people live in abject poverty and have to watch our luxury goods float past their nose ends as they journey to and from our markets. Put things in these terms and you can maybe begin to understand the actions of the pirates – their being willing to take on such a dangerous profession. Life on land is no better as the lack of Government means that for the last 20 years Somalia has been in a state of civil war as the various tribes struggle for power. Often the pirates are seen as heroes by the Somali people for defending Somalia’s right to make a living and boosting Somalia’s economy.

But we miss an important part of the picture here. Small groups of uneducated Africans, such as the pirates are, surely lack the resources to hold supertankers to ransom and extract payment for the return of the ships from their rightful owners. There has to be more people involved. Enter stage left - organised crime.

As I’ve already said Somalia is a lawless land, and into this disordered country came a criminal class to take the power which the politicians were unable to share and use it to exploit the people who were already broken and hope-less. When the pirates take a ship it is to these people they bring it, and they who gain from it. The pirates get paid some for their efforts, but it is organised crime that is the big winner. Exactly who is involved in this side of pirating is unknown. For obvious reasons they keep their identities very secret. Whether they’re from Somalia or the international community – or a mixture of both – is unclear, but while the fighting inside Somalia continues they are being allowed to operate uninhibited, making themselves richer and richer and risking the lives of ordinary Somalis.

I’ve painted a picture in very broad brushstrokes here. Hopefully you can see the picture is a more complex one than is often presented on the news. The solution to the issue has to be one that takes all these factors into account – and all the subtleties I’ve missed out. Whether we leave Somalia to sort itself out, or whether we intervene – and how we intervene – is very much up for debate. Whether the ships owners and insurance companies are helping or making matters worse by paying ransoms and whether we consider our history in the area to be part of the problem and the implications of responsibility that would bring are questions that will be asked if things are allowed to continue as they are now. In the short terms we wish for the safe return of the Chandlers and we hold them, their family and their captors in our prayers.

Big Issue: God & Homelessness

Bitter hostile pavement

Cold cold cold

Forgotten but not forgiven

Anger eroded to apathy

Hated and hurting.

The smell of desperation turning away politer nostrils

Begging, for money, for understanding, for a moment of time.

Hand to mouth, hand to mouth, hand to mouth.

Cardboard string and scraps - a home fit for a beggar

Desolate, despised, disowned.

Dirt and dustbins, home and help

A fitting feast for a forgotten fellow

Turn away, walk away, cold, cold, cold

Useless and used up. ignored and ignoble.

Spare some change. Change awareness

Change minds change lives,

Change the system. Change the world.

Hopes dashed against the concrete of an open skied prison

The urban fox a more welcome dinner guest.

A crime against society or a crime of society

Deprived of much more than a place to live.

A groundhog day begins with the smell of diesel and upturned rubbish

A dawn chorus of binmen clattering and shouting to awake the dead.

The homeless arise: Dead men walking.

An old carrier bag as a picture of a life

Unwanted and un-noticed it floats past on the breeze

It’s whole reason-to-be somewhere in the past.

The day as long as the desire to live it

Then retreat. To bed or the bottle or the back of the mind.

How to hide from the horror and loneliness?

hand to mouth, hand to mouth.

Scraping by,

Where there’s a will there’s a way.

Scraping a living,

Where there’s a way there’s hope.

Scraping the bottom of the barrel,

Hope against hope in hell.

The foxes have holes, and the birds have nests;

But the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head.

Stabby stabby bang bang: God & violence

My name is James. 5 years ago today I was involved in ‘an incident’ as the police call these things. When I think about it now it seems such a silly thing to happen, but I can’t laugh about it.

