Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

Silver and Gold Linings in the Storm Clouds of Coronavirus

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So, over the last two weeks, life, as I knew it, has been unrecognisably altered.

While this is just a drop in the ocean of virus-sadness, we were about to go to Prague on holiday when the Czech Republic closed its borders to British citizens (and BA promptly refunded us, thank goodness.) (And, probably, the holiday in Vienna in May, for which we had paid a deposit, will get refunded too!)

Then as government guidance tightened, things I could never have imagined happened. Oxford University shut down, taking with it the German class I was taking, which gave me much intellectual pleasure and joy. My daughter Irene, third year Medicine, Christ Church, Oxford University, had her Pharmacology exam on March 18th cancelled, and suddenly came home, earlier than planned, following her college’s desperate request to students. And it looks unlikely that Christ Church will reopen next month, let’s see.

The Church of England closed, in effect, and our church shut its doors, ending some church activities I enjoyed… a monthly supper club/small group I enjoyed, a monthly church supper and the Lent supper series, (which commenced with a wonderful talk by N.T. Wright. I was impressed by his encyclopaedic knowledge of, and excitement about Scripture. Aged 71, he almost bounced as he spoke in a great rush of enthusiasm!)

I had to close down a supper club/classics book group I run, and which I love. (We were reading Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey).  Writers in Oxford, a society I belong to, closed down, along with their enjoyable drinks evenings. The Oxford Literary Festival for which we had tickets was cancelled. Parties were cancelled.

The gym closed down, and I lost yoga classes, and personal training with weights. And goodness, The Ramblers, with whom I enjoyed walking, closed down. And over the weekend, some outdoor things we go to have closed… Blenheim Palace, the Oxford Botanical Garden, Harcourt Arboretum, even The National Trust, for heaven’s sake.

And now: it’s lockdown! We are only allowed out to buy essentials like food, and, thank goodness, to exercise outdoors.

The series of minor losses is a bit like old age is supposed to be, when friends die, work ceases, and life shrinks. In the beginning, I thought: the gym would stay open, my favourite Parks and gardens would stay open, I could exercise in them. I couldn’t imagine Church closing or the University and my language class or The Ramblers. But no…

* * *

Is my gloom, after all, shade of his hand, outstretched caressingly? Francis Thompson asks in a favourite poem “The Hound of Heaven.” In that poem, the narrator tries to find solace in love, in friendship, in nature, but God blights these things, determined that the poet should first find joy and comfort in Him. “Behind a frowning providence, he hides a smiling face,” William Cowper writes.

“God so loved the world,” Jesus states, early on in the Gospel of John. And that stands true in the time of Coronavirus. Over 99.99% of the British population, and of the world’s population are not ill, as I write, though thirty percent of the world’s population are under lockdown.

It is a time of worry and economic shaking for most of us. But this slice of silence and solitude and precious freed-up time is also a God-given opportunity to do some of the things we’ve long claimed we wanted to do–things essential or important to our spiritual health and wellbeing, which we have allowed to get crowded out by the urgent, and trivial.

Britons have embarked on a lockdown spending spree… exercise equipment, DIY stuff, seeds, gardening tools, sewing machines, knitting stuff.

For me, health permitting, this enforced stillness and peace is a time to

  • Make great headway with, or even finish, a big book project so often interrupted by distraction, both internal and circumstantial.
  • Get my house completely decluttered. It’s tidy, but I could get rid of a goodly percentage of my stuff.
  • Get as strong as I can be through fast walking and lifting weights at home. And continue losing weight without being thrown off course by travel (hotel breakfasts and restaurant dinners!) and parties and meals at friends’ houses, with food that’s not on my ketogenic meal plan.
  • Wake early, now that our evenings are more under our control without going off schedule after returning late from book groups, supper clubs, small groups, German class, etc.

My daughter Irene is home, and so is my husband. It is a time to bond more deeply and invest in some of the most important relationships of my life without all the distraction of social life.  In enforced togetherness, some relationships dramatically improve, others implode. It looks, so far, as if our marriage is going to do better without busyness, rushing around, social life and distractions.

