01 January 2021

Turning the page on a rotten 2020 - what can Unitarians in Ringwood say?

 “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Oh! Unitarians can have pedantic conversations about the meaning of words, how we label ourselves (and others) individually and corporately, which literary and scientific scripts hold most for us personally, our direction of travel based on the paths we assert that we have already  travelled.  And we can make the mistake of airing in the broadcast medium of social media what instead should be addressed in quiet, contemplative dialogue with trusted friends in small groups.  But 'that which connects and that which divides are the same', as may be found engraved on certain old stone bridges in the wilder places in the UK; and we in Ringwood are hopeful for the future.

What do we most want to be and say as we turn this calendar page?  What is the best we can offer, at the moment, from our standpoint as Unitarians in Ringwood?

The Unitarian movement is a nonconforming movement deriving from the historic Church in the British Isles.  Nonconforming because it will not allow itself to be squeezed into a mould of anyone’s making, not by anyone who is fully participating in it, nor by anyone who is standing outside it.  It has attempted at various points in the past, and is yet attempting, to rediscover the Bible and Christianity as if found again with the innocence of fresh eyes.  Attempting to offer non-creedal universality and open reading of our shared cultural language and past.  Feeding into the dialogue, of the past with the present, the universality born of pluralism with insights from all sources hallowed by humanity, no matter how they become labelled.

In Ringwood we are attempting to sustain and grow a committed community, recognising where we each are at present, honouring our travels so far, and seeking a better world, right here and now, interiorly and exteriorly.  And locally.  For despite our online presence and the wide airing it gives us, what we most cherish are our person-to-person encounters in our local setting.

It seems to us in Ringwood that we are a community of faith, if faith is, as Stephen Lingwood says, “a search for a coherent set of stories, symbols, languages and practices that, taken together, offer a way of life that diagnoses a problem in human life and offers a solution......hope, community, vision.”

It seems to us that there is a peace there to be found, if only we look in the right way.

It seems to us that the world is beautiful, good and overflowing with the love and grace of the mystery that we obliquely refer to using the words God, All That Is, and many and various other insufficient labelling systems.

It seems to us that there is an essential relatedness and flow to existence.

It seems to us that human experience is essentially the twinned movements of response and listening in the context of existence.

It seems to us that what unites humans is that we cannot be divided.  We live and breathe in the same world that is, at heart, community, for better and for worse.

It seems to us that we are often blinded by words we hold onto, and imprisoned by ways of thinking and doing, which we have got used to; but if we listen and are ready to answer the call, however we understand the voice, then there is a way forward.

In that light, and given that as well as being the changeover of the year this is also Christmastide, you might imagine that it would seem to us to be right for us to present a message of good cheer.  Angels, music, shepherds, baby in a manger who turned out to have a saving message.  But actually, we don’t feel moved to anodyne words at present.  We are too restless for that; too much struck by discomfort.


As we stand at the deepest point of a multi-dimensional, national turning point:

  • COVID19
  • a new relationship with the European Union and potentially new relationships between the nations of the United Kingdom
  • the rapidly growing societal inequality and the inadequacy of our economic system
  • the emerging recognition of our slowness to dismantle discrimination in all its forms
  • and — over and above all these — the climate emergency and largescale extinction events;

it seems to us that some traditional wisdom from biblical scripture has much to say to us.

Some of us are reading a book by Nick Baines* this Christmas season, and following his lead, we are paying attention to the prophetic voices of Amos and Isaiah across the centuries.

Amos spoke to a complacent people in about the middle of the eighth century BCE.  It was a time of great prosperity and apparent security.  But Amos saw that prosperity was limited to the wealthy, and that it fed on injustice and on oppression of the poor.  The report Amos brings from God is this:

“I hate, I spurn your pilgrim-feasts;

I will not delight in your sacred ceremonies.

Spare me the sounds of your songs;

I cannot endure the music of your lutes.

Let justice roll on like a river

and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”  

Amos, Chapter 5 vv 21-24 

These words seem to us to resonate with our personal disquiet about the general state of the land in which we live today, and what needs to be done about it.


Moreover, we are also aware that many around us today are beyond being consoled.  What can we possibly say that would bring comfort and joy to the bereaved, the destitute, the unwell, the frightened, the lost, for whom 2020 has brought personal catastrophe?