I was 19 years old and had a bit of a reputation around my area. I had got into a few fights, but nothing like what people thought. Anyway I was a couple of streets away from home when it happened. This kid was coming at me fists flying and I was totally bewildered why. He was a couple of years younger than me and about 4 inches shorter. He landed a couple of weak punches but he was mainly just irritating, like a mosquito buzzing about. When he swung at me again I avoided his punch easily and floored him – it was really a warning shot that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but when he got up he went in his pocket and pulled out this little knife. I just looked at him; he had such a look of terror in his eyes, but he wasn’t me he was scared of, it was the knife in his hand. He kind of stared at me through the knife and shuffled nervously. I didn’t really know what to do, I had nothing against the kid, but here he was threatening to stab me. If I’d known how he would have reacted I wouldn’t have got my knife out. I held it out in a way that I hoped showed I wasn’t going to use it, but had it if I needed it and he just lunged at me. He caught me just below the ribs and if I’d thought he looked scared before this was something else. I felt warm and wet and then I fell over.

Have you ever watched a film with your eyes closed and a pillow over your ears? That’s what the next few minutes were like. I heard the muffled sound of him running away, I heard screams and I heard sirens and felt hands on me, but it was all happening to someone else. Then I died.

5 years ago to this very day I died. I was stabbed. I was killed – murdered even – by a kid with a piddley little knife.

Let me just set things straight a second. I am dead. I’m not a ghost, and I still can’t tell you whether there’s an afterlife. But I know that I’m on ‘the other side’. I’ve spent a lot of the last 5 years watching. I’ve spent my time watching the people who were in my life, I’ve had to watch those nearest to me get over my death and try to pick up the pieces - and let me tell you, it hasn’t been pretty.

I’ve watched my Mum fall to pieces. She took my death really hard. I was her eldest son. She was proud of me. I’d not long left college and got a job. I’d not long met a girl and was getting quite serious about her. Mum was proud. Then I got taken away. I will never forget when the police went round to the house to tell Mum & Dad what had happened. Mum made the most awful wailing screaming kind of noise. Dad went white and tried to hug Mum, but she just went wild screaming and punching anything that came within her reach. It took both policemen to restrain her. The doctor came and sedated her; he may as well have administered a lethal dose. 5 years later and she’s a shell of who she was. Her life ended the day mine did. She’s never been back to work, she never goes a day without crying inconsolably and she’s so debilitated and listless. As I watch her I cry. I wish above all else that I were ghost, and then I could appear to her: but I don’t know what I’d tell her, I could tell her that I’m alright, but I don’t know if I am. I could tell her that Heaven is wonderful, but I don’t know if it is. I wish I had supernatural powers so I could take the power out of her valium, but I can’t so I have to sit here helplessly and watch her ebb slowly towards lifelessness.

Dad was torn to pieces too by my death, but he’s dealt with it differently. He mourned, he took care of my kid brother because my Mum couldn’t cope. He spoke to the police, the media and everyone else who came to call, he gave a eulogy at my funeral and broke down crying in the middle of it. Then he went back to work and tried to pretend that nothing had happened. He did what most blokes do; he hid away his feelings, tried to be strong and did his best to take care of his family. Everyone says he’s been amazing. But I’ve seen him when he’s alone. He still occasionally locks himself in the bathroom and turns the shower on to cover the sounds of his crying. He still drinks a little bit more than he used to as well. Sometimes I see him just sitting staring into the middle distance. He has a strange melancholy smile on his face and I know he’s imagining he things we should have done together – trips to the pub or the football, him helping me fix my car, buy my first house and so on. He needs someone to take care of him for a while, but he’ll never let on.

Once upon a time I had a great kid brother. He was called Paul and when I died he was 10 years old. He was a great kid, happy and outgoing and he did what he was told. When I got killed he got really scared and refused to leave the house for weeks. He would scream and fight whenever anyone tried to get him out of the door. Over time his fear turned to anger. Now I have a 15 year old brother that you wouldn’t recognise if you knew him when he was 10. He fights. A lot. He takes my murder out on anyone who crosses his path. And he carries a blade - a big one. I hope and pray that he never uses it, I kind of hope he doesn’t get picked up by the police with it on him as it would land him in some serious trouble; but maybe that’s what he needs. Dad can’t cope with him, Mum doesn’t try. He’s the kid you always avoid at school. I’d do anything to get my kid brother back.

