Some of you will know about my new compulsion this year - the ukulele.

I've become quite evangelical about it - very unlike me!

The thing is you just can't help smiling with a ukulele.

I'll blog more about this another time, but for now here's a clip to enjoy, from Loudon Wainwright: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_RjBL9m23A

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It's the beginning of Holy Week, and I've still got a whole bunch of words to corral together.

Last week I had the delight of attending the book launch of Tess Ward's Alternative Pastoral Prayers.. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Alternative-Pastoral-Prayers-Liturgies-Beginnings/dp/...

I've known Tess for a few years now and she continues to be an inspiration to me.  She is a creative and prophetic crafter of words, conscious of the sometime permeable boundaries between different faiths and ways of being Christian (eg the spectrum of 'conventional' and earth- based faith traditions). Currently she works as a hospice chaplain and celebrant. http://tessward.wordpress.com/

In her new book are words that are sorely needed by many people. Here are words to accompany people, liturgies and blessings for health and healing, beginnings and endings. Here is theology that needs to be recovered and heard - of the difficulty of naming of God, of the poetic language of faith, of liturgy as prayer, of lament and original blessing, of words that speak to the heart. Here is material rooted in the Christian tradition in its widest sense.

At the launch of her new book Tess likened the creating of the book to giving birth, seeing the child grow and then the teenaged child leaving home, setting out to make their own way in the world. She spoke about the background and reasons behind some of the prayers she has written, connecting them to her own experience of ministry, and encouraging us to make our own connections to these words for different stages and seasons of life.

I came away challenged and encouraged to keep plugging away at the crafting of word and ritual that speak to the heart, that reach the heart of the human experience.

Here is a nugget from Tess, a Blessing for Coming of Age:

.. As you emerge from the tangled wood of requirement, and step out in a direction of your own choosing, may you be unfrightened by your fear.

May you take the time to hear your voice into speech, befriend silence and listen to the world with compassion.

May you honour the tides and rhythms of your body and enjoy the ripeness of your beauty and vigour so you may cherish them in another.

May you find a safe hearth in friends who see you and delight in you.

May your hands find work that prosper a little and satisfies plenty, and do not refuse the world the gift that only you can give.

May you laugh and play and never lose your imagination so responsibility will not diminish you.

May you be awake to the wonder of the earth and see the single flame that lights every living thing.

Go bravely ... and greet each new horizon with trust and gratitude, and may God bless you on your journey and let flourish the person you were made to be.

Go well into Holy Week.

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10th to 12th February 2012

Oh no.. it's the last of our weekends together at Emerson, on the craft of storytelling course. Once more it is so beautiful as snow gently covers the college grounds.

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There is such a mix of emotions and nervousness as we each prepare to tell a story to the assembled group. In preparation we think about the 'Fourth Voice' of the storyteller, which is using the voice of the authentic self - speaking with integrity, belief, presence, and honest vulnerability. The poet Rumi said: Speak from your inner self to the innermost part of the listener. With this voice it is possible to go deep and stay real. We recognise this voice, the voice of the authentic self, when we hear it. Some practices help us to discover something of its quality - playing with conversation and silence, and gradually increasing the times of silence, so that we speak with one another from out of the ground of silence. Silence becomes the clothing around the words, the space allowing another form of communication.  We write poems about snow and silence.

Soft, white crystals transform the landscape's voice and I bend to listen.

What are the challenges and gifts of silence? What does it mean to model silence in our being together? We discuss the need to name the challenges, to negotiate, to contract for silence, to feel safe. Biographical work can help us to discover our authentic voice, and Roi models this for us with a 'bedtime story' from his own experience, including a King Solomon story. In this the king seeks to humble a boastful servant by giving him the impossible task of discovering a magic ring - one that makes the happy person sad and the sad person happy. ..These things shall pass..

The next day the feast of stories begins, and what a wonderful banquet it is!

We travel the world and range across different cultures: Ireland, Burma, Native American lands, Turkey, Africa, India, Morocco, Norse legends, Scandinavian mystery, tales with a Mayan twist, the Rabbi's gift, Grimms tales, goblins and elves, Hans Christian Andersen, healing story. They are all, in different ways, personal to the teller. We see rich colours of many landscapes, smell the smells both fragrant and repugnant, hear the music, feel the power of silence, join in the actions, laugh and cry.

By Saturday afternoon we are pretty much storied out.. though some of us enjoy a gorgeous walk up Pixton Hill, and watch an amazing sunset.

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Tiredness is struggled with as we don't want to miss an evening of Valentine stories - stories of love from traditional and biographical sources. My favourite teller was Heleni, telling her story of love lost and re-discovered in the land of Greece, as well as a hilarious story of a little cockroach, La Cucharacha, from Cuba, told in English and Spanish.

Revived by such lively (and sometimes surprisingly raunchy telling) some of us continue the evening with imaginative exercises to try and create a collective name for the group (still work in progress), then more games, and much, much more laughter. Above us the night sky is clear and sparkling with stars - more stories there!

The end of the weekend comes all too soon, and we take time to talk more about next steps. More courses tantalise, ideas are shared in abundance as we discuss ways of celebrating story in story clubs or circles, ceilidhs, story evenings, how to craft a programme, a menu that will attract and not cause indigestion! We have plans afoot to keep connected, and are already using one another as story resources.

We take time for goodbyes, for more laughter, hugs and tears... who knows where the time goes, but this time has been very special, and there will be more stories to share further down the line.

