Blessed are not just the winners that society thinks are deserving
Blessed are not just the supermodels and the super-rich
Blessed are not just the conglomerate businesses, or those dripping with diamonds
Blessed are not just the nuclear families with 2,5 children
Blessed are -also- the penny scrapers, the city dwellers and the hustlers
Blessed are the prostitutes, the shameful, the forlorn and the addicted
Blessed are those who never dealt in social power, the marginalised and those who never felt they belonged in high school
Blessed are the brave, the wall flowers, the single and the married
Blessed are the pillars, the black sheep, the parents who can’t afford a nervous breakdown
Blessed are those who fail but keep trying
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness...
For they shall be filled.
Monday, 9 May 2011
Sunday, 30 January 2011
Acts of kindness
Apparently this is the coldest December in the UK since records began, and along with many other people I was bedridden with a really nasty virus! I had to think of ways to entertain myself when I was unable to move around, such as counting the dots in the ceiling. This was a bit of a culture shock especially since life seems to happen in a blur of non stop busyness. One day merges into the next, there’s the hectic work culture, fast food, and coffee shops on every street corner with the promise to satisfy our much needed energy fix. Being sick in bed made me feel like I was missing out on all the action. It was kind of similar to watching Beckett’s play ‘Waiting For Godot’- it’s slow moving, doesn’t make sense or have any deeper meaning.
I think if I knew I could get away with running around like a headless chicken I probably would, only to discover when was too late that there’s a price to pay in poor health. I heard on the news that work related stress costs the UK around 500 million pounds and 14 million working days every year. I know stress is bad, but I’ve always thought that some stress is necessary in order to get things done. For example, the other day I was late for an appointment. I was standing in a long queue at Tesco’s being served by a slow cashier, and the person in front of me couldn’t find the correct change. The last thing I wanted to do was think about effective ways to manage my stress. Instead I looked around for a shorter queue, and thought that I should have looked for the more efficient-looking cashier. Preferably the one with a talent badge. But the moaning just made me feel worse, because I really had no right to moan about something so trivial.
I think trivial moaning is a demotivator. For example, when the Israelites were being led out of slavery and oppression, it took them some 40 years of wandering in the desert to make an 11 day journey because they couldn’t stop whining and complaining about being stuck in the desert. An abundant stress-free life doesn’t mean an absence of adversity, it’s more about how we grow in the midst of it. No longer do I want to learn the hard way through stress & illness. So when I have deadlines, I try make extra sure that I don't jump out of my bed in the morning without spending quality time with God first. I don’t go to bed so late that I’m on the train so exhausted I begin imagining things. I stop myself from getting annoyed when the person next to me has his iPod leaking the not so dulcit tones of 80's electronica.
Some perspective is needed:
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Mark 8:36
Sometimes the little things help maintain perspective. Little random acts of kindness help give life to us and others, a smile on a long and tiresome train journey, a kind word in season, or help with a heavy suitcase.
I think if I knew I could get away with running around like a headless chicken I probably would, only to discover when was too late that there’s a price to pay in poor health. I heard on the news that work related stress costs the UK around 500 million pounds and 14 million working days every year. I know stress is bad, but I’ve always thought that some stress is necessary in order to get things done. For example, the other day I was late for an appointment. I was standing in a long queue at Tesco’s being served by a slow cashier, and the person in front of me couldn’t find the correct change. The last thing I wanted to do was think about effective ways to manage my stress. Instead I looked around for a shorter queue, and thought that I should have looked for the more efficient-looking cashier. Preferably the one with a talent badge. But the moaning just made me feel worse, because I really had no right to moan about something so trivial.
I think trivial moaning is a demotivator. For example, when the Israelites were being led out of slavery and oppression, it took them some 40 years of wandering in the desert to make an 11 day journey because they couldn’t stop whining and complaining about being stuck in the desert. An abundant stress-free life doesn’t mean an absence of adversity, it’s more about how we grow in the midst of it. No longer do I want to learn the hard way through stress & illness. So when I have deadlines, I try make extra sure that I don't jump out of my bed in the morning without spending quality time with God first. I don’t go to bed so late that I’m on the train so exhausted I begin imagining things. I stop myself from getting annoyed when the person next to me has his iPod leaking the not so dulcit tones of 80's electronica.
Some perspective is needed:
“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Mark 8:36
Sometimes the little things help maintain perspective. Little random acts of kindness help give life to us and others, a smile on a long and tiresome train journey, a kind word in season, or help with a heavy suitcase.
Monday, 1 November 2010
Hope, courage and the stories we tell
When you think about it, everything we know comes in the form of a story with a beginning and end; from the stories told by our parents at bedtime, to the stories communicated to us by newsreaders everyday. Stories are like glue, they bring us together across class and culture and give coherence to our many, and sometimes confusing, experiences. When I go to the cinema or theatre I can know that, for a few hours a separate world exists where predictable patterns can be relied on. There is a way of knowing how things will work out in the end.
