One day last week, during late afternoon, I crossed paths with Pablo, an Italian (?) homeless guy from whom I often buy the Big Issue magazine. A lot of Issue vendors have quite a cheery disposition, which is most likely a mask to hide their troubles and attract customers (I can't imagine anyone actually enjoys being in the position of having to sell the Big Issue). Pablo often smiles when he sees me coming, although he generally has an understandably dour demeanour, as he did when I approached him the other day. "Cheer up, heartface!" I said cheerily, as I purchased my latest Big Issue, "thing's'll look up soon, I'm sure!" Pablo seemed doubtful (I didn't really say that, but I did try to appear jovial to lift his spirits). He admitted that he hadn't sold many Issues that day, which he blamed on the cold weather and people's general disinterest.
I've become friendly with Pablo through buying the Issue (which I do actually then read, and usually enjoy) and seeing him through voluntary work with the homeless; it's heartbreaking to see him, like many other vendors, still struggling away selling the magazine after all that time (and longer, no doubt) yet it is also somewhat encouraging to see that he hasn't given up. It's not like he has much choice, though. He told me that he still sleeps rough and can't get into a hostel because (and I remember the details a little hazily, here), given that he's from abroad, Pablo isn't a registered UK tax-payer and therefore, isn't entitled to goverment benefits that would enable him to afford a room in a hostel that could provide him with an address to use for a job.
I felt hopeless for Pablo, as I have before, wondering if he would ever find a way out of his situation, one familiar to so many of the homeless people I've met through working at a Sunday afternoon drop-in for the disadvantaged at my church. It provides them with a place to eat, shower, socialise and wash their clothes, etc but I've often felt that, whilst that's something good and Biblical (e.g. Isaiah 58:7) that has helped many, it's not really enough to change the lives of those like Pablo, who have, in his own words, "nothing" and perhaps encourages those who have "something" (i.e. those on benefits with a hostel room/flat) to take advantage of the church's generosity.
Amongst the occasional newcomers, It's always the same faces who come to the drop-in, some of whom I knew from a previous voluntary stint with a daily Salvation Army drop-in three years ago. Pablo depressedly noted that that drop-in now charges for hot meals where it didn't used to. I think that, whilst this is tough on a lot of the place's clientele (if that's the right word? It certainly fits with a place that charges for its food), it must partly be to do with keeping its funding going, even if that means charging the poor people it exists to serve. Not to mention that charging might give those that take advantage a kick up the arse to do more than they are to improve their situation. Pablo may have a point but perhaps he could save some of the money he spends on cigarettes for a hot meal during the week? That said, if the charges are putting needy people off attending a place that can help them move on when they themselves can't due to mental illness or whatever, then that can't be good.
As I've said, the hopelessness of Pablo's situation got to me and I was at a loss as to what to say to him. Is his predicament really as hopeless as he says? Perhaps there's aspects of it I don't know about? Who am I to give advice anyway? Rather, Pablo had some encouraging words for me. After expounding on what he didn't have, he told me to be thankful that I had something - a home, benefits, friends, family, etc and to appreciate these things. I told him I would. I know I can easily take what I have for granted when I feel down about my life, struggling "between jobs" and still living with the parents. I was grateful to Pablo for lifting my spirits about my own situation. All I can do for him is keep buying his magazine and pray for a miracle.
Monday 16 November 2009
Wednesday 11 November 2009
Remembrance Prayer
As today is Armistice Day, I felt inspired to write a prayer/poem in honour of the occasion...
Lord,
It is easy to say I remember those who gave their lives for our country.
I pin on a poppy, give two minutes silence, then back to my own life.
But how can I truly comprehend their sacrifice? The horror of war?
Yet, that is the real freedom for me, today,
That I will probably never have to fight in a war because my freedom has been won for me.
Lord Jesus, you won freedom for me, like those soldiers, at the cost of your own life.
And it's your cross that marks their graves now - pure, white, like a dove; the sign of peace -
The result of their sacrifice.
And yours.
I can imagine a teenage soldier in the trenches,
Shivering in cold and fear as he stands ready to go over the top.
Death is certain.
Maybe not his, maybe his comrades, or the enemy's by his hand,
And with them, his innocence.
He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a crucifix...
He kisses the cross as a sign of his trust in you, Lord,
Remembering you before his possible death, as we now remember you,
And all those who died for us in your name.
Amen
Lord,
It is easy to say I remember those who gave their lives for our country.
I pin on a poppy, give two minutes silence, then back to my own life.
But how can I truly comprehend their sacrifice? The horror of war?
Yet, that is the real freedom for me, today,
That I will probably never have to fight in a war because my freedom has been won for me.
Lord Jesus, you won freedom for me, like those soldiers, at the cost of your own life.
And it's your cross that marks their graves now - pure, white, like a dove; the sign of peace -
The result of their sacrifice.
And yours.
I can imagine a teenage soldier in the trenches,
Shivering in cold and fear as he stands ready to go over the top.
Death is certain.
Maybe not his, maybe his comrades, or the enemy's by his hand,
And with them, his innocence.
He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a crucifix...
He kisses the cross as a sign of his trust in you, Lord,
Remembering you before his possible death, as we now remember you,
And all those who died for us in your name.
Amen
Thursday 5 November 2009
Bustin' makes me feel....OK, I s'pose
...but bloggin' makes me feel good! (To paraphrase the 'classic' GB theme song from Ray Parker Jr., below)
So, watching 'Ghost Busters' again was a lacklustre experience, overall. The film still has an eerie, yet upbeat charm, helped no end by Elmer Bernstein's score and who could forget Ray Parker's funky theme tune? However, it did still rouse my childhood desire to bust ghosts - a possible career option, maybe? How about the Norwich Ghostbusters, anyone?
I must admit that I have never actually attempted to Bust a Ghost in my life (although the idea still appeals) but Ray Parker's lyric seemed a good post title.
2009 is the 25th anniversary of 'Ghost Busters', so, on Hallowe'en, I thought it high time to revisit one of my cinematic childhood favourites for the first time since...my childhood, probably. I really can't remember the last time I watched either of the two GB films, although I remember watching 'Ghost Busters II' at the cinema with my Dad, despite not having seen the first film beforehand. Through school friends, I had become an avid fan of the late-80's cartoon version, 'The Real Ghostbusters' and had only been two - too young for the cinema (to my parents, anyway) - when the original film was released, so that was my excuse. I think the first time I saw it was at some summer kids' club on VHS in the early '90's. By the time GB II came out, I was the envy of my classmates due to the fact that I had collected all of the TV show toys, including, my favourite, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, who, to my dismay, was actually a villain in the first film and ended up splattered all over NYC. Well, he had been my childhood friend, anyway. The second film's villain, Vigo, was so scary, he gave me troubled sleep and so forfeited any right to my friendship.
Re-watching one of your youthful favourites at least 15 years on is a tricky prospect; the innocence and naivete of youth now replaced by the bitterness, regret and vagaries of adult life. OK, well maybe just the advancing years for me. Obviously, Ghost Busters is a kid's film and not really aimed at men in their late twenties, but it's good to get a little nostalgic from time to time, I think. Plus, films you enjoyed when you were younger can have a different appeal when you watch them as an adult. I recently re-watched 'Short Circuit' on TV and enjoyed the humour more than I did as a kid. The original 'Star Wars' and 'Indiana Jones' films also still hold up really well, more so than their recent sequels, for sure.
I did enjoy watching 'Ghost Busters' again but found it underwhelming and just not as funny as it thinks it is. Yes, it's a 25 year old comedy but if other '80's comedies like 'Short Circuit', with the slightly less comedically talented Steve Guttenburg and Ally Sheedy, can still amuse, how can 'Ghost Busters' fail to do so, especially with this cast? Bill Murray (second from left, above) brought his now well-known laid back, Devil-may-care shtick to the starring role of Dr. Peter Venkman, who now just irks rather than amuses. He has most of the best lines (e.g. "This city is heading for a disaster of Biblical proportions...human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!") but I prefer Dan Ackroyd's (top second right) loveably nerdy, less jaded Ray Stanz or Harold Ramis' straight-laced and smart Egon Spengler (top left). I'm only really saying that because I always had to be Egon when we played Ghost Busters at school. He was seen as the quiet, wimpy one who took a back seat to the more popular and heroic Venkman, usually played by Barney Wills. Git. (Maybe I am bitter and regretful?) I've learnt to love Egon over the years, he's cool because, apart from inventing all the GB's equipment, the actor portraying him co-wrote the script and came up with the fantastic character names such as 'Ivo Shandor' and Winston Zeddemore (Ernie Hudson - top right), who should also have had more screen time. If I actually had been Spengler/Ramis in the 1980's, I would have seen to that. That said, we didn't really care who wrote the script when we were in Primary School.
...fair enough, that's a very recent picture of me and I look more like the films' Egon now than I did at Primary School, when I didn't even wear glasses! I did have more hair, though :(
Anyway, back to the film. I failed to appreciate the humour as a kid, when, really, the main appeal of the film for me was watching the GB's use their cool gear to trap those nasty ghoulies and imagine myself doing the same thing. The toy line from the TV show allowed one to do this with the figures but I never got a proton pack or ghost trap for X-mas, unfortunately. I dunno, maybe I took it all too seriously and that's why I got saddled playing Egon. When I was 10, I just saw Stay-Puft as a villain and didn't get the joke that he, a beloved character from Stantz's childhood, became the film's ultimate, Godzilla-like manifestation of evil and destruction. Watching as an adult, the humour often seems too adult for a kids film, such as the sexual innuendoes between Venkman and Dana (Sigourney Weaver). The Stay-Puft gag is probably the most child-friendly joke in the whole film. As a whole. though, most of the humour falls a bit flat. "That's a big twinky" isn't as zingy a punchline as it's intended to be.
The special effects have dated pretty badly since the dawn of the CGI era, especially the stop-motion Terror Dogs, but at least they don't overwhelm the film and the scene where all the ghosts previously busted by our heroes are released across NYC still looks cool, as does a lot of the production design, e.g. the Ectomobile and the rest of the GB's gear. The same can't be said of the film's main villain, Gozer, who, for all the paranormal manifestations building the tension prior to her appearance, disappoints by looking like a reject from Michael Jackson's 'Thriller' video. Still, she redeems herself by creating Stay-Puft.