Here's the song I play a snippet of in my telling: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f15UwZ-u2uY

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13th to 15th January 2012

We're back! As January maintains its reputation for emotional 'blueness' it was a real tonic to return to Emerson College for the third weekend of storytelling. First it's sharing time. Some of the group have been brave enough to tell stories to family and friends, discovering the very different dynamic there can be with nearest and dearest. Children too can be a challenging as well as a discerning audience. Add to that the excitement and anticipation of Christmas, and a Christingle service can be an interesting situation to create story!

Then it's revision time. We tap into our collective memory of what we've done so far, including using three different types of voice - articulating, describing images and pictures, using the colour of emotion. Next a fast moving game raises our energy levels, and we are introduced to the storytelling concept of using the 'back space'. This is a place of power and presence, of stillness and silence, a way of bringing the past into the present. It will be a good tool to use this weekend as we tell myth stories - stories of gods and goddesses from different traditions. A story about the goats knowing the way to paradise is a bedtime gift, and we also ponder the gift of words given to each one of us in our rooms. Mine is "Exploration".

In the morning the world is beautifully frosted.

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This weekend is for us to discover our 'wings' and so we begin by giving each other a back massage. Sighs and murmurs of appreciation fill the room. Lovely! We explore the 'front space' of the storyteller, with a playful, gossipy telling of our stories. Here is another dimension we can bring into our telling - a faster pace,  direct eye contact, intimacy, fun and laughter to contrast with the slower pace, a distant gaze, the gravitas of the 'back space'.

Despite tiredness and a variety of colds in a variety of guises, many of us gather in the common room on Saturday night for what develops into a great evening of games. Mimes and the Mafia (!) were our favourites - discovering more about ourselves and how we are perceived by others. (Apparently I have a very guilty look!) Bonds of friendship are growing and plans are already afoot to make time to get together after the course has finished.

Sunday is the time to continue to relish the rich menu of stories. Such powerful stories: teaching, warning, full of desire, anger, war, greed, compassion... and healing.

It's easy to see how everyone has grown as a storyteller. It is lovely to experience the breadth and depth of the telling and to enjoy praising one another's gifts.

Exploration was a good word for me. I explored being playful, using musical accompaniment, inviting audience reflection - even introducing a bit of 'adult' content! It felt very good.

Next time we are to find our own story to tell. I wonder what stories will choose us?

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I love it when things (accidentally?) come together.

A few months back, at the wonderful storytelling course I'm doing, we chose the myth stories we would work on for our next gathering in January 2012. It so happened that I picked up a Raven story, and my heart leapt.There is something about Raven stories... Maybe it's because they feature highly in the story culture of peoples of the North: North American,Siberia, Inuit, Norse, Celtic.. and I am captivated by these strong people and places.

In mythology Raven is a trickster character, a god in disguise, a hero character, also depicted in creation stories as creator of the world.

Raven appears in one of my favourite TV programmes, the 1990s series Northern Exposure, set in a small town in Cicely, Alaska, where some of the inhabitants are Native American. At Christmas time the Raven features heavily in the celebrations - in the decorations and in a stunning pageant. The story is told of how Raven brought light into the world.

  It's a beautiful story and I used it as part of my Christmas Day sermon - It wouldn't be Christmas without story.

Then here is the story I'm working on for our next Emerson College storytelling course: The raven and the whale. This is a story with many themes: desire, loss, grief, healing and new beginnings. So it seems like a good story to share for a New Year.

You can read it here http://db.tt/FDzQVIV6

May 2012 bring you ways to live with loss and the joy of new beginnings.

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6th December 2011

A bit late, I know, but I've recently read Philip Pullman's book The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ.

I have to say that I was a little bit, just a teensy disappointed. I am a huge fan of Pullman and greedily devoured and enjoyed his Dark Materials trilogy. Don't get me wrong - this is still a great read from a great storyteller. I think I was a little disappointed with another rant against the church. Don't get me wrong - there is plenty to bring the church to task over. The trouble is, I wonder if other important issues and themes that this book raises might be overshadowed and overlooked.

That is, learning again the language and process of story, remembering the way that those in power can dominate the interpretation of story, remembering that scripture is mythos not a literal stringing together of fact. Legends, myths, stories can also evolve so that the truth is candied, sugar-sweet and we feel comfortable and unchallenged by truth.Then we can fail to discover the way the story is encouraging us to make real connections with real life.

Today is the day to remember St Nicholas, a fourth century bishop that we know very little about. He is said to have saved three young women from prostitution by throwing three bags of gold, for dowries, through their window one night. He became patron of saint of sailors, merchants, pawnbrokers, children. And he also became the legend of Santa Claus, the warm, comfortable glow of Christmas.

This is the season of familiar words, familiar stories, of listening again to the carol service readings, in the warm glow of candle light. Can we also let these stories remind us of the reality of need, injustice, oppression and hurt, and let them draw us in to live and love in the real world, really being part of the birth of the kingdom? We need good storytellers - they are a gift.

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29th November 2011

Just one more day now, then my sabbatical ends and I go back to work.

So, is there just enough time to ... read those books still piled up on my desk, review my banking arrangements, play the piano/recorder/clarinet again, learn a new instrument, learn how to use prezi, sleep some more (never enough!), re-organise the dvds, get Christmas sorted, make bread....?

As 'it' comes to an end, I am plagued with what I haven't done, and with asking myself "Have I passed my sabbatical?" Of course this is an unhelpful frame of mind and approach, an inappropriate question - and nevertheless tricky to dispel. Someone reminded me early on in my planning, when I was expressing concern that this sabbatical would be a productive time, that it was ok to drift and have plenty of downtime. Someone else that I met on Iona, also on sabbatical, talked about the question of sabbatical as 'test' or 'exam' and we encouraged one another to let go of this notion.

