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BRLSI BELIEF LECTURE SERIES To some an irrelevance, to others vital sustenance. Belief is a touchstone to the human predicament. An unquenched thirst for spirituality coexists with numbing materialism. Thinning congregations in some communities belie proliferation in others. In some ecstatic, in others vacuous. What is belief? Why does it bind, why does it divide? This New Series offers no pulpits; we seek speakers whose subjects will interest no less the Unsure than the Believer – they should fascinate all.
From Rags to Riches: the Tumblings and Searchings of St Francis of Assisi John Reynolds Franciscan Tertiary 16 Feb 2004 This evening is all about choices; about Believing and truth, about Belonging, and about Becoming and formation - the three Bs. Believing How do we come to the right choice? Some things we are given to learn. Others come through experience, by noticing contrast (you can’t read white ink on white paper), but we are fallible, as shown in two little tests. Fill three bowls with water, very hot on the left, tepid in the middle, cold on the right. Place your left hand in the hot bowl, your right in the cold. After two minutes, place both in the middle bowl; your left hand will tell you it’s cold, your right hand, warm. We are fallible. Another test is to stand in a field of glorious yellow flowers of oil-seed rape. After a short while the brain tires and sees white. Take out a little blue book, and you see yellow again, all to do with contrast and stimulation, as also with unpunctuated music or speaking. So I’ll pause occasionally in my talk. In childhood, truth is black and white, following rules, opposite to lies. Then again the poetic truth in Father Christmas can cause angst when found out. The contrast between truth and falsehood is discovered, as we mature, to be enmeshed with our social history, with spin down the ages, like reinterpreting Shakespeare’s Richard III with more humanity. In the west, we rely on looking for the truth in business, whereas in some places the truth is the answer that makes the questioner happy. In maturity, truth is a process, a becoming; a poem of good words, like this by the American poet Emily Dickinson: This world is not conclusion; A sequel stands beyond, Invisible, as music, But positive, as sound. It beckons and it baffles; Philosophies don’t know, And through a riddle, at the last, Sagacity must go. To guess it puzzles scholars; To gain it men have shown Contempt of generations, And crucifixion known. Truth may also lie in the beautiful reasonings of mathematics, and in absolutes and certainties, such as absolute zero, time and the speed of light, taxes, and death. For some, God fills in the gaps, though beyond the Big Bang there is now talk of a singularity! Some conjecture God wonderfully as a hologram, an image on glass, and complete on every piece, should the glass break.
Belonging. My own journey started at the age of four, when my godfather gave me The Wind In The Willows and I snuggled up in bed as it was read to me every night. Little Portly, the baby otter, gets lost and Mole and Rat try to find him; rowing through the dusk, they hear music, disembark onto an island and find a clearing through the undergrowth where Little Portly is curled up in the lap of the Piper at the Gates Of Dawn, Pan, the God of the Creatures. He is safe, and the writing so beautiful, that in that fleeting moment, I felt I knew about God. People say, ‘I wish I had your faith’, but the Chairman reminded us in his introductory quotation from Francis Bacon, ‘If a man begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he be content to begin with doubts, he will end in certainties’. I would sooner they preferred my doubts, because faith is hard work. From childhood also (perhaps a Benedictine idea) I recall a nice compartment in a railway carriage with interesting people, asleep or just being. If you’re lucky you leave for the restaurant car, and later return, and there’s the same, familiar compartment. Then you think: but it’s moved from Paddington to Reading, so it’s not the same place, also the world has turned and time has gone, very worrying. In Chaucer’s day we tried to define ourselves as melancholic, choleric, sanguine or phlegmatic; each had signs of earth, air, fire and water, identifying as hot and dry, hot and wet etc our personal type. Today other methods help us, such as the Myers-Briggs personality indicator, which I have used at Wells for a course exploring spirituality. In assessing suitability for kinds of work, it uses four sets of alternatives: Extrovert or Introvert (excited at meeting people, or tired, and getting your energy by being alone); Intuitive or Sensory (whether you just know your decisions, or add them up from your senses); Feeler or Thinker (the person who is empathetic, or else logical); and Perceptive or Judgemental (very American, reacting to the moment, or else makes lists and organises). I’m an ENFP (extrovert, intuitive, feeling, perceptive), good for being an actor, for imagining being somebody else. NF is interesting; most priests are NF, maybe