Perhaps that’s why stories hold such appeal? They can inform us about how the world works, and how we’re meant to feel about the world. They can give a sense of security because, paradoxically, they exist apart from us. And though we are welcomed in as observers, we are not responsible for the story’s ultimate outcome because the protagonist’s success or failure doesn’t rest on our shoulders.
I also think we’re drawn to stories because we spend a large part of our lives in uncertainty. We’ve been reminded, by birthdays, that moments race by like bullet trains, the years fly past, and we can’t control them at all. It seems like only yesterday I was in college about to turn 17. Soon I would be an independent woman, have a successful career, get married and have children. Then I’d comb my daughters hair thinking soon I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore knowing that the little ponytail would inevitably have to give way to hair straighteners and tousled locks. I tried to plan the outcome of my future so much so that there was no room for surprises. I think we all do at some point in our lives. Yet still there is no absolute guarantee that we can know how things turn out in the end. Institutions crumble, savings evaporate and careers come to an end.
That’s why I am encouraged when I hear people be honest about life, without glossing over the gloomier realities. I need to hear the good, the bad, and the ugly, because then I discover I am not alone. Most films have happy endings, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when they say so little about the reality of life, they inadvertently suggest that things are better than they actually are. The optimism that isn’t necessarily rooted in reality, but in the wishful thinking of fantasy and make-believe, can be deceptively misleading.
Our highlights, struggles, prayers, silences, laughter, weeping and praising are part and parcel of walking a path that has quick turns and hidden corners. Life is unpredictable. It throws its curveballs and not every story has a typical happy ending.
Real life stories are living, organic things like clouds forming or shifting tides. They do not always do the things we want them to, or have a beginning and an end.
I remember a conversation I had with a Rwandan man about the genocide in the 1990s. It was hard to know what to say to someone who had suffered such loss. His first instinct was that the perpetrators should suffer the same fate that they had inflicted on his family. He said that he thought forgiveness was a lovely idea until he was faced with forgiving the unforgivable. Yet still somehow in his extreme loss, and profound confusion as to why God had allowed such a thing to happen, he was able to forgive them. This didn’t mean that the pain didn’t turn up from time to time. It didn’t mean that he felt immune to someone sparking a bad memory. It meant that he had entered into the ongoing process that forgiveness sometimes is.
Stories like these carry something with them that enriches my own life experience. As a Christian, I draw hope from people like the Rwandan man, who have learned how God can meet them in the midst of their struggles, and bring hope is seemingly hopeless situations. And I am inspired by women, like the Big Sistahs, who have had the courage to use their difficult pasts to help others out of poverty. I can hardly compare myself to these people, but I see an authenticity in them that stirs me beyond powerful rhetoric.
Their hope and courage is a reminder that there’s a Grand Narrative that doesn’t rest on my shoulders, and which doesn’t begin and end with my ability to keep things together. Rather it invites me up into it to take part. It invites us all.
So...
I believe that everybody has a story to tell. A story that’s perhaps waiting in the back of your mind to see the light of day. You never know what could happen! True life stories have the power to inspire people around us. They can help children beyond the theory of what is taught in schools. If you haven’t yet figured out what your story is, I hope you will very soon.
Perhaps that’s why stories hold such appeal? They can inform us about how the world works, and how we’re meant to feel about the world. They can give a sense of security because, paradoxically, they exist apart from us. And though we are welcomed in as observers, we are not responsible for the story’s ultimate outcome because the protagonist’s success or failure doesn’t rest on our shoulders.
I also think we’re drawn to stories because we spend a large part of our lives in uncertainty. We’ve been reminded, by birthdays, that moments race by like bullet trains, the years fly past, and we can’t control them at all. It seems like only yesterday I was in college about to turn 17. Soon I would be an independent woman, have a successful career, get married and have children. Then I’d comb my daughters hair thinking soon I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore knowing that the little ponytail would inevitably have to give way to hair straighteners and tousled locks. I tried to plan the outcome of my future so much so that there was no room for surprises. I think we all do at some point in our lives. Yet still there is no absolute guarantee that we can know how things turn out in the end. Institutions crumble, savings evaporate and careers come to an end.
That’s why I am encouraged when I hear people be honest about life, without glossing over the gloomier realities. I need to hear the good, the bad, and the ugly, because then I discover I am not alone. Most films have happy endings, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when they say so little about the reality of life, they inadvertently suggest that things are better than they actually are. The optimism that isn’t necessarily rooted in reality, but in the wishful thinking of fantasy and make-believe, can be deceptively misleading.
Our highlights, struggles, prayers, silences, laughter, weeping and praising are part and parcel of walking a path that has quick turns and hidden corners. Life is unpredictable. It throws its curveballs and not every story has a typical happy ending.
