Mozambique – resource rich, conflict riven

This article appeared in the 17 September 2020 edition of The Tablet.

Islamist insurgents are causing mayhem in Mozambique’s northernmost province. Christian leaders insist the cause is not religion but incompetent government

On 12 August, after an infiltration campaign planned with great sophistication, and executed meticulously, Islamist insurgents took control of the port of Mocímboa da Praia, a key gas-industry hub in Mozambique’s northernmost province of Cabo Delgado.

The port’s capture represents the greatest coup of an insurgency that has killed at least 1,500 people since 2017, including 800 unarmed civilians, and has internally displaced almost a quarter of a million. The notorious Russian mercenary company, the Wagner Group, withdrew its services from energy companies in the area last year after suffering heavy losses, underlining how well trained and armed the insurgents are.

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A country is a home or it’s nothing

My latest piece in The Critic…

A cheery-looking chap from the local Lib Dems dropped a Focus leaflet through my door last weekend, the first political leaflet I’ve received since moving here a few months ago. It may surprise you that this isn’t the start of a Lib Dem-bashing article: while I no longer hold any fixed party allegiance for longer than the few seconds it takes to scrawl a cross in a box on polling day, I did put said cross beside the Lib Dem candidate’s name at December’s election and I broadly wish them well. So, I didn’t really expect to end up steaming with anger as I flipped through the pamphlet.

“Brace Yourselves: More Houses Are Coming” it thundered as it demanded that people write to the local Tory MP, Danny Kruger, asking why he supported the government’s proposals to reform the planning system. The leaflet acknowledged the “national housing need” but then talked about new homes as “the next storm”. Families having somewhere decent and secure to live is, apparently, comparable with a destructive weather event. Ironically, the leaflet heaped praise on NHS staff, many of whom are locked out of home ownership due to our acute housing shortage; praise never put a roof over anybody’s head.

I did indeed write to Kruger, but to congratulate the government on taking on the labyrinthine vested interests that have left Britain anywhere between a million and four million homes short, and with a wider national infrastructure that is decidedly spotty despite being world-leading at its best. I also uncovered an article by Kruger on ConservativeHomecalling for a major programme of building “beautiful” social housing that while thin on detail was stuffed with the right spirit.

I should really have thanked my local LibDem candidate. It can be a difficult for a politically minded cleric with a public record of decidedly non-rightwards politics to start a constructive relationship with a Tory constituency MP. It was a relief to be able to introduce myself to him with congratulations and common ground rather than sending him an angry missive on Brexit or the coronavirus that would get me perpetually filed in the “angry lefty vicar” dustbin.

Read the rest in The Critic

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“Get Thee Behind Me Satan”: Sermon Preached at St John’s Devizes on Sunday 30 August 2020 (the 12th Sunday After Trinity)

Readings – Romans 12:9-21, Matthew 16:21-28

But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling-block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’

May I speak in the name of God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Der Baader Meinhof ComplexLast week I watched two films that depicted how people convinced they are fighting injustice can descend into barbarism precisely because of their moral certainty. Both looked back on events in the late 1960s and 1970s. The first was Sam Green and Bill Siegel’s insightful documentary on The Weather Underground, the second was Bernd Eichlinger’s emotionally overwhelming dramatization of the story of The Baader Meinhof Complex. On both sides of the Atlantic, young people outraged by the nightly television scenes from Vietnam, with America killing civilians in great numbers, themselves resorted to bombing and killing. None of this produced any of the justice and liberation they sought. In the end, both organisations found the world moved on rapidly and left those in them behind: on the run, or marooned on the edge of society, or imprisoned. The illusion that if only we ourselves ran the world, then everything would be wonderful, is a dangerous one.

First century Palestine was a place of political and religious ferment and frequent outbreaks of religiously-inflected political violence. Utopianism was as prevalent there as it was in the Chicago or West Berlin of 1968. To understand how Jesus calling Peter “Satan” fits into that world, we need to go back to the episode in Matthew’s Gospel that immediately precedes Jesus beginning his public ministry. It’s the bit where Jesus is “led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil”. The last of the three temptations Satan puts before Jesus is to offer him all the kingdoms of the world in return for His worship. Jesus refuses and the Devil flees. Jesus’ goal is not power or conquest, nor even to initiate an enlightened political order, but the service of His heavenly Father.