How? Well, at this stage I will deliberately recall some of the good stuff that my sabbatical has been made of: sleeping and daydreaming, lots of lovely train journeys, time on a wild and wonderful island, travelling in beautiful Sweden, taking photos, time with some lovely people, making new friends, a re-commitment to the power of story, sharing the joy of haiku, serendipitous online browsing and discovery of thoughtful blogs and sites and ideas, regular singing with fellow Joined Up Singers, creating this blog, time on my own, catching up with some friends, time with my family, relaxing evenings with no meetings (!!)

I like a certain amount of symmetry, so I have spent yesterday at one of my favourite places, Burnham Abbey http://www.burnhamabbey.org/ just as I began my sabbatical with a stay there, in this place woven through with warmth, hospitality, faith and silence.

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Looking through the same window, stepping the same path.. what will come to birth?

Now is the wonderful season of Advent, a time that I love because of it's emphasis on slowing down, of allowing something new to come to birth, as it will. It is time to wait and hope that to do lists can be let go of, so that 'to be' intentions can start to grow. 

Thank you to all who have made it possible for me to have this time, and may we let Advent do its work on us all.

Time to make room for new growth, allow seed pods to ripen and release.

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18th November 2011

When I visited the Utvandrarnas Hus (The Swedish Emigrant Institute) in Sweden, I saw that the museum hosts a room dedicated to the powerful work of Swedish author Vilhelm Moberg. He became most famous for his four novel suite collectively called The Emigrants, written in the 1940s and 50s. The books describe the long and strenuous journey of a group of people from Småland, Sweden to Minnesota, USA, where they settle, during the Swedish emigration to North America during the1850s.

I've just finished reading the first of the series, The Emigrants. Karl Oskar and his wife Kristina take the huge risk of starting a new life in the New World, leaving behind their former way of life, their farm and their parents in Korpamoen, Småland. Will they discover a new beginning, a land with rich fertile soil, where they can make new homes and make a new living?

There is great characterisation and description of the agonies of decision for the farmers and their families. As the small band of pilgrims set hesitant feet onto the soil of the New World, it still feels as if the ground moves beneath them, as the waters have done for so long. Can they continue to look forward, or will thoughts of the home they have left behind continue to haunt them?

This sculpture by Axel Olsson, of Karl Oskar and Kristina can be seen in the Utvandrarnas Hus:

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It says a lot about the lovely group of people on this course that our second weekend together begins with a friendly buzz of conversation and greetings. The strong sense of being part of a supportive group is very quickly there. We miss Beatrice, and when she arrives, late, after a horrendous journey from Gatwick Airport, there's a warm welcome and an almost audible sigh of relief, that now we are all gathered. 

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It also says a lot about the place of Emerson College (which we now see in its autumn colours), and the way it helps to build relationships. We have Bonfire Night to observe, and emails have been flying around with plans for a Saturday night bonfire storytelling social. Even so, I have come feeling a little low, with my familiar companions of worry pressing in on me.

Worries surround me. Will fire's warmth and bright flames dispel fear's embrace?

This weekend we are looking at wonder tales. As the name implies, they are strange and wonder-ful. With our story partners we share our initial work on the story we have been given, including the many questions we have - lots of why's? We are invited to name our questions and to sleep on them... for the morning is wiser. 

A range of characters inhabit wonder tales, and so this weekend we work on the differentiation of character and on voice production. We are given a daily practice, a voice gym, to do which exercises vowels (a 'caveman'-like stream of sounds) and consonants (sounds a bit like a Robert de Niro gangster speech - Don't to-fu me ba-boo shish!). As storytellers, we are using our voice:

• to articulate, to communicate words clearly
• serving pictures and images to our listeners
• to convey emotions, colouring words with different moods and feelings

Exploring the characters in our stories, we do some work on body posture and what happens when we shift our balance, move forward, backward, or put some emphasis into a particular part of our bodies. It is amazing how a small movement, gesture, or change of posture can create a new character. We have the opportunity to try things out in front of the whole group and receive some coaching. I am very hesitant - I've never felt comfortable being story characters with very different voices and posture. So it is a great relief to learn that less is more.

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On Saturday evening we gather around a well-constructed and tended fire in the grounds, built near one of the outdoor visual arts workshops. The evening unfolds into a wonderful time together, with such a rich and amazing menu of dark, scary, passionate, and funny stories. Around us fireworks light up the sky and punctuate the tales told. Some of the students from the three month storytelling course join us and we get a glimpse of some very tasty sagas and myths. We toast marshmallows and share some 'firewater'. I finally feel worries loosen their grip, and enjoy telling a tale of moose hunting in Sweden!

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The next day is time to share our stories, to wonder together about the meaning of strange tests, of hidden identities and times of unveiling, of creatures who reveal a different sort of wisdom.

Here's the story I worked on, The Twelve Huntsmen, from the Grimm Brothers:

Twelve_Huntsmen.doc Download this file

We learn together and individually, and see how we are developing and discovering some of the gifts that story can offer: gifts of playfulness, attention to the present moment, revelation of truth to teller and listener.

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13th to 14th October 2011

On my last day in Sweden, after breakfast I go again to the chapel. Today there are only 3 of us. I try to follow from the book given to me (!) and we sing hymn 769 from Den Svenska Psalmboken: Gud i dina händer (God is in your hands). It is a beautiful song, with the sad lilt that comes from a D minor key. Words are by Per Harling, 1996 and music by P. Simojoki, 1982. You can listen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3-XfJU6w7o&feature=related.