MELANCHOLY by Albert György

It seems to us that the only thing we can say is that, in the words of Nick Baines, "We will stay there with you even when there is nothing more to say and nothing we can say or do will resolve your predicament."


* Freedom is Coming: From Advent to Epiphany with the prophet Isaiah, Nick Baines 2019

11 December 2020

God the ruler of everything - continuing the review of the Apostles' Creed

((Blog editor's note:) Another in the series from one member of our group, looking at the Apostles' Creed in segments.) 


Pantocrator - The ruler of everything

[ From Latin pantocrator, from Hellenistic Ancient Greek παντοκράτωρ (pantokrátōr). ]


‘I believe in God, the Father, the Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth’, and I’m not going to lie: that hasn’t always been easy.  With so much suffering in the world, so much wrong, so much pain and hunger, and sheer incomprehensible darkness, this doesn’t just come across as hard to swallow — it comes across as downright offensive.  I have wrestled with the triad of all-knowing, all-powerful, and all good, and am very aware that that is a circle that cannot be squared no matter how much freewill you apply.  I have clung to the mystery writ large by the Book of Job and felt my fingertips slipping.  I have denied a Creator and braced myself against the cold winds that blew through my life thereafter; and then somehow, without even realising it, I have come to see that I was wrong.

In the West, we have culturally spent so much time proving God’s existence via tried and tested arguments from the world around us, that we have lost track of where our stories about God have come from.  I could not accept a Watchmaker who set things in motion then watched and washed their hands.  I could not respect a Creator who set us up to fail, or an abusive figure who doled out arbitrary rules, which were always going to get broken, and who seemed to relish in an overkill of retribution and punishment.  That God I had to hate, or I had to believe didn’t exist.

Well: that God doesn’t exist, yet tragically the tradition that talks God up is so mixed in with our Western cultural tradition (witness the classical terms I have used in this piece) that we don’t recall that that is not the God that we experience, nor is it the God revealed in the persona of Jesus.


To answer questions, of where the world has come from and why this or that happens, we have built up logical arguments and extrapolations that seek to make the world, and to make God, more intelligible — but in so doing we have lessened them.  Our tradition is rooted in the Bible, rather than the Upanishads, the Pāli Canon or the Qu'ran.  As, over time, we have treated the Bible like a book of information, not inspiration, in so doing we have set pitfalls for our own faith.

The Bible isn’t given us to answer our questions of natural science, geography, or history.  We have other stores of experience, sources of evidence, and the wonder of the questioning mind, to deal with such things. The Bible is a store of spiritual experience, a treasury of moments and characters that have inspired countless generations.  It is a tapestry and mosaic that brings together countless people over time and space.  It is something living, something amazing; we look to it for signs and clues, not simple facts — it is inspired and inspiring. 











When God creates in the Bible we do not see God at the ex nihilo [Latin for “creation out of nothing”] moment of bringing forth from nothing. The ‘beginning’ in the Bible is a beginning point from which to tell the tale. En Arche [the ancient Greek words at the start of Genesis, and the Gospel of John, with the primary senses of “beginning", "origin" or "source of action”] bears resemblance to our fabled  ‘Once upon a time’: it tells you this is where the story starts, what has gone before doesn’t matter, you don’t need an exact date to place it, its relevance isn’t limited to a single instance.  There are multiple ‘beginnings’ in the Bible; that isn’t a problem, as they are all places to begin telling the tale, the greatest Tale, the story of God and humankind. 













The Bible doesn’t say anything about how God made the world, but it tells us again and again that God is what makes the world possible.  God is what sustains everything, everything we see in flux, no single thing constant and remaining, all things distinct yet somehow united: God is what makes the many and the one possible.  The God that we cannot see in God’s many and oneness, yet revealed in the world.  We do not know God apart from the world; we cannot talk of a time where God sat and planned, before the world came into being.  It is in and through the world around us, the world we live in, the body’s world, that we know God, the God ‘in whom we live and move and have our being’ (Acts 17:28). 

We do not encounter the world as a question, no matter how much we may question the many things in it and that happen here.  We are accustomed to try to ask ‘who made the world?’ because we have permitted ourselves a sense that this will validate our belief in God and all that comes from that.  It won’t and it doesn’t.  Trying to separate our experience of God from our experience of the world digs a chasm we cannot cross.  When we ask about 'why the world’ we are asking about some certain part of it, something we can imagine or point to, and in every instance, we do not need ‘God’ as the answer to that question.  The question about ‘why is there something rather than nothing’ answers itself: because there is. 














