Tag: love

UNFKD Episode 18 - LOVE

UNFKD Episode 18 – LOVE

Posted on by Jude Mills

“No hate like Christian love” – was the prompt for this episode. A comment on a social media post was met with this response.

And I get it.

Recorded in the calm before storm Floris from a campervan on the west coast of Scotland, I share a brief reflection on love from a Christian theological perspective. My take is that we are compelled, as Christians, to love. And for me, this means praxis or love in action.

However, this is contextualised with awareness that some people have been deeply wounded by Christianity.

Transcript

There is no hate like Christian love

You may have heard this phrase before. I confess I hadn’t heard it until quite recently. It’s particularly prominent in ex -evangelical and deconstruction circles, mostly in the USA. This phrase highlights the ways in which people have been hurt and damaged by Christianity. Evangelical and fundamentalist expressions of Christianity in particular. My impulse as someone who believes that Christianity is a religion based in love, might be  to try and do the ‘not all Christians’ thing. But I recognise this is futile in the face of hurt and anger. Instead, I am going to do what I always do and make a podcast. This episode is about Love.

You are listening to  UNFKD, the bonus series of my podcast “Fkd up by faith,” where I explore theology and adjacent ideas that are harmful, misunderstood, or just plain wrong. This episode is a bit different because I’m not sitting in my little studio at home with my podcast equipment. Instead, I’m sitting in my campervan – which actually makes a really good recording studio, and I am looking out from the Island of Mull towards the Island of Iona. I think I’ve mentioned Iona in other episodes. It’s the little  island  off the west coast of Scotland, which was inhabited by Saint Columba, also known as Colmcille, who established his monastery here in the sixth century. Nowadays it is home to the Iona community and sees many visitors and pilgrims to visit the Abbey.

This reflection came from a  post that I saw on social media yesterday. I no longer use the usual mainstream social media applications for all the reasons reasons, but I do use Blue Sky. You might be laughing because Blue Sky is often seen as a little left-wing or liberal bubble. Honestly, I like it that way. However, I don’t post a lot. Sometimes I “re-post” other people’s posts. I do lurk and find a lot of my news that way.

I saw a post by someone well-known in progressive Christian circles. They were talking about the idea of Christianity or people claiming to be Christians who speak or behave in ways that go against the Christian idea of love. I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes the urge comes upon me to comment on posts like that. My comment was that without love then it isn’t Christianity at all. The person who answered my comment and used this quote went so far as to say that, ”Nobody has ever seen a Christianity with love. What Christians call love is so far away from love that we had to come up with the saying “no hate like Christian love”.

I get it. This is the theological waters that I swim  in: religious trauma, spiritual abuse, and the ways in which people have been damaged by religion, especially Christianity. I know about the ways in which so-called Christians and Christian organisations act in hateful ways and then call it love, or say that it’s in the name of love. Being exposed to, and especially growing up in such an expression of Christianity is deeply harmful.

As someone who takes a particular interest in this topic, I am compelled to be understanding, even if I don’t agree with what  the person is saying. And I don’t. It is simply not objectively true to say that there is no expression of Christianity that is loving. There are many ways in which people express and experience Christian love, the way that I would argue  it should be. However, some people who have experienced religious harm or spiritual abuse within Christianity, sometimes adopt a view that suggests that all Christians are problematic, and that Christianity is based in hypocrisy and lies. Indeed even people who have not been harmed by Christianity adopt this view. It is a common stance amongst  the more vocal atheists, for example, to suggest that Christianity is responsible for more harms that goods. This is also, objectively untrue, even if it sounds like it should be true. However, this episode is not about that. I may do an unfkd on that question in the future.

I thought it might be an idea to explore what Christianity has to say about love and perhaps give some examples of how Christians have shown love. There are many ways in which we can look at the subject of love, summer, theological perspective, and as with most of the topics I tackle in this podcast The discussion can be wide and complex. However. Theologians are generally united in agreeing that Christianity is, at its heart, a religion of love.

Most significant at the heart of this assertion is that Jesus Christ actually compels us to love each other. It’s one of those kind of non negotiable givens.

John 13:34-35

34 I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’

Matthew 22:36-40

36 ‘Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’ 37 He said to him, ‘“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” 38 This is the greatest and first commandment. 39 And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” 40 On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’

Indeed these are often cited as the only two real commandments that he gave. The clear interpretation of this is that we are compelled as followers of Jesus, to show love to others.

Now the definitions of what this love means vary among commentators. And this is very much shaped by historical and philosophical influences over the centuries. I will link to an excellent resource about these theological influences in the show notes. However, prime among the ways in which we can view the idea of Christian love is first and foremost rooted in God’s love. That is God’s love for us, and ours for God. Thus love is expressed as a dynamic relationship between the human and the divine.

