Faith, Hope and Jazz.

I should probably kick off by clarifying what this newsletter ISN’T about: jazz. Meaning, this isn’t a newsletter about music. And not because I don’t love music, because I do. It’s a vital piece of who I am. And most of all I love jazz … but also rock … and pop … and indie … and classical. But I’m not an expert in any of it. Not like Ted Gioia, who has an awesome Substack newsletter on jazz and music and culture. If it’s a music newsletter you want, go read him.

It’s also not a newsletter about faith, though I grew up in a faith community and have always had a faith and even became a theologian (with a real PhD and everything). But it’s not a newsletter about faith because I’m not an expert in that either. No one is, actually (though plenty delude themselves they are). If you want to read about faith specifically, try out Diana Butler Bass, whose Substack newsletter is far more what you’re looking for than this. I wrestle with faith more than believe it, so if anything this is a newsletter about that … about the struggle to believe — in anything — in this rapidly deconstructionist world. Which brings me back to jazz … because the story of jazz is also the story of faith, and doubt, and reaching for meaning and beauty in a crazy world.

As for hope … well, forget it. I’m a Lancashire lad, originally. I grew in the working class north of England where hope was more scare than mango, so if it’s optimism you’re after, don’t rely on me. However, I do have some things to say about the type of hope that is about creating things, innovation, imagination and telling stories. But if that’s the sort of thing you’re after specifically, check out George Saunders, who’s a master of it, and whose Substack newsletter is really terrific.

So what am I an expert in?

Well, nothing really.

I mean, I’ve been a journalist all my adult life, and I’ve written some books on things as varied as the Mafia and a trainee surgeon dying of cancer and a woman who sailed solo around New Zealand in a kayak … but I’m not an expert on faith, hope and jazz.

I am curious though, and I’m curious most of all about love …. followed closely by faith, hope and jazz.

I’m also curious about the creative potency that happens when people encounter one another in love …. whether that’s romantic love, or whether it’s the type of love I find truly intriguing, which is the treasuring of each other’s otherness even when no romance is involved.

I’m truly curious about love as a source of knowledge. This is something I was researching more than 10 years ago when I was a lecturer in a theological college. The idea that love is a way of knowing isn’t even particularly theological (at least not exclusively), but it has echoes in some of the writings of Paul, and seems to me to be a key that unlocks some extraordinary stuff. I encountered this idea through the writings of Mikhail Bakhtin, a Russian literary philosopher who theorised about a way of knowing that arises only in dialogical encounter between people.

I’m also curious about the work of my favourite theologian, Karl Barth, whose truly extraordinary writing was underpinned by a grubby little secret: his secretary and co-writer was also his lover, and she lived in the attic of the family home that Barth shared with his wife (who was not his secretary). I believe what he discovered with Charlotte (the secretary) helped him see the good news of the gospel of Jesus more clearly than most other theologians. But that can’t be OK, right? I’m curious about that tension.

So what’s all this about then?

Well, I started something a decade ago that I never finished … research that was part theological, part philosophical, part poetry, part literature, part counselling, part autobiographical. At core, it was the same search that every pop singer is on, the same search that every jazz musician is on, the same search the writers of the New Testament were on: the search for love, to experience it, to understand it, to create new things in light of it.

That’s what this newsletter is, a continuation of that work. Because I believe. I believe in love’s currency and its relevance. I believe that whether we know it or not, whether we confess to it or not, it’s actually the one thing we all want. And it’s also the very heartbeat of the things that mean the most to us … romantic relationships, family, friendships, faith communities, social networks, professional contexts. The motivation, the goal, the meaning, always comes down to love.

But this isn’t a newsletter full of advice, because I’m no expert. It’s a journey of exploration, one I think and hope will be funny, intriguing, respectful, titillating, gracious and curious.

Why subscribe?

By subscribing, you’re essentially coming along for the ride. If you’re even a little bit curious about what I’ve written above, you can sign up for free, which means that at least once a week (maybe even twice), you’ll get an email from me with an updated post. You can also find all my free posts on the Substack website. Even better, Substack has a new iOS app that will keep you up to date with everything I publish.

Pay, you say?

If you enjoy the free stuff, you can also purchase a paid subscription, which will give you access to all the posts I publish every week. That will include the more in-depth and more personal, autobiographical stuff that I’ll keep aside for those who stump up the cash.

Community

One major reason I’ve shifted my writing to Substack is that its format encourages the building of community around its writers. I believe in community — and connection, encounter, mutual discovery — but I’m also scared by it. The last time I threw my hat into this particular ring (the one about love), I was mercilessly mocked and eventually lost an academic posting and a career. But I still think the risk is worth taking.

I’m thrilled to have you along for the journey. May the encounter bring you something special.

To find out more about the company that provides the tech for this newsletter, visit Substack.com.