I wish you had known my grandfather. He it was who showed me, taught me, and made it possible for me to understand what it is to be loved. This judgement came long after the experience, of course. But you knew that, didn't you? I experienced it most when I had misbehaved in some way. You might think that such action merits punishment. Not by my grandfather, not punishment; more an admonishment – an admonishment which came by way of explanation, and an explanation by way of questioning: Did you have no options? Would you have behaved differently if…?
In my grandfather's company I came to feel most fully myself. There is a strange honesty in love, one wants to be known for who one is, warts and all, perhaps better than one knows oneself. My grandfather listened, waited, replied, sometimes approving, often questioning and laughing as we worked and played together. The words were being filled with associations as we did so. That was then, you understand. My grandfather died when I was twelve.
I should also tell you of my father, who returned from the war a very different man from my grandfather. My father punished. Those punishments were painful and led quickly to separation – I became less than I had known myself to be – and that I deeply resented. My reaction was to be out of the house as much as possible – school was a train ride away and there were several after-school clubs. At home, there was the scout troop, the church youth club and choir, plus a church-based walking group on occasional weekends – you will have guessed that my parents never went to church. Best was saving for an annual season ticket for the swimming bath just down the road – it closed at eight each evening, but the library next door was open until half past!
You will already have made the connection: it was the communities around the church which provided the step. The language became familiar, as did the stories. The contrast between grandfather and father was easily mirrored in scripture, leading me to prefer Hosea to Amos and to be challenged by the strange New Testament stories. Somehow, I risked my own prayers, not to much effect other than that of having simply taken the risk and feeling the better for it – with your existentialism, you will have a ready redescription. I have come to think that my use of 'God' had more to do with the loss of my grandfather than I realised at the time. Addressing 'God' was a kind of experiment which, in a strange and sometimes delightful way, worked. Once trodden, the path widened; I quickly devoured the early English mystics among others. As some of you already know, I understood this, and still understand it, as living and acting as if. But I am running ahead of myself.
Do you remember those early chemistry experiments at school – the ones pupils were allowed to perform? You did what was expected and followed the instructions – which worked – but you didn't really know why. Well, it was like that in church – you did what was expected and followed the instructions, but you didn't really know what was going on. There were right and wrong words and ways of behaving, you chose carefully – and you came to belong!
Perhaps you remember learning to drive? When you were learning, did you know what went on 'under the bonnet'? As it happens, I did, but I also knew that it didn't matter whether you knew or not – you drove as if you knew – there was always a gap between what you did and what actually happened. It was like that with people, there was always a gap between what you did and the outcome – you had to behave as if they would appreciate what you said and did, otherwise you wouldn't say or do anything – and so get left out. Sent from London to Motherwell after school and O-levels, I lived within a family where I found, and learned, a different use of language, one that minded me of my grandfather – a use that I later realised was more like that of lovers – and also consistent with much of that of the mystics.
You know the next step, don't you? If I acted as if something were the case, then that was surely much the same thing as believing it! So, perhaps I had been what they called a believer all along! Such experiences supported me through the steps to ordination and into a parish in Southwark where the welcome from the people was wonderful, but I had misjudged much. 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' I do wish you had known my grandfather…