Monthly Archives: June 2025

Scaling Deep – the place of lived experience in real change

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As I reflect on the journey of Fresh Expressions and the broader movement for systems change over the last ten years in Cumbria, it’s too easy to point to growth which to be honest is a pretty shallow measure of numbers usually driven by institutional anxiety. I think it is better to talk about scale. There is a great article a friend Katie sent me https://systemsanctuary.com/scale-deep that has been really helpful in my thinking as I prepare to move on. The language of scale isn’t just about getting bigger, it’s about how change spreads, embeds, and transforms. Drawing on insights from the systems change field, particularly the work referenced in the Systems Sanctuary paper, we can distinguish three distinct types of scale: scaling out, scaling up, and scaling deep

Scaling out refers to replicating and spreading innovations across new communities or contexts. In the context of the church, this looks like launching more Fresh Expressions in different towns, villages, or networks, essentially multiplying what works so that more people can benefit from it.

Scaling up is about influencing policies, structures, and systems to support and sustain change. For the church, this means embedding the principles of Fresh Expressions into diocesan strategies, clergy training, and church governance. In other words, it’s about changing the “rules of the game” so that the whole system supports and nurtures innovation.

Scaling deep focuses on transforming cultural values, relationships, and ways of being. This is about changing hearts, minds, and everyday practices. In the church, scaling deep means shifting the culture to be more open, inclusive, and embrace more of the lived experience of those it is serving.

These three forms of scale; out, up, and deep, work together to create lasting systems change, but it is scaling deep that ensures the change is truly embedded in the life and culture of the church. Research shows that large-scale, lasting systems change requires a combination of all three types of scaling. Scaling out ensures more people benefit, scaling up makes change stick but scaling deep is what transforms the culture and relationships at the heart of the church. It’s about changing the stories we tell, the ways we relate, and the values we embody, especially for those who have experienced exclusion or trauma.

Those who know me well, know that my upbringing was far from straight forward, and my lived experience of ACE’s will always play a role in how I look at the world, and work in systems.  A few years ago I noticed this can play out in two ways. One where the institutions remain in a role of an abusive parent who fails to listen and change or a healthier way where the institution can embrace the gift of trauma informed practice and someone’s gift of resilience and stickability in the difficult space of the institution to help bring real change. I have to say on the whole my experience with the church in Cumbria has been good but there have been far more difficult times when my bounce back abilities have seriously waned. What kept me going and sane in those times were the pioneer and and fx networks and systems within the system that had been trauma-informed, nurtured deep belonging and spiritual transformation because they are made up and for those who have been on the margins. As I wrote in the poem a few weeks ago They are the muscles of hope not wishbone or whisper, but sinew and tendon that flexes beneath the skin with every reimagined dream of a better world

I guess my question, concern and challenge as I leave is have we scaled deep enough at leadership levels and who and how will the voice of the margins be brought to the centre. I was so privileged to usually have good relationships with senior leaders and until our structures more recently changed be in right meetings at the right times to bring the my lived experience and that of our pioneers to the table.

Too often, organisations treat lived experience as a box to tick, a story for the annual report, a voice on a panel. But centring lived experience is not about tokenism; it’s about transformation. When people with lived experience are involved early and meaningfully in decision-making, service design, and governance, the work changes. It becomes more responsive, more just, and more effective.

This requires trust, time, and a willingness to be changed by what we hear. It means building relationships, closing the feedback loop, and being honest about the influence that lived experience will have on decisions. I think institutions also need to be honest about potential risk it is to the individuals contributing and the damage that could be caused.

The challenge is to keep scaling out and scaling up, but never at the expense of scaling deep. There is another blogpost needed here because the funding in the CofE is mainly oriented towards scaling out and as I say that’s a pretty shallow approach, but also it’s one that in the long term threatens real systems change. Only by listening to and centring the lived experience of those on the margins can we hope to nurture a mixed ecology of church that is truly renewed, inside and out.

The interactive power of Language, Metaphor and Models

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I have been thinking a lot about the role lanaguage as a precursor to change. What I’m keen to do with Alchemy At The Edge is not to be a coach, but co-create system change with people, and this means not simply asking people to adopt frameworks or models I have used. Remember “all models are wrong but some are helpful”. So thinking about how I can use the interaction of lanaguage and the models I have developed to grow something more contextual in any given situation.

