 ‘A virtuous cycle is a self-reinforcing loop in which a series of positive actions and outcomes continually strengthen each other.’ (Marc Wilson & Donnée MacDougall) I hardly slept on Saturday night then, yesterday evening, I spent time with friends in Germany. As it got late they offered me a lift in their car back to the apartment where I’m staying and, to their surprise, I declined. ‘Why not?’ they asked. ‘You’re very tired, it’s a 30 minutes’ walk and it’s freezing cold outside.’ ‘It’s OK. I'll walk.’ ‘But why?’, they persisted. ‘Because I don’t feel like walking.’ They looked at me completely puzzled now. Had something got lost in translation? ‘The last thing I feel like doing at the moment, when I’m tired and it’s so cold, is to walk back. Therefore, I’m choosing to walk back.’ It opened a curious discussion about self-discipline as a way to strengthen character, personal agency and resilience. It’s as if each time we make such a decision and act on it, it reinforces or changes something within us. Some philosophers argue that who we are and become is a cumulative consequence of such decisions and actions. Now don’t get me wrong. Even the best principles can get a bit crazy when pushed to extremes. Yet picture this. A person is feeling lethargic, demotivated, anxious or depressed and says they don’t feel like getting up in the morning; eating or drinking healthily; going outside for exercise, fresh air and open sky; meeting up with other people; doing something (e.g. as a volunteer) that creates a sense of achievement or makes a positive difference for others – so they don’t do it. The decision and action of not doing it, because in that moment it’s the last thing they feel like doing, actually reinforces their experience of lethargy, demotivation, anxiety or depression. It’s a vicious spiral. The solution, known in psychology as a virtuous cycle, is to do the exact opposite thing – whether we feel like it or not. In the moment, it will feel counterintuitive and we may need support from others to help break an old, fixed pattern and create a sustainable new one. Yet – time and again, I’ve seen people’s lives turned around. Do you want to re-create your future? Get in touch!
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 ‘Democracies have no obligation to facilitate their own demise. Fascists can only succeed in conditions of excessive democratic tolerance.’ (Karl Loewenstein) As a teenage anti-Nazi activist in the UK, I can remember arguing vociferously that hard right parties like the British National Party and National Front should be banned. A wise older person disagreed with me, suggesting that banning parties simply drives them underground, out of view, and that makes them even more dangerous. He had a point. It’s a tough dilemma for democratic societies – one we face again now when UK society, like others throughout the West, is increasingly polarised between hard right nationalists, hard left progressives and ethnic sectarianism. The centre ground is losing ground and grasping weakly at paper straws to survive. The UK government has tried various tactics to address this, at times mimicking the hard right to appeal to voters on that front, then swinging towards the hard left in an attempt to appease voters heading in that direction. It looks chaotic, often driven more by pragmatic expediency than vision and values and, paradoxically, adds to the attraction of the extremes who appear far clearer, more principled and more decisive. The government also tried silencing free speech via police Non-Crime Hate Incident recording then, after widespread public backlash, repackaged elements in a counterproductive ‘Anti-Muslim Hostility’ definition that even Muslim leaders opposed. This level of instability and uncertainty, with its associated anxieties and risks, is driving some of those balancing precariously on the residual centre ground to argue that urgent and muscular action is needed to defend democracy itself (see, for instance, Paul Mason: Britain Needs Militant Democracy). I see profound resonances here in Germany (where I’m writing at the moment) with its dark history of fascism, where the Nazi party seized power by manipulating the liberal-democratic process to its own advantage – then subsequently dismantled it. German democrats are wringing their hands helplessly as they watch the rise of the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD). The hard left here argues that, if Germans had been more forceful (using violence, if necessary) to crush the Nazi party before it got into power, Germany and the wider world would have been spared the unspeakable horrors of the Third Reich. It’s a compelling argument until we question, along with Mahatma Gandhi, whether using violent means to achieve a non-violent end is ethically defensible and effective practically. Martin Luther King cautions that ‘The ends cannot be used to justify the means because the ends are pre-existent in the means’. I pray for wisdom and courage in the face of such challenges. Democracy itself hangs in the balance.  ‘The single biggest problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place.’ (George Bernard Shaw) How quickly things can go wrong. ‘I’d like to meet with you for a review.’ Our intentions are innocent, yet we see the other person tense up and the colour drain from their face. What has just happened here? What might we inadvertently have tapped into without realising it? It sometimes happens in line-managerial relationships if trust is low or has not yet been established, where a person has had bad experiences in the past or if they fear the worst. Some psychologists call this action-intention inference. An invitation to a meeting is an action and, if we don’t clarify our intention up front, the person may assume or infer our intention (see Chris Argyris: Ladder of Inference) – whether it reflects our true intention or not. In hierarchical relationships or where trust is low, people may fill the void of not-knowing with their own anxieties. There is a risk of jumping to conclusions that could stress or derail the relationship. Imagine this alternative scenario and framing as a 4-step approach. The line-manager speaks with the team member in an open and invitational tone: 1. Affirmation: ‘It’s great that you’ve been here to support us for the past 3 months.’ 2. Impact: ‘Your work has made such a difference to the team.’ 3. Intention: ‘It matters to me that this is a great experience for you too.’ 4. Invitation: ‘Fancy a coffee sometime to hear how you’re doing and if there’s anything you need?’ Do you want to enhance your communication skills? Get in touch!  English translation of a short talk I delivered at a Prayers for Peace meeting in Germany last night: A few years ago, a colleague in the UK, Rick James, was the keynote speaker at a forum for international development experts from around the world. Rick is a follower of Jesus and is widely respected in this arena for his own work in many different countries, especially in those that are poor. As the participants waited eagerly to hear his words of knowledge, wisdom and expertise, Rick sat quietly for a moment then said, unexpectedly, ‘There is so much I don’t understand.’ What an astonishing opening for a presentation. It demonstrated deep humility in the face of a complex world in which so much is truly beyond human comprehension. As we look at the news today, for instance, in spite of our prayers for 4 years, the world seems to be getting worse. Who could have imagined a month ago that the USA and Israel would attack Iran? Who could have imagined that, as a consequence, Russia is now even stronger than before to attack Ukraine? This may test our faith and challenge our hope. Some of you may have heard of Henri Nouwen, the Dutch priest who wrote an array of books about spirituality and Christian living. In one of his texts, he advised that, when faced with such painful questions, we should avoid the temptation of offering or accepting simple or easy answers. Instead, he advised that such questions should be raised and faced with honesty. Sometimes this will mean being present yet silent before God and one-another – like here this evening. His guidance reminds me of another priest, Iain Matthew, who is from the UK and lives in Spain. Iain offers profound reflections on the biblical account where Jesus is at a wedding in Cana and the host runs out of wine. It’s a painfully embarrassing situation for the host and we can imagine how, if we were there as his guests, we might try quickly to hide it, reassure him or find a solution. We might also call on Jesus to do what we think is best, what we think is needed to fix it. Yet here is Mary now. 'She perceives the need and names it, ‘They have no wine’ – without prescribing a solution. She takes it, holds it, and allows it to ache before Jesus.' Iain suggests this may be, at times, a pattern for prayer, 'to feel our way to a wound that is in us (perhaps a hurt or disappointment that our prayers seem unanswered), to go the place of our need.' He suggests, 'Go there, name it and hold it before Christ.' In doing so, we offer our doubts, confusion and fears to God. He then goes further, inviting us 'to feel our way to the wounds in this world, to those people or situations in dire need of help or healing. To go there, take them, name them, and hold them before Jesus. To go there, not to dictate to Christ what the answer should be or what he should do about it, but to hold the wound before him.' This is prayerful advocacy. We play our part by presenting our concerns and hopes before God in trust, and Jesus is Lord – the wisdom of God and the power of God.  ‘The map is not the territory.’ (Alfred Korzybski) Coaching is often concerned with helping a person to explore and navigate their landscape. This landscape could be, for instance, the person’s reality, situation or circumstances. A coach may ask, ‘What’s the key challenge you’re facing at work?’ then, perhaps, ‘Who could support your success or, conversely, make it harder for you to succeed?’ or ‘What resources will you need to achieve this?’ Such questions typically help a person grow in awareness of the features of their external context in order to help them take them into account, draw on them or address them. Today, I ran an advanced-level workshop for experienced coaching practitioners in Burundi, Kenya, Pakistan, Rwanda and the UK. On this occasion, we focused primarily on a person’s inner landscape, recognising that the inner landscape is often shaped or influenced by external factors too, including key relationships and culture. The inner landscape is the swirling pool of a person’s thoughts, feelings, motivations and preferences, along with subconscious influences such as introjected beliefs and values or the enduring emotional impact of past experiences. We touched on Timothy Gallwey’s core insight, expressed in the formula P=P-I, where the first P stands for Performance, the second for Potential and the I for Interference. The interference that can affect our wellbeing or achievement often arises from whatever floats to the surface in that pool; for instance untested limiting assumptions, performance anxiety or a fear of negative evaluation by others. In view of this and the essentially subjective nature of such experiences, we explored how to address such issues with a person using a phenomenological approach. In practice this could entail, for instance: Explore the person’s world as they see, experience and feel within it (e.g. ‘What’s it like for you when you’re in that situation?); Explore cultural influences on the person’s beliefs, values and behaviour (e.g. ‘What messages from your family or community influence the choices you make?); Explore the person’s individual preferences and norms (e.g. ‘How do you prefer to make decisions?’). It enables a person to map their total landscape with greater clarity, colour and texture and, from there, to find their own way forward.  ‘When they believed the lie, the lie became truth for them.’ (Selwyn Hughes) I will never forget that flash of insight at a Christian counselling seminar. Selwyn Hughes was talking about risks of deception and self-deception and used the biblical story of Adam and Eve (and the serpent) to illustrate his point. If I genuinely believe something to be true that isn’t true, it will nevertheless appear true to me. Insofar as it appears true to me, I’m unlikely to question it. If my peers or wider cultural group also believe it to be true, that will likely reinforce my belief. This came to mind recently when chatting with some young adults about the state of mental health in their generation. In an era where, increasingly, what would have been hitherto regarded as the normal human condition (e.g. ups and downs in life; quirky attitudes and behaviours; feeling anxious, stressed or in a low mood) are now regarded as pathological mental health conditions, we wondered together what lies may appear true to them and who might benefit from them. Take, for instance, the young woman who looks at the ways in which peers present themselves on social media. By contrast, she feels inadequate, insecure or a failure. Her expectations and emotional experience are influenced by what she perceives as ‘normal’, and she feels anxious and starts to avoid social contact. A well-meaning medic tells her she has Anxiety and prescribes medication to help her feel better. The label provides an explanation and, thereby, a kind of relief. Yet, she may have unknowingly swallowed more than just the meds. The diagnosis subtly traps her and, over time, begins to shape her personal and social identity: ‘I have Anxiety. That’s why I feel anxious. It’s who I am.’ Her world gets smaller as she acts out what she now believes to be true. She thinks she is defective, that she needs to be fixed, and not that her feelings are a natural – perhaps, even healthy – response to, e.g. dysfunctional background, toxic environment or maladaptive lifestyle. The lie became truth for them. What do you believe? ‘The global mental illness drugs market size is predicted to grow from US$1759 million in 2025 to US$2497 million in 2031.’  ‘Father, forgive them because they don’t know what they’re doing.’ (Jesus Christ) I spent some days last week on a retreat at a Franciscan friary in the bitterly-cold North East of England. It’s something I choose to do each New Year these days – a retreat, that is, not to half freeze to death in a stone-built monastery. It’s a way of transitioning from the past year to the new, a spiritual defragmentation or reset of sorts, with a renewed and refreshed focus on God. The biggest challenge each time is to get over myself, to somehow disentangle myself enough from the fog of my own mental and emotional hopes, fears and preoccupations to see...Jesus. A recurring theme that emerged for me during my times of prayer and reflection was power. I read two starkly-contrasting accounts of people at Auschwitz during the Nazi era: the brutal guard Irma Grese who used her structural power to commit the most unspeakable acts of violence against prisoners, vs the self-sacrificing Franciscan friar Maximillian Kolbe who used his personal power to die in the place of another prisoner. Both were ordinary human beings. A critical, defining difference in that moment, in that context, was how each abused or used their power. I sat now in the candle-lit chapel, gazing at a harrowing figure of Jesus Christ, represented here as apparently-powerless, cruelly-beaten and tortured on a cross, straining upwards to glimpse his heavenly Father. It struck me how the world has become dominated (again) by power figures and ideologies, finding their voice through polarising politicians and political religions, and how so many people are flocking to support them. It’s symptomatic of widespread feelings of powerlessness and a desire to increase our own power via their power. Grese vs Kolbe? Father, forgive us.  ‘Christianism: A crude political ideology and the triumph of empty symbolism.’ (Ben Ryan)
The UK has spent decades sleepwalking toward secularism, where faith has been driven relentlessly into the personal-private sphere. Now we're waking up to something very different. A muscular version of Christianity is re-emerging, not as a spiritual faith but as a political identity. It’s a re‑branding of national belonging where being 'British' feels increasingly identified with being ‘Christian’. I'm not talking about the gospel of Jesus Christ or about spiritual renewal here. I am talking about identity politics. It’s about casting Christianity as a default badge of belonging and using that badge to redraw the boundaries of who counts as ‘us’ vs ‘them’. Anxiety and frustration are fuelling that shift in the face of mass migration, cultural disruption and a fear that who ‘we’ are is slipping away. ‘Christian’ is being used increasingly as a political brand. Once any religion becomes a marker of national or cultural identity, it becomes a de facto test of belonging. Tests always leave people, the ‘others’, outside. It chips away at the humility and compassion that are, for followers of Jesus, core to their lives. Religion becomes less about conscience or community and more about raw power. For Christians who believe authentic faith should question power, who see gospel values as both universal and counter‑cultural, the appropriation of Christianity into nationalism feels like a dangerous distortion. Jesus said, ‘Love your enemies’ (which suggests there are those we may rightly regard as enemies). True faith lays in reaching out in love – not in alienation or conquest.  ‘If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.’ (Erica Jong) I ran a vision and team development day yesterday for a group of inspiring Christian leaders. Their chosen venue was a football stadium (a new experience) that looked quite breathtaking for someone like me who doesn’t know the first thing about the sport. We grounded the day in a specific spiritual account, then used Appreciative Inquiry to discover, dream, design and decide in relation to it. One of the themes that emerged was, in a social and geopolitical context marked by increasing anxiety, how to avoid manifesting an anxious presence too. After all, the leaders in the group are working in the same contexts and subject to some of the same stresses and dynamics as people living in their wider communities. I was reminded of BANI – brittle, anxious, non-linear and incomprehensible. I glanced out of the window and noticed emblazoned above the stands, ‘Our Loving Devotion Guides our Livelong Dream’ and, beneath that, four short banners that repeated one simple message: 'Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing.' Love is an antidote to fear. One participant said: ‘What am I willing to do, that others may know they are loved by God?’ That's a courageous question.  ‘Let nothing frighten you.’ (Teresa of Ávila) A powerful earthquake struck the Philippines this evening, breaking roads and causing chaos. Traffic stopped abruptly to avoid falling down deep cracks and buildings creaked under the stress and strain. People raced from their homes in case of collapse and ran into the streets. Jasmin was falling to sleep at the time, was shaken awake when she felt the house move, and quickly grabbed her daughter from the shower to get outside. It was when the earth stood still again that she noticed she was wearing only a nightdress and her daughter only a towel. Venturing cautiously back inside, they peered carefully to see if there was any damage to the walls or to the ceiling. It means sleeping downstairs tonight in case of shuddering aftershocks. I was struck again by Jasmin’s calmness, her trust in God in the face of danger. She inspires me. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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