* * *

Human lives are like a well-structured novel with several plots simultaneously in play. There is the plot we seek to write, which usually involves elements of love, success, wealth, and fun. This plot can be affected by other people’s actions as they pursue their own wonderful plans for their lives. In this case, researchers posit, someone selling illegally trafficked pangolins in a “wet” market in Wuhan, China, has affected the lives of millions of people thousands of miles away, among them the heir to the British throne; the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom; and a woman leading a quiet life in  Oxford, England. And then there is the plot God is trying to write. And one element of this plot is that we get to know him better.

The Apostle Paul wrote that he counted everything as rubbish, garbage compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Jesus Christ,  his Lord. I am Bible-walking every day during part of my 4.25 mile walk, and listening to the Gospels, praying through them, enjoying Jesus, his humanness and quirkiness.  His first miracle was multiplying wine at a wedding, how human, how wonderful!  He’s no-nonsense. He hates cant and religious hypocrisy. He tells the truth, and tells it straight.  He’s brilliant, ingeniously sidestepping people’s traps. If we make time in this quiet season to deepen our friendship with him and with God, it will be, by far, the most important relationship of our lives, especially when the winds rage and the waves beat.

* * *

I have only been under lockdown once before, when I was seventeen, in my hometown of Jamshedpur, India. I read Catherine Marshall’s Beyond Ourselves, and made a commitment to follow Christ. And though I have done so unsteadily, and often badly, it has been the most important and most blessed commitment of my life. May this lockdown will be a similarly blessed turning point, for you and for me, and may our best work, our King Lear and Pilgrim’s Progress (written in quarantine and in prison respectively) get done.

And it’s possible that when “normal” life resumes, it will be forever changed. Creatives welcome a day free from engagements, or a cancelled activity with joy and uplifted spirits. It follows that we often view a day with a church small group, a writerly activity, or a social activity with a corresponding unconscious lowering of our spirits.

Many habits will be broken in this period. Perhaps if our small group or activities leave us more emotionally depleted than energised, we will stop going. Perhaps if we worship God better in the great cathedrals of river and fields and forest than indoors, or even in church, we will do that more often (heresy!). Perhaps we will re-evaluate our activities, pruning the inessential and everything which does not give us joy and energy.

Long cocooning can be a time of intense inner and directional change. Perhaps we will come out of cocooning alive, joyous, and with wings. May it be so. Amen.

***

 If you’d like to read my book of essays, Wandering Between Two Worlds, which includes my conversion narrative, here it is: on Amazon.com and on Amazon.co.uk

Trust: A Message of Christmas

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He came to earth in a  splash of energy

And gentleness and humility.

 

That homeless baby in the barn

Would be the lynchpin on which history would ever after turn

Who would have thought it?

 

But perhaps those attuned to God’s way of surprises would not be surprised.

 

He was already at the centre of all things, connecting all things.

* * *

Augustus Caesar issued a decree which brought him to Bethlehem,

The oppressions of colonialism and conquest brought the Messiah exactly where he was meant to be, the place prophesied eight hundred years before his birth by the Prophet Micah.

 

And he was already redeeming all things. The shame of unwed motherhood; the powerlessness of poverty.

 

He was born among animals in a barn, animals enjoying the sweetness of life, animals he created, animals precious to him.

For he created all things, and in him all things hold together

Including stars in the sky, of which a new one heralded his birth

 

Drawing astronomers to him.

And drawing him to the attention of an angry King

As angelic song drew shepherds to him.

 

An Emperor, a King, scholars, shepherds, angels, animals, stars, an unwed mother

All things in heaven and earth connected

By a homeless baby

The still point on which the world still turns. The powerful centre. The only true power.

The One who makes connections.

* * *

And there is no end to the wisdom, the crystal glints of the Message that birth brings.

 

To me, today, it says,

“Fear not, trust me, I will make a way.”

 

The baby lay gentle in the barn

And God arranges for new stars, angelic song, wise visitors with needed finances for his sustenance in the swiftly-coming exile, shepherds to underline the anointing and reassure his parents.

 

“Trust me in your dilemmas,” the baby still says,

 

“I will make a way. I will show it to you.”