My girlfriend was there when I was killed. She watched me die. She held my hand and mixed her tears with my blood as I lost consciousness. I loved her. She had nightmares in the following days and had to relive the incident over and over again for the police and then had to give evidence at the trial of the kid who killed me. When all that was done she had to pick herself up and get on with her life. She had to re-sit a year of college as she’s missed so much work. She’s beautiful. She’s had a couple of boyfriends since me, but the relationships don’t last long. She has this idealised image of me that she expects them to live up to, and they just can’t do it. I wanted to be the one to make her happy, instead of which I’ve become the one to prevent her from finding happiness. I want her to forget about me. I want her to move on. I want her to find someone to give her everything I can’t but until she leaves me behind she won’t.

But you know who I pray for most of all? The stupid kid who stabbed me, I feel sorry for him. Straight after he stabbed me he just ran home. He was petrified. He hid in his room for a couple of days too numb to do anything, He knew he should turn himself in but he was too scared, so when the police came to arrest him they found him huddled up shaking in his room, his knife still covered in my blood sitting on his desk. One trial later and he’s locked up with some real nasty pieces of work. Forced to room with people his mother would have grounded him just for talking to, but now he’s trapped with them. He used to be a nice kid. What he had against me I still don’t know, but his life was irrevocably altered by that incident. He’s had to learn a whole different set of values to get through his time kept at her majesty’s leisure. He’s learned to fight, to lie to steal. He’s learned to distrust authority and everyone around him. He’s missed out on everything he should have experienced in his young adult life – he can’t drive, he’s never voted, never had a proper girlfriend or a proper job. His Mum & Dad are suffering for his mistake too. They were mortified to think that their Son was even carrying a knife let alone willing to use one. They were in denial for a long time - until he pleaded guilty at his trial. They felt all the times people nudged and whispered in the supermarket as they shopped, saw all the cars slow down and the stares as people drove past their house. They moved but it wasn’t long before the truth caught up with them and they felt the eyes again. The dumb kid’s getting out of prison soon. He’s going to struggle.

A few months before I died I was walking down the road near where I live and this squirrel just ran into the road. It got across the near side, but the road was really busy and I could tell that it was on a collision course with a BMW. It ran straight into the side of the wheel of the moving car: one second bouncing along happily, the next snuffed out, lifeless, a shell, carrion. The image of the squirrel has stayed with me. There’s lots in there about the fragility of life and stuff like that, but what struck me was the stupidity of the animal, it’s obliviousness, the lack of awareness it had to the impending danger. Lately when I’ve thought of that scene the squirrel has the face of the stupid kid who killed me.

Processed: God & Food

I am many things. Some of the things people have told me I am are unrepeatable. One thing I am not is a clairvoyant, but I’m going to take a stab here at predicting the future.

No doubt you’ll have seen one of those science fiction films or TV programs where the people of the future get handed a little tablet by a machine, and the little tablet is a meal containing all the nutrients the person needs to sustain themselves for the next day? Well here’s my prediction – it’ll never happen. Why?

 

Food is important. That may seem like an obvious point to make, but it is so true I’ll say it again. Food is important. There’s the massively important role it plays in providing us with fuel, energy, nutrition and all we need to survive, but there’s also the role it plays in society. When we celebrate a family event we often go out for a meal, sharing food together features in probably all the religions of the world, when we find that special someone we cook for them, just about every momentous occurrence gets marked with special food. That’s too important to lose to ‘scientific progress’.

 

Food is one of those topics that everyone has an opinion on, because everyone eats. Or if they don’t eat they’ll have opinions on why not. So this is what I think. I’m not a doctor or a nutritionist, I don’t try to eat particularly healthily and I’m not a big fan of vegetables. Some of what I say will contradict advice from those more in the know than I am, but this is what I think.

 

I can guarantee that some of what I say will contradict advice from health professionals because they are constantly contradicting each other, One week we’re told a particular food or food group is very healthy and will prolong our lives, the next we’re told the same foods will lead to health problems and an early grave and we’re told not to eat too much of it. It’s difficult enough – if not impossible - to stick completely to dietary guidelines offered by the medical profession, but factor all the different diet plans and it becomes a real minefield of disagreement and dissention.