the female side of our characters. There’s another currently more fashionable approach, the Enneagram, derived from the Islamic Sufi religion (see also lecture by Janie Thomas), concerning nine types and how we relate to each other: Perfectionist, Giver, Performer, Romantic, Observer, Questioner, Epicure, Boss, Mediator; nine types working on a sort of geometry, getting their energies from their mutual attractions. In this Belonging, we have choices. Should we encounter this rumour, this notion, of God, somewhere inherited or instinctive, we have choices. We can chose to ignore it completely; fine at the time, but it might make us less colourful, lead to loneliness. Or we can seek out a journey, like hearing music somewhere and trying to find the tune. We can go for the pagan or pantheistic route, if that is who we are. Or we can try to revisit the Celtic concept such as existed at the time of St Francis, when the cathedrals were being built in northern France. Of these cathedrals, we know the architecture, but their magic and symbolism are lost. It was believed one should visit the Holy Land to find the source of one’s faith, but if not possible, one could walk the Labyrinth at one the cathedrals, like the one at Chartres (see illus.1 Chartres Cathedral), which is the same size as the rose window, though now concealed under chairs (uses change). On the continent there are many labyrinths, for example Warsaw, Madrid, Lisbon, also North Africa, and in England Somerton, Tintagel, Ely, then in San Francisco two (inside, outside). They can be of turf, wall, hedge, and floor tile, as in Chartres, They symbolise life; for all their turns, one way in, one way out, out into the world. Now to the monotheistic faiths, One God. In a recent talk Brian Fox, formerly Chief Rabbi of Australia , now in Manchester, summarised the three ways.
It’s lovely when faiths can joke about themselves and each other, but we are all on the one journey in different ways, and these different ways are important, because they are all part of Belonging, and through that Becoming. Becoming In Christianity there are many ways. As a reminder that we should not take ourselves too seriously, there is a saying that the Quakers, who have given so much in our modern world, and good ways in business, are committed to silence. The Baptists are concerned about total immersion, the Roman Catholics about real presence, the Anglicans, to whom I subscribe, at being on the right page! Can one reach the same spiritual fulfilment in each tradition? It depends upon the spirit of our approach, our wholeheartedness and humanity. Anglicans have tended to turn things into a weekly social club, focused on the Eucharist, which is wonderful, but losing the daily offices of matins and evensong. Rabbi Brian Fox was asked what the Jews thought about having a Messiah, when he would come. Answer, perhaps he already has, but not as expected, perhaps not a person but a place, perhaps an event, perhaps the Holocaust; that which separates before from afterwards, a Becoming. Becoming a Christian means baptism, separating the before from the now, such as at Currium in Cyprus where one stepped down into the water in a cruciform baptistry, was divested of one’s everyday clothes, then reclothed in white as one climbed up the other side. There is no going back, just becoming. Now we are getting closer to Francis. Just after Christ’s ministry, we find the Essenes and monasticism, the pattern of daily prayer and reading the psalms. The first hint of the monastic world of today were the Benedictines. St Benedict lived about 500AD, and was born in Umbria, as was St Francis. The Benedictine way concerns stability (remember our railway compartment), which is to do with place and the Abbot. Novices take their life vows to the Abbot and the monastery. Their rule lasted unreformed for 500 years and is still published, centred around seven Offices a day, and reading the Psalms through the week. In 1084 St Bruno, a Frenchman from Rheims, founded the Carthusians, the order of the Grande Chartreuse, whose community dwell as hermits, living, eating and worshipping in their cells, meeting in the middle of the night for Matins, with wonderful chanting, and for long country walks on Mondays. Their Order survives to this day, their Rule unreformed. When Henry II, 70 years later, had repented over Thomas à Beckett, he invited the Carthusians to Witham near Bruton but caused bad trouble, having forgotten to tell the locals, and had to send for St Hugh to sort things out. Having built Witham Friary, St Hugh was persuaded to build a cathedral in Lincoln, but he hated it there, and frequently returned to Witham, greeted always by his favourite swan, so legend has it. Meanwhile, among the Benedictines on the Continent, things needed reform, axes were being ground. At Cluny in Burgundy, Bernard of Clairvaux, unhappy with all the magnificence of its massive abbey, said there was a need for simplicity, and with others, founded the Cistercian Order, more rooted in the austerity of the Gospels, whose monasteries tend to be out in the wilds, like the fine remnant at