simplicity // 39
the Three Words
“Love never fails.”
* * *
“Oh MY God.” Alison
“Food for thought.” Wendy
“Still, deep, clear.” David
“Seeing things differently.” Jonathan
“Stop. Look. Listen.” John
“Receive, forgive, love.” Esther
“Connecting old dots” Andy
“3 words? Man you’re tough...
‘Inspired, focussed, challenged.’” Jemma
“Trust patiently, openly.” Paula
“Practice his presence.” Norma
“Trust love’s delay.” Julian
“Giving, receiving, living.” Sue
“God in everything.” Lisi
'Simply slowing down!' Pete
“Keep it simple!” Chris
“Vegetarian; heartfelt; fundamental” Mark
“Truly humbling. Amen.” Tim
“Practising the presence.” Howard
“Together. Unravel. Beyond.” Sandra
“Jesus My Awl.” Mark
“Revealing, thought-provoking and frustrating!” Andree
“’Breathing ... Encountering ... Reflecting...’ (And you should have seen me at the start. There’s been a big improvement!)” Kate
“Stop, soak, resonate.” Stuart
“Food, companionship, discovery.” Wendy
“Seeing God barefoot.” Neil
“Glad, infused, alive.” Belinda
* * *
rsvp:
“Thanks for guiding the journey of these days and sowing many seeds; it has been refining and refreshing, not least accepting that every day has been different.” David
“I walk into the room and Jesus is on the floor, on his knees with a bowl of water and a towel. The murmur goes around that he's WASHING FEET! I think about arguing but I see the look on his face and so I sit down and slip my feet into the water. Oh it feels so good to feel the water on my poor hot aching feet. Jesus starts to wash the dust off and I watch the look of pleasure on his face, and find that I am smiling too. And then he looks up and transfixes me with a look of pure love that I will never forget. He gently dries my feet and I get up, grateful, clean, and changed.” Andree
“My memoir is simply slowing down: Simply because it has been about choosing to live more simply, giving up the complications and trappings of religion and living and just enjoying being closer to Jesus. Slowing because I spend far too much of my life rushing and cramming and trying to do more for my family, my work and myself. Down, because in truth it is not upwards that I find God, but down here beside me and close by me - yes even washing my feet!” Pete
“I wanted to respond about 'the Bread' - I'm an artisan baker - but was too busy, up to my eyeballs in Hot Cross Buns and so on. But oh my goodness, bread is as much/ more of a metaphor than wine. How yeast (not the bought stuff, but the 'wild') is already there as the grain grows in the field, survives through milling so that with wet and warmth, it springs to life giving life to the dough. I could go on and on and on - how when there is enough yeast multiplied, it needs new flour to feed off/ make risen otherwise it dies in the extremes of the environment it creates... how in order to be bread, the yeast has to die... And that's before we get on to eating, sharing, flavour, texture, making with hands and on and on again! I have loved Lent 40; I will miss my journey mates and shall look forward to Lent 2012.” Jemma
“Sent while sitting in the grounds of Waverley Abbey - it is so beautiful here this morning, the dew is still fresh, the birds are singing, the sun is warm. Easier to imagine the Lord walking here, and I’m able to glimpse him washing my feet as I’ve wandered barefoot through the grass.” Belinda
“The wine and bread of the last two days have signified for me a sharing which should take place much more often. I am away on holiday with my nuclear family. Extended family are also close by and we have spent much time with them too; indeed today I am awaiting their arrival so we can visit the Tate Cornwall gallery. Back to the bread and wine though. We have shared all meals - something as a busy family, we rarely do at home, other than on a Sunday. My husband and I have shared wine in the evenings with our meals and not just to say thank goodness for the end of another hard week, which is how we often find ourselves thinking when enjoying a glass at the weekends. This time the bread has been eaten slowly, each of us accompanying it with different bits and pieces of our own choice, yet sharing the same loaf, the same conversation and the same love. Sometimes we have eaten on a picnic or outside the bungalow, sometimes inside at the table, but always together and always unrushed.” Paula
“A thought came to me in the afternoon of Maundy Thursday, when I was surprised to see very fine rain after several weeks of none. It was little more than a sprinkle, but with it and in a strengthening breeze, came tree blossom blowing everywhere. It caused me to think of manna - another form of bread, and the hymn verse which seems so appropriate for this day, ‘Dear Lord and Father of Mankind, forgive our foolish ways.’ This classic also has the line, ‘as fell thy manner down’. All through this Lent, despite struggles, I have somehow felt God's presence stronger, have wanted to sing hymns of praise to him more often (even during the mundane tasks of an average day), perhaps a sign of him working in me even when I didn't outwardly perceive it. And like several others on this group, perhaps God has gently reminded me that even Peter was not perfect - on this night of all nights he betrayed Jesus. Perhaps I've been helped to be less perfectionist, and yet more excited about discipleship. That has been Lent 2011 for me.” Mark