Happy Christmas everyone.

Life- Changing Journaling: A Gratitude Journal, and Habit-Tracker, with Food and Exercise Logs, Time Sheets, a Bullet Journal, Goal Sheets and a Planner

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 So, when I monitor and record my behaviour, I am far more efficient, happy, and confident that I can actually make a change.

Toni Morrison said, “If there’s a book you want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, why then you must write it.”

Well, no journal existed which tracked all the things I like to track, so I designed one for my daughters, myself–and for you, if you’d like to get one. A lovely 406 page journal!

There are the sections.

1 Gratitude Journal. Hey, this one is a life-changer. I record ten reasons for gratitude every night, and in the course of it, I frequently find that what I has thought of as a ho-hum day, with the everyday frustrations and irritations was in fact full of tiny, unnoticed goodnesses—the stretching of yoga class, the beauty of my golden retriever, the faithfulness of my labradoodle, a husband who loves me, birds at my feeder. It changes your mood, and your perspective on the day, and those who develop the habit of recording blessings report being 25% happier.

2 Habit Tracker. It’s useful to note down the habit you are trying to develop, and get it down before developing the next one. It takes about 66 days to create a new habit, researchers say. (The four foundational habits to master, incidentally are getting better sleep, exercise, eating healthily, and decluttering/efficient home organisation.)

3 Food Journal. Those who record their food intake lose TWICE as much weight as those who don’t. I’ve struggled with remembering to food journal, but this time round, am having better, though not perfect, success.

(A tool that’s helping me is to rate my hunger before eating on a 5 point scale

1 Very Hungry, 2 Hungry 3 Content. No need for any food at this time. 4 Satisfied 5 Gluttonously full

and only eating at 1 or 2.)

4 Exercise Journal…My Fitbit HR keeps track of my steps, calories and active hours.  I personally need to take 11,000 steps, and to burn 2400 calories a day to lose weight (at present). When I hit a plateau, I increase these, and add in resistance training, weights and additional yoga.

My step goal shapes and defines my day, of course, and the increased steps and mileage also have powerful creative benefits. “Engaging in physical activity before engaging in a creative act is very powerful,” neuroscientist, Shane O’Mara, the author of In Praise of Walking: The new science of how we walk and why it’s good for us writes.

Haruki Murakami, author of “What I talk about when I talk about running” is, of course, the sensei of using physical activity to enhance creative activity.

5 I resort to keeping time sheets, whenever I wonder where my time is disappearing to. It takes five minutes to do, but can save hours of wasted time. A game I play with myself is to try to get more done at an earlier hour than I did the previous day, and to inch up my productive hours. So, of course, the journal has time sheets.

6 Again, I haven’t had written goals in the past, but for the last 18 months, I have been using Bill Hybels’ 6 by 6 method of goal-setting, and have found it useful. There are sheets for yearly, monthly and weekly goals.

7 I have started keeping a one-sentence Bullet Journal. I often write 1-3 pages in my journal when I can, but this is a counsel of perfection, and it’s better to keep a Bullet Journal than nothing.

8 And of course, there’s a To-Do and Planner section.

So, that’s it, guys. I hope you will get one for yourself or for your children if you think it might be useful.

Some Useful Books

LIFE-CHANGING JOURNALLING is available on Amazon.com and on Amazon.co.uk  (paperback) and in Hardback Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

Shane O’Mara In Praise of Walking: The new science of how we walk and why it’s good for us on Amazon.co.uk and on Amazon.com

James Clear: Atomic Habits, on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk. 

Haruki Murakami: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running on Amazon.com and on Amazon.co.uk.

On Loving That Which Love You Back

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I’m reading Sarah Bessey’s “Miracles and Other Reasonable Things” sent me by her publisher for review.

One thing that struck me was her distinction between self-care and self-comfort in times of sadness, stress and boredom.  Bessey explains that she “numbs out in times of stress; I can use anything from food to wine to books to television to shopping.”

This is self-comfort she explains which FEELS good; self-care, on the other hand, CREATES good in our lives, the lives of our family and friends, and in the world.