Cleeve, near Minehead. Now we come to the time of Richard the Lionheart and King John, and in Italy, the arrival of St Francis: ‘Poverello’, the little poor man. St Francis ‘Poverello’ - the little poor man A few years ago on a drama course, I encountered a film unit showing young people how to make movies. One exercise was to make a film out of assorted 10-second clips, lasting about 3 minutes. Though the sets of clips were identical for all the students, the films they made were quite different: horror story, Keystone Cops, love story, detective story - all different, but from the same parts. That’s our task: to find Francis from the little fragments that we’ve got. In many books there are many versions, all slightly different, but every author is fascinated by the honesty, cussedness and determination, which relate Francis to us today. Returning to truth, we should first know that Francis wasn’t his name. He was Giovanni or John, but his father first saw him after returning from a successful trading trip to France, and nicknamed him ‘my little Frenchman’, and it stuck, as Francesco or Francis. In Assisi his father was a successful cloth merchant in the prosperous middle class. Francis in his youth was a bit of a lad, a troubadour, a social climber, aspiring to the nobility, the great thing. Francis would have known and sung some quite raucous songs (a recorded example was played). He also joined in with his betters to fight those in nearby towns, such as Perugia, where he was imprisoned for his pains, along with the young nobles he aspired to join. They hated it and were very melancholic, but Francis was remorselessly cheerful there, quite content where he was, except that in the unhealthy conditions he became ill, and the Perugians accepted his father’s ransom, and he returned home. (see illus 2 St Francis)
Then he set out on another escapade, for which his father had given him a suit of armour, chased in gold, and surmounted by a golden cloak. On his way, he met a poor, down-and-out soldier returning from the Crusades with nothing to a life of penury; the first time Francis had noticed poverty or impending poverty. He gave the poor man his coat, and abandoned his nobles. Francis was changed. As Hildegarde of Bingen saw visions, so Francis heard voices. Joan of Arc spoke of her voices to her Inquisitor, who said, ‘Come my girl, that’s just your imagination.’ She answered, ‘Well how else do you think God speaks to me?’ Today, we have lost these antennae. The first voices Francis heard were in Spoleto, in a dream. ‘Who can give you more, the master or the servant?’ ‘The master.’ ‘Then why are you abandoning the master for the servant, and the prince for the vassal?’ Francis said: ‘What do you wish me to do Lord?’ ‘Return to the land where you were born, and you will be told what you must do.’ So he returned home. This was his first real voice. His second was at the ruined chapel of San Damiano. ‘Francis, repair my church, which you see is falling apart,’ said the voice. Francis used his father’s money to buy stones. To the priest’s displeasure he answered that he must obey the voice, and in the end repaired three churches (all still standing). But had he got it wrong? His father brought him before the Bishop to recover what he had taken. ‘If I can’t have the money for God, you can have everything you have given me,’ Francis said crossly, and stripped naked. In later life he regretted his directness and failure to find reconciliation with his father. Francis was naked. He cobbled together the first Franciscan habit out of brown patchwork pieces. It still survives (see illus.3)
showing the real poverty. Romantic tales abound, preaching to the birds etc; above all, Francis was single-minded. One of his early Brothers, Ruffino, was shy and stammering (how many have there been in the whole story of God. Moses and St Paul were not good speakers, and now Ruffino with a stammer?); Francis asked Ruffino to do the impossible – to preach in the great cathedral in Assisi (now known as San Ruffino) In consternation, Ruffino begged to be excused. Francis saw this as tepid obedience, rather than a refusal to obey, and ordered Ruffino to preach in the cathedral half naked, dressed only in his breeches. This time Ruffino bowed as a martyr, left for the cathedral, climbed onto the platform, and began a sermon on penance to a chorus of laughter. Was this a joke? Not at all! The poor fellow tried to speak about God, but with all the hilarity, his rebellious tongue couldn’t be heard. Francis, meanwhile, came to his senses. Why cause such a model Brother to suffer from that absurd order? Without delay he would atone for his inhumanity, and with Brother Leo, who took a spare habit, Francis went to the cathedral, removed his tunic, and in his semi-naked state took Ruffino’s place to a new explosion of laughter. ‘Have the Brothers lost their minds?’ came the cry. But as Francis began to speak of the nakedness of Christ, silence and tears came to those so recently lost in merriment. Ruffino became one of three Brothers who always accompanied Francis, and cared for him until his death. There we see how Francis could get things wrong; retrace and rework, and have another go. We may see the contrast between Franciscan simplicity and the awesome, grand, richly tapestried churches which existed during the early times of the Order, in an extract from the Book of Hours of the Duke of Berry ,evidence also of the hierarchical way of doing things, the beauty and the majesty, which with the structure and old language are in a way a problem now. As the chairman told us, Francis at first didn’t want any books, since they could bring pride in the possession rather than wisdom from the content, and separate those who could read from those who couldn’t. If people didn’t know the prayers, they could at least say the beginning of the Our Father; that was enough. One night Francis was observed praying, saying, ‘My God, and my all,’ over and over again, all night long. At first, Francis saw no need for a Rule, but just to live by the Gospel. But eventually he acknowledged that a Rule was needed and three years before he died, after elaboration with Cardinal Ugolino and some of the Friars, it was eventually approved by Pope Honorius III with his Papal Bull Solet Annuere in 1223. As the Order developed, it needed structure, libraries, etc. Brother Elias arrived. In some ways he was the Paul of the Franciscan Order. Without Paul we might not have the Church we do - so without Brother Elias, the Order. Then came Clare, who had known Francis earlier, and been fond of him, as had her sister, with whom she’d been locked in her home, until she escaped and appeared before Francis, on her knees. She was not in his plans at all, but he found for her a place in an enclosed way of life, a place of simplicity, focus and stillness (see illus. 5). The Brothers first lived in Rivo Torto, a little hut in beautiful surroundings, which was originally roofed in turf. The Brothers covered it with tiles given by a well-wisher while Francis was away, and on his return he furiously began to remove them, because they should refuse things of value, but a Brother suggested it was right to acknowledge and accept gifts for what they were intended, and the tiles were put back. Today a pillar rises through the roof of this little shelter, part of the great Basilica which the Order has built over it (see illus.4).
The Three Orders of St Francis Today, we still have the three Orders. Following Francis’s first idea, the Brothers and Sisters of the First Order live the challenges of poverty, chastity and obedience in community. Then the Second Order, the women (following Clare), live an enclosed life, more like the Benedictines, very much our prayer source for all parts of the Order. Finally, there is the third or Tertiary Order. That’s the Franciscan family today, the inspiration of Francis for so many people, who still try to follow his personal quest of service to the community, and remember his bravery. Francis once went off to see the Sultan, concerned at damage being done by the Crusades, thinking he would be martyred. The Sultan, however, a wonderful, educated man received him with courtesy, but they could not come to one mind and Francis returned. From that time, Francis found he needed isolation, and went to live another phase in his spirituality, as a hermit on Mount Laverna, during which time the marks of the Stigmata came to him. We may feel we need to explain that away or that we can accept it, but the Feast of the Stigmata is still celebrated in September. Francis had a great fan, whom he called Brother Jacqueline and whom he equally admired. She made him little honey cakes that he loved; they were the last thing he asked for before he died. His exit from this world was difficult; he went blind, and bore calmly the uncomfortable attempts at cure. Today we deny the wonder of death, which is not the end, but a new beginning. Perhaps we can bring that to today’s world, when we see the sadness of the old persons’ home. And so the Third Order continues. A fellow tertiary, Archbishop Desmond Tutu is speaking tonight in London. Wherever you go you will find the Franciscan family, with regional variations, and everywhere we seek to bring the clarity of the Franciscan journey into today’s world. Questions & Discussion Are the Tertiaries within the C of E rather than the Catholic Church? Within both. The Franciscan renewal in this country began in the 1930s, small communities in various places, particularly Hilfield in Dorset, coming gradually together to form the Society of Francis. The Tertiaries followed that. Francis had realised that some people yearned to be part of the whole, yet felt unable to live in a Community, and the Tertiaries developed from that, allowing Franciscanism to spread rapidly throughout Europe. Modern tertiaries were once very secretive but are now more open about their vocation, living to the rule of nine headings developed for each one during their novitiate. Francis was particularly interested in the individual’s personal formation – the small moments rather than the grand plan. Today the enquirer first meets the novice guardian for their area and, if the vocation seems right, is put in touch