“Gift number one is to see the space; gift number two is to know what to fill it with; gift number three is to have the skill/tools required for the task; gift number four is to have the courage to begin; gift number five is to have the passion to work; gift number six is to have the determination to finish and gift number seven is to believe beyond all of these. I can summarise that in seven words: vision, knowledge, ability, courage, passion, determination and faith. We're nearly there! Perhaps like climbing a mountain, as we round the last corner, ready to celebrate the finish mark, so we see that this is not the highest summit at all - there before us is the next and even higher peak.” Sandra
“I’ve really focused on ‘practising the presence’ during Lent - expecting God to turn up every minute of every day, seeing Him sitting with us in an 'empty' chair in the lounge, consciously bringing Him into thoughts and conversations. I've felt like a beginner again on the journey of faith and it’s exciting. God has turned up: to amuse me (the woodpeckers in Ampfield Woods) and challenge me - how about this from Michael Frost's book 'Exiles'? ‘Let's face it : the Gospels aren't bedtime stories at all. Far from sending us off to a carefree sleep, they trouble us, forcing us to reassess the deals we have done with the spirit of this age.’ I'm currently reassessing the deals that I've done... and that will keep me journeying for a few more months! The one disadvantage of online reflections is not seeing, and knowing more fully, the other people who've been part of this Lent group ... but, to all, thank you for your contributions, and Happy Easter!” Howard
* * *
May you know love, today.
Go well!
Brian
Friday, 22 April 2011
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
The Bare Foot (2)
simplicity // 38
the Bare Foot (2)
Often it’s the simplest actions that cut the deepest. Great leaders know as much. Life needn’t be complicated. So let’s not make it so, today,
During the last supper, Jesus rocked his disciples (and in particular, Peter) by washing their feet. Masters didn’t do this. It was a final demonstration of the absurd, foolish love he had shown to those he had walked with, and who would continue to walk his way.
There is something very sensual and humbling about having your feet washed. I remember experiencing it once, at the start of a labyrinth service we’d constructed. I really didn’t want my friends to get too close to my corns; it was humbling, embarrassing and hard to receive. But it was also beautiful, in a manner – as with all the most potent symbols and metaphors – that went far, far beyond words.
So imagine receiving such treatment from Jesus himself.
Really: imagine it. For as much as Jesus chose to lead by serving, so we must choose to follow by receiving. Only then can we trace his steps, and participate in the adventure of divine love. For “unless I wash you,” he told Peter, “you have no part with me.”
So receive, we must: not necessarily from the usual wish-list of a comfier life, or a nicer job, or better health (though such things would be lovely, too). But certainly from the humble love that humbles still, and washes clean, and puts us back on our feet, for the journey ahead.
* * *
action point: the THREE word memoir!
Traditionally on the Lent 40 I have challenged you to write a ‘six-word memoir’. Let’s reduce that to three words, this year! So, try to capture, in three words, what Lent has been about for you this year, and send us your reply. Make it spontaneous, fun, serious, whatever you like. But please HAVE A GO! It’s wonderful when we’re able to see a snapshot of what others are thinking!
And, spend five minutes meditating on having your feet washed by Jesus. Imagine, truly imagine, what it must have been like for the disciples, and ask what it must aksi be like for you to receive such a humbling act of service.
* * *
rsvp:
“Thinking about journeys, one Take That song always comes to mind - Never Forget. Yes even they have words of wisdom. 'Never forget where you're coming from, never pretend that it's all real, someday soon this will all be someone else's dream, this will be someone else's dream'. Did we dream Lent 40? Or are we going to 'follow the road going down the other side of this hill'?!” Kirsty
* * *
May you find your feet, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Bare Foot (2)
Often it’s the simplest actions that cut the deepest. Great leaders know as much. Life needn’t be complicated. So let’s not make it so, today,
During the last supper, Jesus rocked his disciples (and in particular, Peter) by washing their feet. Masters didn’t do this. It was a final demonstration of the absurd, foolish love he had shown to those he had walked with, and who would continue to walk his way.
