Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

On why God Permits our Weaknesses and Frailities to linger, and on the Baptism in the Holy Spirit–and its limits!

By 7 Comments

John the Baptist’s preaching caused a revival, of sorts. “The whole Judaean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him.” (Mark 1:5)

This explosion of popularity did not throw him off course. He did not try to hold on to his momentum or his platform. He stayed focused on the Message-giver, and his message was one of utter simplicity. “There is one greater than I. He will baptise you with the Holy Spirit.”

That simple promise of John still speaks to us today, whose experience of the Spirit in our daily lives resembles occasional sips of champagne rather the wisdom and peace that comes from a steady abiding.

John’s message is one of hope: There is one more powerful than I who will baptise me with the Holy Spirit.

Lent, New Year…we traditionally take stock of our lives and plan to revise them.

And the best way is with the power of the Spirit, with the power of Jesus, not with the power of our weak and fickle wills.

 

Let’s take a peek at some of my New Year’s goals, which, sigh, I have made before.

I would like to sleep early, and wake early.

I would like to be more active, and eat healthily.

I would like to be tidier and more organised.

I would like to be more productive, and finish the book.

 

I think I omitted an important element in New Year’s resolution making. Instead of focusing on my struggles with discipline in early rising, healthy eating, exercise, housekeeping, and productivity, I should ask for Jesus to baptise me with the Holy Spirit as I tackle discipline.

The baptism in the Holy Spirit comes in all the forms and shapes and variety of God himself. It was for me a seismic, one in a life-time event. But what I rely on more is a daily filling.

As a good father does not give the son who asks for bread and fish snakes and scorpions, Jesus says, so if we ask for the Holy Spirit, for help to do what we must do, he will give it to us. (Luke 11: 11-12). Fresh bread, sufficient for the day. Tomorrow we will be hungry, and we must ask again.

I need to focus on Jesus, clothed in light, who breathed on the disciples, and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” and they were transformed. Ask for his interventions in my little struggles with disciplines, things you can’t go over, you can’t go under, you have to go through.

I’d rather read than declutter, but I should declutter significantly because I am planning to move… There is one greater than I who will baptise me with the Holy Spirit, and with the power to do what I have to do. Come, Holy Spirit.

I’d rather eat comfort food, and surf the net rather than eat nutritious food and exercise. But there is power, there is one more powerful than I, who will baptise me with his Spirit again, and give me power to do what I must do.  Come, Holy Spirit.

I want to stay up late, reading or surfing. It’s more appealing to sleep in or read newspapers or magazines or Facebook rather than finish my book. But there is power to do the right thing, there is one more powerful than I, who will baptise me with the Spirit, and who will help me.  Come, Holy Spirit.

The place of helplessness is the ironic place of power, because we need to really, truly come to it to lean on the one stronger than ourselves.

* * *

Besides, all these tedious old resolutions are part of the idols of our age. Clean eating. 10,000 steps. The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.  Productivity.

But Jesus said nothing about them in his long great sermons on record, The Sermon on the Mount, and the Upper Room Discourse, or in any of his red letter teachings.

His focus was on the heart and spirit, the secret thoughts and emotions which no one else guesses at. The ways we disobey the teachings of Jesus in our innermost thoughts affect the course of our lives, and our peace and happiness far more than the habits of health and productivity.

If Jesus were to help us make New Year resolutions he might say, “Stop judging!!  Stay in your own lane. Turn that judging energy into improving the speed and elegance of your own race. Ask me for help in seeing yourself clearly, and when you have seen the beam in your own eyes, ask my help in removing it.” He might say, “Do unto your family and friends what you would they do unto you.” He might say “Give,” or “Forgive.  Cut the tangled fishing line of grievances, and see how much lighter you feel.”

And these things my wonderful Jesus might say are infinitely harder than New Year resolutions–Wake earlier. Eat healthily. Write more. Be tidier.  And, as we follow where Jesus leads step by step in the minutiae of our daily lives…(I love the German word for discipleship, Nachfolge, follow after)…these things fall into place.

* * *

So, through will you and I then go to our graves as perfect human beings, without all these weaknesses and limps and thorns in our flesh that keep us humble?

I have two stories…

The powerful, brilliant, spiritually gifted, dynamic St. Paul, he who heard the voice of Jesus, who had a vision of heaven, was beset by an annoying “thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass” him. His weakness could have been physical, emotional, or spiritual…  He emphasises, however, that it came from Satan, not God. He is also clear that God could deliver him from it, in an instant, with “one touch from the King.”

Three times he asks God to free him from it, and Christ refuses to. “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness,” Christ replies.

In his neediness, Paul will have to learn to rely on Christ’s power, which he would not need if he was self-powered, Paul-powered.

Paul concludes that he will delight in his weaknesses and hassles which will teach him to rest on Christ’s power, “for when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Sometimes God lets our struggles, difficulties and problems linger, so that we learn to trust him, discover his power, and live and act out of his empowering. Or merely to keep us humble. To keep us walking, instead of running, and collapsing in burnout.

* * *

And sometimes the weaknesses we lament are just part of our make-up, the way God created us, the shadow side, the necessary adjunct of our strengths. The awkwardness and extreme introversion Donald Miller, whose memoir A Million Miles in a Thousand Years I am listening to on audio in the car, mentions in Blue Like Jazz, his highly original memoir, perhaps provided the necessary space for his independent thinking on faith, love and “how then should we live.”