with a tertiary who will become their personal novice counsellor – guiding through their postulancy (6 months) formal novitiate (2 years). After this testing and wonderfully creative time, the formal life vows may be takes and the professional franciscian journey continues. The Rule is reviewed each year and amendment are made with the help of the area formation guardian, it forms the framework on which to build the vine of the spiritual journey. It’s very beautiful. Do these people have jobs? Oh yes, and whatever they’ve done with their lives is OK. If they’ve got married, been in prison, it’s OK. They may be anyone, and need no qualifications, apart from the wish to follow the Gospels and Francis, in whatever way they can, finding the truth, in their journey through life’s contradictions. Is there much teaching for all that? Yes-ish! Not terribly formal. There’s a training pack, from which some of these pictures come. One needs to think about poverty; we’re all clothed, warm, well fed, when others aren’t, which is difficult. For me the Franciscan view concerns ownership. It’s lovely to enjoy things but foolish to hang on to them; you can’t carry very much. It’s to do with how you live, having time for people, being around; it’s different for everybody. This business of not having and no possessions... Yes, Francis always wanted to be a Friar Minor. There is a difference between being a Friar and a Monk. A Monk fulfils a role in a place of prayer, but a Friar goes out and about. Friaries weren’t very formal, just a room somewhere. Hilfield is just an old farmhouse with a chapel in the old cowshed and two cottages, still quite modest. The Friars move around, even the guardian often changes. The Brothers in the 1930s were concerned about wayfarers; often the unemployed travelling the country looking for work, with no one to care for them or to say, ‘you’re worth something’. The Brothers still do the same thing. For a year I was a visitors’ chaplain at St Mary’s, Taunton, through whose doors any might come - as one dear lad did, Peter, a real mess, a fighter. Not knowing what to do, I played him bits of music; he kept on coming back, somehow soothed. Eventually he asked me to go with him to his doctor because he needed help. That’s the moment! It takes eight weeks to get on a Health Service detox; he wanted it now! Tomorrow’s already too late. Somehow I got him down to Hilfield and they detoxed him in a week. He knew he could do it. For a year he was better. Then a lady offered him a drink, and off he went again. That was his choice. I couldn’t get him to come to church, but he did find something special at Hilfield, and had a year when he was sober. I’m not sure if he was any happier, actually. Difficult, isn’t it! You mentioned the Tertiaries, the Second, enclosed female Order, then the First Order. Is there any fixed order of membership?The three Orders are one, but it is the First Order that you would see habitted in brown. Their members are sent to different places for several months, perhaps Hilfield, then maybe to Alnmouth, or Papua New Guinea. You’ve got fixed locations? There are places, yes. They open and close. Two Sisters lived in a run-down community in Belfast, but went elsewhere when their work was done. There’s been one in Stepney for a long time. Everywhere the work is different. The First Order Sisters care for the elderly in Compton Durvill (near South Petherton) to care for the elderly infirm but now this has become a place for retreats and study.The Second Order at Freland near Oxford earns their keep by printing, but is also prayer based. When Francis started it all, presumably it wasn’t called the Franciscan Order? I think he called them the Friars Minor: the Little Brothers. It happened remarkably fast. He saw God in everything, the very meaning of ‘catholic’, as in the Celtic church, the God of Creation; and we fumble our way through! In Umberto Eco’s ‘The Name of the Rose’ amid all the murders going on in the Scriptorium, much mention was made of the Friars Minor, as a focus in the debate with the Papal delegate over richness and poverty, surely important material for a wonderful film, but little reference was made to them in the film with Sean Connery. In the book, the Friar comes over as being Franciscan, but in the film they go for the detective story rather than the labyrinth and the mysticism. What is the labyrinth principle? It is one of the things in the Church we have forgotten about. The Roman pilgrimage was always made to a place, where one walked the labyrinth. We hold more now to the Celtic idea, about the journey, the going, not the actual place that you achieve. The Synod of Whitby was in the 800s, and all this time later, we’re still thinking Celtic thoughts! Was there a ritual or a prayer for going round the labyrinth? We don’t know. You can trace them with your finger and get lost, but not when you walk them. Could you explain the distinction between a labyrinth and a maze. A labyrinth is only one path, and is there to help. A maze is to confuse, to get lost in; there are too many choices - the subject of this whole evening. In a