Like last year, Proost will be marking the lent journey with a daily piece of creativity- a poem, a song, a video, a prayer, a dance, a piece of music, a piece of art. We have a wonderful back catalogue that we will dip into once again, but even more, we love to connect with creatives who might want to take part.
We are looking for pieces that help us all make connections between our faith story and the times we are living through. At Proost, we think we need our artists more than ever to challenge us, to disturb those colonial hierarchies and places where we have too often been complicit with powers that are anything but benign. Let this Lent journey be part of a conspiracy towards goodness, for the sake of our human and non human neighbours.
If you are considering contributing (and we really hope you do!) then email it to us at hello@proost.community! Please feel free to attach whatever images, audio files, or video you would like to offer and we will do our best to include them.
If your files are too big, we’d recommend using WeTransfer!
The other day I had the great pleasure of making a journey into deep Argyll, over Loch Fyne by ferry (whilst it was still dark) then up to the Isle of Seil, to meet with poet, novelist and artist Kenneth Steven. The pretext of this visit was to record a podcast, but the truth is, it was about time we met! Two blokes, both about the same age, both living in Argyll, both writing poetry inspired by the spirituality of wild places – oh and we have connection to Iona and the Iona community too. How was it that we did not already know each other?
Kenneth and his wife Kristina were the perfect hosts- despite an earlier failed attempt to record over the internet which I messed up by getting the time wrong! They live in a beautiful place and I very much enjoyed our chat. We hope you do too!
You can listen on Spotify, Apple or Youtube – Here is the spotify link;
If you don’t already know Kenneth’s work, here is the blurb from his website.
Kenneth Steven is first and always a poet. To survive as a literary author he’s had to become many other things as a writer – he translated the Norwegian novel The Half Brother, he’s a children’s picture book and story writer, he’s an essayist and a feature writer – but it’s poetry and the love of poetry that lies at the heart of it all. His volume of selected poems Iona appeared from Paraclete Press in the States a couple of years ago. His numerous collections have sold many thousands of copies, and he has a strong name as a poet thanks to the poetry-related features he’s written and presented over long years: his programme A Requiem for St Kilda having won a Sony Gold for Radio 4.
His poetry has been inspired primarily by place. He grew up on the edge of the Scottish Highlands with a profound awareness of that world: his mother’s people were Gaelic speakers from Wester and Easter Ross. It’s the wildscape of Highland Scotland that pours through his pen.
It’s that same wildscape he seeks to capture as a painter. He and his wife Kristina live on the Scottish west coast, and it’s the ever-changing colours of sea and sky he loves so much: the myriad blues and the incredible beauty of the light.
Kenneth runs his own podcast, available to those who support his work through patreon- we very much encourage any of you who are able to reach out. We need out poets more than ever!
Here at the end of this Advent journey, we start a new one, through Christmas and on into the pergrinatio we are called out towards.
May you be blessed by friendship and love and may you bless in return.
Happy Christmas everyone.
We are profoundly grateful to you all.
Here is a prayer written and read by our friend Mark Berry
God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be God’s people, and God will be with them and be their God.‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”
In the dark of night a song rang out high above the earth The divine reached down and stirred the air with melody The Holy sang amongst the fields and houses Harmonies swirling between streets and hedges The call has gone out, the journey is done, the dance has begun.
God has come to dwell with us, God has come to dwellin us,
God has come to make all things new.
We are called to join the dance of the new,
Turning sorrow into joy,
Pain into growth,
Fear into hope,
Tears into laughter,
Judgement into freedom,
Loneliness into family,
Anger into love,
For in the dark the dance has begun,
In the dark the old order is lost and light is born.
Emmanuel, God is with us.
God who broke the barriers of heaven and earth,
May we see you in all things, on earth and beyond.
May we hear you in all voices, in poetry and song.
May we feel you in every breath of our being
May we always be willing to give all that we have and all that we are,
to touch the world with the Christmas truth:
Emmanuel, God is with us.