Friday 9 October 2009
East Meets East at Norwich Forum
I recently got involved with the East Meets East exhibition at the Norwich Forum, which celebrated connections between East Anglia and the Far East from the last 150 years. Most of it was in the main Forum area, with a 'Video Bento' in the Fusion section to the left of the main entrance. I was asked to put together a video slideshow for the Bento that showcased the amazing photography of Hiroshi Shimura, accompanied by an audio interview with him. A couple of my favourite HS pics:
On Wednesday 23rd September, all the project's volunteers and workers were invited to a special thank you party at Fusion (see top pic), which involved an opening speech from the Mayor of Norwich, some Taiko Japanese drumming and a taste of sushi (below).
My slideshow formed part of the running order on the incredible 'Video Bento', a technical version of the traditional 'bento' - a sort of compartmentaized Japanese lunchbox, that was a feast for the eyes and food for thought, if not the stomach. Below is a frame of my vid showing on the Bento:
Here's a couple of piccies of the main exhibit:
There was also more Taiko drumming. Hooray!
East Meets East was one of, if not THE biggest exhibitions I've seen at the Forum and I was really glad to have been a part of it. Catch up with it in Peterborough if you can!
Saturday 19 September 2009
Greenbelt 2009 - 'Standing in the Long Row' - Part 1
FRIDAY 29th AUGUST
It's been almost two weeks since I returned from this year's Greenbelt festival (a Christian arts event) at the Cheltenham Racecourse from 28th August-1st September. Inspired by a quote of Brian Eno's, it was entitled 'Standing in the Long Now'. I got to go for free because I contributed a video to a couple of worship sessions put on by a group called Ambient Wonder. After having written up the experience, I felt that I wanted to share it with people. 'What better way to do that than through a blog?' I thought. I've never blogged before and, after these posts, may never blog again but I thought I'd give it a go. This site's been going 9 years - better late than never, I guess.
It's been almost two weeks since I returned from this year's Greenbelt festival (a Christian arts event) at the Cheltenham Racecourse from 28th August-1st September. Inspired by a quote of Brian Eno's, it was entitled 'Standing in the Long Now'. I got to go for free because I contributed a video to a couple of worship sessions put on by a group called Ambient Wonder. After having written up the experience, I felt that I wanted to share it with people. 'What better way to do that than through a blog?' I thought. I've never blogged before and, after these posts, may never blog again but I thought I'd give it a go. This site's been going 9 years - better late than never, I guess.
I got a lift to the festival with fellow Ambient Wonderers Tim and Dot who, rather than rough it in a tent with the rest of us, instead opted to hire out a posh holiday home called ‘Woodpecker’ (I know it's wierd that I took a picture of it) just outside Cheltenham Racecourse – Greenbelt’s home since 1999. It was here that the Lentons dropped me off (I felt like I was their son going to Scout camp), to make my way to Campsite 9 to join the rest of the Wonderers, who were already at the campsite with others from St. Catherine’s in Norwich, who had helpfully collected all our tents during the previous week and erected them for us. The familiar sites of The Centaur building and the Grandstand from my previous (and first) Greenbelt in 2007 gave me a good vibe. Ridiculously, it took me about half an hour, 3 phone calls to Heather, our fearless leader, and a fair bit of under-the-breath un-Christian language to get my bearings and find our campsite. Not a good start to the weekend. In the end, Heather had to come and stand outside a tent inhabited by some Franciscans to guide me to my tent, which looked pretty good after having been stored away since its last outing at GB07. Heather introduced me to Annie, who, when I called her out of the blue earlier in the week, had bravely agreed to give me a lift home after the festival.
After quickly sorting out my stuff, I relaxed with the festival programme to plan my weekend. It wasn’t long before I was off to my first session, ‘Feeling & Dealing with Rage’. En route, I walked by the Mainstage, where I happened to catch the Opening Ceremony, compered by Simon Thomas (a Christian, Norfolk man and former Blue Peter presenter), who introduced the festival and, along with its Chairwoman, Karen Napier, drummed up enthusiasm for the weekend ahead. I then made my way to The Kitchen, a large-ish tent with pictures of utensils hung up on the walls and tea towels dangling from the ropes. Lasting about an hour, it covered coping with conflict in a Christian way and left me feeling that I needed to straighten things out with certain people back home. It was interesting hearing about other’s issues and that they find conflict just as tough as I do. It was still a bit uncomfortable to hear about strangers' marital problems, though.
Next, I tried out a talk by Gavin Wakefield on St. Aiden and the relationship between Christianity and culture but got bored and left, hoping Gavin wouldn't notice me shuffling my way out. After getting some food, I happened upon a band I’d vaguely heard of called yFriday, whose music I recognised as enjoyable standard evangelical fare. They were good but I couldn't help but be distracted by the rather amateurish, repetitive visuals accompanying their set - I should know all about these, being an amateur filmmaker myself.
At 9pm, I bounded into the rather functionally-named ‘Film’ venue to watch Darren Aronofsky’s 2006 film, ‘The Fountain’, which I had enthused about earlier to various disinterested people back at the campsite. I was a little peeved that the Film staff hadn’t bothered to provide more chairs, leaving most of us sat on the hard floor, having to strike various poses throughout the film to keep our blood flow going. The film itself more than made up for the numb bum it left me with afterwards. There was a short preamble by one staff member about the background to the film and why it had been chosen for GB09, featuring as it did a very ‘Long Now’, following the efforts of Tom (Hugh Jackman) to find a cure for his wife, Izzy’s (Rachel Weisz) cancer, from the year 1500 to 2500. It was two hours of beautifully weird, thought provoking and visually stunning goodness, marred only by the intrusion of has-been band Sixpence None The Richer, whose bland music wafted over from the Mainstage and adding an uneccessary soundtrack to some of the quieter, more emotional moments of the film. These usually featured Hugh Jackman crying his eyes out, though not due to the inappropriate music. I wept for him on that front.
I especially enjoyed ‘The Fountain’s’ religious imagery and themes, such as the quest for the biblical Tree of Life. The film has haunted me since the festival, not least due to a truly awe-inspiring scene near the end, where Tom reaches the end of his quest. The plot, music and Tom's bubble spaceship all reach their peak...creating what was, for me, one of the most transcendent moments of the whole weekend. It almost feels like heresy to write that about a weekend full of worship sessions and such, but it was a scene of such (ambient?) wonder, visually and thematically, that it really sent me out on a high. Very few films can do that for me. Not everyone loved it, though, such as the clearly very silly man who, as I stood rubbing some circulation back into my benumbed buttocks after the film, I heard complaining to his girlfriend about the film's supposed lack of acting talent, singling out Jackman. The girlfriend quite rightly argued against this and I almost backed her up - HJ had done really well, despite having to contend with inappropiate '90's music - but thought better of it.
In retrospect, I could have just hired the movie on DVD at home and attended another appealing (and live), event at GB09, like ‘Pyro-theology’, a show by Ikon, a controversial Christian community; yet, the experience of watching a film at a festival which it shares themes with, on a big-ish screen with a bunch of strangers actually made all the difference. Film as worship? Maybe. After having all but turned my back on filmmaking since my degree, perhaps God still has stuff for me to do in that area? In the visual arts, at least.
Later, I sat drinking some tea in the Volunteers’ Area (where I wasn’t sure I was meant to be, given that I was a Contributor, yet no-one checked my purple wristband), I noticed a rather sad-looking man sit down near to read the Sun newspaper. Clearly, things must have been desperate for him to be reading that and I wondered if I should try and talk to him. I bet life as a GB volunteer must be hard if it leaves you reading The Sun, even if it means going to the festival for free. I gave him a smile as I caught his eye, which he returned, then shortly left. Well, I tried.
Whilst sat there, I’d also been considering helping out with the ‘campsite cleanup’ I'd seen advertised in the stewards’ room next door. I wasn’t sure what lead me to do this; perhaps the Holy Spirit, or guilt for being in the Volunteers Area when I wasn’t one (this being before I became aware of the Contributors tent – a far more interesting place with a better class of reading material; unfortunately closed at this point). Going for it, I sat down with load of site stewards, all in their hi-viz jackets, ready for a briefing. I began to feel a little out of place in my black and white hoodie and asked the steward next to me if the cleanup was just for stewards, which he said it wasn’t exclusively but it looked like they had enough helpers, so I could leave and ‘get some kip’.
I would have liked nothing better than to ‘get some kip’ but instead had to endure a night of icy terror, as the temperature dropped like a stone and I had neither a blanket nor a good woman to keep me warm. This was compounded by the racket made by nearby teenagers engaged in ‘first night hi-jinks’, as Wonderer Paul from had later put it. One old boy nearby, who I’m sure had the best interests of everyone over the age of 20 at heart, had the courage to leave his tent, braving the cold to tell the noisy blighters to "belt up, cos some people were trying to get to sleep!" This worked for about two minutes, after which the kids resumed their incessant talking, although it was really the cold that kept me awake. As well as this scary picture in the Film venue...
GB09 - Part 2
Saturday, 30th August
Today, there was only one man dominating the thoughts and warming the cold cockles of most Greenbelters – Rob Bell, founding pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Michigan, USa and known to some as the 'Elvis of the Emergent Church'. The fact that most people had donned virtually all the layers of clothing they’d brought with them to survive the night’s arctic chill saved them having to get dressed and, therefore, a bit of time, as practically the entire festival arose to queue up outside The Centaur – the festival’s biggest indoor venue – to hear Rob give his first Greenbelt talk, 'Drops Like Stars'. I, along with Ambient Wonderers Heather, Annie and Matt, joined the back of the already long, winding row of people (hence the title of these blogs) at about 9:30am. It wasn’t long before the queue's sheer length (hence the title of the post) put us off and we all went our separate ways. I stayed with Matt to meet his friend Rob T, who led us to join some friends of his still in the Rob Bell queue; Adam, Lucy and Pete, who didn’t expect to get in but were lining up just for the fun of it.