I, personally, have used the first and last on the list, but I am learning not to comfort myself with things that will cause future sadness when I am tired, bored, angry, sad, or stressed, but instead to love the things that will love me back.

So chocolate, or comfort eating, or zoning out on social media or online magazines and newspapers will not love me back, but cause future sadness at the weight gain, or wasted time. I am now more regularly rating my hunger on a five point scale, and praying for the bread of the Holy Spirit rather than eat when I am not hungry, but am bored, or stressed, or low-spirited.

The things which will love me back are a long walk, yoga, meditation, decluttering, gardening, reading something challenging and nourishing, prayer, Bible-time, dance, gym-time, hanging out with friends, or with family. Interestingly, none of these cost money, or hardly anything, and they all leave me stronger, mentally, physically, spiritually and emotionally.

And that’s the difference between self-care, and self-comfort. Sugar, and chocolate (or coffee) give the brain a sudden rush of serotonin and stimulation, a certain “change of state,” but a certain descent , the need for more, and weight gain or sleep loss.

The slow steady ways of self-care take a bit longer to change one’s mood, but they leave no regret.

I, like many Christians, often forget that the love we are called to includes loving ourselves just as as much as we love anybody else. That love includes looking after after ourselves as a wise parent would look after a recalcitrant toddler.

Sarah Bessey Miracles and Other Reasonable Things on Amazon.com and on Amazon.co.uk

“An Autobiography in Five Chapters” and Avoiding Habitual Holes  

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 (All images taken on this summer’s memorable trip to Iceland)

Earlier this year, my husband Roy and I took a mindfulness course through the Oxford Mindfulness Centre, a truly mind-expanding experience (a wonderful thing in mid-life, when we can ossify in our thoughts and habits unless we make a conscious effort to change).

The teacher read this poem to us, and it felt like an electric shock.

 

An Autobiography in Five Chapters (by Portia Nelson)

I

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk

I fall in.

I am lost…

I am hopeless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I’m in the same place.

But it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in… it’s a habit

My eyes are open; I know where I am;

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

* * *

I thought about mistakes I’ve made, unhelpful habit-patterns, holes I have fallen into–inadvertently, the first time, and then again, without analysing or accepting culpability for my actions, and then repeatedly, out of bad habit.

But there other options exist… I could side-step the hole.

Or go down a different street.

* * *

So, Roy and I began thinking about holes we tumble into, and how to circumvent them. For instance, we left on a 15 day trip to Iceland just after the Meditation course. I love travel, but usually pack an hour or so before we leave. Which means running through the house to run laundry, gather up books, clothes, toiletries and electronics; it’s stressful, and I am frequently still packing when the house-sitters come, and I feel sad that I was not able to tidy up for them as well and hospitably as I would have liked, and I invariably discover I need some toiletries or better walking shoes or eye-masks, but there’s no time to get them.

Well, this time, I started packing a full 10 days in advance, a pomodoro a time. We were renting a camper van, which meant taking more gear, and I decided to buy good hiking layers for Iceland. (We wore 4 or 5 layers in July and August, can you imagine?–because we hiked up to glaciers, took boat trips in glacial lagoons, and it was  chilly!) I also bought a duplicate of almost everything I take in my suitcase or hand luggage when I travel, so that next time packing will be super-easy, with a pre-packed suitcase. (In fact, we are going to Porto soon to celebrate our thirtieth wedding anniversary, and the suitcase is already packed!!) Anyway, I was packed before the house-sitters came, and even got to clean and declutter.

Packing was always a hated and dread task– and I am so happy I have found a non-time-consuming way to do it: buy a duplicate of everything I normally take , and always keep a suitcase packed…

It takes analysis to figure out holes, and how to avoid them. For instance, we booked our trip to Iceland after reading in our guidebooks that while 5-7 days on the Ring Road that circles the country is the minimum, fourteen days are even better. So, we booked fourteen days! We hiked up volcanoes, took boat trips on glacial lagoons among icebergs, walked on iceberg-littered beaches, and among geysers, saw basalt columns, puffins and seals; soaked in hot pools surrounded by mountains; climbed up to more waterfalls than I’ve ever seen in a fortnight, but realised we could easily have seen our personal wish-list in fewer days, if we had read the guidebook, and made a list. (Things like a steep 45 minute walk up a barren Mordor-like landscape to see a volcano’s crater, or climbing behind slippery rocks to get behind a waterfall were not for me, when there were easy-to-access volcanoes and waterfalls). And Iceland is an expensive country to spend an unnecessary day in.  So, though I always read the guidebook on the plane out, and love the serendipity of unplanned travel, I decided I am going to plan an itinerary, ideally before I have even bought the tickets.

