Once more Ultreya ...

Last weekend saw the first Cursillo in Scotland weekend for almost two years, after a period of reflection leading to a determination to return to the basic ethos of the movement. And Cursillo #59 seems to have been worth the wait, with sixteen participants showing all the signs of having been overwhelmed by the dedication of the team and the love of God. At the Clausura, in Dunblane Cathedral for the first time, they spoke movingly - and in some cases wittily - about their experiences.

They spoke to a good crowd of the Fourth Day - the people who have been on previous weekends - who had braved the snow and sleet to be there to welcome them. This effort on the part of people who are for the most part not in their first youth, is typical of the commitment that puts the weekends on in the first place, for Cursillo is an extremely labour-intensive phenomenon. The amount of stuff that has to be transported, unpacked, set out, removed, inventoried, packed up and taken away again is remarkable - many, many heavy boxes-full. And yes, the people involved in doing the donkey-work can, like anyone else, become tired and scratchy. I was helping with some of it on Sunday, and by the time of the closing Eucharist I felt more like a bath and a lie-down than jolly hymn-singing.

But then the magic happened, just when it should, at the moment of Communion. As I received the chalice from someone I know from her own weekend, and from her service on team when I was Lay Rector, I knew once more the joy that all this service brings and returned to my place with an idiot grin on my face.

Mind, the evening was still spent in dribbling stupor ...

A guided journey

One of the lesser-known benefits of religious practice is to be found in Spiritual Direction. While many Anglicans know that this is something they would expect their priest to undertake, on the understanding that every priest needs someone to talk to about their own spiritual development, far fewer realise that the benefits of this practice are open to all, lay people as well as ordained. They are missing a great deal.

It's easy to assume that because you talk about matters of faith and practice to friends or fellow-members of your congregation that you don't need anything so esoteric or - to the inexperienced - so scary as one-to-one conversation with someone who would initially be a stranger, but this would be to miss the point. You cannot experience the full benefit of this exercise with someone who is involved with your ordinary day-to-day life, let alone a friend: there will be too many extraneous considerations - such as the maintaining of a relationship - to get in the way of honesty. And the benefits are incalculable, with the resultant self-knowledge and assistance with spiritual growth far beyond what is achieved by the more comfortable discussions with someone on your own patch.

This is where organisations such as Cursillo can be of great value. By laying strong emphasis on the benefits of direction and by providing assistance with finding a suitable and experienced director for those who wish one, Cursillo can take anyone interested past the initial and sometimes daunting stage of asking someone to join in a fascinating journey.

And it's a journey infinitely worth making.

Mission accomplished

We survived. Don't be fooled by the excellent, jolly cake, supplied by Black's of Dunoon - all the food was of the highest quality and nothing like survival rations - but the experience of serving on team at a Cursillo weekend is not one you can repeat too often, and one which provides an example of the sheer stamina and determination of a bunch of people in late middle age who might be expected to sit around over the weekend, enjoying the Spring sunshine and congratulating themselves on not having to work any more. But goodness, do you pay for it!

And was it a success, this weekend? I think so, for the majority of the participants. It's not actually possible to evaluate the experience immediately. Some people can find the effect of the weekend overwhelming and need time to reflect. Others are overjoyed by what they find and can't wait to serve on team themselves, to fill in the other side of the experience. And still others feel distanced, alienated even, from what happens in the course of the weekend, only to show in their subsequent lives that something has changed. I know that we had participants who fall into the first two categories, and only time will show if we had the third.

But through the total exhaustion that engulfs team members - usually when they are halfway home and feel a bit as if they've been let out of prison - one thing stands out as the reward. For if only one participant tells you, maybe in a quiet, personal moment, that they have had a wonderful time, or been helped to cope with the difficulties of their ordinary life by the support they have received over the weekend, then it is all worth it. Every last, aching, sleep-deprived moment of it.

And that happened on weekend #57.

Cursillo weekend

The car is packed. There is room for only two people, and the back seats are folded away. The curious might assume we were going on a camping trip, but in fact we're off to Millport, to a Cursillo weekend at The College. The contents of the car are, in microcosm, a good representation of the kind of planning and detail that goes into these weekends: only one small suitcase each for our own possessions, with the rest of the space going to everything from tartan tablecloths (carefully ironed) to piles of music. For we are serving on team, and self becomes very much the afterthought as we strive to make everything flow smoothly for the participants.

And when it's all over we'll be exhausted. I know that now. In fact, just thinking about all we have to do before then makes me tired now. But I know that once the participants arrive, once the team is really working hard, there won't be a moment to feel tired, or daunted, and that on past form we'll probably find ourselves surprised once more by the joy that took us there in the first place. Here we go ...

