embarrassing aunt?

Dad remarked the other day that he could tell how busy we - Mrs H and myself - were in preparing to leave the country (on Wednesday coming) by the fact that he'd never known me to be online less, as evidenced by Facebook, Twitter and this blog amongst others. And it's apparently true, as nearly two months have lapsed!

But yes, we're leaving for Niger on Wednesday (18th January.) We've a blog specifically for that on Wordpress.

Anyway, it was my longsuffering Auntie Jane's 50th birthday party on Saturday, and here's an embarrassing video of her as a child. (Apart from the clip 2/3 of the way through in a pram, which is, in fact, my father. But he picked out the clips!)

feverish

In preparation for heading away next year, Mrs H and I have both been going through the classic routine of getting all the rights vaccinations up to date. Mrs H got her few outstanding ones in one go; I, on the other hand (a) needed twice as many, and (b) am a big wuss around needles, and so have spaced mine out much more.

Anyway, was back at the GP on Monday for the penultimate round: in this case, a second dose of rabies in the right arm, and a diptheria, tetanus and pertussis jab in the left. Having never had much of a reaction to any jabs before, I was fairly surprised to come down with a heavy dose of something viral that evening. Cue sleepless nights, blown capillaries (a side effect of violently talking into the Great White Telephone throughout a sleepless night...) colossal aches, and sweating for Ireland. This was all a bit of a new experience, and so is pretty intriguing. Apart from the bit where I managed to vertically faceplant a wall yesterday - that was just weird.

48 hours on, it's mostly passed, bar the headaches (and the sweating - in what is at best a fairly cold office, and am down to T-shirt and still feel roasted) but I still find it weird not quite being able to process what people are saying to me...

get a grip

Just a quick plug/review of a short book I recently picked up - Get A Grip, published by the ongoing BibleFresh initiative, as a spin-off of a current speaking tour they have travelling Great Britain.

The book collects 17 short articles (500 words or so) from a few notable names in UK evangelicalism, which tackle passages of Christian scripture divided in to two categories: lesser-known ones which may give valuable insight, and all too well-known ones which tackle subjects we might wish weren't in scripture at all. I must admit it was the latter of these which drew me in.

I greatly 'enjoyed' the challenge of tackling genocide in Sunday school whilst still there at the start of the year, and will admit I probably learnt a lot more in preparing that session than the kids probably got from me burbling my way through it. I find an awful lot of good can be found in trying to meet these theological brain-melters head on, and I was intrigued to see how far respected thinkers might go on such matters.

Before purchasing, I asked Krish Kandiah whether he thought the short essays were able to tackle subjects like genocide and corporal punishment. 'Pithy but chunky,' came the reply. It might sound more like a good soup, but I reckon that's actually a pretty good assessment.

They're by no way exhaustive - a few of them come across as they only can, as introductions to a topic. But for the price of a cup of coffee, there's a great range of conversation starters. Plus, the whole thing is built around Bible translation and so £1 from every purchase goes straight to funding work in Burkina Faso.

If you're interested, you can pick up a copy direct from the website. Anyone else come across it yet?

the crudest equations of faith

Followed a Facebook link down (or up? I can never decide) the garden path to this article by Tim Stanley for the Telegraph, about Richard Dawkins' apparent refusal to debate the theologian William Lane Craig. Whilst it's a pity that Dr Dawkins has declined this particular sparring invite, I can't admit to being too bothered in the grand scheme of things. (If you do like a good argument, I believe the twelve rounds Dr Dawkins went through with Alistair McGrath, author of one of the more useful books I've ever owned is well worth a googling.)

Rather, the reason for blogging about it, dear readers, was this rather succinct observation the author makes:

[We might assume] that [Dawkins] doesn’t understand Christian apologetics, which is why he unintentionally misrepresents Craig’s piece. The most frustrating thing about the New Atheism is that it rarely debates theology on theology's own terms. It approaches metaphor and mysticism as if they were statements of fact to be tested in the laboratory. Worse still, it takes the crudest equations of faith (total submission to an angry sky god) and assumes that they apply to all its believers at all times equally.

Good point, well made?

labels

I've a long-running, occasionally dipped-in-to discussion with the man-myth-legend Bob about the definitions of things. In life, we don't like labels. I think a major reason for this is because the moment we find one that seems to fit us, we invariably then find ten other people, none of whom we would ever want to have anything to do with, who seem to be appropriating the same label.