We stood in the queue, jokingly moaning about having to line up for this Christian ‘celebrity’. "Why doesn't he just come outside and do it?" Someone commented.
"I bet people didn’t have to queue to hear Jesus", I concurred, perhaps somewhat foolishly, as Rob T sarcastically began calling out about Rob Bell being the Second Coming. He jokingly compared himself to Bell ("We've got the same glasses!") and was challenged to give a talk for those of us whom it was looking increasingly unlikely would see the man himself. Although amusing, Rob ‘Tel’ quickly ran out of steam and left to go to an alternate worship session elsewhere.
The rest of us actually did pretty well, getting within a few feet of the Centaur’s doors, before being turned away because the venue was at full capacity. It was about 10:45 and Bell was probably well into his talk (which was meant to begin at 10am), so it was just as well we didn’t get in. Matt and I opted to attend Rob T’s worship do instead. ‘Background Noise’ by Foundation church, in The Shelter youth venue, a tent in which we were cramped with about twenty others. We were all handed ear plugs (which I thought would come in useful to filter out anymore night-time camp noise) for the racket that was to follow, provided by a young bearded man talking on a makeshift lectern, another doing an interview with an older man and a girl telling some story very melodramatically, until another girl walked into our midst and bellowed, ‘I CAN’T HEAR THE VOICE OF GOD!!’
I had to admit that I had also been struggling to do this and thought, for a moment, that all the noise had been natural but now realised it was their deliberate attempt to recreate the clamour present in some churches, at the expense of silence and listening to God. Silence was the result of the girl’s outburst now, as another began playing a satirical song on her guitar, following a plea for money towards her making an album. I liked the temerity of Foundation’s approach, but not enough to warrant my staying there for an hour and missing my chance to do so some Taize singing. I left as discreetly as I could, feeling even more self-conscious than I had when leaving Gavin's yesterday, since this was a much smaller venue.
Taize Singing in the Arena was fantastic. I really enjoyed reacquainting myself with some of the tunes I had first encountered when visiting the main Taize Community in France over a decade ago. I loved the fact that Greenbelt had organised a practice before the main service on Monday. To start with, the choirmaster marshalled us all into choral sections (myself a manly Bass, of course) and, along with his band, taught us the chants to be sung during the actual service. Apart from the off-key woman who lead the Soprano ladies and some bloke spilling my coffee, I really got into the singing. It was a little time of worship in itself (silence included; Foundation would be happy) and one of my favourite moments of GB09.
After lunch, I attended a workshop organised by the L’arche community called ‘Bread of Life’ in the Workshops 2 venue, which took me a while to find within the labyrinthine Grandstand. I entered to find about 50 people watching a small show put on by L'arche carers and cared-for, people with profound mental disabilities. The show was based around Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand, during which we were all given some bread and asked to get into small groups to reflect on how Jesus had fed us. Various answers from my group included Jesus feeding us through conversations with others, the Bible and Greenbelt talks.
To cap things off, a very outgoing Scottish woman with spikey grey hair took to the floor and encouraged us all to dance to a jolly tune from the community that sent some heading for the exit, whilst others stayed and enjoyed it. I stood at the back and watched, before striking up a conversation with a nearby L’arche volunteer. She told me that she was a medical student from Germany, who had suspended her studies to spend time in the community and was enjoying it. During our chat, a disabled middle-aged lady, who had been encouraged to dance by her carer, suddenly froze in a seizure and had to be eased to the floor. This was pretty disturbing and I wondered if I would be able to cope with such an occurrence if I were a volunteer. I guess the biggest reason for my attending the workshop was the fact that Henri Nouwen, a great influence on me, spiritually, had spent the final years of his life working in the community and I had, in the past, felt that this might be a possible path for me. I hadn’t thought about this for quite some time but thought that, since the opportunity was there, I’d see what L’arche were like for myself today. After this workshop, I didn’t feel led to work with them.
I had a few hours to kill before the first Ambient Wonder session, so I took a wander, taking in the G-Books bookshop and G-Source, a tent full of stalls advertising various charities and voluntary opportunities. I took in a few, including the Tipping Film Fund and their “World’s Smallest Cinema”, advertising the various socially-conscious films that the TFF were drumming up funding for. Is that a man or woman with pink hair above? Comments below, please.
After catching up on some sleep, I joined the other Wonderers to set up for our Ambient Wonder alternative worship session, 'Standing on the Shoulders of Giants' ('SOTSOG') in the New Forms venue. I was anxious that my DVD of various 'giants' (e.g. inspirational people from down the ages) would work properly which, thankfully, it did, projected as it was onto seven different areas around the sizeable room. I then set up a camera for Matt’s ‘YouTube Confessional’ in one corner. The camera was on loan from a friend and was, to be blunt, ancient and probably only one generation on from an old cine camera. He paid £700 for that?! Still, it worked fine, despite the fact that only three people used it, including myself.
The session was popular (I heard afterwards that people were turned away at the door to avoid overflow, including Rob Bell! Perhaps.) and people seemed to go with the flow and really get involved with the activities. Given that I was manning the Confessional corner, I didn't really get a chance to engage with most of the interactive elements. Since this was all very experimental, people responded better to some things than others. They weren't too keen on giving their thoughts about the current state of church (despite my attempts at gentle persuasion) but they did at least seem entranced by my wonderful DVD, projected all over the room! I didn't really get a chance to engage with the activities myself (bar a quick video Confession near the end) but then, I felt that doing the DVD was itself part of the show and serving Ambient Wonder and the people who attended. I did get nervous when I spotted the girl who had shouted about not being able to hear God’s voice during the Foundation service, and hoped that our event suited her auditory needs, despite some rather intrusive background music (not Sixpence None The Richer, thankfully). I was happy that she wanted to record a Confessional but couldn’t help but be concerned that she might have recognised me and complained on camera about this idiot who walked out of Foundation's carefully prepared event, before spitefully storming out of ours. She didn’t, thankfully.
After our session, all of us except Debbie, who had opted to attend another talk, relaxed with a drink in the Blue Nun, a posher version of the perennial Greenbelt watering hole, the Jesus Arms (a beer tent). At the Nun, I was affronted to find that a cup, a paper cup, of red wine cost £4!! Crikey, they could have at least provided some bread with it! Paul came to my rescue, when he arrived, parting with four of his hard-earned pounds to buy me a cup. When we all parted ways, I headed to Mainstage to watch Scroobius Pip Vs. Dan Le Sac (which I later realised sounds a bit like Cul de Sac, such as his music often went into - I think it’s called ‘sampling’ in the business?) play a set. They were enjoyable, but hardly mind-blowing. I liked their song 'Thou Shalt Always Kill', despite its slightly biblically inaccurate title. I was, at one point, distracted by Pip's impressively large Muslim-style beard that went well with his baseball cap (maybe they were attached?). I couldn't help imagining what it would be like to leap upon the stage and tug hard on his facial hair, then running off. Fearing a demonstration of the above commandment, I decided against it. Their song ‘Letter From God To Man’, which I'd previously heard and which I'd hoped to hear them do today, was a highlight.
Following Pip and Le Sac were Norwegian electro-funksters Royksopp - the musical highlight of my weekend. A big Saturday evening draw, Royksopp put on a fantastic show, full of blazing pink, green and blue lighting, engulfing the two band members. They were joined after a song or two by a gyrating female singer, on loan from another electro-band called The Knife, according to Matt. Royksopp's song, ‘The Girl and the Robot’, was my favourite but truly bizarre, as one band member dressed up like a red Power Ranger and stood triumphantly in centre stage, whilst The Knife woman knelt and sang ‘Hallelujah’ a few times to him in a worshipful manner. Matt, Heather, Annie (who surprised me by donning a pink wig that happened to match some of the band’s lighting. Matt tried it on later and arguably looked better in it) and I all seemed to get into Royksopp’s heavy pop groove and it was good to enjoy the gig with other Wonderers after having been to almost everything else by myself.
Once Royksopp had finished, I tried out a session of Night Prayer in the Soul Space venue by a worship group called ‘nChant’, who had not impressed Matt at Greenbelt 2008. He had found them generally weird and had been creeped out by the sight of an old man leading a choir of young girls. For myself, I quite enjoyed it (but not for those reasons). The ‘old’ man leading was a vicar who must have been in his 40’s, whilst the girls ranged from about 15-30. I have to admit that part of my enjoyment was down to my getting the giggles fairly early on for no real reason other than tiredness and an odd-looking steward. I was sat sharing a service sheet with three others, a woman in front of me and a couple to my left. The steward came along and curtly ordered us to move our legs out of the way of the walkway, a section of the floor marked by strips of masking tape between us that we’d ignored. In retrospect, this wasn’t all that amusing but I, along with a couple, started chuckling away nonetheless. Despite ourselves, we sniggered away for a while, becoming even more amused when, a little later, the steward thundered past once more, stomping on our sheet as he went. The woman on my left pointedly placed her legs over the walkway to spite the steward as he walked away.
I eventually composed myself to enjoy a very relaxing and peaceful service, perfect for the end of a long day. I particularly liked the vicar’s liturgy (if that’s the right word?) that asked how well we knew God and to imagine ourselves floating through space, seeing God as the stars, ‘bright specks of truth in an unknowable darkness’. This was apt, given that I was sat in an area of Soul Space that had a ‘starfield’ on one wall to my right. Here, there were prayers and comments about God written on paper stars by various people, including Rob Bell, whose star people kissed as they left the service (perhaps).
After the Prayer had finished and we’d all come down from surfing the astral plane, I asked the vicar if he had a copy of his liturgy and he, Paul, was kind enough to give me his handwritten notes. I then spent a few moments reading people’s star notes and flitting through some oversized books about the cosmos that were lying around, imagining myself floating through gigantic clouds of space dust and nebulae – like Hugh Jackman within his bubble spaceship in ‘The Fountain.’ As I walked back to my tent a little later, a girl of about 16 walked up to me in the dark and very politely asked, ‘can I have a hug please?’ How could I refuse? This left me even happier after the Night Prayer, mainly at the friendly Christian vibe generated by Greenbelt.
