edifyingdiscourse

Flight from Toronto to Calgary

2010-01-01T02:29:00.000-08:00

7 years. My first returning glimpse is from the airplane window as the clouds break. The endless sweep of the praries with patchwork farmland and the long continuous highways cutting across the flat. An ancient ocean bed now proportioned, sectioned, and coloured from the sky. That landscape never left me. If all that were Canadian were to be sucked out of me, the last scraps to remain would be the sense of openess that thre praries lay out. That would be the last vestige and it couldn`t be removed.

Homily

2009-10-05T22:01:00.000-07:00

Job 1.1, 2.1-10
Psalm 26
Hebrews 1.1-4, 2.5-12
Mark 10.2-16

“Curse God and die”. The words of Job’s wife seem out of place. They call for resignation. They are a call to simply give up. In effect, they ask Job to commit suicide. This suggestion is never mentioned again in the book. It doesn’t feature in the long drawn-out conversations between Job and his friends. In fact, this one line from Job’s wife stands alone in the Bible itself. This suggestion did not feature before and will not do so after the Book of Job.

The response “Curse God and die” to the question of inexplicable suffering, appears as a modern response. It is ‘ahead of its time’. It seems more in tune with the anti-heroes and corrupt characters of 19th century Russian literature who see suicide as the answer to their spiritual alienation. The response of Job’s wife resonates with aspects of 1940s French philosophy as well. In his work, The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus reduces the entirety of Western thought to a single question: “There is but one truly philosophical question, and that is suicide”. His answer is in human activity – we are simply too busy doing stuff to think about these problems.

In view of this, I would like to claim that despite being an out of place and stand alone statement in the Book of Job the words of Job’s wife are some of the most relevant in the text. They offer an ancient insight into the modern cultural condition – out “post-Christian” world where spiritual alienation is all pervasive.

If there is a positive from the words of Job’s wife it is in the fact that they provide further example of the enduring connections the Bible holds. After reading the Book of Job you cannot say that the Bible is irrelevant and those who do say this would need to read it a little more deeply – and probably brush up on the Dostoevsky and Camus as well.

In the opening chapters of the Book of Job, Job’s suffering appears as a multi-layered alienation. His sickness means he can no longer rely on his body. His poverty means he can no longer rely on his wealth. The death of his children and attitude of his wife mean he can no longer rely on his family. We find him “among the ashes”. Sick and poor, Job has lost his value as a human being. He’s socially excluded and left to live on the rubbish heap at the physical edge of society, only visited by 3 friends who are there for an argument. We can imagine that in his days of prosperity Job would have attracted countless so-called friends to attend to him. But with the loss of health and wealth Job finds himself alienated from society. Alienation is a weighty word, but it provides an important description of what is happening to Job. It is part of Satan’s tactic: if he can alienate Job from his family, if he can alienate Job from his wealth, if he can alienate Job from his own body, then certainly he can cut Job off from God.

We could say that on every level Satan failed. For instance, some theologians argue that Job’s poverty doesn’t alienate him from his wealth, but rather connects him to the poor. Job experiences the suffering of being disconnected from the material possibilities of society. The liberation theologian, Gutierrez, couches this in Marxist terms where the majority workers have lost their sense of meaning as the no longer have attachment to what they produce and can be sacked or hired according to profit margins. So, for instance, the person who made this shirt never saw it beyond being a sleeve on their sewing machine and certainly who have know claim to it once it is labelled TM Lewin or Primark own brand. We could expand this to the alienation of consumer culture where there is a constant barrage of advertising for barely attainable products. And no sooner than buying one, it’s already replaced by something more fashionable. Advertising often presents an unattainable image of the human being. If we buy this product we can look better, although never as perfect as the billboard shows. We are left unfulfilled and alienated by a culture that constantly tells us what we are not.

Perhaps that is all a detour from the central issue here. But it does show that Job’s experience of poverty and social alienation can have resonance with aspects of everyday experience.

And this goes back to Satan’s tactic: to systematically remove Job from all his support structures, his body, his wealth, his family, his friends and from society. When these support structures are withdrawn it is very possible for negativity to flood in. The ultimate aim, however, is to separate Job from God. It is to create spiritual alienation. And this is recognised at the very opening of the text and encouraged by Job’s wife. For Job to “curse God and die” is the goal of Satan. Job, as we know, never does so. He immediately rejects these words. He is steadfast. He shares the conviction of the Psalmist who writes: “I have trusted in the Lord without wavering” (Psalm 26:1).

But this doesn’t mean that Job’s relation to God isn’t put into question. This is the book where we find an innocent man suffering and under intolerable stress. His relation to God, in the midst of suffering, is put under the microscope.

By in the midst of suffering we mean that he is wrapped up in terrible moments of pain where no sense can be made and no sense can be given. There is no end in sight for Job. He experienced suffering “without reason or cause” (2:3) and there is no visible resolution, there is no rational outcome presented and no way out. He is suffering in the moment and it continues through the length of the book.

Although things are returned to Job and resolved at the end of the book, this is not to say Job knew about this in the midst of his suffering. This is the pivotal point of Job’s suffering. It is incomprehensible, confusing and ongoing. This is a terrible moment that I’m sure many have face, or have seen others face, and it doesn’t have to be grounded in poverty, it doesn’t have to be grounded in sickness or loneliness. In fact, I would suggest that it’s entirely possible to have support structures in such as friends family and wealth about you and still find yourself in the midst of suffering. It is possible to feel in these moments that these support structures are irrelevant and lack value. This would lead to the difficult ground of depression and even mental illness, and perhaps there need to be more connections made between this subject and the Book of Job.

