More years ago than I care to remember, when I was living in rural Lesotho, some American missionaries, who had attached themselves to the parish I went to suggested that the parish have a “Carols by Candlelight” service for Christmas. The suggestion was dismissed with virtually no discussion by the other members of the parish. “We have spent our whole lives trying to get away from candles”, they said, “Why on earth would we want to use them at Christmas!?”
The New Testament is replete with vignettes on the theme of the partiality of God towards the poor. The God of the New Testament appears to show, at the very least, what seems to be a surprising and extraordinary bias. It is bewildering. It is unfair. It is not cricket. And there seems to be ample evidence for it. The God of the Bible has a bias away from the rich and towards the poor.
There are indications of this bias on virtually every page. Jesus is born in anything but salubrious circumstances. His life is hardly that of a bling-seeker. He seems to deliberately choose the company of the outcasts, the heretics, the untouchables, the pariahs. He seems to enjoy the level of distaste which these extremely public displays of bias and unfairness evoke.
And when he is not deliberately provoking the religious orthodox, he is challenging the state. Even his death seems to have been engineered to some extent – down to passwords about donkeys and masters needing them and verbal displays of deliberate provocation to the ruling authorities. The Gospels are at pains to show that he “knew” his death was impending. It was no surprise. It was a fate he was prepared to meet. It was a fate he appears almost prepared to ensure.
The circumstances of his death, similarly, appear designed to cause a degree of solidarity with the criminals and murderers of his society. The lowest of the low. The most despised of any society. These are the people Jesus dies amongst. And seemingly, if the Gospel accounts are to be believed, he could have chosen otherwise. Judas might have betrayed him in the pursuit of his particular plan, but the plan of Jesus was already set.
And even the resurrection narratives are a bit disappointing, if it is pyrotechnics one is looking for. Yes, in Matthew, the graves do open and one or two apocalyptic things seem to happen in Jerusalem, but in general what do you have? A couple of second-class citizens seeing an empty grave and concluding that something miraculous, rather than sinister had occurred.
And then the group is on the run. In hiding, the leaders are in an upstairs room. It is there, in that situation that they encounter him again. Others are walking along a road, dejected and beaten. It is there that they encounter him again. In those less than grand circumstances. And that encounter is apparently so profound, so essential, so complete, that from that moment on, they are entirely changed – and so is the world.
And we must know – because that is what the stories mean - that in so far as we are different from that, so, most likely, is the measure of our encounter with the divine. There is no account of the rich and the powerful rejoicing at the news of the resurrection.
I am not saying that it is impossible for someone to have such an encounter in a Herbert Baker building with a wonderful choir, a superb organ and attention to detail in the liturgy. I am not saying that the generous incense and multiple candles do not serve an enabling function. But I am saying this: I am saying that camels go through needle’s eyes with a fair amount of difficulty. And it is difficult for me not to wonder what it is that the poor, the marginalised and the outcasts have, that God seems so terribly partial to
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Why I hate flag-waving
When I was working as a priest in Manchester, England, there were one or two things I battled with in the realm of the Church of England, as the Established church. The Queen is the head of that church. That struck me as more than odd. And allied with that the national flag, the Union Jack, is every now and again brought into the sanctuary and left to stand there proudly. On nationalistic occasions, like Armistice Day and on other peculiar occasions, like when the Scouts and Girl Guides have a Sunday parade and when various military regiments, which are somehow attached to the church (in ways I could simply never fathom), come and celebrate this or that.
It made my skin crawl. I felt the hair standing out on the back of my neck. Because I looked at that flag, not as an insider, but as an outsider. I saw it, in my mind's eye, fluttering over God knows how many battlefields throughout the world, including many in my own country. I saw it as a symbol of colonial domination and power. I saw it as a symbol of a great deal of evil, to go with all the trumpeted benefits which it was supposed to bring throughout the Empire, when the Empire was viable. I could not pay it any honour. And I would not.
I can remember the first time I saw the new South African flag. It was flying late in that heady period betwixt the release of release of political prisoners and the inauguration of the new democratic state. It was flying, for no apparent reason, on a semi-famous landmark in Johannesburg - Gallagher's corner, in Orange Grove.
I slowed my car down to a crawl and savoured the moment. I wept, like everyone else, when the helicopters flew the new flag at the inauguration of our first democratic President. My heart skipped a beat, for a while after that, every time I saw it on a government building.