As the sun begins to rise on the horizon,
The glow spreading across the land,
And the morning begins to take on colour,
Look and witness the future born to break the fast
Breath the freshness of dawn air and welcome the light
For the Son has come: Emmanuel, God is with us.
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen God’s glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from God, full of grace and truth.
Thanks again to Jaclyn for her stunning image. When we think of Angels, why are they always singing?
Below is a recording made on a rough old piano, at around 3 AM, when weary mucicians come home after a gig, still wired and slightly high on the buzz of performing, glad of each other and the deep magic we make through weaving sounds into something that is deeply human. There is amazing talent here, but there are notes that do not qute work. It is the very best of us, I think – a little capsule of beauty and deep humanity.
If it is true that the deepest, truest and most authentic part of the world is made of God, then I think this might be where music comes from, filtered through everything we put in the way, but still it leaks out. It reeks of the divine.
May your carols sing into the darkest nights.
(With thanks to Joe, Will, Emily and Sally for the late night gift of beauty.)
I heard someone say recently that the journey is often something we should treasure more than the destination. This seems more true of advent than most things – not because I do not wish your Christmas to be full of beauty love (I most certainly do) but because this journey is about finding light, despite the darkness. Finding hope despite all evidence to the contrary. An invitation to faith not as destination but as process.
It is all there in the Christmas story. A nation longing for a different kind of Messiah than the one born in a stable. An on-going occupation. A despotic king. A clueless pair of parents who have only the slenderest hold on what they have brought in to being. Homelessness. Refugees fleeing violence. Rich men who promise solutions but merely reveal the vast inequality gap.
This year, let’s try to remember that we are not the first generation of Advent travellers to fear the way things are going. The journey is not over though, even if the destination remains so very far away. Let’s keep walking. Thanks to all of you who have walked with Proost this year, may we make more miles together yet.
This poem was written on the shortest day of the year, that time when our ancestors marked the turning point towards light.
Comes a time
.
Comes a time when dark seems darkest
When things can fall no further
Comes a time when the day is shortest
When everything that might break has already been broken
When I reach out into the darkness
For I need you more than ever
.
Comes a time when we can again conspire
Towards the rediscovery of kindness
Comes a time when we hold each other close
When we can stitch our common thread into
Hoods that hold the warmth from its retreating
When we hang lights
.
Comes a time when the daylights must be brighter
Turning dusk to reluctant amber
When the embers of this fire seem to linger longer
It should be no surprise that at the centre of the advent story is a mother, for surely, through them the world is made new. Without mothers there is no hope for the world. Because of mothers, the world might yet be changed.
But this is not the whole story. ‘Mary’ is a name thought to be used through the bible as an archetype. Another way of saying ‘woman’, as if individual women did not need their own name. Yet one particular Mary is recorded as singing this song;
46-55 And Mary said,
I’m bursting with God-news; I’m dancing the song of my Savior God. God took one good look at me, and look what happened— I’m the most fortunate woman on earth! What God has done for me will never be forgotten, the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others. His mercy flows in wave after wave on those who are in awe before him. He bared his arm and showed his strength, scattered the bluffing braggarts. He knocked tyrants off their high horses, pulled victims out of the mud. The starving poor sat down to a banquet; the callous rich were left out in the cold. He embraced his chosen child, Israel; he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high. It’s exactly what he promised, beginning with Abraham and right up to now.
Luke 1 46-55 (The Message translation)
It would seem remiss then, not to make reference to this stunning song.
If you have not heard it yet (or if you have) please take a few minuites to let it wash over you… then go an buy it from here;
Yesterday we reflected on cycles of violence, and the urgent need to break them. There is the need for the upheld hand, but this must accompanied by the outstretched hand of love. Today we look again at the Advent prophets who did both.