labyrinth, you only have the choice to walk it. Once you’re in it, you’re held, you can’t get lost. And when you come back to the point where you began (remember the railway carriage), having walked in and out again, you’re in a different place; you’ve had a new experience. (Chair) Some 40 years ago, a French lorry manufacturer engaged a writer I know to restore the Cistercian Abbey of Sénanque, because the Abbot had few monks left, and no money. The manufacturer later sold out to Renault, who carried on his good work at Sénanque, but some 20 years later the writer told the Abbot that he suspected a more commercial turn in their future plans, which could only be curtailed if the Abbot and his Order were able to retake possession. It was the answer to the Abbot’s prayers, since their numbers had substantially grown, and in due course they moved back into their Abbey. One sees this buoyancy or expansion quite widely in Southern France, Russian and Greek Orthodox, all kinds of communities, the Prémontrés just south of Avignon. Where does this resurgence find its origin? It’s probably a response to a feeling of discontent, a sense that the world gets faster, that we need more space and more time alone, which are difficult to find. Part of the Third Order’s Rule is that everybody must take some sort of retreat during the year, when they can get in touch with themselves. We are awful actors, we perform for people don’t we, but its not the real us, who perhaps are probably screaming for a bit of attention, of warmth from somebody, of understanding. When we find ourselves, (remember Myers-Briggs) we may find we are an intuitive, but there is a shadow side to that, which we must own and develop. If you deny the shadow, it will come and hit you under the chin, which is why we have breakdowns. We’re allowed to cry; if you don’t, you can’t laugh. (Chair) Could you take us through the Nine Rules for the Tertiary? It’s fairly simple and set out in our handbook which we call the Manual. The Rule is based on Nine Subjects, as follows. 1. The Holy Eucharist is at the centre of being a Tertiary, so you need to be part of the parish system. 2. Penitence, to do with awareness, perhaps one’s level of giving. 3. Personal Prayer, the Franciscan Office Book, about to be updated again, takes you through four offices a day. If you haven’t time, I find more helpful a little travelling pocket book with 2 daily offices, everything’s there, a great friend. 4. Self Denial, quite a tricky one, with so much temptation. In my rule, I try to go for a week every quarter without pocket money. It really hits if you’re in town, desperate for some chocolate. It’s not like Lent, were you give something up, seen as being a penance. 5. Retreat, for a week at least each year. It can be an organised one in a Franciscan Friary, or in a hotel somewhere if you need cosseting, or alone somewhere in a Hermitage, or just at home, if there’s a money problem. Just a time apart. 6. Study, according to your own sense of curiosity. 7. Simplicity, make do, eschew novelty, avoid gossip (difficult), hear all and say nothing. 8. Place in Society, in relation to work and to family etc. Honouring the person, accepting one’s infuriating impatience in caring for the old, at differences of time and speed. 9. Obedience, being available, not finding an excuse if one is needed. Obedience to the Rule and to one’s intention. (Rev’d Vickie Goodman, Rector of Blagdon with Charterhouse, also a Franciscan Tertiary) You mentioned that the Church somehow becomes a Sunday Club. For me, I was finding it difficult being a Christian seven days a week, with the rubbish I was throwing out and the money I was wasting, and Francis’s way seemed to follow the example of Christ. It’s all my life. How did you find it? (VG) I’d told a friend I was stuck spiritually, just hoping something would happen, and she suggested the Third Order of St Francis. I began exploring from there and I wonder why it has grown because, sadly, the Church is a bit mixed up. All our energies go on keeping the roof on; we need Churches, that’s our Benedictine stability, but it’s an awful anchor as well. (Chair to VG) Did you become a Tertiary before or after ordination? (VG) Before. I don’t like the word ‘Rule’ but the framework rooted me in my exploration of a calling. ‘You must be joking!’ I thought, I have a love hate relationship with the Church. It was exciting but daunting, but I found a steadiness that brought me through, to where I am today in the Church. St Francis being an Italian was a great relief, because he was totally over the top; he did extraordinary things, yet was always honest. Sometimes he looked foolish, but the world is like that. (Chair) Francis had money, nice clothes, the voice of a troubadour; you don’t get like that as a shrinking violet! (VG) You can have it all, yet know there’s a space somewhere that’s not being filled. The world runs around on money; we can forget it but it’s only a medium of exchange, that’s all, it has to keep moving. A sovereign in your pocket, doing nothing, is worthless. Martin Sturge
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