 

The saying ‘You are what you eat’ is true, what we eat has an effect. Chefs know this - the way animals are reared affects the taste and quality of the meat. Next time you’re in the supermarket look at the colour of bog-standard factory-farmed chicken and compare it to a free-range corn-fed variety.  They could almost be different birds. Production of Kobe beef, salt marsh lamb, fois gras, veal, wild mushrooms and free range diary products all depend on the food that goes into producing a particular quality in the end product that we in turn consume. In turn we have to consider that whatever we eat will have an effect on our bodies. At it’s simplest, if we eat too much we put on weight, if we eat too little we lose it. But there’s more than that. If we don’t eat a balanced diet we will become deficient in certain vitamins or minerals and health problems will occur. Scurvy, rickets and beriberi are diseases all caused by vitamin deficiencies which were fairly common before we figured out how vitamins worked and could provide nutritional advice on how to avoid them. But even now people suffer ill-health due to their diets. Processed foods contain too high levels of salts, sugars, trans-fatty acids, preservatives, colourings and other additives that damage us and we’re advised to eat them in moderation. We’re given guidelines about how much fruit, veg, meat, alcohol and so forth we should consume. We’re presented with target weights we should aim to be and we’re frowned upon if we stray from the letter of the law laid down before us. 5 –a-day of this, 2 units of that, Omega 3, high fibre, low cholesterol, pre-biotics, pro-biotics, superfoods, anti-oxidants, polyunsaturates, phytonutrients…What do I need to do round here to get a doughnut and a cup of coffee?

 

Here’s the thing. I enjoy food and I enjoy eating food I like. I don’t eat a bad diet – we don’t buy process ready meals or ready-made sauces in our house because we simply don’t like them and making meals from scratch is easy enough and much tastier – and as far as I know I am fit and healthy (I have asthma, but that’s nothing to do with diet). If I were to attempt to stick to the regimes set by nutritionists and government bodies food would become a chore. The pleasure of eating would diminish under a pile of paperwork as I try to work out how many grams of salt I’ve consumed today and how many more pretzels I can eat without raising my blood pressure. The social aspect of food would be crippled under everyone’s demands concerning what they could and couldn’t eat that day. We would be healthier, but I doubt we’d be happier. In fact I’m not sure we would be healthier. We’d all be suffering from heightened levels of stress caused by having to stick rigidly to a regime that forces us to eat lots of things we don’t necessarily enjoy.

 

 

That’s all alright in theory. I’m lucky, I don’t have any food allergies and I have a metabolism and lifestyle that – as far as I’m aware - can cope with the amount I eat, so I’m not noticeably overweight or underweight. But what about those who do need to take a notebook & pencil to the restaurant when they go out? For many, food is a major problem. I have a few friends who have food allergies – nut allergies, diabetes etc. – and it seems such hard work constantly checking what you eat and avoiding potentially life threatening foods. But not only do we have to consider these problems, but there’s a whole set of difficulties caused by eating disorders. I don’t want to get into these because of the seriousness of the conditions and my lack of knowledge, but not to mention them seems to not complete the picture.

 

It seems somehow odd that something so absolutely fundamental to our lives would be so fraught with difficulties, and yet food still remains for the majority a source of pleasure beyond simply re-fuelling. Like most things in life there’s a balance to be struck. We need food to be healthy and we need food for pleasure, the two don’t necessarily sit side by side. It’s up to each of us individually to strike a balance between the two where we’re happiest. If we can’t find that place we need to start trying to ask ourselves why or else hope scientists prove my lack of clairvoyant ability. 

I want that one! God & Envy

Many thanks to Phil Sayer for supplying the voice-over.

Once upon a time there was a boy called Rob, and his job was to write a blog every month for people to read and enjoy. He quite liked writing his blog as it gave him the opportunity to talk crap for a few minutes in a way that that sounded important and wise. He also got to wear his favourite jumper.