 

A last story. All his life, the great Christian and lexicographer Samuel Johnson struggled with sleeping early and waking early. He wanted to wake at 6 a.m., he would have been content to wake at 8 a.m; he often woke up at 2 p.m.

1738: He wrote, “Oh Lord, enable me to redeem the time which I have spent in sloth.”

1757: (19 years later) “Oh mighty God, enable me to shake off sloth and redeem the time misspent in idleness and sin by diligent application of the days yet remaining.”

1759: (2 years later) “Enable me to shake off idleness and sloth.”

1761: “I have resolved until I have resolved that I am afraid to resolve again.”

1764: “My indolence since my last reception of the sacrament has sunk into grossest sluggishness. My purpose is from this time to avoid idleness and to rise early.”

1764: (5 months later) He resolves to rise early, “not later than 6 if I can.”

1765: “I purpose to rise at 8 because, though, I shall not rise early it will be much earlier than I now rise for I often lie until 2.”

1769: “I am not yet in a state to form any resolutions. I purpose and hope to rise early in the morning, by 8, and by degrees, at 6.”

1775: “When I look back upon resolution of improvement and amendments which have, year after year, been made and broken, why do I yet try to resolve again? I try because reformation is necessary and despair is criminal.” He resolves again to rise at 8.

1781: (3 years before his death) “I will not despair, help me, help me, oh my God.” He resolves to rise at 8 or sooner to avoid idleness.”

Johnson spent much of the night in taverns where he enthralled an audience with his encyclopaedic knowledge, and his quick and ready wit. He was the best thing that ever happened to the young Scot James Boswell, who wrote one of classics of English Literature: The Life of Johnson.  Boswell, an early fan-boy, surreptitiously recorded everything that Johnson said, and there was his book.

Sir, a woman’s preaching is like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all, Johnson quipped to Boswell. (Yeah, yeah, perhaps he should have gone to bed a bit earlier after all).

But genetically, Johnson was a night-owl. In trying to rise early, he was fighting against his chronotype, his biology. (I’ve read that night owls may be evolutionary descendants of the Paleolithic and Neolithic night watchmen who sat at edges of the encampment, protecting the people, and telling stories and singing songs to keep themselves awake. Creative, intelligent, resourceful types). Many creative people are night owls, are messy, are sedentary, or fight addictions…. These things are often the shadow side of creativity.

Perhaps Samuel Johnson was just the way God meant him to be, a brilliant night owl who sparkled after the sun set. Maybe his struggles with early rising taught him humility; taught him a gentleness with others who struggle; taught him his need for God. If not for his late hours, his wit and wisdom and life experience would have long vanished, he would be one of the 99.99% who are long forgotten, and lie in unvisited graves.

Dr. Jack Miller (who catalogued Johnson’s failures I just quoted in his own great Sonship talks) mocks him, saying he struggled because he did not know the power of the Spirit. But I think every human being goes to his grave with weaknesses, blind spots, and even sins…so that they continually feel the need for God,

 

God determines our chronotype, lark or owl. God determines our body type, ectomorph, mesomorph or endomorph, and there are limits to how much we can change it. God determines our IQ, our physical attractiveness, our talents. He knows exactly the role he has planned for us to play in this our life—Hamlet, or Ophelia, Lear or Cordelia– though we can decide whether we will play it well, badly, or not at all.

Our weaknesses are as much a part of God’s plan for our lives as our strengths. Both guide us into our vocation, signal what we should undertake, and what we should not. And sometimes, of course, what we see as our weaknesses are just the shadow side of our strengths. I am a distracted housekeeper because I spend so much time reading. I am not an early riser because I read into the early hours! I carry extra weight because I spend more hours reading than exercising…

So while we try to change, we should also treat ourselves with the affection and amused tenderness that God feels towards us; we should treat ourselves as tenderly and indulgently as we would treat a beloved toddler who announces she’s going to run the London Marathon…tomorrow!

Image Credit: Tolle et Lege, Alighieri Press

PS: Slowly blogging through the Book of Mark, interrupted by a spell of busyness, and imperfect health!

In Praise of Desert and Wilderness Experiences

By

John the Baptist, his heart and mind and spirit filled with the word of God, pregnant with his calling, does not do what we would today if we sense a calling. He does not go to the cities, to Jerusalem; he does not seek a platform; in fact, he initially does not speak at all.

He goes into silence, into solitude and lets the silence and solitude mould him into the Prophet God wants him to be. He does not seek the audience, the ministry, or the influence; he seeks his God, and God brings it all to him–the ministry, the recognition, the influence, the crowds, the “cross”.

He put first things first: He put God first, and the rest came to him.

* * *

John the Baptist’s season in the desert of preparation for his prophetic calling was a period of extreme simplicity–in his clothing…a garment of camel hair with a leather belt, and in the simple eating, locusts and wild honey (protein and simple carbs) which helped him focus on the most important things…

In solitude, he got to know God, to know his voice, to let the Spirit which had filled him from his mother’s womb (Luke 1:15) strengthen him, so that he wasn’t thrown when crowds seeking baptism flocked to him “from Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole region of the Jordan” including tax collectors and soldiers whom he fearlessly challenged. The time in the desert was necessary for him to gain the strength to stand up to the priests and Levites and Pharisees and Sadducees, whom he scathingly labelled “a brood of vipers” (Matt 3:7) and not hesitate to confront Herod, precipitating his own death (Mark 6 14-29).