This is shaped of course by our modern understandings of human biology, psychology and behaviour.  St. Augustine for example believed that ONLY God could love, and therefore, any expression of love was an expression of God. Theology also went through a period of trying to separate pure love which came from God, from other lesser forms of love that were based in human desire.  This has also been expressed as Agape love, a selfless, sacrificial love sometimes described as caritas. This is seen as distinct from Eros, the love which encompasses desire. Whilst there are some who might still work within this distinction, I think it is more common to consider love in a more integrated way. And certainly my view is that all relationships : with humans, with other creatures, with the environment, with  our communities and indeed with the whole universe are a dynamic interplay with God as the foundation, the ground of all being, and indeed as love itself.  

Bear in mind this is my theology and other theologies are available.

My thinking is that we can get rather caught up trying to define Christian love rather than get on with the business of doing love. In this respect we can see Christian love as Praxis.  The ways that this might play out in practice include the ways in which I choose to meet and communicate with others, to the ways in which I engage with my community and with the world. For some, this is about engaging in acts of local community service, for others it is about larger acts of social activism.

Which brings us back to the original stimulus for this discussion, the idea that there is no hate like Christian love.  What this refers to are the ways in which human beings have abused, corrupted, distorted and misunderstood what it means to be a Christian. IN the minds of some people who have been the victims of this, it corrupts Christianity altogether.  The Christian response to this, should, if we are being Christian about it, be with love.

Bible References

John 13:34-35 (NRSV)

Matthew 22:36-40 (NRSV)

Theological resources

Jeanrond, Werner G. A Theology of Love. London, T & T Clark, 2010.

Jeanrond, Werner G., ‘ Love’, in Nicholas Adams, George Pattison, and Graham Ward (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Theology and Modern European Thought (2013; online edn, Oxford Academic, 3 June 2013), ⁠https://doi.org/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199601998.013.0012⁠, 

Music

“Better Day” and “Nebula” by Penguin Music on Pixabay ⁠https://pixabay.com/users/penguinmusic-24940186/⁠

“Echoes of Heaven Meditation” by ⁠Leigh Robinson⁠ from ⁠Pixabay

Solstice thoughts (where everything is either horrendous or hilarious depending on your POV)

Solstice thoughts (where everything is either horrendous or hilarious depending on your POV)

Posted on by Jude Mills

Blimey. It’s been a while. To be fair, I have been writing a dissertation, doing an actual ‘proper’ job, and hosting a podcast. These all require a significant amount of neurodivergent/creative bandwith. All good, creative, purposeful things.

photo taken while I was still feeling hopeful!

Into the mix, however, is a broken collarbone which has YET TO BE FIXED because of two (two!!) cancelled surgeries. The first one was cancelled when I was in the hospital, already wearing the surgical gown and DVT socks, and with an arrow sharpied onto my left shoulder. This might have been hilarious if it wasn’t after six months of waiting. Then there was the 18 hours of fasting and working myself up into enough of a lather to actually be able to go to the hospital in the first place! What is everyday to the people who fix collarbones, is a really big deal to those of us who need them fixed. And some of us have brains that don’t do these sorts of things very easily.

The second cancellation – just this Monday past – rather tipped me over the edge. Today is Wednesday. I am still over the edge. And since I am already over the edge, why don’t we add having no running water into the joyful blend of Solstice cheer and Christmas preparations? Yes, why not?

Let them drink… sweet sherry and prosecco!

The thing is… these things are happening to me, and I could – quite legitimately – feel personally aggrieved. Which, I do. But I am utterly, seethingly livid about the bigger picture. Yes, it’s personal, but the personal – as my feminist forebears taught us – is political.

Friends, let me present to you: The English health service. And the English water network.

The NHS because of – God – where do we even start? Yes, I am anxious and stressed and still in pain because my operation got cancelled. But it got cancelled because staff called in sick. There is not even a nanometre of leeway in the NHS to accommodate that. Chronic staff shortages, underfunding, Brexit, and a (Not even very covert) push towards privatisation have all taken a massive toll. It is on its knees. And people wonder why nurses are striking?

Not even the USA has private water, that’s how bad it is!

And the water! My God the water. England and Wales have a privatised water supply and networks. This is monopolized (quite legally btw) by a few companies who fail to invest in infrastructure so that rainfall causes flooding, burst water mains cause havoc (and NO RUNNING WATER FOR CHRISTMAS) and raw sewage is constantly released into our rivers and seas!

If I am pissed off about my own personal circumstances, it pales in comparison to the level of seething rage I feel at the immoral erosion of these two fundamental basic human rights.

Things really are a bit crap. Let’s not pretend they’re not.