Real life stories are living, organic things like clouds forming or shifting tides. They do not always do the things we want them to, or have a beginning and an end.
I remember a conversation I had with a Rwandan man about the genocide in the 1990s. It was hard to know what to say to someone who had suffered such loss. His first instinct was that the perpetrators should suffer the same fate that they had inflicted on his family. He said that he thought forgiveness was a lovely idea until he was faced with forgiving the unforgivable. Yet still somehow in his extreme loss, and profound confusion as to why God had allowed such a thing to happen, he was able to forgive them. This didn’t mean that the pain didn’t turn up from time to time. It didn’t mean that he felt immune to someone sparking a bad memory. It meant that he had entered into the ongoing process that forgiveness sometimes is.
Stories like these carry something with them that enriches my own life experience. As a Christian, I draw hope from people like the Rwandan man, who have learned how God can meet them in the midst of their struggles, and bring hope is seemingly hopeless situations. And I am inspired by women, like the Big Sistahs, who have had the courage to use their difficult pasts to help others out of poverty. I can hardly compare myself to these people, but I see an authenticity in them that stirs me beyond powerful rhetoric.
Their hope and courage is a reminder that there’s a Grand Narrative that doesn’t rest on my shoulders, and which doesn’t begin and end with my ability to keep things together. Rather it invites me up into it to take part. It invites us all.
So...
I believe that everybody has a story to tell. A story that’s perhaps waiting in the back of your mind to see the light of day. You never know what could happen! True life stories have the power to inspire people around us. They can help children beyond the theory of what is taught in schools. If you haven’t yet figured out what your story is, I hope you will very soon.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
The church on the frontline
I can’t imagine what it would be like to have my entire livelihood swept away in one fell swoop. I don’t even like changes to my routine and think life is great long as its trundles along unhindered. Then life throws an unexpected curveball and brings a different perspective on things. It’s wise to plan for the future, and it’s much easier to handle challenges when you’ve been taking care of business along the way, but sometimes events are just way beyond our control.
Imagine one minute driving home in your car, the next minute you are being carried away by flash floods. A few weeks ago Pakistan was affected by the worst floods in living memory, killing at least 1,400 people. It left hundreds of thousands injured and homeless; more than 20 million people were affected in different ways.
Natural disasters can be incredibly unpredictable. Changing rainfall patterns, floods, drought affect the poorest hardest because they are the least able to adapt to these climatic changes. For example in Pakistan, many of those affected by the floods were people dependent on agriculture and the destruction of their crops and livestock left them facing hunger and uncertainty. They now face the soul wrenching task of having to rebuild their lives from scratch.
I work for Christian relief agency Tearfund UK and I’m in daily communication with supporters on all aspects of Tearfund’s work. Our phone lines have been red hot for the past few weeks. What started out a gentle stream soon turned into a raging river. A lady couldn’t go on her holiday unless she’d done something to help the flood victims; an older gentleman donated despite barely even having enough money for himself; and a young man gave despite his recent redundancy. Hearing these stories was a humbling experience for someone like me. I flinch whenever I have to share my last piece of chewing gum and I seem forever preoccupied with work that needs to be done.
However, it’s not necessarily about striving to have more; because when God establishes His upside-down Kingdom....less is more.
And while these phone calls were happening, and while people across the globe turned on their TV’s and thought about whether or not respond, the church was already right there at the epicentre of the disaster distributing food, clothes, temporary shelter, carrying out door-to-door visits and identifying people in need. They reminded me of the early church, a community where members voluntarily shared their possessions with one another, even selling their personal property as required when funds were needed to help the poor. Things happened just because Jesus was among them. They didn’t have iPhones or flat screen TV’s, but simply lived with a love for Christ and each other and proclaimed the gospel with their lives not just with their mouths.
I simply love that about the church. In many parts of the world the church is the first place people run to in times of trouble because it’s at the heart of poor communities. It’s there for the long term with a promise of sustainable development and doesn’t haphazardly parachute down into theatres of poverty and suffering only to disappear the following week. This means that as the focal point of many communities, it has consistence and stability when other NGO’s fail or governmental structures prove unreliable. Crucially the local church is rooted in culture and local history, and therefore has the credibility, knowledge and expertise to maintain trustful relationships. People are empowered to shake off charity dependence, and to once again experience the dignity of earning their own livelihoods. Poor communities are equipped to identify root problems and build ownership of development initiatives to help them solve those problems themselves. Secular NGO’s might struggle to match this.
It got me thinking, what would happen if we, the church in the West, rolled up our sleeves, got our hands dirty, got to know people’s struggles and let our own struggles be known?
Through my work I have witnessed, over the years, how God has called seemingly ordinary people to extraordinary action. Time and time again I hear about life transforming ideas beginning with only a few inspired individuals. Their visions became tangible movements that spread across local and national boundaries like wildfire. And the successes of those visions have not solely depended on their gifts and training or even available resources, but on a connectedness to their community and a desire to use their God given passions to reach out to their neighbours.