The time in the desert made John unique (among those born of women there is no one greater than John, Jesus says, Luke 7:28), for in the desert, he had unusual, totally inspiring company. God was in the desert; the Spirit of God hovered over the desert, there were ministering angels in the desert (Matt 4:11), and eventually the Son of God, Jesus himself came there. John the Baptist, “a voice crying in the wilderness,” sounded unique, he sounded like himself. He sounded like God

Thomas Merton writes, “Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives. They waste their years in vain efforts to be some other poet, some other saint…They wear out their minds and bodies in a hopeless endeavour to have somebody else’s experiences or write somebody else’s poems, or possess someone else’s spirituality. There can be an intense egoism in following everybody else. People are in a hurry to magnify themselves by imitating what is popular-and too lazy to think of anything better. Hurry ruins saints as well as artists. They want quick success and they are in such a haste to get it that they cannot take time to be true to themselves. (Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation).

* * *

“God leads everyone he loves into the desert,” Paul Miller, a friend who mentored and “discipled” me for five years writes in his excellent book, A Praying Life, Moses, David, and Elijah among them.

We all have seasons of quietness, when, if we are to do the work involved in fulfilling our call, we must be alone and silent and quiet. God shapes us in that silence with his word, his spirit, and his love, until we are ready for the next season.

But desert seasons can be unendurably quiet. We can feel like failures while we wait.

However, if we try to short-circuit the desert season necessary for us to be shaped in silence into the kind of people who are able to bear the weight of the call of God, then the desert season gets prolonged, for we are not yet ready for our call.

* * *

For me the call to the desert in my life has been to retreat into silence and obscurity and “do the work: write the book.” I admit I have tried to get out of it by social life, volunteering in church, school and the community; teaching Bible studies, travel, adult education courses, films, theatre, money-making, money-saving, hosting and attending parties, “friendships” or small groups in which I did not add something of value to my friends’ life, or they to mine… But trying to get out of your calling, and out of doing what you have to do because of the sacrifices involved is not really satisfying. Ask Jonah. But God uses and shapes even our mistakes into a beautiful and useful story. Read the Book of Jonah.

By refusing to accept the deserts God calls us into, by filling them with noise, distraction, and busyness, we can prolong the season of preparation for our call. And, more chillingly, we may never do the work God has uniquely called us to do. I suspect many people never really step into their calling and vocation, for they are not willing to accept the sacrifice that preparation for it entails.

* * *

If God calls you into the desert, accept it. Do not numb the occasional loneliness and solitude with “crazy-busy, sugar, alcohol, the internet” (from Brene Brown’s list of the way we numb the pain of living, and then grow too numb to experience its joy). Pray, work, grow. Desert seasons end when you are ready for the next stretch of your call.

And the desert is not really a quiet, empty place. It is full of very important, very powerful, influential, and creative people you simply have to get to know to be happy and creative and fulfil your calling. God is in the desert. The Risen Jesus is in the desert. The wind of the Spirit blows and gusts through the desert. The desert is full of angels, to help you withstand the temptations of the desert–to too much food, to wanting power, to showing off. (Matthew 4 1-10).

 

It’s a quiet and desert season for me at the moment, empty-nesting, and guess what–I rather like it. With God’s grace, I hope not to short-circuit it, but to meet the one who came to the desert to meet John the Baptist, the one who baptises with the Holy Spirit and with fire.

 

P. S.  I am reading through the Book of Mark, and hope to share a reflection inspired by that great and short book every Sunday. Join me?

It’s all God’s money: Thoughts on “the Cattle on a Thousand Hills”

By

The Staffordshire Horde of Angl0-Saxon gold

 

One of the hardest things to have wise, sane, healthy thoughts about is money–since money is not mere zeroes on a bank statement, but the fruit of our labour, and our luck; a force which affects almost every area of our lives…our housing, surroundings, health, education, friendships, social life, vacations, leisure, thought-life, trust in God, and openness to His generous nudgings… Jesus says “Mammon,” money, is the biggest competitor to the love of God and the joy of God being the predominant force in our lives. It’s not easy to grasp Jesus’s thoroughly sane and foreign perspective on money. But seeing his life— intense, faith-filled, joyous, and infinitely influential, it’s well worth trying.

* * *

“It’s all God’s money,” I frequently repeat this useful mantra. I can be hard on myself, expecting too much wisdom and good sense of myself (and others!). As I tidy my house, and my eyes fall on books I haven’t read, boxed DVD sets I haven’t yet watched, clothes I have barely worn, furniture that I bought quickly and conveniently, rather than carefully and judiciously, I think “Gosh, that was a waste of money.” Sort of!

The only real waste of money, however, is to fling it into the ocean, or to burn a twenty pound note as a Cambridge undergraduate was filmed doing to torment a homeless man. Otherwise, when it comes to wasted purchases, God’s money flowed through my unwise hands into the department stores,’ and if I donate these things to a charity shop, it can flow into yet someone else’s hands, and I will have been a conduit of God’s blessing.

It’s the same with gym memberships, National Trust memberships, or Royal Horticultural Society memberships I haven’t fully used. It wasn’t “wasted;” the money flowed from me to someone else. It’s what I tell myself when I get what I think is a great deal on a airfare or a vacation rental, and my competitively savvy friends tell me of a better one they found: “‘It’s all God’s money.’ It flowed from me to BA rather than EasyJet. So be it.” And I saved time by not interminably shopping around for killer deals.

