maggi dawn now blogs here. please update your links

Maggi Dawn now blogs here.
Please update your links!

out on the mudflats where nothing will grow
About 2 hours drive north of Cambridge is the most beautiful stretch of coastline. Much of this part of England is reclaimed land, and, like the Netherlands, is flat and wet. But - as the local saying goes - there is nothing to block the view, and the skyscapes have to be seen to be believed. There is a kind of stark beauty to the long stretches of mudflats running out to the sea, and the colours - palest blues and greens painted against the sand, and highlighted with white foam and salt crusts - just make you want to have your camera or your paintbrush forever at the ready. The light is perfect, the atmosphere pensive; no wonder this place draws artists, photographers, writers, poets.

Yesterday my son and I went to explore a bit of the marsh where I have been offered the use of a writer's shack. We spent a very happy evening; he rearranged a huge pile of wood and stones behind the shack with another little boy we met up there, while I sat eating fresh shellfish at an outdoor driftwood table and chatting to various people who run theatres, manage woodlands, study fashion and write books. It's nice to think that if I went away into the middle of nowhere to write, there might be people round the table of an evening. I like space, but I'm not a hermit.

A very long time ago when I was a very small girl, James Taylor used to sing a song that always plays itself in my head when I walk over the marshes - a song of gratitude in the face of poignant sadness. It's better, of course, if you hear it sung. But here is is anyway:

It was just after sunrise and down by the sea,
out on the mudflats where nothing will grow
came drumming and footsteps like out of a dream
where the golden green waters come in

Nine lucky soldiers had come through the night -
half of them wounded and barely alive -
Just nine out of twenty were headed for home,
with eleven sad stories to tell.

I remember quite clearly, as I got of bed,
I said oh, good morning, what a beautiful day...

Emergent Smergent, cool church, and Shrek for saviour
Richard Sudsworth's analysis of the Emerging Church has appeared on several blogs this week. Richard says:

I have an observation that leadership structures are being rebrokered in the emerging church as follows.

Qualifications for:
Deacon: tattoo and blog
Pastor: tattoo, blog, ipod and powerbook
Apostle: tattoo, blog, ipod, powerbook but belief that leadership is redundant whilst broadcasting a strategic apostolic voice to that effect

...all the above are white and male and under 45 whilst advocating the inclusivity and breadth of the church
...cynical, moi?

This is very funny, of course, and every time I've read it this week I've laughed. It's healthy to laugh at yourself. Richard is right on the nail - we ARE like this. We also rather favour male leaders who have those funny blonde dabs in their hair - not quite highlights, and not quite an all-over blonde. Just dabs. Is there an official salon name for that?

There's a serious note to Richard's cynicism, though. We ought to think carefully about what we're doing to ourselves here. Do we really want to be the Church of Cool? Another Richard in the blogworld has touched rather well on this point - titling his own blog alternative worship, emerging Church and spirituality for the uncool.

Somehow I seem to get taken for 'Cool' these days, despite being female and having no tattoos or hair dabs. Not sure what I did right after all this time (I was a profoundly uncool teenager) but it is rather flattering all the same. I hope I'm not stupid enough to let the flattery convince me that being thought Cool has anything to do with being a useful member of the Church, emerging or otherwise.

I bet Jesus wasn't cool at all. I sometimes try to summon up an image of what Real Live Jesus might have been like. Maybe he was short, balding, not good looking, with a bent nose and no dress sense. Maybe he even wore socks with his sandals. Maybe he was as ugly as Shrek. You've got to remember, Jesus was a builder, not a rock star or a DJ. As far as we know there were limited resources for metrosexuals in 1st century Palestine (although the Romans did shave and deodorise, so who knows?). One thing's for certain, though. He didn't have dabs in his hair.

Maggi Dawn now blogs here

LENT, SHROVE TUESDAY, ASH WEDNESDAY
I'm interested to notice that a lot of people in this blogvillage don't know what the significance of Shrove tuesday and Ash Wednesday is. When I was a child (several hundred years ago now) this stuff was taught at Sunday School (but nobody goes there any more) at Church (but we do alternative themed services now) and in school (but we're too PC to teach relgion properly). So for all those of you who read this, don't know, and would like to, read on:

Lent is the 6-week period before Easter when the Church is in a period of fasting - i.e. reducing ones consumption of food and other comestibles to a simple level. Meat would usually be off the menu, and sweet things. (This is the same reason why Catholics traditionally eat fish on a Friday, as friday is always a Fast, so no meat). There are occasional feast days within Lent - many Churches pause their fast ona Sunday, for instance. But traditionally you would not get married during Lent. The point of Lent is not so much to give things up, but actively to return to faithfulness to Christ. I must say, though, that in a society increasingly in failing health through obesity and heart disease, a return to the pattern of fasting and feasting would be no bad thing, for our physical as well as our spiritual health.

Shrove Tuesday is the last day before Lent; and with the fast about to begin, people would use up all their remaining rich foods - eggs and fat to make the pancakes, which were then eaten with any leftover meat or sugar. Not so much a "last treat", more of an economic using up of the leftovers. Shrove is a word - from Middle English (? from memory) - same root as Shrive or shriven, referring to absolution or pronouncing of forgiveness. (UPDATE: I checked my facts with a Medievalist at lunchtime: this is right! Phew)

Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent, and during the communion Ashes, mixed with holy oil, are pressed onto the foreheads of the communicants. The Ashes
(made by burning Palm Crosses from Palm Sunday the previous year) represent death. The prayer or 'motto' of the day is this: "Remember that you are but dust: from dust you came, and to dust you shall return. Turn from sin and be faithful to Christ. "
Happy Lent, everyone. I'm off to collect our Ashes now.