Perhaps I'm being harsh here, but then when we have this discussion, it's usually against the backdrop of theological nomenclature. That is, the labels placed on us as members of the worldwide body that comes in the wake of God's ongoing intervention into humanity's history. Reformer, catholic, non-subscribing, presbyterian, anglican, baptist, anabaptist, calvinist, arminian, pentecostal. The list goes on. All of us who belong to the Church in some way or another assume a label, even it's hermit, agnostic, or survivor. It could be argued that none of these are permanent for us; in our meandering journey of discovery, our figurative walk with God, be that left, right, towards or away from, we exist in a constant state of flux between these labels.

I find one I struggle with the most to be 'evangelical'. Hit up Wikipedia and you'll get the four 'key commitments' of the Evangelical movement, born in the British Isles in the mid 18th century:

- 'The need for a personal conversion to the Christian faith';
- A high regard/respect for the authority of the Bible (note that this does not necessarily equivocate to infallibility, but more the notion of biblical inerrancy)
- 'An emphasis on teachings that proclaim the saving death and resurrection of' Jesus Christ, recognised as the Son of God;
- 'Actively expressing and sharing the gospel'

If you're not a God-botherer, then you might well say that sounds broadly like all Christianity. It actually doesn't, but that's a statement for better thinkers than I to tear apart.

But there's a problem. I would strongly identify with those statements. Does that make me an evangelical? It sounds tempting. But you know all those right-wing types in America? Well, they're evangelicals too. They voted for Sarah Palin. I know. Know those churches that seem to exist in a parallel universe from the neighbourhood they're in? They say they're evangelical. The church I grew up in would claim some evangelical types, and there's freemasons on the vestry. Evangelical - really? You still want to be one of those, part of a body that includes Tea Party activists and closet believers and cultish types, churches which spend £30,000 on a new porch when there are kids destroying themselves nearby for the want of someone to actually give them some guidance in life?

But there's a problem with that too, because of course, that's not what the word means. More, like everything it life, it's what we as the people who embody it have become. In many ways, I desperately want to admit to calling myself an evangelical, but the baggage that comes with that (much like calling yourself a Christian) that stymies the words before the make it out of my mouth.

This morning (with a h/t to the Rend Collective's twitter feed) I came across Greg Fromholz attempting to deal with this discussion. It's great to have creative, left-brain thinkers like Greg attempting to deal with this stuff in a way that we normal folk can engage with, so I've shamelessly republished it here. But I'll throw in a heavy plug for his digital book, Liberate Eden which will mess with your head in amazing ways.



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deserting

In January, the good Mrs H and I are hoping to head to Niger, West Africa with the mission agency SIM. Which is all very exciting, if also terrifying in equal abundance.

Nonetheless, as I'm going to be working for SIM Niger as a communications coordinator (whilst my dear wife is busy with, y'know, saving people's lives and all that) it would seem to be fairly conceivable that such things should, of course, be documented on a personal level for all and any interested parties to be able to follow our progress.

However, we deemed that as people who would wish to read about that thing may not necessarily also wish to have their minds populated with movie trailers, rants, getting @gmsythftw elected, video production commentary, theological rants and journal publishing (their loss) we've set up a new blog elsewhere.

Desert Hueys - I know, I KNOW, but YOU try and come up with something better - will document our time up to and whilst we are away in Niger. I hereby promise it will be fascinating, if you like that sort of thing.

Over the next couple of months we're going to try and get as much information out as possible, but DH (as I already affectionately think of it as) may be the primary source for up-to-date knowledge. There's also info about signing up for the more "official" updates, and no doubt this humble blog will remain an outlet for all other stuff that my wife won't let me publish in her name appeals to a wider audience.

Thanks to those in the offline world who have already been so supportive, and hopefully online folks may also find their interest piqued by some of the unique and challenging prospects that Niger holds.

the brothers bloom

Having watched it a couple of weeks ago and being bowled over by its unexpected brilliance, I had been meaning to write a short post to point interested travellers towards the 2008 film The Brothers Bloom. I sodding loved it, as did my good wife - a rare bit of concurrence in itself, and testament to the work in question, if nothing else.

However, on a trip to YouTube to find a trailer to embed - well, it became a reminder that more often than not, the guys who cut trailers can be really, really annoying. Somehow, the committee that came up with this one took something that was more up the Wes Anderson line of aesthetics, and turned it in to Ocean's 13.



I can't really emphasise enough how different the pacing of the actual film is. The narrative clips along at a right old pace - it is a con caper, after all - but the extra beats inserted, particularly after gags (which often just occur without any build-up) are completely absent from this trail. And all the other trails I found in my short browse.