Peter stumbles into being a bit of a devil without realising it, for he places exactly the same temptation before Jesus, to renounce His mission from the Father and seize earthly power. We know that power comes into it for the passage immediately preceding this, the Gospel at last Sunday’s service, is the one where Peter is the first person to correctly identify Jesus as the Messiah. The Messiah was expected to be an extraordinary God-sent leader who would restore The Temple to holiness from the way it had been spiritually despoiled by the Herods, and deliver the Jewish people from Roman Occupation. It was thought the Messiah was going to, if you will, Make Jerusalem Great Again.

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“Out of Our Depth”: Sermon Preached at St John’s, Devizes on Sunday 9 August 2020 (the 9th Sunday After Trinity)

Readings – 1 Kings 9:9-18, Matthew 14:22-33

But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’

May I speak in the name of God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Have you ever found yourself out of your depth and almost embarrassed that you were driven to ask for God’s help to get you out of the consequences of your own stupidity?

I certainly have!

I suspect I’m not the only one who used the lockdown as an excuse to get fitter. Do you know the start of the hundred and twenty-first psalm? “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh even from the Lord.” Well, that was my motto of the lockdown; in a small terraced house in Belfast’s inner-city with my parents, it was a case of either turning to the hills that surround the city or turning to drink. If the truth be told, there might have been a bit of both.

Divis from Wollfhill 20 May 2020 © Gerry Lynch

Divis from Wollfhill, 20 May 2020, © Gerry Lynch.

Still, on the first Saturday of the lockdown I surprised myself by tackling the highest of the Belfast Hills, a four hundred and eighty metre monster called Divis, in one go, six miles walk from home which is near the docklands and sea level. I was very proud of myself. But I hadn’t really got my mountain legs at this point, and I didn’t relish the circuitous walk back down. A quick scan of aerial photos on Google Maps showed that at one point it was barely four hundred metres from a formal path to the tarmacked city streets below, from where it would be an easy three mile stroll back. I knew the hill was steep at this point, as its slopes are visible across the city, but from below it always looked like a manageable scramble across some very pretty, gorse-bedecked, fields. My father, who grew up in the estate immediately below that hill, has long regaled me with stories of a childhood spent playing up on that mountain. When I clambered naughtily over the fence to start my short-cut, I had to admit it looked steeper than it seemed from a distance. Much steeper. But you know, four hundred metres, four football fields, how hard could it be? Continue reading

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Cassettes, Communion, and Guardians of the Galaxy: Online Worship isn’t the Answer to Everything

Young people these days are a rum lot! I’ve recently discovered that they’re getting into cassette tapes in a big way. I understood when people got back into vinyl again, that made perfect sense; analogue audio just sounds better than its digital counterpart, and there is something magical about the gentle crackle of a needle amplified by a good set of speakers. For the same reason, as a keen digital photographer, I understand why some of my snap-happy brethren are rediscovering film, even I have no desire to go to the trouble of setting up a darkroom myself.

But tapes? We lived off cassettes in the 1980s; we would make compilations by recording scratchy radio stations, sometimes Radio Luxembourg on Medium Wave, barely audible before sunset and full of fading after it in far-off Belfast. I remember how prone to breaking they were, always getting tangled up on the heads of the tape player, having to be straightened out and wound back on with a pencil, usually damaging the sound quality, even when they didn’t break altogether. Who in their right mind wants to use tapes?

Hooked on a feeling, I'm high on believing.

♪ Hooked on a feeling, I’m high on believing, but just not via Zoom ♫

A clerical colleague, who has the advantage of having teenage children, explained to me that it all started with Guardians of the Galaxy. And I can see why. Rarely has anything been more aptly named than Awesome Mix Vol. 1. My coleague’s son had recently given his girlfriend a mixtape for her birthday – they use that ugly Americanism (ugh!) rather than ‘compilation’, apparently. A question formed in my mind: but surely he could just make her a playlist on Spotify? The answer was so obvious I never even uttered the words. A compilation would always be a physical token of their love – in a sense, a sacrament. An outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

Maybe the young people aren’t so rum after all.

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Sermon Preached at St John’s Devizes on Sunday 19 July 2020, the 6th Sunday After Trinity

Readings – Romans 8:12–25, Matthew 13:24–30, 36–43

“…in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest.”

May I speak in the name of God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

It is good to be with you as your curate for the first time this morning. And I hope, for all of you, it is good to be back in Church.