Today, there was only one man dominating the thoughts and warming the cold cockles of most Greenbelters – Rob Bell, founding pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Michigan, USa and known to some as the 'Elvis of the Emergent Church'. The fact that most people had donned virtually all the layers of clothing they’d brought with them to survive the night’s arctic chill saved them having to get dressed and, therefore, a bit of time, as practically the entire festival arose to queue up outside The Centaur – the festival’s biggest indoor venue – to hear Rob give his first Greenbelt talk, 'Drops Like Stars'. I, along with Ambient Wonderers Heather, Annie and Matt, joined the back of the already long, winding row of people (hence the title of these blogs) at about 9:30am. It wasn’t long before the queue's sheer length (hence the title of the post) put us off and we all went our separate ways. I stayed with Matt to meet his friend Rob T, who led us to join some friends of his still in the Rob Bell queue; Adam, Lucy and Pete, who didn’t expect to get in but were lining up just for the fun of it.
We stood in the queue, jokingly moaning about having to line up for this Christian ‘celebrity’. "Why doesn't he just come outside and do it?" Someone commented.
"I bet people didn’t have to queue to hear Jesus", I concurred, perhaps somewhat foolishly, as Rob T sarcastically began calling out about Rob Bell being the Second Coming. He jokingly compared himself to Bell ("We've got the same glasses!") and was challenged to give a talk for those of us whom it was looking increasingly unlikely would see the man himself. Although amusing, Rob ‘Tel’ quickly ran out of steam and left to go to an alternate worship session elsewhere.
The rest of us actually did pretty well, getting within a few feet of the Centaur’s doors, before being turned away because the venue was at full capacity. It was about 10:45 and Bell was probably well into his talk (which was meant to begin at 10am), so it was just as well we didn’t get in. Matt and I opted to attend Rob T’s worship do instead. ‘Background Noise’ by Foundation church, in The Shelter youth venue, a tent in which we were cramped with about twenty others. We were all handed ear plugs (which I thought would come in useful to filter out anymore night-time camp noise) for the racket that was to follow, provided by a young bearded man talking on a makeshift lectern, another doing an interview with an older man and a girl telling some story very melodramatically, until another girl walked into our midst and bellowed, ‘I CAN’T HEAR THE VOICE OF GOD!!’
I had to admit that I had also been struggling to do this and thought, for a moment, that all the noise had been natural but now realised it was their deliberate attempt to recreate the clamour present in some churches, at the expense of silence and listening to God. Silence was the result of the girl’s outburst now, as another began playing a satirical song on her guitar, following a plea for money towards her making an album. I liked the temerity of Foundation’s approach, but not enough to warrant my staying there for an hour and missing my chance to do so some Taize singing. I left as discreetly as I could, feeling even more self-conscious than I had when leaving Gavin's yesterday, since this was a much smaller venue.
Taize Singing in the Arena was fantastic. I really enjoyed reacquainting myself with some of the tunes I had first encountered when visiting the main Taize Community in France over a decade ago. I loved the fact that Greenbelt had organised a practice before the main service on Monday. To start with, the choirmaster marshalled us all into choral sections (myself a manly Bass, of course) and, along with his band, taught us the chants to be sung during the actual service. Apart from the off-key woman who lead the Soprano ladies and some bloke spilling my coffee, I really got into the singing. It was a little time of worship in itself (silence included; Foundation would be happy) and one of my favourite moments of GB09.
After lunch, I attended a workshop organised by the L’arche community called ‘Bread of Life’ in the Workshops 2 venue, which took me a while to find within the labyrinthine Grandstand. I entered to find about 50 people watching a small show put on by L'arche carers and cared-for, people with profound mental disabilities. The show was based around Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand, during which we were all given some bread and asked to get into small groups to reflect on how Jesus had fed us. Various answers from my group included Jesus feeding us through conversations with others, the Bible and Greenbelt talks.
To cap things off, a very outgoing Scottish woman with spikey grey hair took to the floor and encouraged us all to dance to a jolly tune from the community that sent some heading for the exit, whilst others stayed and enjoyed it. I stood at the back and watched, before striking up a conversation with a nearby L’arche volunteer. She told me that she was a medical student from Germany, who had suspended her studies to spend time in the community and was enjoying it. During our chat, a disabled middle-aged lady, who had been encouraged to dance by her carer, suddenly froze in a seizure and had to be eased to the floor. This was pretty disturbing and I wondered if I would be able to cope with such an occurrence if I were a volunteer. I guess the biggest reason for my attending the workshop was the fact that Henri Nouwen, a great influence on me, spiritually, had spent the final years of his life working in the community and I had, in the past, felt that this might be a possible path for me. I hadn’t thought about this for quite some time but thought that, since the opportunity was there, I’d see what L’arche were like for myself today. After this workshop, I didn’t feel led to work with them.
I had a few hours to kill before the first Ambient Wonder session, so I took a wander, taking in the G-Books bookshop and G-Source, a tent full of stalls advertising various charities and voluntary opportunities. I took in a few, including the Tipping Film Fund and their “World’s Smallest Cinema”, advertising the various socially-conscious films that the TFF were drumming up funding for. Is that a man or woman with pink hair above? Comments below, please.
After catching up on some sleep, I joined the other Wonderers to set up for our Ambient Wonder alternative worship session, 'Standing on the Shoulders of Giants' ('SOTSOG') in the New Forms venue. I was anxious that my DVD of various 'giants' (e.g. inspirational people from down the ages) would work properly which, thankfully, it did, projected as it was onto seven different areas around the sizeable room. I then set up a camera for Matt’s ‘YouTube Confessional’ in one corner. The camera was on loan from a friend and was, to be blunt, ancient and probably only one generation on from an old cine camera. He paid £700 for that?! Still, it worked fine, despite the fact that only three people used it, including myself.
The session was popular (I heard afterwards that people were turned away at the door to avoid overflow, including Rob Bell! Perhaps.) and people seemed to go with the flow and really get involved with the activities. Given that I was manning the Confessional corner, I didn't really get a chance to engage with most of the interactive elements. Since this was all very experimental, people responded better to some things than others. They weren't too keen on giving their thoughts about the current state of church (despite my attempts at gentle persuasion) but they did at least seem entranced by my wonderful DVD, projected all over the room! I didn't really get a chance to engage with the activities myself (bar a quick video Confession near the end) but then, I felt that doing the DVD was itself part of the show and serving Ambient Wonder and the people who attended. I did get nervous when I spotted the girl who had shouted about not being able to hear God’s voice during the Foundation service, and hoped that our event suited her auditory needs, despite some rather intrusive background music (not Sixpence None The Richer, thankfully). I was happy that she wanted to record a Confessional but couldn’t help but be concerned that she might have recognised me and complained on camera about this idiot who walked out of Foundation's carefully prepared event, before spitefully storming out of ours. She didn’t, thankfully.
After our session, all of us except Debbie, who had opted to attend another talk, relaxed with a drink in the Blue Nun, a posher version of the perennial Greenbelt watering hole, the Jesus Arms (a beer tent). At the Nun, I was affronted to find that a cup, a paper cup, of red wine cost £4!! Crikey, they could have at least provided some bread with it! Paul came to my rescue, when he arrived, parting with four of his hard-earned pounds to buy me a cup. When we all parted ways, I headed to Mainstage to watch Scroobius Pip Vs. Dan Le Sac (which I later realised sounds a bit like Cul de Sac, such as his music often went into - I think it’s called ‘sampling’ in the business?) play a set. They were enjoyable, but hardly mind-blowing. I liked their song 'Thou Shalt Always Kill', despite its slightly biblically inaccurate title. I was, at one point, distracted by Pip's impressively large Muslim-style beard that went well with his baseball cap (maybe they were attached?). I couldn't help imagining what it would be like to leap upon the stage and tug hard on his facial hair, then running off. Fearing a demonstration of the above commandment, I decided against it. Their song ‘Letter From God To Man’, which I'd previously heard and which I'd hoped to hear them do today, was a highlight.
Following Pip and Le Sac were Norwegian electro-funksters Royksopp - the musical highlight of my weekend. A big Saturday evening draw, Royksopp put on a fantastic show, full of blazing pink, green and blue lighting, engulfing the two band members. They were joined after a song or two by a gyrating female singer, on loan from another electro-band called The Knife, according to Matt. Royksopp's song, ‘The Girl and the Robot’, was my favourite but truly bizarre, as one band member dressed up like a red Power Ranger and stood triumphantly in centre stage, whilst The Knife woman knelt and sang ‘Hallelujah’ a few times to him in a worshipful manner. Matt, Heather, Annie (who surprised me by donning a pink wig that happened to match some of the band’s lighting. Matt tried it on later and arguably looked better in it) and I all seemed to get into Royksopp’s heavy pop groove and it was good to enjoy the gig with other Wonderers after having been to almost everything else by myself.
I eventually composed myself to enjoy a very relaxing and peaceful service, perfect for the end of a long day. I particularly liked the vicar’s liturgy (if that’s the right word?) that asked how well we knew God and to imagine ourselves floating through space, seeing God as the stars, ‘bright specks of truth in an unknowable darkness’. This was apt, given that I was sat in an area of Soul Space that had a ‘starfield’ on one wall to my right. Here, there were prayers and comments about God written on paper stars by various people, including Rob Bell, whose star people kissed as they left the service (perhaps).
After the Prayer had finished and we’d all come down from surfing the astral plane, I asked the vicar if he had a copy of his liturgy and he, Paul, was kind enough to give me his handwritten notes. I then spent a few moments reading people’s star notes and flitting through some oversized books about the cosmos that were lying around, imagining myself floating through gigantic clouds of space dust and nebulae – like Hugh Jackman within his bubble spaceship in ‘The Fountain.’ As I walked back to my tent a little later, a girl of about 16 walked up to me in the dark and very politely asked, ‘can I have a hug please?’ How could I refuse? This left me even happier after the Night Prayer, mainly at the friendly Christian vibe generated by Greenbelt.