Making mistakes is part of being human; only God is all-wise. It’s important to accept our mistakes, our limited wisdom, our Pooh-of-Very-Little-Brainness and move on. I have run a small business since 2006, and notice how often people make mistakes. Our products are not the cheapest. But people buy them. Not everyone has the time or spirit or willingness to hound down the best value; I don’t myself. I am in and out of stores at the speed of light. Just as blessing comes to us because not everyone beelines for the cheapest stuff, or the best value, I am learning to offer grace to myself, and my family when other people or businesses profit from our mistakes.

* * *

A single apple seed can produce tens of thousands of apples. We observe this yearly in our small orchard. That is the normal rate of increase in creation. Jesus, it’s recorded, fed five thousand people from five loaves… each loaf multiplied a thousand times. Abundance–our thoughts, our words, our work, our investments, multiplied many times over–is the normal law of creation.

God owns the cattle on a thousand hills, the Psalmist tells us. Yet in his mercy, he only entrusts a few of these flocks to us. God’s material provision for each of us is sufficient, but not infinite. So we should try to make wise use of whatever gifts–of intellect, talent, opportunity or resources–He may have given us, but lightly. We are all limited beings, of limited intelligence, compared to the creator. So while we endeavour to use our talents and resources well, we also need to forgive ourselves, and offer ourselves grace when, through laziness, weakness, or sheer stupidity, we do not. It’s all God’s money; when I made mistakes through laziness or bad judgement, he used it to bless someone else!

And so we can let it all go, the lost or stolen handbags, wallets, phones, jewellery, the burgled cars, and houses. It’s all God’s money. God willing, those lost things were a blessing to someone else, and, mercifully, the river of God’s goodness does continue flowing, bringing to us newness, and more blessing besides.

* * *

So while we should use due diligence, and give to reputable, time-tested charities like Tearfund, we don’t need to torment ourselves about whether every cent is going to our sponsored child, or designated project, or whether it’s being lost to corruption, governmental or internal, or how wisely it’s being spent, or how effectively altruistic we are being. God uses our values, our backgrounds, our life-experiences, and the things that stir our hearts to direct each of us to support different charities. Choose the charities which resonate with your passions, pick the best ones according to your wisdom, intelligence and values, and then release the money to them. It’s all God’s money, anyway.

 

I love the Parable of Talents, which is incredibly true. To him who uses his “talents” well, more shall be given.

But ultimately, we are definitely not on earth to maximize our gifts and our talents, to explode our businesses, or invest our money with the Midas touch. God created the world from nothing by his mighty word. Jesus fed five thousand with two fish, drew gold coins from the mouths of other fish, and he can provide for us without all our artful schemes, dreams, and dodges.

We are not on earth to hustle, to multiply our words, our talents, and wealth through judicious application of the Protestant work ethic… because God is ace at multiplying and he can direct us to hidden wealth beneath our feet, like the Roman and Anglo-Saxon hordes of gold continually unearthed in Britain, or to herds of cattle waiting to be lassoed in an overlooked hill. We are on earth to learn to love. To love God, and other people. We are on earth to learn to be kind.

* * *

 

 

Image: By David Rowan, Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery (Staffordshire hoard) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Gratitude: A Secret to Happiness

By

  Georgia O’Keefe

All of us have a negativity bias which makes us more apt to remember one mean comment about our writing, our children, our appearance, or our characters, than dozens of positive ones. It’s true, isn’t it? More disquietingly, I’ve read, in Andrew Solomon’s brilliant The Noonday Demon that the myelin sheath around our nerves wears down as we age, so that, if we live long enough, almost all of us will suffer from depression. And that’s not a happy prospect!

* * *

I want to live with peace in my soul. I want to live with joy, mindfulness, and gratitude, “in the light of his glory and grace.” That phrase is precious to me. I say it to myself, often, when I feel stressed, and my heart and mind race with a hundred thoughts and emotions, and then I remember to pivot, “to turn my eyes on Jesus” once again, “to look full in his wonderful face, until the things of earth grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace,” and sanity and good sense return.

One way of pivoting into the presence of Jesus, and living in the light of his glory and grace, is the practice of gratitude. I do this quite deliberately. When I find myself stressed, or distracted, or discombobulated, I like to do what in mindfulness practice is called a three minute breathing space which, astonishingly, often serves to bring peace and clarity. Another practice I use is “the ten finger gratitude exercise” of Mark Williams, author of Mindfulness: count ten blessings or reasons for gratitude on my fingers. Often, my mood and perspective has shifted, and I am calmer before I got to ten!

For years, I have told one of my daughters who had trouble falling asleep to count a hundred blessings to help her sleep, and I often do myself…both the little unnoticed ones—that by God’s grace, I have never been in an accident, or broken a bone, and have rarely experienced physical pain, and have reasonably good health. I count my favourite gorgeous paintings, and books, and poems, and places, and people. That changes my mood before I get to a hundred.

* * *

Gratitude is the most important ingredient of happiness. Rick Steves who writes wonderful travel guides (and who, a couple of decades ago, converted me to his “Europe by the Backdoor” philosophy, enjoying Europe as many Europeans do, picnic meals in great parks, camper-vanning and campgrounds) writes of a loud disgruntled American eating an expensive meal in an expensive restaurant in a resort which cost five times what Steves recommends spending, loudly grumbling about his life and his taxes; berating his wife, thoroughly miserable through it all. I have often seen that traveller, bringing their internal unhappiness and spoilt-brattiness to exquisite surroundings. On occasion, though rarely, I have been that traveller.

