Monday 26 November 2007

Monday Night at St James' Piccadilly

When will I ever learn?


I did my usual trick last night of jumping to conclusions and being completely wrong. I never cease to amaze myself with my lack of perception but fortunately life has its ways of tricking me into doing what's good for me.

Several weeks ago I checked the programme of speakers st St James' and saw something about pilgrimages and immediately decided it wasn't the kind of thing I cared to hear about. You could say it came from my ingrained suspicion of all things to do with piety and religion. And my tendency to generalise and throw out babies and bath water as a result. Oh well!

So how did I end up going to the talk anyway? Well, I was in Wimbledon yesterday evening having coffee with daughter Nell unable to check the St James' programme via the internet. I was not really feeling full of beans and it occurred to me to go straight home but then I thought, well why not just go to whatever talk it was anyway? It's that kind of thought that's interesting. I could so easily have thought, sod it, let's just go home. But for some reason I didn't.

So I caught the overland train to Waterloo and bus up to Piccadilly.

When I got to the Church just before 6.30 the place was still closed and that didn't look promising. No queue outside, no buzz of interest. I went to the Costa next door and had a peppermint tea and started a sudoku.

At 6.50 I strolled in to join a pretty sparse gathering of faithfuls. I like to sit right at the front, not out of keenness but because they have some soft seated rows of chairs there and the pews get me right across the back. So I sat down and carried on my soduko, vaguely aware of a couple of old boys droning on to my left.

Why do people talk so much bollocks? Everywhere you go, cafes, buses, trains, there are people rabbiting on about crap. In the cafe where I'd had my peppermint tea there were a couple of women right next to me wondering earnestly and at length what Venus signified in their chart. I mean, it just makes me sad if I can see by just glancing at them that they would no more be honest in any relationship they were floundering in than strip naked on the tube. The frustration is not being able to lean over and put them straight. On the train home there were a young couple debating what piece of computer game kit to buy. Fair enough but not for ten minutes! People separated from each other by the trivia on their minds. Such a waste of life. It hurts my heart.

Anyway, back to St James'. The one guy to my left is always there and always leaps up to be one of the three to light a candle. He also invariable asks a question at the end that turns out to be a boring trip into his subconscious need to compete for attention. The chap he was speaking to seemed to be his kind of guy so I was feeling even less optimistic when I perceived the evening's speaker across the way. He looked odd, 60ish, very "straight", dressed in yellowish cords, brown shoes, a blue short sleeved cardigan and a cravatte. What on earth was the talk about? I still had no idea as I hadn't stopped to check on the way in. If I had I would probably have turned away and gone home. Funny how life works.

The chap with the mike came out and said the speaker was John Brierley and he was going to talk about pilgrimages. Oh bugger! It would be hard to escape sitting right at the front. Then the one old boy jumped up as per usual to light his candle and we were getting to the bit where you have to chat to someone near you for a couple of minutes. I was scanning around vaguely dreading engaging with one of the old buffers nearby. There was no one else in the row I was in and the chap just behind looked too shy to save me so I gave in and chatted to the old boy I hadn't seen before. He turned out to be a nice enough chap who was understanding when I shared my qualms about the subject that had now been revealed to us by the chap with the mike. He gestured to the sparse gathering. I joked with him about how I might creep out on my belly if it was too boring to bear.

And so John began his talk. Immediately, from the tone of his voice I knew it would be a worthwhile evening. Relaxed and confident but in no way a "professional" speaker on the circuit. He spoke from the heart so obviously that it was a joy. He spoke of his early career and his break at the age of 39. How he'd taken his family off to Findhorn. How he'd agonised before posting his letter of resignation from the job he'd left behind. Clearly a man of principle and brought up in a traditional way and here he was breaking with his upbringing and following his quaking heart. I'd hardly even got started on that path in my early twenties before I could stand it no more but I felt for him. He explained the purpose of pilgrimage without ever referring to religious belief. It was all about having space and time for the inner journey. And there he was, a living example of the effects of that journey well taken.

There was no melodrama, no self inflation. A very simple tale, strewn with incidental gems of observation and delight. He even mentioned that his choice of yellow and blue clothing reflected the colours on the signs indicating the pilgrims' path. So much for my hasty judgement!

When it came to showing us a map of the pilgrim routes he hardly knew how to get his laptop working. It pleased me that I could tell him that he needed to hit any key to wake the thing up. Thanks to his son, he was using powerpoint on his Mac and I'm now getting to the point where thanks to my son Will I even know how to scroll down a page using two fingers together. I knew how he felt.

When he presented from the slides he stood right in my line of sight and I had to ask him to move to the side. Then the lap top went to sleep every few minutes as he dwellt at length on the one slide and needed a click to wake it up. The old boy closest to it seemed unlikely as a helper so I moved into the seat next to the machine and kept it alive. When it came to running through the photos of sights along the various paths I clicked the page down button.

It gave me huge pleasure to help such a kind man. It did my heart good listening to someone who was so appreciative of the people he met, the places he'd visited and the wonder of life. He spoke with a simple clarity that carried immense power and authority. He never once attempted as so many speakers do to capture that which cannot be described in words but it was there present in his very essence. What a lovely man!

In the last ten minutes there was time for a few questions and sure enough, the old buffer to my left rambled on about his own journeys in the Himalayas. By doing so he demonstrated very clearly for us the difference between his heart and that of John Brierley.

At the end he asked us all to join him in blowing out the little candle he'd brought with him and as we did so he was overcome with joy and clasped his hands to his chest. My eyes welled up. There was a man fulfilled in his purpose.

When we finished I was close by so I went straight up to him with tears still in my eyes and thanked him for his talk. I told him the misgivings I'd had and what a joy it had been. Confirmed in my new approach to honesty, with my hand on his chest, I said what a lovely heart he had. It made me feel good to get that feeling off my chest and share it with him. As is our wont, he deflected my praise by saying that it took another good heart to perceive that. I smiled and said I was very happy to be me. He said he was very happy to be himself. We had a memorable moment together.

Later at home I phoned Sarah to share with her the lovely experience I'd had and admitted that such shining humility as shown by John Brierley only revealed my lack of it. Her knowing silence only confirmed the truth of my observation. Humility is not my strong suit.
But my heart seems to be in working order and despite all my efforts I did turn up at the talk.

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