I love the poem’s premise: we can avoid habitual mistakes by analysing the holes we can fall into, and, then, take a different road.  Another hole I have fallen into is a form of ghosting. Because I dislike difficult, tense, emotional conversations, I can sever a relationship with, say, a spiritual director, or church, or small group,  or someone who was working for us with an email or by simply stopping showing up.  So, once warm relationships go into limbo, and this is annoying and unsatisfying for the ones ghosted, and leaves me feeling guilty, and without the benefits of maturity that confronting difficult things gives us. I have had to end two relationships this year… one was a warm professional relationship which had definitely come to its natural end. I tried to sever it by email, but he really wanted  a face-to -face, so we had it, and it was a good meeting, and provided a sad but satisfying closure to the relationship which had served us well, but now clearly needed to end. Similarly, I left an activity I was involved in with a frank and mature discussion with the leader, which strengthened our relationship, though leaving was the right thing. And each time we end things well we gain courage and kindness for the next time, which is of great importance, because after all the ending defines the book… Scarlett re-marries Rhett, or doesn’t; Jon Snow occupies the Iron Throne, or doesn’t… Endings define the story!

Other holes I’m avoiding. Because we are self-employed, and our work is portable, my husband Roy and I travel a lot. We are suckers for those super-cheap airfare and hotel deals to Europe, and had 10 short breaks in 2018. And six so far this year, including Cordoba, Berlin, Krakow, Iceland, and New York, for my niece Kristina’s wedding, and soon, God willing, Porto. However, sadly, it can take a while after travel to recover my good habits and work routines.  Also, I gain weight most times I travel (eating out for every meal can do that to you!) which which can take time to lose. So I am now trying to craft a life in which I travel slightly less frequently for energy, freshness, joy and excitement it gives me, but instead pace myself by taking a stimulating break each week. We went to a Pompeii exhibition at the Ashmolean last week, and recently to a story-telling session of The Kalevala with my book group, and a classic movie night at a friend’s house—Pasolini’s Oedipus!! (Alternatively, I could keep travelling, an activity I adore, and simply became more active to walk off the delicious holiday meals. But some change is necessary.)

Life’s more fun, when we keep revising it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shining Faith in Action: Dirk Willems on the Ice

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Each time, I hear or recount the story of Dirk Willems, a Dutch Anabaptist hero of the Reformation, I find myself moved to tears. And so I wrote down his inspiring story in a little book, The Story of Dirk Willems. The opening pages are here. And here is the climactic scene:

When Dirk Willems was arrested in Holland in 1569, he refused to recant the radical reading of Scripture which had set his life ablaze with purpose and joy. The Crown confiscated all his property for its own uses, and he was sentenced to be “executed with fire, until death ensues.” Willems was imprisoned at the Palace in Asperen, until May, when he was to be publicly burnt at the stake.

Autumn passed, and it was winter. Looking out of the prison window one December night, Dirk Willems noticed that the moat around the castle had frozen solid.

His heart beat faster. Had the Lord provided a means of escape? Might the Lord Jesus enable him too to walk on water?

Willems ripped his bedsheet, knotted the rags together, tied one end to the window and slowly climbed down, the cloth supporting his body, grown skeletal on meagre rations in the long months of imprisonment.

He tiptoed onto the ice. And it bore his weight.

The stars shone bright in the frosty night. He skidded across the pond, remembering the nights of his youth, skating with his friends who loved the Lord Jesus on the frozen ponds of Rotterdam. He felt as if he were flying.

The Lord Jesus was rescuing him from his enemies.