There is something very sensual and humbling about having your feet washed. I remember experiencing it once, at the start of a labyrinth service we’d constructed. I really didn’t want my friends to get too close to my corns; it was humbling, embarrassing and hard to receive. But it was also beautiful, in a manner – as with all the most potent symbols and metaphors – that went far, far beyond words.
So imagine receiving such treatment from Jesus himself.
Really: imagine it. For as much as Jesus chose to lead by serving, so we must choose to follow by receiving. Only then can we trace his steps, and participate in the adventure of divine love. For “unless I wash you,” he told Peter, “you have no part with me.”
So receive, we must: not necessarily from the usual wish-list of a comfier life, or a nicer job, or better health (though such things would be lovely, too). But certainly from the humble love that humbles still, and washes clean, and puts us back on our feet, for the journey ahead.
* * *
action point: the THREE word memoir!
Traditionally on the Lent 40 I have challenged you to write a ‘six-word memoir’. Let’s reduce that to three words, this year! So, try to capture, in three words, what Lent has been about for you this year, and send us your reply. Make it spontaneous, fun, serious, whatever you like. But please HAVE A GO! It’s wonderful when we’re able to see a snapshot of what others are thinking!
And, spend five minutes meditating on having your feet washed by Jesus. Imagine, truly imagine, what it must have been like for the disciples, and ask what it must aksi be like for you to receive such a humbling act of service.
* * *
rsvp:
“Thinking about journeys, one Take That song always comes to mind - Never Forget. Yes even they have words of wisdom. 'Never forget where you're coming from, never pretend that it's all real, someday soon this will all be someone else's dream, this will be someone else's dream'. Did we dream Lent 40? Or are we going to 'follow the road going down the other side of this hill'?!” Kirsty
* * *
May you find your feet, today.
Go well!
Brian
The End of the Road?
simplicity // 37
the End of the Road?
There are some journeys we wish just wouldn’t end. Perhaps this Lent, you have begun something you’ll feel sad to finish, and you might even resolve to keep going beyond the 40 days.
And then there are other journeys we hope won’t end because we fear what’s waiting for us. I remember as a child, being driven each week to a nearby village for piano lessons. I dreaded them; and as we got in the car, I would mentally mark off every lamp-post and lane and sign we passed, wishing the journey would not reach its conclusion. But all journeys must, of course.
Mustn’t they?
Obviously we can’t begin to imagine how Jesus felt as he neared the finish of his earthly path; the path that was foretold so many centuries before through the prophet Isaiah, who wrote: “In the wilderness, prepare the Way for the Lord... make straight in the desert a highway...” Jesus had come walking out of that wilderness, along that highway, and into our view. Heading this way.
And he walked, and he walked, setting his face like flint, tracing the path finally to its bitter end, being led those last steps to Golgotha “like a lamb to the slaughter”, as Isaiah also prophesied of the suffering servant.
The path took him through the valley of the shadow of death, but it did not - as it still does not - end there, of course. He was to pick up the Way again on the road to Emmaus, and still he carries onwards, walking the path with us that stretches through death and back into life.
“The road to life is narrow, and few find it,” he warned, famously. It’s no Sunday afternoon saunter. But for those who have the courage to look for it, and to follow its leads, this is surely the one, beautiful journey that need never end.
* * *
action point:
Write a letter to yourself, about how you have got on this Lent, what you have learned, the things you have heard and experienced, the things you have left behind. Put it in an envelope, stick a stamp and your address on it, and give it to a trusted friend. Ask them to post it to you in three months time.
What do you wish to write to your (slightly) future self?
* * *
rsvp:
“Just reading the book of John and it springs to mind how Jesus was aware of how he had to work and the essential timing of his actions. He slowly acted in a precise manner like a wine waiting for the right point in time, even though pushed to do differently by the twelve.” George
“I have given up drinking for the time being, but your reflection on wine helped me to appreciate more what I was choosing not to have. I love the way the physical and the so-called ‘spiritual’ are hard to separate!” Jonathan
* * *
May you keep going, right to the end. And beyond.
Go well!
Brian
the End of the Road?
There are some journeys we wish just wouldn’t end. Perhaps this Lent, you have begun something you’ll feel sad to finish, and you might even resolve to keep going beyond the 40 days.