GB09 - Part 3
Sunday 31st August
I got up on a boringly overcast Sunday morning after a mildly less cold but significantly less noisy night, in which the relaxing Night Prayer had helped my rest. I attended the 10:30am Greenbelt Sunday Service at Mainstage with Heather, Matt, Paul and Annie, who hadn't bothered with her pink wig this time. I thought it was a good idea to base the whole service, called ‘Take An Olive Seed’, around the theme of people from the Holy Land (the home of the olive tree) and the conflict between them. We received an olive seed each and, instead of traditional Holy Communion, we were all given olive oil with which to anoint the hand of the person next to us with a Cross-sign. Also, rather than risk swine flu contamination by asking us to shake hands during the Peace, the conscientious organisers had instead devised the clever 'Elbow Bump of Peace’ which, according to Wikipedia, originated in a leper colony in the 1960’s.
Despite its creativity and strong theme, the service left me feeling a bit cold, and not just because of the weather. The music in particular was a bit rocky; the rearrangements of classic hymn tunes (with new lyrics), which would have been entertaining enough just to listen to, left those of us who tried to sing along floundering, given that the worship band hadn't taken the trouble to teach us their new arrangements first. A group behind us took the initiative and sang the traditional versions. The whole thing just didn’t quite take off for me. Still, I got to keep an olive seed and the attractive programme, which had lots of interesting stuff in it.
The four of us made our way to the Contributors Tent for a coffee and to plan the rest of our day. Matt and I were determined to get into today’s Rob Bell talk at 1:30pm. Not long later, we heard what sounded like the chimes of a church bell from the direction of The Centaur. It was, in fact, the Rob-Bell: the call to join the queue for his next talk (similar to the buzzer that goes off in the theatre to signify the end of the interval). Having left Matt to grab a butterscotch crepe for breakfast, I gleaned that he was waiting a little further down the queue but neglected to try and join him for fear of losing my place if I couldn’t find him. Instead, I played Global Race: Raging Thunder on my mobile, whilst checking out the totty around me.
Several crashes later (of my car and male ego), my attention drifted skyward as the clouds opened and a bright gold light shone down upon The Centaur. Accompanied by the strains of Paschelbel’s Canon on an electric guitar, there descended upon the building a figure dressed all in black. Excitement in the queue ascended to fever pitch. Rob Bell had arrived. Actually, his real arrival was a lot more subdued, unnoticed, in fact, until, suddenly, the doors of Centaur were flung open and the queue made a great surge forward. I found myself level with Matt sooner than I had expected and consequently nearer the entrance. I was about to see Rob Bell! Hooray! But then, to our horror, the stewards declared that the venue was at full capacity. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! We had waited so long, we had been so patient, so well behaved, so close, but the forces of darkness (or rather, bad organisation) had deprived us at the last. As the crowd dispersed, I saw several people angrily berating the stewards and I overheard that, due to the large volume of people, the queue had snaked around so much that the end of the queue had been next to the front and, when the doors had opened, both ends merely charged in together before the stewards could stop them, taking up the seats that should have rightfully been for those of us who had been waiting longer. Bad people! How could they call themselves Christians?! Oh, hang on, what about ‘and the last shall be first’ and all that? Oh well. Matt and I considered various ways of breaking into Centaur to see Bell, the most likely option being gaining access to the ventilation system and watching him from above the stage. However, I pointed out that the chances of us being too heavy for the vent grates to support us and one of us falling on Bell and killing him were too great, so we abandoned that plan. With bells on.
Dejected from my Rob Bell experience, I dragged myself to my backup talk (and I’m sure I’m not the only one who had those) in The Kitchen again, ‘Living lightly in a fragile world’ with Will Campbell-Clause and Tim Maiden. It was surprisingly well attended for a talk scheduled at roughly the same time as the mighty Bell, although I guess not everyone wanted to see him and certainly not everyone could. This talk, which, like many of the things in the Daily Diary, bore an eye-catching title that explained its whole raison d’etre without recourse to the main programme, which gave more information about talks, etc. This was more necessary for events with vaguer titles like ‘Interesting’. I have a general interest in green issues and sustainable living (big issues at this festival) and so went along to ‘Living lightly...’. It was OK, and I was glad to meet other like-minded people but, as a member of green group Transition Norwich, I felt that I’d heard all about sustainable ways of living before. So, after about 45 minutes, I left to queue for the lesser Bell, John (a Scot from the Iona Community and a GB regular of many years), in the nearby Big Top tent.
Rather than descending from on high to the strains of classical music, John Bell was instead wheeled in through the back of the tent, singing an old Gaelic drinking song. This gave me hope that his talk, ‘Did Paul Mean It All?’ would be more interesting than the one in The Kitchen. I was not about to find out, though, as another one of those pesky stewards gave an announcement that rang a Bell. (Ho ho!) ‘This venue is now at full capacity.’ Cripes, did I smell, or something? Well, yes, probably, as I hadn’t showered in a day or two.
I went to the front of the tent to see if I could catch a glimpse of John but could only hear his dulcet tones from within. Instead, I opted to check out what was happening at the Festival Bowl which, rather than housing a game of American Football (well, it sounds like it should to me, anyway), had a very serious talk called ‘Bill Gates, Bono and You.’ Expecting to find these two men sat on a panel ready to field my questions, I was instead greeted with a middle-aged American, Matthew Bishop, the author of a book called ‘Philanthrocapitalism’, who talked about how the rich (e.g. Gates and Bono) can save the world and why we should let them. After listening to Bishop for about half an hour, I found him and the hard stone step I was sat on unengaging, so, deciding that I couldn’t afford to save the world, I agreed that we should leave it to Gates and Bono and left.
In the Contributors’ Tent once again, I met a man called Chris who had apparently just done a talk about being on Countdown five years ago. I found Chris a lot more interesting than the last two sessions I had been to as we chatted about how he’d managed to get into the GB programme talking about Countdown (he’s mates with one of the organisers), Doctor Who and what there is for the casual atheist (which Chris was) to enjoy at GB09. He had caught a talk by gay bishop Gene Robinson earlier (which I was annoyed with myself for missing and could quite easily have attended if I’d left The Kitchen sooner), plus one or two things in The Hub, where a lot of arty things were happening. After a while, Chris and I left the Contributors Area and headed for the Hub to hear a poet called Luke Kennard talk about ‘Writing angry, offensive and judgemental poetry’ and to read some of his own. Being something of a writer myself (how much of a one you can judge for yourself from this piece), I appreciated some of his comments about the craft but his own work left something to be desired (apart from the line ‘charity is the salve of the middle classes’.) and made me feel like writing something angry, offensive and judgemental, so at least he had inspired me.
Then, from on high, I heard Paschelbel’s Canon once more and, as Kennard was thankfully wrapping up, I made my getaway to secure a final chance to catch Rob Bell, this time 'In Conversation' at Jerusalem, not in Palestine, but a little bandstand in front of the Grandstand, which had quickly filled up with people. Sitting on the ground at Bell’s feet (a good vantage point for photos), I, along with everyone else, hung off his every word as journalist Martin Wroe interviewed him with admirable lack of nerves or sycophancy. After the interview, Bell fielded various questions from people, one or two being quite personal, e.g. a girl with an atheist father whom some of her Christian friends had said was going to Hell – what did Rob think, she asked? He answered that it wasn’t our job as Christians to predict who’s going where, that this was in fact what Jesus apparently told off the Pharisees about. It was our job merely to point out God’s absolute love for everyone, although not in a cringe-worthy way. ‘Like your sat at a ball game,’ he said, ‘your team scores and you say to your non-Christian friend next to you. “Jesus scored for you.”’ Ha! He said we needed a happy medium between lazy and arrogant evangelism, where the way we act and the choices we make leads the people we know to ask pertinent questions. Then, we can talk about what captivates us about the Bible, and Jesus.
Bell was very complimentary about GB and the UK as a whole, how there's nothing like GB in the USA and that they haven't even cottoned onto recycling yet. He also talked about the importance of keeping a holy Sabbath (a Saturday for him, Sunday being church, of course) to ‘feed our souls’ (they need feeding as much as the rest of us), where all our work is done (‘even if it’s not.’) and we remember that ‘we’re human beings...not human doings.’ ‘If you can’t find Heaven in the everyday (this reminded me of the title for GB07, 'Heaven in Ordinary'), you’ll struggle with a mountaintop experience.’
Rob Bell In Conversation was definitely Sunday’s highlight, more than making up for the lacklustre stuff I’d see during the day and the earlier queue situation, for which a Greenbelt staffer gave an apology to all assembled before Bell came on. A small crowd quickly gathered around him after the interview; people clamouring for answers, book signings, handshakes and hugs. I just took a picture of him and ran off, later regretting not taking the opportunity to thank him for his book ‘Velvet Elvis’, which helped me a lot and partly lead me to get baptised earlier this year. You might say I was “saved by the Bell”, but I wouldn’t, because it’s God that does the saving, as I’m sure you know, plus, these 'bell' puns are wearing really thin now, even for me and I'm writing this thing. Later, one lady who had made it into his earlier Centaur talk said that hearing a more spontaneous Bell In Conversation had been better than hearing one of his well-prepared lectures.
In the picture above, Rob is signing a copy of his new book, 'Drops Like Stars' (basically the talk of the same name in book form) which irked me greatly when I had a look at it in the bookstore earlier. A real oversized, coffee-table filler, I clocked the price at about £20 and opened it to find it had roughly two lines on one page (in various orientations) with massive, arty photos (of things like flowers being dropped) filling others! It was, of course, an "art book" and not at all like his previous ones which had lots of words in them that he'd bothered filling the whole page with before moving onto the next one and not cheated with pictures. Well, fair enough, Rob, but I sure wasn't gonna pay £20 for mostly white space (although I would borrow it from a library or from someone else). Perhaps he could try a comic book next? I would actually pay for that.
After my Rob fix, I wandered around the festival, taking in various sights like the Christian Aid tent, where there was an incredible exhibition that used accurately counted piles of rice to illustrate figures such as worldwide deaths caused by the recent swine flu pandemic, versus those caused by Spanish flu a century ago. I was really impressed by the effort taken with this show, given that one rice grain was equivalent to one swine flu victim, for example. Shamefully, though, after a few minutes looking around, I couldn’t help but notice that two huge piles of rice next to one another resembled a large pair of buttocks. I thought it best to leave at this point.