One evening he was sitting in his study writing his blog, it wasn’t going well. It was a hard topic to write about. “What do I know about envy?” he thought as he sulked and sipped his coffee, “The only thing I’m envious of is people who don’t have to write a blog about envy.” As he sat and thought and stared at his computer screen he could hear the television downstairs, “I wish I had time to watch telly.” He thought to himself as he heard Helen’s loud raucous laughter bouncing off the walls. “It’s not fair. If I had a laptop like Helen’s I could sit downstairs and watch telly while I wrote my blog. I want a laptop.”

Just then he heard the unmistakable sound of Helen opening a bottle of wine, “That does it!” thought Rob, “Why should I sit up here working hard while she enjoys herself.” He stomped down the stairs and asked Helen what time tea would be ready in a very demanding tone of voice. “If I can’t watch telly I don’t see why she should,” he thought to himself.

As Helen trudged through to the kitchen to start making tea there was a sour note in the air between them, but Rob didn’t notice, as he was too busy being smug. He went back upstairs, but instead of getting on with writing his blog, he looked on EBay for a laptop for himself.

 The next day was a sunny day, so Rob decided to go out on his bike instead of writing his blog. He hadn’t got very far at all before one of his wheels fell off. Rob said a word that would have been “Drat!” if anyone had been listening, but they weren’t so it wasn’t. Then he turned back to push his bike home. On his way he was passed by a man on a brand new shiny bicycle. “Look at that bike. That looks so much fun to ride,” thought Rob. He imagined himself on the bike riding up and down hills with ease, locking it outside the computer shop while he went inside to pick up his new laptop, riding over Helen’s foot when she was enjoying herself too much. Then he imagined himself running up to the man - who was far too far away by now - and pushing him over and stealing the bike. Rob was in a real sulk now, everything he had was rubbish, and everything everyone else had was great. And he still had his stupid blog to write while everyone else played out in the sun.

When he got in the house Helen was busy cleaning the oven, “What’s wrong with you?” she asked as he was obviously unhappy. “It’s not fair,” he said, “everyone else gets to go play out in the sun except me and I have to write my stupid blog on a stupid computer up the stupid stairs.”

“Errm… Everyone gets to play out? What do you think I’m doing? I’m cleaning the oven. Do you think I do this for fun?” said Helen.

“Well that’s your own fault.” Said Rob petulantly, “You shouldn’t have got it dirty cooking tea last night should you.”

The sour note returned, and this time it brought it’s older brother with it.

Rob still couldn’t face sitting upstairs writing his blog, so he went out for a walk. As he went down his street he saw the man on his bike coming the opposite way. “Now’s my opportunity,” thought Rob and he ran up to the man as he cycled past and he shoved him as hard as possible, grabbed the bike and sped off as quickly as he could. He rode it around for a while until he got tired and then he went home. The bike was fun, but so was his old one. He went into the house and saw Helen. She looked like she was in a bad mood, so Rob went upstairs to stay out of the way. He sat in front of his computer and looked busy, so she wouldn’t shout at him if she came upstairs.

Rob fell asleep. Rob had a dream.

 

In his dream he was playing on a brand new shiny laptop. He went on facebook, he went on MySpace and he went on EBay. Then Rob went on MSN and started a conversation with someone who called himself ‘Elohim’. He told Elohim about how he was struggling to write his blog and all that had transpired because of it. Elohim said that he was puzzled (presuming he was a he!) because although Rob seemed pleased about his new acquisitions he should think about their true cost. This confused Rob and he asked Elohim what he meant. “Well,” typed Elohim. “apart from the obvious theft of the bicycle and the possible repercussions from that, how did you buy this computer you’re dreaming you’re typing on? Credit card? So you couldn’t afford it and now you’ll have to stretch your finances paying it off. You’ve damaged your relationship with Helen with your bad moods and all the time you’ve wasted online looking for new computers and bikes mean you’re still no closer to finishing your blog and it’s Café Sundae tomorrow.”