And now, the flag is, undoubtedly, a significant focus of unity, in the context of the 2010 FIFA World Cup. Faces are painted in its colours. Shirts and socks and hats and scarves. The commercial opportunities seem to be endless - and especially for those highly inventive Chinese, who make most of it.
But by identifying oneself so visibly as one thing, you are, almost by definition, identifying others as another thing. We celebrate being South African. And that does not include Zimbabweans, or Nigerians. It is explicit in its exclusions. There are those inside and there are those outside. That is just the way it is. That is the way it is designed to be. That is the function it serves.
And then we lose. And then the flag-painted Vuvuzelas go quiet. And fewer flags flutter on the cars. And fewer faces are painted. And a national gloom settles in, while others are raised high in victory.
That is the problem. Because flags inevitably make an "us" and a "them". That is what they do. That is what they are designed to do. And it is a short step away from "them" taking "our" jobs. "Them", the criminals and "us" the victims. "Them", who shouldn't be allowed into "our" country. That is what flags do. They engender nationalism. It starts off with a thing called "national pride" and if not extremely carefully controlled in a very sophisticated way, it ends up in xenophobic violence.
While I am happy to acknowledge the role our flag has played in enabling South Africans to find each other, then and now, I remain deeply suspicious and extremely wary. Because waving a flag does not make one patriotic. Criminals can wave flags and sing the national anthem with the rest of us. I see people speeding past me on the highway, talking on the cellphones on their ears, with numerous flags a-flutter on their cars. It is the way one lives, as a South African, that reveals one's true patriotism, not the flag one flies.
It made my skin crawl. I felt the hair standing out on the back of my neck. Because I looked at that flag, not as an insider, but as an outsider. I saw it, in my mind's eye, fluttering over God knows how many battlefields throughout the world, including many in my own country. I saw it as a symbol of colonial domination and power. I saw it as a symbol of a great deal of evil, to go with all the trumpeted benefits which it was supposed to bring throughout the Empire, when the Empire was viable. I could not pay it any honour. And I would not.
I can remember the first time I saw the new South African flag. It was flying late in that heady period betwixt the release of release of political prisoners and the inauguration of the new democratic state. It was flying, for no apparent reason, on a semi-famous landmark in Johannesburg - Gallagher's corner, in Orange Grove.
I slowed my car down to a crawl and savoured the moment. I wept, like everyone else, when the helicopters flew the new flag at the inauguration of our first democratic President. My heart skipped a beat, for a while after that, every time I saw it on a government building.
And now, the flag is, undoubtedly, a significant focus of unity, in the context of the 2010 FIFA World Cup. Faces are painted in its colours. Shirts and socks and hats and scarves. The commercial opportunities seem to be endless - and especially for those highly inventive Chinese, who make most of it.
But by identifying oneself so visibly as one thing, you are, almost by definition, identifying others as another thing. We celebrate being South African. And that does not include Zimbabweans, or Nigerians. It is explicit in its exclusions. There are those inside and there are those outside. That is just the way it is. That is the way it is designed to be. That is the function it serves.
And then we lose. And then the flag-painted Vuvuzelas go quiet. And fewer flags flutter on the cars. And fewer faces are painted. And a national gloom settles in, while others are raised high in victory.
That is the problem. Because flags inevitably make an "us" and a "them". That is what they do. That is what they are designed to do. And it is a short step away from "them" taking "our" jobs. "Them", the criminals and "us" the victims. "Them", who shouldn't be allowed into "our" country. That is what flags do. They engender nationalism. It starts off with a thing called "national pride" and if not extremely carefully controlled in a very sophisticated way, it ends up in xenophobic violence.
While I am happy to acknowledge the role our flag has played in enabling South Africans to find each other, then and now, I remain deeply suspicious and extremely wary. Because waving a flag does not make one patriotic. Criminals can wave flags and sing the national anthem with the rest of us. I see people speeding past me on the highway, talking on the cellphones on their ears, with numerous flags a-flutter on their cars. It is the way one lives, as a South African, that reveals one's true patriotism, not the flag one flies.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Ritalin part 2
Some weeks ago, I wrote about the uncertainty I had about giving our youngest son, Joshua, the drug Ritalin. He has been diagnosed ADHD – the hyperactive version. I said then, that I was completely amazed by what the drug was able to do for him. Suddenly, he is able to concentrate. Suddenly, he is able to complete a task which is given to him. And, for us as parents, it is such a great pity that he had missed out on a year and a half of taking the drug, because, I am certain, had he been on it, he would not be facing the possibility of repeating Grade 1 – which he is now. I am certain that on the drug, he will be fine, going forward – repeat or not.