And tonight is the Solstice, and I came on here to write something spiritual and hopeful and, well here it is! We can laugh about that surely? There comes a point – when everything is just a bit shite – when all there is left to do is acknowledge it, maybe indulge in a bit of dark humour, and surrender all and any control we imagined we had. This does not mean giving up the fight, only that there are fighting days, and there are surrendering days. There are times for rolling up our sleeves and doing everything we can to make things better, and there are times for filling a hot water bottle (perhaps with boiled rainwater!) and hiding under a blanket.

So into this longest, darkest night of the year, I offer this meditation:

Everything is a little bit shite, and that’s OK. Joy and Peace and Love and Hope still exist.

And a Blessing:

May you feel the deep Peace of Winter’s stillness; the cocoon of Love that surrounds you in the darkness; the joy that bubbles up from the depths of your soul; and the Hope that lies in something bigger than all of this, and all of us.

Sending Love and Peace and Hope and Joy out into the ether for all of you who are tending anything painful this Solstice.

Jude xxx

Into the Wealden Clay

Into the Wealden Clay

Posted on by Jude Mills

Life provides some deep layers of synchronistic irony. In this case, alongside grief and shock and a deep, deep well of loss.

On Saturday 10th July, I posted some photos of a blood-red stream on the Ashdown Forest, and about the rich seam of iron- ore that runs through the Wealden clay. Amongst the photos on my phone, is a video of our dog Ralph, playing joyfully in the water. His favourite walking spot.

At 6 am on 12th July, we were scooping handfuls of the same, sticky Wealden clay, in the rain, making a hole big enough for Ralph’s little body. Our spades and shovels barely shifted it, and we resorted to moving it with our hands. The poetry of his last walk and his final resting place, and the clay and the blood all running through my mind, as the fat raindrops merged with spasms of tears.

My boy.

Ralph died. I still can’t quite believe it. As I watch the video, he is so… alive. So… there. And he didn’t just die. He was killed. I will spare you the details but a Rottweiler got a hold of him. He was in surgery for seven hours on Sunday. It didn’t work, and we had to decide to let him go. All of that is a blur of waiting, and nausea, and me having to pay the £4000 veterinary bill on a credit card, praying that I had enough credit. In my mind, Richard is holding Ralph’s blanket-wrapped body at this point, but that might’ve come afterwards. The vet was kind.

And then there was the interminable drive home. Me, driving, trying not to be sick, and Richard in the passenger seat, cradling Ralph. Silent. Unbelieving. We lay our boy in his bed, tucking him in with his toy, ‘Mr. Fish’. We slept, fitfully, waking up in that shocked way you do when something Very Bad has happened. At 4 a.m. we gave in to the not sleeping and got up and made tea, stroking Ralph’s cold little head. We decided to bury him as soon as it was light.

Chris came. A dear, dear friend who knew and loved Ralph as much as we did. She held the space of reverence and ritual and holding that we needed. She knew just what to do and what to say. We lit candles and incense and laid flower petals. She sang to him. ‘May The Long Time Sun, shine upon you, Ralphie, All Love surround you.’

A good funeral for a Good Boy.

If you’ve loved and lost a dog you will know the pain of the days and weeks that follow. Everything is a reminder that my best friend is gone. His empty food bowl, his empty bed, dinner time, bedtime, walkies (I haven’t been on any kind of walk since) I haven’t wanted to wash anything that he lay on (Including our own bedsheets) to preserve his smell. His harness and a blood-stained blanket are still in the back of my car. I look at his photos every day, trying to preserve his image, the realness of him.

It’s softer now. The sobbing panic of those first few days has melted into all the stages of grief, sometimes, it seems, all the same time! It’s far from a cycle. Too neat. It’s all over the place. If you’ve grieved, you know this.

And no, he wasn’t ‘just’ a dog. Ralph was a best friend, an ally and a companion. He gave – as dogs do – his complete and unconditional love. He was a healer and a comforter. He was funny and fun, and joyful. He was sensitive and gentle. And we loved him. We don’t have a different or lesser kind of love reserved for ‘just dogs’.

Ralph is gone. We shared the most delightful three years with him (he was only seven) We adopted him from Raystede, which is the most amazing place. A friend sent me a lovely message to say that she had donated money to Raystede in Ralph’s memory. A beautiful gesture, that (naturally) brought on more tears. If you feel moved to, you might do the same… https://www.raystede.org/support-us/donate

I know there will be another dog. But I will never forget, or stop loving, the ‘Best Dog In The World’.

'Twas The Night Before Christmas (or Love is All Around)

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas (or Love is All Around)

Posted on by Jude Mills

It’s nearly 3 am on Christmas Eve, and for reasons known only to my hormones and neurology, I am wide awake and listening to the sound of decidedly un-Christmassy wind and rain, and scuffling rodents under the floor. The whole ‘not a creature is stirring…’ thing is not a thing in this house. We live in the countryside – in a situation that could be described as glorified camping – and rodents are ubiquitous. My mother couldn’t stay here for more than five minutes without booking herself into a Travelodge. My mother need not worry about rodents under my floor; she is 434 miles away, we’re all on lockdown, and, anyway, I am working. I need to get up in three hours, except I am already up.