And then there are other journeys we hope won’t end because we fear what’s waiting for us. I remember as a child, being driven each week to a nearby village for piano lessons. I dreaded them; and as we got in the car, I would mentally mark off every lamp-post and lane and sign we passed, wishing the journey would not reach its conclusion. But all journeys must, of course.
Mustn’t they?
Obviously we can’t begin to imagine how Jesus felt as he neared the finish of his earthly path; the path that was foretold so many centuries before through the prophet Isaiah, who wrote: “In the wilderness, prepare the Way for the Lord... make straight in the desert a highway...” Jesus had come walking out of that wilderness, along that highway, and into our view. Heading this way.
And he walked, and he walked, setting his face like flint, tracing the path finally to its bitter end, being led those last steps to Golgotha “like a lamb to the slaughter”, as Isaiah also prophesied of the suffering servant.
The path took him through the valley of the shadow of death, but it did not - as it still does not - end there, of course. He was to pick up the Way again on the road to Emmaus, and still he carries onwards, walking the path with us that stretches through death and back into life.
“The road to life is narrow, and few find it,” he warned, famously. It’s no Sunday afternoon saunter. But for those who have the courage to look for it, and to follow its leads, this is surely the one, beautiful journey that need never end.
* * *
action point:
Write a letter to yourself, about how you have got on this Lent, what you have learned, the things you have heard and experienced, the things you have left behind. Put it in an envelope, stick a stamp and your address on it, and give it to a trusted friend. Ask them to post it to you in three months time.
What do you wish to write to your (slightly) future self?
* * *
rsvp:
“Just reading the book of John and it springs to mind how Jesus was aware of how he had to work and the essential timing of his actions. He slowly acted in a precise manner like a wine waiting for the right point in time, even though pushed to do differently by the twelve.” George
“I have given up drinking for the time being, but your reflection on wine helped me to appreciate more what I was choosing not to have. I love the way the physical and the so-called ‘spiritual’ are hard to separate!” Jonathan
* * *
May you keep going, right to the end. And beyond.
Go well!
Brian
Monday, 18 April 2011
The Bread
simplicity // 35
the Bread
“Jesus, on the night of his betrayal, took bread. Having given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body, broken for you. Do this to remember me.’”
It seems like such an achingly simple way to embody so much. Bread. But we shouldn’t be surprised.
The Israelites, as they wandered in the wilderness, received Manna - “bread from heaven”, as it’s often known. They were told to gather only enough for each day, and no more. That’s trust. But they were fed, and they were fed. Divine provision for body and soul.
“Give us this day, our daily bread,” said Jesus, as he taught his followers to pray, and to expect to receive enough from God, yet to know that this ‘enough’ is more than we could ever ask for, or imagine.
After he had performed the miracle of the loaves and the fishes – so much to spare, from so little – he mused that “the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world...” Life.
“I am the bread of life,” he continued. “This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”
Bread. That barest necessity.
Salvation in the desert.
Food in the pockets of the hungry.
A taste of things to come.
Supper.
A life, given.
A life given back.
Enough, already.
Take. Eat.
* * *
action point:
Bake (or buy) some bread.
Break some bread.
Share with someone.
* * *
rsvp:
“The book that came to mind is the classic, How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. I have have a good time browsing some of the principles which have been formative in helping me to live outside myself. Basics like ‘smile’ and ‘become genuinely interested in others’ are good reminders. Others like ‘talk about your own mistakes before criticizing the other person’ or ‘let the other man save his face’ are more challenging. It is well to reflect on the courage I do or don’t have to do them.” Paul
“Well you hit me hard with this one. This feels like a version of Desert Island Discs! Probably the novel I would recommend right now is: The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton. Closely followed by Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. In non-fiction I would refer back to Surprised by Hope by Tom Wright; God on Mute by Pete Grieg; Spiritual Intelligence by Brian Draper (no apologies - this really needs to be on the list); What on Earth Happened? by Christopher Lloyd and Life Stories by David Attenborough.” Sandra
One of the most helpful books I have read is by John Ortberg’s If You Want to Walk on Water You Have to Get Out of the Boat. To move forward we need to move from the comfort zone and take that step of faith, to trust that when the storms of life are raging and the challenges seem insurmountable, that if we trust in God’s strength and love, he will hold us up and calm the seas... No-one ever said that being a true Christian was ever going to be easy and ‘existence without meaning is no existence at all’. Victor Frankl writes: ‘We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken away from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way. The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering that it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity – even in the most difficult circumstances – to add a deeper meaning to his life.’ Sue
“I was sitting in the middle of Ampfield Woods yesterday, practising being in the presence of God. The predominant sounds were of at least five or six woodpeckers, located in several directions around me, drilling their nest holes in trees of various shapes and sizes. I sensed this because each sound was slightly different. In fact, one was much higher than the rest and sounded as if it was attempting to drill into an electricity pylon. My mind wandered to reflect on the crazy shapes and colours of woodpeckers (remember Woody Woodpecker?) and a Creator who makes things that have to drill holes in trees to have their young. I then imagined gathering a performing troupe of woodpeckers on trees of different sizes, so creating the first Woodpecker Symphony. My conclusion from this profound moment? God does have a great sense of humour!” Howard
* * *
May you find Manna, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Bread
“Jesus, on the night of his betrayal, took bread. Having given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body, broken for you. Do this to remember me.’”
