 ‘Let’s set the world afire.’ (Francis Xavier) If you’re unfamiliar with Ash Wednesday, it’s a Christian ritual that marks the beginning of a season of preparing ourselves spiritually as we approach Easter. In some traditions, it’s marked by receiving a symbol of a cross of ash on the forehead: a sign of our own weakness and our need for God. It’s a time to face up to, in ourselves and in the world, what Francis Spufford calls the ‘human propensity to f*** things up’. Lent, the period that leads from Ash Wednesday to Easter, is an opportunity to do just that. It challenges us to speak truth to ourselves about our part in the mess; to look at God as if in a mirror and to see ourselves and the world through his eyes. It calls us to look beneath our daily distractions to Someone infinitely more important. On this theme, I loved reading Meghan Ashley’s reflections (below). With real honesty and a touch of light-hearted humour, she expresses the spirit of Ash Wednesday beautifully: ‘I STILL get excited to see what type of cross the priest gave me and if he gave me a good one. Last year, I got a really light one that looked like a smudge. I went to work, and a coworker informed me that I had something on my head. MAJOR FACE PALM. Why couldn’t I just get a good cross to match my coordinating outfit?! I was prepped and ready for a good one!! Ughhh. However, I learned a good lesson that day. The lesson totally makes me realize that I’m a little distracted by the facade and should focus on the crazy, mind-blowing meaning… right?! My ashes remind me to grieve my division from God because of my sinning. That is BIG stuff. Grande. We have such beautiful rich traditions and spirituality, that it’s so easy to take it at 'face' value.’ And today, more than ever, I remind myself: ‘In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’ (George Orwell)
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 ‘We can create together new ways of speaking and acting. We must not remain forever bound by history.’ (Kenneth Gergen) This was a new experience for me. A guided group retreat at a Benedictine monastery in the North of England last week. 3 days of reflections on people’s encounters with Jesus in the gospels, led by a deeply thoughtful and inspiring priest, interspersed with periodic times in a beautiful stone chapel for singing and prayer. I couldn’t sing to save my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard such heavenly-sounding voices and echoing harmonies as of those around me. I’m used to silent retreats where I spend time alone in total solitude (or occasionally with other people) before God without speaking a word out loud, so this was and felt very different. At one point, a fellow visitor asked me, ‘Are you a Roman Catholic?’ I wasn’t sure how to answer this question. I don’t tend to think in such categories or to focus on denominational differences. I’m more interested in being and walking with others who are, quite simply, followers of Jesus. So, thinking out loud, struggling clumsily for words, I replied: ‘I first encountered Jesus through Roman Catholic friends and later trained as a Baptist minister. I often find writings by Roman Catholic mystics helpful in my walk with God. I guess that makes me a Roman Baptist, or a Baptist Catholic?’ ‘What does that mean?’, she asked, looking bemused. ‘A blend of Baptist theology and Catholic spirituality.’ ‘Does that even exist?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘It does now.’ When have you found yourself grappling with labels? How have you found ways to navigate through them?  ‘Every child you encounter is a divine appointment.’ (Wess Stafford) Words can’t capture it. Photos can’t express it. I can’t find a way to do it justice. The sheer, vibrant joy and excitement of 127 children this Christmas on receiving what they had asked for – a bag each with bright-coloured notepads, pens and a handful of sweets. Rewind for a moment. These kids live in a city cemetery in the Philippines. Yes, a cemetery, among the gravestones and broken down mausolea. Desperately poor, their families cling to the edges of society, surviving invisibly at meagre subsistence level. Imagine it. A Filipina saw them. She remembered vividly and painfully how, as a child living in dire poverty too, she never received a Christmas gift. Other children did and that felt sad and confusing. In her child's mind, she concluded that she must have done something wrong. It was only later in life that she learned that wealthier parents had paid Santa to distribute gifts to their own children. This experience burned deep in her soul. She’d always returned home heavy-hearted and empty-handed. She determined that these kids wouldn't. Back to now. The children knew something special was about to happen. She’d asked them in advance what they’d love – if God enabled a way to make it possible. ‘School bags!’ they replied. It was a humble and humbling request. As she arrived, the tension was tangible, the kids straining in eager anticipation to see what she’d brought. The Filipina had packed every gift individually, beautifully and prayerfully so that each child would know they are seen, valued and loved. The children skipped, sang and danced. A sacred encounter. What a gift. Remember the poor. We can be hope.   ‘Jesus - teach us to wait, as we hang in the balance of the past and the possible. Help us to make loving choices, as you did.’ (Thomas Merton) Who could have anticipated it? The Covid lockdown. Russia’s invasion of East Ukraine. 7 October Hamas attack. Ukraine (still) fighting back. Hezbollah decapitated. Free speech clampdown in UK. Iran firing missiles directly at Israel. Donald Trump re-elected in the US. North Korean deployment to Russia. French and German political meltdown. Sudden collapse of the Assad regime. The list goes on. Events appearing as if out of nowhere, taking by surprise. This is a backdrop to a BANI perspective on the world: Brittle, Anxious, Non-Linear and Incomprehensible. It’s not just a way of thinking about what’s happening around us. It’s an existential expression of how it can feel to be in the world. It shatters illusions of predictability and control. Think back at a more personal level – what have been your most significant life experiences over the past year? How many did you know or anticipate in advance? It corresponds, perhaps, to a rise in mental health crises across the world. If we can’t predict or control the future with any degree of certainty, it can leave us feeling anxious, stressed or depressed. After all, anything could come in from anywhere, disrupting our carefully-made plans and throwing everything, including ourselves, in the air – with no idea where it and we may land. Little wonder people are turning to ideologies and leaders that promise ‘security’. Yet so often their assurance is a façade; a delusion wrapped in compelling rhetoric that disguises its own emptiness. How, then, to survive and thrive in this earth-shaking context where threats ranging from climate emergency to nuclear war are real and extreme? I'm trying to follow Jesus’ example here: courage to face truth, prayerfully, head-on and not to hide; compassion to act, prayerfully, in humility and love: one person, issue and moment at a time. How about you?  'Where talents and the needs of the world collide, therein lies your vocation.' (Aristotle) Think prayerfully. (See also: A calling beyond ourselves; To do or not to do; Sense of destiny; Diving deep in the coaching pool; Listening for a voice; Great) (Examples: Safe; Legacy; A radical heart; Pivotal points; Chosen; Leap of faith; Bread; Machine gun preacher) Or...putting it another way:   ‘We don’t need to be rich to help the poor, needy and hungry. We need to have a heart.’ (Kevin D’Cruz) I felt humbled and inspired last week when a teacher in the Philippines, who earns just 9000 pesos (£150) per month, gave her entire salary to a poor student. The student’s brother had become seriously ill with pneumonia and is too poor to pay for medication. The teacher, who lives with her daughter at subsistence level, gave without hesitation, even though it would leave her with just 60 pesos to pay for her own food and expenses until the end of the month. I was astonished. She told me to have faith and not to overthink: ‘Do it for love of Jesus.’ This week, the teacher opened her own home to 6 of the poorest students in her class who can’t afford to pay any rent. ‘It’s a way to help them continue with their education. If they had to work to earn rent, they would have to drop out of university and their studies.’ Curious, I find myself wondering if her generosity risks creating an unhealthy dependency in these young people. Yet she assigns practical tasks in their spare time so they feel like they’re contributing and retain their self-respect. I'm impressed. This is love in action. We can be hope.  ‘Grief is not a disorder, a disease or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.’ (Earl Grollman) Ambushed by grief. A graphic book title and a profound way to convey the experience of the experience. Grief can, at times, take us completely by surprise, impacting us suddenly and as if out of nowhere; leaving us breathless, broken and bleeding. My most traumatic grief experience was at age 18. I still re-experience it, like living in the vice-like grip of a terrible nightmare that stubbornly, agonisingly and tormentingly won’t let go. One of the best descriptions of grief I’ve ever read is a beautiful and painful personal expression of this phenomenon that, in the midst of such agonies, offers a picture of hope. It resonates with much of my own personal experience too. Only in more recent years have we begun to discover, perhaps to rediscover and to understand, the somatic dimensions and consequences of traumatic grief. The body certainly does keep the score. On Easter Saturday (a day that marks the existential time gap between Jesus’ death and his resurrection) this year, I visited a Christian community where one of its leaders shared a deeply evocative short video clip by Massive Attack. It captured and expressed feelings of denial, betrayal, pain, abandonment and death in such a way that left me stunned and speechless. We prayed for all who feel trapped in a perpetual state of dysthymia.  ‘Intuition is like reading a word without having to spell it out.’ (Agatha Christie) I had the privilege of training an inspiring, cross-cultural group of participants in South Africa, Rwanda and the UK this week who work in different roles in the same international non-governmental organisation (INGO). This online Action Learning Associates programme was designed to enable them to facilitate Action Learning sets (that is, groups) confidently and effectively. (If you’re unfamiliar with the concept of Action Learning, it’s a semi-structured, small-group, peer-coaching process that’s used widely in leadership and management development programmes and as part of wider organisation development (OD) initiatives). One of the areas we touched on during the training event is the value of drawing on intuition when facilitating groups. We could consider the facilitator’s role simply in terms of a series of tasks, e.g. introducing a meeting; leading a check-in; contracting ground-rules; guiding the group through the sequential steps of an Action Learning process; facilitating a review at the end. These are important elements that we learn to handle skilfully. At a deeper level, however, we can learn to tune into our intuition. This will help us to discern, for instance, unspoken issues; underlying group dynamics; or when a person-group is stuck or ready to move on. Intuition can feel mysterious, a sense of ‘knowing’ that we may experience bodily or as a feeling rather than as a rational concept in our mind. One of most mysterious experiences I had was when training a group of church and community leaders in Action Learning facilitation. When I first encountered one of the participants, the word ‘Ruth’ kept coming to mind. I mentioned this to him very tentatively and he looked astonished. Apparently, he was about to complete a PhD study on the book of Ruth in the Bible. I had no idea. For me, spiritual discernment sits close to intuition. I always pray deeply before coaching or facilitating a set. How do you draw on intuition in your own life and practice? I’d love to hear from you!  ‘Just like seasons change in nature, they change in our lives as well. And, as they change, they ask different questions of us. What questions is your life asking of you now?’ (Funmi Johnson) I had a great conversation with Funmi, a fascinating and inspiring fellow coach, this afternoon and found her question (above) very thought-provoking. I’m at an age where legacy is a persistent question that calls out to me with growing insistence…and demands a response. Am I genuinely living my life authentically according to the mission and values that I claim to be real and true? Or am I compromising too much of what matters most, deluding myself with a clever façade that even I have found convincing? How deep will my spiritual footprint be? I love Funmi’s question. It stirs the waters and ignites a search.  ‘Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.’ (Maya Angelou) I can’t create a rainbow. I can only witness its radiant beauty. A rainbow itself is created by white light, refracted as it strikes droplets of water in the air, often seen most vividly during or after rainfall. Some of the most stunning I’ve seen have been in Scotland where sunshine and rain are common together, with bright-coloured rainbows emerging like curvaceous, prismatic streamers in their midst. The Bible depicts rainbows as signs of spiritual-existential promise, of hope, initiated by God. Again, this isn't something I can make happen. I can only witness it, experience it, be awestruck by it. It’s something, or rather Someone, who clings to me amidst the violent storms, raging winds and torrential downpours of my life. Often, quite literally, this has been the only reason why I'm still alive today. Sometimes, I only perceive or discern the traces of a rainbow after the event. It’s like a mysterious pattern that appears, by faith, and is only visible from a distance. I went to theological school for 3 years. Inexplicably, my fees and living expenses were fully-paid. I remember, however, sitting on the side of my bed, alone and in near-despair. Studying God like studying physics felt like a travesty. Years later, the hidden seeds sown through that experience gradually came to fruition. I can now see the deep wisdom in that youthful decision, that strange prompt of divine opportunity that had felt so hard for me at the time. It was a period that had included a broken engagement, a snapped shin bone, tests for throat cancer and many other painful trials. Yet still, somehow...a rainbow appeared. |
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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