Grey is the Colour of Hope ~ The March Beagle
Remember the Unseen, Stand with the Silenced
“I had to decide who to believe in, my teachers,
the government, and the TV media, or God”
Irina Ratushinskaya
(Poet, Russian dissident)
"For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all,
so that I might win more of them."
The First Letter to the Corinthian Church
Hello dear friends,
Ah, spring stirs from slumber here, stretching her limbs—drowsy yet inexorable, unfurling in quiet arrival of crocuses, snowdrops and daffodils. Very soon, the magnolias will be in full bloom, each variety unveiling its splendour. In the home we once owned, a magnificent white magnolia stood at the garden’s edge, lavish in its annual flowering. I miss it and oh the scent, heaven!
More often than not, I come to The Beagle unsure of where the threads of thought and creativity will weave. I saved the opening image a couple of weeks ago—seeing the bird’s melody take visible form was enchanting. Placing it here today, in light of the ideas stirring within me, feels once again like a whisper of heavenly direction—Grey is the colour of hope. But these are not my words, they are borrowed with gratitude and humility from poet Irina Ratushinskaya, who I have featured a little here this month in Poetry.
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The image below pretty much sums up my month. I had two graded papers due, a book to read with written reflection plus the weekly pre-reading for lectures and seminars. I found this gorgeous stained glass book in my local library and would dip into that between writing streaks.
Did you know I link every book, film, recipe etc in the Beagle? Where you see words in BOLD and UNDERLINED, simply click the link.
"Lord God, whatever I have written which is of Thine, let Thy people recognise. If I have written aught which is of mine, forgive Thou, and let Thy people forgive."
~ St.Augustine
Ruminations
I often struggle with the life I live in light of the life I see others having to endure or suffer. I find myself stuck within my own comfortable rut. Reading theologian Søren Kierkegaard this month was challenging, not merely academically but spiritually, it disrupted my inner world. Practice in Christianity is a dense read, at the time of its writing Kierkegaard was specifically addressing issues he saw within the 19th century Danish Lutheran State Church. The DLSC was a dominant institutional form of Christianity in Denmark which Kierkegaard termed "the established Christendom". Kierkegaard saw it as inherently compromised, no longer requiring personal sacrifice and lacking a genuine commitment to the teachings of Jesus. The DLSC displayed an outward pride but possessed an inward bankruptcy. Through his expositions Kierkegaard highlights a believer's need for offence for true repentance, self-abasement, authentic discipleship vs a social Christendom and presents an overall critique of the then contemporary Church.
As I explored in my recent reflection on Kierkegaard’s Practice in Christianity, he exposes how many desire the loftiness of Christ’s triumph but bypass His abasement—His way. He argues that true Christianity is found in Christ’s offensiveness, humiliation, rejection, persecution, and foolishness, drawing us beyond comfort and tradition (Rom 8:17)
How do I place myself in discomfort when life is so . . . padded?
I don’t believe there is a formula, though we often crave one. Paul wrestled with this very tendency when writing to the Corinthian church, which had embraced the radical asceticism of the time. This ideology held that abstaining from bodily pleasures led to greater spirituality. Yet Paul firmly countered this view, affirming that the body is a good and God-given gift—one to be honoured, delighted in, and shared in love (1 Cor 7:1–7; 6:19–20). See also Col 2:20–23; 1 Tim 4:1–4.
My wrestling is less about struggle itself and more about cultivating an inner posture that resists comfort and remembers those in need. Falling to my knees comes easily in crisis, but most of life, thankfully, is not lived in crisis. I've heard it said that the greatest trap of ageing is the relentless pursuit of comfort. It makes sense—we naturally seek security, stability, pensions, aged care, a permanent home, a steady career, good schools and friendships for our children, and a church community. Yet in our quest for these things, do we risk losing something vital?
I am naturally drawn to true-life hero stories—figures like my featured poet, Irina Ratushinskaya, who carved poetry into bars of soap while imprisoned in the gulag. I see them as part of the great cloud of witnesses I must surround myself with, keeping me in the balanced tension I strive to hold. I am not imprisoned, yet I must live as if bound—a prisoner of Christ and a servant to all.
"The church is the church only when it exists for others... It must tell men of every calling what it means to live for Christ, to exist for others."
Dietrich Bonhoeffer – Letters and Papers from Prison
Even in deprivation and suffering, Irina wrote words of hope and life for others. She drew from a depth that defied the darkness—or was it the weight of the darkness itself that called it forth? Paul and Peter, deep in the bowels of prison, lifted a song that shook the earth, broke chains, and flung open doors so others walked free (Acts 16:25–26). In light of this, my reading of Kierkegaard this month has been more than an academic exercise. It has been a confrontation—a reminder that faith, if it is to be real, must unsettle, disrupt, and reorient me. It must also bear fruit.
Genuine faith demands active, lived expression, not passive intellectual assent. Yet few (if any) of us live monastic or incarcerated lives—circumstances that may foster a unique kind of fruitfulness, where pressure and suffering press forth oil and wine.
What can be done, what is the answer, the cure to my Western, white, lower/middle class Christianity? Remembrance.