It seems like such an achingly simple way to embody so much. Bread. But we shouldn’t be surprised.
The Israelites, as they wandered in the wilderness, received Manna - “bread from heaven”, as it’s often known. They were told to gather only enough for each day, and no more. That’s trust. But they were fed, and they were fed. Divine provision for body and soul.
“Give us this day, our daily bread,” said Jesus, as he taught his followers to pray, and to expect to receive enough from God, yet to know that this ‘enough’ is more than we could ever ask for, or imagine.
After he had performed the miracle of the loaves and the fishes – so much to spare, from so little – he mused that “the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world...” Life.
“I am the bread of life,” he continued. “This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”
Bread. That barest necessity.
Salvation in the desert.
Food in the pockets of the hungry.
A taste of things to come.
Supper.
A life, given.
A life given back.
Enough, already.
Take. Eat.
* * *
action point:
Bake (or buy) some bread.
Break some bread.
Share with someone.
* * *
rsvp:
“The book that came to mind is the classic, How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. I have have a good time browsing some of the principles which have been formative in helping me to live outside myself. Basics like ‘smile’ and ‘become genuinely interested in others’ are good reminders. Others like ‘talk about your own mistakes before criticizing the other person’ or ‘let the other man save his face’ are more challenging. It is well to reflect on the courage I do or don’t have to do them.” Paul
“Well you hit me hard with this one. This feels like a version of Desert Island Discs! Probably the novel I would recommend right now is: The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton. Closely followed by Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. In non-fiction I would refer back to Surprised by Hope by Tom Wright; God on Mute by Pete Grieg; Spiritual Intelligence by Brian Draper (no apologies - this really needs to be on the list); What on Earth Happened? by Christopher Lloyd and Life Stories by David Attenborough.” Sandra
One of the most helpful books I have read is by John Ortberg’s If You Want to Walk on Water You Have to Get Out of the Boat. To move forward we need to move from the comfort zone and take that step of faith, to trust that when the storms of life are raging and the challenges seem insurmountable, that if we trust in God’s strength and love, he will hold us up and calm the seas... No-one ever said that being a true Christian was ever going to be easy and ‘existence without meaning is no existence at all’. Victor Frankl writes: ‘We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken away from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms – to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way. The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the suffering that it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity – even in the most difficult circumstances – to add a deeper meaning to his life.’ Sue
“I was sitting in the middle of Ampfield Woods yesterday, practising being in the presence of God. The predominant sounds were of at least five or six woodpeckers, located in several directions around me, drilling their nest holes in trees of various shapes and sizes. I sensed this because each sound was slightly different. In fact, one was much higher than the rest and sounded as if it was attempting to drill into an electricity pylon. My mind wandered to reflect on the crazy shapes and colours of woodpeckers (remember Woody Woodpecker?) and a Creator who makes things that have to drill holes in trees to have their young. I then imagined gathering a performing troupe of woodpeckers on trees of different sizes, so creating the first Woodpecker Symphony. My conclusion from this profound moment? God does have a great sense of humour!” Howard
* * *
May you find Manna, today.
Go well!
Brian
Friday, 15 April 2011
The Book
simplicity // 34
the Book
There’s nothing quite like a new book: the thrill of smelling the cover, opening it for the first time, sizing up the font, getting a feel for the pages... It’s a sensuous experience, even before you’ve read a word. You’ve got to love it.