It's pretty much an advertisement for a completely different film, to my mind. I wonder if anyone else seen both and can offer a reaction...

an evolving account

Had a minor scribbling fit on the train last Friday as I was attempted to formulate my issue with an article which appeared in The Times that day. Friday's paper contained the always readable Eureka science supplement; one thing I like about The Times is that they include things like this.

The lead article in Eureka was promoting Richard Dawkins' new book, The Magic of Reality. The supplement's leader compared it to Ernst Gombrich's magical A Little History Of World, in which the author distilled human history down to a few hundred, child-friendly pages. Dawkin's has attempted to do something similar for fundamental science, which is commendable.

What is maybe not so commendable is his aggressive pushing of his religious beliefs through it, but we'll come to that later.

As is usual with such things, an article in the main paper was tenuously linked to the supplement as a trail. The article in question, written by the excellent Will Pavia, was entitled 'Professor quits because he can't Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden,' and can be read in its entirety on the Langaa website. (Fortunately, as the Times paywall prevents linking it up there.)

Pavia reports that Professor John Schneider, of Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan (alma mater of Cornelius Van Til, for all you fans of presuppositional apologetics out there - don't worry, I didn't forget you) is to leave his post in the theology department after coauthoring papers 'noting that it was becoming ever harder to maintain that all humans were descended from Adam and Eve.' He goes on to describe the events in detail.

However, this is not what I was making notes about, nor was it what the broader theme of this particular article was. The byline on the article declared "Evangelical Christians are facing a "Galileo moment" over the literal truth of the Bible...' That is, a moment compared to the moment that Galileo singularly proved that the world revolved around the sun, and was not the centre of the universe (which, you may recall, the Vatican did not take too kindly to.) It is seen as a defining turning point as European society began to look beyond the academic church for knowledge, and science became independent of theology. Fair enough.

Pavia indicates that if science proves that the Genesis accounts of creation and the fall are proven to be impossible as literal records, evangelical Christianity will be torn asunder. And this is where I have to step in. Now granted, I probably wouldn't take much issue if that byline I quoted had had an additional word: say, 'American Evangelical Christians are facing a "Galileo moment"...' I have no doubt that, in the battle between Creationism and Evolutionism for the minds of America's classrooms, such a proof would be a body blow for the so-called Christian Right.

But here - well, here on our side of the pond, I'm not so sure. Of course we debate creationism - but being crafty Europeans, we can handle subtext. We don't do shock and reaction so immediately. We like to sit in our cafes, chew on our cheeses, and mull over things a bit more.

(I appreciate the irony of a Northern Irishman writing those words, but bear with me, please. The humourous post about the leaflet that came through our door from the gospel hall is coming later in the week to make up for my apparent blindness.)

So here is what irked me. Ken Ham, President and CEO of the organisation Answers In Genesis, is quoted towards the end of the article. Mr Ham's organisation focuses partiicularly on promoting Young Earth creationism (that is, that the Earth in its entirety is no more than several thousand years old) and, obviously therefore, a completely literal interpretation of Genesis. Being much better read than I, such thinkers can give strong arguments for this, but you can find out about those yourself, dear reader. Mr Ham is quoted reacting to physics lecturer, Karl Giberson.

Giberson, 'who taught physics at Eastern Nazarene College in Boston but eventually felt pressured to leave, said:"It's clear to more thoughtful Christian scholars that Adam and Eve simply can't be historical figures and we have to deal with it. The donors who fund Christian colleges are not always very intellectual. Of course every biology department teaches evolution, and every religion department teaches a literary interpretation of the Bible. They just can't own up to it."'

For what it's worth, I think what Karl Giberson says is about what departments teach is broadly true. Mr Ham also agrees, but does not take well to it.

"'[Answers in Genesis] published a book called Already Compromised, which look at what's being taught. The majority were teaching evolution," Mr Ham said. He described scholars such as Mr Giberson as "wolves in sheep's clothing". He said, "They are undermining the gospel. If Adam and Eve aren't literal, Christianity is totally meaningless. You might as well through the Bible away."'

My apologies to readers of a sensitive nature, but at this point I have heavily underlined and circled that quote in the paper, with a tactfully massive 'WTF?' beside it. And here is why.

Let's set aside the longstanding argument that the Genesis accounts (note the plural, as it can be said chapters 1 and 2 are two separate accounts, and not a continuous narrative) were added as a prologue to the Torah by rabbinical scholars, in an attempt to distill hundreds of years of storytelling and teaching. Whilst worth pointing out, that's an article of it's own right - see the short footnote to this article for more.

