Learning to knit as a child, on a pair of short, colourful knitting needles, though I found it a challenge to get my head round the whole thing at all, eventually I got to the place where everything would roll along smoothly. For a while. Then I made mistakes, dropped stitches and got in a muddle. At that point I would take my knitting to my mother and ask for her help. She knew how to ravel up the lost stitch through the threads of the knitting, and could spot the location of a mistake, take the rows back to that point, pick up the stitches again, re-knit the rows for me, and set me up again to carry on. D’you know I’m making this up completely, I cannot recall at all if that’s what my mother did, but it’s what my perfect fantasy mother would have done, so let’s say that’s what she did.
However I remember quite clearly what happened when at school as a teenager I learned to sew. I could hand-sew with no difficulty; I’d learned the basics of embroidery at primary school and carried on from there at home by myself with a little book of embroidery stitches. Hand-sewing was fine (though not until I was a young mother did an intelligent woman point me in the direction of the crucial role of ironing in hand-sewing, especially patchwork). But at school I ‘learned’ to use a sewing machine. This is how it went. I would get out a machine and thread it up. I would sew along OK for a while, and then the thread from the bobbin would tangle into the most horrendous mess under the foot. I would struggle on until the whole thing (quickly) seized up and would not budge another inch, then go to our teacher and ask for help, not having the first clue what I had done wrong or how to put it right. “Well, go away and think about it!” she used to pronounce, refusing to offer any help or advice beyond that. I went away and thought about it and this was my solution; I hid the sewing machine in the cupboard and got another one out. The same thing happened again. It took a lot of sewing machines before I finished the pink mini-skirt I was making.
Recently I’ve got my threads tangled again. I’ve been hiding metaphorical sewing machines in metaphorical cupboards for a long time now, and it’s time to either stick to hand-sewing or learn how to understand what’s happening.
I came out of the ordained Methodist ministry a few years back for a number of reasons but principally because all my threads were tangled. I ploughed on as long as I could, getting more and more messed up, and eventually came to a complete stop. My superintendent minister and my Chair of District, God bless them, tried by every means in my power to talk me into staying and make it easy for me to do so, but all I wanted to do was put the machine back in the cupboard. I’d gone away and thought about it and I didn’t know what to do.
I had issues with church structures. I felt that communities of faith should be less hierarchical and more like a circle, with acknowledged sages and seers rather than paid clergy. I think the linking of personal faith and vocation to home and income and career is an easily foreseeable disaster.
I felt an irresistible pull to simplicity of life and environmental responsibility, not as add-ons but as an integral actually lived expression of regular faith; and this seemed to strike no chord in the hearts of the majority those to whom I preached Sunday by Sunday. I felt that where I wanted to lead they had no desire to follow, so I was not a leader for those people.
My personal life was in a mess. I’d been divorced, remarried, widowed, remarried; and there was fall-out. My family of origin was in quiet disarray, and I was an unwelcome figure in both the new step-family I had gained and the life of my first husband’s new wife (her life including the large circle of people who had been my loved family for twenty-four years). These circumstances resulted in anger, grief and a sense of deep injustice. I also felt it inappropriate for an ordained person to have in her family circle such a muddle of discordant relationships, such deep and childish feelings of rage and ‘it’s not fair!!’ as I had.
And I wasn’t at all sure women should be ministers. When I thought about it, I wasn’t sure men should be either.
And after a decade of mega-stressors, I was tired beyond measure and only wanted to be left in peace to see if anything was left of my soul and put it together and get it working if I could.
I went to the Quakers for a while and loved them: but Jesus, the Bible, the sacraments and the doctrine of the Trinity are central to my personal faith and were not to theirs. I tracked down Conservative Quakers in the UK but they state uncompromisingly that if you make common cause with them you must sever all connection with other religious groups, and I don’t plan to do that. I have a lot of Quaker in me, but a lot of Anglican, Anabaptist, Catholic, Taoist, Buddhist, Born Again Reincarnated Charismatic Pentecostal Jesus Freak as well. So, no severing, then.
We moved back to Hastings to be with my family because (to cut short a long explanation) that’s what the Spirit said to do. We now live very family-ish life. All of us chose carefully and threw money at the situation until we ended up with a large house in which five of us live together, a smaller house in which my married daughter lives with her husband and child; and then my oldest daughter and her partner also live nearby. The three houses are all within fifteen minutes walk of each other. The people who live in the houses all equally own the house they live in, and we all help each other with the Difficulties Of Life as and when. The big house we live in is also a base for teaching and singing and prayer, for quiet days and meetings and a hospitable space for people to come.
I found a way to continue to be faithful to my call to teach the Gospel by stepping up writing as I was no longer preaching or leading worship or a pastor or any kind. I also still lead retreats and am the main instigator of the home group and other happenings in our home. Writing pastoral theology and Christian fiction does not make me rich, but living all together I can get by and afford my contribution. I chose not to run a car, because of the expense, the pollution, the speeded up lifestyle and the crowded roads. Cars are a big source of problem stuff in our society and horses and buggies would be a whole lot better.