Walking around the food stalls, I was tapped on the shoulder by Adam, whom I had met the day before in the first Rob Bell queue. He was queuing (again) for some curry with his wife Lucy and friend Pete. I was very interested to hear about the fact that they lived in a van and were part of a Christian community in Bristol similar to the Simple Way in Philadelphia, USA. They were impressed that I’d read Shane Claiborne’s ‘Irresistible Revolution’, an inspiration for their community. I ended up joining them to watch Shlomo The Vocal Orchestra at Mainstage. It was one of those Greenbelt events that I noticed but would have remained indifferent to, were it not for chance, that actually turned out to be great. I stood in awe, watching skinny, white Shlomo lead his 8-piece Orchestra in several tunes, utilizing the group’s multiple vocal talents, which mostly involved beatboxing, which I'm not a fan of generally, but couldn't fail to be impressed with here.
My final occasion for Sunday was a short play, by the Applecart Theatre Company, called ‘In which....the Crowd Gatherer makes inappropriate advances.’ I had no idea what this would entail; perhaps it referred to the man who had accosted me earlier as I was strolling through the crowd and cried out, 'APPLECART THEATRE COMPANY, HUB, 10 O'CLOCK TONIGHT!' Or maybe, having Gatherered a Crowd at the Hub, he would make advances toward us. I attended with an open mind, since I fancied a bit of theatre. The stage was small and minimal, with a keyboard and bare set, the actors in modern clothes. They re-enacted the story in John 4:1-26, where Jesus (played by the man who accosted me earlier, I think) meets a Samaritan woman at a well. Their radical interpretation was done in very contemporary, naturalistic language, complete with the use of an S-word that fit the Samaritan’s harassed and anxious character but still jarred slightly given the biblical context (maybe it was meant to?) The drama was broken up with the odd joke and even odder, yet still fitting, musical interludes. The play kept me watching, despite the fact that I was cold and my feet felt like they were about to melt into the ground. It was well produced and challenged me in its stripped-down, language-heavy interpretation of such a well known Gospel story, in which it was all about Jesus’, sorry, the Crowd-Gatherer’s struggle to gain the trust of one very damaged woman in order to give her the ‘water of life.’
I got up on a boringly overcast Sunday morning after a mildly less cold but significantly less noisy night, in which the relaxing Night Prayer had helped my rest. I attended the 10:30am Greenbelt Sunday Service at Mainstage with Heather, Matt, Paul and Annie, who hadn't bothered with her pink wig this time. I thought it was a good idea to base the whole service, called ‘Take An Olive Seed’, around the theme of people from the Holy Land (the home of the olive tree) and the conflict between them. We received an olive seed each and, instead of traditional Holy Communion, we were all given olive oil with which to anoint the hand of the person next to us with a Cross-sign. Also, rather than risk swine flu contamination by asking us to shake hands during the Peace, the conscientious organisers had instead devised the clever 'Elbow Bump of Peace’ which, according to Wikipedia, originated in a leper colony in the 1960’s.
Despite its creativity and strong theme, the service left me feeling a bit cold, and not just because of the weather. The music in particular was a bit rocky; the rearrangements of classic hymn tunes (with new lyrics), which would have been entertaining enough just to listen to, left those of us who tried to sing along floundering, given that the worship band hadn't taken the trouble to teach us their new arrangements first. A group behind us took the initiative and sang the traditional versions. The whole thing just didn’t quite take off for me. Still, I got to keep an olive seed and the attractive programme, which had lots of interesting stuff in it.
Several crashes later (of my car and male ego), my attention drifted skyward as the clouds opened and a bright gold light shone down upon The Centaur. Accompanied by the strains of Paschelbel’s Canon on an electric guitar, there descended upon the building a figure dressed all in black. Excitement in the queue ascended to fever pitch. Rob Bell had arrived. Actually, his real arrival was a lot more subdued, unnoticed, in fact, until, suddenly, the doors of Centaur were flung open and the queue made a great surge forward. I found myself level with Matt sooner than I had expected and consequently nearer the entrance. I was about to see Rob Bell! Hooray! But then, to our horror, the stewards declared that the venue was at full capacity. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! We had waited so long, we had been so patient, so well behaved, so close, but the forces of darkness (or rather, bad organisation) had deprived us at the last. As the crowd dispersed, I saw several people angrily berating the stewards and I overheard that, due to the large volume of people, the queue had snaked around so much that the end of the queue had been next to the front and, when the doors had opened, both ends merely charged in together before the stewards could stop them, taking up the seats that should have rightfully been for those of us who had been waiting longer. Bad people! How could they call themselves Christians?! Oh, hang on, what about ‘and the last shall be first’ and all that? Oh well. Matt and I considered various ways of breaking into Centaur to see Bell, the most likely option being gaining access to the ventilation system and watching him from above the stage. However, I pointed out that the chances of us being too heavy for the vent grates to support us and one of us falling on Bell and killing him were too great, so we abandoned that plan. With bells on.
Dejected from my Rob Bell experience, I dragged myself to my backup talk (and I’m sure I’m not the only one who had those) in The Kitchen again, ‘Living lightly in a fragile world’ with Will Campbell-Clause and Tim Maiden. It was surprisingly well attended for a talk scheduled at roughly the same time as the mighty Bell, although I guess not everyone wanted to see him and certainly not everyone could. This talk, which, like many of the things in the Daily Diary, bore an eye-catching title that explained its whole raison d’etre without recourse to the main programme, which gave more information about talks, etc. This was more necessary for events with vaguer titles like ‘Interesting’. I have a general interest in green issues and sustainable living (big issues at this festival) and so went along to ‘Living lightly...’. It was OK, and I was glad to meet other like-minded people but, as a member of green group Transition Norwich, I felt that I’d heard all about sustainable ways of living before. So, after about 45 minutes, I left to queue for the lesser Bell, John (a Scot from the Iona Community and a GB regular of many years), in the nearby Big Top tent.
Rather than descending from on high to the strains of classical music, John Bell was instead wheeled in through the back of the tent, singing an old Gaelic drinking song. This gave me hope that his talk, ‘Did Paul Mean It All?’ would be more interesting than the one in The Kitchen. I was not about to find out, though, as another one of those pesky stewards gave an announcement that rang a Bell. (Ho ho!) ‘This venue is now at full capacity.’ Cripes, did I smell, or something? Well, yes, probably, as I hadn’t showered in a day or two.
I went to the front of the tent to see if I could catch a glimpse of John but could only hear his dulcet tones from within. Instead, I opted to check out what was happening at the Festival Bowl which, rather than housing a game of American Football (well, it sounds like it should to me, anyway), had a very serious talk called ‘Bill Gates, Bono and You.’ Expecting to find these two men sat on a panel ready to field my questions, I was instead greeted with a middle-aged American, Matthew Bishop, the author of a book called ‘Philanthrocapitalism’, who talked about how the rich (e.g. Gates and Bono) can save the world and why we should let them. After listening to Bishop for about half an hour, I found him and the hard stone step I was sat on unengaging, so, deciding that I couldn’t afford to save the world, I agreed that we should leave it to Gates and Bono and left.
In the Contributors’ Tent once again, I met a man called Chris who had apparently just done a talk about being on Countdown five years ago. I found Chris a lot more interesting than the last two sessions I had been to as we chatted about how he’d managed to get into the GB programme talking about Countdown (he’s mates with one of the organisers), Doctor Who and what there is for the casual atheist (which Chris was) to enjoy at GB09. He had caught a talk by gay bishop Gene Robinson earlier (which I was annoyed with myself for missing and could quite easily have attended if I’d left The Kitchen sooner), plus one or two things in The Hub, where a lot of arty things were happening. After a while, Chris and I left the Contributors Area and headed for the Hub to hear a poet called Luke Kennard talk about ‘Writing angry, offensive and judgemental poetry’ and to read some of his own. Being something of a writer myself (how much of a one you can judge for yourself from this piece), I appreciated some of his comments about the craft but his own work left something to be desired (apart from the line ‘charity is the salve of the middle classes’.) and made me feel like writing something angry, offensive and judgemental, so at least he had inspired me.
Then, from on high, I heard Paschelbel’s Canon once more and, as Kennard was thankfully wrapping up, I made my getaway to secure a final chance to catch Rob Bell, this time 'In Conversation' at Jerusalem, not in Palestine, but a little bandstand in front of the Grandstand, which had quickly filled up with people. Sitting on the ground at Bell’s feet (a good vantage point for photos), I, along with everyone else, hung off his every word as journalist Martin Wroe interviewed him with admirable lack of nerves or sycophancy. After the interview, Bell fielded various questions from people, one or two being quite personal, e.g. a girl with an atheist father whom some of her Christian friends had said was going to Hell – what did Rob think, she asked? He answered that it wasn’t our job as Christians to predict who’s going where, that this was in fact what Jesus apparently told off the Pharisees about. It was our job merely to point out God’s absolute love for everyone, although not in a cringe-worthy way. ‘Like your sat at a ball game,’ he said, ‘your team scores and you say to your non-Christian friend next to you. “Jesus scored for you.”’ Ha! He said we needed a happy medium between lazy and arrogant evangelism, where the way we act and the choices we make leads the people we know to ask pertinent questions. Then, we can talk about what captivates us about the Bible, and Jesus.
Bell was very complimentary about GB and the UK as a whole, how there's nothing like GB in the USA and that they haven't even cottoned onto recycling yet. He also talked about the importance of keeping a holy Sabbath (a Saturday for him, Sunday being church, of course) to ‘feed our souls’ (they need feeding as much as the rest of us), where all our work is done (‘even if it’s not.’) and we remember that ‘we’re human beings...not human doings.’ ‘If you can’t find Heaven in the everyday (this reminded me of the title for GB07, 'Heaven in Ordinary'), you’ll struggle with a mountaintop experience.’