A recurring pattern starts to emerge. It’s a question about relationship, not merely a question about money, power or social justice. It’s about knowing the names and faces of our neighbours and letting these relationships change us from the inside out because Jesus did not just leave changed individuals, He left supernatural community, a group of changed individuals together operating in the power of the Holy Spirit.
They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favour of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. Acts 2:42–47 (NIV)
Imagine one minute driving home in your car, the next minute you are being carried away by flash floods. A few weeks ago Pakistan was affected by the worst floods in living memory, killing at least 1,400 people. It left hundreds of thousands injured and homeless; more than 20 million people were affected in different ways.
Natural disasters can be incredibly unpredictable. Changing rainfall patterns, floods, drought affect the poorest hardest because they are the least able to adapt to these climatic changes. For example in Pakistan, many of those affected by the floods were people dependent on agriculture and the destruction of their crops and livestock left them facing hunger and uncertainty. They now face the soul wrenching task of having to rebuild their lives from scratch.
I work for Christian relief agency Tearfund UK and I’m in daily communication with supporters on all aspects of Tearfund’s work. Our phone lines have been red hot for the past few weeks. What started out a gentle stream soon turned into a raging river. A lady couldn’t go on her holiday unless she’d done something to help the flood victims; an older gentleman donated despite barely even having enough money for himself; and a young man gave despite his recent redundancy. Hearing these stories was a humbling experience for someone like me. I flinch whenever I have to share my last piece of chewing gum and I seem forever preoccupied with work that needs to be done.
However, it’s not necessarily about striving to have more; because when God establishes His upside-down Kingdom....less is more.
And while these phone calls were happening, and while people across the globe turned on their TV’s and thought about whether or not respond, the church was already right there at the epicentre of the disaster distributing food, clothes, temporary shelter, carrying out door-to-door visits and identifying people in need. They reminded me of the early church, a community where members voluntarily shared their possessions with one another, even selling their personal property as required when funds were needed to help the poor. Things happened just because Jesus was among them. They didn’t have iPhones or flat screen TV’s, but simply lived with a love for Christ and each other and proclaimed the gospel with their lives not just with their mouths.
I simply love that about the church. In many parts of the world the church is the first place people run to in times of trouble because it’s at the heart of poor communities. It’s there for the long term with a promise of sustainable development and doesn’t haphazardly parachute down into theatres of poverty and suffering only to disappear the following week. This means that as the focal point of many communities, it has consistence and stability when other NGO’s fail or governmental structures prove unreliable. Crucially the local church is rooted in culture and local history, and therefore has the credibility, knowledge and expertise to maintain trustful relationships. People are empowered to shake off charity dependence, and to once again experience the dignity of earning their own livelihoods. Poor communities are equipped to identify root problems and build ownership of development initiatives to help them solve those problems themselves. Secular NGO’s might struggle to match this.
It got me thinking, what would happen if we, the church in the West, rolled up our sleeves, got our hands dirty, got to know people’s struggles and let our own struggles be known?
Through my work I have witnessed, over the years, how God has called seemingly ordinary people to extraordinary action. Time and time again I hear about life transforming ideas beginning with only a few inspired individuals. Their visions became tangible movements that spread across local and national boundaries like wildfire. And the successes of those visions have not solely depended on their gifts and training or even available resources, but on a connectedness to their community and a desire to use their God given passions to reach out to their neighbours.
A recurring pattern starts to emerge. It’s a question about relationship, not merely a question about money, power or social justice. It’s about knowing the names and faces of our neighbours and letting these relationships change us from the inside out because Jesus did not just leave changed individuals, He left supernatural community, a group of changed individuals together operating in the power of the Holy Spirit.
They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favour of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. Acts 2:42–47 (NIV)
Friday, 23 July 2010
On beauty.
I remember feeling awkward about my hair as a teenager. It was neither straight nor quite curly - just somewhere in between. I begged my mum to cut my hair like Brenda’s from Beverly Hills 90210, but heartily regretted the decision afterwards. The fringe thing just wasn’t happening for me.
I’ll never forget the ear deafening silence when I entered my class room the next day with my umbrella shaped fringe. So quiet that tumbleweed aimlessly blew across the class room floor to the sound of a hollow wind. I tried to joke my way out of it, but was so utterly embarrassed I just about managed to drag myself to my desk.
I don’t know why this situation bothered my so much, but it did. It seemed to ring a bell of warning that I didn’t know how to respond to. Or just didn’t want to. Confronting questions around hair and identity just seemed like such an insurmountable task.
So the “beauty obsession train” just kept a ‘rollin. In college I’d never leave my house without make-up on. I watched beauty commercials in admiration as models meticulously applied their eye liner and foundation; bought a foundation at a local pharmacy which remotely suited my skin tone, then copied the process like it was a near extinct tribal ritual that would die out if I didn’t do it justice.