What does it profit you if your business makes, say, a million pounds and you do not have sunshine in your soul? What does it profit you if you seen every beautiful sight in this green planet and have no love in your heart? What does the beautiful home, and garden, and all the beautiful art you seen, and experiences you have had, matter if you do not savour them, at the time, and in memory? Achieving the success of their wildest dreams will not make a person happy unless they are continually grateful for it. I know enough successful, wealthy people to know that this is true.

* * *

Some people are naturally more cheerful, sanguine, optimistic and grateful than others. It has to do with an internal, largely genetic, set-point for happiness which psychologists say is virtually impossible to shift. Some people are just more optimistic and sanguine than others, and luckily, I am naturally Micawberish. But gratitude is also a practice, which we learn by practising–and there is nothing more happy-making to practice.

The magic practice of gratitude can change our memories and perceptions of the past. Hold the picture frame of your dark and traumatic memories to the light. Look for the gold, and there was gold there, for God was there. Look for the light and transformation which flowed from the trauma, or still can flow from it. Thank God for the flashes of brightness and goodness in those dark picture frames… for even in them, God was present, and his story for your life was being written.

Gratitude is the most important ingredient of happiness. And it’s learnt by practice. During daylight, I practise by looking out and thanking God for the ever-changing panorama of the sky, the clouds floating across it. I thank God for the stars so bright in the countryside where I live. I thank God for the people who love me, for the animals who love me, my Golden Retriever, Pippi, and my labradoodle, Merry; for the continuous beauty of nature, so like a Constable painting so often in the Oxford countryside where I live that it takes my breath away. I thank God for the beautiful countries and art I have seen, and the books and poetry I have read, an internal treasure bank, and the leisure to have enjoyed them. I thank God for my love for Scripture, and for knowing Jesus. I thank God for the continuous presence of the Father, the Son, the Spirit, and ministering angels, so that, at present, I can freely choose “the desert,” for I need to get some work done. See, just typing a paragraph like this changes your mood.

Try to count five or ten blessing when you are sad, or stressed, or out of sorts. See if changes your mood. It’s almost magical–though the real magic of the spiritual life is not in our practices, but in the great magician himself, in Jesus.

 And on occasion, you may need another route out of sadness and general malaise. Sometimes you may need a change of scene, the sea. “The cure for anything is salt water — sweat, tears, or the sea.” Isak Dinesen

Sometimes, you may just need a hot bubble bath and a good long nap!

P.S. My practice of gratitude begins with mindfulness of the sky and the weather after I watched this astonishing video by Benedictine monk, David Steindl-Rast. Do watch it. His narration in his gentle German accent somehow makes it more memorable. Here is the text:

A Good Day, Brother David Steindl-Rast

 You think this is just
another day in your life?

It’s not just another day;
it’s the one day that
is given to you…

today

It’s given to you. It’s a gift.

It’s the only gift that you
have right now, and the
one appropriate response
is gratefulness.

If you do nothing else but to
cultivate that response to the great
gift that this unique day is,

if you learn to respond
as if it were the first day
of your life,

and the very last day,

then you will have spent
this day very well.

Begin by opening your
eyes and be surprised that you
have eyes you can open,

that incredible array of colors

that is constantly offered to
us for pure enjoyment.

Look at the sky.

We so rarely look at the sky.
We so rarely note how different
it is from moment to
moment with clouds coming
and going.

We just think of the weather, and
even of the weather we don’t think
of all the many nuances of weather.

We just think of good weather
and bad weather.

This day right now has
unique weather, maybe a
kind that will never exactly
in that form come again.

That formation of clouds in the sky will
never be the same that it is right now.

Open your eyes. Look at that.

Look at the faces 
of people whom you meet.

Each one has an incredible
story behind their face, a story
that you could never fully fathom,
not only their own story,
but the story of their ancestors.

We all go back so far.

And in this present
moment on this day, all the
people you meet, all that life
from generations and from so
many places all over the world,
flows together and meets you
here like a life-giving
water, if you only open your
heart and drink.

Open your heart
to the incredible gifts that
civilization gives to us.

You flip a switch
and there is
electric light.

You turn a faucet and
there is warm water and cold water—
and drinkable water.

It’s a gift that millions and millions
in the world will never experience.

So these are just a few of
an enormous number
of gifts to which you can
open your heart.

And so I wish for you that
you would open your heart
to all these blessings and let
them flow through you,
that everyone whom you will meet
on this day will be blessed by you;
just by your eyes,
by your smile, by your touch—
just by your presence.

Let the gratefulness overflow
into blessing all around you,

and then it will really be
a good day.

 

 

 

 

The Things Worth Doing Badly

By

A tyrannical statement we’ve heard as children, and said as exasperated parents: If a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.

Which means we might never learn or do new things, for who has margin for one additional thing?

In fact, the opposite is true…anything worth doing is worth doing badly.

* * *

I discovered this while learning German over the last three years. The pace at the beginning was too fast, so I did not master the absolutely essential foundational grammar, which meant that, for the first two years, I was staggering and stumbling through lessons, which were making me sad. But I prayed about it after each year, and felt clearly, for unclear reasons, that I should continue–and now, in my third year of the six year course, I have a gifted, intelligent teacher who loves language, who speaks slowly, clearly, expressively, and, most importantly, interestingly—and, when I understand her anecdotes, I experience that flash of pure joy as when, after careening and tottering, you are off, skating on ice effortlessly, a joy that would not exist if learning had not been so hard.

