Rector's blog

……. I would like to continue, just for one more day, my reflections on the new drama series of Sherlock, being shown on BBC1.  Sherlock is a fantasy figure.  Fantasies are useful as they allow us to articulate that which we deeply want.  In as much as Sherlock is a figure who can remember, identify, analyse and deduce in wonderful ways, he is someone who embodies some of our aspirations.  But fantasies can also be dangerous – they can be a dream-world that is easier to live in than the real world.

While I was training to be a priest, I took a course in counselling, which also taught me about the basic outlines of psychotherapy.  I remember clearly the tutor saying “beware of the fantasy of X-ray eyes”.  A therapist or a priest can imagine that he/she has the power to see inside the souls of their clients and understand what is “really” going on.  This fantasy can take over and persuade the therapist or priest that he/she understands people better than they do themselves.  It leads to the temptation not to listen to others – for the priest already knows what is truly happening.  But, X-ray eyes is a fantasy for “clients” as well.  When we are experiencing life in all its complexity and difficulty, we can long for someone who sees through this greyness and identify the structure that lies underneath. “X-ray eyes” is a dangerous fantasy for both therapist and client, for it will stop deep listening and respect for times of chaos when there simply is no underlying pattern to be seen.

Sherlock (in part) embodies the fantasy of X-ray eyes.  I enjoy enormously the scenes in which he penetrates a conundrum and pronounces authoritatively a response within seconds.  But my enjoyment is partly a wish to escape the hard patient work that is sometimes required to attend positively to what people are saying and feeling – and the courage to wait for a deeper truth to become apparent.

Let’s enjoy Sherlock – and not feel that this is how we can live ourselves.

I am not alone in enjoying the new series of “Sherlock” on BBC1. It has been called ‘the best drama series for many years’ – and I agree. I love the pace, the wit and the beauty of what I see – even though it is a re-telling of the original Conan Doyle stories, rather than being a series of original dramas. It’s truly brilliant. I love it.
Giles Fraser wrote an interesting article in the Church Times this week about ‘Sherlock’. He was considering the thesis put forward by academics that the genre of the Detective Novel arose in the mid 19^thcentury because of the slow loss of religious faith in the general population. The theory is that, in the second half of the 19^th century, as more and more people lost confidence in the overall framework of right/wrong, of the punishment of evil-doers and the reward of the righteous, a new pattern of stories had to be told. The Detective becomes in some ways a God-substitute who can right wrongs, identify criminals and bring them to justice – the sort of justice that people believed that “God” could no longer underwrite.

An extension of this thesis is that detective stories are now so popular because, once again, we have lost corporate confidence in the upholding of justice. We need the sort of fantasy figure that Sherlock is to bring order out of chaos, to bring illumination to our confused world, and to put right what has been made wrong.  Although this thesis seems historically plausible, I am not so sure that this captures the essence of what is remarkable about the figure of Sherlock Holmes. Let me give an example.
On Sunday, there was a woman in church who was wearing what looked like a new, very beautiful red dress. I wondered what Sherlock would have made of that. He could have said that the woman had just broken with her partner and, being miserable, she had indulged in some comfort-shopping. But he could have said that she is deeply loved by her partner who, for a special Christmas present, had bought her a new dress. He could have seen the dress as a reward (say, from a promotion at work), as a loan (as she had stayed overnight at friends) or as a gift to mark, say, her parents golden wedding. The reality is that there are many conclusions that could be drawn – all of which are plausible. Yet the figure of Sherlock works as a fantasy partly because in his world there is only one right answer. The fantasy element of Sherlock is not located in him being a human with miraculous powers of deduction; the fantasy lies in there being only one conclusion that is drawn from each sort of evidence.
Life is not that simple. Any ordinary human situation has many layers of meaning; and many components contribute to one outcome. So, to take the example chosen, the woman in the red dress might have (a) been shopping, (b) stayed overnight with friends, AND (c) been celebrating her parents golden wedding. All these could be true. It is fantasy to reduce life to a simple chain of ‘one cause’ leads to ‘one effect’.  Perhaps this genre of the Detective Novel arose at a time when science was beginning to recognise the inherent uncertainty of the universe.  Perhaps it is a genre that is popular now at a time that we struggle with the complexity of human interactions.  We long for a figure such as Sherlock, or Morse, who can cut through this knot of mixed motives and meanings to reveal what is “really” going on underneath.
But life is not that simple. Certainly the spiritual life is not that simple.  That’s probably enough of a reflection for today.  The enormous pleasure I get from watching Sherlock is an indicator that, however witty and clever it is, the story telling is based on a pattern that I do not experience regularly in daily life.

Well, after over 25 years in ministry, I have at last learnt one lesson: to be gentle towards myself on the first day back at work after a seasonal break.  The Christmas worship went really well; we’ve enjoyed a good week’s break as a family.  And now, today, is my first day back at work.  The first-ness is enhanced by this being at the start of a new year as well – so it is very tempting to hit the ground running: to want to sort out the Christmas debris, to write resolutions and plans for the year ahead, and to press on with full urgency.  Yet, by 4.00 pm this afternoon, I “hit the wall” – my mind went soggy and my body limp.  “Take it easy” I said to myself – and for once, I listened.  There are 350 plus days till next Christmas, and at least 3 months till Easter – so trust in the plentifulness of the calendar.  