“They asked only one thing, that we remember the poor, which was actually what I was eager to do.” (Gal 2:10)
“Those who oppress the poor insult their Maker, but those who are kind to the needy honour him.” (Prov 14:31)
“Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and will be repaid in full.” (Providence 19:17)
“Learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.” (Isa 1:17)
A great reminder going into Lent —“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice… Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?” (Isa 58:6-7)
“Give justice to the weak and the orphan; maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.” (Ps 82:3-4)
“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” (James 1:27)
“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” (Matt 25:35-40)
Kierkegaard warns against a faith that settles into comfort, that admires Christ from a safe distance rather than following Him into abasement. Irina Ratushinskaya, in the depths of suffering, refused to let darkness silence her; instead, she created, resisted, and gave hope to others. Their examples press upon me—how do I remain alert in a life that so easily numbs? How do I resist the slow drift into complacency? The answer, I think, lies in choosing discomfort, in cultivating an inner posture of remembrance, in allowing myself to be unsettled by the needs of others. Faith must be lived, embodied, and poured out—like poetry on soap, like a song in a prison cell, like oil broken at Christ’s feet.
Still Life
Spring Hopefuls
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Poetry
‘Believe me’
by Irina Ratushinskaya
Believe me, it was often thus:
In solitary cells, on winter nights
A sudden sense of joy and warmth
And a resounding note of love.
And then, unsleeping, I would know
A-huddle by an icy wall:
Someone is thinking of me now,
Petitioning the Lord for me.
My dear ones, thank you all
Who did not falter, who believed in us!
In the most fearful prison hour
We probably would not have passed
Through everything – from end to end,
Our heads held high, unbowed –
Without your valiant hearts
to light our path.
(Kiev, 10 Oct. 1986)
What a beautiful depiction of feeling the power of other’s prayer beneath you.
A writer I have just discovered on Substack is Deidre Braley, her poem The Devil Lives in Bucha brought to tears, the right disruptive kind, the type I’ve been sharing about.
Art (of a fashion)
Photograph - MR CHURCHILL IN HIS SIREN SUIT AT THE WHITE HOUSE. 3 JANUARY 1942, WASHINGTON DC, USA. DURING MR CHURCHILL'S MISSION TO AMERICA.
Here, we see British wartime Prime Minister Winston Churchill in what he called his siren suit. During wartime Britain, Churchill was preoccupied with protecting the country and defending the freedom of its European neighbours—dressing up for the occasion was a luxury he did not afford himself. Designed before the war, the siren suit became his go-to attire due to its practicality; it was easy to throw on, giving the appearance of being fully dressed (something he didn’t always manage!) before heading straight to work—often in the bunkers.
Listening
Song by Sheku Kanneh-Mason, cellist.
This is such a beautiful album to have on while pottering around the house.
Watching
White Bird
From Lionsgate—
From the best-selling author of Wonder, the book that sparked a movement to “choose kind,” comes the inspirational next chapter. In White Bird, we follow Julian (Bryce Gheisar), who has struggled to belong ever since he was expelled from his former school for his treatment of Auggie Pullman. To transform his life, Julian’s grandmother (Helen Mirren) finally reveals to Julian her own story of courage — during her youth in Nazi-occupied France, a boy shelters her from mortal danger. They find first love in a stunning, magical world of their own creation, while the boy’s mother (Gillian Anderson) risks everything to keep her safe. From director Marc Forster (Finding Neverland and Christopher Robin), screenwriter Mark Bomback, and based on R.J. Palacio’s book, White Bird: A Wonder Story, like Wonder before it, is an uplifting movie about how one act of kindness can live on forever.
Beast Games
There’s nothing more entertaining or educational than human behaviour! This insane series was so much fun and edge of your seat viewing.
[Occasionally my recommendations may not be for everyone. My choice of films, books etc are based on my particular tastes and tolerances. Just a note for my G-rated friends]
Reading
Grey is the Color of Hope by Irina Ratushinskaya.
Practice in Christianity by Søren Kierkegaard.
I will publish my full Oxford paper with my reflections on this book for monthly paid subscribers later this month.
The Crucified God by Jürgen Moltmann. My next assigned reading and reflection due end of this month.
Recipe
As you may know, I love Franceso Mattana’s simple, delicious answer elegant Italian cooking. I’m going to be making this for my family this month:
Pennette, Panna e Salmone
If you wish to substitute the white wine Francesco recommends using water to deglaze the pan instead of the wine and then towards the end of the cooking, straight after you’ve added the pasta, you can add a touch of lemon juice for the acidity 👌
Ingredients
300g mezze penne
150ml single cream
150g smoked salmon
100ml white wine
1 small shallot
3 tsp of capers
20g fresh parsley
1 heaped tsp tomato paste
Black pepper
Salt
Extra virgin olive oil
Method - see the clip, so easy!
For Fun
Signing off
Thank you for your lovely emails and messages, I take great delight in hearing from you. I hope you enter this month with renewed hope and purpose, you are deeply loved by God, He sees you.
With love and blessings,
Jacqui X
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I so enjoyed reading this month’s Beagle in the bath at the end of an insanely busy Sunday! It’s been my mini-Sabbath rest 🛀 My kids have been enjoying the beast games, I, on the other hand adored White Bird 🦉
I so much love these monthly beagles. I savoured this one this sunny Sunday in the Netherlands and love to read your paper later this month.