Here at Proost we are interested in the idea of prophecy – not so much in the sense of foretelling the future but rather as a way of understanding the converging of spirituality and justice. The prophet, in this understanding, is one of those brave souls who is prepared to speak love to power. From this love flows the search for truth and the movement towards justice and peace. It is difficult and dangerous work sometimes because this kind of love tends to be resisted, suppressed and even criminalised.
It is easy to identify modern prophets whilst looking back at those great liberation movements of the last century- Martin Luther King, for example. Despite his death, we forget the hatred he faced from many in power. Prophets always divide. They are stumbling blocks to marching feet. The great warriors of love have always known this and often been prepared to suffer for their words and actions.
The closer we get to our current times, the harder it seems to agree on the wisdom or validity of prophetic voices. Stonewall and their fight for gay rights perhaps? How about those who climbed trees to try to save them long before most of us were awakened to the full realities of ecosystem destruction? How about Just Stop Oil? Or how about the Filton 24? (Starting to feel a little more uncomfortable?)
We know how the efforts to raise Palestinian justice divide us- even within the Proost community. Some fear that any protests against the genocide in Gaza endanger Jews accross the world and make terrible attacks like that on Bondi beach more likely. We do not beleive that this fear can prevent us still calling for peace and justice because we remember these words from Isaiah, later voiced by Jesus as the his own mission (in Luke’s gospel.)
Today we wanted to end with this poem/prayer from Clare Hinchcliffe, mother of Zoe Rogers, currently on remand facing charges related to direct action against Elbit Systems, manufacturer of so many of the weapons that have been ‘battle tested’ in Gaza. You can read her story here. Clare posted these powerful and deeply moving words a couple of days ago when her daughter was appearing in court, after being held in remand for over a year.
And yes, there are many differences between protest and prophecy… but there is also a relationship that might be closer than we care to think.
The stunning painting above by jaclyn reminds us that Jesus was born into violent times. The horrific antisemitic attacks against people peacefully enjoying the sunshine on an Austalian beach would suggest that little has changed. Violence once again unleashed. It is almost as if we find it impossible to learn this simple lesson – violence always results in more violence. Unless we can break the circle, it will break us.
The unreasonable, impracticable teachings of Jesus concern themselves at heart with the breaking of this circle through the subversive application of love. In the face of violence, even to death, his call was to resist by the application of a different set of rules, characterised by non-violence. We defend ourselves from violence not through arming ourselves or seeking revenge, but rather by something much braver and much more counter-cultural. We seek to love our enemies, and to lay down our lives as agents of peace.
But let us never pretend this is easy. To those who are fearful, hurting and broken we offer this beautiful big-hearted poem by our friend Steve Page, from his book ‘Not too big to weep‘.
This beautiful photograph from artist Raine Clarke might suggest the obvious to you, as it did to me. Take a moment with it if you can. Look at the edges, then allow yourself to be drawn back towards the light. Allow the artist/photographer to show you what they saw.
We pair this photo with an old poem by Chris, from a collaborative advent book ‘We still wait’. The poem is a fun look at what happens when a donkey meets an angel. What could say Christmas more than that combination?
Today, another beautiful return to a Proost book from 2007, Holy Darkness, by Sophie Dutton. We have paired this poem with Jaclyn Stuart’s beautiful painting ‘From one king to another’.
Three Gifts
This is based on something I wrote for a Visions service
about 3 years ago.
To the baby in the manger, I bring Gold.
I bring water fights on hot summers days,
making snow angels in the middle of winter.
I bring autumn walks kicking up the leaves.
I bring the first buds of spring.
I bring trips to the park, a child running to embrace you,
jumping into your arms.
I bring a lover’s walk barefoot down a beach.
I bring happiness,
I bring joy,
I bring hope,
I bring love,
I bring laughter and dancing and singing and playing.
To the baby in the manger, I bring Frankincense.
I bring friends gathering in prayer,
shared meals and shared washing up.
I bring icons and post-it notes,
overhead projectors and prayer books.
I bring all flavours of all faiths.
I bring togetherness.
I bring bread and wine, beer and crisps, pringles and coke.
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