Anita Mathias | Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

I can only imagine!!

So if Jesus were to walk into the room in which I sit typing, what would I do? We were discussing it at small group a couple of weeks ago.

What I think I would do is stare in wonder for a split-second, and then run up and give him a big bear hug. I have longed for him so long that’s surely what I would do.

That is what Mary did, when she saw him in the garden, so much so that he tells her, Noli me Tangere. Do not touch me.

But it depends on the guise in which he appears. When he appeared to John, his eyes were like blazing fire. ¹⁵ his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. ¹⁶ His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance.

And John falls at his feet “like one dead.”

If he comes in glory, I too would fall at his feet, in worship and awe.

Moses was told he could not see God: the glory would kill him.

When Isaiah has his joyful vision of the Lord seated on his throne with the train of his throne filling the temple with glory and of the seraphim around the throne, singing Holy, Holy Holy is the Lord God of Hosts, the whole earth is full of glory, he is quite undone. “Woe is me,” he says. “For I am a man of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”

So much depends on the aspect in which Christ will show himself to us. Will he be like a humble gardener, whom Mary attempts to bear hug? Or he his face be shining like the sun as the apostles saw him at the transfiguration so that even the brash Peter fell face down to the ground, terrified.

What will we do? We can only imagine.

I saw a documentary on Christian history in the well-done Christian theme park in Florida, The Holy Land Experience. It concludes with the Parousia, in which, one by one, people from every race and tongue and people and nation walk towards Jesus, absolute joy on their faces. I looked around me, and I saw people there in the audience, from every race and tongue and people and nation. It was a fore-glimpse of heaven. My eyes filled with tears of joy.

I love this life, but I so want to see you, Jesus, in the midst of it. And as for then, when I really see you, well, I can only imagine.

I can only imagine
What it will be like
When I walk
By your side

I can only imagine
What my eyes will see
When your face
Is before me
I can only imagine

I can only imagine

[Chorus:]
Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel
Will I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence or to my knees will I
fall
Will I sing hallelujah, will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine

I can only imagine

It was like God (Mary of Nazareth, by Clive Sansom)

By Anita Mathias

Mary of Nazareth

by Clive Sansom

It was like music:
Hovering and floating there
With the sound of lutes and timbrels
In the night air.

It was like waves,
Beating upon the shore:
Insistent with a rhythm, a pulsing
Unfelt before.

It was like wind:
Blowing from off the seas
Of other, far other
Lands than these.

It was like wings,
Like whirring wings that fly
The song of an army of swans
On the dark sky.

It was like God:
A presence of blinding light,
Ravishing body and soul
In the spring night.

For him to see me mended I must see him torn, Mary’s Song by Luci Shaw

By Anita Mathias

Mary’s Song

by Luci Shaw

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast

keep warm this small hot naked star

fallen to my arms. (Rest

you who have had so far to come.)

Now nearness satisfies

the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies

whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps

whose eyelids have not closed before.

His breath (so light it seems

no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps

to sprout a world. Charmed by doves’ voices,

the whisper of straw, he dreams,

hearing no music from his other spheres.

Breath, mouth, ears, eyes

he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,

all years. Older than eternity, now he

is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed

to my poor planet, caught

that I might be free, blind in my womb

to know my darkness ended,

brought to this birth for me to be new-born,

and for him to see me mended

I must see him torn.

A caterpillar in a ring of fire: Martin Luther on Grace

By Anita Mathias

Brunnhilde in the Ring of Fire, Arthur Rackham

The wonderful seventeenth century theologian, Philip Melanchton and Martin Luther and Philip Melanchton debate grace.

Melanchton says grace is like one parent helping a wobbly toddler across the room to the other parent who crouches down with an apple.

Luther says No, it’s more than that!! We are caterpillars in a ring of fire. Our only hope is that someone from above will rescue us.

So, when you feel there are impassable rings of fire around you, obstacles which seem impossible to overcome, don’t look at them, and be afraid. Look at the hand above, ready to rescue you.