Wind of the Spirit

Almost time -
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

I need to blog about yesterday, between recovering and forgetting. Forgive a meander into the vivid present...

WE have just missed the ferry to Cumbrae, but there will be another in half an hour - or so the timetable says. But a fierce south-westerly wind is whipping the grey sea into nasty-looking lumps and gales are forecast. We scurry for the warm steaminess of Nardini's and order coffee. Two espressos later we see the boat round the old pier. Marilyn hasn't finished her Americano but a paper cup is provided and she takes it with her as we bend into the wind. It is raining, horizontally. We are the only passengers apart from a young woman in hiking gear, but we hope many more will follow later in the day.

Why do we want people to visit Cumbrae on such a foul day? Because this weekend has been the first time a Cursillo weekend has been held in the College and Cathedral of the Holy Spirit, and we hope many will come to the final service. ( We also hope some of them might help with the clearing-up, but that is another story)

As it turns out, several people do indeed come, as the photo of the interior of the Cathedral shows. But many more do not - having reached Largs in good time they are put off primarily by the doom-laden prophecies of the Cal Mac crew: "If you want to be sure of getting home tonight, don't cross"; "We can't guarantee that you'll get off the island"; "It's almost high tide".

We who live with the reality of ferries know that Cal Mac crew have two ways of dealing with enquiries. If the person asking for assurance looks anxious or liable to sue, they will give the worst possible scenario with relish. If, however, you ask a question which in Latin would begin with the word "nonne" - as in "You'll keep sailing, won't you?" - they tend to answer cheerily: "Oh, probably" or "You'll be fine." It's all in the psychology of the traveller - the seamen simply don't want to be held to something as unreliable as the weather.

And as it turns out, the closing service is wonderful. Everyone there feels triumphant, special - and by the end of it, no-one really seems to care what the boats are doing. People have ceased to listen to the noise of the slates rippling on the Cathedral roof - or are singing too loudly to hear it. As they gradually drift off and the car-park empties, we notice that no-one is returning: they have caught the ferry and been deposited safely on the mainland again. The Cathedral of The Isles has worked its magic, the Bishop of Argyll has worked his, and the Holy Spirit seems to be everywhere.

We finally leave the island on the 7pm ferry. All the detritus from the weekend is in storage, all the furniture returned to its rightful place. The sea is still racing up the firth, but the tide is again receding - as it does, day in, day out. A lower tide means that there is no problem boarding the ferry. We think sadly of all those who didn't make it, and think of running lessons in dealing with Cal Mac. The rain comes on again as we head for Dunoon, and the Western Ferries travel backwards as is their wont in a gale.

Normal life resumes, but some more people will never be the same again.

Helium or hot air?

Back again. No blogging since Thursday as I went into Martha mode, from which I have returned, exhausted. However, the photo here shows why I did it: two joyous friends celebrating the culmination of another Cursillo weekend. Not a weekend I was attending - I was one the wee legs thrashing away below the water, helping the weekend to surprise and delight, clearing up the considerable aftermath. And as a result, my pleasure was in seeing the results, and in the warmth of the reaction to our work.

And for the rest? Well, there's a great restaurant in Perth's South Street, where six of us had splendid fish and game before resuming our toil. There was the fun of camping in a friend's house (thanks for leaving the heating on, Hugh!) and the wonder of sharing real conversation without any inhibitions. The only casualty was the odd exploding balloon - rainbow-coloured rubber, not human. The actual business of the weekend was, in a way, paralleled among us who call ourselves The Fourth Day - living proof of the effect of Cursillo, when you get me - moi! - arranging wee pots of rainbow-coloured flowers.

And talking of rainbows: that amazing jacket in the photo was a spontaneous, wonderfully crazy gift. Like Cursillo, in fact.

Guide me ...

One of the charges levelled at Cursillo - usually as a reason for not going on a weekend - is that of manipulation. And of course there is a structure, a structure which, coming under the terms of the licence agreement, is strictly adhered to. This means that at any time on a Cursillo weekend, anyone who has been on one will know what the participants are doing at that moment. And yes, these activities are carefully structured in mood and intensity, and yes, they work. And people tend to feel empowered and more confident as a result - and often exuberantly so.

I was discussing this today with an old friend whom I see less often than I would like. I was telling her what happens on a Cursillo weekend, and why. But I barely needed to. "We do that!" she exclaimed. And we realised that much of what she does mirrors what I've been doing these past weeks and months, and I found that she understood the power and the purpose of Cursillo better than anyone I've spoken to who has not actually experienced a weekend.