* * *

“Stop! I command you in the name of the Duke of Alva: Stop!” he heard the palace guard shout, but using his last reserves of strength, Dirk slid across the ice of the moat, the Hondegat.

Behind him, the guard, “the thief-catcher,” raced across the ice, handcuffs in hand, closing in, closing in.

“Lord Jesus, I ask in your name! Help me. Please,” Dirk prayed as he slid across the ice.

And now he scrambled onto solid ground. He kissed the icy earth.

Delivered by Jesus.

* * *

“Willems, help me! Help me, please.”

Dirk turned round. The ice across which he, grown emaciated in captivity, had slid, lithe as a cat, had cracked beneath the weight of the burly thief-catcher. He could no longer see the guard’s body, just his thrashing hands, one of them gripping handcuffs.  As the man grabbed at the ice, it shattered into a myriad pieces.

The guard was drowning.

As Dirk paused beneath the starry skies, the words of the Lord Jesus, which he had recited to himself, again and again, through hungry days and sleepless nights returned like distant music.

Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you; bless those who curse you; pray for those who persecute you.

 Do not resist evil.

And Paul’s words: Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

 

“Dirk Willems, help me. Help!” the guard gasped, clutching the ice which splintered as he grabbed it, only his head now visible, and his hand, his hand with the shackles.

Under the silent stars, Dirk halted. Prayed. And then, “I will do it for the love of the Lord Jesus,” he decided in a rush of resolution.

For the love of the Lord Jesus whom he had resolved to obey in all things; for whose sake he had chosen imprisonment rather than pretend to accept Catholic doctrines he did not believe; for the love of Jesus whom he had decided to follow, whether it led to happiness or death, Dirk Willems turned around.

He glided on the ice as far as he dared, and extended his hand to his enemy, the guard. And pulled him to safety.

They stood on solid ice. His voice quavering with cold and emotion, the guard said, “Thank you, Dirk Willems.”

* * *

But the Burgomaster, who stood watching outside the Palace walls, called out across the moat, “Remember the oaths you swore to the Duke of Alva, thief-catcher. You swore to catch criminals and deliver them to justice. I command you in the name of the Duke of Alva, seize the heretic.”

The thief-catcher hesitated. Then muttering, “Forgive me,” he grabbed Willems’s wrist, clapped the handcuffs on him, and dragged him across the drawbridge, back to the castle.

* * *

Willems was now confined to a small, barred room at the top of a tall church tower, his feet cramped in wooden leg stocks. He was tortured. He did not renounce his faith.

On 16 May 1569, he was led out to be burned to death outside Asperen.

* * *

It was a blustery day.  A strong east wind blew the flames away from his chest, after they burnt the flesh on his lower body. His suffering was long and lingering. Willem’s loud cries were heard in the town of Leerdam, towards which the wind blew.

“O my Lord, my God,” he called out, over seventy times.

Finally, unable to watch his torment, the supervising judge wheeled his horse around and commanded the executioner, “Dispatch the man with a quick death.”

* * *

Sometimes we walk through a dark forest by the light of a star which had died ten thousand years ago.

Dirk Willems, fool for Christ, you are one of the “children of God without fault who shine like stars in the sky.”  Your light still blazes five hundred years later.

We, who are amazed at your goodness, salute you.

We are astonished by your love for Scripture: you did not compromise your understanding of it, even though that meant imprisonment and the loss of your property, your freedom, your health, and your life. We are stunned by your integrity.

But, most of all, we are moved by how you helped your enemy, though it meant your certain death.

We are inspired by how you kept your eyes on the Lord Jesus through the long agony of that barbaric burning.

We believe that, as you died, heaven opened, and you saw Christ standing at the right hand of the Father, ready to welcome you.

And we know you are with him, shining, in the great golden cloud of witnesses, the communion of saints which sweetens the earth.

Dirk Willems, this world was not worthy of you. You did not get to write your story, but you lived a beautiful one.

Thank you.

