Archives for September 2015

On Breaking the 22 Minute Mile, and Stumbling on Happiness

When I was 12 years old, I read Roger Bannister’s account of breaking the 4 minute mile, pushing himself to the outer limits of human possibility, “collapsing almost unconscious, like an exploded light bulb”. I was inspired–and astonished. Run a mile in four minutes. The thought of it still baffles me!

I walked a mile yesterday, sweat-drenched, heart pounding, lungs aching. My app Runkeeper, informed me that it was my fastest ever. 21 minutes, 15 seconds.

I had broken the 22 minute mile.

And I felt unreasonably happy. I have never been fit, and, after colon cancer surgery, was walking a mile in 33 minutes, then 30, then 26 minutes with pride, 25 minutes with incredulity, a 24 minute mile with dizzy joy.

* * *

George Malkmus’s God’s Way to your Ultimate Health inspired me to decline chemotherapy after Stage III colon cancer to instead strive for super-nutrition to boost my immune system (so as to combat any remaining cancer cells). Malkmus recommends a practice which he says will change your life, and may even save it: Walk a mile as fast as you can, record the speed; continue trying to walk faster until you can walk 1 mile in 15 minutes; then 2 miles in 30 minutes; 3 miles in 45 minutes, and finally 4 miles in 60 minutes.

So here I am shooting for a 15 minute mile, beating my speed most days by a few seconds. My 16 year old Irene speed-walks a mile in 11 minutes. Why should I be happy about walking a 21 minute mile?

Because it is my personal best; because I have worked for it; because I have got better. So much better

That’s one secret of happiness. Let your trajectory bring your joy. In my twenties, I read 60 meaty books a year (and was sad that I was not reading more.) This year, I have read substantially less than that, but instead of allowing it to be a source of deep sadness , I am happy because I am reading more than I did last year.

Take joy in the arc of your improvement—an easy secret of happiness.

* * *

When my husband Roy took early retirement in 2010, I wanted him to make all my garden dreams come true. Promptly. I wanted him to construct a waterfall, an artificial stream, a herb garden for starters. But he thought he should make us some money.

We had entered a new phase of our lives, with him working from home, and me trying to write. So we wisely sought counsel.

I sadly told the counsellor the garden dreams of my teeming brain, and he, in turn, told us a fable.

“There was once a man whose dream since youth was to be a millionaire. But the years passed, and middle age passed, and it seemed his dream would remain a dream.

Saddened, he thought, “Well, I have always wanted to be a millionaire, and now the end draws nigh, and it looks as if I am to be disappointed. What should I do?”

And then he thought, “Perhaps I could have a little of the millionaire lifestyle? Is there anything a millionaire has that I could have?”

And then he thought: “I bet millionaires change their razor-blades every day. And I can afford to change mine. So while I cannot be a real millionaire, I can be like a millionaire when it comes to razor blades. I can be a razor blade millionaire.”

Silly little story, I know, but I am adopting that way of thinking.

* * *

My garden is huge for England, for anywhere. One and a half acre. I have so many garden dreams. I want edible hedges, an edible lawn and edible inter-planted flower beds. I want to grow all my own fruit and vegetables. A bog garden? A larger rock/alpine garden? Oh, and I want to spend no more than an hour a day doing this, and two hours on Sunday.

We’ve lived in our home for ten years, and in the early years, I was sad at the mismatch between my garden dreams and my garden reality. Frustrated, disappointed and overwhelmed, I would stop gardening for months at a time, and my garden became a shaggy overgrown Sleeping Beauty garden.

It’s still a bit shaggy, let me confess, but what I do now is take joy in each herb, each fruit tree, each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings, admire its beauty. Many of my garden dreams may come to pass; others might not. They may be too wild, impractical, time-consuming or expensive. But I will enjoy my garden such as it is, even though I have planted less than a tenth of what I want to.

* * *

Creativity, creativity… I have so many stories and ideas which I have not yet written down. My writing career, if I have one, will not resemble the one I dreamed of.