Luther probably got the ring of fire from the Nibelungenlied in which Siegfried leaps over the ring of fire to rescue the beautiful Brunnhilde.

Jesus is our Siegfried.

Redeemer, redeem my heart again.

The Bitten Apple, the Great iAm, and his iWord

By Anita Mathias

I first went to America in 1987 as a graduate student in the Creative Writing Masters programme at Ohio State University. I supported myself by teaching a class in Freshman Composition (i.e. writing).

Well, Macs were relatively new then, and looked like this. And Apple had given Ohio State 20 of them on condition that freshman in the Writing Classes were taught to compose directly on the Mac. It’s second nature now, but, believe me, 24 years ago, it was a paradigm shift to do your first draft on the computer. Older writers then claimed first drafts turned out better if you physically wrote them out, pen on paper. (Which is, of course, BS.)

Well, so these 20 new computers arrive, in an Apple funded Mac lab, and they ask for volunteers to teach the classes. Which, it turned out, involved teaching the students to use the computers, as well as to write.

The bonus was you’d have 20 students, instead of 24, and one hour less of teaching. In its place, you just sat there and baby-sat them as they typed their drafts, forgot to save, lost their drafts, cried, then retyped it, now instinctively saving after each sentence, as I still do.

So of course, I volunteered to teach in the Mac Lab. All I wanted to do then was read poetry, and write poetry. Less teaching: great!!

Of course, I had only been on a computer for a few hours before at that point. Somerville College, Oxford did not own one, and I used to cycle down to the Daily Information Offices to work on my graduate school applications and my magazine submissions. Odd how things have evolved in 25 years!

* * *

And Apple’s brilliant bit of marketing worked with me, at least. When I graduated two years later from the Masters programme, I bought my first computer, a Mac. The computer, keyboard and printer cost $3260, which was almost exactly half the money I then had in my bank account. That tells you how much I loved the Mac!

And I’ve had Macs for the last 22 years, moving to Mac laptops when I was first pregnant and too tired to walk to my study, but able to work in bed. I now have a MacBook Pro.

I’ve also acquired a series of iPods, a convenient way to listen to books while doing housework, and an iPhone, which I thought was the niftiest, most brilliant and indispensable piece of technology ever invented, until the iPad came along, which is even better as one can compose long blog posts or emails on it pretty much wherever you happen to be, as well as handle blogs, twitter, facebook and the through-the-day exchange of ideas, information, inspiration and cheerful banter which have become so part of my modus vivendi.

* * *

Intuitive Macs, iPhones, iPads: sheer genius. Their cleverness and capabilities are astonishing and delightful. The bitten apple continues to tempt.

Will they be supplanted? Within the decade, probably, just as blogs, facebook and twitter, this little Bermuda Triangle I so enjoy didn’t exist ten years ago, and so will conceivably be supplanted by the wannabes nipping at their heels. How? I have no idea, but a whole breed of hungry venture capitalists and geeks over in Silicon Valley are no doubt betting on it.

So invest in the things of this earth with caution. Both money and your heart’s affections.

· * *

And incidentally, Steve Jobs did not change the world, though he is a role model in making beautiful, brilliant things beautifully. He invented nifty cool, overpriced toys, which have greatly improved the lives of those who can afford them.

His rival, Bill Gates, may, however, change the world in a more profound way. He is investing the bulk of his fortune in philanthropy. Eliminating malaria, among other things. He is inspiring others to do likewise. He said, that if one came up to him with an idea to make a billion in coffee shops, he’s say, “Good,” but not interested. On the other hand, if you went up to him with a viable idea on how to cure malaria, he’d talk.

* * *

Good for Bill Gates. As our little publishing company steadily grows, Roy and I sometimes discuss the best uses of a possible financial surplus.

The best investment of a surplus for a Christian is to give it away. And I’m not being airy-fairy. It is truly an investment, if one believes Jesus (“Give and you shall receive, full measure, pressed down, flowing over.) And, again and again, I’ve observed “give and you shall” receive is true, and a sound financial principle.

And the second best investment of money, I think, is in health. Starting with one’s own health!!

