Archives for December 2015

A week in France (Boulogne-sur-Mer, St-Denys, Chartres, and Paris)

I am looking at a year’s worth of photographs in this liminal week between Christmas and New Year.

Here are some images from the Channel Port of Boulogne-sur-Mer, a medieval French walled town, with narrow cobbled streets. We walked along the battlements, which were a mile, to the delight of Merry the Labradoodle, and enjoyed a market garden organised on the theme of the 7 deadly sins—green for envy, red for anger, yellow for sloth, purple for pride…

All photographs in this post were taken on my iPhone 6+ incidentally. Not always high quality, but you will get the flavour!

Merry came on holiday with us, and loved it!

And so did Irene

Green for envy. Loved this market garden!

Merry loved these cabbages–edible beauty. The world needs more of this if we are to cope with climate change.

A French artist copies the Basilica in front of him.

I have long wanted to explore the Basilica of St-Denis, the birthplace of Gothic architecture, in particular, of stained glass, under the leadership of the 12^th century Abbot Suger . He decided to fill his Abbey Church of St. Denis, near Paris, with “the most radiant windows” so that worshippers, surrounded by rainbowed light would feel closer to God. Medieval craftsman, transformed sand into jewels, bringing in More Light, the credo of Gothic architecture.

The Basilique Royale de Saint-Denis was the burial place of the Kings and Queens of France for a millennium, and we explored “the necropolis” with swarms of French school children, who discovered the Kings and Queens they had studied in history with yelps of delight.

Incidentally, there was a terrorist attack and a raid at Saint-Denis a week after we left, and France closed all exits, so we were grateful for safety, and that we got to enjoy the Cathedral in a peaceful, relaxed way!

Recreations of French fashion through the ages.

Paris has more dogs per capita than any other European city, and most of its fabulous gardens are dog friendly. So we went with Merry to the Jardin du Luxembourg, which was ablaze in autumn colours, backlit with brilliance.

I was amused by how Parisian parks close. No stated closing time. A gendarme appears at dusk, whistling. Everyone gets up. And he continues whistling until all we, like sheep, have peaceably left.

* * *

Another cathedral I’ve long wanted to see is Chartres, and we finally made the 75 km drive to Chartres, and it was well worth it. A magical walk by the canals, and then a trek up the hill to the Cathedral with glorious stained glass, all in “Chartres blue,” and beautiful rose windows. We then wandered around the medieval city, sampling…St. Jacques scallops and risotto for dinner, and a grazing lunch of handmade chocolates, delicious artisan bread, pain au chocolate, macarons

Chartres, another town dependent on its network of canals. A definitely maximalist architectural style

The labyrinth for walking meditations outside Chartres.

And here are some images from the Bois De Boulougne, and the Jardin de Bagatelle

The 10 Most Read Posts of 2015 on Dreaming Beneath the Spires

By Anita Mathias

Image credit

This is the lazy liminal period between Christmas and New Year, time for a psychologically healthy Ignatian Examen of the previous year—the highs and the lows; what we did well occupationally, spiritually, physically and relationally, and what we utterly failed at…and why.

Bloggers traditionally look at the previous year’s posts, and see what spoke to people… and what did not!!

Here, if you missed them, or would like to revisit them, are my most read posts of 2015.

1 A God’s Eye View on the Migrant Crisis

2 The Best Thing You Can Do with Your Life: Sign It Over. (Inspired by Bill Bright.)

(I really truly believe this, incidentally)

3 On Cancer, Declining Chemotherapy, Healing, and Future Plans

My year was defined by my quixotic quest to recover from Stage III colorectal cancer though diet, exercise and supplements (and without any treatment!)

4 When You Think it’s All Over, And That End is a New Beginning

The infinitely creative God lovingly calls us to new beginnings when everything, everything seems to have collapsed around us. (Another core conviction)

5 “Thin Places,” Where the Boundaries between the Spiritual and Physical Worlds are Almost Transparent

6 In which the Afflicted are Comforted in Ways We Cannot Guess (In Memory of Kayla Mueller)

Perhaps because my energy was low this year, I only wrote things I really, truly believe.