I write some postcards for home, finish packing and stripping the bed. I say my goodbyes to the kind staff in reception and the very generous headteacher who so generously offered me hospitality. And a beautiful place at that.

I catch the mid morning bus into Växjö, dropping off my backpack at the parish office and then doing shopping for gifts to take home. I meet Leif for lunch at the city library, which is a gorgeous building, with its own restaurant. I think that Leif is glad of a break, as he has been part of a stressful and quite stormy-sounding meeting of cathedral staff. Maybe this is a breakthrough that will lead to better working together? I hope so, for all their sakes. It seems that I am being talked about for doing this single person trek by train, for having the courage to come on my own. (My translation: mad woman travels to Sweden for first time, on her own, by train... and goes moose hunting!!) While I have met a good few church people who have visited Oxford, not as many have made the opposite trip, here is maybe some work on developing the mutuality of our link relationship. It is a different experience, travelling on your own from being in a group. As I reflect, I have really enjoyed it - the way I can make my own decisions, and have the satisfaction of making plans, then seeing them work out - or take the risk of letting something new happen. There has been the joy of making new connections, and of following through friendships begun. I hope to be able to continue with friendships I have made here.

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Leif offers me some helpful questions to reflect on my journey:

What have I learnt?

What would I like to transfer to the UK?

What am I glad to have at home?

I am also conscious very much that words matter. It is always a big challenge to find a common language, and this is highlighted in travel in a 'foreign' land. How do we find the way to explain differences and similarities? It is work in progress, and well worth the effort to find ways to bridge the gap.

The first leg of my train journey home takes me to Copenhagen, and I have a few hours before the overnight train to Cologne. Time to wander around the streets, seeing the juxtaposition of familiar shop names including the ubiquitous McDonald's alongside grand, gothic, gilded architecture. Opposite the rail station is a gigantic fairground, the Tivoli, which is decorated with giant pumpkins for Halloween and huge queues are snaking along the streets, waiting to get inside.

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On the sleeper train (which is called Hans Christian Andersen!) I feel more relaxed, like a seasoned traveller. I know what happens here. I treat myself to half a bottle of wine, hoping it will help me sleep a bit better - I have to be up early, about 5am.

It doesn't really help much with sleep, which is still fitful. One night time stop includes the sound of a fierce argument at one station. Looking out of the dark window in the early morning, I see glimpses of working days already begun.. lights from shops, garages, offices, computer screens. In Cologne I have about 5 hours before the next train to Brussels.

Just before 8am on Friday morning I enter Cologne Cathedral, an enormous, rather overwhelming building. In the darkness inside, red-robed stewards glide silently around, looking to me a bit like religious security guards. There are statues and stained glass everywhere. In one side chapel a chorus of women say their rosaries. At one prayer station, in front of a rather garish depiction of Christ taken down from the cross, I witness a memorable scene. A woman arrives and squeezes her way round past the candle stand so that she stands directly in front of the life-size figures. She closes her eyes and takes hold of Christ's hand. it is so moving, as if she if taking the time to comfort him, even in death. Apart from seeing this, I find the atmosphere in the cathedral rather oppressive and decide not to stay for one of the masses, but to step outside into the morning sunshine.

I wander again down the modern shopping street that looks like so many others, before finding older, more characteristically 'German' architecture. Then, in front of me is the river Rhine. Wow! it is so beautiful in the sun. A fleet of luxury cruise ships are waiting to take passengers along the river. Along the river bank bicycle rickshaws offer a different tourist experience. It is these kind of 'wow' moments when it would be good to have someone there to say - 'oh, would you look at that!'

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The train to Brusssls is five minutes late and at the last minute there is a platform change and an incredible scramble of passengers and luggage to get onto the train. It is very busy and a horrendous process to board the train, find seats and find room for luggage. A large, kind German offers to squeeze my rucksack in the overhead rack, and I fear he might have a heart attack. The sense of a mildly panicky scrum continues as we leave the train at Brussels and find the next connection, the Eurostar to London. I don't understand why the online Deutsche Bahn tickets have to be checked by hand, typed into the computer and another boarding pass issued... but this is what we have to do. So we queue - though some ignore the protocol to go waltzing to the front. (Nothing like a breaker of queuing rules to raise the temper levels!) Passport check, then security (I set off the alarm again!) then border control, leaving 5 minutes to board the train. The only thing that helps in this whole procedure is the little girl who dances between the lines of tired, cross adults. Feeling tired and grubby I find my seat, get a cup of tea (paid for with sterling!) and eat my lovely German apple cake.

So back into London to face underground rush hour and a busy Paddington station. The place on the Oxford train is fine and soon I am back on the familiar concourse, being smilingly addressed by a charity representative, and realising how lovely it is that I can easily communicate with this person in my own language. He is very nice and pleased to hear that I already support the cause he is promoting. Onwards to the bus stop through Oxford and it isn't long before I'm shouting at a bicycle that comes straight for me on the pavement and grumbling at pedestrians who refuse to give me pavement space. Yes, I'm the mad woman with a large rucksack, mumbling to herself about inconsiderate pedestrians!

It's good to be back home!

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11th October 2011

After a sumptious breakfast from the buffet at S:t Sigfrid's Folkhögskola (I told you food was good here!) I hear the chapel bell ring. The chapel was originally an 18th century granary building, and is described as the heart of the school, a place for peace and meditation. I can't ignore the call of the bell and so join the ten or so people there that morning for a short time of prayer. It is truly a special place. I listen to words I don't understand, spoken slowly and carefully, and then some music is put on. It's a wonderful gospel/soul song called 'Hold on to the light', sung in English, and sounds like Stevie Wonder. (A bit of research later reveals it to be a Swedish Christian musician Samuel Ljungblahd http://www.samuelljungblahd.com) The music fills the chapel and the lyrics and rhythm fill our hearts giving us a great message to hold on to for the day.

