Shortly before the end of British rule in Tanganyika, the UK Government invested in a huge ground-nut scheme following the collapse of the sisal-growing market due in part to the introduction of synthetic ropework. The groundnut scheme too, was a disaster. Traces of the huge sisal plantations remain, a memory of a bygone, more unhappy age; seeing them sparked this reflection on how the baggage and detritus of history often leave their fibrous prickles to hinder our forward journeys.
Moving cautiously along the dusty road
That runs among the gentle hills that form
The backdrop to the city; letting go the hours
Of flying through the night, its stiffness and
It’s articifial air: now leaving the sweating
Heaving urban sprawl of modern day
Dar es Salaam, we join the welcome tarmac
Leading West to Morogoro and beyond.
Trucks struggle on the gradually rising road
While taxis duck and weave a wild roulette
With death, where human life is cheap, but
Hopes and dreams are high. Fading the sounds
And smells of city life, soon houses and shacks
Give way to green bananas swaying in the
Freshening air, and they in turn yield to the
Scrub and bush of Africa’s beguiling heart.
And later on the butts of sisal poking through
The yellowed grass. Their flowering heads fly
Flags of colony and empire - now long gone.
Sharp-edged and angry, their cactus tendrils shout
A fibrous warning to the world: grand schemes
Will only rise and fall, and leave a legacy of
Pain and hurt when greed and exploitation
Take the place of people and their aspirations.
And so we find a Tanzanian church still wrestling with
Its past, amidst its beauty, joy and faithful inspiration.
Amidst its gentle grasses too, the butts of history flag
Their false allegiances, dividing in their memories the
Future that they share. The legacy of mission, once
Hope and inspiration, now becomes the sisal project
Of the mind, perpetuating all that chokes and kills,
Yet needs to learn from Africa: and see, and grow.
For Africa is rich, her people
Strong, and God is bigger
Than the sisal-spikes and thistles of
A soon-to-be-forgotten past.
After meeting the Tanzanian House of Bishops,
Morogoro, March 2011.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Monday, 7 March 2011
BEFORE I SNEEZED
The scent of frangipani on the sultry air
Amidst the blue and white of
Yesterday, Tomorrow and Today:
A hint of eucalyptus; the pungent stench of
sullied road-side sewer blessed by
Tempting sausage and samoosa
On the bustling street-edged fire;
Thick clouds of diesel smoke surround the thunder-
Rumbling truck upon its homeward hill;
So brother sun greets sister moon
In the fading light of gentle
Madagascar’s afternoon.
Yes! This cacophony of smells
Invades my lungs and,
Ochre-red in memories,
It captivates my heart.
Antananarivo,
Madagascar,
March 2011.
Amidst the blue and white of
Yesterday, Tomorrow and Today:
A hint of eucalyptus; the pungent stench of
sullied road-side sewer blessed by
Tempting sausage and samoosa
On the bustling street-edged fire;
Thick clouds of diesel smoke surround the thunder-
Rumbling truck upon its homeward hill;
So brother sun greets sister moon
In the fading light of gentle
Madagascar’s afternoon.
Yes! This cacophony of smells
Invades my lungs and,
Ochre-red in memories,
It captivates my heart.
Antananarivo,
Madagascar,
March 2011.
Monday, 17 January 2011
Home at last
Notes from a Funeral address for my mother, Evelene Alice Ruddock who died on 8th January 2011 aged 95
St John the Baptist Church Horsington
14th January 2011
Reading: Mark 6:30-43 – The feeding of the 5000
“The eternal picnic” was a family joke associated with many happy years of summer holidays in West Wales: everybody had a job making collecting or carrying something for these make-do banquets on beach or cliff (“but where’s the salt?!!)
I am reminded of the Church of the Multiplication in Galilee – built on the traditional site of the feeding of the 5000. On the grass there today is a big sign reading “no picnics!”
Hospitality was at heart of Evelene’s life
Everyone is welcome: there is room for all! Reg and Evelene’s home was known for its open doors and warm welcome, down many decades.
The feeding of the 5000 in Mark is a story about the hospitality of God – about a bigger deeper banquet, where there is room for all! Four things from the story link with Evelene’s life and are for us to reflect on as we give her back to God.