The other week I was walking past the university and thinking about this when I passed a Rabbi who had a chair and table set out with a sign saying: “Ask the Rabbi”. So I did.
“Why do the innocent suffer?”
“It’s about potentiality. Look at the trials Abraham had to go through”.
In this sense, potentiality is the equivalent of the old saying “what doesn’t destroy me makes me stronger”. In the case of Abraham, it made him a spiritual giant, a father of faith.

Yet, there is a problem with potentiality. How can you see potential in the midst of suffering? How can potential be communicated to the sufferer? As Job suffered without reason or cause, there isn’t a clear or rational way out of his pain. And certainly not one that could suddenly be made clear through talk and argument as his friends tried. In fact, it is near impossible and reading the Book of Job leaves me with the gut feeling that there is no point to even talk about suffering. The only certainty here is that there is no easy answer. There is no quick way out. Job’s suffering, and that experienced by many, isn’t going to solved with a dose of paracetomal. We have to look deeper than talking our way out, clarifying the potentials, thinking it through or expecting our advice to solve the problem.

There is potential, no doubt, but it will be something lived out. With no resolution in sight we have to live in the midst of suffering, to live it even in confusion and affliction. Job does this, as does Abraham. Under the microscope Job has an indescribable solidarity with God and God reveals his solidarity with him.

This solidarity with God and from God is expressed in different ways in the scriptures we have read today. It is, in an overall sense, the solidarity between the Creator and the created. God’s response to Job at the end of the Book is grounded in God as creator. To condense it, God speaks from the whirlwind saying: “I am. I am the Creator”. God evokes the Behemoth and Leviathan, representations of all that is untameable and outside human control on land and in the sea. This isn’t a systematic response. There is no direct account as to why Job lost his family, his friends, his health and prosperity. Job still lived in the midst of suffering and affliction. But God the Creator was there. The ineffable presence of God who has power over the most chaotic elements of his creation. At the end of the Book of Job, God reveals his solidarity with Job.

This is interesting when compared to the opening of Hebrews 2. Aspects of God’s dominion over creation are passed on to humanity. God’s power is reflected in humanity’s control over nature. “You have crowned them with glory and honour”, Hebrews states, “subjecting all things under his feet”. We are made in the image of God and it is here that a ‘special relationship’ is found that frames this solidarity.

What is more, there is the Gospel message, that God became man and lived among us. This is the highest experience of this solidarity, where there is a deep and profound connection between the saviour God and the saved. As it says in Hebrews: “For the one who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one father. For this reason Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers and sisters”.

We have then, not the arbitrary gods of the Greek world, who are corrupted by power and show contempt for human beings, and who are essentially an upward reflection of ourselves. We have Jesus Christ who is God become man to express solidarity with humanity.

We don’t always see the full scope of this, just as the disciples of Christ thought it was better to keep the children away from Jesus, as if he couldn’t be bothered by trivial things. As if he would be distracted or shamed by trivial things. When, in fact, this turns into one of the core expressions of his love for humanity.
All this doesn’t alleviate the suffering of Job. It doesn’t prevent the suffering we will experience in our lives. It may not help to even talk about it with those in the midst of suffering. It still has to be lived through, just as Job lived it through. However, we can respond with the realisation that there is a deep love and bond between God and humanity. A solidarity in the midst of suffering. And from this, at the very least, we will never utter the words of Job’s wife.

Towards a Psychogeography of the Long Haul Flight Part VII

2009-09-05T12:57:00.000-07:00

The relationship between control and consumerism in the modern airport is more specifically seen seen in airport furniture. Airport furniture is designed to affect behaviour and in this respect is not so different from modern public seating in cities. The latter utilises arm rests, unconfortable shaping and cold metallic frames to prevent activities deemed to be anti-social, such as loitering, skateboarding and sleeping. However, as the airport is a tightly secure environment, these anti-social issues are less likely to arise. Airport furniture, therefore, has a very specific task - to keep the waiting passenger on the move.

The seating may appear aethetically fitting, but the use of arm rests to prevent sleeping and uncomfortable designs to prevent long periods of sitting, render rest a misery. Their function is to ensure that the traveller remains on the move because a restless traveller is more likely to venture into a shop or buy a drink. The furniture design in an airport terminal is directed towards consumer activity. Consumerism is in the very fabric of the airport terminal.

Towards a Psychogeography of the Long-haul Flight: Part V

2009-07-20T14:34:00.000-07:00

Entering the departure lounge of Terminal 2 in Manchester airport, I was immediately surrounded by the racks, stands and shevles of the duty free shop. There had been an interior redesign of the terminal and there was now no direct path to the departure gates. Rather, I had to weave my way through the shop space. The duty-free store had become an inescapable part of my passage to the departure gate. It was there to navigate even before I could see the departure screen.

Retail space is embedded in the airport terminal and its inescapability is connected to the heightened security of the airport. There is no conspiracy here. But retail takes the opportunities that tight security provide. Currently there is a liquid restriction on all British flights, with liquids confiscated if over 100 ml. However, the exact same product can be purchased once passed the security check.

However, perhaps more importantly for retailers is that once a passenger passes through the security check, they cannot turn back. The passengers present a captive audience and new airport terminals have taken this on board in their design. Terminal 5 of Heathrow expects 30 million passengers to pass through every year, but only 700 seats have been provided. A tired, weary, passenger will, almost by necessity, have to enter a shop, restaurant, cafe or bar to find a seat. With Heathrow Terminal 5 as an example, the modern transport hub is designed for pimpin' cash out of passengers. As Mark Riches, Managing Director of World Duty Free, stated, "If we can't sell to people who can't leave the building, then there is something wrong with us". ('30 million passengers, 23,00 square metres of shops . . . and just 700 seats' in The Guardian, Friday 15 June, 2007)