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The plan for today is to meet Leif in town for lunch and then spend time with the storyteller in the local museum. Looking at the map it looks to me quite a straightforward walk into Växjö, so off I go and I am soon lost (why is it that the real world never seems to coincide with the reality pictured on a map?) So I get to practise one of my few Swedish phrases:  

Talar du engelska? (Do you speak English?)

and eventually a pre-school teacher points me in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

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Over lunch and conversation with Leif we discover a few more connections: at a cathedral music conference in Norwich Leif met the dean, Graham Smith, who was formerly at Kidlington. From our work with young people we both know Jim at Christ Church cathedral, Oxford, who does a great line in showing young people around and getting them interested and involved in the stories of the place.

After lunch I meet storyteller and historian Jurgen at Småland Museum. He shows me a little of the Glas Museum and tells me about his work, including that with children and local schools. In the museum is a closet with 'giant' sized clothes and shoes, and a story cupboard - tools to create and re-tell stories. Apparently there are story cupboards or mini-installations around in the local countryside. This one that he shows me tells Hans Christian Andersen's story of The Snow Queen

...which has to do with a mirror and its fragments...

There is a workshop where the children can do craft work of different sorts - including glass_work as they create/re-create stories. Then we move to the neighbouring Utvandrarnas Hus (the House of Emigrants), which houses fascinating displays on the emigration of over one million Swedish people to America between 1850 and 1930. There are so many stories here, important stories to remember and hear again, especially as Sweden is wrestling with the issue of immigration today. Jurgen bubbles over with stories and communicates such a loving pride for his native land, its heritage and its gifted people, without being blind to its human fallibility. Spending time with him you would find it hard to avoid catching his infectious enthusiasm and interest in personal history and the vital connection between people and place.

Leaving the museum buzzing with stories I meet Leif and we go to the cathedral to meet another confirmation group. I am flagging a bit in terms of energy levels, but am encouraged to join in the story pilgrimage around the cathedral. I become the sister of S:t Sigfrid, who has come over from York with concern for her sons, who are following their uncle (they come to a sticky end unfortunately). I attempt a Yorkshire accent and am glad there are no 'real' Yorkshire folk to hear.

On the way back to the Folkhögskola (a lift with Leif today!) I hear that even in the liberal Sweden church there can continue to be tensions and challenges around the support and recognition of same sex relationships and transgender and transvestite issues, Interesting!

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11th October 2011

The morning comes for me to leave Elisabeth and the country to spend time in the city of Växjö. I feel quite sad, and have a bit of a speech of thanks in mind to say, but it doesn't really seem appropriate. This is a parting, a matter of fact, not without feeling, but that's the way it is - and there is another day to engage with. We exchange some gifts and then set off so that I can catch the morning school bus into Ljungby and then the bus into Växjö. It's another lovely morning and lovely journey.

After about an hour I arrive in Växjö, and hear I sound I haven't heard in all the time staying in the country - a police siren. At the bus station Leif meets me. He is currently acting dean for Växjö cathedral and has worked either for the cathedral or for nearby parishes for over 20 years. . We go directly to the cathedral, which is a very distinctive building. Inside a school group of 13/14 year olds is gathering to have a story piligrimage. Cathedral clergy, staff and some volunteers act out stories from around the cathedral, using some of the amazing artwork that is part of the building. So there are stories about John the Baptist, St Sigfrid (who was a Benedictine monk, possibly from York and brought Christianity to Sweden) and Bible stories picked out from the glass triptych behind the altar. (Växjö is a national focus for glass sculpture and art, known as the capital of the 'Kingdom of Glass'). The group get involved in a re-enactment of the Good Samaritan story.

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I'm going to stay in one of the diocese's schools: S:t Sigfrid's Folkhögskola http://www.sigfrid.se/1.0.1.0/106/1/, about 4 miles outside Växjö. It is a little like an adult education college, I think, offering education opportunities to young people and adults over the age of 18. St Sigfrid's offers courses of different lengths including a focus on music and performing arts, as well as offering a 'Consequences of Faith' course, and a place for confirmation candidates to meet for summer conferences. The setting is beautiful, part of a farm, and there are pigs, chickens and ponies. I meet the headteacher and kind receptionist, who finds me a room.

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I enjoy an excellent lunch (great food in this place!) and more people watching - people of all ages, faces of different colour, sitting together in animated conversation.

Leif picks me up after lunch and we make some arrangements for visits tomorrow and go to the diocesan offices. I meet Carin who made some great suggestions to include in my visit to Sweden and put me in touch with Elisabeth and Leif. We have a friendly conversation over coffee with other diocesan staff. I'm often introduced as the woman who travelled by train to Sweden, and has been moose hunting! Many of them have been to Oxford for different events and shared learning. The diocese here has a good quality range of publicity material, and I have bags (Vi syns i kyrkan! - See you in church!) and a badge (Till Tro -  To Believe) given to me.

Afterwards I talk more with Leif, who clearly relishes his pastoral work in this place, knows that this is the place he belongs, where he knows the people. I soon see that a walk around the city with him with invariably includes many stops, conversations, and greetings because he is known by so many. He is a well travelled person, and has been to England, including Oxford, a number of times.