When I was an undergraduate at Oxford, I remember the critic Hugh Kenner saying that there was no point in learning foreign languages since we would never learn them well enough to understand the poetry. Well, he’s wrong! It enhances travel to know enough of the language to understand the conversations around you, to communicate in, to be able to read the newspapers, absorbing a different viewpoint, and world-view. There is joy in reading, speaking, and understanding a little German, or Hindi, or French, or English to name some of my languages, or Greek, which I have a reading knowledge of. I listen to an episode of an interesting German podcast every day, Slow German, and, oddly enough, it is among the most enjoyable things in my day.

* * *

In fact, the only way we can begin to shift our lives, and to change the multiple short stories our lives are telling, is to begin doing the good things we want to do…even if badly. “Whatever you want to do or dream you can, begin it,” Goethe. Just five minutes a day of it, if necessary.

I love the Japanese strategy of Kaizen—making major life changes through infinitesimal adjustments. Want to read more. Read a little before you sleep. A little with your morning coffee. A little after dinner. See how long you take to read that book. Set a goal to finish the next book in one day less (which, with the dint of another mini reading or listening session, you can) and so on, until you are reading, say, 52 books a year, which will change your thinking, inner life, and appreciation of life. It’s better to read a little—for the magic carpet ride, interior thinking space, and quiet that it gives you than not to read at all.

* * *

After I had an evil illness, and declined chemotherapy three years ago, I read that walking four miles a day would change one’s life, and perhaps save it. Well, I almost built up to that a couple of times, but not quite. However, a short walk is better than no walk; a few yoga stretches is better than the one hour of yoga I aspire to (but never do, except in a class); lifting a few weights is not as good as the recommended 20 minutes of weights, but better than nothing. “Do not despise the day of small things.” I am not physically strong, sadly, but am committed to becoming stronger and fitter for that greatly increases my enjoyment of life.

Gardening brings me a good deal of joy, aesthetic pleasure, serenity, and thinking time, and also keeps me more flexible and limber. Every year, however, I return from our long summer holiday of two or three weeks, and find that my large garden of an acre and a half is a wilderness, and the pruning and dead-heading and weeding seems so overwhelming that I barely go out again until spring, when nature itself wants to drag you out, and then it’s so much work, and we wonder why we hadn’t put our garden to bed. I’ve decided to do a little and often rather than an hour spring and summer… and then nothing.

* * *

I would love to have a zen interior, a decluttered house, which I am closer to by dint of putting everything I don’t need in the garage, or barn, or detached study, which are now getting cluttered. It feels too soul-killing to take a whole hour to declutter, so I am doing it in tiny increments, 15 minutes a day, which doesn’t seem enough, but a whole lot better than not doing it at all. I’ve read that people hesitate to embark on minimalism because they think they’ll have to shed their most precious thing…which is a poor reason for not shedding your most junky thing.

* * *

The ultimate thing that’s worth doing badly, of course, is being a Christian, and pretty much everyone who’s not Jesus, does it imperfectly (some more imperfectly than others!)

However, it is an honour even to limp in the ways of the brilliant and astonishing Jesus. Because we think we fear doing the hardest thing for us–loving that dark, critical demanding person we find impossible; giving of our time to everyone who demands it of us–does not mean we should not continually travel towards the light, and attempt to conform our lives to Jesus’ teaching in micro-increments.

Following Christ (badly!!) has been the greatest honour and excitement of my life. When I am in a funk, when I feel confused, or angry, or out of sorts, or a teeny bit crazy, I pick up a Gospel, and read it fast, and his counter-intuitive words speak to me. Take up my cross, accept the difficulties of growth, or I am not worthy of him. The democratic life of continual prayer is open to everyone. Trust. “Don’t worry about anything at all.” Jesus’s teachings are like a diamond; there are always new glints.

I am invariably energised again by the call to follow Christ. In tiny steps, for this five minutes, this hour, this day. To think not only of myself, but of the others in my life, and of Him.

The Gospels: treasure you pick up when you are lost, a golden compass, guiding you to the right path, and since your trajectory is more important than where you are, it is better to take a few steps towards Christ, to crawl on the journey than never begin it, but drift towards the dark and hopeless regions of the Slough of Despondency, Doubting Castle, and Vanity Fair.

* * *

And HAPPY NEW YEAR, friends,

Love,

Anita

Image Credit: The wonderful Edward Knippers, on wrestling towards the light

A Christmas Reflection, and Letter

By

This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

I have meditated on the Christmas and Easter story every Christmas, for—goodness–decades, and every year find new diamond-glints in it.

It’s one of those magical stories which speak to everyone. To the poor and down-and-out, as most of humanity have been for most of time, and to the up-and-out.

Joseph and Mary, forced to migrate at the behest of a colonizing power to Bethlehem, where they were homeless, while she laboured with her illegitimate child, the child of scandal. She places the baby in a manger, a feeding trough for animals.

If Jesus was–as I believe he, of course, was– God himself, he could have chosen a blaze of earthly glory to make his presence felt. He could have chosen a throne. But he chose to come to a colonized and oppressed people, to be born of a woman pregnant before her wedding day; he chose a unhygienic manger for his crib, thereby exalting the simplest and humblest of choices.

But God connected him. He could not be hidden. An angel, no less, announces his birth to shepherds, announces that Jesus is the way to joy, that there is peace to men of good will. Wise men, Magi, saw a new star, heralding the birth of the King of the Jews, and followed it to the child, giving him precious gifts, gold, frankincense, or perfume used in censers in the temple, and myrrh, used in anointing oil for kings and prophets.

Scandal, homelessness, rejection, muck, odours. Angelic voices hailing him; shepherds worshipping him; distant Kings lavishing precious gifts on him.