Towards a Psychogeography of the Long-Haul Flight IV

2009-07-07T12:55:00.000-07:00

It is only after parking his car, checking in his luggage, clearing his identity check and buying the necessary duty free gifts that Marc Auge's generic traveller, Pierre Dupoint, feels at ease. And it is only once the fasten seatbelt light has been switched and the plane is at cruising altitude, does Dupont feel relaxed enough to feel "alone at last". (Non-Places, 1992, p. 6). Pierre Dupont is not only important because he presents a passage through the little stresses, time demands and ??? but also because his passage through the airport becomes an exchange where anonymity is granted for time spent in a generic and bland space - a non-place. Auge's thesis opens into an account of the non-place and in Auge's words, "If a place can be defined as relational, historical, and concerned with identity, then a space which cannot be defined as relational, or historical, or concerned with idetity will be considered a non-place" (77 -78). The airport, for Auge, typifies non-place. Non-places pass avoid the very spaces that they exist alongside, or pass through. A traveller can buy wooden tulips in Schipfol airport without needing to visit Amsterdam or even legally enter the Netherlands. As Auge writes, "the traveller is absolved of the need to stop or even look" (97). Airports present physical and permanent structures with little or no direct contact with the surrounding area. The air-traveller, especially those using an airport for connecting flights, needs to historic relation to the place it is in and the airport offers no historic relation in return. However, for Auge an exchange does take place - the air-traveller, devoid of spaces with historic and identity relations, is offered anonymity in return. In airports almost all are travellers and simply transient visitors off to elsewhere. Relations to sites and spaces do not need to be formed, nor do relations between individuals.

Auge's thesis offers an interesting starting point to uncovering a psychogeography of the long-haul flight. Benjamin's boredom and waiting becomes an offer of anonymity in exchange for passage through a non-place. However, Auge's thesis is only a beginning, and certainly limited. Relations do take place in airports. Now, more than ever, identity is essential to air-travel. And in an airport relations and identity are determined by the convergence of commerce and security. It is capital and security that govern relations in an airport, to an extent no seen in any other transport hub. A psychogeography of the long-haul flight will uncover and examine this relationship.

Towards a psychogeography of the long-haul flight Part III

2009-06-27T12:14:00.000-07:00

In one of the many notes that constitute the Arcades Project Walter Benjamin writes: "We are bored when we don't know what we are waiting for. That we do know, or think we know, is nearly always the expression of our superficiality or inattention". If we are to utilise the banal, to utilise boredom, we need not direct ourselves to the end or finale, but rather examine the situation we are in. Attention needs to be paid to the waiting-itself, not what we are waiting for.
By turning to the conditions of waiting (the conditions of boredom) we turn the material situation that creates this condition. Benjamin concluded his note by writing "boredom is the threshold of great deeds" - and it is precisely here, in the wait and the boredom, that the critique begins. A psychogeography of the long-haul flight will examine the conditions of waiting and boredom that shape air travel and out of that provide a social critique.

Towards a Psychogeography of the Long-Haul Flight: Part 2

2009-05-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

Travel writing tends to the exotic. It seeks out the exotic and it creates the exotic. Its focus is on the destination, rather than the means of getting there. Whether a guide book, magazine or newspaper pull-out section, the destination is viewed in terms of the "new" - an exclusive discovery or a unique encounter. Travel writing avoids travel-itself. Travel-itself is ignored because it is boring. It is not directed to some exotic finale, but is the stuff of common experience; the commute to work, the packed train, the long flight, the isolated car. A psychogeorgraphy of the long-haul flight would turn to this underrepresented and basic human experience. The banality is precisely the subject. A psychogeography of the long-haul flight will exchange the exotic for the banal. The exotic is an escape, but the banal is a confrontation.

Towards a Psychogeography of the Long-Haul Flight: P1

2009-04-10T15:37:00.001-07:00

Air travel tends to be regarded in terms of time rather than space. Conversations form over the lenght of a flight and the hours lost or gained during international travel. On an personal level the individual traveller often views the journey as time spent in the departure lounge, in the security queue and waiting for connecting flights. Yet, with this emphasis on time, the unique space of air travel is left neglected. The airplane cabin is unique and unto itself - a contained environment cruising at 35,000 ft. It is neither here nor there, somewhere between arrival and departure. The airport terminal is also a unique space, as a heightened transport hub. It is where security and commerce work hand in hand, intertwining to the extent that it is difficult to separate them from one another. As such, it is ripe for investigation. A psychogeography of the long-haul flight will therefore focus on space rather than time.

I am not here

2009-01-14T21:58:00.000-08:00

I am not here. I am not at home. I am not at work, sitting at my desk, although I may appear to be. Neither am I having dinner with my parents or down the pub with friends. I am not reciting liturgy at church or walking down the street. I am not here, nor am I with you.

I am high above this earth, at 30,000 feet. In that contained world of the long-haul flight, that transit world, neither here nor there, with only the gentle hum of the cabin and frozen Siberian lakes passing far below.

Anf at once I'm the happiest I've ever been and the lowest. Like this jet, precariously skimming the reaches of the sky while a vast expanse drops below. I am at extremes, pulled by a certain joy while facing a certain emptiness. And both exactly at the same time. This air and weight is my wallpaper for life. I glimpse perfection while hovering over the abyss.

Amsterdam

2009-01-02T15:21:00.001-08:00

Three hours isn`t long enough. My experience of the city has always been limited - bound by the time between connecting flights. I arrive from the station at 9.00 am; it`s bitterly cold, the canals still frozen. Amsterdam hasn`t come to life yet and it`s a million miles from the New Year`s Eve revelries that will hit the streets tonight. I wander the main thoroughfares, and then the side streets, over the canals and their repetitive bridges. I`m tired, thoughtless and have Glenn Gould`s Beethoven Sonatas dripping from my ears. Like this city, I`m not fully awake. I`m in need of a coffee and somewhere warm.