But… but… but… creativity is its own reward. The joy of creating things, of making beautiful things, is its own reward. And so I am grateful for what I do write, even if it is in no way as plentiful or as beautiful as I hoped for. I am grateful for those who read.

Happiness partly lies in making peace with the life we have, rejoicing in its beauty. Happiness lies in thanking God for the silver lining in all things.

Today is the day the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it: I often tell myself that. This is the life, the marriage, the work, the garden God has given me, and they are all good. And I will rejoice and be glad in them.

* * *

Happiness to me has become the minimum requisite as I go through my day. I often do a spot-check and ask myself, “So Anita, are you feeling happy?” And when the answer is no, it’s often because circumstances, or people, or my writing are not behaving the way I want them to.

But then I think, “Not being happy, that’s nonsense. There is so much good in the very people who are annoying me. There’s so much good in my world—a loving husband and loving children; a large dream house; a large dream garden (in its size and blank canvas-ness); a labradoodle!; health (phew, yes, unexpectedly); friends; work I love, books to read, the time and ability to travel, enough income to be happy; so many interests to make me happy: art, film, architecture, literature, nature, gardening. And I live in a beautiful old God-breathed world full of fascinating history, beauty, culture, good people. I will choose to dwell on beauty. I will choose to be happy.** And because I am naturally sanguine, thank goodness, even in the process of giving myself this pep talk, I become happy again.

* * *

I have a friend who is uncannily like me. He delighted in running faster and faster, beating his personal bests. When his knees went, and he could no longer run, he delighted in walking further and further. As middle age hit, and he maxed out on the distance he could walk in his available time, he bought a treadmill, set it on incline, and walks ever-steeper “hills.”

Ah, I too enjoy quantifying my life. It adds fun to it.

But what happens when we age, and can no longer walk faster, grow stronger, break records in our own personal Olympics? When strength fails, and one can no longer write more words or read more books in a year? What then?

* * *

Well, I thought, when I can no longer crunch personal bests in all my endeavours, I will take joy in the Lord. I will enjoy his goodness, the world he has made, and his love for me. I will enjoy the ever-changing canvas of the skies, the subtle and glorious change of the seasons. I will think of Jesus, and I will enjoy Jesus. I will meditate on scripture, those wonderful words; I will enjoy Scripture. I will enjoy God. I will be happy. Yes, I will be happy.

And then I thought…all these lovely ways in which I intend to find happiness when I am old, and can no longer walk faster, read faster, write faster; when I am totally amused and at peace with my own unimpressiveness—you know what? I can do them right now.

All those ways in which I plan to be happy when I am aged, I will be happy today while I am middle-aged.

Yes, starting today.

Tweetable

Gratitude for the silver lining in all things is the ultimate secret of happiness. NEW from @anitamathias1

On being as wise as a serpent and as gentle as a dove

By Anita Mathias

“I am sending you out as sheep among wolves,” Jesus says.

You would imagine that a sheep among wolves would stand no chance at all. Not for a second!

And that’s how Jesus sees us Christ-followers. As sheep among wolves.

Yes, I have sometimes been a sheep among wolves…in toxic situations where I sense pretty much everyone was lying to me, about me, lying about events, danger I sometimes sensed, and sometimes did not. Where I was innocently in over my head in fraught, loaded situations in a toxic church I was once in; situations to do with business, or money, or in-laws. Experiences in my travels, or dealings with officialdom, where I had no power, and they apparently had it all, and all seems dark and hopeless.

You are in a fog, a fog of minor evil, where you are powerless, you don’t know what the truth is, and few seem to be speaking it.

What do you do in this fog, where everyone has their own agenda, and no one speaks truth to their neighbour? You shut up, as much as you can! You go still. You pray. I love Rumer Godden’s analogy in In This House of Brede—The more a bird caught in a net struggles, the further it gets entangled.

Yes, everything seems dark and hopeless, and then, suddenly, the fog clears, and there is light, and as if by magic, the situation resolves. In ways better than you could have hoped for.