* * *

If you know someone who might like a copy, it’s available on

Amazon.com (Paperback) and Kindle

Amazon.co.uk (Paperback) and on Kindle

If you’d like to support me by buying a paperback or Kindle book and leaving a review, I will, of course, be very grateful 🙂

The Story of Dirk Willems: The Man who Died to Save His Enemy

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I am inspired and moved by the story of Dirk Willems, one of the heroes of the Reformation, each time I hear it, and have written a little book on him. I hope you like it.

 Here is the opening section

The Story of Dirk Willems:

The Man who Died to Save His Enemy

The banging shook the old timber-framed house in Asperen, Holland.

“Open in the name of the Duke of Alva,” rough voices yelled. The horses clopped on the cobbled street, their breath rising in impatient clouds.

A slight young man ran down and unbolted the door.

“Are you the Anabaptist Dirk Willems?” the Burgomaster demanded.  The mail-clad soldiers surrounding him glared.

“I am.”

“Do you admit that in 1521 at the age of twenty, contrary to the doctrines of the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, you were re-baptised in Rotterdam, at the house of one Pieter Willems?”

“I was indeed baptised as an adult after I made a public profession of my faith in the Lord Jesus. For according to the example of the Lord, that is the right and proper time to be baptised.”

“Never mind that. Have you taught that Christians should not bear arms, nor take oaths of loyalty to The Most Noble Duke of Alva?”

“I have indeed taught that. For, in the Sermon on the Mount, the Lord commanded us not to resist evil, nor to take oaths. Mindful of the invisible presence of Christ, our word, spoken to another human being, should suffice.”

“Never mind all that. Have you unlawfully permitted people to be baptised in your house?”

“I have.”

“Will you renounce all your heretical beliefs, teachings, and actions?”

“I will not, for I have resolved to obey the commands of the Lord Jesus as closely as I can. For…”

“Never mind all that. Thief-catcher, in the name of the Duke of Alva, arrest this man,” the Burgomaster commanded.

* * *

During the Reformation, Christianity stretched, and shook herself awake, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It was a Renaissance of the Spirit.  Ordinary men and women rediscovered Scripture, reading it for the first time—not in Latin but in their mother tongues—reading hungrily, as if it were news, breaking news, good news.

Martin Luther, then an Augustinian monk, desperately sought spiritual perfection by means of spiritual disciplines, including fasts, which permanently ruined his digestion. If ever a monk got to heaven by his monkery, it was I.  If I had kept on any longer, I should have killed myself with vigils, prayers, and readings, he wrote.

Hoping to distract him from his scrupulosity and tormenting guilt, his Superior, Dr. Johann von Staupitz, promoted him to Professor of Biblical Studies at the University of Wittenberg. Luther immersed himself in the Bible while lecturing through it, and was dazzled by its language. He truly believed that he was dealing with the very words of God. God is in every syllable. No iota is in vain, he wrote.

 As he understood the Book of Romans for the first time—that God accepts us as his beloved children, not because of our good deeds, but because of our faith in Jesus—Luther declared, “Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise.”

 

When Martin Luther visited Rome as a pilgrim in 1510, he was appalled by the worldliness, extravagance and cynicism, particularly in the aggressive selling of “indulgences” spearheaded by Johann Tetzel.  Buying indulgences promised reduction of time spent in Purgatory; the money was used to fund the building of St. Peter’s Basilica, as well as the exquisite art of Michelangelo, Bramante, Bernini, and Raphael.

Luther was appalled at Tetzel’s saying, “As soon as a coin in the coffer rings, a soul from purgatory springs.”  Who knows if it is really true? he wondered about this papally-sanctioned doctrine. And with that question, he began, one by one, to question every Catholic doctrine that lacked any Biblical foundation, or was expressly forbidden by Scripture.

In 1517, Luther pinned Ninety-five Theses on a church door in Wittenberg, challenging Catholic practices—the sale of Indulgences, Confession, Purgatory—that he considered unscriptural.

The Ninety-five Theses were wild fire. Within two weeks, they created an uproar throughout Germany; within two months, thanks to Gutenberg’s printing press, they were read and discussed all over Europe.

In Switzerland, the influential reformer Huldrych Zwingli went further than Luther, only accepting those doctrines and practices that had a firm Biblical foundation, and ignoring every Catholic doctrine without it–such as a celibate priesthood, the veneration of saints, the Pope’s power to excommunicate, the damnation of the unbaptised, hellfire and, especially, tithing.