 

Rob woke with a start. “Oh ****! My blog!”

 

 

And that’s why I haven’t written a blog this month. 

Harwood Special - Beautiful Mind: God & Difference

Cafe Sundae went on the road.

We took Cafe sundae to Harwood Methodist, Bolton and had a great time with the people there. Here is the blog we used for them, so they get a chance to comment. The keener-eyed of you may notice that this an old blog previously posted on our old blog site. Comment away!!

To paraphrase a café sundae meeting, one of the reasons I was asked to write a blog every month for the services is because I look at things differently to most people.  I think the phrase used was that I "approach things from a different angle." It was seen as a positive thing that my cock-eyed view could make a valuable contribution to what café sundae is trying to achieve.

But being that little bit different hasn't always been a positive thing.

I didn't really get on that well at school. The formal education system didn't agree with me and I don't think many teachers knew how to get the best out of me. It didn't help that the subjects that were offered to me to study didn't particularly interest me. I went to school in Harrogate, which everyone tells me is a lovely town. But it is a small town and a conservative town and the range of subjects offered at the schools there didn't extend much beyond maths, English, sciences and languages. One of the other secondary schools in the town offered PE as a GCSE subject and I was amazed when I found that out – although why anyone would want a GCSE in running round a muddy field in the rain whilst being shouted at by a thug with a qualification was beyond me. I didn't stand out at anything at school, I was – and still am - crap at sports and although I am intelligent I was in a class full of people cleverer than me who worked really hard. I just cruised through school doing just enough work to get passes in my subjects in order to keep off the teachers' radars as much as possible. I never really fitted in and I never really found out why.

I did have a good set of friends, although again because I was just that little bit different I stood out just enough to be the butt of people's jokes from time to time. A big bone of contention was my tastes in music. I remember my friends' tastes were always a couple of years behind mine. When I was 12 I discovered heavy metal – the heavier the better. I loved bands like slayer, gravedigger and venom along with iron maiden, motorhead and all the rest. My friends were still listening to pop and chart music and on certain occasions made their feelings on my tastes well known to me! A couple of years later they discovered heavy metal and I lent them lots the music I had collected, but my tastes had moved on and I was listening to Pink Floyd, Janis Joplin & Jimi Hendrix. Although they were happy to borrow albums from me they were also happy to express their disapproval at what I was then listening to. Again a couple of years after that they discovered Pink Floyd and the cycle continued.

It was once I left school that I began to find the things I could do well. I got involved in the local Youth for Christ centre and started playing in bands with other people and discovered that it was something I could do – both the playing bit and the messing around with PA's and recording bit. I even started attending bible studies and I discovered I was good at thinking – something I'd never even contemplated doing throughout my formal education – and fairly soon realised my opinions were valued, sometimes even sought after.

I slowly found my niche as I discovered my strengths. I realised that the things that made me different at school and had caused me difficulties were the things that I now enjoyed and I was good at. My idiosyncrasies are a fundamental part of who I am and what I do. Forward fast to today and these things that set me apart have become skills few people possess which keep me busy – sometimes too busy – providing services for people. I have made a career and a life out of my peculiarities. I'm not under any illusions, there were people at school who thought I was an idiot loser and there are people now that think the same, but I've found that my quirks are in demand; and I'm happy with that!

Now as I look back at my time at school I have the gift of hindsight. Sometimes when I was at school I used to try to fit in more, now I'm glad that I didn't. If I had the opportunity to do it all again would I do it differently? If I were going to be a responsible youth leader I'd say if I did it again I'd work harder and try to get better grades. But in truth I wouldn't. I would hate to have to do it again because I hated it first time round, but I wouldn't do it differently.  What I was then – with all its difficulties and awkwardness – has led to who I am now. Had I done things differently, had I compromised who I was in order to fit in more, had I tried to be popular I wouldn't be where I am now, I wouldn't have found these things I do that I enjoy and are in demand and I wouldn't be writing a blog every month for café Sundae.