As I mentioned, yes - it is damaging to the Creationism drive, particularly Stateside, if Genesis 1-3 can be proven conclusively to be non-historical. But how can Ken Ham claim that this would render Christianity to be "totally meaningless"? For even if the creation is a parable, a fable, an allegorical representation of reality - how does that in any way damage the story of Christ?

I'll give you an example from Biblical theology. Any time a prophet gets started in the old or new testament, things can get a bit... freaky. You get visions of all sorts of things. Four headed beasts. Voices out of nowhere. Heavenly fire. Inexplicable, incredibly powerful, signs and miracles. But take the Revelation of John at the very end of the Christian Bible. In that book, John records a vision he has of heaven, in which Jesus reveals signs to him - of the end of an age, an empire, maybe even the world itself.

Not this sort of description: 'I heard beyond me a loud voice like a trumpet...' (Rev. 1:10); 'I turned around to see...someone like a son of man' (1:12-13); 'His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace' (Rev. 1:15); 'His face was like the sun... (Rev. 1:16). [Italics added.]

It's (pretty much) universally accepted that John did not actually see a vision of Christ with bronze feet, a shiny face, and a voice that sounds like a trumpet. Rather, he is attempted to find some possible way of putting in to words the brillance that he witnessed. He's attempting to describe the indescribable. Augustine of Hippo famously noted that, as God is beyond our understanding, if we can comprehend 'it' fully, then the 'it' in question cannot be God. Thus, in Scripture, John of Patmos, like many Biblical writers, attempts to record his revelation in the best way he can.

And because it is inspired Scripture, we know it is true. It may not be completely literal (though there is literal truth - John had a vision; Jesus spoke to him; He told him things and so on) but it is truth in its entirety.

With me so far? You may see where I'm going with this.

I want to believe in a literal Adam. Of course I do, if it is completely literal, then it means I have a comprehension of one of God's greatest works, and the events that then transpired.

But I fear that this may be another Biblical instance where the true course of what transpired - over a week, over years, over millennia) is so mindblowing, so huge, and so much bigger than we fallen, limited people could even begin to understand the reality of, that God has instead given us this short, inspired text so that we can understand the complete truth instead.

For either way, I would argue the truth of Genesis remains the same. Regardless of exactly how it happens, we people are created in the image of God. But we are fallen, incapable of self-redemption, corrupt and bent on our own self-destructions. One does not have to look at the world long to realise a truth in that. And either way, regardless of Mr Ham's apparent blustering, Christianity is even more meaningful. We 'might as well throw the Bible away'? No, sir, we need to hold on to its core for dear life. Because regardless of how we got 'here', there's only one way out for our sorry souls.

As you can tell, I'm still fairly livid about a 'Christian leader' saying such a thing. He certainly does not represent me.

Here's what I know: like the Ark, like the Lion's Den, like the miracle of feeding the 5000 - after time has ended, after the earth has been consumed by an exploding sun, or destroyed by man ourselves, we will have an opportunity to find out the answer to such things. But you know what? I reckon we probably won't care so much about what will seem fairly trivial, in the light of the glory we might behold.

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Back to Mr Dawkins to finish. Ah, Mr Dawkins. I do think his new book is, in principle, a marvellous idea. As a child, I went through several phases as many boys do: dinosaurs; astronomy; blowing stuff up. Science seems like a world of possibility and cool stuff (long before secondary school sucks all the fun out.) That someone would take the time to try and distill science's myriad, humungous, and most important theories into understandable language is brilliant.

My problem with Dawkins, sadly though, is that you don't just get that. You also get his own personal slant. His preaching, you might say. Now, I've just written what could be construed as a short sermon above - but I would argue I'm fairly open and unashamed about my motivations for doing so. Mr Dawkins, not so much when it comes to aggressively attacking one faith in order to push his own, but under the guise of... well: "Won't somebody think of the children?"

He opens his short article in Eureka with the following: '"Please tell me something I can tell Daddy, which he doesn't already know." The heartfelt plea of this child from Northern Ireland is the more poignant because his father happened to be a devout Christian - as is common in that unfortunate province. What nonsense might this boy have been fed...?'

And later: 'No educated person believes the Adam and Eve myth nowadays...'

Dawkins is crusading against parents who would even consider telling their children about what they believe. I'm all up for children learning about evolution, I am. And I'm not in favour of it being left off the curriculum altogether and replaced with a theology. But why do we have to insist that 'we' know best?