Leif has a funeral visit in the afternoon so I have a wander around before going to the bus station to make my way back  to S:t Sigfrid's. (I've become pretty relaxed about getting another bus in a foreign land). It is quite a contrast here in the city from the country. It is busier (though not as packed as at home), there's traffic, police, sirens, different countries represented (immigration is a sensitive issue here).

After my wandering, I return to the bus station to wait for my bus. I wait for ages but there is no sign of the right bus that will take me to Kronoberg where the school is. Eventually I get on to the next bus and ask the driver. He doesn't speak much English and I don't speak much Swedish, so it's quite challenging. He shows me a timetable which says that the next bus going there is 21:15! He shows me on the map how far he is going, and shows me that I can walk a short distance to the school. So I get on the bus, and he keeps reminding me that he can only go so far and has to return to the station. Everybody else has reached their stop, and despite his protestations that he has to turn around (he searches for the English word, and I suggest 'go back' - he is delighted and thinks 'back' is a hilarious word which he repeats), he continues along the road, and takes me all the way to the Folkhögskola. He watches me cross the road to the school and sets out back, smiling, waving and calling out 'back' through the window! A real life Good Samaritan.

I am relieved to be back, and spend the evening in pleasing reflection at how much I have already fitted in to my visit, and looking forward to what is still to come, including the homeward stretch.

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10th October 2011

Never, in my wildest dreams did I forsee myself writing a post entitled 'Moose hunting'....

We are up early the day of the moose hunt, to breakfast and pack lots of food to take with us (boiled eggs, bread, cheese, ham, cakes, sweets and coffee) as well as spare clothes. How do I feel? Kind of excited and nervous - not sure what to expect. We meet at a neighbouring farm - about 20 people, including one of Elisabeth's sons Carl who is one of the hunters today. We stand around for what feels like a long time. There is a lot of talk, including about a wolf that has recently appeared in the area and has decimated local sheep flocks, killing (or being the cause of death for) 10 sheep so far. Wolves are a rare occurrence in this part of Sweden, and they are protected. The farmers are very concerned about the killings and the impact on their livelihood.

Those who are bearing a gun today are allocated a place to be, by the taking of a playing card. The rest of us are 'sweepers'. We divide into small groups and walk through the forest, calling, 'yoiking', to flush out the moose, to move them towards the guns. Elisabeth takes me under her wing and promises that we will follow a relatively easy way, and keep ourselves as dry as possible. However, the way proves to be very wet and marshy because of recent heavy rain, and it is very hard going. I find it almost impossible to keep up with Elisabeth (who is also working by making funeral arrangements on her phone), pushing our way through the trees. My feet are soon wet, even though they are clothed in plastic bags and my trousers are wrapped around with duct tape. It is exhausting, and I hardly have any breath to call out to any moose that might be around! About every hour or so we meet together at pre-decided points and set out on a new part of the forest, gradually seeking to push the moose towards the lake. We hear a few gun shots, but understand so far only one moose has been shot.

I soon feel that I am pretty much a bit of a liability, though the group seem ok with me being with them.  A few speak English and occasionally translate what's going on for me. They certainly accept Elisabeth as very much an essential part of the group. She is so at home with them, joining in the banter, forthright and full of leadership - and they listen to her. We are the only women. Before long, I am relegated to walking the roads, it being the easiest route to follow. I have to walk slowly, to keep in line with those beating their way through the trees, and I strain my neck, and my ears to make sure I haven't lost the others in the group. The rain sets in for the day, a persistent drizzle, and some hunters get given the unenviable task of standing wast high in the water looking out for their prey. Others sit in high level chairs above the ground, keeping their watch.

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Walking along a forest road, a hare comes bounding towards us, before gracefully changing direction and returning to the safety of the trees.

And then.. I am trudging my way along the road, on my own, hoping it won't be long before I catch glimpse of fluorescent-clad fellow group members, when I see.... the rear end of a moose, stepping quietly and disappearing into the trees on the other side of the road (away from the yoiking sweepers). Oh wow! I have seen a moose. I have to wait a while before I meet up with other members of the group. 'Have you seen anything?' asks Elisabeth. Breathlessly I say 'yes' and describe when and where. I'm one of the few people in the group who have seen anything of a moose this day.

We squelch back to Elisabeth's house, to put on some dry clothes (actually it's only my feet that are wet - thanks to borrowed waterproof clothes. I've been told of a Swedish saying: 'There is no bad weather, only bad clothes') Then it's time for the hunting party. In a neighbour's house, the table is set beautifully and the soup is bubbling away. It could be the best meal I've had for a long time. The group arrives in fits and starts, tired and wet, and maybe a bit disappointed that the hunt hasn't come near killing its quota of 6 moose.
There is delicious Swedish cheese cake to follow. As we leave the meal, I am asked if I will be there for the next day's hunting. I am moving on to Växjö, I say. And have you had a good day? I grin - I've had a great day, and what a story I have to tell folk at home!

On our way back Elisabeth visits the farm where many sheep have been lost to the wolf. She knows how devastating this is to the family who live there, and offers her sympathy and support. I see the moose which has been shot. It is quite shocking to see it in the flesh. Though I wouldn't have described myself in any way as being a hunting sympathiser, here in this place, hearing the reasons and seeing the context, the need for farmer and livestock to find a way to live alongside one another, the care for one another...  I don't think I can condemn what I've seen.

(though I haven't included a picture of the dead moose with this post)

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9th October 2011

A slightly later start this morning as first service isn't until 11am. Elisabeth has done sausage and egg for breakfast! It's a full day ahead, with three services - all celebrating Harvest Thanksgiving. Elisabeth suggests that at each service I introduce myself briefly at the beginning as part of the notices, then read the gospel (in English), lead congregation in one of intercessions, assist in distribution of communion and give the blessing.

