Gentrification is Good

There are places in London that I know I should visit regularly, but only do when I have visitors from the States. Borough Market is one of them, to which I took Michele who is here from LA.  It's a market at the south end of London Bridge which in one form or another has existed since before the arrival of the Romans in the first decades of the first century.  In the last ten years or so it has experienced a marvellous rebirth; not only the market, but the the entire surrounding area has been revitalised. What were once run-down warehouses near the River Thames, have become 'sheeshy' shops and restaurants; and old down-market pubs have been resurrected into trendy and viable meeting/drinking places.  It's become a bit of a Mecca for the middle classes. In short, my kind of place - beautiful shops, beautiful people and beautiful food. 

I know that a lot of people will tut at the this kind of gentrification, but why?  It is expendable cash that makes the revival of such an area possible, and so creating entrepreneurial opportunities for others.  A 'gentrified' Borough Market (and others like it throughout London) provide an outlet for a variety of foods and products which would have no market at all unless there were people willing and able to spend that 'little bit more'.  Organic goods or products made carefully and on a small scale plainly cost more, and we cannot expect that these kind of enterprises will be kept going by those who live on very limited incomes.  If they are to flourish it is up to those of us who who have that bit extra to patronise them. For doing this we shouldn't be made to feel guilty or that we are somehow selling out. Instead, we should enjoy it!  

For my part, I know that I will be going out to Borough Market more often, spending, delighting in the excitingly vibrant place it has become and sincerely hoping that other such places will emerge.

Things Hidden in Darkness

It is just about the end of Advent and I am almost finished reading Dickens' A Christmas Carol for the up-teenth time. It's a book I try to read every year during this time because it is so profoundly about the themes of Advent, one of which is to see ourselves for who we really are and seriously to consider where the decisions of our lives have brought us. Advent is about the approaching light that is coming into the world (whether you want to believe that is Christ or the returning sun, I think is immaterial), and acknowledging the invitation to see ourselves in that clearer light.  It is this offer which is made to Ebenezer Scrooge.  In his case, he is invited to see his life and decisions from the point of the view of the bystander, of the onlooker, and by doing so he finds redemption.  He finds real wholeness within himself and connection with his fellow human beings.

As a Christian, one of my favourite and yet most disturbing Advent passages is from the first letter of Paul to the Corinthians: when 'the Lord comes [he] will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart' (1 Corinthians 4.5).  What would we do differently if we knew, without a doubt, that one day our thoughts and actions — no matter how private or secret we might consider them to be — would be exposed for all to see?  Or, what if we were made to be spectators of our own lives, watching ourselves as we make decisions, take actions and interact with others?  How differently would we behave, if we could really see our actions and choices in a different light, a light different from that of our own personal and often short-sighted viewpoint? Would we agree with ourselves as we watched ourselves, or would we simply look away in disappointment, shame and embarrassment?

As a spectator of his own life, Scrooge often found himself embarrassed, ashamed and disappointed; watching his life from the perspective of the outsider he found it wanting. I think that many of us would find the same. Sometimes to get a better perspective, we have to stand back and let others show us what they see. Sometimes we have to stand back and see what we think we know, in a different light; see it in a clearer light, a truer light.

Ghosts on the Platform

Last weekend I was in Munich and it was great. It was my fourth trip to Germany, and each time I go I like it more. The beauty of her cities, friendliness of the her people and  the wonderful sense of order and cleanliness appeal to me. For a while, I had felt a bit odd (guilty?) about liking it so much, because no matter how you look at it you cannot separate Germany from a particular part of its history: the violence of the Nazi government and the horrors of the Holocaust; and I think that the Germans will be the first to admit that is true.  The evidence and memory of the time remains, through museums and memorials, but also (and sometimes less obviously) through the actual places where significant events occurred.  In my trips to Germany, I have visited several memorials to the Holocaust, but also the place where Hitler's bunker was (now on the spot, there is a rather drab block of flats), the site of the SS headquarters and the plaza that witnessed the book burning of 1933.  These have all had their effect on me, and I had expected them to.  

However, what I had not expected was the absolute sadness I feel at train stations.  This very ordinary aspect of German life is, in its very ordinariness, almost distressing.  For me the feeling of sadness is palpable and heightened by the the fact that the stations remain fulfilling the same purpose they did seventy years ago, moving people from place to place.  The former concentration camps are now memorials, their original purpose for ever transformed.  Hitler's bunker has been demolished and built over.  The former site of the SS headquarters in Berlin is a barren place that houses an exhibit, the Topography of Terror. But, there at the train stations are — if not exactly the same rails — the same routes and places of departure not only for those trains that set out for the east, but also for those trains which set out for far more hospitable destinations and in far greater comfort.  From the same place departed trains for holiday destinations and also for places far less innocent and far more sinister.  And there is something extremely poignant about that.

I still love Germany and want to visit often, but every once in a while as I am myself riding on one of the newer trains there, I spy an older train car on an unused bit of line and wonder....

Welcome

I loved this image of a celebratory question mark. I love questions because they're so full of possibilities (as a friend reminds me, for good or bad I am all about the possibilities).  And fireworks.  Who doesn't love fireworks?  So, I thought I'd use this image to launch, after many encouragements and some haranguing by a few of you, my blog:...What I Know Now.  Feeling particularly nostalgic lately I almost called it 'If I Knew Then...', but thought better of it. It's a new beginning, so I'm focusing on the positive.  The fact is that when it comes right down to it, life is really not about what I didn't know in the past but what I have learned from the past and know now.  Ah, a taste of things to come.

Things to come?  Yes.  So, what are you gonna find here in the months to come?  To be honest, I am not really sure - that's where the question mark comes in - but let's see what happens.  Probably you'll get some of my mental ramblings and a few provisional conclusions.  Every once and a while you'll get some feedback about a book I may be reading or a movie I've have seen. Well-argued rants on the Church?  Certainly. Insightful theological life tips?  Probably.  And of course, cutting observations on living in London, with bits of Europe thrown in for good measure

I hope that you'll keep coming back and that you will post some comments. And if you know anyone who is looking to discover a new writing sensation, pass on the link.