I reckon I am reasonably educated, and I definitely believe the truth of the Genesis accounts, as I've described. I studied sciences and maths for A Level. I was invited along to Scripture Union. I was allowed the opportunity, in this very 'unfortunate province' indeed, to make up my own mind. What more could I ask for?

The problem with the New Atheists is, like the Christian Right, having come to their realisation that their own theologies, or sciences (depending on their choice of words) are absolute and correct, and that therefore all others must be wrong, they then set forth to attempt to disprove, laugh off, and wipe the other off the face of the Earth. And one is as bad as the other.

In my line of work, it's considered a weakness to ever admit that you don't know something. Just say you can do it, and then figure it out afterwards. For the most part, that's ok - we all grow through it. But life should not be the same.

When it did become not OK to just admit: "I don't know the answer?"

We'll find out afterwards, anyway.

telling the truth?

As the summer begins to draw to a close, Issue Four of The Lawkit hit 'the shelves' of the internet today. Initially I had decided not to contribute, but ended up with something wholly suitable more or less by accident. (A blog post which was far too long, essentially.)

I chose to write in this issue about narrative and storytelling, and the crucial role I believe it plays in humanity's essence. Funnily enough, I was about to write a few lines here about something completely different, but an obvious link was prompted in my mind.

I'm currently up in the tower, cutting away at footage from Monday's Refresh Belfast event in the Black Box - an event that went almost went pretty flawlessly. I'm pleased with how the raw footage looks (believe me, I would not mention it, even in this small corner of the internet, if I wasn't, and particularly not pre-release).

However, gremlins do rear their head; though freshly charged and thoroughly tested, the speaker's nifty headset mic decided to fall over half-way through. Not a problem, as we had a spare beside him, ready to go - barely a stumble in the live sense.

However, in the video and out of that context, I'm presented with an editing dilemma. Here's the sequence of events: speaker pauses; begins to make his next point; mic crackles a bit and dies; speaker looks a little confused; speaker is handed a fresh mic; speaker continues, more or less exactly where he left off.

The obvious thing is just to cut the incident out completely, right? And join up the two ends? But this is where my loyalty to narrative kicks in.

Crucially, in a visual sense, things have changed: the speaker now has a mic in his hand, and is seated in a slightly different position. There's no match cut; instead, there's a fairly clear jump in positions which jars. So whilst you don't lose anything content wise - there's nothing to lose - something is different.

My inclination in these situations has become to leave the incident in - to inform the viewer why things have changed. (See, for example, the mildly infamous 'Chris groping Tim Van Damme' moment from Build last year - and it wasn't even our equipment he was fixing!) This may seem unnecessary. However, I feel it actually helps with the 'story' that's being told. Rather than a viewer spending a couple of minutes puzzled by the jump cut, and thereby potentially being distracted from the narrative that's being told, they walk through alongside the teller. No confusion, no distraction - just a little incident, right?

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a forfey postcard

Featuring a sign, some sunflowers, the cows, a load of tents, Adam Currie and his Yaschia 635, wellies, microphones, More Than Conquerors, Farriers, Wondervillains, Rams' Pocket Radio, a brace of trout, printing, Andy and Old Toby, a crowd, Kasper Rosa, Katie & The Carnival, Duke Special Jr. looking a bit lost, an important sign, some umbrellas, a lot of rain, Feldberg, an interesting choice of headgear, Simon Newell's epic boatmaking skills (tested by Kerry), a double rainbow, a barbeque (before and after), a kid dressed as Spiderman (look carefully), a hipster racoon, a literally knees-up, Master & Dog, Daithí Ó Drónaí, a nice candle, Captain Cameron, and Tim Doak looking slightly bemused at Matt's big head.

dinosaur office

(h/t to @todaysbigthing)

call for support

Just had a slightly unusual bit of cold calling - from Tearfund. Or rather, a telesales agency working "on behalf" of Tearfund.

But keep that righteous indignation in check for a minute. Though clearly reading from a script for most of the call, the polite (and noticeably, less aggressive than is typical) lady on the other end did not deliver the usual telesales jargon. She finished the call with:

"Just to make clear, I am working for a company engaged by Tearfund for fundraising, and though we are being paid £24,000 for this contract, Tearfund hope to make £270,000 over the next four years from these commitments."

I did not ask for this information, and it left me with a very different impression than I had, say, mid-call. As an irregular Tearfund supporter, I appreciate being an obvious port of call when the time comes for an appeal, and remain interested in what is going on even if I choose not to support them in this way. For that reason, I listened to her entire pitch before responding (rather than interrupting and ending the call straight away, as I would if she were selling windows/insurance/phones/hovercraft/whatever).