Left to ourselves the world would present itself as a fact, a reality to be got on with, in the way other animals do; but the Bible, when it tells us about Creation, presents the world as something else.  The world becomes a sign, not just a fact.  The Bible is inspired by that God revealed in the world, and the Bible inspires us to see God there.  Those first two chapters of Genesis tell a tale that will be referred back to again and again throughout the Bible: God walking in the garden with humankind, God looking for us, us hiding from God, choices and consequences, change but ever the same. 


I believe in God the Almighty, omnipotent, the source of all potential, all that might be.  God is not a wizard or an Olympic lifter; the bearded guy in the clouds is too little, the Watchmaker too mean.  I could not believe in those puppets and shadows, but I can embrace a certainty that everything comes from something, that everything is held together and somehow in all its multiplicity is one.  I can believe in God as all that might be, more than all that is and ever was but the foundation of it all the same.

I believe in God the Maker of Heaven and Earth.  I do not know the how of things but I do know that the world, as the Bible tells it, was made for God to walk in with humankind, and I know that that has never changed nor ever will, no matter how often we hide, or how often the plan seems to go wrong. 

I can find answers with my reason for all manner of things that happened in the world, choices and consequences, both foreseeable and not so.  I know that understanding why something happened doesn’t make it ok — we can learn from it but that doesn’t change it or expunge it.  But that’s consistent, because we don’t encounter in the Bible a God who makes everything ok, a God who protects all the righteous and deals out comeuppance to the wicked, quickly and easily. We do not find a God in the Bible who has a store of good things if you just ask nicely enough, if you just believe strongly enough.  We do not encounter such a God there, just as we do not encounter such a God anywhere.  If we struggle to believe in God as the Almighty and the Maker of Heaven and Earth, perhaps the question we should be asking is not ‘have we been betrayed by God’ but ‘have we betrayed ourselves and others by preaching a deity who never was’.  The God of the Bible is ever present not separate from the world.  The God of the Bible is seen in the world acting through those who answer God’s call.  God is shown looking for us, walking with us, talking to us. 

If you struggle to believe in God the Almighty, perhaps it’s time to ditch ‘God of the-ATM-in-the-sky and get-what-you-deserved-on-earth’.

I believe in God the Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth.




07 November 2020

The missing man - Remembrance in Ringwood Meeting House

Some years ago our new group of Unitarians and friends started meeting in the Meeting House in Ringwood.  The Meeting House had been owned by a Unitarian congregation until the 1970s, in continuous operation as a place of worship for dissenting Protestants since 1727.  We think of ourselves as their natural successors.

Like many other churches in the country, the Meeting House congregation lost some of their number in the Great War of 1914-1918, and they commemorated their loss on this board.


A few years ago, someone investigating their family tree visited Ringwood, looking for the name of a family member on the town's War Memorial; but it wasn't there.  However, in dropping into the Family History archives held at the Meeting House, the name was found on the commemoration board.  In this way it was revealed that there was a name missing from the War Memorial.

This weekend we remember the loss of all military personnel and civilians who have placed themselves between us and danger, that our liberty might be sustained.  We remember how much we risk, when we allow our human discourse to descend into rancour and anger.  And we live with a sense of gratefulness, when we are able, that life is ours to live; life that we cannot create but only nurture or let wither.

At this time of grief, grief for and remembrance of so many things, I heed this message from Stephen Lingwood, a Unitarian minister in Cardiff:

"Unitarians must recognise that the world and human nature do not reflect perfectly the image of the divine..... it is nevertheless worth saying that we live in a world where things are imperfect: that there is a problem in human experience.  And it is not merely a technological problem that can be solved by technological thinking.  It is not simply that the world is organised in such a way that causes suffering and pain, and if we found the right way to organise it these problems would vanish.  That was the thinking of many in the past, and it could be argued that it was the thinking underlying the atrocities of the twentieth century.  Technology and technocratic thinking did not lead us to become better human beings, it simply made us more efficient at killing....Rather, the problem is theological: it is a problem inherent in what it means to be human, and it is a problem that requires a theological solution, or, in other words, salvation."

If you are saddened or troubled in these times, try the poppy meditation here:

Poppy Meditation