‘The computer is unable' by R S Thomas

The computer is unable
to find God: no code
number, no address.
Technology stalls
without the material
we provide it. There must be
some other way. ‘Try
looking,’ says the eye,
‘Try listening’ the ear
answers. I stare into distance:
nothing but the gantries
where art is crucified in
the cause of new art.
I have heard amid uproar
in London the black redstart
singing among the ruins;
so I strain now amid
the times’ hubbub for fear
the still, small voice should
escape me. ‘Is he dumb?’
Wrong language. ‘Am I
impatient?’ I resort once
again to the word processor.
But where a poem in his honour
should emerge, all in bud
like a birch tree, there is only
the machine’s repetitions,
parallel tramlines of prose
never to come together in praise.

R.S. Thomas, Uncollected Poems (Tarset, Northumberland: Bloodaxe Books: 2013), p.172.

Image courtesy of  jannoon028  /FreeDigitalPhotos.net

A couple of hours in St Paul's Cathedral London

Getting into the cathedral was not easy. The security cordon surrounded all sides and the only entrance was through Temple Bar from Paternoster Square. Under that decorative, Wren designed, stone arch were trestle tables where the police half heartedly searched your bags. It was a case of 'Open the top and lets have a look in' rather than any high tech scanners. The required photo ID was glanced at in a superficial manner by the officer who must have been very short sighted if he thought that I looked anything like the photo on my driving licence.

As I came into the building, I saw that it was full of people in military uniforms or posh frocks and hats. I was told to go to the deans aisle where the clergy were assembling and smart elderly gentlemen in full morning dress were happy to point me in the right direction. In the relative quiet of the deans aisle were the gathered clergy milling around and donning their posh frocks too.

After I had changed into my posh outfit, though not a frock, a guy about my age in a cassock came up to welcome me, shook my hand and asked where I was from and who I was representing. I told him and smiled. He seemed nice and exuded real warmth in his welcome. I thought he looked familiar and realised he was the spitting image of one of my neighbours! A few minutes later I realised who he was – I had just shaken hands with the Archbishop of Canterbury and not recognised him! Is that a mortal sin?

The two others from Scotland were the Primus and the moderator of the General Assembly of the kirk. I had words with both and was introduced to the Bishop of Down from Ireland. We shared some interesting discussions about ecumenism and the role of the “churches together” bodies and some strong opinions were expressed.

It came to time to process in and we lined up. I was next to the RC bishop chaplain to the forces. The canons of the cathedral were all wearing identical robes in what would be nice curtain material!

Protocol and precedence is strange – by the time we processed in the Prime minister, and other political leaders were in their seats, as were the minor royals. After we had taken our seats the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop of London with the Dean of the cathedral processed in with the Lord Mayor of London holding a pearl sword aloft followed by the Queen and the major royals.

So what of the service itself? The acoustics were dreadful – there was a reedy echo when anyone spoke. There were readings, prayers, hymns, an address and the dedication of a cross made of shells from camp Bastion. The choir was everything you would expect from a world class cathedral and the organ and trumpeters who played the royal fanfare were fantastic.

It was a great privilege to be at this event to represent ACTS in such an impressive setting. But the service of commemoration of the Afghanistan campaign stirred up many conflicting emotions and thoughts:

- as a pacifist in the midst of so much gold braid and so many spurs (though the instructions did say "no swords"),

-as a Scottish nationalist at the heart of the British establishment,

- on seeing so many individuals left limbless or otherwise disfigured by conflict,

-of the stark reality of the long list of the names of the fallen,

-of sitting close to the Royal family (faces I've been familiar with my whole life) yet separated from them by a huge chasm,

-seeing messrs Cameron, Clegg and Milliband sitting on the same hard cheap wooden chairs that everyone, except the royals, had to sit on, (Looking at those three sitting close together on the front row made me wonder what they really think of each other.  They looked remarkably alike in their smart dark suits!)

-the depth of comradeship seen in some reunions I witnessed of people who had probably been through hell together,

-the sight of marching bands being escorted by police officers with machine guns,

-the thickness of the bullet proof glass in the politicians' cars.

It was a day that I will remember and continue to reflect on for a long time. 

St Patrick's breastplate as re-written by George MacLeod.

Today is St Patrick's day so here is George McLeod's re-wording of Patrick's Breastplate prayer. Rev George McLeod led the rebuilding of Iona Abbey, founded the Iona Community and worked passionately for justice and peace, fuelled by his vision of Christ in all things.

Christ above us, Christ beneath us,

Christ beside us, Christ within us.

Invisible we see you, Christ above us. 

With earthly eyes we see above us,

clouds or sunshine, grey or bright.

But with the eye of faith

we know you reign,

instinct in the sun ray,

speaking in the storm,

warming and moving all creation,

Christ above us....

Invisible we see you, Christ beneath us.

With earthly eyes we see beneath us

stones and dust and dross....

But with the eyes of faith,

we know you uphold.

In you all things consist and hang together.

The very atom is light energy,

the grass is vibrant,

the rocks pulsate.

All is in flux;

turn but a stone and an angel moves.

Underneath are the everlasting arms.

Unknowable we know you, Christ beneath us.

Inapprehensible we know you, Christ beside us.

With earthly eyes we see men and women,

exuberant or dull, tall or small.

But with the eye of faith,

we know you dwell in each.

You are imprisoned in the ... dope fiend and the drunk,

dark in the dungeon, but you are there.

You are released, resplendent,

in the loving mother, . . . the passionate bride,

and in every sacrificial soul.

Inapprehensible we know you, Christ beside us.

Intangible, we touch you, Christ within us.

With earthly eyes we see ourselves,

dust of the dust, earth of the earth....

But with the eye of faith,

we know ourselves all girt about of eternal stuff,

our minds capable of Divinity,

our bodies groaning, waiting for the revealing,

our souls redeemed, renewed.

Intangible we touch you, Christ within us.

Christ above us, beneath us,

beside us, within us,

what need have we for temples made with hands?

My photo of the cross outside Iona Abbey