Stepping inside the cafe, the owner has the dog running in circles and then jumping each time she claps. I take a seat by the window, looking over the street, and immediately the little dog runs to me wagging his tail. And then back to the owner. Then back to me. "You`re in his seat", she says. "That`s Binky`s seat. You mind if he joins you?". And Binky sits on the chair across from me, staring out the window attentively. He watches the Amsterdam morning go by. And so do I, while feigning to read a book. An older lady walks by with a small white dog. Binky presses up to the window, following the their movement with the turn of his head before they stroll out of view. 10 minutes later they return. Binky stares them down again. The lady stops and turns. Smiling at me she starts gesturing and walks to the window. She is talking to me. She thinks Binky is my dog.

Irwell

2008-11-23T10:32:00.000-08:00

I was caught out one monday afternoon. Caught out in a fevourish downpour, walking the streets. I crossed over into Salford, over the normally sedate Irwell - now a fast flowing swell. Cold and soaking wet I sat in the bay window of the Mark Addy, overhanging the river waters, rising just below. The Irwell was swollen, moving along with a renewed power. Quickening, as if alive. But just barely alive. The contaminated waters, with centuries old pollutants, carried along fresh debris - branches, pallets, plastics, deadwood anything that could be coughed up or thrown in. This flow of filth was strangely hypnotic, less and less a river, more and more a history dirge. The city had turned its back on the Irwell. And in moments like this it demanded its recompense. The murky water splashing and thrashing against its brick-laid banks, sounding out threats to the new glass buildings above. Threats, but only threats. This river subdued, poisoned, barely alive.

The Reclining Buddha for Fag Baboon Illustration

2008-11-18T15:13:00.000-08:00

fagbaboonillustration.com

The Reclining Buddha

2008-10-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

The dying Buddha said nothing as he fell into his final sleep. His disciples, pens in hand, were gathered in hesitant expectation. But the reclining body refused any outpouring of wisdom. After waiting in confused silence, the disciples laid down their pens. A long while later they were seen amongst the people - the disciples were distributing a thousand empty texts.

Homily

2008-09-19T13:44:00.000-07:00

Genesis 50: 15-21
Psalm 103
Romans 14: 1-12
Matthew 18: 12-35

Revenge, recompense, retribution – these are all strong words. All are attached to some idea of justice and all are themes encountered in the readings. They are played out in the story of Joseph and his brothers and provide an important backdrop to Christ’s parable in Matthew 18. Emotions, or reactions, such as revenge are very immediate and very raw. We see the potential of it in Joseph’s life, ruined by family betrayal and we see the idea of “recompense” bubbling beneath the parable of the unpaid debt with the callous hypocrisy of the central character. Revenge, recompense and retribution are very human reactions to situations and can be very human demands. This is why we can say that these readings play out themes that we encounter in everyday life.

Yet, we find in these readings that the ideas of revenge and retribution never play out exactly as expected. In these readings, we don’t see situations giving way to the immediacy of the moment, but rather we see repose, patience and consideration. Revenge, recompense and retribution – all are acts of judgement but all are framed by the higher acts of God’s love and his divine justice.

What does it mean, then, when we frame these concepts within God’s will? What purpose do we have in laying claim to a higher idea of love and justice? For Paul, as the Romans reading makes clear, it is about refraining from judgement. It is a call to step back, to reserve and defer judgement to God. To me this is something both appealing and problematic. Appealing because so much harm is done when we are quick to judge – so many bad decisions are acted out and so many regrettable things said. We’d be better off reflecting the patience at work in God’s love. Yet, problematic because we lay ourselves open to the accusation that we are mere idealists. By deferring judgement to God are we not forsaking the real world for some ideal? It is one thing to say there is a higher judgement that rests in God, but it is another thing to see this connected to everyday life.

At risk of offending any fundamentalists here, I’ll declare outright that the Bible continually employs allegory and metaphor. And this provides a way out of this difficult question. Parables are in themselves metaphor, but before we turn to Christ’s parable we can also see that the behaviour and actions of certain figures in the readings are allegorical. I mean this in the sense that their actions naturally lead us t something beyond themselves, they reveal a fundamentally spiritual meaning.

For instance, take Joseph. After his father’s death, his brothers return to him, realising their game is up. Yet, even after deceitfully orchestrating his initial downfall, his brother’s attempt one final manipulations of Joseph. They say: “Your father gave us this instruction before he died. Say to Joseph ‘I beg you, forgive the crime of your brothers and the wrong they did in harming you’ ”. They are boldly manipulative to the last and Joseph, rather oddly, falls for it. Or at least he seems to as he grants his brothers’ wish. Yet, there is something deeper and greater at work here and this is where allegory kicks in. Despite Joseph saying, “Do not be afraid: Am I in the place of God?” it is hard not to see Joseph’s judgement as a direct reflection of God’s judgement. We can see from the Psalm that God’s judgement is characterised as being “slow to anger and abiding in steadfast love” and also that God “forgives your iniquity” and “redeems your life from the pit”. Joseph reflects God in his judgement. He is slow to anger, he offers provision and reassurance. He offers forgiveness.

We can remove the illusion that Joseph has been duped and manipulated. The real focus is not on any opportunity for revenge, but rather on fulfilling God’s will. Joseph has not been swayed by his brothers mendacious pleading, but rather he has been resolute in his forgiveness because God resolute.

Forgiveness is central to Christ’s parable of Matthew 18 – a reading that opens with Peter’s question on the subject: “How often should I forgive a member of the church who sins against me?” In the parable, the lord is revealed to be “slow to anger”. He is essentially oriented to forgiveness while the slave is revealed t be malicious and artificial through his hypocritical actions. The slave didn’t “forgive from the heart” as Christ says. Through this parable, this allegory, we come to realise that we are expected to – demanded to – be resolute in our forgiveness just as God is. We are to be slow to anger, just as God is. And this parable breaks down idealistic barriers as it shows God’s love and justice at work in a human context – as did the actions of Joseph. Yes, terms like “lord” and “slave” no longer resonate (we could easily exchange them for contemporary terms such as “bank manager” and “mortgage holder”) but the essential message still remains, that the decisive characteristics of God’s judgement – his being “slow to anger”, resolute in forgiveness and rejecting revenge for reassurance are also within human potential. We can participate in and act out these characteristics. We can put them into practice.