Rob Bell In Conversation was definitely Sunday’s highlight, more than making up for the lacklustre stuff I’d see during the day and the earlier queue situation, for which a Greenbelt staffer gave an apology to all assembled before Bell came on. A small crowd quickly gathered around him after the interview; people clamouring for answers, book signings, handshakes and hugs. I just took a picture of him and ran off, later regretting not taking the opportunity to thank him for his book ‘Velvet Elvis’, which helped me a lot and partly lead me to get baptised earlier this year. You might say I was “saved by the Bell”, but I wouldn’t, because it’s God that does the saving, as I’m sure you know, plus, these 'bell' puns are wearing really thin now, even for me and I'm writing this thing. Later, one lady who had made it into his earlier Centaur talk said that hearing a more spontaneous Bell In Conversation had been better than hearing one of his well-prepared lectures.
In the picture above, Rob is signing a copy of his new book, 'Drops Like Stars' (basically the talk of the same name in book form) which irked me greatly when I had a look at it in the bookstore earlier. A real oversized, coffee-table filler, I clocked the price at about £20 and opened it to find it had roughly two lines on one page (in various orientations) with massive, arty photos (of things like flowers being dropped) filling others! It was, of course, an "art book" and not at all like his previous ones which had lots of words in them that he'd bothered filling the whole page with before moving onto the next one and not cheated with pictures. Well, fair enough, Rob, but I sure wasn't gonna pay £20 for mostly white space (although I would borrow it from a library or from someone else). Perhaps he could try a comic book next? I would actually pay for that.
After my Rob fix, I wandered around the festival, taking in various sights like the Christian Aid tent, where there was an incredible exhibition that used accurately counted piles of rice to illustrate figures such as worldwide deaths caused by the recent swine flu pandemic, versus those caused by Spanish flu a century ago. I was really impressed by the effort taken with this show, given that one rice grain was equivalent to one swine flu victim, for example. Shamefully, though, after a few minutes looking around, I couldn’t help but notice that two huge piles of rice next to one another resembled a large pair of buttocks. I thought it best to leave at this point.
Walking around the food stalls, I was tapped on the shoulder by Adam, whom I had met the day before in the first Rob Bell queue. He was queuing (again) for some curry with his wife Lucy and friend Pete. I was very interested to hear about the fact that they lived in a van and were part of a Christian community in Bristol similar to the Simple Way in Philadelphia, USA. They were impressed that I’d read Shane Claiborne’s ‘Irresistible Revolution’, an inspiration for their community. I ended up joining them to watch Shlomo The Vocal Orchestra at Mainstage. It was one of those Greenbelt events that I noticed but would have remained indifferent to, were it not for chance, that actually turned out to be great. I stood in awe, watching skinny, white Shlomo lead his 8-piece Orchestra in several tunes, utilizing the group’s multiple vocal talents, which mostly involved beatboxing, which I'm not a fan of generally, but couldn't fail to be impressed with here.
My final occasion for Sunday was a short play, by the Applecart Theatre Company, called ‘In which....the Crowd Gatherer makes inappropriate advances.’ I had no idea what this would entail; perhaps it referred to the man who had accosted me earlier as I was strolling through the crowd and cried out, 'APPLECART THEATRE COMPANY, HUB, 10 O'CLOCK TONIGHT!' Or maybe, having Gatherered a Crowd at the Hub, he would make advances toward us. I attended with an open mind, since I fancied a bit of theatre. The stage was small and minimal, with a keyboard and bare set, the actors in modern clothes. They re-enacted the story in John 4:1-26, where Jesus (played by the man who accosted me earlier, I think) meets a Samaritan woman at a well. Their radical interpretation was done in very contemporary, naturalistic language, complete with the use of an S-word that fit the Samaritan’s harassed and anxious character but still jarred slightly given the biblical context (maybe it was meant to?) The drama was broken up with the odd joke and even odder, yet still fitting, musical interludes. The play kept me watching, despite the fact that I was cold and my feet felt like they were about to melt into the ground. It was well produced and challenged me in its stripped-down, language-heavy interpretation of such a well known Gospel story, in which it was all about Jesus’, sorry, the Crowd-Gatherer’s struggle to gain the trust of one very damaged woman in order to give her the ‘water of life.’
GB09 - Part 4
Monday, 1st September
On Monday morning, I enjoyed a nice warm shower, which made me only a little late for the Taize service in Centaur. I was happy to see it so well attended and was also impressed by the simple and colourful stage scenery of drapes, candles and a Taize cross. All this really took me back to worshipping at Taize itself as a teenager. I was somewhat dismayed to find that I couldn’t sing the chants quite as well as I had at the practice two days beforehand.
Once the service finished, it was time to implement Operation G-Rob, which sounds interesting, but really just involved me staying in my carefully chosen seat near the back of the upper level and wait for gay bishop Gene Robinson to begin his next talk, thus bypassing my having to exit Centaur and queue up just to get back in again. I felt slightly guilty at attempting such an underhanded queue-dodging tactic, but I consoled myself with the fact that the queue-jumpers at Rob Bell’s talk were worse and that the woman next to me during Taize (who was middle-aged, and therefore should have known better) was attempting the same thing. Unfortunately, I think those meddling stewards foresaw our ruse and made sure the venue was cleared out after Taize. My middle-aged partner in crime and I just ignored the steward and stayed seated. We might have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for her white jumper that marked her out clearly (and me, by association) from our dark coloured seats. At least I had dressed in black in preparation. Seeing us, the steward repeated his request for people to leave a bit louder. The woman produced her mobile, ‘Well, I’d better see where my family are.’ She said in resignation. ‘Curse your white jumper!’ I cried, storming off to leave her to phone her family. Initiating Plan B, I went into hide in the Men’s, but it was nature that caught me out this time, as hunger got the better of me and, fearing loss of consciousness during the talk I so badly wanted to see, I had to go and buy a lovely cheese toastie, figuring that I had enough time to eat it before the talk. I managed this, yet I guess God really didn’t want me watching Gene, as I queued up but was turned away once again by the old chestnut of the venue reaching full capacity.
At a loose end until Dr. Robert Beckford at 11:45, I took another wander, during which I bumped into my friend Keith, a YMCA worker, who invited me to join him and his other YMCA friends in the Tiny Tea Tent, where I was bought an orange juice by a man I later figured out was YMCA Norfolk’s new Chief Executive, Tim Sweeting. Ooh, get me!
I was a happy when at last I managed to get into Centaur following a long queue to see Dr. Beckford, the theologian presenter of some very interesting Channel 4 documentaries, which was unbeknownst to some people I met in the queue, who curiously didn’t even know who Beckford was (possibly confusing him with that other Rob B?) The good Doctor began by getting us all on our feet to massage the shoulders of those either side of us to ease away any camping cramp. For me, the issue was cold, not cramp, which is what the woman who ‘massaged’ me with her powerful thumbs almost gave me. I uncomfortably eased myself back down onto the floor after that unhelpful interlude as the talk began.
Entitled ‘Live Aid or Dead Aid?’ Beckford’s sparse and clear presentation discussed why Africa is still impoverished, despite all the aid thrown at it by the Western world. He pitted the argument by Bono for (Live) aid against that of Dambisa Moyo, author of the book ‘Dead Aid’, who believes that aid is actually making things worse for Africa. As with his TV programmes, Beckford communicated very well, preventing his naturally serious subject matter from getting too heavy with one or two jokes, such as attempting Bono’s accent and claiming Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are his adoptive parents. However, even though Beckford was engaging, the weight of a couple of almost sleepless nights caught up with me and I dozed off. I don’t think I did this for long, or that Beckford noticed. If he had, I might have been forced to finish his talk whilst he took a nap, as it looks like he's doing in the photo below, maybe he was tired too?
After lunch, I went to catch up on some sleep properly back at my tent, before making my way to the main entrance at 3:30pm to prepare for our final Ambient Wonder session in The Shelter at 4pm. The second ‘Standing on the Shoulders of Giants’ slot went well, although it was less well attended in terms of how many people the Shelter could hold. There was no video work this time, so I also got to join in with the activities, my favourite being the chance to ‘plant a seed of hope’, in this case a cherry-seed, rather than an olive one, as well as the ‘Twitturgy’, where one could write a prayer or comment of 140 words or less to be put up on Twitter. Mine will be the only time I’ll ever be on Twitter but it was an interesting experiment.
After we’d packed up, I made my way to the campsite of my new Bristol friends, clearly marked by a large beige camper van with a blue slash along the side that made it resemble The A-Team’s signature vehicle. Inside, I was treated to fine wine, music, food and conversation. I was impressed that Adam and Lucy lived and travelled in this van, unsure of whether I would have the stamina to do it myself or whether claustrophobia would get the better of me. A couple of hours later, I headed off to my final appointment at GB09, a session by the online ‘Magazine of Christian Unrest’ - Ship of Fools, entitled ‘Chapter & Worse’.
Having conducted a survey of their readers and last year’s Greenbelters, the Fools had compiled a list of the top 10 worst Bible verses, which is to say, the most difficult. These, taken from both Testaments, showed the apparent condoning of slavery, human sacrifice, genocide, infanticide, homophobia and sexism within the Bible; the number one slot being taken by 1 Timothy 2:12 - "I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent." Hannah Kowszun, the only woman on the panel of debate, made some comment about this (in sign language, of course. Ho ho!). Yet, given that this was meant to be a bit of light-hearted discussion for the last night of the festival, the debate didn’t really heat up, except for one occasion where an audience member angrily asked James, another panellist, to explain his earlier comment that the Bible was God’s infallible Word and we just had to ‘deal with it’. That was the position we were all left in after the session ended, although I’m glad that Ship of Fools highlighted several of the ‘Good’ Book’s most difficult verses. As far as I can tell, these don’t seem to be discussed as much as they ought to be, not outside Greenbelt, anyway. The session was rounded off by some music from the ‘Revd. Gerald Ambulance’, who taught us an amusing spoof of a typical evangelical worship song with an intentionally overly repetitive chorus of “Praise You Lord”’s (x79).