What worked this magic? How does the fog sometimes lift?

Ah, the great Shepherd had his eye on his sheep all along, it turns out

We are sent out as sheep among wolves since the Great Shepherd knows it is safe to send us out.

What hope has the sheep among wolves? Only that the eye of the good and powerful shepherd is upon it. And that is enough.

* * *

When Jesus sends his disciples out as sheep in the midst of wolves, he offers them just one bit of armour, one bit of protection: Be as wise and shrewd as a serpent, and as innocent as a dove.

Because the life of Jesus is in us, because we are trying to march to a different drummer and do the right thing and obey the voice of Jesus, we are to be careful. We are telling the truth among people who might say whatever is necessary to achieve their objectives. We are trying to remain pure of heart among those playing to win. We are playing by different rules

So we need to be as wise as we possibly can, without sinning.

Oh dear, how can we be as shrewd and wise as a serpent, if we don’t feel very wise as I generally do not? If we despise being tricky?

We ask Jesus, the source of all wisdom for wisdom and guidance, step by step.

* * *

I love the heart-expanding call to love, to be merciful, to be open, giving to everyone who asks of us, to keep our hearts pure and kind.

I love too the call to wisdom, which is for our protection, we fluffy woolly sheep among wolves.

Be wise as a serpent who keeps its own counsel, who knows how to wait, who listens to signals and instincts deep within its blood and bones, resting in winter, moving fast when it needs to.

Elsewhere Jesus counsels, “Do not cast your pearls before swine, or they will trample them underfoot and then tear you to pieces.”

Be wise as a serpent when we know we are dealing with those who would abuse our generosity and kindness and rend us to pieces, who might twist our words and gossip about us.

It may not be possible to edit them out of our lives; we may belong to the same church or social circle. We may be related to them through blood or marriage, for a man’s enemies are often from his own household, as again Jesus warned us.

So then, heeding our instincts, we limit dealings with the unsafe, dangerous ones to limit the risk of being trampled underfoot and torn to pieces. We are careful about what we say in their presence and we say as little as possible. We avoid them as far as possible as a sheep instinctively avoids a wolf, as wild animals instinctively avoid larger animals and humans.

How grateful I am for these checks and balances. “Give to everyone who asks of you,” “love,” but also “Be wise as a serpent.”

* * *

Following Jesus is a bit like playing chess. There are rules and commandments, but infinite freedom and variations within it. It is not mechanical; what fun would there be in that? We need wisdom; we need guidance; we need to listen to Jesus before we move in fraught situations. We need the Spirit who will teach us what to say in tricky situations.

Ah, learning to follow Jesus…the task of a lifetime…and a rewarding one!

Image Credit

Tweetables

What protection has the sheep among wolves? Only that the eye of the good shepherd is on it. NEW from @anitamathias1

How do we become as wise as a serpent. We ask Jesus for wisdom. NEW from @anitamathias1

A God’s Eye View of the Migrant Crisis

By Anita Mathias

Migrants outside Keleti Station, Budapest

Over the last month, Europe has been convulsed by a dramatic migration crisis. Thousands of thousands of predominantly Muslim refugees and economic migrants from Syria, Afghanistan, Eritrea, Iraq, Pakistan, Nigeria and Somalia, often armed with Iphone 6+s, marched or were smuggled through Turkey, Greece, Macedonia and Serbia to Hungary, and then on to Austria, Germany, Sweden and other Scandinavian countries.

“This is an invasion,” said Hungarian Catholic Archbishop Laszlo Kiss-Rigo. “They come here with cries of ‘Allahu Akbar. They want to take over. They behave in a way that is very arrogant.”

In Britain, Rev. Ian Paul quotes MEP Daniel Hannan: Should we contract out our immigration policy to people smugglers? Instead of those in the camps who have been classified by the UN as refugees, should we allow a lucky few to jump the queue by breaking the law?