Jesus says to his grumbling disciples, when they are overwhelmed by the size of the hungry crowd before them “You give them something to eat”
Hospitality provides the context for encouragement
Evelene was ever the great encourager – believer in others; and of course the magnet for little children because she knew how to enter their world and share its wonder with them
Mark tells us: “Jesus’ heart went out to them… Where can we find food in this lonely place?”
Hospitality can be offered, even in a lonely (deserted) place
Evelene, since Reg’s death, lived with loss and transformed it with love for others
The story continues: “Jesus took the bread – and gave thanks”
Hospitality is not rooted in being nice!
Hospitality is rooted in committed thanksgiving – and Evelene’s quiet inner life of prayer and thankfulness opened her heart and home to others. In this age of instant everything it is easy to miss the secret that drives a deeper giving and loving – a quiet, inner feeding, on the deep love of God for each of his creation.
And our story concludes: “12 baskets were gathered of what was left”
Hospitality generates abundance! Evelene’s capacity to produce and reproduce puddings “ex nihilo” illustrates the point! (They were a temptation for a gastronomist’s archaeological dig!)
So in conclusion: We have seen in Evelene a glimpse of God – several glimpses in fact!
If ever it were true that God is not discovered in books, or sermons, or weighty words, then Evelene’s life points us to where God is found: in one another, in love given and received; in forgiveness freely offered even at a cost; in welcome, in patience; in compassion; in a deep belief in the value of the “other”, and in that wonderful gift of affirmation and encouragement…
Perhaps we can hear her saying to us today:
Go on, be yourself, take a risk, learn to love and be loved – and above all never forget that you are loved eternally and for all time by the one who is the source of all life.
Thanks be to God for an amazing lady, and for one amazing life!
Edgar Ruddock
These notes link with those of the tribute offered on behalf of the grandchildren and great grand-children by Lisa Wellesley, Evelene’s oldest grandchild. As that concluded the great grandchildren brought forward 6 red helium-filled balloons to adorn Evelene’s coffin. After the burial they were released at the graveside, to mark Evelene’s liberation from a worn-out body!
St John the Baptist Church Horsington
14th January 2011
Reading: Mark 6:30-43 – The feeding of the 5000
“The eternal picnic” was a family joke associated with many happy years of summer holidays in West Wales: everybody had a job making collecting or carrying something for these make-do banquets on beach or cliff (“but where’s the salt?!!)
I am reminded of the Church of the Multiplication in Galilee – built on the traditional site of the feeding of the 5000. On the grass there today is a big sign reading “no picnics!”
Hospitality was at heart of Evelene’s life
Everyone is welcome: there is room for all! Reg and Evelene’s home was known for its open doors and warm welcome, down many decades.
The feeding of the 5000 in Mark is a story about the hospitality of God – about a bigger deeper banquet, where there is room for all! Four things from the story link with Evelene’s life and are for us to reflect on as we give her back to God.
Jesus says to his grumbling disciples, when they are overwhelmed by the size of the hungry crowd before them “You give them something to eat”
Hospitality provides the context for encouragement
Evelene was ever the great encourager – believer in others; and of course the magnet for little children because she knew how to enter their world and share its wonder with them
Mark tells us: “Jesus’ heart went out to them… Where can we find food in this lonely place?”
Hospitality can be offered, even in a lonely (deserted) place
Evelene, since Reg’s death, lived with loss and transformed it with love for others
The story continues: “Jesus took the bread – and gave thanks”
Hospitality is not rooted in being nice!
Hospitality is rooted in committed thanksgiving – and Evelene’s quiet inner life of prayer and thankfulness opened her heart and home to others. In this age of instant everything it is easy to miss the secret that drives a deeper giving and loving – a quiet, inner feeding, on the deep love of God for each of his creation.
And our story concludes: “12 baskets were gathered of what was left”
Hospitality generates abundance! Evelene’s capacity to produce and reproduce puddings “ex nihilo” illustrates the point! (They were a temptation for a gastronomist’s archaeological dig!)
So in conclusion: We have seen in Evelene a glimpse of God – several glimpses in fact!
