What is in Kelvin's Head?

Installation/Institution

06/09/2012

For the next three months, I’m on sabbatical from St Mary’s, enjoying the freedom that Bishop Gregor and the congregation have given me to think and reflect and grow.

The last formal thing that I did as Provost of St Mary’s before sabbatical time started was to go to the start of a new ministry – the installation of the Very Rev Nicola McNelly as the new Provost in the Cathedral in Oban.

It was a very splendid affair indeed. St John’s was as spruced up as St John’s can be and the place was nice and full to welcome Nicola. There was a good turn out from the Province too and Bishop Kevin preached an excellent sermon. The gist of it was that people treat the words ‘We’ve never done it this way’ as being somehow equivalent in their thinking to the seven last words of Jesus and then proceed to crucify the church over them. In passing, he made reference to the analogy between the way God loves us and the love that human beings have for one another. And yes, he was quite explicit that this means the love that men and women share, that men share with men and women share with women.Â (I hinted afterwards to him that one of our Scottish newspapers has a new devotional slot on its front page just crying out for a sermon like that and that he should send it in).

Jolly party afterwards at which old friendships were made and new one’s kindled. Always fun to meet people whom you have seen and hear about online but suddenly meet in the flesh. (Or indeed, fun to hear a twitter contact singing Calon LÃ¢n at the start of the liturgy – which happens to be one of my favourite tunes).

So then on to sabbatical time.

And the first thing I go to on sabbatical is…?

Yes, the start of a new ministry with an induction service for a new Rector. Different bishop (This time the Bishop of New Westminster) but so very much the same that it was uncanny. Same opening hymn, same joy, same sense of purpose and same kind of happy crowd of people enjoying being together and celebrating the hope and expectation that a new ministry can bring.

One of these services did have a handbell choir as well as a choir of voices and one did not though.

Interestingly, both services managed to make sense of the now ‘traditional’ giving of gifts (keys, bible, oil, bread and wine etc) to the new provost/rector. In each case, the giving of each gift was followed by a statement from the person concerned inviting the congregation to share with them the giving of the gifts for the sake of the world.

I can sometimes come away from such services depressed for it feels as though we have encumbered the incumbent with more than they should decently be expected to bear. In both these services though it felt as though purposeful, healthy leadership was being seen as part of a healthy collaborative endeavour of God’s people.

So, blessings to the new ministries I’ve seen commence this week. God bless them one and all.

induction services, installation, Nicola McNelly, Oban, St John’s Cathedral

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

kimberly

12/08/2009

ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

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kimberly

12/08/2009

the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

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kelvin

12/08/2009

Its not just me though, and not just fours.

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Aaron Orear

12/08/2009

I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

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Erp

12/08/2009

I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

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RosemaryHannah

12/08/2009

Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

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Elizabeth

13/08/2009

Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

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Ritualist Robert

14/08/2009

Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

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Steve

14/08/2009

I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

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