As Christians, we are capable of reflecting these characteristics and it is therefore our task to, as much as possible, reflect these Godly aspects in our everyday life.

Marunouchi

2008-08-25T10:07:00.001-07:00

Marunouchi is a layered cityscape. It holds the concentrated remnants of Tokyo’s history. This is easily seen in the Imperial Palace and easily forgotten amongst the financial and commercial towers. Inner and outer moats wrap around the palace grounds and confused tourists wonder helplessly at the stone walls, unable to get a view in. This was once the home of Edo Castle and nearly three hundred years of Shogunate administration. This was the centre of the turning world for a newly unified Japan and the outlaying streets were lined with the homes of nobility and regional governors. The street names still lead back to their past presence – Sotobori Dori, Otemachi and Marunouchi itself.

The emperor moved to Edo, now Tokyo, in 1868 and the Meiji Restoration went into full swing. The sweeping cultural and political changes across Japan were played out directly and physically in Marunouchi. Especially in the architecture, as a series of western designed and inspired buildings replaced Edo mansions and structures. Western-style stone bridges, leading into the Imperial Palace, replaced Edo period wooden-draw bridges. The British Embassy saw in Japan’s first paved road and European architects were brought in to see out the construction and design of stone buildings with neo-classical columns and arches.

In 1914 Tokyo Station opened, designed by the British educated Tatsuno Kingo. The grand station had three storeys and two domes. Although still there, the old station is virtually subsumed by the exponential expansion of Tokyo station which continues to this day. The old station is the site of building work as the post-war sloping roofs are replaced by domes reminiscent of the original design and the surrounding streets are re-landscaped. Amongst the temporary walls and cramped space of the south entrance is an innocuous plaque marking the spot were Prime Minister Takashi Hara, the first commoner appointed to the position, was assassinated - a sign of the simmering political tensions underlying the transitional times. Nine years later Prime Minister Osachi Hamaguchi was shot in the same south entrance. He survived but never fully recovered, losing any effective political influence.

Despite their signalling and significance, the old Meiji buildings of Marunouchi are easily missed amongst the corporate skyscrapers and upmarket shopping plazas. They are preserved behind new glass facades or have sky high towers sprouting out of them – like the Daichi Seinei building, where the lower floors, once the hub of the American occupation (with General MacArthur’s office apparently left untouched), now have a series of modern floors above.

Marunouchi has changed and is changing. The corporate offices are giving more and more away to high end retail spaces, exemplified by the Marunouchi Buidling. From the 35th floor, among the all-too-expensive restaurants, is a view out over Tokyo and the streets below. Marunouchi is the city appliqué.

Hinotama

2008-08-18T06:17:00.000-07:00

In Azuchi at Obon, the red moon glows high above the old temple gates, over the rice fields and down the narrow streets. It is seen through bedroom windows. And it is difficult to deny its mysticism during an evening walk. Especially looking up at Azuchi mountain which is as dark as the night itself and outlined by incandescent moonlit clouds. These clouds light up with brilliant flashes – perhaps distant lightning or far off fireworks or some ancient god beating his chest.

In Azuchi at Obon the August moon casts its red glow over lake Nishinoki. Fishing boats line the bank, half-hanging by old rope and half-sunk in the water. Covered green with seaweed, the old boats succomb more and more to the lake. Out on the pier, we listen to fish nip at the surface and gaze at the lights of Omihachiman shimmering on the far shore. And when I turn my head, I catch sight of a bolt of light streaking over the waters and rising just above the horizon. “Amazing” I say aloud and wonder if it was some bizarre lightning ball unseen except by myself, or some misfired firework shot horizontally across the lake, but without detonation or sound. Or perhaps some soul-apparition ascending in the night-heat? The red moonglow hangs heavy after this and the lake reeds rustle ominously as we walk back to the road. They shake and brush and beckon and whisper some devious siren call.

Around Tsukuba

2008-07-28T19:51:00.000-07:00

Science City (2.0)

2008-07-28T04:05:00.001-07:00

The outskirts, leading off the Tokyo Expressway, look like the streets of any other Japanese city - shopping centres, neon lights, compact housing, izakayas and the odd Pachinko palour. Yet, this betrays the essence of Tsukuba. Tsukuba is not your everyday city - it is Japan's science city.

It is a university city, created thirty years ago out of the former Tokyo University of Education. The humanities departments of the old uni remained in Tokyo - the busy streets and turning world of the globe's largest city remained their natural home. The science departments moved north, to Tsukuba and a former rural landscape became a ready made city.

Tsukuba is a planned city and a pleasant city. The outskirts may give evidence of the shifted rural communities, but the subsidised university apartments and North American style suburbs converge together in a network of public parks, tree-lined pedestrian thoroughfares and cycle lanes. In Tsukuba all roads lead to the centre, and from there to the university. It begins as science instutes and government research centres lead out of the residential areas along a wide boulevard with the conference suites to follow. The Tsukuba Space Centre, the National Insitute of Material Science, Advanced Institute of Industrial Science Technology and Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency - TSC, NIMS, AIIST and JAXA for short. To the cyclist, Tsukuba becomes a city of acronyms.

And to the cyclist the city becomes a lesson in abstraction. Cycle lanes interlock the different areas through parks and high-arching bridges. With the elevation above the traffic and streets below, there is a sense of detachment from the everyday. On the cycle lanes the city becomes distinct, clinical and clean. It becomes the science city - it is a million miles from Tokyo (corporate, cultural, historic, downtrodden and seedy Tokyo) and a million miles from the countryside, although its next to the former and built on the latter.

