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For the fainthearted . . .

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Monthly Archives: November 2012

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Just listen

For the fainthearted . . .

It is the first morning back on African soil; the first full day in Shyogwe; the first full day of remembering I am only a visitor and cannot even begin to understand the reality of life for people here, and can never ever comprehend the searing pain of the memories of the people.

For generations, Europeans have come to this continent and imposed their ideas.  The military and political imperialism of the past has been replaced by much more subtle forms of domination.  There is the domination by the international …

Inside, I’m still me

For the fainthearted . . .

A Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt followed by Ethiopian Airlines to Addis Ababa and from thence to Kigal: a driver, meetings receptions – except, inside I’m the kid from the last council house in the row; reinvention only goes so far.

A friend comes to mind. From growing up with an unpromising future; serving as an ordinary squaddie in the British army; then working in a string of manual jobs; he began a transformation.  Workman’s clothes were replaced by slick suits; factory floors by an office in Mayfair; sandwiches in a …

Brody becomes PJ

For the fainthearted . . .

To Africa in the morning, for the fourth time in four years. However disorganised I may at present be, I am better than I was in 2009.

Sitting at Terminal 4 of Heathrow Airport in June 2009, there seemed a sense that the trip might cause me problems. In fact, it went smoothly (if one discounts being driven to a clinic in Kigali to be treated for food poisoning). On that summer evening, inspired by Marcus Brody from ‘Indiana Jones’ I wrote a blog called ‘Brody goes forth:

Oh dear,

…

Sermon for the First Sunday in Advent, 2nd December 2012

For the fainthearted . . .

“Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory” Luke 21:37

I grew up hearing the legends of King Arthur. I grew up with magical stories which transformed the countryside around where I lived. The landscape of gentle hills and flat moorland became the scene for extraordinary happenings. Looking out my bedroom window towards Glastonbury Tor, I could almost see Arthur and his knights galloping along the ridge of the hills.

Arthur was the king of the Britons; the leader who fought …

To pass freely

For the fainthearted . . .

The good lady of the house carries the passport of her native island and inside the front cover appears the sort of detail that hardly gets noticed. In Irish, it reads:

Iarrann Aire Gnóthaí Eachtracha na hÉireann ar gach n-aon lena mbaineann ligean dá shealbhóir seo, saoránach d’Éirinn, gabháil ar aghaidh gan bhac gan chosc agus gach cúnamh agus caomhnú is gá a thabhairt don sealbhóir.

Underneath, in English, the request is repeated:

The Minister for Foreign Affairs of Ireland requests all whom it may concern to allow the bearer,

…

Continuing ministry

For the fainthearted . . .

The clergyman’s wife died when they might have enjoyed retirement years together. By which time, he had spent four decades in parish ministry with her as his constant companion. Widowed, parish life became his life and he continued until forced to retire by ecclesiastical regulation. In retirement, he moved to another parish and offered his services to the rector there. It was agreed that two days a week would be reasonable for a man in his late-seventies. The man himself did not think two days a week reasonable, he would …

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