Nevertheless, I was challenged recently, by a line from a new song by the Manic Street Preachers (a literary band if there ever was one):
“Do I have the courage of the books I’ve read?”*
It’s a great question. For it’s one thing to read about an inspiring figure from history, or to identify with a celebrated character from a novel, or to be moved by a compelling idea; it’s another seriously to act on it.
When Jesus returned from the desert, he went straight to the Temple, and read aloud from the book of Isaiah.
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
“Today,” he said, “this scripture is fulfilled within your hearing.” So here is a man displaying the courage of the books he’s read. The words of Isaiah were far more than just an inspiring text for him to quote, or a vision statement for the movement he would begin. Instead, he would embody these words, with great courage. He would live by them, and, in due course, he would die by them.
* * *
action point:
If you were to have the courage of the books you’ve read, which books would they be, and what would you do differently as a result? Try to identify your favourite characters, or plots. What is it about them that you find inspiring or challenging? Re-read an extract today, if you can put your hands on the book, and remind yourself of why you found it so compelling in the first place.
And let us know! Only a week to go, now...
* * *
rsvp:
“I've started writing a number of replies before now and ended up deleting them. I think part of my Lent giving-up has been giving up needing to be a part of the conversation. It's the first time that I’ve verbalised this (it's only really occurred to me in such clarity now), but I think that's definitely part of my Lenten journey - the main thing was giving up worrying about the future (!!!). Just wanted to say that I’m really enjoying it.” Tom
“Thanks for posting my Park Life material, Brian. Just to say, we also had a chance meeting on Sunday with a couple from Southampton who are involved in a community project called Park Life! They are building a community cafe in their local park. They are well under way with theirs (http://www.park-life.org.uk/) and one of our group had a meeting in Southampton yesterday and went to take a look. Inspiring times...” Ben
“On ‘presence’: Your comment ‘it does seem as if the people who are serious about disconnecting and reconnecting are also the ones who become more fully present’ brings to mind Richard Foster’s inspired move in Celebration of Discipline to describe solitude as an ‘outward’ rather than an ‘inward’ discipline, for this very reason. On the theme of movement, I won’t resist the temptation to bat back another U2 lyric: ‘You’re packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been / A place that has to be believed to be seen.’” Julian
“Hiding myself in this place, I rest on a weathered bench and wait for the ‘silence’ of the garden. I don’t mind releasing the other world as it dims, dulls, disappears. I don't mind the empty space within me that waits to be filled anew. I become more aware and more alert to the life-thrumming presence, here where I sit, enclosing and infusing me; the gentlest of caresses yet engendering and inspiring. Covered by a green mantle of unfurling leaves, my senses quite suddenly overfill and overflow. Songbirds trill and insects thrum, resonating together in effervescent joy. Lenten roses lighten winter’s deadened load, whilst partying primroses play in the green luminescence.Daubed directly from the painter’s palette, pink camellia petals beckon brightly from the bushes. Exuberance spills. Vitality thrills. A fragrant-frolic; a life-loving, life-living, consummate call to join the dance.” Sandra
“Back to butterflies: they are a good example of life. They come out of their cocoons slowly and take care unfolding their damp wings. If you try to rush them they shrivel and die. Like children growing up, development is gradual. However there will be others, like me, who were rushed into knowledge of adulthood before they were ready. When I think of butterflies I think of how God has been gently working with me over the last 40 years, and just maybe the words in Song of Songs 2.11,12 - ‘See! The winter is past; ... the season of singing has come,’ will finally come to be in my life.” Kirsty
* * *
May you take courage, today.
Go well!
Brian
* taken from ‘The Descent (Pages 1 & 2)’, from the album Postcards from a Young Man
the Book
There’s nothing quite like a new book: the thrill of smelling the cover, opening it for the first time, sizing up the font, getting a feel for the pages... It’s a sensuous experience, even before you’ve read a word. You’ve got to love it.
Nevertheless, I was challenged recently, by a line from a new song by the Manic Street Preachers (a literary band if there ever was one):
“Do I have the courage of the books I’ve read?”*
It’s a great question. For it’s one thing to read about an inspiring figure from history, or to identify with a celebrated character from a novel, or to be moved by a compelling idea; it’s another seriously to act on it.
When Jesus returned from the desert, he went straight to the Temple, and read aloud from the book of Isaiah.
“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
“Today,” he said, “this scripture is fulfilled within your hearing.” So here is a man displaying the courage of the books he’s read. The words of Isaiah were far more than just an inspiring text for him to quote, or a vision statement for the movement he would begin. Instead, he would embody these words, with great courage. He would live by them, and, in due course, he would die by them.