Then there is our eldest son, Gabriel (aged 8). He has always been extremely weak academically. He can dance fabulously. He can draw really well. But ask him to add one number to another and he is completely befuddled. For years now my partner, Leon (who is saddled with most of the homework chores) has been saying that the child just doesn’t get it - with reading, writing and arithmetic. Now the school is saying it as well.
So we had both of the children assessed through a fairly expensive and extensive process, involving an educational psychologist. Her diagnosis was that Gabriel is in real and urgent need of a fairly serious remedial intervention. He is in Grade 2 at the moment - and obviously not coping, despite continuous and dedicated help with his homework and support from both inside and outside school. “Perhaps”, said the psychologist, “Gabriel would also benefit from Ritalin”.
At this point I started to get suspicious. It seemed to me impossible that two such different children, one hyper-active and the other a complete dreamer, could benefit from the same drug. But then I discovered that, actually, they can. It is a drug which has had over sixty years of usage, so there are not many surprises. And indeed, it both can and does help children (and adults) on both sides of the disorder.
So, we are now giving it to Gabriel as well. Within days, I saw a remarkable change in him. It was as if someone had unlocked his tongue! He was talking about all sorts of things – and more surprisingly, talking to me! He has always been Leon’s child. He tolerates me if he has to, but the relationship has never been easy – or in any way over-enthusiastic from his point of view. But suddenly, I am being told stories about this person and that person. About what happened at school and what this friend said and what that one did.
And there is another line of astonishing development. He asks questions about what is happening on the television. He is paging through magazines, prompted by no-one. He seems much more aware of his surroundings than he ever was before. These are, believe me, profound developments! And I can only put them down to the drug.
While our youngest child has experienced a lack of appetite as a side-effect, Gabriel has had no such difficulties. The technology of the pill is extraordinary in itself, in that it releases specific doses throughout the day, for a 12 hour period. So the drug is administered once early in the morning, with no need for a re-dose later on. And all I can say is that it is helping both of them at the moment. And if it becomes clear that they can do without it, or that it isn’t helping anymore, we can simply stop it.
I asked the doctor about why I had heard that the child can be taken off the drug for weekends and school holidays. He said that this was the result of what he called “insecure doctors” who saw that the parents were uncomfortable with the allopathic diagnosis, and who wanted to sort of “give them a bit of comfort”.
“But”, he said, “”if your child was diagnosed with diabetes, would you not give him the drug on certain days?” It was a rhetorical question, of course. And I am sure that it must be very difficult dealing with parents. Because any normal parent really wishes their child is not in need of the medication.
Similarly, I got a flood of suggestions, with the last article, on “natural” remedies. Personally, I believe in drugs. I know they can be dangerous. I know taking them has dangers of its own, but what I have seen so far has been so remarkable and so good, that I have to say I no longer have any doubts. For my children at least.
Then there is our eldest son, Gabriel (aged 8). He has always been extremely weak academically. He can dance fabulously. He can draw really well. But ask him to add one number to another and he is completely befuddled. For years now my partner, Leon (who is saddled with most of the homework chores) has been saying that the child just doesn’t get it - with reading, writing and arithmetic. Now the school is saying it as well.
So we had both of the children assessed through a fairly expensive and extensive process, involving an educational psychologist. Her diagnosis was that Gabriel is in real and urgent need of a fairly serious remedial intervention. He is in Grade 2 at the moment - and obviously not coping, despite continuous and dedicated help with his homework and support from both inside and outside school. “Perhaps”, said the psychologist, “Gabriel would also benefit from Ritalin”.
At this point I started to get suspicious. It seemed to me impossible that two such different children, one hyper-active and the other a complete dreamer, could benefit from the same drug. But then I discovered that, actually, they can. It is a drug which has had over sixty years of usage, so there are not many surprises. And indeed, it both can and does help children (and adults) on both sides of the disorder.
