Sermon #59 (15th May 2022 at Essex Church / Kensington Unitarians)
I wonder, what do you think of when you hear the phrase ‘hand-made’? Maybe scarves, hats, socks, jumpers or blankets, knitted by family members or friends and given as gifts? Clothing or jewellery. Pottery or sculpture. Woodwork or furnishings. Cards. Cakes, even.
Perhaps you think first of beautiful bespoke objects, the sort of artisan creations that might be showcased by the Crafts Council, great hand-made works of art that are probably out of reach for most of us to own, rightly priced to reflect the many hours of expert labour that have gone into making them. Or maybe when you hear ‘hand-made’ you think of something more rustic – home-made – those items that are a bit rough round the edges, perhaps, not necessarily made with the highest skill level, but which most likely hold much greater sentimental value, because of the personalised effort and care that’s gone into making them. Such items are tangible tokens of love.
I mentioned at the start of the service that we used to have a creativity group here at the church. It ran for over a decade, and there was a small but dedicated core of us that turned up each month, taking turns to suggest new crafts to try and occasionally projects to work on together. Members shared their skills and enthusiasms, teaching each other to knit and crochet, quilt and embroider, do bead-work and lino-printing, make sculptures from rubbish, weave and make felt. One of our younger members went on to set up her own business making felt hats as a result! You can see the fruits of our labour in the seasonal wall hangings, the church banner, the large ‘Fabric of Diversity’ banner in the hall next door. Many of our creations were more ephemeral. But these few items have lasted. And there’s something rather poignant about them now. When I look at them I think of all the people who were in that group ten, twenty, years ago, and who aren’t around any more. Of those who were founder members of the creativity group, only Juliet and I remain, as over the years most of the regulars have died, or moved away, all over the world in fact. Still, it’s poignant, but also heart-warming, that these treasured artefacts remain… these creations that our dear friends took the time to make with their hands. With care and attention. With love.
Back in the day, though, I noticed that the very idea of a creativity group seemed to divide people. Reactions were quite polarised. People seemed to see themselves as ‘crafty’ or decidedly ‘not crafty’. When I encouraged people to join us they often told me ‘I’m not creative’ – and that was their final word on the matter – no matter how much I tried to reassure them that the ethos of the group was very much about process over product – that participants were encouraged to have a go and see how they got on (and not to worry too much about how well it turned out in the end). Everyone discovered that some crafts suited them better than others – some had a knack for detail and precision – others were all about flair and spontaneity – we only found out by trying our hands. Still there was pleasure to be found in the sense of play, and learning, and occasionally mastery.
In my own family the same binary – ‘crafty’ vs ‘not crafty’ – seemed to be at work. My Mum could turn her hand to making just about anything. Throughout my childhood it seemed that the phone never stopped ringing with distant relatives asking her to make fancy dress costumes out of crepe paper for all their kids and – as time went on – the kids of their various friends and neighbours too. She’d got a reputation, both for the quality of her handiwork, and for not saying no very often. I don’t think she ever had a pattern for these costumes – she just made them up as she went along and knocked something up on her sewing machine after work – and the recipients were delighted. And she was proud, I think. She also made me a series of good luck mascots at various key points in my life – often on the morning of a big exam I’d wake up to find one of these eccentric hand-made characters waiting for me on the settee – I still have them dotted round the house to cheer me on.
Dad, on the other hand, is someone who has always been resolutely ‘non-crafty’ – or at least that’s how I used to see it – he couldn’t be persuaded to join in with creative projects very often. One notable exception was that in the first lockdown in 2020, when he couldn’t get out to a shop to buy me a birthday present, I joked that he should make me one, given that we had a houseful of blank cards and felt tip pens (I’ve inherited the crafty gene from my Mum). It was, mostly, a joke – I didn’t think he’d actually do it – but eventually he gave in and made me a card. I think it must’ve been the first time he’d drawn a picture – a little red flower – in 80-odd years. And he wrote ‘Happy Birthday’ in slightly shaky hand across the top. I will treasure that card. Anyone who knows us knows how much we drive each other nuts. But still, I will treasure it.
And I should add though I’ve always thought of Dad as ‘not crafty’, ‘not a maker’, I realise that’s not quite right. He actually made his shed and our outhouse from scratch, with no prior training, back in the early 80s – before the advent of YouTube tutorials – with only a DIY manual and a few helpful hints from Fred over the road who was a bit handy. Dad sat in his armchair of an evening, when I was a kid, drawing plans to scale on his clipboard, working out how to make dovetail joints and window frames… and that hand-made outhouse is still standing – just about – 40 years on.
I tell you these stories, of our creativity group, and my family, for one reason only. To encourage you to make things. Even if you think you can’t. Whether you see yourself as crafty or not. Make things for the fun of making, for the stimulation of learning a new skill, for the spiritual benefit of single-pointed focus and attention, for the fulfilment of self-expression, for the camaraderie you find in a community of makers, for the delight you might bring by presenting a hand-made gift to someone you care about, and – yes – for the treasures you might leave behind once you’re gone. Make time in your life to make things, if you can. Amen.
Sermon by Jane Blackall
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