If ever it were true that God is not discovered in books, or sermons, or weighty words, then Evelene’s life points us to where God is found: in one another, in love given and received; in forgiveness freely offered even at a cost; in welcome, in patience; in compassion; in a deep belief in the value of the “other”, and in that wonderful gift of affirmation and encouragement…
Perhaps we can hear her saying to us today:
Go on, be yourself, take a risk, learn to love and be loved – and above all never forget that you are loved eternally and for all time by the one who is the source of all life.
Thanks be to God for an amazing lady, and for one amazing life!
Edgar Ruddock
These notes link with those of the tribute offered on behalf of the grandchildren and great grand-children by Lisa Wellesley, Evelene’s oldest grandchild. As that concluded the great grandchildren brought forward 6 red helium-filled balloons to adorn Evelene’s coffin. After the burial they were released at the graveside, to mark Evelene’s liberation from a worn-out body!
Friday, 10 December 2010
BEHIND THE VEIL
In softened pinks, the early morning
Mist belies the worn-out
Sad corrosion of the City or
In tones of grey, a gracious
Veil conceals the beauty of her face
As she approaches Eucharist.
So now do I, in pastel tones, ask
What can lie behind this gentle
People's mask of unintended
Silence –
A silence born of fear and
Years of anxious dread,
Of other eyes and ears that
Notice everything
And by their hidden threats
Anaesthetise
The birth of hope?
On a visit to Myanmar
December 2010
Saturday, 20 November 2010
Saharan Seas
There is within this arid, endless
Stretch of desert sand a memory:
A distant hint of water bursting forth
From tortured, crumpled rocks,
Cascading to the thirsty plain below.
But there instead of irrigating fields
To life – creation's dream refreshed –
It disappoints, and simply soaks
Into a silent sea of sand,
An imprint of an estuary,
A fleeting primal aspiration
That might have been, but now
Is long since lost.
From above the desert, at 35000'
November 2010
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
TRANSITIONS
If April is the cruellest month
September is the saddest.
The pulsing beat of rain and sun
Has done it's work, has yielded
Corn and left the fields for stubble:
And now the ambient circling
Of the sun slips to the south.
Greying of skies and turning
Of leaves from green to red to gold:
Rich beauty in their dying;
Low now in the Eastern sky
A misted sun against an azure sky
Defines how hope and sorrow sit
In softened ambiguity: for now
In what is lost is gained
A gift more precious in its parting.
September is the saddest.
The pulsing beat of rain and sun
Has done it's work, has yielded
Corn and left the fields for stubble:
And now the ambient circling
Of the sun slips to the south.
Greying of skies and turning
Of leaves from green to red to gold:
Rich beauty in their dying;
Low now in the Eastern sky
A misted sun against an azure sky
Defines how hope and sorrow sit
In softened ambiguity: for now
In what is lost is gained
A gift more precious in its parting.
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
A CAUTIONARY TALE
I don’t do weddings very often these days, but last month I had the fun of marrying the daughter of an old friend and former colleague. The last time I had been at the church was around four years ago, when I had the sad duty of conducting the funeral for the bride-to-be’s mother, so this was now to be an occasion of real joy and celebration – a moment of moving on.
We drove down the day before, to attend a rehearsal and a pre-wedding supper. We had to remember to pack all we needed for the wedding, the rest of the weekend, and then enough stuff for holiday partly on the canals and partly in West Wales: so bags of this, rucksacks of that, a briefcase of clerical tat, and suits and dresses laid across the back seat of the car.
Having forgotten my black shoes five years previously when travelling to marry my own daughter (and had to borrow a pair from my future son-in-law), I made sure this time the shoes were in the car – and even remembered to polish them the previous evening. That was pretty good going for me – ask my wife!
All went well – the rehearsal was fine, the B and B was comfortable, and the evening out was really pleasant. On the Saturday a “full English” breakfast, a walk on the beach, and then back to change and head for the church.