To a lesser extent, that will be the path of all Christ’s followers… unmerited scandal, rejection, undeserved suffering, perhaps patches of poverty. And also affirmation from those who might see Christ in their lives, and on their faces, and unasked for precious gifts, gold, frankincense, myrrh. The glory and goldenness; the muck and shame. Sweet love and bitter hatred. Christ did not escape them–he held his head high whatever shame was heaped on him—and neither shall we.

Christ’s example compels some to choose the path of voluntary downward mobility… Saint Francis and Mother Teresa, Jackie Pullinger, Heidi Baker, all those who work in inner cities. That is not a call I hear.

A call I do hear is the call to simplicity. Simplicity in clothing, in make-up (or the lack of it!), simplicity in furniture, in choices of food, or holidays. Simplicity whenever possible; find the simplest option, God is more likely to be found there in the time and soul-space it frees up. Simplicity for the sake of our own souls; simplicity because our time on earth is limited and should be well-spent; simplicity because complexity is a waste of self and time and spirit; simplicity because there are poor on this earth; simplicity because of Christ. While voluntary downward mobility is a call to a few Christians, voluntary simplicity, I believe, is a call to all Christians, to all sane people.

But to the manger unasked for came gold, frankincense and myrrh, precious gifts Mary accepted on behalf of her precious son, gifts which sustained them when refugees in Egypt. So if and when through hard work or God’s favour, these colourful gifts appear, accept them with a grateful heart, enjoy the good things of this transient world, never losing sight of the gift of simplicity, or the gift of Jesus, and his counter-intuitive teachings which are the way to the great joy the angel promised.

* **

That is what I am reflecting on this Christmas.

And if you’re interested in a family catch-up. It’s been an important year in the story of our family.

Zoe graduated from Oxford University with a BA in Theology, and is working as a Stepney intern at St. John’s Church, Hoxton, which she loves, getting stuck into preaching, community organising, youth groups, etc. She is continuing to study Theology part-time at St. Mellitus College, London, taking courses in Political Theology. We heard her preach at St. John’s last Sunday, and she was excellent. She is living with other interns in a beautiful spacious Church of England house in central London, almost a mansion!

Zoe with the Bishop of Stepney, far left; her vicar, Graham Hunter, second from left, and the new Bishop of London, Sarah Mullally

Irene matriculates at the University of Oxford.

Irene graduated from Oxford High School, was chosen as “Young Biologist of the Year,” by Science Oxford, and won the school prize for Chemistry. She’s doing Medicine at Christ Church, Oxford University, and was delighted to be chosen as a Christ Church Prize Scholar with a cash prize of £9200 a year (which is good, since Medicine at Oxford is a six year course). She loves the whirlwind of Medicine, and has had courses in biochemistry, physiology, pharmacology, molecular genetics, anatomy and medical sociology!! Irene has a paid job too, blogging about her medical studies for Medic Portal!

And as for me: I am in the middle of my third year of German classes at Oxford University Continuing Education. It was a complete whim; I wanted to do something completely different in 2015, and chose a language I had never seriously considered learning. Learning German was hard at first because I was reluctant to buckle down and memorise the grammar, but I now experience flashes of pure joy when I understand the flow of fast German, when I converse in German, when I read a German poem, and understand it. I am so glad I persisted!

I find travel refreshing, rejuvenating, horizon-expanding, super-duper educational, and am grateful to have been able to travel a lot this year. Roy and I went to Split in Croatia in April, staying in a Castle featured in the Game of Thrones, in a romantic apartment with a patio jutting out into the Adriatic Sea on which we sat to admire sunsets. Lots of hiking, and sea walks. The entire city of Split was once Diocletian’s Palace, and like Trognir has a foreboding, claustrophobic air; you can imagine mysteries, assassins, cloak and dagger chases…

 

 

Summer holiday with the family… The Bavarian Alps and the Black forest. Totally restful.

We visited Budapest for the first time in October to stay with Peggy Goetz, my American friend, a Calvin College professor, who was teaching there for a semester. A fabulous history-drenched city I will definitely revisit (and a great walking city).

 

Peggy Goetz and me in Budapest

We had a mini-walking holiday in the Brecon Beacons in Wales, and straight after Irene’s term, went to Cyprus for 9 days, a hedonistic visit of beach walks, and ancient ruins!

Roy and I are slowly easing into the rhythm of being empty nesters, are focusing on health and fitness, organisation, and slipping into a rhythm of serious work. Empty nesting? Ssshhh… we like it!

I wish you a Happy New Year, hand in hand with the Great One

I said to the man who stood at the Gate of the Year,

“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied, “Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.”  Minnie Haskell

Love,

Anita

 

 

 

Even Better than the Alps… Thoughts on Returning Home

By

At Lake Konigsee, Bavaria (More pictures at the end of this post)

So I’m just back from a thoroughly refreshing summer holiday, hiking in the Bavarian Alps. On the boat trip to Konigsee, a very formal bugler played his horn, and the craggy mountains echoed the tune. It was a magical moment. We hiked all day in unspoilt, psychedelic landscapes, like a movie set, like heaven, I imagine, will be.

I quoted to my family, almost verbatim, a favourite passage from the Victorian preacher, Charles Spurgeon,

“If any of you can save up money to go to Switzerland, you will never regret it, and it need not be expensive to you. I have stood in the midst of those mountains and valleys; time would utterly fail me to speak of all the wonders of God which we saw in nature, and in providence.”