Tsukuba is a science city and a planned city and it sometimes feels like the mechanics of it could become all too much - even the cicadas, sounding out the last moments of their lives in the trees sound programmed. I can imagine a dozen Dostoevskian dramas being played out, where the rigidity and mathematical rigour of the city becomes overbearing and inescapable, where the abstract suddenly turns absurd and chaotic.

But this is not St. Petersburg, and there are no skyline church spires - or temples or shrines - to guide the way. And there are no hidden saints, only suited Mormons at the campus and a Southern Baptist in the centre, handing tracts out that he can't read. "I'm a mercenary" he says, a freudian slip in the sticky heat of the Japanese summer.

Kanda Nobody

2008-06-29T19:42:00.000-07:00

In Tokyo, emptiness shocks. There was something alien about the vacant road as I stepped out from Kanda station – it was the sudden destitution of an empty Tokyo street. I turned my jacket collar up against the biting wind as we walked along the blank stretch of shuttered shops, dark interiors and closed doors. This was a thousand miles from Tokyo station, where only minutes before we had been lost in its belly amidst the tight mass of people about to disperse across the country for New Year’s. It’s difficult to move in and Tokyo is difficult to understand. Just when you are ready to describe it, just when you think you’ve soaked it in, you only realise that the city’s been soaking you in. It has taken you in, gargled you about its mouth, bounced you off its inner walls, tired disoriented, run down and exhausted. To move through Tokyo is to be a rock in a never-ceasing wave crest, exhausted and eroded. But everyone in this wave is also rock. And by walking the street you become part of another person’s wave – a part of their exhaustion. And what does it give back? An empty Kanda street. Tokyo will demand a piece of you before it will ever reveal itself.

Masataka Nakano had his camera ready at 5.00 am, waiting for that moment when the street went silent, even if only for an instant. He could have been in Kanda on New Year’s Eve. We walked along guided by hunger, and took to a side street after spotting a flickering blue neon sign. It was dark inside with the brown wood panel walls seeming to soak up the light. Men were gathered around the cramped bar, hunched over their bowl of noodles, slurping up the warmth. New Year’s Eve and in a back street noodle bar. They’re from the North Country, working in Tokyo to send money back home, but not earning enough to make the trip themselves.

Drifters – that’s what we are. At a loss to ourselves and taking in the warmth of the big bowl. I wish there and then I could have said, “We’ll make it through. We’re gonna be alright, you and I.” But I didn’t, I just leaned back, resting against those wood panel walls before taking in another mouthful of ramen. Because, in Tokyo emptiness shocks.

Tokyo is nobody’s home, I thought. Like those men sitting silently across from us, like the Chinese workers running the restaurant, like all those people in Tokyo station heading off in all different directions across the island. Like us. Tokyo is nobody’s home, people just live here.

On the Emmaus Road

2008-04-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

Hi Mark,

What an excellent homily! Thinking about what we were saying last night I think your piece could belong in any Christian Church - Catholic, Protestant,Orthodox, etc. Really embracing, ecumenical and thought-provoking.

If I remember rightly the Emmaus story is always the"featured" Gospel on "Low Sunday", the first one after Easter, and yeah, there's definitely this thing about knowing how the story ends up, whereas of course for the disciples on the road, blinded by that mixture of shame, guilt and fear you articulate so well, they had no idea of the depth of the encounter in front of them and it took Christ some time to gradually bring them to a state where they could recognise Him.

In part 5 of The Wasteland T.S Eliot brings in an Emmausesque motif -

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
But who is that on the other side of you?

At this stage of the poem though there is no real suggestion of resurrection and rebirth. The Emmaus theme is just one of several hints and guesses in the dark. The Wasteland, which values words over the Word, remains intact. Here's the very next stanza -

What is that sound high in the air?
Murmer of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violent air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

Then comes the rain and a sudden opening onto what reality might be like at a more central region -

I have heard the key
Turn in the door and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Corialanus.

It's like Rembrandt's Supper at Emmaus, where he captures perfectly the moment - as you say, at thebreaking of bread - when the barriers are lifted from the disciples eyes and they recognise, know and understand. There've been spells in my life where I've felt abandoned by the Divine and chastised myself for having tried to cultivate a relationship with a bunch of gods who not only do not care but, even more annoyingly, do not give a toss either way! And then there always comes a point where the mist rises, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, and I recognise that there was a Presence with me all along, but in the "sturm und drang" of my mixed up whirlwind of emotions and desires I had been, like King Lear in the storm, too blind to see.

"Aslan!", says Lucy in The Voyage of the DawnTreader, "where have you been"?

"I have been her all the time Lucy, but you have just made me invisible".

Rembrandt, Supper at Emmaus

Emmaus Road

2008-04-06T04:53:00.001-07:00

Psalm 116
Luke 24: 13-35

Things aren’t what they seem. On the road to Emmaus, things aren’t what they seem. Two travellers take this road, leaving Jerusalem behind and with that, a sad and confused state of affairs. And so this road gives a sense of distance, a chance to take stock and with that an opportunity to make sense of the past few days – days that have left them bitter, confused and with dashed hopes. The man who would save Israel had been crucified by the Romans. He had been publicly humiliated and executed, betrayed by his followers who, with embarrassment, scattered themselves at the very hour of trouble. Regret, I imagine, was hanging strong off the two. Regret that they – and the 11 - had done nothing to defend the man they saw as their saviour, and perhaps even a secret regret in following Jesus – who had capitulated so easily. Yet, more than this is the confusion. A bizarre and curious claim had emerged from some of the followers – that Jesus’ tomb was empty. Not only this, but that he was alive.