The conservative blogger, Adrian Hilton, Archbishop Cranmer, pointing out that, for the last six years, Mohammed has been the most common name given to British babies, cites Oxford demographer David Coleman: Through immigration and procreation, Britain will be a majority Muslim country by 2050, Which may be precisely what every citizen wants. Or may not.

I then read Rev. Giles Fraser, the Loose Canon, whose hyperbole seems to me to resonate with the heartbeat of God. “Take all of them? Surely that’s the biblical answer to the “how many can we take?” question. Take every single last one. Let’s dig up the greenbelt, turn our Downton Abbeys into flats and churches into temporary dormitories. Yes, it may change the character of this country. But let’s do whatever it takes to open the door of welcome.”

I read Left, Right and Centre, and then, confused, I pray. I ask God “So! What do you want me to think? What is your heartbeat? What do you think about this?

* * *

1 When you fly high, you cannot see borders between nations. Mountain, valley, forest all merge. It’s all one.

God sees a borderless world. His world.

The Biblical writers reiterate that God has compassion on all that he has made, all human beings. He is even concerned about the animals that might perish were he to judge Nineveh.

He loves the Syrians fleeing violence, and the Eritreans fleeing indefinite conscription for both men and women, virtual slavery, with sexual and physical violence, while the family at home struggle. And he loves the coiffed, diamonded European matron who wears the net worth of the Eritean’s entire village on her person. He loves refugees, and he loves economic migrants who subject themselves to danger, hunger and thirst to gain a fulfilling life for themselves and their children.

When he sees his children safe, out of danger, well-fed, well-educated and happy, He is happy.

2 What is the Spirit saying to the church? To Christians?

The great words spoken by angels whenever they encounter mortals, often repeated by Christ: Do not be afraid.

Do not let your hearts be troubled; neither let them be afraid.

Let nothing disturb thee; let nothing affright thee. All things are passing, God never changes.

Whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding as it should.

As the BBC economics editor Robert Peston wrote recently, “immigration promotes growth.” Economist Michael Clemens for the Centre for Global Development writes A world without borders makes economic sense. The world impoverishes itself much more through blocking international migration than any other single class of international policy. 40% of adults in the poorest quarter of nations wish to move permanently to another country. Preventing them from doing so causes more than just human harm: it hobbles the global economy, costing the world roughly half its potential economic product.

The Atlantic: Economists agree immigration is good for a nation. They term it “Immigration surplus:” the positive effect immigration has by creating new demand for goods and services, which encourages employers to hire more people. And if migrants replace incumbent workers, even though wages are lowered, goods and services are produced more cheaply. The winners are broadly distributed and the primary losers are incumbent workers, whose wages fall until the resulting economic growth boosts their wages.

The Economist: Migrants are net contributors to the public purse. They inject economic dynamism. They are, almost by definition, self-starters.

In the United States, the world’s largest economy and richest country, 12.9% of the population are foreign-born according to the latest census, and 11 million, 3.5% of the population are illegal immigrants. For generations, the US has led the world in the arts, sciences, technology, business, you name it…

2B. I am an immigrant myself, twice over, actually. I became a US citizen while I lived in the US for 17 years, and then a UK citizen when we moved back here 11 years ago. (My husband, Roy, is also a New Zealand citizen!)

Admittedly, we did not enter illegally. I don’t have the stomach for that–though faced with being aerially bombed as the Syrians are, who knows, who knows? My husband who has a BA from Cambridge University, a Ph.D from Johns Hopkins University, and post-docs from Stanford and Cornell entered on a Highly Skilled Workers Visa to a Professorship at the University of Birmingham (though we are now trying our hand at entrepreneurship!!)

Those striving to enter by sea and land, through mountains and rivers, within unventilated vans, on the tops of moving trains and beneath lorries and planes may not bring a fistful of advanced degrees with them, but they bring other things. Gumption, determination, physical strength, endurance, resilience, courage, optimism, hardiness, ambition, wild dreaming, a fierce love for their children. Thinking outside the box! How can these not benefit a society?

3 There is always enough

Be generous and willing to share.