And this friend is not a church person, not a Christian. She is a Guide leader, heavily involved in providing a worthwhile framework for girls to grow in. I wonder how far the Guiding movement is seen as manipulative?

And I reflected on the apparent Christianity of my non-Christian friend, and was glad we had shared a coffee today.

Drunk? or just daft?

You ever been to a party where you're the only person who is entirely sober? Perhaps you're the driver for a cheerfully inebriated partner, or stricken by some lurgie which requires you to take antibiotics which suddenly turn lethal - or simply ineffectual - with the addition of alcohol. Perhaps you simply don't drink. Whatever the reason, you suddenly realise that just about everyone else seems to be on another planet, leaving you with your feet firmly on the ground. And you find their hilarity not only hard to enter but also downright irritating.

I guess this is how it was at Pentecost, when the disciples of Jesus were thought to have drunk "new wine" - the only explanation their listeners could arrive at to make sense of their exuberant joy in proclaiming the Gospel. And it's a bit like what people must feel when they meet my companions on last weekend's Cursillo in Perth - puzzled, excluded and somewhat irritated. How can perfectly sensible and sober people of mature years go off to a monastery for a few days and come back so inexplicably cheerful?

Now, you'd think that I'd be in a position to explain, wouldn't you? I mean, I was running the weekend - in charge of the team, making decisions about how things would be done, watching the weekend unfold. And yet when it comes down to it I can't tell you what happened, exactly. All I know is that these very different people arrived looking tense or uncertain and left transformed, smiling and joyful. As if they had enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine, in fact. And though I had a wonderful team of people working under me - people who also were unfailingly cheerful despite being worked off their feet - I am unable to put my finger on any one human contribution which would have brought about this transformation.

Of course, experiences like this are considerably more than the sum of their parts, and the team - paying to come and work and perhaps deliver a talk that they've sweated blood over - are motivated by something way beyond the ordinary. And the shared joy at the end of it is enviable - and in the end inexplicable. It just is.

Daily Prayer - once a week?

As part of my preparation for a Cursillo weekend, one for which I am actually responsible this time, I've been working on finding prayers and meditations for Morning and Evening Prayer. I'm already thinking of which ones I shall read and which delegate - and realising how much I enjoy doing this kind of thing. And yet, other than when I'm in a retreat-type situation, where I can more or less fall out of bed and into the chapel, I don't ever join in such services. When I go to church, it's for the Eucharist. Kimberly has just posted an interesting question about church practice: why one congregation will be content to have matins when there is no priest present, while another will administer the Reserved Sacrament and continue to have a Eucharist.

And it was while attempting to analyse my response to the question that I realised how alien it would now seem to have a non-Eucharistic service as the main Sunday diet of worship. It seems such a sterile exercise without the music traditionally associated with the service, and such a torment with anything but a seriously good choir. And then there's the difficulty of finding one's way around the Scottish Daily Prayer book, and the innate Englishness of the Book of Common Prayer...

And I end up thinking there'd be no focus. It'd be like the C of S services I grew up with, only without the 40 minute sermon. Perhaps these services only work as the beginning and ending of a day - not something done once a week but a routine self-dedication of the kind that few of us actually manage. But I'm about to enjoy four days of just that - and a great deal of hard work in between!

Forming a community

It’s good when you sit listening to a sermon on a familiar passage and instead of beating yourself up about the improbability of ever attaining the desired outcome you find yourself saying “Yes! This happens!” Good, but rare. That’s what I felt yesterday, however, listening to a sermon on the Good Samaritan. Firstly, there was the delight of yet another new take on this familiar story – the familiar ones must surely be the hardest? - which filled in some more background to the “bad priest” idea to make us see that it wasn’t as simple as we might have thought. It’s interesting to contemplate that the human interpretation of what God requires of us might prevent us from making the instinctive human response to a fellow-human in need – does the church itself do that to us? Do we use the excuse of our human edifice to justify lack of spontaneity?

Because we had a clever wee link here to the business of what we do in the liturgy at the Peace. Some people don’t like it, for a variety of reasons – it breaks concentration, they’ve already said good morning, they don’t like to get too pally because we’re Scots and Scots don’t do this sort of thing (OK – I made that bit up). And after being told that it’s God’s peace we’re giving to each other, we heard that we’ll be doing it on a regular basis from now on and we’d better learn to like it. (You can tell there’s a bit of free interpretation going on here – I wouldn’t last a day as a parish priest.) It’s a matter, you see, of rethinking who your neighbour is, and loving them. Just like that.