The first service is at Agunnaryd, and I hear the first of a range of excellent music from the churches. The choir here enjoy a lively leadership and sing a range of anthems, traditional and modern, including a John Rutter blessing song in English (The Lord bless you and keep you). It is good to see some familiar faces, such as young people from the confirmation group, Elisabeth's Romanian handyman, and some of Elisabeth's parish colleagues.  I use my faltering Swedish (My name is... I come from...), explain that I am in Sweden as part of my sabbatical (E keen to let people hear about this practice which has been discontinued in the church in Sweden!) and bring warm greetings from the diocese of Oxford.

After the service there is a harvest lunch together. I have to 'sing' for my lunch as afterwards Elisabeth gets me to talk about the church in England, about St John's church, Kidlington which is a hall church and used by the community during the week (Elisabeth is very struck by this and wants to encourage the congregation to think about whether this could be done in the parish here), and about the spirit of the church in England. Again, I hope that I am doing justice to representing the church I belong to!

The next service is at Ryssby, and follows an identical order of service. Again, good to see a few faces I recognise. More great music here - it's a little more classical and traditional here with organ accompaniment. Some of the women are in traditional national costume - which is handmade and varies according to the part of Sweden you come from. After the service there is coffee and cake... and the raffle! Yes, raffle really is a universal church activity! The raffle is used to sell off the harvest produce that has been brought and will go to charity work overseas. While we are eating and talking, Elisabeth suddenly asks me whether I would like to come along on the first day of moose hunting, the following day? My heart jumps, as deep down I have felt a great intrigue for this event which sounds so alien and is so outside my experience, yet I want to know more - and when will I get another opportunity to have such an experience? So.. I say yes please! Arrangements will be made to delay my journey to Växjö by a day.

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The evening service takes place at Tutaryd, a small church building that I haven't yet been in. It looks very different to Ryssby and Agunnaryd - it's a warm, wooden building in the forest, by a lake. The decoration inside is rather breathtaking - lots of gilt, colourful cherubs and a bit OTT! The worship is slightly different here - a more reflective service with silence and meditation. Another lovely choir here and the music includes Rutter (in Swedish) and some original music - a world premiere with words written by Camilla, put to music by the organist Oskar. http://www.svenskakyrkan.se/default.aspx?id=565270 It works well, and is a good way to end the day.

I really enjoyed being part of all the worship. I gradually felt more confidence in taking part, relaxed more so that I could say my prayers alongside those being said in a different language. It felt very blessed to have been alongside Elisabeth, seeing a strong woman presiding and being in good relationship with the people she serves and knows. I saw a great model of leadership, of stirring people into growth, into trying something new - in liturgy and discipleship.

Back at Elisabeth's house preparations begin for the hunt the next day. I am asked searching questions about the weatherproof nature of clothes that I have, and am finally loaned some waterproof clothes for the next day. Though she is tired, Elisabeth begins cooking yellow bean soup for 30 people - it's what she always does for the hunting party lunch. We will need to be up early the next day - out by 8am.

I'm going on a moose hunt!

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8th October 2011

Back in Ryssby after time with friends in Jönköping I catch up with Elisabeth at lunchtime for what has already been a full day for her. She has done some urgent hospital visiting and is now preparing for a baptism at the church in Agunnaryd.

Agunnaryd's claim to fame is that it is home to the industrialist Ingvar Kamprad, founder of IKEA (the A stands for Agunnaryd). A small village, it has one school, a kindergarten, a supermarket and four football teams, as well as its own newspaper/newsletter mailed to inhabitants once a month.

Inside the church, which is light and richly decorated with art and fixtures from across different points in history, a small group is gathering. It's a baptism of the grandchild of a churchyard worker, so well know to the church family. There's a warm friendly feel to this celebration. The service begins as the child is carried in procession by godparents, behind the cross. The baby is relaxed and sleepy for most of the service, then after Elisabeth baptises her, she holds up the child for all to see. There is a wonderful look of surprise (shock?!) on the little girl's face.

After the service, Elisabeth has a funeral visit to make, so I wait for her in the parish office. I don't think she has eaten lunch yet, but she is more concerned that I haven't had any food for a while. The afternoon and evening are free-ish from work, so we have chance to talk more about baptism policy  (taking care with preparation, and remembering that God has already been there with the families), and the catechumenate. (Elisabeth is the 'mother' of the catechumenate in Sweden and takes a national role in encouraging its use. It's great to hear her passion as she talks about the way the catechumenate process can nurture leaders and explorers within the church community.) Back at her home, we have some soup with the handyman from Romania who is doing some work in the garden. It appears that this is just one of people that Elisabeth supports by providing them with opportunity for work. He is good at talking and very entertaining - and I enjoy listening to the conversation and laughter even though I don't understand the words. Later Elisabeth tells me that amongst other things he was telling her about his concern for the well being of his neighbour - who she also knows and supports as she can. A neighbour pops in for a chat, Elisabeth's husband isn't very well, and one of Elisabeth's sons calls her - they have moved house today!

Elisabeth tells me a little more about the moose hunting which begins on Monday (always the second Monday of October). She takes an active part in this along with her farming neighbours. They will gather a group of about 25 people and will have a 'quota' of 6 moose to kill (3 adults and 3 calves). This is a regular cull which is necessary because of the damage the animals do to farmland and because they cause serious accidents on the roads.