As a road trip through Europe or North America shows, there is enough, there is room, there is room. Whereas people leave places like Gambia for lack of opportunity, the economy of Oxford where I live, and London even more so, is powered by immigrants—the cleaners, builders, house painters, gardeners, nurses, doctors, scientists and academics.

Jesus tells us secrets in the Sermon on the Mount: “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap.” It is a little acknowledged secret about how the world works.

What is true for individuals is true for nations. Germany and Sweden have been particularly generous to migrants. Hungary, Estonia, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Poland Bulgaria and Romania are unwilling to accept non-Christian migrants. Guess which countries will have an increased GDP and increased prosperity ten years from now? Increased international goodwill? Blessing, if a spiritual term can be quantified, as it often can.

4 God works through migration. Judaeo-Christian history commences with Abraham being commanded to leave his country and his people and migrate to the promised land. The Jews migrate to Egypt during famine, return; are forcibly relocated to Babylon, mostly return; are forcibly dispersed during the Diaspora following the destruction of the Temple in 70AD, and go out into all the world, the converted Jews taking the Gospel with them.

Christians are commanded to be a migrant people, to go into all the world, and tell the good news to all people.

Wherever true Christianity spreads, it must cause diligence and frugality, which, in the natural course of things, must beget riches! (John Wesley). Now the Muslim nations– are coming to Europe, a land of milk and honey in every supermarket

It is the greatest missionary opportunity ever. The nations come to the Christians.

Should they hear the startlingly good news of Jesus , the secrets of the Universe he shares, hear of the love of God, the power of prayer, the power of grace to change us, amazing grace, on the airwaves, in their new neighbourhoods, in the schools and in refugee centres, and should some of them return with it to their native lands: Wow. It may change the world as dramatically as when the Gospel first went forth to Europe.

6 Mercy and generosity–particularly to the stranger and the alien– are Christian imperatives

If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? asks the Apostle John.

The Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban says: “Europe needs to protect its Christian identity against a Muslim invasion, it’s millions, then tens of millions, because the supply of immigrants is endless.”

In fact, the supply of immigrants is not endless. 60% of adults in the world’s poorest countries have no wish to leave.

What is endless is the capacity of the mind of man to create wealth.

Wealth is infinitely expandable. Some of America’s most valuable companies—Apple, Microsoft, Facebook, and Google are based on ideas incarnated by technology. Amazon now sells more ethereal books on Kindle than real books. Wealth is created from the mind of humankind (especially so, perhaps, when hooked to the mind of God). There is no ceiling. There is always enough.

We already grow enough food to feed everyone. The feeding of the five thousand? I believe it happened; it’s a miracle that has been repeated again and again.

There is enough wealth in this world to share with those fleeing bombs, those fleeing conscription, those fleeing starvation, and those fleeing boredom. Those who have come for safety, for food, for a Ph.D for themselves or their children.

There is enough goodness in the world for the Syrians and the Swiss, for the Afghanistanis and the Austrians, for the Indians and the English

Few brave oceans, mountains, barbed wire, tear gas, police dogs and stun grenades to be on welfare forever. The stranger and alien Judaeo-Christians are commanded to have compassion on will eventually be a dynamic blessing to the societies that offer sanctuary. So it has always been.

There are no borders in heaven. Living like that on earth will be out of everyone’s comfort zone. And in that zone, we change, we grow as we learn to really look, to see people with Jesus’s eyes, giving up prejudice, giving up pre-judging by skin colour, presumed intelligence, culture and education, or the lack of them. Being open-hearted. Obeying Jesus’ command not to judge.

By having mercy on the one in need, we live, as Jesus said in the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

7 When I lived in America, and attended a church which occasionally conflated patriotism with Christianity, we’d sing in church:

This land is your land; this land is my land,

From California, to the Yukon highway.

I imagine that’s what God sings over the world today

This land is your land,

But this land is NOT really your land,

This land is MY land.

From Syria to Sweden

From Eritrea to Germany.

Do not be afraid.

The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.