But on Saturday I was at a team meeting for a Cursillo weekend. The very nature of these teams means that, in this case, 19 people come together to prepare to serve others – and to pay for the privilege of so doing. In the case of this team, many of them had never met before the first meeting. Their link was me – every one of them had met me before, and some of them are close friends. But by the end of that meeting, I knew that we had become a family. These people had eaten together, shared hopes and failures in conversation of considerable depth, and had learned from one another. This last took the form of learning how to give a ten-minute talk, and then submitting to constructive criticism of content, structure and delivery – all in the setting of the group. That’s easy for people like me (fill in your own description) but quite an ordeal for someone who’s never spoken in public before.

And by the time we came to the Eucharist, which more or less began with the exchange of the Peace, I watched my team embrace with all the ease and spontaneity that is often lacking in Scottish churches. The barriers are down among these people after 10 hours together. National reserve, inhibition, self-consciousness: gone.

I think it’s magic.

Go here to see pic in original context.

Country roads ..

Well that was quite a day. It began for me at 5am, so it has already gone on for too long. However, the point of it, the Cursillo team meeting in Perth, was terrific - a great bunch of people, already turning into a family, bursting with enthusiasm and good humour. And when we left the venue at 3pm, it was with the usual injunctions to have a safe journey home.

For some of us, the journey home was merely trying. Torrential rain had caused subsidence in the northbound carriageway of the Glasgow - Perth road; we didn't find the cause until we had already been stuck in a traffic jam for over an hour. We watched the brown torrent rushing past us down the hard shoulder, we cursed the opportunists who snuck up the closing lane or the slip road and then muscled in ahead of us, we were harangued at intervals by the sat nav informing us that there were stationary vehicles ahead. We called it Camilla, by the way, in honour of its posh female voice. (I note with interest how it now pains me to refer to Camilla as "it". Strange.) And all the time the rain battered on the roof and the lightning did dramatic effects overhead.

But we got home in one piece. Father Kenny was not so fortunate. He ended up upside down in a field, having lost control on a treacherous bend after sudden rain. He is unhurt, I'm glad to say, but needs all the prayer support of his friends to get him through two masses tomorrow. His beloved motor is crumpled and squashed, but he is not. I expect he'll blog about it when he's over the immediate effects, but for now I'm doing it. And then I'm for bed. And then ...

A holiday.

And now for a word from our sponsors ...

In response to popular demand (!), here are a few official words about Cursillo.

‘Cursillo has been very powerfully used by God in the renewal of Christians and Christian communities of all styles and backgrounds. I am deeply grateful for all that has been done through its work.’
Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury

‘My own experience of Cursillo has been that it deepened my discipleship and strengthened my faith. As one of the many aids to renewal I commend Cursillo to the whole church and I am pleased to record the great benefit that Cursillo has brought to the Scottish Episcopal Church.’
Idris Jones - Primus , Scottish Episcopal Church

‘Cursillo is about making disciples; it transforms people’s lives and empowers them for service. Cursillo is active in most Dioceses of this Province, for which I praise God.’
John Sentamu, Archbishop of York

‘Developing the Mission of the Church is always a priority. To do this, individuals and parishes need to be challenged to grow in faith, to develop their individual vocations as ministers of the Gospel of Christ. The right resources are crucial in helping them to do this. The Cursillo Movement has, for over 50 years, been a leader in personal and parish spiritual development and makes an invaluable contribution to this work. I warmly commend Cursillo to you.’
Barry Morgan, Archbishop of Wales

And from the leaflet given out to intending participants in Scotland:

+IDRIS, PRIMUS, BISHOP OF GLASGOW AND GALLOWAY,
Comments:

“There are lots of ways in which the Church is offering support to help all of us live out our commitment as disciples of Jesus, commissioned by virtue of our Baptism.
Among these supports is one that has been proved to give new insights and new hope to many members of the Episcopal Church: and that is Cursillo.
The “weekend” is just a starter, to set participants off on a journey that includes on-going support through grouping with others in sharing the joys and challenges of faith.
Cursillo is a positive and accessible tool for the encouragement of faith for all Anglicans, and I commend it to everyone for careful consideration with their Rector.”

'Nuff said, I think.

Casting out demons?

I've taken a couple of comments from my post "Fired up" and reproduce them here because I think they deserve wider consideration than they will get tucked away among the comments. They come at the end of a string of criticisms of the Cursillo movement, which, briefly, is a method of rejuvenating tired Christians and firing them with new vigour in believing. It works on the basis of a three-day weekend course, after which participants return to their own churches to continue growing and developing as mature Christians. Most of the criticism comes from clergy - on this blog, and in the church as a whole.

Kenny Macaulay said...