· * * *

And the best use of time? Tough one. We are made of four components—bodies, minds, emotions, and spirits, and should perhaps invest in all these.

The spirit is the most important, since it brings healing to the body, light to the mind, and sanity and wisdom to one’s emotions and relationships.

* * *

Vacare Deo. Make space for God.

For the great iAm.

And his iWord.

* * *

Simon Ponsonby, author of More writes,

We live in the age of the IPod, IPad, IMac, IPhone, ITunes. Psychologists talk of an IGeneration, those whose lives are inseparably integrated with these technologies. But have you ever thought what the “I” before pod, pad, phone, etc stands for? Some suggest “Interactive” or “Intelligent”, others claim it is named after the initial of the surname of Apple designer Jonathan Ive. Actually the I means Internet. In practice, the I becomes the personal pronoun: my/I phone, my/I computer, my/I music, connecting me to my world.

Have you ever thought of your Bible as your iWord? Kierkegaard said ‘When you read God’s word, you must constantly be saying to yourself “It is talking to me and about me.” The Bible is God’s iWord to you. It’s your portable heaven-wide-web, where God meets you, speaks to you, challenges you, equips you, and through you, can connect and communicate with the world.

Come and you will see (John 1:39)

By Anita Mathias

Image Credit

Continuing my blogging through the Gospel of John

³⁵ The next day John was there again with two of his disciples. ³⁶ When he saw Jesus passing by, he said, “Look, the Lamb of God!”

³⁷ When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. ³⁸ Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”

They said, “Rabbi” (which means “Teacher”), “where are you staying?”

³⁹ “Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”

You know, I would like to know where I was going.

I would like to know where the road ends.

It would be nice.

But, you, Jesus, are compelling,

your eyes, magnetic.

I don’t really have a choice.

The road that leads away from you

seems to lead into a dark, overgrown, dense forest.

I don’t want to enter it.

Following you leads into the light,

and, so Lord, I will follow you.

step by step, and find out where you live.

* * *

Yes, come, and you will see.

I make no promises, but these.

I will give you

myself,

and priceless gifts which can neither be bought,

lost, nor stolen:

I will teach you to give thanks for all things

so that you may progressively see

the joy which pulses through all things.

I will give you my peace,

which will abide unshakeably.

My love for you shall be

water which will quench your thirst.

My body will be real food for you,

as you learn to turn to me with your soul hungers.

My blood will be real drink.

I will give you light,

guidance, for I am the way.

Come to me, come to me,

keep coming, and I will teach you to see

truth.

* * *

Come and you will see.

Words of invitation and danger.

You will not tell us what you are going to show us

as slowly, imperfectly, often lagging behind,

we follow you.

Glory or Gethesemene?

Or both?

Great fruitfulness,

or the great silence of the desert

in which character is forged?

Fame, our name a household word as yours was,

or the obscurity of your first thirty years?

The love of a circle of close friends as you enjoyed,

or your almost absolute aloneness on Calvary?

Will we experience the miraculous:

feed five thousand from five loaves?

Or will we be shunned and condemned as you were?

I do not know.

But you are too intriguing, Jesus,

for me to do other than what you ask,

and come and see where you will lead me.

Returning to one’s true self: Where it’s so quiet

By Anita Mathias

I used to be a hyper, giggly, talkative girl in my late teens and early twenties, the proverbial “life and soul of the party.” Beneath that persona, though, I was deeply serious. I remember returning to my room after parties, and sighing with relief. I felt I was returning to my true self. “Hello self, I’m back.”

Two decades plus later, I am much quieter. Observing and listening is as interesting as talking, or more so.

I now have that sense of relief when I come to pray. I sigh with pleasure. I am coming home to where I can truly be myself. I am returning to my truest self. To my heart’s true home. Where I am deeply, truly known.

And the best thing about prayer: In the land of prayer, it is so quiet.

I love that!

“Advent Calendar” by Rowan Williams

By Anita Mathias

Advent Calendar

He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to the bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.
He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.
He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.
He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.

Advent Calendar

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