Be open-hearted and willing to share.

Tweetables

It is the greatest missionary opportunity ever. NEW from @anitamathias1 on the migrant crisis

The whole earth belongs to the lord. Be generous and willing to share NEW from @anitamathias1 on the migrant crisis

There are no borders in heaven. Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. NEW! @anitamathias1 on the migrant crisis

There is always enough. NEW from @anitamathias1 on the migrant crisis

When Shackles become Wings: On Domesticity, Creativity, and Me

By Anita Mathias

I was married 25 years ago, while in a Ph.D programme in Creative Writing at the State University of New York Binghamton. I had just earned a BA and an MA in English from Somerville College, Oxford, then an MA in Creative Writing from Ohio State University.

My husband probably hoped for a traditional marriage, though he never actually said so. You know–I would do the dishes, and laundry and shopping and cleaning and cooking, and he would have a career. In the early years, I urged him to try a role reversal; to let me have a try at a career and at supporting us (and to accept the consequent drop in our standard of living), but he would have none of it.

For the first decade or so of our marriage, I bitterly resented domesticity. My mother had a full-time cook, a full-time maid, an “ayah,” and a gardener (whereas my husband’s mother had done everything herself.) Had I gone through all this higher education to become a cook/maid, I’d sign? My husband insisted that a cleaner was a waste of money, saying that he could easily whisk through the house and clean it. Well, I’ll credit him with good intentions!

We feminist writers in graduate school used to tell each other, “The dishes can wait; the poem cannot wait.” And too often the dishes waited, for days and days, and the resultant domestic and marital stress affected the poetry too.

I found it impossible to keep up with housekeeping. The further behind we got, the harder it was to catch up. Which caused stress and chaos and unhappiness which affected my creativity far more than if I took the bit between my teeth, and simply did what had to be done.

* * *

Finally, about 18 years into our marriage, Roy did what I had been urging him to from two years into our marriage—took early retirement, and tried to be a house-husband.

Well, well, well, turns out he was only a wee bit better as a house-husband than I was as a housewife!! He promptly got the cleaner and gardener I had so long desired!

But he does do enough housework so that we do not live in mess and chaos.

* * *

And since, it now takes just an hour or two to get to the reasonably orderly tidy household we both crave, rather than an apparently infinite task, I, ironically, often spend an hour or two in housework and gardening.

And I have discovered a strange thing. The days I do not spend an hour or two around my house and garden, weeding, sorting laundry, tidying up, my spirit feels slightly out of sorts. My mind is active, as I read and write; my spirit, not so much. I feel a bit out of touch with God. A bit unaligned with him. A bit overwound. It’s as if I need the downtime of traditional “women’s work” to really pray.

It as if I needed the things I despised—folding laundry, putting things back in the right place, pulling weeds—to be able to think, to pray, to right myself with God, to position myself in God, to surrender my life to God again, to seek his wisdom.

Breathing place, sanity-savers, time for thinking, time ironically for creativity, time for repentance, time for surrender—gifts offered by the mundane tasks of folding clothes, tidying rooms, prettying a garden.

I wish I had embraced it from the start. I would, ironically, have been a more productive writer.

A house, living in a house, doing some of the work living in a house demands—this is the life God has given me, mountaintops and valleys, and as I embrace it, I find that, like saxifrage, tiny alpine plant that splits rocks, creativity blooms in the apparently unpromising nooks and crannies of duty!

Tweetables

Like saxifrage, tiny alpine that splits rocks, creativity blooms in the rocks of duty! NEW from @anitamathias1

It’s as if I need the downtime of traditional “women’s work” to really pray. NEW from @anitamathias1

Image Credit

Honesty Is the Narrow Gate to the Spiritual Life: Learning from My Daughter, Irene

By Anita Mathias

So I signed my daughter Irene up for a ministry called “LieBusters” at the David’s Tent worship festival.

Five minutes in, her “LieBuster” asks her, “What is God saying to you?”

Irene sits there, taken aback, and then tears stream down her face.