Noah Lowery writes, “Through language, we create meaning, structure our thoughts, and ultimately, shape our perception of the world,” and “Language is a powerful tool that constructs our reality by shaping our thoughts, perceptions, and social constructs.” These insights invite us to consider the profound influence of language not merely as a medium of communication but as a foundational framework through which we conceptualise and engage with our world.

Language, as Lowery highlights, is indispensable in crafting meaning and defining the boundaries of our understanding. It allows us to articulate abstract concepts, delineate systems, and construct narratives. However, the transformative potential of language in systemic change goes beyond the act of expression. It provides the initial scaffolding to identify and develop metaphors, the cognitive tools that bridge from the abstract towards the tangible.

Take, for example, the metaphor of the “Mixed Ecology Trellis,” a framework that can be adapted to diverse contexts to support outcomes, allocate resources, and deploy strategies effectively. Here, the trellis serves as a conceptual structure, a visual and functional metaphor for cultivating growth, fostering interconnectedness, and guiding systemic adaptation. While the language introduces and explains the metaphor, its real power lies in how it is operationalized: by transforming abstract ideas into actionable tools.

This is where the limits of language as a solitary agent of change become evident. Systems are complex, and while language enables us to name and frame issues, it is through the tangible enactment of these ideas that change is realised. The “Mixed Ecology Trellis” does not merely describe; if used well it directs. It offers a flexible yet structured way to engage with systems, balancing stability with the ability to respond dynamically to varying needs.

To illustrate, consider a community grappling with resource allocation. The trellis metaphor can guide their strategy by suggesting a living system where resources are channeled like nutrients, fostering growth where it is most needed while maintaining the overall health of the system. Through this lens, language shapes understanding, the metaphor provides focus, and the tool, the trellis, enables action.

This interplay highlights a key truth: language alone cannot dismantle entrenched systems of inequality, inefficiency, or injustice. What it does is spark the imagination and frame the possibilities for action. By identifying the right metaphors, we bridge the gap between conceptual understanding and practical application, equipping communities, organisations, and individuals with tools that drive meaningful change.

While language may not directly change systems, it is undeniably the starting point for envisioning the change we seek. As Lowery aptly states, it constructs our reality, providing the cognitive foundation for shaping thoughts, perceptions, and, ultimately, actions. When paired with actionable metaphors and tools like the Mixed Ecology Trellis, language becomes more than a means of communication, it becomes a catalyst for transformation.

Hope is muscle

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Hope is a muscle not wishbone or whisper,
but sinew and tendon
that flexes beneath the skin
with every reimagined dream of a better world.

It is not fragile,
but the steady clench
of hands in the dirt,
the slow, stubborn lift
of eyes toward a dawn
that hasn’t yet arrived.

We exercise hope
each time we imagine
a world remade:
where children run to school
in a city unscarred by war
Instead of running from guns at feeding stations.

We exercise hope each time we imagine
A place where hard borders are softened
into warm welcome Where knocks at the doors are from friends, instead of agents of the state sowing fear of deportation

We exercise hope each time we imagine
Sitting down beside rivers teeming with fish
and where forests and fields of wheat breathe
without fear of tanks and guns.

Hope is not passive—
it sweats and strains,
aching after use,
growing stronger
with every act
of radical imagination.

It is the muscle
that refuses to atrophy
when news darkens,
hope strengthens the heart’s resolve
to plant seeds
in battered soil,
to write poems
in the rubble,
to dream aloud
in the silence
between sirens.

Hope is a muscle—
embrace it,
stretch it,
shape it
into the world
we long to see

Building Communities That Honour the “Other” and resist unconscious capitalist bias.

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At the heart of many of the issues we face is our unconscious tetheredness to capitalism and how this playing out in its late stages. Inspired by  Ian Mobsby recent article I wanted to explore more how non othering emerging church or community spaces might play out practically in the light of my recent posts. As Ian highlights Merton wrote  “The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves…”

This vision of love—unpossessive, liberating, and rooted in radical acceptance—is both beautiful and destabilising. It asks us to relinquish control, to release our grip on outcomes, and to embrace the sacred chaos of difference. But how do we translate this into the messy reality of community-building? What practical approaches may help us resist the urge to “twist” others into our image. Here’s a few thoughts drawing from Merton’s theology, eco-feminist thought, and lived experiments I have been involved in over the years.