As a member of the clergy who was dragged kicking and screaming to Cursillo, (I was told that I had to go as a condition of my taking up my present post),I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised by the experience. The problem with so many clergy is that they have already made up their minds about Cursillo, as I had, and approach the whole movement with closed minds at worst, and extreme caution at best. If this movement is so divisive or damaging, it beats me why the College of Bishops and particularly our Primus endorses it, and in fact encourages its growth! Or am I being thick?

Marilyn Shiells said...

Yes...... it's the enthusiasm for Christ that's the important point and not where that enthusiasm comes from. I agree ... that good sponsorship is paramount - but that's why it's necessary to work in partnership - clergy and laity. However that partnership doesn't work when a priest tells his congregation "not to touch Cursillo with a barge pole." This priest had never been to Cursillo so didn't have first hand experience on which to base his argument. A loss for members of that congregation who may have found enthusiasm for Christ through Cursillo. I feel this attitude is more damaging to the church than someone who found Cursillo wasn't for them.

I cannot believe, however, that anyone could come back from Cursillo damaged. Any priest or lay person preaching in a SEC has the potential to damage. We are all open to potential damage from reading the newspapers, watching the TV, surfing the net etc but as, hopefully, responsible adults we can absorb what is presented and make informed choices. Perhaps we shouldn't get out of bed if we want to avoid the risk of being damaged - though, with physio hat on now, that's the worst thing for your back!

I would at this point like to ask critics of the method to look at the people who have found Cursillo to be a useful tool in the church. Ask, as Kenny does, why so many good people endorse it. Ask what the difference is between them and those who criticise. And above all, apply Jesus' own criterion: he that is not against us is for us. And then?

Come and see.

Fired up

Provincial Ultreya
Originally uploaded by goforchris.

Just home from a Cursillo gathering in Falkirk, I realise how important meetings like this are for the health of the church - and for individual Christians. Just as the TeachMeet in Edinburgh revived my enthusiasm for teaching, because I met with people buzzing with excitement for the new ideas they are trying out, so this meeting of Christians from all over Scotland has, once again, revived my enthusiasm for the whole idea of corporately living the message of the Gospels.

Cursillo doesn't suit everyone as a way to rejuvenate their faith, but it is a matter of disappointment to me that there are church people prepared to condemn the organisation on the basis of ignorance and hearsay. It is especially discouraging to lay people when the ones doing the condemning are professionals, who can seem to put personal prejudice before the possible benefit to their flocks.

However, this evening I feel hopeful again - because I've spent the day with people who were filled with joy, who were not being sceptical or disapproving of one another, who shared hopes and fears, disappointments and successes with one another and who joined in the closing Eucharist with total commitment. We relit some torches today.

Great!

Joined up people

Wow. My beloved PowerBook had a brain transplant this afternoon and suddenly the pages are flashing up – great. It’s the only functioning brain today; mine is in hibernation mode after a weekend of being mother’s little helper at the end of a Cursillo weekend. It was great to see our friend Dennis so obviously having had a wonderful time, and faintly awesome for me to be commissioned as the Lay Rector for the next weekend, in August. I kept thinking “Who’da thunkit?” all afternoon, as I remembered my own weekend in 2000. The photo shows the church at St Mary's Retreat Centre, Kinnoull, where the weekend took place.

The contrast between the activities of my week was as stark as I suggested the other day. However, I was given space yesterday to tell people about a new web community using ning, which seems to me a promising way of keeping in contact. I see no good reason why Christians should not be as web-savvy as the rest of us, and equally no good reason why age should be considered a valid barrier to communication. I’m happy to report that requests for invitations are beginning to trickle in; we may yet have a viable online network there. How will I know it’s working?

When I no longer feel the need to post on it.

Two sides of the coin

On a dreich West Coast morning, when the East Bay has all but vanished in a haze of rain, I'm preparing to go to Perthshire, where the rain may be less but I shall be too busy to notice. Supervising the clearing-up process after a Cursillo weekend is not something I look forward to, but provides the trigger to some thought about the different activities this Christian journey involves us in. Yesterday cerebral; tomorrow physical.

And I don't know which is the more satisfying - surprising though that may sound. Wrestling with the concepts of theology and Christology (and several other ologies on the way) is stimulating and indulges in the kind of mental gymnastics I have always enjoyed, while making beds and lugging boxes about represents the Martha side of life that I tend to avoid whenever possible. And Cursillo tends not to be on the cerebral side of Christianity - though there are some luminously cerebral people involved. But I know that tomorrow will be hard work and hilarity; exasperation tempered by a determination to display love and cheerfulness; and above all the desire to celebrate a faith which is alive and well and living in all of us.

And quite apart from any preference on my part, I have a feeling that it's very good for me!