7 At the End of Broken Dreams, an Open Door

8 7 Things I Learned from Simon Vibert’s “Stress: The Path to Peace”

9 When the City of Light Goes Dark. Finding Hope in an Age of Terrorism

10 In which God Creates Beauty from My Mistakes

tied with

10 Is “ending those Muslims,” as Jerry Falwell advises, the way of Jesus? Aren’t there other ways?

And here are my top ten posts of all time, all of which have had several thousand views.

1 John Leonard Dober and David Nitschman: The Moravian Missionaries who Sold themselves into Slavery

2 Yeah, Praise the Lord, Anyway, Even for Fleas.

3 Chronos and Chairos: Time and God’s Time

4 Why I Am No Longer a Roman Catholic

5 I Said to the Man who Stood at the Gate of the Year

6 My Experience of The Baptism in the Holy Spirit and of Speaking in Tongues

7 10 Reflections after Listening to Heidi Baker

8 On Mustard Seeds and Malignant Polyps

9 Lonnie Frisbee, the Most Influential Gay Christian in the Last Century

10 Walking on the Waters, Looking at Jesus, in the Shadow of the Big C (who Must not be Named)

Analysing my Experience of Prayer over the Last 19 Years

By Anita Mathias

So I come to my time of prayer, and I am dry and distracted. My thoughts are whirling; I cannot hear God speak, and I have nothing to say. My spirit feels numb. Prayer?

It’s as if you are having coffee with a friend you haven’t seen for a while, and you are so out of touch with her life, and she with yours, that you don’t know what to ask, don’t know what to tell, don’t know what to talk about. The conversation is leaden; you want to escape.

Keeping in touch is a sure way to better conversation, whether with God or a friend.

I pick up my pen. Since my mind cannot focus on ethereal prayer, I will write my prayers. Write my worries, my plans, and my fears. Check in with Jesus about each of them. That pathway into prayer–writing my prayers–never fails.

* * *

I write. I think. I pray. I sink, absorbed, into the quietness.

I had come to prayer so distracted, so out of touch with God, with nothing to say, my thoughts and emotions whirling restlessly.

But I had forced myself into the boat of prayer, and Christ and I together had pushed far away from shore.

It got quiet. It got peaceful. Long, still sheets of water everywhere. Slowly, a fish plopped up. A worry.

My writing?

I take that worry to God.

I don’t hear anything.

I ask the question again. So Lord, will I have a writing career, of sorts? And wait.

Slowly, clarity emerges.

I go back to my origin story. The clear call of God to write one day in 1983. A call which, for too long a time in my life, I have not been faithful to.

I will return to that. I will be faithful to my call. I will leave success and failure to him. I will keep writing. I will keep reading. I will study the craft as time permits. I will get better, that is certain. He will use my words to reach others, of that too I feel certain. I will run in my lane and leave the results of my race to him.

* * *

Other fish poke their heads out of the temporarily still sea. Our family business, and how to make it grow? My daughters’ future.

Ideas come, reassurance. Some questions remain question marks, of course. Not every answer is given in every session of prayer, but they are now question marks bathed in golden light.

I grow still and quiet. We have rowed so far from shore.

I had 36 minutes free, and so I set a timer.

When the timer goes, it is a wrench.

I have been in another country.

Without being too fanciful, I have felt the heavens part; I have felt grace rain down. I have felt the Spirit. Something has shifted in my soul. Its molecules have changed, its water become wine. I feel an expansive peace. Something of God’s life, of God’s love for me has entered into and enlarged my soul.

* * *

I have been mostly disciplined in prayer since a dark patch of disappointment in late 1996. I had been led on by an editor of a leading publishing company, who I had thought had given me a verbal assurance that he would publish my book. I had a leading agent, I thought–though we hadn’t signed.

The book I wrote was a disappointment to both of them, and, if I look at it now, will, almost certainly, be a disappointment to me. But it was written through pregnancy and early motherhood…in blood.

When, after revisions, it was still turned down, I flung myself facedown on the carpet and thought, “I want to die.”

* * *

“I am sick,” I then said to myself. I am spiritually sick. And Jesus said he was the Physician. I need him.

And having a wee bit of a practical streak, I thought: How much prayer and Bible study do I need to have the life of God course through my soul? And that is a question Scripture is silent on. It can only be answered by trial and error, and the answer can vary. On busy days, Martin Luther said he needed three hours of prayer (rather than his usual two). I needed to find my own answer.