I don’t do “smart” very often, but on this occasion I tried hard: the only instruction from my wife was that I shouldn’t upstage the bride’s father! So on went the modest black suit, and colourfully toned shirt and tie. And then the shoes. I eased my foot into the left shoe, and almost immediately, and to my horror, it re-appeared through the side of the shoe, as one entire seam split away from the rubber. Aghast, as the prospect of walking down the aisle with trainers beneath my cassock loomed before me, I put my foot in the other shoe, where the sole simply parted company with the rest of the shoe altogether and disintegrated on the floor before my eyes.
To laugh or cry? For lack of anything better, we sat on the bed and laughed and laughed, wondering what to do. Too late to go shopping; no potential son-in-law to borrow from (size 12 does present a problem!). Then I remembered I had packed some brown walking shoes for the holiday to come: they would have to do. And do they did. Black suit, white alb, brown shoes – a near perfect colour combination for all but the most discerning clergy-fashion spotter.
Realising, in the minutes before we left for church, that the shoes must have rotted in the cupboard for lack of light and air, I saw an opportunity. Abandoning my prepared sermon, I hastily put the shoes in a plastic bag, and headed for the church.
All went well. The bride and her seven bridesmaids were stunning; the groom turned up – and on time; even the sun shone as we entered the church. Nobody fluffed their lines, and in just a few moments I was proclaiming the couple man and wife. And then I presented the shoes to the happy couple – my wedding gift, I said, since it was hard to find anything for the couple that had everything….
And the sermon? The moral of the tale? Never think you can stuff your love and care for your partner into a cupboard once the wedding is over, leave it for five years, get it out and expect it to be still in working order. Relationships need light and air, time, nurture, even a regular polishing. That way they will last, will shine, and will always be fit for purpose. Get it wrong, and you’ll put your foot in it. And that will take more than shoe-shine to put right.
We drove down the day before, to attend a rehearsal and a pre-wedding supper. We had to remember to pack all we needed for the wedding, the rest of the weekend, and then enough stuff for holiday partly on the canals and partly in West Wales: so bags of this, rucksacks of that, a briefcase of clerical tat, and suits and dresses laid across the back seat of the car.
Having forgotten my black shoes five years previously when travelling to marry my own daughter (and had to borrow a pair from my future son-in-law), I made sure this time the shoes were in the car – and even remembered to polish them the previous evening. That was pretty good going for me – ask my wife!
All went well – the rehearsal was fine, the B and B was comfortable, and the evening out was really pleasant. On the Saturday a “full English” breakfast, a walk on the beach, and then back to change and head for the church.
I don’t do “smart” very often, but on this occasion I tried hard: the only instruction from my wife was that I shouldn’t upstage the bride’s father! So on went the modest black suit, and colourfully toned shirt and tie. And then the shoes. I eased my foot into the left shoe, and almost immediately, and to my horror, it re-appeared through the side of the shoe, as one entire seam split away from the rubber. Aghast, as the prospect of walking down the aisle with trainers beneath my cassock loomed before me, I put my foot in the other shoe, where the sole simply parted company with the rest of the shoe altogether and disintegrated on the floor before my eyes.
To laugh or cry? For lack of anything better, we sat on the bed and laughed and laughed, wondering what to do. Too late to go shopping; no potential son-in-law to borrow from (size 12 does present a problem!). Then I remembered I had packed some brown walking shoes for the holiday to come: they would have to do. And do they did. Black suit, white alb, brown shoes – a near perfect colour combination for all but the most discerning clergy-fashion spotter.
Realising, in the minutes before we left for church, that the shoes must have rotted in the cupboard for lack of light and air, I saw an opportunity. Abandoning my prepared sermon, I hastily put the shoes in a plastic bag, and headed for the church.
All went well. The bride and her seven bridesmaids were stunning; the groom turned up – and on time; even the sun shone as we entered the church. Nobody fluffed their lines, and in just a few moments I was proclaiming the couple man and wife. And then I presented the shoes to the happy couple – my wedding gift, I said, since it was hard to find anything for the couple that had everything….
And the sermon? The moral of the tale? Never think you can stuff your love and care for your partner into a cupboard once the wedding is over, leave it for five years, get it out and expect it to be still in working order. Relationships need light and air, time, nurture, even a regular polishing. That way they will last, will shine, and will always be fit for purpose. Get it wrong, and you’ll put your foot in it. And that will take more than shoe-shine to put right.
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