And it leaves an interesting discourse to my mind. I am generally divided over how charities should spend their money. On one hand, I love the fact that some, such as charity:water, guarantee that 100% of public donations go to the causes advertised, committing to pay for admin/operational costs through corporate sponsorship.

On the other hand, for the majority this just isn't possible; as Mrs H and I continue to build towards the potential of a year away next year, I'm only too aware that we will ourselves need to fundraise to cover some of the costs of our missional efforts.

Is it admirable that Tearfund are investing money donated to them in this way, and being so upfront about it? I rather think it might be. But I wonder if others may be miffed that their gifts and donations have not gone straight to the third world. We humans are funny like that.

back to the grind

Back in Box42 HQ after a couple of (long) weeks on the road this week; between Summer Madness and New Wine, an awful lot of sleep has gone missing somewhere!

In fact, even though we got back from NWI over a week ago, I'm still recovering. So rather than a lengthly discourse on good times had, here's Story House's cracking video from SM of Rend Collective hammering out their new version of a much-loved hymn. (Which we, of course, contributed to - a whole tripod... where's our royalties, Chris?)

award! award!

It's not quite a Golden Cleric, but to some amusement, the Valley of Angels team sidled out of the Bangor Business Awards on Monday night past as recipients of the Best Creative Industries Award.

There's a bit of explaining required here. The inaugural Valley of Angels festival took place in Bangor, Co. Down, at the start of May. There's a lovely website which can explain a lot more about it in particular, and is worth your time for the music videos alone. But then I would say that, as I put them together,

The festival, conceived by audio overlord Les Hume (of EMS Audio and Dawson's Music, both in Bangor) was hauled into shape in as little as two months. For us (that is, Box42) Andrew and myself got stuck in as well to try and cover as much promotional and technical ground as possible. The resulting weekend went well, and all were very pleased.

However, it was only as yer man off the radio was reading out the judge's (admittedly blown-up) comments at the awards on Monday night that I really sat back and realised just how much had been achieved in the first year. For a start, this wasn't just a music festival - we had arts (the Firsty? Pop-Up Exhibition), schools involved (colour-in competition!) massive engagement from local churches (including Psalmody and the set-piece closing event, where Iain Archer, Captain Cameron et al sent spine-tingling waves throughout the unique, epic confines of Bangor Parish). Not to mention the ice-cream eating contest, or the guided tours, or the visit to the Avalon guitar factory, and so on and so on...

Turns out, we did ok. And more importantly, Bangor seems to want more. It'll be great to see where the Valley of Angels goes next.

at first he died... now, he dead!

Reginald D. Hunter was on BBC Breakfast this morning. He funny.

death and dying: terry pratchett's choosing to die

Across the media this morning, folks are talking, writing and blogging reactions to Sir Terry Pratchett's documentary which aired on BBC2 last night (Monday 13th June.) However, I feel like adding my insignificant two cents, as it is a subject which has always had a profound effect.

Sir Terry, himself suffering the onset of Alzheimer's disease, is personally conflicted. On one hand, he is in favour of the legalisation of assisted suicide in the UK. On the other, on travelling to the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland, he does not see it as a black and white issue.

Terry Pratchett is to me, as to many, a literary and creative hero and inspiration, and this was an compelling piece of film making. Really, you might ask? Well, for example, I believe this could have been a very one sided programme. But rather, I felt that, although he himself clearly had an agenda in making it, the documentary gave a strong voice to both sides of the debate around the morality of assisted suicide. Sir Terry spoke about the horrors of covering suicide as a journalist, and how repulsive he had found it; how he would not wish such an ending on anyone. His PA, Rob, clearly expressed how difficult he found the idea; though loyal to his employer and friend, he came across as strongly opposed to the notion, voicing a clear moral opposition, and from a secular standpoint.

And yet Sir Terry was, himself, exploring and considering his own desire to choose how he should die. Clearly fearful of the loss of his capacity to communicate in particular, he expressed his wish to set and predestine his death. He met others in similar situations; in particular, the charismatic and gentlemanly Peter Smedley, whose death it was which was aired at the climax of last night's programme. In his seventies and beginning to suffer the severe onset of motor neurone disease, he had chosen to complete the Dignitas procedure: we watched as he was examined over the course of a week to ensure that he was capable of making such a decision for himself; as he was asked, repeatedly, if he was sure that he did not want to leave and go back home; and, at the last, as he was allowed to take the two 'medicines' required, and slowly slipped off into a deep sleep as his body was prevented from respirating by the concoction. It was

I don't wish to spend time giving a full airing to both sides of the debate; much of the BBC's airtime on radio and television this AM is dedicated to that, and I commend them for it. (Even Stephen Nolan is currently presenting what is actually a balanced debate on the subject, which must be a first for him.)