The two travellers are taking their confusion on the road, trying to make sense of this disappointing and odd situation. The road seems long and the line from Psalm 116, “I suffered distress and aguish”, may ring true. For the travellers the distress is not just in the past events but in their inability to make sense of them. There is no resolution in sight and the Road to Emmaus is long.

But on the Road to Emmaus things aren’t as they seem. And a third traveller appears. Overhearing the intense discussion of the first two, he asks them to explain. “Are you the only stranger who does not know?” they reply in shock. But, we, the readers, have it easy here. We know what is about to take place. It’s a famous story and the passage itself leaves nothing hidden. But they are blinded to his true identity: “Their eyes were kept from recognising him”.

This shouldn’t, however, prevent us from understanding their shock and confusion. More often than not, life presents us with situations without resolution, without an end in sight. So whatever we know about the third traveller’s true identity, and however easy it is to quickly read the passage over, we’ve all been on the Emmaus Road, as it were. And here it becomes more profound. “Life”, said Kierkegaard “makes sense backwards but must be lived forwards”. This is the irony of the human condition, and where the confusion lies. But irony is also a powerful tool and things aren’t what they seem on the Road to Emmaus. Christ exemplifies this when he asks the two, “what are you discussing as you walk along?”

Perhaps an example would help here - a pagan example, that of the master-ironist Socrates. He was declared the wisest man by the Delphic Oracle, only because he was most aware of his own ignorance. And so, with irony as his tool, Socrates walked the streets of ancient Athens. He talked with, discussed and questioned people - all the while feigning ignorance in order for others to explain themselves and their beliefs. It turned out that not many people knew what they were talking about. Socrates, by acting the student and through persistent questioning, exposed the ignorance of others. Military generals did not know what courage was. Political theorists could not explain justice. Slaves were shown to be just as intelligent as their masters. But his intentions were never to humiliate people, rather to reveal the truth in discussion and put an end to people’s confused and unbalanced beliefs. Socrates played the ignorant student, but was in fact the wise teacher.

Irony is a powerful tool – it’s disarming. The shock of the two travellers on the road to Emmaus shows this – they are disarmed long before they realise that the man asking “what are you discussing?” is not only fully aware of the events, but the very subject matter. The third traveller is Christ himself. This is the resolution, the end of the confusion on the Road to Emmaus. But it doesn’t occur immediately – it’s not in his interpretation of the events or his incredible reading of the scriptures (although the two travellers remember this later, at the time he was still only a stranger to them).

The resolution comes when Christ joins them for a meal. The resolution and revelation of Christ is in the breaking of the bread. “Their eyes were opened”, the bitterness, confusion and regret is drawn to a close. In the words of the Psalm, “you have loosed my bonds”. The road to Emmaus is long, but all is not what it seems. And fittingly, the breaking of the bread is offered to us now – a revelation and resolution.

Temples of the Mind

2008-02-06T16:08:00.000-08:00

Kyoto station is not far off. Trains pass between buildings, unseen in the darkness. They enter and leave the city with only the sound of rattling tracks over the rooftops. I find it strange that I haven’t put pen to paper this trip – not once, although I’ve thought about it. Tired, I’m drifting off. I’m drifting off with those trains and their timetable rhythm – somewhere between arrival and departure.

Immersed in the piping hot water of this rooftop bath, where steam mixes with cool air and the contained walls open out to the night sky, this is a reflective space in an always intense trip. Businessmen, travellers, holiday makers, all come and go. But I remain. I’m drifting off, guided by the night and water, the fresh air and the rising steam.

I can’t write of Kyoto – not now at least. Instead I turn to Tomono-Ura, in a sort of Proustian transfer, where memory and imagination hold all the power. It couldn’t have been more than a year ago, walking through the town. A fishing village whose old backstreets twisted around and we lost ourselves among the old houses and shops that lined the way. It was quaint – but it was quaint without being false. Tomono-Ura seemed so simple when everything about us was so complex. The harbour was the truth of the town; a long concrete slab jutting out into the sea, catching bits of rubbish and debris and giving the water an oily sheen. During the day boats were docked to it silently. Then one morning, waking early, I walked along to see it a flurry of activity as tarpaulin covered the harbour and boats arrived to quickly unload the day’s catch. There was the sound of approaching motors and the dull thud of boats against the dock, there was the buzz of aerators and coolers, swinging ropes, sea splash and fish bouncing and flapping in their tanks, waiting to be picked out by arriving customers. The fresh smell of the sea hung in the air that morning.

The sea is calm there. A group of dusty islands not too far out, block passage to the open ocean, giving a stillness to the waters around the town. The view out from the local temple - the highest point of the town - held a subtle power. From the back of the main hall, tadami floor mats led to the frame of a delicate sliding window that offered a cropped the view of the horizon, highlighting the sea and islands. Waiting inside, among the inner rooms was an aged priest. He stumbled out, half-blind and half-deaf, excited to see visitors and opened a glass case containing the historic medical instruments of von Siebold. Among them were a globe and a pair of scales and a test tube, all relating to the origins of western medicine in Japan. Then, with one over-frantic swing of the arm the historic pieces were scattered across the glass case, only for the priest to pick them up and begin talking as if nothing had happened.

The sea is calm here and in Tomono-Ura, sitting in a rooftop bath at night, distinctions disappear. I look over the sea, silent and dark. The islands, in their own darkness, are barely visible against the night sky, only announced by the dull lights along their coasts. Farther out, across the bay, is a gasworks – something I hadn’t seen in the daylight. Powerful lights illuminate the complex of pipes and towers. A stack, high above, belches out flames into the night. The industrial and the natural, from the islands and sea to the gasworks and harbour, from the distant flickering fire and rising steam of the bath, to the night sky and cool air, seem to move together as contrasts that no longer contrast, offering a fleeting glimpse of perfection on this quiet night in a silent town (The only sound comes from the odd car on the street below). This is all only a moment, but it leaves a lasting trace. I will leave this town soon but this night and this sea, the cool air and steam will remain. That vision, the dark waters and the gasworks, the islands and the stars, will remain. I’m in Kyoto now, but I’m thinking of Tomono-Ura.

