Br Roger of Taize

Five years ago today, Br. Roger of Taize was brutally murdered in the Church of the Reconciliation in Taize. I remember exactly where I was at the time; on holiday in Studland when I received an email first thing in the morning the day after and then there being a picture on the front page of The Times newspaper. I felt numb, totally numb. Taize was and still is a major part of my faith journey and life and during the 18months I was there 20 or so years ago I had a lot of contact with Br Roger. Why on earth was this holy man struck down and killed and in such a violent manner? Brother Roger was the holiest man I have met in my time on this earth. A man of reconciliation.

In the next few hours I tried to process everything, but the one thing that was important to me was to try to get to the funeral. It was the following week. I looked at my calender - I was back at work, but for some reason the day of the funeral I had nothing on, nothing at all. I booked the day off. I then booked the necessary Eurotunnel tickets - I was going to go there and back in a day. 1200 or so miles. I did it. I was at the funeral. The community had kindly made some provision for the old 'permanants'; volunteers, so I had lunch and then into the church for the service. It was a service of love, of course of great emotion, but there was no hatred, no hate for the murderer. Just prayers for her.

Taize, over the years, has shaped my life significantly. I went there as an 18 year old and returned at 20 having learnt a huge amount about me, about God and my faith. From there, it was all about exploring where God was taking me in this life. At one stage I considered the monastic life and another 'hicup' on my road to discerning my vocation, but now, the third time and with much help from Br Thomas of Taize, I am on the road to ordination and the part Taize and Brother Roger has played in that I cannot underestimate.

I spent 18months living on the hillside in the middle of Burgundy. The tiny village that Brother Roger found in 1940, where he was asked to stay and make his home because the villagers were so alone. Joined by friends who formed the community, they set about on their journey of reconciliation. A journey of absolute faith where people were not asked what denomination they were but a true celebration of what each denomination had to offer in worship and life, from the orthodox, to the catholic to the protestant. Since the 1950's the community welcomed more and more people, mainly young; all this without any publicity or desire to attract people. And today, the community welcomes, in some weeks, more than 4,000 people - still mainly the young, who pass by and are able, freely, to question. Question their faith, question who they are and their role in this life.

It is a place that I find solace. Where I am able to question. To ask God where he is leading me.....and to often begin to find answers.

I return on November 11th for a few days silent retreat. To continue to ask those questions.


To finish, a quote...

'You are searching for God: are you aware that what matters is the welcome you extend to Christ, the Risen Lord? By his presence, always offered to each person, by his forgiveness, he brings you to life. By placing you confidence in him and by forgiving, you will break out of your inner prisons to dare to commit yourself as a pilgrim of reconciliation, even in the divisions of the Christian family and even in those which tear apart the human family.' Br Roger of Taize

www.taize.fr/en

Holiday Blues

I haven't blogged for a while and that's because I haven't really had much to say. Not publicly, anyway. And I sort of don't have a huge amount to say now. I'm on holiday in Dorset with the family and my in-laws. This should ordinarily be a great holiday, a nice one week's break, food; literally on a plate and the children with lots of things to entertain themselves.

However. I'm tired. Worn out. Both physically and emotionally. I need more than a week off. This time last year we were in our first week of three. The sun was shining in Dorset and we then had two weeks in a very hot South of France. This year, due to my placement taking up a month of my holiday, I have precious little left and so it's being used sparingly.

As I finish my second year at STETS, I think I'm not alone. My largest piece of work, my placement report, is the culmination of three or so weeks full time placement, a lot of reflection (and also naval gazing as well as procrastination) and then a concentrated period of trying to get my thoughts and observations adequately on paper. It's done, submitted and in - there is nothing I can do now other than hope that the marker is kind to me. How does one put, adequately, into 5000 words what I have experienced almost 24 hours a day for 3 weeks? Living and breathing parish life, full time? I don't know that I have done it justice.

And so to today. Sat in this no-man's land between year two and three of college. Time off from work. A short time off from my everyday job, but at the same time staying in touch through my Blackberry. I know I should switch off from this, but I just can't. Simple as that. I would be hell if I had to.

