To the Left of Trotsky 2

On further reflection, the findings of the aforementioned little tool re foreign policy would perturb me a little, as I wouldn't regard myself as being "non-interventionist" just not wanting to intervene purely on the basis of national self-interest. There are plenty of places that I wish we would intervene in some way, eg. Darfur, and when I talk about intervention I am talking about something more positive than military action and something more long-term than emergency aid. But if the whole talk about foreign intervention is just about securing sources of oil, or exporting an American variety of democracy, then count me out.

I should also have flagged up this other little tool from MIT that I came across through Alan in Belfast. It supposedly produces an artistic impression of your areas of interest as interpreted by limited googling of your name on t'internet. Unfortunately it doesn't quite work for me as there is another more famous David Campton who is a playwright, and also (so it seems) a rugby player as well. I would love to claim their online personas as my own, given my interests in theatre and rugby, but I would only be fooling myself.

Cheers

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A Woman of no Distinction

Don't often post other people's stuff here... But I found this so powerful that I thought I should. It's a performance poem based on John 4: 4-30, and I have attached the original YouTube video below. A word for women, and men, everywhere... "to be known is to be loved, and to be loved is to be known." I am a woman of no distinction of little importance. I am a women of no reputation save that which is bad. You whisper as I pass by and cast judgmental glances, Though you don’t really take the time to look at me, Or even get to know me. For to be known is to be loved, And to be loved is to be known. Otherwise what’s the point in doing either one of them in the first place? I WANT TO BE KNOWN. I want someone to look at my face And not just see two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two ears; But to see all that I am, and could be all my hopes, loves and fears. But that’s too much to hope for, to wish for, or pray for So I don’t, not anymore. Now I keep to myself And by that

Psalm for Harvest Sunday

A short responsive psalm for us as a call to worship on Harvest Thanksgiving Sunday, and given that it was pouring with rain as I headed into church this morning the first line is an important remembrance that the rain we moan about is an important component of the fruitfulness of the land we live in: You tend the land and water it And the earth produces its abundance. You crown each year with your bounty, and our storehouses overflow with your goodness. The mountain meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are filled with corn; Your people celebrate your boundless grace They shout for joy and sing. from Psalm 65

Anointed

There has been a lot of chatter on social media among some of my colleagues and others about the liturgical and socio-political niceties of Saturday's coronation and attendant festivities, especially the shielding of the anointing with the pictured spoon - the oldest and perhaps strangest of the coronation artefacts. Personally I thought that was at least an improvement on the cloth of gold canopy used in the previous coronation, but (pointless) debates are raging as to whether this is an ancient practice or was simply introduced in the previous service to shield the Queen from the TV cameras, not for purposes of sacredness, but understandable coyness, if she actually had to bare her breast bone in puritan 1950s Britain. But as any church leader knows, anything performed twice in a church becomes a tradition. All this goes to show that I did actually watch it, while doing other things - the whole shooting match from the pre-service concert with yer wumman in that lemon-

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