Category: mental health

Christianity during Covid

Christianity during Covid

Nostalgia is a wonderful tool, it gives the mind respite. Memories allow us to keep focus, feed a desire to right wrongs and reinstate the innocence of yesteryear. 

A lot of my nostalgia is set in the North of England. Not exclusively, but the community I grew up in was strong. Hardy. I was privileged. 

This week saw the closure of The York Minster School due to Covid-19. It concludes a tempestuous time for the historic Chapter-led establishment in YO1. First there was the BB gun saga that saw Headmaster Donaldson suspended by Chapter, then later resign. There was then the sadness of another former Head growing evermore unwell. Both graced the alto line for decades in YM too, I wouldn’t be where I am without them.

There have been countless more. The storm that Dean Ray Furnell brought in with the Millennium was mighty, there was the controversial sacking of a lay clerk after internal accusations a decade later, not to mention the safeguarding scandal around the bellringers. Go back further and you’ll discover two heartbreaking suicides from within their ranks. It seems questionable I have nostalgia at all really, but oh how I do.

What I am getting at is this: As these tragedies stack up, they become harder to acknowledge as blips. Why does God’s House suffer so? Why York? What did they do to get it so bad? 

Well the sad truth is – they are not an extreme, York just happens to be my hometown.

Countless controversies shroud our cathedrals and churches. Twenty five years of choirstall occupancy has taught me that. Covid-19 is not the fault of the Church. They did not predict the financial desolation, nor the now empty vessels that prop up our skylines. They are however, in complete control of their reaction.

For the first time in my life, our world paints a portrait more befitting of the Old Testament. I grew up ensconced in the Gospel of the New Testament, the concept that we break bread together and that death had lost its sting. I was surrounded by the warmth of older siblings, albeit not withstanding our own family dramas that made life far from idyllic. Now though, I oft awake alone to death tolls and psalmodic impressions. Time to call on that hardy nostalgia me thinks.  

My current mood comes from Psalm 74. It is a wonderful prose that repeatedly pleads: “Wherefore art thou absent from us so long? Why is thy wrath so hot against the sheep of thy pasture?” This is musically brought to life in many cathedrals with the use of SSAA to emphasise the starkness and helplessness of the questions.

Another verse that resonates is from Ps. 59: “They go to and fro in the evening. They grin like a dog and run about through the city.” Talk about an irate, lockdown defying illustration. One Alex Donaldson drew in detail on the Dec Alto 2 copy, incidentally.

My real sadness is that so few of us have asked God these questions from Ps. 74. Instead we bicker, argue over hearsay and compare online influence as we are forced to worship irregularly. 

There are so many issues in the world, many beyond our control. We are also under the shackles of a useless, elitist government here in England. If there is one thing the Bible teaches on repeat, it is that we are all equal in the eyes of God. This resonates emphatically with the George Floyd injustice and the racism still prevalent in society.

With these issues opening our News each morning, it is fair to argue that we are in a deep affliction passing resemblance to Old Testament poetry. King David talks of a society ravaged by evil and begs his God for divine intervention. Disease and pestilence rule the land rather than mercy and kindness.

For me, there is no denying that this is a crossroads for society, just like those documented in days of yore. We are being forced to face all our demons at the same time. Murder, disease, climate control, inequality on a global scale – People understandably fear the end of the world. I don’t believe we are there just yet, but there is a definite “kick up the backside” forcing us to to rectify wrongs with sobering casualties along the way. 

I have felt airs of envy for those who have died as of late. Not of their pain and suffering, more the kinder climate to which the kind-hearted can return. I appreciate the thought is dark and unrefined, but what sort of musician isn’t?

I do have moments of excitement too. As nostalgia grows stale, I feel forced to make a better future. A future where younger people can look back fondly like I once did. With fewer comforts behind us, we must forge greater memories ahead. 

I end with two final passages from the Book of Psalms:

“But as for his own people, he led them forth like sheep, and carried them in the wilderness like a flock. He brought them out safely, that they should not fear.” – Psalm 78.

“Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.” – Psalm 37.

Gazza -His tears the media refuse to recognise

Gazza -His tears the media refuse to recognise

At 1am this morning, July 11, 2016, The Sun published pictures of Paul Gascoigne “at a new low” as he exposed himself to photographers and neighbours alike after a run to the shop to buy drink.

Revered for his footballing talent, the former England, Tottenham and Newcastle legend is also a renowned alcoholic.

His shortcomings have been well-documented due to his stardom, but alcoholism is an epidemic that strangles the British nation. The North-East’s sweetheart is far from an anomaly amongst healthier statistics.

Football is an unforgiving business when it comes to mental health. The stories of George Best and Gary Speed are painful reminders of how suffering fell on deaf ears. The post-mortem of regret and sympathy do little to bring back the characters lost forever from the world and the game alike.

This unfolding story of Paul Gascoigne raises alarm bells to anyone who has witnessed a similar story. But with the media’s co-operation and awareness of England as a whole, it isn’t too late.

Whilst alcoholism does grip the mind, eclipsing sense and rationale with a poison that floods the majority of the brain, there is a little window of honesty that peers through the crack in the wall.

To allow yourself to be degraded in such a way, to fall out of your gown as you stagger into a taxi as Gazza did this morning, is a call for help.

Alcoholism is a crafty illness, with a personality that feeds off deception. The victims trick themselves, convinced that another drink may null any onrushing anxiety. But they also hoodwink those around them, concealing both their depression and how they continue to get hold of drink against the advice of others.

Hailing a taxi to an off-licence in the early hours let Gazza show the world that he was past caring. He is instantly recognisable, especially in his native north-east.The depressive ingredient took hold, outweighing hope.

The football world needs to wake up and help. For all its wealth and power, it so often loses sight of humanity and the sense of tending for its own. The entire industry is built on support, loyalty is what makes any turnstile across the country tick over.

England are in danger of losing a great before his time, just like Northern Ireland and Wales have in recent times. The story from The Sun this morning, as clumsily and recklessly as it was delivered, should be served as a warning to all those who have the opportunity to step in.

The age-old cliche that nobody but an alcoholic puts that drink to their mouth is a vile, dated and offensive concept. Yes, the sufferer’s body makes the final decision. They yield the axe over their own head. But anybody who knows them has the opportunity to stop that from happening.

If we could cure cancer with love, support and devotion, we would. The same can be said of dementia, of Alzheimer’s too. What do you think charities are trying to do? The mortality rate of alcoholism can be combatted with empathy, patience and support.

I beg those with even an ounce of self-respect in the media: Next time you see a man at his wits end falling out of a taxi with his body exposed, don’t reach for your camera. Put it down, rush over, take his hand and help him back. Go through his phone not for your contacts, but for his to find support.

To those fortunate enough to work in the beautiful game? Reach out and combat it’s uglier side.