So I set a stopwatch, prayed and read my Bible until I was bored, and then stopped. I was not at peace, but I was growing distracted. I was discovering my baseline for prayer, just as when I began the discipline of exercise, I walked until I was tired, wrote down my distance and speed, and then began to increase both (and am still increasing them, oh yes!)

When I was 17, I wanted to become a nun, and I did for a while, joining Mother Teresa. This was the discipline of prayer there: you didn’t prolong prayer, because you found it sweet, otherwise you would soon burn out. And you do not cut it short, because you were bored, otherwise, you would quit before you got quiet, got still, repented, heard God, tasted the sweetness of it all.

The next day I set a timer for the time I had spent, and just a minute more, and went on, adding a minute a day, dividing my quiet time between prayer and Bible study. I stopped at 90 minutes–45 minutes for prayer, 45 minutes for Bible study (though, in fact, now that the girls are older, I often end up spending even longer than that in spiritual disciplines! My soul needs it!)

Over the years, I found peace. I found serenity. I got to know Jesus a whole lot better. In prayer, God suggested ways to move from Williamsburg, Virginia, where I wasn’t particularly happy, to Oxford, where I am happy. In prayer, I “heard of” a business idea which changed our lives. In prayer, I “heard” God suggest blogging, which I so love. I prayed for my dream house with a very specific wishlist, and I stumbled on an ad, and God revealed ways to just about afford it.

But all these are side effects. My character began to change, molecule by molecule, and that is one of the gratifying side effects of a life of prayer. I became a kinder person, more empathetic.

My life of prayer is not a story of remarkable worldly success. And so I cannot recommend prayer as a way to become rich, become famous, become a great writer. To take up a discipline of prayer for the worldly advantages it might confer is like marrying only for money, or only for sex, and we know all how that works out, don’t we?

T. S. Eliot looking back on the first twenty years of his life as a writer says,

Twenty years largely wasted

Trying to learn to use words, and every attempt

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I feel as a writer and as a pray-er.

But then, what Stephen King says about writing is equally true about prayer.

Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, or getting laid, or making friends. It’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy. Writing is magic, the water of life. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up.

Prayer is everything Stephen King says writing is, and more.

It is not a sure way to worldly reward, though it has brought wealth and success to some, according to the plan of God for their lives

However, though material rewards are not guaranteed, as Jesus said, rewards are guaranteed. We pray for the fun of hanging out with Jesus, to get his take on things, to see life with his eyes, to absorb his wisdom. We pray because with the discipline of prayer comes lightness and joy. With the discipline of prayer and obedience comes peace and calm, wisdom and guidance. Water for a parched soul. Sanity. We pray so we can be enlarged by loving something larger than ourselves, and that is the Lord Jesus himself.

We pray because it is our daily bread. Jesus may choose to give some of us nutella too, and I still pray for metaphorical “nutella”, and grilled cheese and homemade blackberry jam, and according to the lane he has marked for me, the work he has given me to do in the world, and the people he has given me to influence, he may well give me some of these things. Or he may not. But tasting Jesus is fun, and joy and wisdom, and for these gifts from the discipline of prayer, I am grateful.

On a Shortcut into Happiness

By Anita Mathias

When we sleep, I have read, the unconscious begins to process, resolve, and heal the buried emotions of the day. That little inadvertent thing which seemed so massively embarrassing, but which everyone else has forgotten. The awkwardness, the stresses, the misunderstandings, the little buffetings of the heart.

Anxieties, shame, fears, tensions, and triumphs–we relive them, and often resolve them in our dreams. Often, I reconcile with people I haven’t been able to reconcile with in real life, and wake with a sense of relief.

Sleep deprivation is a form of torture. Some psychiatrists say that depression and bipolar disorder are at root sleep disorders! Sleep is cathartic. God, or our unconscious, resolves many of the day’s niggles. “The night belongs to the Lord,” I have heard it said. And so “he gives to his beloved sleep,” and we awake with fresh energy and resolve for the new day.

* * *

You know what else gives me the same sense of resolving the unresolved by a subconscious process? Of resolving tensions, dissatisfactions, minor anger, and irritations?

Exercise, aerobic exercise, working at the outer limit of my comfort zone.