How do we build on Divine Love, Not Human Effort, Merton argued that true community is founded not on our “own love” but on “God’s love”—a love that “puts us in a position where sometimes natural community is very difficult” . This shifts the focus from compatibility (seeking those like us) to faith in something larger than ourselves. Christina Cleveland writes similarly in her work on reconciliation. What I particularly like about Christina’s work is her acknowledgment of the mental and emotional energy these spaces take. Stereotyping and categorisation are short cuts are hard to override and even in a more enlightened outlook it’s takes energy and intention to try and inhabit these spaces.
In practice either joining or intentionally gathering people across ideological, cultural, or generational divides, through local community garden for instance could a way forward. However in reality too often these spaces can be pretty homogenous. So intentionality to host shared spaces is needed eg meals where climate activists, retirees, and teenagers collaborate on composting projects, learning to listen without agenda.
A key for us in Cumbria has been to Ritualise surrender, in our Cmpfire gatherings we set the tone by saying we are not here to fix things and use a talking stick for simply creating a space to listen deeply. I wonder what would it look like to begin meetings with a simple practice: “We are here not because we agree, but because we trust something beyond us.” Reframing conflict and spaces as generative, not destructive.

Borrowing from ideas in  Eco-Theology of Becoming-With what does it mean to move on from notions that we need to fix stuff. Donna Haraway’s concept of “becoming-with”—seeing humans as entangled with non-human beings and ecosystems, resonates with Merton’s call to love others as they are. This ecological lens rejects transactional relationships (e.g., “I’ll love you if you change”) in favour of mutual accompaniment.
Soil doesn’t demand plants conform to its image; it nourishes what grows. Applying this to community roles: lets gifts emerge organically. What would it look like to shift from hierarchical leadership to something more organic based on needs at particular times and where tasks are claimed based on passion, not just expertise.

In Alchemy At The Edge I’m working on the idea of Listening Fast and Listening Slow, and how context changes the listening process. If we host walks where members share stories while attending to the more-than-human world—birdsong, wind, urban rhythms our listening will be very different.  This approach dilutes the ego’s voice and fosters the type of missional humility the church really needs.

There is an unconscious capitalist bias around progress and growth. It’s something we have noticed in our mixed ecology trellis, because it can read like a graph people make an assumption that we value top right more than bottom left. We can these challenge capitalist efficiency assumptions by honouring those who simply be—the elderly, neurodivergent, or chronically ill, as vital to the community’s ecosystem. In the context of the Mixed Ecology of church this means recognising the value of everyone on the Trellis.

I love TAZ spaces and Merton acknowledged that “we are going to make mistakes” in community, but “it really doesn’t matter that much” if rooted in good faith . This liberates us from the myth of permanence, inviting experimentation. Do we really value process Over Perfection or again is our desire to get it right or make it permanent, or sustainable part of a capitalist bias. Creating pop-up spaces, temporary, theme-based communities (e.g., a 40-day Lenten arts collective or a prayer space, a listening bench) allow people to practise radical acceptance without lifelong commitment mirroring something to a TAZ.

We also need to normalise endings: what would it look like have fixed point reviews where you expect to end something unless there’s a real reason to continue, so we prevent stagnation and power hoarding. Instead of asking did this meet x or y outcome we could ask  “How did we help you become more yourself and would changing or ending our structure/meeting/values etc help you become more authentically you?
Instead of thinking  every relationship needs resolution or a space needs to continue what would a bless and release ritual for departing members or spaces look like  acknowledging their ongoing role in other spaces, with real joy and sadness.

Merton’s vision of love is no sentimental ideal. It demands courage to dwell in uncertainty, to release the ego’s need for control, and to trust that “the power of God’s love will be in it” even when our efforts feel fragile.  In a world obsessed with optimisation, building communities that honour the “other” becomes countercultural resistance—a way to “stay with the trouble” (Haraway) and find holiness in the unpolished, the unresolved, and the unscripted. Perhaps the most radical practice is this: to love a community enough to let it evolve beyond our own imagination.
“We are human becomings,” as Pip Wilson once wrote. May our communities become spaces where all people can unfold in their wild, messy, gloriously uncontainable uniqueness.