As I arose to leave, I happened to get chatting with Becca from Wolverhampton, who had ended up alone when her friend had left after the first night because she found it too cold. We bumped into Matt and a couple of his friends and, after a brief natter, Becca lifted her hands up beneath Matt’s chin in a sort of offering gesture and said, inexplicably, ‘you’re a flower.’ Matt looked rather bemused by this and left to go home. I took Becca to the Volunteer’s Area for a hot drink, purely because everywhere else that sold them was shut, plus, I’d spent the first night of the festival in there, so it seemed to round off the weekend nicely to end it there, too. We spent about an hour discussing her home life, friends, church, etc and, if I’m honest, I felt like I was just being kind in spending time with her. I didn’t dislike her but I felt she was quite needy. Maybe it was also to do with the knowledge that I’ve been in her shoes before? Even at GB07, I camped alone and did almost everything by myself, which I was quite happy to do mostly but it did get lonely and I welcomed people’s company, as Becca did mine. As I've already mentioned, Greenbelt is a very open festival. One security guard we met complained (only half-jokingly) that he was bored at GB because he hadn't had abuse or anything more solid thrown at him, nor had he had to break up any fights, as with other festivals he'd worked at over the summer!
Becca and I parted company without exchanging contact details; it would have been strange to do that so soon after meeting her. She was leaving at 7am the next morning and wanted to get to bed, so we said our goodbyes (which, charmingly, involved her lifting her hands beneath my chin and telling me I was a flower - more interesting than a handshake, I guess) and went in search of the other Wonderers, who I thought were in The Jesus Arms, which was closing, so I bought a crepe instead near 'The Mash Shack' and went back to the campsite to find them there.
I really enjoyed Greenbelt 2009 and can't quite believe I got to experience it all for free! A few hours after cutting off my wristband, it still felt like I was wearing it, after having done so for four days. The festival is probably the only one of its kind in the country (perhaps Europe, if not the world?!) My friend Keith put it well when he compared the relaxed and fun GB to the more serious and ‘conferency’ Soul Survivor event he attended earlier in the summer. I agree (even if the GB food, good as it is, is rather pricey) and would add that Greenbelt provides the opportunity to see just how diverse and alive the 21st century church is, on a worldwide level, as well as giving more room for debate and difference of opinion than anywhere else. Roll on GB10 and 'The Art of Looking Sideways.'
On Monday morning, I enjoyed a nice warm shower, which made me only a little late for the Taize service in Centaur. I was happy to see it so well attended and was also impressed by the simple and colourful stage scenery of drapes, candles and a Taize cross. All this really took me back to worshipping at Taize itself as a teenager. I was somewhat dismayed to find that I couldn’t sing the chants quite as well as I had at the practice two days beforehand.
Once the service finished, it was time to implement Operation G-Rob, which sounds interesting, but really just involved me staying in my carefully chosen seat near the back of the upper level and wait for gay bishop Gene Robinson to begin his next talk, thus bypassing my having to exit Centaur and queue up just to get back in again. I felt slightly guilty at attempting such an underhanded queue-dodging tactic, but I consoled myself with the fact that the queue-jumpers at Rob Bell’s talk were worse and that the woman next to me during Taize (who was middle-aged, and therefore should have known better) was attempting the same thing. Unfortunately, I think those meddling stewards foresaw our ruse and made sure the venue was cleared out after Taize. My middle-aged partner in crime and I just ignored the steward and stayed seated. We might have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for her white jumper that marked her out clearly (and me, by association) from our dark coloured seats. At least I had dressed in black in preparation. Seeing us, the steward repeated his request for people to leave a bit louder. The woman produced her mobile, ‘Well, I’d better see where my family are.’ She said in resignation. ‘Curse your white jumper!’ I cried, storming off to leave her to phone her family. Initiating Plan B, I went into hide in the Men’s, but it was nature that caught me out this time, as hunger got the better of me and, fearing loss of consciousness during the talk I so badly wanted to see, I had to go and buy a lovely cheese toastie, figuring that I had enough time to eat it before the talk. I managed this, yet I guess God really didn’t want me watching Gene, as I queued up but was turned away once again by the old chestnut of the venue reaching full capacity.
At a loose end until Dr. Robert Beckford at 11:45, I took another wander, during which I bumped into my friend Keith, a YMCA worker, who invited me to join him and his other YMCA friends in the Tiny Tea Tent, where I was bought an orange juice by a man I later figured out was YMCA Norfolk’s new Chief Executive, Tim Sweeting. Ooh, get me!
I was a happy when at last I managed to get into Centaur following a long queue to see Dr. Beckford, the theologian presenter of some very interesting Channel 4 documentaries, which was unbeknownst to some people I met in the queue, who curiously didn’t even know who Beckford was (possibly confusing him with that other Rob B?) The good Doctor began by getting us all on our feet to massage the shoulders of those either side of us to ease away any camping cramp. For me, the issue was cold, not cramp, which is what the woman who ‘massaged’ me with her powerful thumbs almost gave me. I uncomfortably eased myself back down onto the floor after that unhelpful interlude as the talk began.
Entitled ‘Live Aid or Dead Aid?’ Beckford’s sparse and clear presentation discussed why Africa is still impoverished, despite all the aid thrown at it by the Western world. He pitted the argument by Bono for (Live) aid against that of Dambisa Moyo, author of the book ‘Dead Aid’, who believes that aid is actually making things worse for Africa. As with his TV programmes, Beckford communicated very well, preventing his naturally serious subject matter from getting too heavy with one or two jokes, such as attempting Bono’s accent and claiming Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are his adoptive parents. However, even though Beckford was engaging, the weight of a couple of almost sleepless nights caught up with me and I dozed off. I don’t think I did this for long, or that Beckford noticed. If he had, I might have been forced to finish his talk whilst he took a nap, as it looks like he's doing in the photo below, maybe he was tired too?
After lunch, I went to catch up on some sleep properly back at my tent, before making my way to the main entrance at 3:30pm to prepare for our final Ambient Wonder session in The Shelter at 4pm. The second ‘Standing on the Shoulders of Giants’ slot went well, although it was less well attended in terms of how many people the Shelter could hold. There was no video work this time, so I also got to join in with the activities, my favourite being the chance to ‘plant a seed of hope’, in this case a cherry-seed, rather than an olive one, as well as the ‘Twitturgy’, where one could write a prayer or comment of 140 words or less to be put up on Twitter. Mine will be the only time I’ll ever be on Twitter but it was an interesting experiment.
After we’d packed up, I made my way to the campsite of my new Bristol friends, clearly marked by a large beige camper van with a blue slash along the side that made it resemble The A-Team’s signature vehicle. Inside, I was treated to fine wine, music, food and conversation. I was impressed that Adam and Lucy lived and travelled in this van, unsure of whether I would have the stamina to do it myself or whether claustrophobia would get the better of me. A couple of hours later, I headed off to my final appointment at GB09, a session by the online ‘Magazine of Christian Unrest’ - Ship of Fools, entitled ‘Chapter & Worse’.
Having conducted a survey of their readers and last year’s Greenbelters, the Fools had compiled a list of the top 10 worst Bible verses, which is to say, the most difficult. These, taken from both Testaments, showed the apparent condoning of slavery, human sacrifice, genocide, infanticide, homophobia and sexism within the Bible; the number one slot being taken by 1 Timothy 2:12 - "I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent." Hannah Kowszun, the only woman on the panel of debate, made some comment about this (in sign language, of course. Ho ho!). Yet, given that this was meant to be a bit of light-hearted discussion for the last night of the festival, the debate didn’t really heat up, except for one occasion where an audience member angrily asked James, another panellist, to explain his earlier comment that the Bible was God’s infallible Word and we just had to ‘deal with it’. That was the position we were all left in after the session ended, although I’m glad that Ship of Fools highlighted several of the ‘Good’ Book’s most difficult verses. As far as I can tell, these don’t seem to be discussed as much as they ought to be, not outside Greenbelt, anyway. The session was rounded off by some music from the ‘Revd. Gerald Ambulance’, who taught us an amusing spoof of a typical evangelical worship song with an intentionally overly repetitive chorus of “Praise You Lord”’s (x79).
As I arose to leave, I happened to get chatting with Becca from Wolverhampton, who had ended up alone when her friend had left after the first night because she found it too cold. We bumped into Matt and a couple of his friends and, after a brief natter, Becca lifted her hands up beneath Matt’s chin in a sort of offering gesture and said, inexplicably, ‘you’re a flower.’ Matt looked rather bemused by this and left to go home. I took Becca to the Volunteer’s Area for a hot drink, purely because everywhere else that sold them was shut, plus, I’d spent the first night of the festival in there, so it seemed to round off the weekend nicely to end it there, too. We spent about an hour discussing her home life, friends, church, etc and, if I’m honest, I felt like I was just being kind in spending time with her. I didn’t dislike her but I felt she was quite needy. Maybe it was also to do with the knowledge that I’ve been in her shoes before? Even at GB07, I camped alone and did almost everything by myself, which I was quite happy to do mostly but it did get lonely and I welcomed people’s company, as Becca did mine. As I've already mentioned, Greenbelt is a very open festival. One security guard we met complained (only half-jokingly) that he was bored at GB because he hadn't had abuse or anything more solid thrown at him, nor had he had to break up any fights, as with other festivals he'd worked at over the summer!
Becca and I parted company without exchanging contact details; it would have been strange to do that so soon after meeting her. She was leaving at 7am the next morning and wanted to get to bed, so we said our goodbyes (which, charmingly, involved her lifting her hands beneath my chin and telling me I was a flower - more interesting than a handshake, I guess) and went in search of the other Wonderers, who I thought were in The Jesus Arms, which was closing, so I bought a crepe instead near 'The Mash Shack' and went back to the campsite to find them there.
I really enjoyed Greenbelt 2009 and can't quite believe I got to experience it all for free! A few hours after cutting off my wristband, it still felt like I was wearing it, after having done so for four days. The festival is probably the only one of its kind in the country (perhaps Europe, if not the world?!) My friend Keith put it well when he compared the relaxed and fun GB to the more serious and ‘conferency’ Soul Survivor event he attended earlier in the summer. I agree (even if the GB food, good as it is, is rather pricey) and would add that Greenbelt provides the opportunity to see just how diverse and alive the 21st century church is, on a worldwide level, as well as giving more room for debate and difference of opinion than anywhere else. Roll on GB10 and 'The Art of Looking Sideways.'