* * *

I was very ill last November, too exhausted to leave my bed for a couple of weeks, and if I had not had surgery for Stage III colon cancer, with nine lymph nodes affected, that fast growing “rabbit cancer,” would have metastasized, and I might have died.

In a Spirit-guided decision, I declined chemo and as part of my chemo-free recovery, I have been trying to walk as fast as I can. My one year check-up showed entirely normal results, for which I grateful

I have never been strong, so at present, it takes me 20 minutes to walk a mile, and I can do three or four miles. But, let me embarrass myself, because I was so unwell, because I’ve never been strong, walking a 20 minute mile takes focus. I break a sweat, oh yes; I gasp at times, I feel the strain in my lungs and heart. If I lose focus, I won’t break my speed goal (I am currently trying to break a 20 minute, 23 second mile)– so focus I do.

But while my body is working, and my conscious mind is focused on my walking speed, my unconscious is working too.

When I come back from my walk sometimes just a mile, sometimes over three, I feel purged, cleansed. It was cathartic. Many of the anxieties, irritations, question marks and worries have been resolved, who knows how? I am now ready to settle down to work, with calm of mind and clear focus. It’s as every cobweb has been vacuumed from my brain.

* * *

A book I reviewed earlier this year, Stress by Simon Vibert says that one way to deal with stress is to do something so demanding that you can’t consciously think of anything else while you do it. At present, trying to walk a mile faster than 20 minutes and 23 seconds does that for me.

If you are stressed at this season, perhaps do that? Find your baseline, your comfortable pace, and try to walk faster than that for… a mile? Or the 10,000 steps which are the minimal requirement for good health, according to Britain’s NHS (about 3.5 to 5 miles depending on your stride). Dr. Andrew Weil, my favourite medic who works with alternative medicine says walking 4 miles a day at 15 minutes a mile will revolutionize your health, a goal I am shooting for.

I will probably get there, but meanwhile, I am enjoying the journey. Those little bursts of 20 minutes 23 seconds make me significantly happier every day, and that is never to be underrated, that little thing, happiness. Through so easy a means, walking shoes, and a mile, or three. Perhaps four

Is “ending those Muslims,” as Falwell advises, the way of Jesus? Aren’t there other ways?

By Anita Mathias

So the President of Liberty University, Jerry Falwell Jr., patting the gun in his back pocket, has called on the 14,500 students of Liberty University, the world’s largest Christian University, to carry concealed guns, and “end those Muslims,” thereby (somewhat belatedly!) “teaching them a lesson.”

Everything about that statement is so alien to the values of Jesus—the fear, the aggression, the binary thinking of “good people,” and “those Muslims,” the inciting of 14,500 impressionable students to teach one’s enemies a lesson by killing them!

And Jesus’ teaching on gentleness and non-violence in the Sermon on the Mount? Does that still work? Jesus was the most brilliant person who ever lived, and pretty much every teaching of his which I have experimented with worked. I believe this will too. We are protected more than we realise; there are more for us than against us, and the hills are truly ringed with angels in chariots of fire.

The meek inherit the earth. Both Jesus and David, the Psalmist, were sure of it. Jesus’ words still change lives, and slowly and steadily change the world, while all those who took the sword against him are long forgotten. An eye for an eye. How tedious. Is this the Gospel? Is this what Jesus came for?

* * *

Perhaps Falwell sees the students of Liberty University, the largest Christian University in the world, as a likely target for “those Muslims.”

Though, in fact, ISIS sees all of America, and Europe as Christian, as “Crusaders,” in the way the West sees all of Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan as Muslim (though many must be only nominally so). As such terrorists are far more likely to attack symbols of American hegemony (the World Trade Centre, the Pentagon, the White House) or perceived Western decadence (a concert, a football game, a restaurant) than a Christian University. Christian religious sites and institutions in the West, have, interestingly, not yet been the target of Jihadists, perhaps because of a reluctant respect for their fellow monotheists, fellow “children of Abraham,” who knows?