I wish there was a way of travelling back in time to tell that young girl how lovely she already was without the add-on’s. And her being me I could tell her with real conviction, hand on heart, that all those things she desired really wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. I’d tell her about the many experiences she’d have, the places she’d travel to, the interesting people she’d meet - and most importantly I’d tell her about the love of God. If I knew then what I know now, I would’ve saved a lifetime in front of the mirror, many hours of self depreciating agony, and many hours of trying to find my way back to sanity. I now look at old school pictures and have to ask “what in the world was I thinking?” And I am, too, surprised at how clearly I remember my friends’ minority complexes; nose too big, too tall, hair too thin or too thick, toes too crooked or a bit too long. Picking yourself apart like this is a special skill that only requires an open and willing mind; anyone can learn it whatever culture, class or race.
It’s sad that teenage girls, and many adult women, spend so much time being ridiculously obsessed about what they think are their physical flaws. And it doesn’t help that over time, cultural perceptions of beauty change, sometimes favouring voluptuous women and at other times very slim ones. We fight tooth and nail to fill our wardrobes with the “next best thing” and once we arrive at the ideal, the ideal changes and we find ourselves on an illusory journey chasing shadows. It’s like pursuing someone who’s playing hard to get; we think maybe they just need to be chased a little bit more before they give in to our irresistible charms. But it never happens. And we’re always left heartbroken.
I don’t know about you, but the change I want done is from the inside out. The most significant change I can experience takes place in my heart, and the overflow of this will be new thoughts, words and actions reflective of that change. Jesus beautifies us. Our focus should be to abide in Christ, and if we do, the Holy Spirit will produce the fruit, and this fruit will be the result of our intimate relationship with God.
It isn’t something we can conjure up on our own.
Thankfully.
I love John 15 verse 4 “Remain in me and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
Authentic beauty cannot be found in fashionable trends or magazines and cannot be bought at a price. Someone once said “No one is saved by a gospel of self confidence” and it’s so true. Jesus reached down to us in our dirty rags and restored us unto Him when nothing in us was worthy.
More importantly, God created us wonderfully, fearfully, perfectly and no matter how we feel about ourselves, in spite of our perceived flaws, as a Father, He believes in us all the way.
It’s up to us if we believe what He says about us or not.
I’ll never forget the ear deafening silence when I entered my class room the next day with my umbrella shaped fringe. So quiet that tumbleweed aimlessly blew across the class room floor to the sound of a hollow wind. I tried to joke my way out of it, but was so utterly embarrassed I just about managed to drag myself to my desk.
I don’t know why this situation bothered my so much, but it did. It seemed to ring a bell of warning that I didn’t know how to respond to. Or just didn’t want to. Confronting questions around hair and identity just seemed like such an insurmountable task.
So the “beauty obsession train” just kept a ‘rollin. In college I’d never leave my house without make-up on. I watched beauty commercials in admiration as models meticulously applied their eye liner and foundation; bought a foundation at a local pharmacy which remotely suited my skin tone, then copied the process like it was a near extinct tribal ritual that would die out if I didn’t do it justice.
I wish there was a way of travelling back in time to tell that young girl how lovely she already was without the add-on’s. And her being me I could tell her with real conviction, hand on heart, that all those things she desired really wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. I’d tell her about the many experiences she’d have, the places she’d travel to, the interesting people she’d meet - and most importantly I’d tell her about the love of God. If I knew then what I know now, I would’ve saved a lifetime in front of the mirror, many hours of self depreciating agony, and many hours of trying to find my way back to sanity. I now look at old school pictures and have to ask “what in the world was I thinking?” And I am, too, surprised at how clearly I remember my friends’ minority complexes; nose too big, too tall, hair too thin or too thick, toes too crooked or a bit too long. Picking yourself apart like this is a special skill that only requires an open and willing mind; anyone can learn it whatever culture, class or race.
It’s sad that teenage girls, and many adult women, spend so much time being ridiculously obsessed about what they think are their physical flaws. And it doesn’t help that over time, cultural perceptions of beauty change, sometimes favouring voluptuous women and at other times very slim ones. We fight tooth and nail to fill our wardrobes with the “next best thing” and once we arrive at the ideal, the ideal changes and we find ourselves on an illusory journey chasing shadows. It’s like pursuing someone who’s playing hard to get; we think maybe they just need to be chased a little bit more before they give in to our irresistible charms. But it never happens. And we’re always left heartbroken.
I don’t know about you, but the change I want done is from the inside out. The most significant change I can experience takes place in my heart, and the overflow of this will be new thoughts, words and actions reflective of that change. Jesus beautifies us. Our focus should be to abide in Christ, and if we do, the Holy Spirit will produce the fruit, and this fruit will be the result of our intimate relationship with God.