* * *

At the same time, however, there were wilder, dreamier men and women, dubbed the “Radical Reformation.” They dreamed not only of a private, internal reformation, but of communities in which each member obeyed the voice of the Spirit within them, obeyed the indwelling Christ, and obeyed scripture.

They publicly confessed their faith in Christ, repented of their sin, and amended their lives. And then they were baptised. Again. And so, they were scornfully called “Anabaptists,” or “re-baptisers”—a label they rejected since they believed that infant baptism, not being a conscious choice, was no baptism at all. However, the mocking monicker stuck.

The Anabaptists believed that the Holy Spirit still spoke directly, and that God still gave some men and women the gift of prophecy. They were egalitarian, treating both men and women, rich and poor, as equals in their close-knit communities, modelled on those in the Book of Acts. They practised simplicity—in their food, dress and speech.  They were honest, gentle and peaceable; even their harshest critics said so.

Their faith set them ablaze. They resolved to obey the Sermon on the Mount, their “Bible within the Bible,” as precisely as possible. To experience the blessings promised in the Beatitudes to those who choose the way of meekness, mercy, and peace-making. To refuse to quarrel and contend. To love their enemies and pray for their persecutors.

They believed in pacifism, oh yes!—in turning the other cheek, and letting the aggressor seize both coat and cloak. They believed Christians should never bear arms, despite the threat to Reformed communities from the Turks in Austria and Germany, and the Catholic armies in Reformed Northern Europe.

Their Schleithem Confession read: “Therefore there will also unquestionably fall from us the unchristian, devilish weapons of force—such as sword and armour, and all their use either for friends or against enemies—by virtue of the Word of Christ: Resist not him that is evil.”

* * *

They were persecuted–of course, they were. By Catholics; by Lutherans; by Zwinglians, all of whom were offended by the Anabaptists’ desire to re-baptise the baptised. The Anabaptist attempt to create communities of “true Christians” within Christian cities like Zurich provoked outrage. Also, since refusing to bear arms or to take oaths to rulers or magistrates meant self-exclusion from civil or military service, the Anabaptists threatened the established order!

Anabaptism was made a crime, punishable by death, in European country after country. Some Anabaptists were flayed and had their tongues torn out.  Others were drowned with deliberate and ironic cruelty, after the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand I sardonically called drowning “the third baptism, and the best antidote to Anabaptism.”  Many Anabaptists were beheaded, tortured to death, or drawn and quartered. Still more were burned at the stake.

* * *

When Dirk Willems was arrested in Holland in 1569, he refused to recant the radical reading of Scripture which had set his life ablaze with purpose and joy. The Crown confiscated all his property for its own uses, and he was sentenced to be “executed with fire, until death ensues.” Willems was imprisoned at the Palace in Asperen, until May, when he was to be publicly burnt at the stake.

 

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On Checking In Before you Fly

By

Thingvellir National Park, Iceland

I am (slowly!) learning to slow down, and say, “So, what should I do, God?” or “What should I do, Spirit?” or “What should do I do, Jesus?”

And often enough, clarity comes, out of the box. I do not send the email I was about to. I change the time on my alarm clock. I re-arrange my day or my schedule or my commitments in a joyful, health-giving, and, often enough, productive way. The Spirit generally guides me in the way of subtraction. In the ways of quietness, by still waters.  In returning and in rest you shall be saved, in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength. (Isaiah 30:15). It has ever been so for me.

Does God always answer my frequent question: “What should I do?” Or does my unconscious provide answers? I don’t know, I lean towards the former. But there have definitely been directions in which I thought I heard God lead which have not been fruitful in the way I thought they would have been. But they have been learning experiences, sometimes baptisms of fire!,  which led on to other fruitful things.

It’s a good practice to check in with the Spirit before we act, even if we get it wrong sometimes. We learn by practice in every area of our lives… and our spiritual lives are no different.

Thomas Merton has a beautiful prayer on this subject.

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following your will
does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always though
I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.