FROM THE BOUNDARY

Blowing in the wind

From the last week of July into September I was at my cottage by the sea in Wales. You’ll realise the Columns didn’t stop. There’s a simple reason. For me, home is still home whether I’m here or there. I’ve come to realise that the ‘world’ is wherever we are now. No matter where we are, much the same challenges confront us, people are still people the world over - black, white, it makes no difference, and all with our own idiocies – joy is still joy, tears know no national boundaries, and God ever ‘speaks’ through loving hearts and humble mustard seeds.

As usual, Sundays found me at St. Matthew’s Church where the stained glass window of St. Francis with birds and the wolf of Gubbio, the man-eater which Francis tamed, ever compensates for the evangelical, biblical literalism of the retired priest-in-charge. In one sermon, he told us three times (as regularly in others) of his conversion experience at age 17 as if that was the full stop to his life, rather than the glorious beginning of a journey in which daily the divine reveals itself, challenging and shaping us into whom we are and can still become. It’s all about ‘becoming’, isn’t it?

In another sermon he gave us this classic – though I don’t suppose anyone really noticed. “The Bible”, he said, “is God’s autobiography”. Now I’ll leave you to think about that one; well, except to say that it made me wonder whether the God of Israel had signed off with Revelation or whether we might yet expect a best-selling sequel.

Did I tell you I have an ambition to sing in a folk band? Well, it almost happened in the main street of my holiday town. I was on my way to Starbucks on the principle that coffee is ever conducive to Columns. I passed a busker with a guitar standing outside the ‘Pound Shop’, where the priceless can be bought for a pittance. I don’t remember what the fella was playing but, whatever it was, it caused me to ‘bop’ to the music. I turned back and placed a pound coin in his guitar case. It seemed geographically appropriate. Then I asked him whether he knew ‘Blowing in the Wind’ and, bless him, he began to play it – and, yes, accompanied by me, Bob Dylan in short pants, with the vocals, there, on the pavement in the world’s view. Well, actually no one took a blind bit of notice (as they say). But it didn’t matter. I did it. In an amateur way, seizing the moment I’d fulfilled my ambition. And now I invite you to fulfil yours – before it’s too late. Go on. Remember? “How many years can some people exist/before they’re allowed to be free?” Yeah for the freedom to be yourself!

Now: did you know Gordon? He was my friend. He gave some meaning to my life. He had his home in Broad Street. He was a beggar. On my return from Celtland, I looked for him. Another beggar told me he was dead. I’d known him for some years. Well, he sort of ‘took over’ after Trevor died, just as he came after dear Roger disappeared. Bless you fellas. In your way, you gave Spirit to the collar I sometimes wear, and I’ve done what little I can to record your passing-by in this hit-or-miss we call life.

Roger was a gentle soul, though persistent. His photo appears with me in ‘The Twisted Web’, the volume of poetry by my Poverty Law pupils published in 2011. Trevor was more gentle still. I was honoured to read at his funeral. He accompanied me on the ‘March for Jesus’ organised in 2014 by The People’s Cathedral. Doesn’t time go quickly? I have some photos of us both on the march. Gordon? Well, he wasn’t gentle; more a John the Baptist “crying in the wilderness”. Some time ago a nice lady took a photo of us by Collins. I wore my new British Asian Christian Association ‘T’ shirt – ‘Proud to be Christian’- and the photo was later published in the Association’s journal. So you see, fellas, you’ve touched time.

In your way, you’ve given expression to our own need. We all need something – some of those who’ve passed you by the ability to smile. It’s really very simple. You needed something. You thought we might have it and so asked for it. Were you any different from the rest of us knee-fully petitioning the Almighty for this and that? We’re all beggars, aren’t we, whether we’re publicans or Pharisees?

The human landscape consists only of beggars. We’re all “the least of these my brothers”, aren’t we – yes, even on Sundays smart in church clothes? Why don’t we understand yet that the face of Jesus is there, in the face of everyone we meet? Which reminds me: bless you kind lady who retrieved the bag the beggar dropped as he was frog-marched by security big-boys from the lobby of Supercentre, Warrens, last Friday evening. Love in action’s a wonderful thing.

Go safely, then – until the next time.

20/20 vision from the boundary: “Jesus… comes in the form of the beggar... He confronts you in every person that you meet. As long as there are people, Christ will walk the earth as your neighbour.” (Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

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