So, we are now giving it to Gabriel as well. Within days, I saw a remarkable change in him. It was as if someone had unlocked his tongue! He was talking about all sorts of things – and more surprisingly, talking to me! He has always been Leon’s child. He tolerates me if he has to, but the relationship has never been easy – or in any way over-enthusiastic from his point of view. But suddenly, I am being told stories about this person and that person. About what happened at school and what this friend said and what that one did.
And there is another line of astonishing development. He asks questions about what is happening on the television. He is paging through magazines, prompted by no-one. He seems much more aware of his surroundings than he ever was before. These are, believe me, profound developments! And I can only put them down to the drug.
While our youngest child has experienced a lack of appetite as a side-effect, Gabriel has had no such difficulties. The technology of the pill is extraordinary in itself, in that it releases specific doses throughout the day, for a 12 hour period. So the drug is administered once early in the morning, with no need for a re-dose later on. And all I can say is that it is helping both of them at the moment. And if it becomes clear that they can do without it, or that it isn’t helping anymore, we can simply stop it.
I asked the doctor about why I had heard that the child can be taken off the drug for weekends and school holidays. He said that this was the result of what he called “insecure doctors” who saw that the parents were uncomfortable with the allopathic diagnosis, and who wanted to sort of “give them a bit of comfort”.
“But”, he said, “”if your child was diagnosed with diabetes, would you not give him the drug on certain days?” It was a rhetorical question, of course. And I am sure that it must be very difficult dealing with parents. Because any normal parent really wishes their child is not in need of the medication.
Similarly, I got a flood of suggestions, with the last article, on “natural” remedies. Personally, I believe in drugs. I know they can be dangerous. I know taking them has dangers of its own, but what I have seen so far has been so remarkable and so good, that I have to say I no longer have any doubts. For my children at least.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Patriotism, nationalism and the rest...
The country, at the moment, is going through a surge of patriotism. There are flags everywhere. Sometimes they are the right way up and sometimes not. Sometimes cars have socks over their rear-view mirrors. Sometimes they have flags on the aerial. Sometimes they have flags on the boot, the bonnet, the windows. And sometimes, on all of these.
What I find astonishing is that white people who, a year or two ago were sneering, and saying we would never be ready, and the crime rate, and bemoaning how boring soccer is in comparison to rugby, these are now festooning their cars with flags. And, don’t get me wrong, I don’t see anything essentially wrong with that.
Is it that there has been a sea-change in the way in which people are looking at their country? Are they displaying pride in the achievement of getting ready for the event? I hear discussions about the 2010 FIFA World Cup in the changerooms at the gym. Whereas before, white men would be dismissive and churlish about it, suddenly they are speaking authoritatively about it. They have opinions on who is going to win. They have all been to see something in the stadium – and they are impressed. They like this player, that team and this coach. It is a remarkable and noteworthy change.
Clearly, the sport of football will never be the same again in this country. Young children are bewitched by it – mine are, and I am not a soccer fan. The blue eyed boy of apartheid – rugby – is now joined by a fairly well resourced competitor. At the moment, there is only one game in town and its balls are round.
And it is true that when you watch television broadcasts of South Africans singing the national anthem, a lot of whites still do not know anything other than the English and Afrikaans parts of it, while a lot of blacks either do not know (or refuse to sing) the English and Afrikaans, or they refuse to sing it.
But generally, despite things like this, there is a general outpouring of patriotism.
Now, simultaneously with this experience, I have been having some – well, “discussions” would be too grand a term for these things – but let us say “interchanges” with a range of my friends on Facebook, about Israel and the recent international outrage which the Israeli government has committed with the “Freedom Flotilla”, leaving 9 people dead. Some of my harder core Jewish friends – maybe even Zionist friends – are infuriated that I should even think such a thing. Because to them it seems, Israel is not capable of doing wrong. It is only “them” - Muslims, Arabs and non-Jews who do terrible things to Israel.
It has frequently become extremely nasty indeed, these Facebook inter-changes. It happens whenever I, or anyone else associated with me, takes a negative view of Israel. And it has given me pause for some serious thought on the issue of patriotism.
Because, if I am honest, I have to say that I am deeply suspicious of patriotism, in any form and in any guise. When I see flags fluttering in the wind in numbers, I see Nazi Germany. I see the kind of fervour which that maniac Hitler was able to whip up and the way in which that entire nation, young and old, were enthralled. And I hate it with every fibre of my being. It is that kind of stuff which enables evil to be baptised good. And I cannot but see the same thing happening in Israel today. It is a strange and curious irony indeed.