It wasn't me: God & Blame.

Well, that’s it. After 2 years of writing this blog the inevitable has happened and I’m powerless to prevent it.

I’ve got writers block.

I’ve sat here and I’ve sat here and I’ve continued to sit here and I can’t think of a single thing to write. And when I’ve done that I’ve sat somewhere else and still nothing comes. I’ve been out for walks, done headstands, eaten fish, eggs, deep fried wichety grubs, and even shredded wheat and still not a single pertinent thought has entered my head. I’ve asked people what they think, read many internet articles and walked past the library several times and I can only conclude that you’re going to have to get on without a blog this month and hope my writers block clears before next month.

Please contain your disappointment. It’s really not my fault. I’ve done everything I can to resolve the situation, but it has occurred. I blame Will. He takes the minutes at our café sundae meetings, so it was him who minuted that we wouldn’t have a café sundae in April. That’s got me out of the routine of writing the blog, and now I can’t seem to get back into it.

Actually. Come to think of it Helen shares some responsibility for my lack of writing as well. Over our month off she’s made me enjoy myself and do fun stuff, which means I haven’t been thinking things through as much as usual and it seems I have difficulty turning my brain back on. And she’s washed my blog jumper.

Speaking of brains I blame Mr Tetley, Mr Theakston, and Mr Guinness. Over the last 20 years I have enjoyed their delicious brews on several occasions. They make them so moreish. But medical science suggests that over-indulgence in these fabulous fermented fluids can lead to destruction of brain cells, so if they had made their products less appetizing I’d still have more of my faculties and I wouldn’t have this writer’s block now.

And while we’re about it, it’s your fault too. All you who come to café sundae or read the blog online – and especially you who comment! You’ve told me how much you enjoy my prattlings and that has lead to pressure being put on me to up the ante every time. The pressure to keep the blogs at a high standard has surely lead to writers block with the fear that at sometime I won’t hit the mark.

So over the next weeks I’m going to try to search for a compensation lawyer that doesn’t make me dry heave too much and sue the pants off everyone who has contributed to my problem. It may seem quite extreme, but I think it’s for the best.

Even though I’m expecting a six-figure settlement I’m not doing it for the money, I’m doing it because I think you all need to realise what you’ve done to me, and if my problem is highlighted it may prevent it happening to someone else. I’ve thought about my course of action long and hard, and I believe it’s the only option open to me. I don’t want to be seen adding to the problems caused by our claims culture, but I have a more genuine case than a lot of those people who sue at the drop of a hat - all those smokers who sue the tobacco companies, or the obese people who sue fast food companies for example. And what about that bloke a couple of years ago who ran over a boy on his bike, then sued him for denting his BMW. People like that seem to be just out for what they can get for themselves ready to blame other people for their mistakes and offload their responsibility onto others regardless of the consequences for whoever they sue. A lot of people who sue don’t realise that they often make the problem worse – for example there has been a rise in the number of people suing their local councils when they’ve tripped on an uneven footpath. Do they not realise that when they receive a settlement it comes out of the council’s purse and then the council has less money to spend on improving the quality of footpaths?

I also think that people do genuinely have difficulty accepting that they have made mistakes. People’s egos don’t allow them to be anything but perfect, so any mistakes must therefore be someone else’s fault. Suing successfully proves they’re right, formalises the process of absolving themselves and keeps their self-image intact. It’s an attractive proposition. I’m positive I don’t fall into this trap as Helen is always pointing out my flaws so I know I’m not perfect.

What needs to happen is for people to take responsibility for their own actions and the consequences they bring about. To stop trying to use litigation to solve what they perceive as their problems. People need to work together in community rather than against each other. They need to stop looking only at number 1, and realise their place in a wider society in which everyone has needs and problems and only a finite amount of resources to go round. We need to work together to solve everyone’s problems, not against each other to sort out only our own.

And so to teach you this important lesson, you’ll be hearing from my solicitors very soon.