It isn’t something we can conjure up on our own.
Thankfully.
I love John 15 verse 4 “Remain in me and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
Authentic beauty cannot be found in fashionable trends or magazines and cannot be bought at a price. Someone once said “No one is saved by a gospel of self confidence” and it’s so true. Jesus reached down to us in our dirty rags and restored us unto Him when nothing in us was worthy.
More importantly, God created us wonderfully, fearfully, perfectly and no matter how we feel about ourselves, in spite of our perceived flaws, as a Father, He believes in us all the way.
It’s up to us if we believe what He says about us or not.
Sunday, 30 May 2010
Homes & Tornadoes
I used to have a rabbit called Holger, who'd bite through our furniture and leave the Styrofoam spilling out of the couches and traces of sawdust in his trail. You could always tell where Holger had been, such was the magnitude of his culinary adventures.
The chaotic scene which ensued stood in grave contrast to our normally neat and tidy home. And because we lived on the 4th floor, we couldn’t let Holger out into the garden to blow off steam. We had to accept the whirlwind that he was - for better or worse.
Funnily enough, after a while I got used to the Styrofoam. I’m sure everyone has a list of home improvements they intend to get around to. At first they bother us immensely, but after a while we kind of get used to them. And because they often carry a story with them, we can even begin to treasure them. So this got me thinking that, while science can tell us how to build a house, it can’t tell us what makes a home. Without us it’s just a house. We tidy it, paint it, put coasters under cups, hang our family photos on the walls, and allow rabbits to gnaw through furniture. Home is the one place that we can shape exactly the way we want it.
Philosopher Alain De Botton says:
"People have strained their backs carving flowers into their roof beams and their eyesight embroidering animals onto their tablecloths. They have given up weekends to hide unsightly cables behind ledges. They have thought carefully about appropriate kitchen work surfaces. They have imagined living in unattainably expensive houses pictured in magazines and then felt sad, as one does on passing an attractive stranger in a crowded street"
A lady I once knew was always changing something about her house. Whenever I visited her she was holding a curtain rail or assembling a new piece of IKEA furniture. She should have been crowned the Danish version of Martha Stewart, but unfortunately became really ill and had to drop the interior decorating.
It’s a tricky path we’re on when our homes begin to define who we are. But when we repeat the much loved phrase home is where the heart is - we’re talking about a deep longing which I believe God has put inside each of us. Yesterday’s Location, Location reminded me of this. The usually calm Phil Spencer almost lost his rag at the husband’s indifference to the locations he’d offered blood, sweat and tears trying to find.
“You must have an opinion about where you live” Phil asked in disbelief.
Husband just shrugged
“As long as my wife’s happy – I’m happy”
Happy days.
Wouldn’t house hunting be so much easier if all husbands were this servant hearted? Small or non-existent garages would pose no problem as long as the wife was happy as clams - apparently open clams give the appearance of smiling. Even in the city of Murmansk, Russia, where men build their garages far away from where they live to escape their humdrum lives, husbands would forego their garage privileges and spend the money, instead, on outdoor patio extensions.
In real life, of course, relationships are about giving and receiving and choosing a home should be a joint decision. It's just that finding a home is easier when you know where your heart is. For the husband on Location, his home was wherever his wife was. No doubt, people add something vital to what it means for us to feel at home somewhere. It also strikes me that though God created the earth to be our home, and declared it good, it doesn't look the way it's meant to. Our home has been messed with – as if scoundrels have plundered it and laid it bare. We are reminded of this every time we witness the suffering that leaves children as orphans and people without a home. In DR Congo, four million lives are estimated to have been lost due to conflict induced poverty. Over 2 million people remain internally displaced living in camps, and there are more than 300,000 Congolese refugees in neighboring countries.
So after thinking about this giant mess we’ve made of our earthly abode, and the pictures that accompany these thoughts, something begins to stir in my heart. A hope for a better future; a better home for the next generation. Because real mission is not written as a list of rules on a papyrus scroll, but on the hearts and lives of ordinary people like you and me. And we’re not alone; hundred thousand tiny dots connected make a much bigger picture. It’s really important to recognise that the little bit each person gives is crucial to the bigger picture. What would happen if the church invested its resources in responding to pressing issues such as homlessness? Rob Bell says: "from my experience, if the church was fully engaged, there are a number of issues that would go away". I agree. I dream of a church where the sick are healed and oppressed are set free; where we are stimulated to new levels of endeavour; where we refuse to denigrate others because, they too, are created in God's image.
Finally, I stumbled across this…
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's mansion are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” John 14:1-3
Mansion huh? That’s a pretty huge house in human standards, but when Jesus talks about mansions I think……gargantuan, massive, towering. It’s pretty awesome that Jesus is preparing a room for us in a ginormous mansion! He will come again, don’t ask me how, and personally receive us into heaven one day.
Wohoo.