But from my own perspective, I struggle greatly with assisted suicide. Dignitas's founder was convinced by the UN Convention on Human Rights that people do indeed deserve to choose how they die: after all, that charter enshrines Article 8: The Right To Self-Determination into law. I then realise that my personal faith contradicts this: in one sense, I have no conflict over the issue, as I do not believe that the moment at which I die is my decision to make, but rather that of the God who made me. And yet even in that, it is not a simple, harsh point to be made.

Most of us have met or know someone who passed away, seemingly confident that they were 'ready to die'. At the funeral of the grandmother of a close friend a few years ago, it was clearly articulated that she had felt she was ready to die for years, as she had suffered a lot of physical pain and exhaustion in later life. Our response to this is one of appreciation: we do not question her statement. And yet we would not offer her the opportunity to decide to do just that prematurely.

There was a fascinating moment last night when Terry Pratchett spoke to a doctor, who was employed by Dignitas to assess the mental capability of clients to make their own decisions. If she had said no, for example, Peter Smedley would not have been allowed to access the toxins required to kill himself. This is reasonably common practice across Western Europe, where in many countries assisted suicide is legal in certain situations. And yet this same doctor articulated that she could never actually administer a lethal dose herself, and that she would be completely morally opposed to it.

Rob, Sir Terry's assistant, kept coming back to his point that as clients at Dignitas had to be mentally and physically capable of kiling themselves, they were therefore all in situations where they usually had many years left to live. Surely, he insisted, did they not want to live those years? When Andrew, a 42 year old man with heavy MS, spoke the day he died of still wanting to explore parts of Zurich, where he had only just arrived, Rob blurted out, "Well, let's go then! Let's go see these places tomorrow," Andrew merely shook his head, resigned to the decision he had made to take his own life instead.

I fear death. I don't think I fear anything as much. That may sound hypocritical from someone who increasingly bangs on about a God so much, but it is nonetheless true. And of all the possibilities for my later years (assuming that I get that far) I don't believe I fear anything more that a death plagued by Alzheimer's, dementia or similar. I feel I would rather be physically incapacitated, but still have my mind, than the other way around. And so I appreciate greatly that a relief, any relief, even the starkest, from this is so tempting for someone in Sir Terry's situation, or in that of any of those featured last night. And yet I know that regardless, with or without faith, I thoroughly believe that we should squeeze as much out of this life as possible. But I cannot currently imagine ever saying I would be 'ready to die'.

And I fear greatly for some of those who would. It was very telling, as Rob told us in last night's show, that according to Wikipedia,

'21% of people receiving assisted dying in Dignitas do not have a terminal or progressive illness, but rather "weariness of life".'

Having known some who have attempted to take their own lives in the past, and often the regret they express afterwards, or the battles with depression others have faced, I am terrified of this possibility being available to anyone.

I fear that this is a debate which is growing. I have some confidence that, certainly in my lifetime, some form at least of assisted suicide will be legalised in the UK. I do not know how I will face it if I ever encounter it amongst anyone I know. I am 99.5% against, for moral, spiritual and practical reasons. And yet that 0.5% of pain remains, as my heart goes out to those faced with the possibility of ending their own suffering. We owe it to ourselves to deal with dying better.

In truth, if you or I am opposed to assisted suicide so strongly, we need to make our case: not in words or statements or even articles of religion, but in comforting, in dedication, and in sympathy for those how suffer. How far we are, as a society, from being able to do that, I can only begin to imagine. The vulnerable and the suffering need a reason to keep living, and only we, their fellow humans, can show it to them.

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and the rains came

A couple of weekends ago, a bunch of lads went for a stroll up some big hills in Co. Down. What ensued was an awful lot of being battered and drenched by the elements. But surprisingly, spirits were high throughout the day, night and following morning until we strolled back down again.

Anyway, one of the minor miracles involved was that we managed to navigate our way up and down a new route, despite visibility dropping to... well, very little in places. It's also hard to keep an eye on a (non-existent) horizon when you're struggling just to stay on your feet. So, for the benefit of the other gents, I took a moment the next day to sketch out the route we took. (Original map courtesy of HM The Queen and suchlike, reproduced without permission because she surely wouldn't mind.)