Crunchy Credit: God & Greed

So I’m sitting here trying to think of a good anecdote to start this blog off and illustrate what we’re thinking about this month, but everything I think about is topped by what’s actually happening in the economy at the moment. Around us everywhere are the visible consequences of greed. Greed in the financial sector has lead to the world economy heading into recession, and whereas you and I didn’t make the decisions we have to live with the consequences. It’s quite plain to see that the consequence of greed is that everyone loses.

Where does greed come from? What makes us greedy? If I may be allowed to propose my own little theory – If you look around the animal kingdom you will see that many predatory animals don’t get 3 square meals a day. They’ll make a kill once a week, once a month sometimes even once every six months and as a consequence they have to gorge themselves on their prey as they don’t know when their next meal will come along. If any rival tries to steal their food they will defend it to the utmost as their possession. I imagine that when we were living the hunter-gatherer existence we lived an opportunistic lifestyle similar to that. A small band of hunters would chance upon a mammoth or some such and the community would feast on it. If a rival tribe came to try to share or steal it they would be repelled as certainly as possible. As society evolved and we became farmers we’ve retained some of those hoarding instincts and they have evolved into greed.

We all exhibit signs of greed to a greater or lesser extent. We all own things we don’t need. It is a natural instinct for all of us to get as far away from poverty as we can, it’s a basic survival instinct to make sure we have ‘enough.’ Most of us won’t get the opportunity to take that to excess, but would we if we had that chance? Would we draw the line and say, “I have enough now; I don’t need to gather more.” According to Wikipedia the world’s richest man is Warren Buffet who has $62 billion. He’s 79 years old. I think he’ll struggle to spend all his money before he dies even if he tries really hard. I think his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren would struggle to make a dent before they die. Bill Gates comes in third with $58 billion. These individuals and others are richer than a good number of the World’s poorest nations and yet they feel justified in their wealth. Consider the billions they have and then consider that 40% of the world’s population have to live on less than $2 a day. Even with this scant evidence it would be possible to suggest that these people have got so rich at the expense – directly or indirectly – of other people.

The 1886 US court case Santa Clara County vs Southern Pacific Railroad decided that a private corporation is a person and entitled to the human rights and protections afforded to individuals, and thus began the rise of corporate culture where big companies are offered the same protections as people are, but aren’t subject to criminal law. Where companies have grown to be international (helped in no small part by the above case) they can sit above local law and seemingly do as they want. This leads to massive companies and corporations which can make or break governments and buy out poorer countries as they will. This type of greed leaves me even more baffled. I can at some level understand why an individual may amass wealth, but why people would work so hard to make a concept (a company) so hugely wealthy is beyond me. What good it does for this company (which isn’t a person regardless of what the law says) to horde such resources is baffling to me, but again it’s done at the expense of millions of people worldwide.

Can I just say at this point that there’s nothing wrong with being rich. It’s your attitude to what you have which can get you into trouble. Jesus told a story about a man who harvested a huge crop and built bigger barns to store it all in so he could take it easy for a while when all around him his neighbours and people in his community would have been going hungry and struggling to make ends meet. God took a very dim view of that man’s actions. I said in an earlier blog that the popular saying ‘Money is the root of all evil’ is a misquote. St Paul actually wrote ‘Love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.’ He also said that greed is a form of idolatry.

And while we’re mis-quoting other people, Margaret Thatcher used a John Wesley quote to justify some of her economic policies. Wesley said, “Make all you can, save all you can, give all you can,” and she used that to justify people making as much money as they could in the 1980s. But consider that he also said, “When I have money, I get rid of it quickly, lest it find a way into my heart.”

We’re on a roll with the quotes now, have another one. Friedrich Koenig, the inventor of the high speed printing press said,”We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.”

And to end with here’s a Native American proverb.

A Native American grandfather talking to his young grandson tells the boy he has two wolves inside of him struggling with each other. The first is the wolf of peace, love and kindness. The other wolf is fear, greed and hatred. "Which wolf will win, grandfather?" asks the young boy. "Whichever one you feed," is the reply.”