“One more remark, and I have done. If you cannot travel, remember that our Lord Jesus Christ is more glorious than all else you could ever see. Get a view of Christ, and you have seen more than mountains, and cascades, and valleys, and seas can ever show you. Thunders may bring their sublimest uproar, and lightnings their awful glory; earth may give its beauty, and stars their brightness, but all these put together can never rival him.”

I quoted this surrounded by mountains on every side at Konigsee, looking into their rainbowed reflections in a limpid, glacial lake. Spurgeon’s statement seemed academic. The beauty was exciting, exhilarating, emotionally overwhelming…

* * *

We hiked, we hiked for 13 days, Tergensee, Chiemsee, Konigsee, Neuschwantein Castle, the Black Forest…. I was hiking to deep and pleasant tiredness, but not exhaustion, averaging 12, 200 steps a day on my pedometer, several miles. And my heart was full of majestic mountains, of flower-strewn Alpine meadows, crystalline mirroring lakes, and streams, rippling. But then, though we had decided to spend 16 days hiking, I wanted to turn around. I had seen enough beauty for now, I was tired, I was ready to resume my regular life, meditating on the Bible, praying, reading, writing, gardening, running, yoga, family life, life with dogs.

Zoe said, “Spurgeon was right. Perhaps Jesus is better than the Alps.” And he is. Of Him, I never weary. I never weary of seeking his wisdom, of trying to see my life and my world through his eyes, of trying to align my life with the axis of his brilliant quirky vision. I never weary of reading his words, his encounters with people. How startling and unusual he is, how refreshing. How wise. How unique.

People know Jesus in different ways, and with different intensity. When I see someone who really knows Jesus, preserved in the written word, but alive and invisibly stalking the earth today, I realise how comparatively slight and shallow my knowledge of him is. And I resolve to deepen it. For when my life gets aligned with his wisdom, with how he would tell me to live my life were He visibly here, my life feels joyous, exciting, and refreshing, like those mountain streams.

* * *

Anyway, a brief personal catch-up. We are in a liminal and lovely season as a family. Zoe has graduated from Oxford University with a good degree in Theology, and Oxford’s Headley Lucas Prize in Theology, and will be working at St John’s Church, Hoxton, London come September. And Irene has graduated from Oxford High School. She won the “Young Biologist of the Year,” award sponsored by Science Oxford and Nuffield Department of Medicine; her school’s prize for excellence in Chemistry, and awards for achievement in Maths, Biology, and academic excellence. Lots of book tokens!

* * *

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Mary Oliver.

Roy and I will soon be empty nesters, and have just begun to think about how to live this third age/stage of life well. I hope to read deep and write hard; to get physically strong through long hikes and yoga; to garden, to travel, to continue to learn languages (we’ve been learning German for the last two years), and to have friends over to leisurely meals. We’d love to grow spiritually deep, intellectually deep, and to continue loving God, and people. No doubt, we will keep refining our preliminary thoughts.

Wishing you a happy summer, dear readers. Enjoy this beautiful season of your one wild and precious life.

 

 

 

 

 

We visited my cousin Margaret and her husband Dirk in Munich

A bugler awakens the mountains which echo his horn’s music

Peaceful at Pentecost

By

The Thames near Sandford-on-Thames, Oxford

Pentecost–the coming of the Spirit to a frightened and fearful huddle. It is one of my favourite Christian feasts, so hopeful… The Spirit comes not because we are worthy, often not even because we have asked him to, but because he is good, and kind, and desires to bless. He comes in his own way, on demand, to the humble repentant heart, Jesus says, and in the way He chooses, like water which softens hearts, like wind which cleanses them, like a dove which warms them, like fire which sets them ablaze.

I am in an in-between season. Zoe my eldest is wrapping up her Oxford University degree in theology (prayers welcomed for her Final exams); she then has a church internship at St. James Church, Hoxton, London, part of the Stepney internship scheme. Irene is taking her last school exams ever, and, contingent on results, hopes to enter a six year course in Medicine at Christ Church College, Oxford.

I am working on a long book, the idea of which came to me decades ago!! I cannot say God told me to write it, but I can say that God called me to write, and this is the book which I feel led or impelled to write, for reasons God alone knows, and which I am slowly understanding. I am working steadily, revising 3000 words a day, while knowing that many may not make it into the final draft.

I am taking an eight week Mindfulness course at Oxford University. I am half-way through it, but the shift has been seismic, in my mental state, in my serenity, in my sleep, in my productivity. As I guess a sculptor would feel foolish or superstitious about describing his sculpture midway, so I will not quantify or describe it just yet, but whoa, am I glad I am taking it!

It’s a beautiful spring, warm golden weather, and once or twice a week, I go on a long walk, increasing my mileage by 10% a week, as the gurus recommend. (Don’t be too impressed; I’m at 13 miles a week, in my 5th week of increases.) Chris McDougall who wrote the great running book Born to Run (and has converted me, amid much ouchiness to forefoot running) says something like, “If you have a problem that a four hour run can’t solve, then you ain’t going to solve it.”

Four hour runs I doubt I will ever do; I am a great believer in the minimum effective dose, just enough for health, but I have swapped out listening to audiobooks on my walks for prayer and problem-solving. That’s something else I’ve learned from my mindfulness course, listening to the wisdom of the body, and what its tense places are telling me; quietening down with deep, slow breathing, until the wisdom of the spirit emerges, the wisdom of the Spirit within me, the spirit who is breath, ruach, who Jesus transmitted to the disciples when he breathed on them.