Mr Jonathan Kirk compiled a small Facebook photo album, but you may need to befriend him in order to see it.

rod liddle and smug humanists

Whilst no saint himself, I greatly enjoyed Rod Liddle's column in the Sunday Times a couple of weeks ago.

On the morning after the apolocalypse was predicted to have occurred, Rod's commented on the events surrounding Harold Camping's failed prediction of armageddon. He may have made a couple of disputable points, which are only to be expected: "Yesterday was supposedly the date of the Rapture... according to millions of born-again Christians across the globe..." Errr, no actually, just a highly misled old man from the States and his - albeit large - band of followers. However, his tempered vitriol is reserved for those who sneer from the other side of faith's Great Divide.

I've taken the liberty of transcribing a large portion of his column: obviously, none of it is my own.


Armageddon and smug humanists: as awful as each other

"It will be a slight disappointment to me if yesterday wasn't actually the end of the world, frankly. It would at least wipe the smile off the faces of those jeering humanists who are busy organising ironic pre-Rapture parties. I suppose schadenfreude and spite are poor reasons to yearn for the utter and complete destruction of mankind, but I cannot help myself. I want to watch the look on Dawkins's face when a giant hand comes down and pokes him in the eye, booming, 'Bad call, science boy.'

"There is something insufferably arrogant and aloof about humanism, its presumption that we represent the bes that there is to offer, that there is nothing more powerful than us. Most of the humanists holding parties over the weekend probably still have the trestle tables left over from their hilariously ironic Not The Royal Wedding street parties, and probably some fo the food too (hummus, I would guess... and organic pitta bread.)

"Dig beneath the surface and you'll find that a fair few of the also believe the end of the world is coming, maybe 30 years or so in the future, the consequence of another foreseen Rature, global warming, with its terrible herald of forlorn-looking polar bears marooned on melting icebergs. Floods, famine, pestilence, drought - the prophecies of the global warming movement's militant wing all have an agreeably biblical ring about them, don't you think?

"One way or another there is something inside many of us that yearns for annihilation and is convinced that it is indeed coming very soon, if only the ignorant masses would listen. I suppose it is a form of narcissism, that we have been singled out for special treatment either because of our own piety, in the case of the evangelical Christians, or the ignorance of others, in the case of the global warming millennialists."

Indeed.

appetite for destruction

Permit me a short rant.

Lovers of Patrick: The Movie will remember the Patmobile - which, R plates and all, was in fact the Ford Escort Osprey I inherited from the Old Man (he of 60's public indency fame). It was clapped out, it had 235,000 on the clock, and after the water pump went it sat in my mother's yard for a year. As she prepared to up sticks last October, the end was nigh.

So I found a local breaker, and send it off for destruction. I asked if I needed to do notify anyone, and was assured it was all in hand. And, I'll admit, I left it at that.

But apparently, I should have notified the DVA of such things. Which makes sense when you think about it, but I did not. I guess in the same way that, upon buying a car, the new possessor is obliged to fill out the page in the log book and send if off, I assumed that the folks who took the Escort away would do the same. They did not.

And may I add - completing an Out Of Court Settlement with a Visa Debit card just seems wrong.

thank you for giving

Over the weekend, Mrs H and myself finally managed to organise a particularly special delivery.

Upon getting hitched nearly three months ago, we had decided to nominate a particular cause, rather than setting a wedding list. The cause in question was SIM's (Serving In Mission) Hospital in Galmi, Niger, where Ruth had served as an STA in 2008 and 2009. A quick refresher of a few of Niger facts:

- Niger is in central West Africa;
- It is the third least developed country in the world;
- Its main (and frequently, only) export is uranium;
- It is about twice the size of the US state of Texas, is 88% desert;
- it has a recent history of civil war and insurrection.

Fun times. But despite all of that, Ruth found Niger an truly wonderful and awesome place. As is often the case, behind a few hairy facts lies a welcoming, if harsh, place. In particular, the rural (i.e. it's in the desert) hospital at Galmi is crucial in many ways. For a huge swathe of the country it offers the only real medical support, particularly for any kind of specialist care. Moreover, as a hospital with a strongly Christian ethos, it can provide a level of compassionate care the few others can ill afford, and is able to bring in international doctors to help out.

But to the golden envelope. The point of this post is to say that thanks to the overwhelmingly generous donations of family and friends to mark our wedding, we have been able to give in excess of £2000 directly to Galmi. A fantastic total from some fantastic people, and we would like to take the opportunity to say thank you to all who gave in any way.

So thank you for giving.