“Nothing. I can’t hear a thing. I didn’t know it was going to be interactive.”

The leader: “Oh my goodness. What did you expect?”

Irene: “I don’t know. My parents signed me up.”

The leader: “Oh my goodness! Do you know Christ? Or do your parents expect me to bring you to Christ too?”

Irene: “I know Christ.”

Leader: “Well, you never know. Some parents expect me to convert their children. Parents can be mean.”

* * *

The leader then prays for her to be able to hear God’s voice, and reader, she does.

“I heard God loads, mum, in words, and in pictures too. Mainly pictures.”

She was radiant with happiness.

* * *

Now, reader, while Irene was going through her session, I was going through a LieBuster session of my own.

And every few minutes, the leader asked, “What is the Lord saying to you? What do you see?”

And like an eager, overachieving student, I felt an answer was expected of me.

And so I rummaged at the outer rim of consciousness–Had I seen something? Had I heard something? The back of the Lord as he passed, as Moses saw? The hem of his garment? And I shared the vaguest hints of impressions. Sometimes, they were platitudes, oh yes. And sometimes, I clothed in words something nebulous, numinous, that I was just about seeing or hearing.

* * *

I did get something out of my LieBuster session. Yes, I believe I did.

But not as much as if I had, with simple honesty, said, “I don’t hear very much. I don’t see very much. I need more time” and had accepted prayer for my spiritual senses to be sharpened. Or simply waited until I did hear.

* * *

There is magic in honesty, in the spiritual life as in any relationship. There is magic in owning exactly who you are, without pretence, to God, and to another person.

We enter into the spiritual life through a very narrow gate, a low tunnel, and the name of that tunnel is honesty. Never pretending that we feel what we do not feel. That we believe what we do not believe. That we have experienced what we have not, in fact, experienced.

Once we pretend, we are lost in the shadowlands; we join the crowds pretending that the Emperor has clothes, when in fact, as far as we can see, he does not.

And the greatest loss is that we lose the possibility of experiencing the richness of the spiritual life. Lost in our lies, we lose the chance of seeing Jesus.

Honesty, humility, simple words, gateways to the pearl without price.

We need to go low; stop pretending; tell the truth; enter as a child.

And then maybe, like Irene, we will confess that we do not in fact hear God, and we will be prayed for, and then we will indeed “hear God loads.”

Amen

Tweetables

Honesty is the narrow gate into the spiritual life. NEW post from @anitamathias1

Honesty, before God and another person, unlocks the doors to the spiritual life. NEW post from @anitamathias1

There is magic in honesty, in the spiritual life, as in any relationship.NEW post from @anitamathias1

Mud and the Breath of God: That is What We Are

By Anita Mathias

Several years ago, I wanted to go through a study on Agape Love, the blazing core of Christianity–but not a particular strength of mine!! And being an extroverted, sort of A type personality, I got permission from my church to organise a Bible Study on the topic under their auspices.

Now, like most everyone, I suppose, I do not like things I do to flop. And I sometimes go to far-fetched lengths to ensure they do not flop. So in organising the study, as when throwing a party, I heeded the internal tick-tock of fear…what if no one showed up?

So I invited, and I invited, and I emailed, and I telephoned… and too many accepted. There were over thirty people in my Bible study, which should have had twelve. Well, my ego was pleased with thirty, though I realized it would therefore be less participatory, less transparent, less transformative.

I looked at the list, and my eyes lingered, exasperated, on a particular name. It wasn’t someone I disliked–I wouldn’t have invited anyone I disliked–but it was someone I was neutral towards. So why had I invited her to my Bible study which I intended to prepare thoroughly; give 110%; pour myself out, body, mind, soul and spirit; teach everything I knew, and no doubt, use deeply personal stories and illustrations?

Fear, I realised. Fear that the Bible study would flop, and it would be one of those dismal things to which only five people show up, including the leader. Pride, for I would have felt shame if only five people showed up. I would have felt ungifted, unpopular, unimportant, insignificant, “nobody.” (I would perhaps be able to smile wryly, shrug and bear it now that I am safely middle-aged…but not then.)