No matter how beautiful or decrepit our earthly homes are, compared with the one God has prepared for us, they’re probably always going to look in a poor state of repair.
Like the kind that would lose it's roof in a tornado....
The chaotic scene which ensued stood in grave contrast to our normally neat and tidy home. And because we lived on the 4th floor, we couldn’t let Holger out into the garden to blow off steam. We had to accept the whirlwind that he was - for better or worse.
Funnily enough, after a while I got used to the Styrofoam. I’m sure everyone has a list of home improvements they intend to get around to. At first they bother us immensely, but after a while we kind of get used to them. And because they often carry a story with them, we can even begin to treasure them. So this got me thinking that, while science can tell us how to build a house, it can’t tell us what makes a home. Without us it’s just a house. We tidy it, paint it, put coasters under cups, hang our family photos on the walls, and allow rabbits to gnaw through furniture. Home is the one place that we can shape exactly the way we want it.
Philosopher Alain De Botton says:
"People have strained their backs carving flowers into their roof beams and their eyesight embroidering animals onto their tablecloths. They have given up weekends to hide unsightly cables behind ledges. They have thought carefully about appropriate kitchen work surfaces. They have imagined living in unattainably expensive houses pictured in magazines and then felt sad, as one does on passing an attractive stranger in a crowded street"
A lady I once knew was always changing something about her house. Whenever I visited her she was holding a curtain rail or assembling a new piece of IKEA furniture. She should have been crowned the Danish version of Martha Stewart, but unfortunately became really ill and had to drop the interior decorating.
It’s a tricky path we’re on when our homes begin to define who we are. But when we repeat the much loved phrase home is where the heart is - we’re talking about a deep longing which I believe God has put inside each of us. Yesterday’s Location, Location reminded me of this. The usually calm Phil Spencer almost lost his rag at the husband’s indifference to the locations he’d offered blood, sweat and tears trying to find.
“You must have an opinion about where you live” Phil asked in disbelief.
Husband just shrugged
“As long as my wife’s happy – I’m happy”
Happy days.
Wouldn’t house hunting be so much easier if all husbands were this servant hearted? Small or non-existent garages would pose no problem as long as the wife was happy as clams - apparently open clams give the appearance of smiling. Even in the city of Murmansk, Russia, where men build their garages far away from where they live to escape their humdrum lives, husbands would forego their garage privileges and spend the money, instead, on outdoor patio extensions.
In real life, of course, relationships are about giving and receiving and choosing a home should be a joint decision. It's just that finding a home is easier when you know where your heart is. For the husband on Location, his home was wherever his wife was. No doubt, people add something vital to what it means for us to feel at home somewhere. It also strikes me that though God created the earth to be our home, and declared it good, it doesn't look the way it's meant to. Our home has been messed with – as if scoundrels have plundered it and laid it bare. We are reminded of this every time we witness the suffering that leaves children as orphans and people without a home. In DR Congo, four million lives are estimated to have been lost due to conflict induced poverty. Over 2 million people remain internally displaced living in camps, and there are more than 300,000 Congolese refugees in neighboring countries.
So after thinking about this giant mess we’ve made of our earthly abode, and the pictures that accompany these thoughts, something begins to stir in my heart. A hope for a better future; a better home for the next generation. Because real mission is not written as a list of rules on a papyrus scroll, but on the hearts and lives of ordinary people like you and me. And we’re not alone; hundred thousand tiny dots connected make a much bigger picture. It’s really important to recognise that the little bit each person gives is crucial to the bigger picture. What would happen if the church invested its resources in responding to pressing issues such as homlessness? Rob Bell says: "from my experience, if the church was fully engaged, there are a number of issues that would go away". I agree. I dream of a church where the sick are healed and oppressed are set free; where we are stimulated to new levels of endeavour; where we refuse to denigrate others because, they too, are created in God's image.
Finally, I stumbled across this…
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's mansion are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am” John 14:1-3
Mansion huh? That’s a pretty huge house in human standards, but when Jesus talks about mansions I think……gargantuan, massive, towering. It’s pretty awesome that Jesus is preparing a room for us in a ginormous mansion! He will come again, don’t ask me how, and personally receive us into heaven one day.
No matter how beautiful or decrepit our earthly homes are, compared with the one God has prepared for us, they’re probably always going to look in a poor state of repair.
Like the kind that would lose it's roof in a tornado....
Saturday, 8 May 2010
Blank Canvas
I was quickly taken aback by the - let’s say - very modern nature of the paintings at the Tate Modern recently; I even found myself tempted to fake fascination among the ooh’s and the aah’s.
“Don’t you think this blank canvas perfectly illustrates postmodernism”
“Erm...yes absolutely, and all the other ism’s too” Lord forgive me I've lied.