Wiltshire Wheat Fields in mid-July near West Dean © Gerry Lynch

Wiltshire wheat fields in mid-July, © Gerry Lynch, 22 July 2016.

The parable of the wheat and the weeds centres on the idea that God allows both goodness and wickedness to flourish here on earth. It is particularly appropriate at this time, for we’ve seen the best and the worst of human nature over the four months since people last gathered together to pray here in St John’s. We’ve seen medical personnel and care home staff put their lives on the line, and in some cases give their lives, for the common good. We’ve seen the natural world revive as the pressure we human beings put on it eases off just a little, with cleaner air and water, less noise, and wildlife returning to our towns and cities. We’ve seen a great revival of community spirit, with neighbours looking out for the vulnerable, and we’ve also seen a great global effort of medical science taking place across boundaries of nation, religion, race, and system of government.

We’ve also learned a lot about who is genuinely indispensable to society: when most of us were told to stay at home if we possibly could, those who still had to go into work were often those least financially rewarded for their labours. Supermarket workers, staff in meat plants, fruit and vegetable pickers, truck drivers, security guards, home helps, taxi drivers, as well as those working in the NHS and care homes – these were the people who had to go to work right through the worst of the pandemic, and many of them earn wages that make it impossible for them to imagine providing a secure home for their families. These were the people who died in disproportionate numbers. Continue reading

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Twilight View of the Kyiv Pechersk-Lavra Monastery Complex

The Kyiv Pechersk Lavra monastery complex shot from the Paton Bridge in a golden evening twilight, 9 August 2018

Kyiv Pechersk-Lavra Complex shot from the Paton Bridge, 9 August 2017, © Gerry Lynch.

Viewed here from the Paton Bridge is the enormous and ancient Pechersk Lavra monastery complex in the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv. This is the crucible in which East Slavic Orthodoxy was formed and is arguably the third most important religious community in the history Christendom behind only Monte Cassino and Mount Athos.

Kyiv Pechersk Lavra (Ukrainian: Києво-Печерська лавра; Russian: Киeво-Печерская лавра), also known as the Kiev Monastery of the Caves, was founded as a cave monastery in 1051, since which time it has usually been a preeminent centre of Orthodox Christianity in Eastern Europe. Together with the Saint Sophia Cathedral a few kilometres away, it is inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Among others, the remains of Imperial Prime Minister Peter Stolypin, assassinated at the Opera in the city centre, lie at rest here.

While remaining a major cultural and tourist attraction, the monastery has been active again as a religious community since the 1980s, having been shut down by the Soviet authorities in 1928 and turned into a museum-park. Nowadays, there are now over 100 monks in residence. Continue reading

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Devizes Market Square, West Side

Devizes Market Square, West SideThe west side of the Market Square of Devizes in Wiltshire (population 15,500). The Bear Hotel, which occupies the two left-hand buildings, dates back at least to the 16th Century, but reached both its current form with Doric front and stucco pillars, and the height of its popularity towards the end of the 18th Century, when it provided lodging and alimentation for the then rapidly expanding coach traffic transiting the town between London and Bath or Bristol. The statue of the bear above the front door was removed from its previous perch in the Market Square and placed here around 1800.

The Corn Exchange, the right hand building, is somewhat later, dating to 1857, in Victorian classical style and the Bath stone which the opening of the Kennet and Avon Canal brought so much of to Devizes after it opened 1810. The building is topped by a statue of Ceres, Roman god of the harvest. The building made Devizes one of England’s premier sites for trading in corn. It now largely provides a venue for social and arts events.

Rare indeed is the opportunity to photgraph these buildings without parked cars in the way, but an early Sunday morning in lockdown-lite was perfect, with an almost cloudless sky.

A market is still held in the square every Thursday.

For those interested in the history of Devizes, I highly recommend Lorna Haycock’s History and Guide of the town, available from all good bookshops.

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The Case for Socialist Healthcare in One Country

If China and Covid can’t shake doctrinal globalism, can anything?

My latest piece in The Critic…

My friend Murat runs two tailor’s shops in the south of England. Having arrived from Turkey as a sole trader five years ago running a little alteration business in Salisbury, he now employs eight people, has a second premises in Winchester, and offers a full bespoke suit-making service. When Covid-19 hit, he and his team of mainly Turkish immigrant craftsmen put their skills at the service of the NHS, making scrubs for Southampton University Hospital as supply lines around the world crumbled in the face of unprecedented demand.