Is arming a University of 14500 18-22 year olds the best solution for a feared attack? Is learning to operate firearms the best way to spend precious time at University, the time for reading and dreaming, and learning the best that has been said and thought? Won’t it foster fear, paranoia, and the post-traumatic stress syndrome that according to Brené Brown has afflicted America since 9/11/2011? Given the epidemic of campus shootings in America, both of students and faculty, a campus in which everyone feels under siege and carries a concealed weapon will be less safe, not more safe. Arguments about grades, or a girl, or a parking spot, or a leer after a few beers could too easily be taken outside, and guns whipped out.

* * *

“Do not be afraid,” is one of the first words spoken by angels when they encounter mortals. Fear is expensive. When it outstrips the bounds of prudence, it leads to unnecessary purchases of guns, and alarms and CCTV and insurance, to overwork and over-saving. How much simpler to just trust God. To choose the way of love.

Will the students of Liberty then be sitting ducks for “those Muslims” to come in and slaughter? Well, there are simple things one can do to make campuses safe, other than arming every student. (I am not familiar with Liberty University, but I happen to know Virginia college campuses intimately, since my husband Roy was a Professor of Mathematics at the College of William and Mary, Williamsburg Virginia for the first 14 years of our marriage.)

If Falwell thinks it’s likely that his students might be the targets of a terrorist attack, he could put metal detectors in every building. Metal detectors before one leaves college parking lots to enter the campus. That would probably be cheaper than offering free pistol shooting courses at a University, for heaven’s sake.

There are so many common sense non-violent wise solutions which the Spirit, whom Jesus released by his death, can offer us.

* * *

Be wise as a serpent, and gentle as a dove is one of my favourite teachings of Jesus. We can be the meek who inherit the earth, the gentle who pray for their enemies, the kind who have good will towards others, and yet can be safe enough by the exercise of wisdom and common sense which the Spirit will give us. And through God’s protection.

Christ’s last commission was to preach the Gospel to all nations. Reaching “those Muslims” with the Gospel, not with guns, may well be our greatest contribution to world peace.

May Christ show us the way.

In which the Kindly Light of Christ can Heal our Worst Memories

By Anita Mathias

Sometimes, in a dream, or sudden flashback, I remember something dark, frightening, shame-producing, upsetting or infuriating from my past.

I guess you do too. It’s part of being human.

One way to deal with uncomfortable emotions is through what Brené Brown in Daring Greatly calls numbing—surfing the internet, binge-watching TV, food, overwork, oversleeping, Facebook.

Putting your rubbish into the basement rather than composting or incinerating it is dangerous…your home will get moldy; it will affect your breathing, and your health.

Not dealing with pain is similarly dangerous.

* * *

Hey, I am no expert in this, but this is what I do. I try not to suppress the memory which has presented itself to me. Or distract myself with chocolate or surfing the web.

I sort of say, “Well, hi there, memory. Hello, old self.” For the old self in the memory may have been very tired, very frightened, very angry, very inexperienced, and unwise. She is not who I am now, but I have compassion on her, my former self.

I re-enter the situation mentally, hopefully for the last time, though I will continue to do so as long as the memory hold pain, a sting.

I see myself, scared and angry in the metaphorical darkness.

But I see more. There is someone with me, always with me.

Christ.

He extends his hands to me, and from his hands rush sparkles, stars, streamers of iridescent kindly light. The Northern Lights rush from his wounded hands. Towards me.

If I allow him to, all those wounds of the past will be healed. Completely.

* * *

The dark times felt dark, so dark.

But in fact, they are…neutral. Seeds.

I can allow them to become bitter roots in me, tumours that will spread their spider tendrils through my brain, making me bitter and mean,

Or I can allow Christ’s light to transform those experiences, those memories into something different as a bulb becomes a tulip–who would have guessed?

Christ can heal the pain, heal the scar-tissue from those memories, and he will. But more, he can change them into something else, into blogs, and stories and poems, perhaps. Into wisdom.

I have known suffering. I have been acquainted with distress. And so I understand other people who suffer in the ways I have suffered.

I have suffered. I have survived. I have learned a toughness of mind and spirit. I have gained understanding.

I have suffered. I have survived. I have learned to trust God. I believe that God can mysteriously make things work out for good, converting our disadvantages to advantages.

And so I present the pain of the past to the Kindly Light which streams from Christ’s hands, and ask him to take those experiences and change their molecular structure, make them qualitatively different, change their water into wine, and feed five thousand from the bread of those tears.