It surprised me that I didn't delve into the experience full throttle, after all I love art and one of my favourite phrases is “free admission”
Sitting down slightly befuddled, I imagined the thousands of people throwing thousands of pounds around at art auctions. I saw ladies in fur coats dripping with diamonds, gentlemen with Cuban cigars wearing designer labels, hands raised vying for the auctioneers attention. The hammer fell at the £50 million mark after twenty minutes of furious competition for Artist X’s “blank canvas”.
I just didn’t get the whole blank canvas thing.
Then as I walked around the turbine hall, I began to reflect on the artists’ ages, and how they seemed to live relatively long lives, well beyond 80. Surely someone once said that there's proven link between long life and happiness.
Perhaps Artist X had to scrape his pennies, struggle to pay bills, suffer ridicule from friends and family due to his very unorthodox artistry? But he was doing what he loved. He probably wouldn’t have chosen this path if his ambition was to make it big in the arts' world, because the pressure of “making it big” often starts to crowd out creativity, and draw people into operating on autopilot. Some of us stay in certain situations or relationships because it’s the safe option, because the thought of doing anything else, or being with someone else, is downright scary. I don’t necessarily advocate quitting a relationship or leaving a job to start painting; I’m talking about the due season when it becomes necessary to step out of the ordinary into new things.
Because, although Artist X might have painted an unusual painting and even risked ridicule, he didn’t seem scared of trying new things.
So thinking about Tate Modern, or when I look around at creation and see babies, flowers, trees, animals, I reflect on the fact that God has empowered creation to make more and continues to fill it with potential. It’s meant to grow, advance, change, move, morph.
Basically never be the same as yesterday.
Yes it might start out as a blank canvas - but it could end up looking like this:
The Lord says...
Behold I am doing a new thing! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it and know it. Isaiah 43:19
I marvel at the thought of God being the greatest artist of all and like to think that, as the crown of His creation, we are His greatest works of art. How cool is it that no one else in the world has your fingerprints? The fact that we’re capable of complex verbal language and conscious thought; that we’re all created with different gifts and talents. And while the media may favour a certain body size, God created all body types and declared them all good. Each one wonderfully and fearfully made in intricate detail, over which God spent time pondering and designing.
And through you and me this pondering, designing and creating goes on and on because we're all in the business of making artwork out of our blank canvasses.
“Don’t you think this blank canvas perfectly illustrates postmodernism”
“Erm...yes absolutely, and all the other ism’s too” Lord forgive me I've lied.
It surprised me that I didn't delve into the experience full throttle, after all I love art and one of my favourite phrases is “free admission”
Sitting down slightly befuddled, I imagined the thousands of people throwing thousands of pounds around at art auctions. I saw ladies in fur coats dripping with diamonds, gentlemen with Cuban cigars wearing designer labels, hands raised vying for the auctioneers attention. The hammer fell at the £50 million mark after twenty minutes of furious competition for Artist X’s “blank canvas”.
I just didn’t get the whole blank canvas thing.
Then as I walked around the turbine hall, I began to reflect on the artists’ ages, and how they seemed to live relatively long lives, well beyond 80. Surely someone once said that there's proven link between long life and happiness.
Perhaps Artist X had to scrape his pennies, struggle to pay bills, suffer ridicule from friends and family due to his very unorthodox artistry? But he was doing what he loved. He probably wouldn’t have chosen this path if his ambition was to make it big in the arts' world, because the pressure of “making it big” often starts to crowd out creativity, and draw people into operating on autopilot. Some of us stay in certain situations or relationships because it’s the safe option, because the thought of doing anything else, or being with someone else, is downright scary. I don’t necessarily advocate quitting a relationship or leaving a job to start painting; I’m talking about the due season when it becomes necessary to step out of the ordinary into new things.
Because, although Artist X might have painted an unusual painting and even risked ridicule, he didn’t seem scared of trying new things.
So thinking about Tate Modern, or when I look around at creation and see babies, flowers, trees, animals, I reflect on the fact that God has empowered creation to make more and continues to fill it with potential. It’s meant to grow, advance, change, move, morph.
Basically never be the same as yesterday.
Yes it might start out as a blank canvas - but it could end up looking like this:
Life is charged with creative potential and is- in some ways - a blank canvas or piece of paper. Perhaps blank because it’s purposely left unfinished; because we’ve been invited into the beginning stages of something?
The Lord says...
Behold I am doing a new thing! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it and know it. Isaiah 43:19
I marvel at the thought of God being the greatest artist of all and like to think that, as the crown of His creation, we are His greatest works of art. How cool is it that no one else in the world has your fingerprints? The fact that we’re capable of complex verbal language and conscious thought; that we’re all created with different gifts and talents. And while the media may favour a certain body size, God created all body types and declared them all good. Each one wonderfully and fearfully made in intricate detail, over which God spent time pondering and designing.
And through you and me this pondering, designing and creating goes on and on because we're all in the business of making artwork out of our blank canvasses.
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