* * *
action point:
If you were to have the courage of the books you’ve read, which books would they be, and what would you do differently as a result? Try to identify your favourite characters, or plots. What is it about them that you find inspiring or challenging? Re-read an extract today, if you can put your hands on the book, and remind yourself of why you found it so compelling in the first place.
And let us know! Only a week to go, now...
* * *
rsvp:
“I've started writing a number of replies before now and ended up deleting them. I think part of my Lent giving-up has been giving up needing to be a part of the conversation. It's the first time that I’ve verbalised this (it's only really occurred to me in such clarity now), but I think that's definitely part of my Lenten journey - the main thing was giving up worrying about the future (!!!). Just wanted to say that I’m really enjoying it.” Tom
“Thanks for posting my Park Life material, Brian. Just to say, we also had a chance meeting on Sunday with a couple from Southampton who are involved in a community project called Park Life! They are building a community cafe in their local park. They are well under way with theirs (http://www.park-life.org.uk/) and one of our group had a meeting in Southampton yesterday and went to take a look. Inspiring times...” Ben
“On ‘presence’: Your comment ‘it does seem as if the people who are serious about disconnecting and reconnecting are also the ones who become more fully present’ brings to mind Richard Foster’s inspired move in Celebration of Discipline to describe solitude as an ‘outward’ rather than an ‘inward’ discipline, for this very reason. On the theme of movement, I won’t resist the temptation to bat back another U2 lyric: ‘You’re packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been / A place that has to be believed to be seen.’” Julian
“Hiding myself in this place, I rest on a weathered bench and wait for the ‘silence’ of the garden. I don’t mind releasing the other world as it dims, dulls, disappears. I don't mind the empty space within me that waits to be filled anew. I become more aware and more alert to the life-thrumming presence, here where I sit, enclosing and infusing me; the gentlest of caresses yet engendering and inspiring. Covered by a green mantle of unfurling leaves, my senses quite suddenly overfill and overflow. Songbirds trill and insects thrum, resonating together in effervescent joy. Lenten roses lighten winter’s deadened load, whilst partying primroses play in the green luminescence.Daubed directly from the painter’s palette, pink camellia petals beckon brightly from the bushes. Exuberance spills. Vitality thrills. A fragrant-frolic; a life-loving, life-living, consummate call to join the dance.” Sandra
“Back to butterflies: they are a good example of life. They come out of their cocoons slowly and take care unfolding their damp wings. If you try to rush them they shrivel and die. Like children growing up, development is gradual. However there will be others, like me, who were rushed into knowledge of adulthood before they were ready. When I think of butterflies I think of how God has been gently working with me over the last 40 years, and just maybe the words in Song of Songs 2.11,12 - ‘See! The winter is past; ... the season of singing has come,’ will finally come to be in my life.” Kirsty
* * *
May you take courage, today.
Go well!
Brian
* taken from ‘The Descent (Pages 1 & 2)’, from the album Postcards from a Young Man
The Presence
simplicity // 33
the Presence
“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow.” Matthew 6 (Message)
How have you become more present, this Lent?
I’m reading a book called Deep Country, by Neil Ansell (whose work I mentioned earlier in Lent 40). Aged 30, he accepted the offer of living in a secluded cottage in mid-Wales. It was an experiment, for him, in “how lightly [he] could tread upon the Earth”. Same age as when Jesus went into the desert, coincidentally.
“This was the pattern of my days,” he writes: “a simple life led by natural rhythms rather than the requirements and expectations of others.” He had no rent to pay, so wasn’t beholden – but neither did he have water, electricity or gas, so it was no picnic in the park.
Before long, however, he noticed a strange thing. Instead of becoming more introspective, as he’d expected, the reverse happened.
“My days were spent outside, immersed in nature, watching. My attention was constantly focused away from myself... And my nights were spent sitting in front of a log fire, staring at the flames. I would not be thinking of the day just gone,” he writes. “And I would not be planning tomorrow; tomorrow would take care of itself. The silence outside was reflected by a growing silence within. Any interior monologue quietened to a whisper, then faded away entirely...
“I had become,” he concludes, “a part of the landscape.” Fully present, then. Part of the scene, of that very day.