I think, in the case of Israel, that the land has been deified. To the extent that it needs to be served unconditionally. To the extent that it has power to demand absolute loyalty and allegiance. To the extent that some people are prepared to defend it against any and all odds. To the near hysterical responses to even the mildest criticism. This is the behaviour of a worshipper – a devotee - not a citizen.
And it is this worship of the land that I fear so much. Here, the xenophobic attacks that have happened are usually based on gross ignorance; on lack of analysis and education; and on huge doses of selfishness and ingratitude. But what it finally based on? It is based on this thing called being “South African”. And that “being South African” can somehow be used to justify terror, murder, robbery, and that thing which the bible (in the story of Sodom) identifies as virtually unforgivable, inhospitality.
It is the same with Israel. It was the same in Nazi Germany. It was the same in apartheid South Africa. It is horrific.
What I find astonishing is that white people who, a year or two ago were sneering, and saying we would never be ready, and the crime rate, and bemoaning how boring soccer is in comparison to rugby, these are now festooning their cars with flags. And, don’t get me wrong, I don’t see anything essentially wrong with that.
Is it that there has been a sea-change in the way in which people are looking at their country? Are they displaying pride in the achievement of getting ready for the event? I hear discussions about the 2010 FIFA World Cup in the changerooms at the gym. Whereas before, white men would be dismissive and churlish about it, suddenly they are speaking authoritatively about it. They have opinions on who is going to win. They have all been to see something in the stadium – and they are impressed. They like this player, that team and this coach. It is a remarkable and noteworthy change.
Clearly, the sport of football will never be the same again in this country. Young children are bewitched by it – mine are, and I am not a soccer fan. The blue eyed boy of apartheid – rugby – is now joined by a fairly well resourced competitor. At the moment, there is only one game in town and its balls are round.
And it is true that when you watch television broadcasts of South Africans singing the national anthem, a lot of whites still do not know anything other than the English and Afrikaans parts of it, while a lot of blacks either do not know (or refuse to sing) the English and Afrikaans, or they refuse to sing it.
But generally, despite things like this, there is a general outpouring of patriotism.
Now, simultaneously with this experience, I have been having some – well, “discussions” would be too grand a term for these things – but let us say “interchanges” with a range of my friends on Facebook, about Israel and the recent international outrage which the Israeli government has committed with the “Freedom Flotilla”, leaving 9 people dead. Some of my harder core Jewish friends – maybe even Zionist friends – are infuriated that I should even think such a thing. Because to them it seems, Israel is not capable of doing wrong. It is only “them” - Muslims, Arabs and non-Jews who do terrible things to Israel.
It has frequently become extremely nasty indeed, these Facebook inter-changes. It happens whenever I, or anyone else associated with me, takes a negative view of Israel. And it has given me pause for some serious thought on the issue of patriotism.
Because, if I am honest, I have to say that I am deeply suspicious of patriotism, in any form and in any guise. When I see flags fluttering in the wind in numbers, I see Nazi Germany. I see the kind of fervour which that maniac Hitler was able to whip up and the way in which that entire nation, young and old, were enthralled. And I hate it with every fibre of my being. It is that kind of stuff which enables evil to be baptised good. And I cannot but see the same thing happening in Israel today. It is a strange and curious irony indeed.
I think, in the case of Israel, that the land has been deified. To the extent that it needs to be served unconditionally. To the extent that it has power to demand absolute loyalty and allegiance. To the extent that some people are prepared to defend it against any and all odds. To the near hysterical responses to even the mildest criticism. This is the behaviour of a worshipper – a devotee - not a citizen.
And it is this worship of the land that I fear so much. Here, the xenophobic attacks that have happened are usually based on gross ignorance; on lack of analysis and education; and on huge doses of selfishness and ingratitude. But what it finally based on? It is based on this thing called being “South African”. And that “being South African” can somehow be used to justify terror, murder, robbery, and that thing which the bible (in the story of Sodom) identifies as virtually unforgivable, inhospitality.
It is the same with Israel. It was the same in Nazi Germany. It was the same in apartheid South Africa. It is horrific.
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