Sept. 9th 2007: APERION: Reading the Presocratics through a half distilled head cold.

2007-10-28T14:59:00.000-07:00

The fragmented thoughts of philosopher physicists. Piercing though mythology, yet holding it up all the same. What was their pre-articulate purpose? To birth a new way of thought, to introduce a new vision. But more precisely this was a re-orientation to the divine. For all the strictly scientists and future athiests this would be the unexpected bagagge of the Presocratics. They always return with a challenge. As original thinkers they always bring something fresh.

Nietzsche saw them as comets. Scattering shards of bright thought, appearing and disappearing in an incisive flash. That seeming impermanence, only to leave a lasting trail. Then there is the layered nature of everything a Presocratic says. The double, the multiple interpretation. The surface heat, but forged of rock-ice.

They were outsiders, immigrants - only later to be seen orbiting the Athenian sun.

2007-10-16T15:09:00.000-07:00

"I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance".

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Homily 1

2007-09-23T03:56:00.000-07:00

Deut. 30: 15-20
Psalm 119: 1-8
I Corin. 3: 1-9
Matt. 5: 21-37

The Old Testament reading is definitely a text that provides us with a choice. And it is an extreme choice – a choice between prosperity or adversity, blessing or curse, life or death. These options are polar opposites and we would struggle to find ideas that could ever be more opposed to each other - particularly the choice between life and death.

These options were in fact set before the Israelites by God. Not unsurprisingly they are told to “choose life”. And choosing life is the path laid out in the passage. This path of life has two steps. The first is to obey God – it is a radical obedience to match the radical nature of the choice itself. The Israelites were being asked to obey the commandments and decrees that God has laid out to them through Moses.

We have to remind ourselves that this call to obedience is near the end of the Book of Deuteronomy and in that respect there is a whole lot of commands given. This call to obedience is no small task and perhaps we sometimes forget the weight of it.

The second for the Israelites to turn their hearts towards God – which is necessarily bound to the first step. By turning their hearts towards God, they are told they will live out the promise of God – they will live in prosperity in the land God promised to Abraham.

However, on the flip side if the Israelites do not follow the commands handed down to them, they are already on the path of adversity and death.

Now, if we thought the choices presented in Deuteronomy were difficult and extreme then were are in for a shock when we turn to the Gospel Reading taken from the Sermon on the Mount.

In this passage Christ is taking the laws and commandments of Israelites and offering a deeper and developed interpretation. He takes the command “You shall not murder” and extends it further by saying “if you are angry with a brother or sister, you are liable to judgement; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council”.

To be angry with someone isn’t an act itself. It’s more a thought about someone and perhaps not even that – it is a mood. It’s a feeling we can enter into. And to insult someone, well, it is an act of speech, but certainly not a physical act. But this is precisely how Christ has developed things. The physical act of murder and the sin involved with it is extended into threats in the way we talk, and the very thought of hate and the very mood of anger. This is quite a radical extension of the law. And it applies not just to murder and hate, as Christ applies his radical extension to adultery and lust as well.

Now, I am firmly in the belief that Sermon on the Mount is one of the most important speeches ever given – one of the most important texts ever penned. I think Ghandi said it was one of his main inspirations. And even on a purely literary level it is influential.

The Russian novelist Dostoevsky, to me at least, seems to have the Sermon on the Mount running through his writing. In The Brothers Karamazov characters constantly insult each other by shouting “the devil be with you”. It seems an innocuous insult until one of the characters actually finds the devil sitting in his room and suddenly everyone is embroiled in a murder.

But perhaps it’s Crime and Punishment that is the best example and aid here. The main character Raskolinkov is a poor student with some rather interesting ideas – namely, he believes some human beings are naturally superior to others. And he conjures up a little plan. He decides to murder an old woman – the money lender. He thinks up all sorts of reasons to back his plan up: he could do with the money, she’s not a particularly nice person. In fact she’s a nasty piece of work and no one will miss her. It would also add proof to his theory that some people are better than others.

The point that Dostoevsky makes in the novel is that simply by thinking all these thoughts, simply by scheming and planning this awful act he has already crossed the barrier into evil and sin. He crosses the line into murder before he even physically commits the act. And so his mental and spiritual punishment begins with the thought. He could have called the novel Punishment, Crime and Punishment.

I think this really captures what Christ is getting at here. Following God’s commands is not just in action, but in thought. It is an entire orientation of being.

Perhaps Christ’s extension of the commandments is really just emphasising the second step that we found in Deuteronomy. It is a turning of your heart towards God.
And just like the Old Testament reading, we have to keep in mind the incredible weight of what this means.

If we look at Paul’s letter to the Corinthians we find a slightly different emphasis. I often think of Paul as someone laying down the line and tightening things up. But in this passage he is a little lighter – at least compared to the Old Testament and Gospel readings. Instead of being confronted with radical choices up front, Paul is sliding things in slowly. He tells the Corinthians that they “are not spiritual people”, rather they are “infants”, not yet ready for solid food. Perhaps not ready for the hard choices to come.
Adding to the weaning a child metaphor, he also uses a gardening metaphor. Planting and watering take time. God gives the growth – but it is paced and steady.
In effect, from this passage we won’t face the hard choices until we are fit and ready in God’s eyes. Radical choices are not thrown at us unawares, but are part of a process of preparation.

Perhaps then, the Sermon on the Mount is telling. Just must have had the utmost respect for the people listening to him. He was able to face them up to the choices he presented. The same goes with the Old Testament reading and the nation of Israel.
The question then, is where we ourselves are at. Are we ready to confront these choices?