In the afternoon I go for a walk while Elisabeth does some sermon preparation.

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We eat together in the evening and talk more about church life, of similarities and differences. Elisabeth is good at asking keen questions and I'm hesitant in my responses as I try to present a fair picture of the church in England! She's wondering about the usefulness of visiting Oxford and seeing, with her colleagues, something of the ways of being church in this part of England. We have another errand to do and walk to a neighbour for some signing of papers. In quite a small house, two sons live with their invalid, elderly mother. "They are lovely people, so kind to us" is how Elisabeth describes these neighbours. Along the way we talk about family, sharing some joys and worries of parenthood. More sermon work for Elisabeth, then bed.

In the early hours of the morning, I hear the tapping of computer keys as the work continues..

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Just finished reading A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit. Lovely book to meander through, savour, ponder. http://books.google.co.uk/books/about/A_Field_Guide_to_Getting_Lost.html?id=m...
"Leave the door open for the unknown.. That's where the most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and where you will go"

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7th October 2011

Apparently George MacLeod, founder of the Iona Community and wonderfully quotable, once said, "If you believe in coincidences, you must lead a very dull life!"

It just so happened (!) when I went to Iona in September, that there were also staying there that week, two people from Sweden, and from the same part of Sweden that I was planning to visit as part of my sabbatical. So one of those wonderful, un-consciously planned re-connections happened, and on the second day of my time in Sweden, I took the train from Alvesta to Jönköping and was met at the station by Iona friend Agne.

First we went to Wessershus, on the shore of Lake Vattern, in the midst of the forest there. Founded by the artist Sven Gunnar Zilo who recognised the spiritual importance of this place, and maintained now by an ecumenical board of trustees. Amongst the trees were wooden chalets providing simple and comfortable accomodation. You can even stay in a library - how wonderful is that? The grass-covered chapel was just one place to sit and draw breath, to take stock of life and feel renewed. I absolutely loved the place, the light and space in the rooms in the meeting hall, the artwork, the life giving trees, the views, the walks.

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St Birgitta's prayer: Lord, show me your way and make me ready to follow it

We returned to Agne's house, via a fantastic view over Jönköping.

In the evening it was great to have a mini Iona reunion, to talk more, look at photos and remember our time there.

The following morning, having enjoyed such generous and kind hospitality, Lars took me to the station for my return journey to Ljungby, saw me safely on the train and hoped that my trip would give me much that was good both for body and soul. I felt full of thanks for coincidences that become connections and relationships. 

Vadstena Pilgrimscentrum: Never stop exploring

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5th October 2011

As the time got closer to my journey to Sweden as part of my sabbatical, the anxiety levels predicably began to rise. I was planning to travel by train, which was quite an adventure in itself: train from Oxford to London St Pancras; Eurostar to Brussels; Brussels to Cologne; overnight train from Cologne to Copenhagen; Copenhagen to Alvesta. All in all it would take about 28 hours. I'd never done such a journey before, and my husband thought I was mad! I had a wallet full of train tickets, and a European Train Timetable to clutch and follow the journey. I had a range of currencies with me to cover the range of countries I would go through. Would all the connections work? Had I allowed myself enough time for the changes? The day before I packed and unpacked a few times and settled eventually for my trusty backpack that has done pretty sterling service these past few months.

So on Wednesday 5th October I set off. The journey provided plenty of beautiful scenes to remember - some gorgeous stations. I was so excited - could hardly contain myself when the train emerged from the tunnel into France!

So begins the grappling with different ways of travelling, different currencies, different languages. The listening to and observing of fellow travellers can be a way of finding reassuring connections and similarities: a lively group of young American teachers gather at St Pancras - they are at the beginning of something - just beginning to get to know each other; a woman sitting next to me on the train explores personality types on the computer; a seasoned traveller gives words of advice to young man going to Cologne for the first time. A theme for the journey: discovering similarities, celebrating differences.

After not much sleep on the night train to Copenhagen, I arrive in a cloudy, drizzly day, into a beautiful station. I have a couple of hours before my final train into Sweden. It's too wet to wander very far, so I wander around the station quite a few times, negotiate a SJ ticket machine to pick up my ticket (very pleased with myself!), change a bit of money into Danish currency so I can buy a snack and do more people watching. There are school children eating McDonalds and teenagers laughing, students trying to interview passengers, a  group of men - maybe a sports group or team?

At Alvesta station the rain has set in with a vengeance. I am met by my host Elisabeth Lindow, kyrkoherde (rector?) of 3 country parishes: Ryssby, Agunnaryd and Tutaryd. http://www.svenskakyrkan.se/default.aspx?id=565270  We enter directly into parish life as Elisabeth takes me to a confirmation group - young people from these parishes meet very regularly after school, at the parish hall to prepare for confirmation. It sounds like quite an intensive preparation, in comparison to my experience. They meet for about 9 months, and have to attend church for an agreed number of times (they have a book that has to be signed off by the priest). Photos of the young people are posted around the parishes, to keep them in the prayerful minds eye of the congregations. Eating burgers together is following by discussion in small groups, and I'm asked to say a few words of introduction about myself. I use a few hesitant words of Swedish ("Hello...My name is... I don't speak Swedish..!") It feels good to be with these young people, and I tell them a little about the young people of our parish group. It's good to see the familiar way young people operate - friendly, some very quiet, open and honest ('Church is boring'). Then I talk with a parish teacher, an artist who has created a way of teaching children using doll-like figures. I tell her about Godly Play which uses many similar techniques and principles that she is doing intuitively, and we resolve to communicate further about Godly Play.

More to come...

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