A ‘frontline worker.’ I feel like a fraud. My NHS badge says otherwise, I suppose. But I am not saving lives. One might argue I am saving souls, but I don’t save anyone (or at least I am not the one doing the saving) I hold hands, stroke foreheads, speak quiet prayers, give gentle assurances, witness tears. Lots of tears. Mostly, I sit and breathe. A presence. Bearing witness to… human frailty, and human strength. The power of the body and the will to sustain that most miraculous of intangibles – the life-force. And oh, it is such a privilege, to be at this most intimate transition. Often when loved ones can’t be there. Often when they have just stepped out of the room for their first coffee in seven hours. Often when there is nobody.

And of course at Christmas, and especially this locked-down Christmas, it seems more poignant. Loved ones separated by gowns and masks and gloves, by care-home windows. Or by geography, as I am from mine. Our family Christmas will be via Zoom, as it will be for many. And my mind turns – as minds do at Christmas – to friends and loved ones I haven’t seen, whom I miss, even if we haven’t spoken for a while, for months. Maybe years…is it really that long? All the other humans I could have reached out to, and didn’t. All the conversations I would like to have. All the warm bodies I would like to hug. And I think of those I didn’t get a chance to see again.

It is all lapping around in my sensitive – wee hours of Christmas Eve morning – heart. A warm, amniotic sea… of Love. This is what cannot separate us. It is utterly tangible to me; here, at my kitchen table at 3 am, at those precious moments of dying, at the times of rawness and transition when I am perhaps most sensitive and attuned. And at all the other times too. It connects us all. Even – and perhaps especially – when we feel at our most separate.

So, I suppose this is the message I would send to all of you. I love you. You are loved. Have a blessed Christmas.

Your Ultimate Guide to Building Your Personal Brand...

Your Ultimate Guide to Building Your Personal Brand…

Posted on by Jude Mills

This really isn’t that… sorry. It’s a headline I read on the internet.

I don’t have a personal brand. Or if I do, it is accidental. It has been bubbling around in my mind for a while, all this branding stuff. I deactivated Facebook recently, for wellbeing and self-preservation reasons, but as I was in bed this past week with Covid (yes I succumbed, I’m fine) I did still find myself doom-scrolling through Instagram. What I realised very quickly, amidst all the just-so curated feeds (how many people in the word keep pet squirrels?!?) that somewhere along the way, I have not only lost the knack, I have entirely lost the desire to have the knack.

Successful?

There may have been a time where I was encouraged – by those who think this stuff is important – to think that having a brand was the thing to do to be ‘successful.’ There was a time when I thought that being ‘successful’ was a thing that was important too. There are so many ways that success might be defined of course. But in this culture, we rather universally attribute it to money, status, and recognition. Bigger, better, more. It’s the basis of our economy and it is what drives our social media interactions. Whether we like it, or not.

I don’t ever remember being taught – not in any formal context – that real success was being happy, or fulfilled, or having good relationships, or having a supportive community, or loving and being loved. Someone I know who is good at marketing and considers themselves ‘successful’ ( in the money/status/recognition sense) once said to me that they would never let their relationship get in the way of work. I suppose it confirmed what I already knew…that I would never be successful in that way and that I didn’t want to be. I’m fine with that.

Real Ducks Shit

We all know that branding isn’t real, especially if we have engaged with it in any serious way ourselves. For example, I follow some ducks on Instagram who (appear to) live in a pen with pristine wood shavings and a pond full of crystal clear water and eat beautiful bowls of prepared vegetables every day. It’s all very pretty, and the ducks are funny and entertaining, as ducks are.

Now, I keep ducks. They are noisy and messy and muddy and they shit everywhere. It is almost impossible to keep a duck pen clean. Ducks do this filtering thing with their beaks, and literally everything gets a layer of aspirated mud on it. Everything! I know, in reality, that the pristine duck pen is entirely curated for the internet. But I still feel little pangs of stress and shame that my duck’s pen is muddy. As if I am somehow failing, because look, it is entirely possible to keep mud-free ducks! (it isn’t)

I know all that, and I still feel stressed by it. THIS is how it works. It is difficult to communicate this in a way that doesn’t sound preachy. I always sound preachy, which I suppose is ironically on-brand! (hashtag authentic) But I really want to heavily extoll the liberating virtues of not having a brand. I would love to encourage you to not feel that you need to sell yourself, your image, your pet squirrel*, or your lifestyle in any way whatsoever. Show me your mud, and know that you are loved!

*In fact, please don’t keep wild squirrels as pets to make an Instagram feed out of them! That really would be the best thing.