I’ve been exploring the Third Order of St Francis (Anglican Franciscans), and been intrigued to find that this path lights my husband’s fire in a way that religion in general rarely does; and I’d like us to walk as one. I’ve been scared by the concept of Life Vows in taking the Franciscan way, but loved that their emphasis is on connection and relationship. They are humble and understanding and gentle, their focus is on way of life rather than inquisition as to doctrine, and that way of life majors on simplicity and cherishing the beautiful earth and living the beautiful Gospel. They say their main purpose in existence is to make Jesus known and loved everywhere, and what more could you want, really?
I’ve been attending worship at a wonderful, warm, loving very high Anglican (all incense and robes) church. They have won my heart entirely.
Things seemed to be looking clearer.
Then I got my knitting tangled and my sewing machine seized up again.
I went to the little Methodist chapel where I and my family had our base before I came out of the Methodist Church. Their numbers were down, morale was low, and I could see they needed us. They needed encouragement. It’s a beautiful witness they have there. I could see I owed it to them to go there more in support of what they are doing. But they are right out in the country and I no longer had a car.
Then the call to dress Plain (headcovering included) went on clamouring inside. I felt awful about it because I’ve changed my entire wardrobe about four times trying to get this right. Especially the head-covering I find really embarrassing. I feel so conspicuous and people stare at me. But it’s what the Spirit is saying in me.
But I thought how can I go the Plain dress path if I don’t want to sign up to the Conservative Quakers for all the reasons above and I do want to join the Third Order of St Francis. And, come to that, how can I join the Anglican Third Order if I have one foot in the Methodist Church still? And how can I go to the Methodist Church even part of the time when their minister thinks I’m seriously bad news?
I began to feel very wretched.
On the weekend of my birthday I had a little Quiet Day gathering at home. I realized that some of my friends were scattered and lonely. Spiritual women who are not of this world, they have their share of adversity in daily life. They needed me. Without a car I couldn’t get where they were – well, I could, but the walk, bus, train, walk, visit, do it all in reverse method was just too tiring for me: I’ve had some health issues and depression issues in recent times and energy has been low. I’d like to go to evening worship on Sundays as well as the morning, but by evening time I feel too tired to walk there.
I wanted to go to Penhurst fellowships too (the place where I conduct retreats, see right side-bar), but they, like my friends, are out in the country, accessible only by car.
My mother is in her eighties and very alone. We need for her to live nearer us, but Hastings is not her kind of place. She needs to be in one of the Kent/Sussex villages.
And there is a serious possibility of my grandson being home-schooled. We need to go and meet with the other home-schoolers in Sussex, but how to get there?
Everything seemed seized up and tangled, and I couldn’t figure out how to make it go at all. Thankfully Christ is more like my fantasy mother than my benighted schoolteacher when it comes to tangled threads. I took it all and put it in His lap. “What’s Thee think, then, Lord?”
“Get a car,” was Thing 1. So I did. Now I can go to evening worship, my mother can get started on moving to where she needs to be (and I can help her), I can visit friends who are sick or lonely, we can explore the home school issue, I can go along to encourage the Methodist brothers and sisters in the little country chapel some Sunday mornings each month – so many things are possible. For just me by myself, it was a wholesome and good discipline of simplicity being without one; for the particular place I hold in the family, it’s the right thing for the time being.
“Green light on the Third Order of St Francis,” was Thing 2. So I am going for that; but also making informal links with the UK Conservative Friends, who are walking in the same direction in so many ways.
“Dress plain and cover thy head” was Thing 3. Gulp. OK. So I started wearing the head-covering again – and have been bowled over by the spiritual shifts that has made, deeper and further reaching than I could possibly have imagined.
Things 4 and 5 were that it’s right to keep on going to the Anglican church where I feel so happy, but also right to go sometimes to the Methodists. But Thing 5 has a proviso that I am scared about and can’t manage yet. Thing 5 is that I must go to the Methodists sometimes but sort out my relationship with their minister who understandably regards me with a fair degree of caution. I am very scared of this. I’m a bit too ASD for that mission, and very tempted to hide that sewing machine and its tangled feet in the cupboard. But part of the Power Of The Head-Covering is a kind of current or force of Truth. It hides my spirit under God’s wing and therefore gives peace to my littleness in getting things done. I don’t know why.
Then digging around online I discovered to my surprise that not only are there Plain Catholics but Plain Anglicans as well – it ain’t just Quakers and Anabaptists! There’s a whole interdenominational international Plain movement of Christians living simply and loving the Earth, covering their heads and growing their beards (and that’s just the ladies!). And the icing on the cake was when I discovered Magdalena Perks. Just her name rejoices my heart. She is glorious. Magnificent. Dotty. Covered. And Anglican. This encourages me that my attendance at Anglican church and involvement with the Third Order of St Francis will not inherently necessitate a distancing from brothers and sisters who are called to be Plain.
Oh – and I have spent a year working hard on my attitudes regarding the tangled threads of my family (divorced family, step family, family of origin). I’ve learned a new way of praying (Ho’oponopono if you’re interested; which if you can fight your way past the websites and individuals who have battened on to it to make big bucks is a powerful self-alignment with the Spirit of God and rings true with the life and teaching of Jesus) and written three novels as a way of doing the rigorous inner work that needed to be done. And though the challenges continue to flow in, my spirit is much freer and I can see my way much clearer there.
The threads are starting to untangle. Maybe instead of just being an insoluble mess I will be able to weave it all together into something beautiful.
I tell you what, if you are still reading this and haven’t died or gone to sleep, you deserve a medal!