I've already printed off and looked at the first module for the next academic year. Studied the calender, looked at the weekends away. The clock is on the downward slope. 5 academic modules, 5 assignments, three mini-placements, three sermons, an assignment, 6 weekends and one Easter School. All this then leads to Ordination. Ordination in less than a year's time. In fact in just over 10 month's time. The reality is biting big time. I am constantly reflecting as to what ordained life will mean. I have waited so long for it. The call is on the verge of becoming a reality. And whilst this will be just the start. I stand back and look to the future. The future scares me. Is that a bad thing? Should I only live for today? So many questions, with so few immediate answers.

Back to August 2010. It doesn't matter if I am ready or not. I believe that God has called me. He is ready for me. I owe it to him, to my family, to the church, to all those who have, in the past and are now supporting me, to do my best. To fulfil that vocation. To answer it and to pursue where I think God is taking me. I must do this to the best of my ability and know, that in my heart of hearts, God will feed my heart and soul, guide and direct me through and lead me into the future as long as I trust in him. And trust I do.

Bereavement

I was at college a couple of weekends ago. The theme of the weekend was 'Ministry to the Dying and Bereaved'....or as I put it 'Death and Dying'. I wasn't particularly looking forward to the weekend. Not for any particular reason. I hadn't had a bereavement recently and so there wasn't, as far as I was aware, anything that could 'come out'. The only reason for emotion would be that it was the last weekend of the year for my year group, and the last weekend before we next meet in October. A long time to be away from friends.

I flew in a little late, having been in France on a course, so I missed much of the opening worship. The weekend was good. It was led with particular sensitivity and my fellow students were given space to think and pray and wander off if so desired. A friend and I had also decided to organise a party, being our last weekend and the last weekend of one of our dear tutors as he set off on the road to retirement - we had a small gift for him that we wanted to present.

The party was a corker. We let our hair down and danced. It wasn't especially late, but as friends we talked, partied and danced. Being a warm evening we even took the music outside onto the quad and danced on the grass, ipods being examined for tracks to continue dancing to. A truly wonderful evening to end our second year.   And special as everyone mucked in to make it what it was. A big thank you to my co-conspirator, Angi with whom it wouldn't have morphed into what it did!

Back to the reason for this blog....and the weekend. On Sunday morning our worship took the form of a 'Wordless Eucharist'. A number of us had heard of its reputation. This was going to be emotional. But no one really knew what to expect. I went with an open mind. Being a contemplative sort of chap, I thought it would be good and also knowing the celebrant, I had high expectations.

We entered to the music of the film Amelie. It was carnival like. Not really what I would call meditative. However, it was right, just right. we sat in the room in a circle and waited......I knelt on the floor for a moment to gather my thoughts, with good friends either side of me. It was going to be a good end to the weekend.

What happened next, I really can't explain. I started to think of my (maternal) grandfather. He was a parish priest whose life was cut short by a brain tumour. His last parish was just outside Norwich in Thorpe St Andrew. He died when I was 2 or 3. However, I have always felt close to him, an affinity with him. I just can't explain it, but I can imagine him and picture him. I am very fond of my grandfather.

I started to cry. Properly cry. It was OK. I was in a 'safe' place. Amongst friends who cared. And I didn't really stop. In my prayers I questioned why he was taken away at, what is today, such a young age. Why was the church deprived of him? Why was I deprived of him? Why couldn't he be around today to see where I was going and be proud of me?

After 38 or so years I was grieving the death of my grandfather.

I can't do justice to the worship in words so I won't even try. It was wonderful and fulfilling. During the service tissues were shared, hands placed on shoulders, hugs exchanged and it was good. At the end we joined together via our little fingers and were led out into the sunshine.

The story continues on the day after the weekend. I was speaking with my mother who had been at her aunt's birthday celebrations (my grandfather's sister). She had visited the grave of my grandfather and grandmother. Fresh roses lay on his grave. And then on the Sunday had worshiped at Thorpe at a similar time I was worshipping. I think knowing this bought a tear to both my and my mother's eyes.

I have talked about this experience with college friends. And aside from anything else, after two years on STETS, I can say with certainty that I thank God for my friends at college, the support they have given and continue to give. They have much to give in their ministries. The church will be a richer place.