It’s hard to think of two similar sized towns in the United Kingdom more unlike one another than Salisbury and Strabane, yet a similar story played itself out on a bigger scale there. This stronghold of Irish Republicanism on the Tyrone/Donegal border is home to O’Neills, a global sportswear brand that has expanded so far beyond its origins making Gaelic football and hurling gear that they now design and make, among other things, the strip of the Democratic Republic of Congo’s national football team. I know this because I was sat next to a gentleman wearing one on a Lusaka to Copperbelt bus last July, a market trader shuttling goods between his homeland and Zambia. We had no common language and it seemed he had never heard of Northern or any other Ireland, but a boy brought up by the River Lagan still rubbed shoulders, literally, with a man in a jersey made by the River Foyle as we bounced up Central Africa’s Great North Road. O’Neills closed their Strabane factory and made 750 staff redundant a few days before the lockdown was introduced, but within a week had brought some staff back to make scrubs for the Covid-19 ward at the nearby Altnagelvin Hospital. Currently, they are making more than 10,000 sets of scrubs a week, with more than 400 staff back at work.

Here we have two entrepreneurially-minded firms, in different ways on the margins of being British, reshaping their production lines to work for the common good in a national emergency. At the same time other firms reported huge frustrations with bureaucracy and seeming official disinterest as they attempted to respond to the government’s requests to switch production to PPE. This despite the problems in securing supplies from overseas during the height of the pandemic. James Ball reported in this week’s Spectator that Public Health England had indeed acted to top up its depleted PPE supplies in January as the news from China became steadily more worrying. The problem was that the enormous order went to a factory in France, whose government quite sensibly requisitioned all PPE within its borders once the virus struck Western Europe, whatever the EU’s ‘four freedoms’ might have demanded. It is by now almost facile to note how national sovereignty has reasserted itself over globalism during the pandemic. The hoarding of global supplies of Redemsivir by the United States, as the virus is getting out of control there again, is a warning that the NHS needs to urgently shorten all sorts of supply lines during what will be a lengthy crisis with shifting global epicentres.

Read more at The Critic

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Beginning Public Ministry in a Liminal Time

On Saturday last, I should have made a deacon in Salisbury Cathedral, a place I love, the antepenultimate milestone in a journey to fulfil a call to priesthood in the church of God that I began, depending on how one counts it, either six, ten, or twenty-two years ago. I first went to see the Director of Ordinands for the Diocese of Connor and joined the Fellowship of Vocation there in September 1998. I often find it useful to date moments in my life by the pop songs on the radio at the time; the UK Number 1 single then was, with delicious irony, T-Spoon’s Sex on the Beach. That really was a long time ago now.

St John the Baptist Church, Devizes, 1 July 2020, © Gerry Lynch

St John the Baptist Church, Devizes, 1 July 2020, © Gerry Lynch

Having been formally licensed as a lay worker in the parish of St John with St Mary, Devizes, by the Bishop of Salisbury via videoconference on Sunday I am, however, a curate if not a cleric, an officially licensed tender of God’s garden of souls at a time when churches have not held public worship for more than three months, when public health regulations have quite correctly banned visiting the army of lonely and isolated people in their own homes. Hundreds of others have had their ordinations similarly delayed, and are experiencing similar uncertainties. For me, a journey towards ordained ministry that often involved being told that I was an awkward person on the edge leads to a public ministry that begins in a virus-ravaged world that sits on the edge of… who knows what?

Wikipedia tells me that in anthropology, liminality (from the Latin word limen, meaning ‘a threshold’) is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of a rite of passage, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the rite is complete. Liminality is terribly fashionable in the Church at the moment; I have not always found it to be a pleasant or rewarding place to inhabit. It is, however, the state in which the whole world waits for a new order to emerge, groaning for better but often in trepidation of worse.

Liminal time exists in the cracks in our lives and the cracks in the life of the world that lie between the passing of the old and the coming of the new. Of course, there are other ways of looking at the world, ways that emphasize the continuities rather than the discontinuities. Emphasising the continuities that lie across all breaks in human experience seems to have been the most modish approach of late. Understandings that emphasize continuity bring richness and insight, for each of us always remains himself and all of us always remain human. Like all perspectives, however, these are limited. Just as a photographer will choose his perspective depending on the time of day and year, weather conditions, subject matter, and the like, sometimes we must consciously open ourselves to new viewpoints on ourselves and our world. Continue reading

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