So I invited and invited not because of the love of God overflowing from my heart, not because of a desire to bless people with the overflow of Biblical treasure which had blessed me, but out of pride, fear, shame.

I studied the list again, and I was sad. I had freaked out. One never thinks well or acts wisely when impelled by fear, the seizing up reptile brain.

I had started well. I wanted to study those concepts, and I thought I would study them more deeply if I were teaching them. But then, vanity crept in.

I looked out of my window at the slim fingernail of moon in a dark-sapphire sky. Mixed, mixed; light and darkness, all our motives. Mud and the breath of God, that is what we are, sometimes muddier, sometimes more spirit-filled.

* * *

Yeah, so I acted out of pride, fear and vanity and general freaking out. Not out of the centre of God’s will. Not abandoned to him. Those branches did not spring from the mighty trunk of God. How could I ask him to bless them?

“Oh Lord, oh Lord,” I cried, “I’ve done this all wrong. Look at my silliness and vanity. Can you redeem this?”

* * *

And then I laughed.

And what made me think that grace, and the love of God, and the goodness of God, were only for the times when I was all perfect? That I needed to be perfect to be a child of God, entitled to the goodness of his household?

And the Bible, that document I loved to teach? From first to last, it is the story of God stepping in when we have messed everything up. We eat the only dangerous fruit; we are murderous towards our brothers; we diverge from the beautiful way things could have been in our marriages, in our parenting, in our friendships, in our physical health, in our homes and gardens…

And so often God steps in and surprises everyone, creates a bittersweet yet beautiful thing out of our messes.

The story of lives is not perfect, as it might have been were we perfect people in a perfect world. But neither is it dark as when a fractious child mixes together all the bright colours in her paint-box, reducing the glory to blackness.

Yes, our lives are not the original design—beauty. But neither are they things of entropy and chaos, as would happen if there were no grace, if we consistently reaped what we sowed.

What happens is redemption. God takes our mistakes, our shattered shards, and creates a thing of beauty, windows of stained glass though which his light shines.

* * *

When you are certain you’ve married the wrong person, all is not lost, for you or them.

The Bible has an Open Sesame phrase which pops up when all is dark and hopeless and everything is chaotic and disintegrating.

But God.

Failure seems certain. The future looks bleak. We are all out of options.

But God…

You twist your spouse’s arm to go on a holiday which is too expensive, when you should have been working hard, making money, not spending it. Why should grace strike you on that holiday? But it does.

But God…

When you fear that all your parenting mistakes might add up, and your child may not fulfil her academic potential,

but God, but God…

and that child is now an undergraduate at Oxford University reading Theology.

You let money slip through your fingers in the seven years of plenty, and did not save enough, and now have to work so hard all over again…

How foolish, so foolish, but the story is not yet over, grace strikes you in this period of hard work; your creativity burgeons, and ironically through this spurt of work, you end up with a wee bit more prosperity than if you had never blown your windfalls and then had to refill your barns.

Ah, unfair, you really did not deserve grace, you prodigal…

But God…

When you think of all the time you’ve lost: to arguments, quarrels and conflict, to depression and sluggishness, to burnouts following overwork, and you fear you will never achieve your dreams, grace steps in.

Your mind is burnt out; our nervous system is shot; your body is not as healthy as it was…

You are in no position to do anything by strength, resolve or hard work…

And here you are, forced to rely on a force beyond yourself…

Just the right candidate for grace, in precisely the right place to receive it..

Amazing grace, rescuing what you set out to do with pride, fear and petrified rabbit brain, stepping in, as Jesus told us the Holy Spirit steps in on request, intervening, turning things around

Amazing grace.

Tweetables

Mud and the breath of God…that is what we are. NEW post from @anitamathias1

“Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness” NEW post from @anitamathias1

The Bible has an Open Sesame phrase which appears when all is dark and hopeless. But God. From @anitamathias1