Or, to put it more theologically, God will give you time to do what needs to be done.  Being fretful at the start of a new season may be an expression of anxiety: I haven’t got anything yet to show for my efforts.  So it is good to appreciate what others have been doing whilst we may have been taking a holiday.  I was buoyed to receive messages about people who had visited parishioners in hospital – Ken has beautifully turned a picture I brought back from the Pilgrimage into an Icon – Jane is ready to begin classes preparing children to receive First Communion.  All these are examples of Christ’s body continuing to flourish even when certain limbs are taking their rest.

One of the best books I read over the Christmas break is written by Jeanette Winterson, “Why be happy when you could be normal?”.  It’s a harrowing, wise, courageous and witty account of her traumatic childhood, and her search for her biological mother (following her adoption at 6 weeks old).    She speaks about our past being a chaperone.  Though I have never had a chaperone, I find it a powerful image.  It’s possible to let our past personal history be didactic, bossy, critical, fearful, judgemental and more – just like the worst sort of chaperone.  We can never get rid of our past – but we can, with the right attitude, listen to its wisdom.  The chaperone’s voice in our ear could even be encouraging as well as being protective, as it says “I did that then – what are you going to do now?”

You have been faithful in years gone by: how are you going to be faithful this year?

I would like to pay tribute to Vaclav Havel who died this week.  On the fall of the Communist regime, Havel was elected as president of Czechoslovakia.  Four years later he was elected as president of the Czech Republic, after it had separated from Slovakia.  All this is the more remarkable because his primary vocation was as a playwright.  He was a friend of Tom Stoppard (himself originally a native of this region of Europe), and knew the power of words to transform and challenge.  By all accounts he was more loved abroad than at home: “a prophet is not without honour, except in his own country”.  Yet sometimes fine words are hard to translate into practical political policies.  Nevertheless Havel was a man of honour, honesty and integrity.
Two quotations from Havel will suffice for now to demonstrate his insight into the human condition and the way that he stands in the tradition of the prophets: challenging the powerful, calling the nation to live more fully in accordance with its noblest principles.

·         “How is it possible that, for some people, power has such charisma that without it their world collapses?”  As we rejoice in the Arab Spring – yet sigh that such revolution needs to happen (because there are people who are addicted to power) – we do well to be aware at the inability of some to function without power over others.

·         “We call upon the power of Art to disturb the sleep of Conscience”.

This latter quote reminds me of a story told by Alan Howard, who was a leading light in the Royal Shakespeare Company in the 1970s, just at the time that Havel was at the forefront of protests against Czech Communism.  Howard was part of the company that travelled to Czechoslovakia to act in a Shakespearean season, including the play Richard the Third.  Howard said that more frightening than an audience that is totally silent is an audience that is starting to get angry.  However strong the footlights are, the actors on stage can feel if an audience is about to erupt.  But, even more frightening than an angry audience is an audience that weeps.  As he was playing Richard 3, he felt the whole audience silently crying.  The play, which is about tyranny and the damage that it does to the people, was moving the audience so much that collectively they began to weep.

Words can transform us.  Prophetic honest words, full of insight, can move us to rage – and, beyond that, to weep for lost possibilities and so to move us to determined action.  I long for us all to be part of the same tradition – of speaking the truth so clearly that new patterns of behaviour become possible.

I am signing off on this blog for a short Christmas break – and will return early in January.  Robert

As our puppy is still so young and energetic, I have to walk her early in the morning, as well as later in the afternoon.  I have fallen into a pattern of going on Pewley Down in the morning.  Usually this is a simple walk along the down – and back – no more than 15 minutes.  But having slightly longer to spend on the walk the other day, I walked down “the long furlong”.  This is the local name for the path that leads from the Downs to the Chantries.  I was struck by how much the puppy reacted to the different environment she was walking in.

Up on the downs, she runs around, eagerly seeking out other dogs or walkers, enjoying company, with little thought of where she is going or what might happen next.  It all seems random, but she is firmly "in the moment”.

Along the “long furlong”, she is far more focussed – not least because she can only go in one of two directions: down the hill or up.  She sniffs at the hedges, and pauses every so often to check that I am behind her.  Here she shows purpose and focus.

And then we reach the Chantries (which is the environment that I love).  It’s a mix of woods, with paths running through in all sorts of directions.  She loves exploring – there are far more smells here to entice her.  And yet she does not want to go too far from me, perhaps because she might get lost, perhaps because she is a bit fearful.

And as I walked back up the hill to where my car was parked, I wondered how much we can be sensitive to our changing environment, and be ready to change our behaviour.  We don’t always have to live the same way in differing circumstances.  It’s good sometimes to play and enjoy the moment – sometimes, we are best following a direct route – sometimes we can explore, balancing adventure with safety.  It would be a shame if our Christian living always had the same character.  God calls us to be bold, to be dutiful, and to enjoy.    It’s worth being able to respond to all of these calls.