It’s all very well for people like that, replies our own inner monologue. They’ve chosen to live in a secluded cottage in Wales. Or in the desert, if we’re talking about Jesus, who didn’t have a proper job either, or a home to run. Where would we be if we all headed for the hills? It’s a fair point. We can’t all do so. But it does seem as if the people who are serious about disconnecting and reconnecting are also the ones who become more fully present, somehow; for whom life gains perspective.
They must have something to teach us, about the way we can live, from day to day. And how we can play our part – however small - in becoming more present: a part of the landscape, on this very day, within God’s presence. Within the Presence.
* * *
rsvp special:
park life
One of the Lent 40 community, Ben, from Heavitree, Exeter, has helped to pioneer a creative and courageous project in his local park. I invited him to ‘rsvp’ a few thoughts, to inspire us all – as we continue to reflect on how we can ‘be the change’, and become more fully present to the world around us...
“Park Life has evolved over a number of years, but it’s only recently broken the surface. We’re a small group of residents from Heavitree who believe that a community café would be a great idea in our local park. We’re linked by local geography, by how we spend our leisure time and where are kids go to school.
These connections helped us spread an idea into our community. Over the last 18 months, we have run and organised a number of events to build community, to consult with people and to give some momentum to our vision. These include an Eden Project ‘Big Lunch’, an art activity at the bank hoilday fun day, a community football match and a Mother's Day event - at which we gave out tea, coffee, cake and bags to ladies (including flowers, chocolates and free stuff from Lush!). See the photos at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=103837296335545 . In May we are having a ‘cream tea and lawn bowls’ event.
Our next phase is to draw up plans with an architect and apply for planning permission, as well as starting to start fundraising. A local lawyer helped us to establish charitable status, we have joined the local community association and have started to work closely with councillors.
This is what you find above the surface of Park Life. But the passion for what we are doing comes not just from a love of cafés and parks but a love of people and a desire to help and see lives changed. We loved Mary Oliver’s words from earlier in the Lent 40 series, and thought ‘Fire, Rope and Bread’ would be a great name for the café.
It is a community we are establishing, not a building. There is no hidden agenda, or ulterior motive. We are not secretly planning a cult in the park, or trying to get people to go to church. But the six of us moving this forward are Christians from a range of backgrounds. Personally, I have struggled for years with a nagging feeling that a lot of what I've been brought up thinking and doing in the church has been missing the point; but we have been inspired by reading and listening to people like Rob Bell, Brian McLaren and Michael Frost - particularly his book Exiles.
Below the surface of Park Life is a whole world that we are about to start exploring: one in which there might be a completely different way of doing ‘church’ and even of being a Christian. Not a better way, but a different one. One in which people can belong to something before they believe in something or behave in a certain way - where you are 'in' before you start; not ‘out’, or ‘lost’, but part of the community.
And who knows? Down the line, we might start asking some questions together...”
Do let us know if you have started a local project or are trying something new. It’s often as we read about other ‘ordinary’ people’s ideas and actions that we gain the courage and the energy to have a go, ourselves.
* * *
May you show up, today – wherever you are.
Go well!
Brian
the Presence
“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow.” Matthew 6 (Message)
How have you become more present, this Lent?
I’m reading a book called Deep Country, by Neil Ansell (whose work I mentioned earlier in Lent 40). Aged 30, he accepted the offer of living in a secluded cottage in mid-Wales. It was an experiment, for him, in “how lightly [he] could tread upon the Earth”. Same age as when Jesus went into the desert, coincidentally.
“This was the pattern of my days,” he writes: “a simple life led by natural rhythms rather than the requirements and expectations of others.” He had no rent to pay, so wasn’t beholden – but neither did he have water, electricity or gas, so it was no picnic in the park.
Before long, however, he noticed a strange thing. Instead of becoming more introspective, as he’d expected, the reverse happened.
“My days were spent outside, immersed in nature, watching. My attention was constantly focused away from myself... And my nights were spent sitting in front of a log fire, staring at the flames. I would not be thinking of the day just gone,” he writes. “And I would not be planning tomorrow; tomorrow would take care of itself. The silence outside was reflected by a growing silence within. Any interior monologue quietened to a whisper, then faded away entirely...
“I had become,” he concludes, “a part of the landscape.” Fully present, then. Part of the scene, of that very day.
It’s all very well for people like that, replies our own inner monologue. They’ve chosen to live in a secluded cottage in Wales. Or in the desert, if we’re talking about Jesus, who didn’t have a proper job either, or a home to run. Where would we be if we all headed for the hills? It’s a fair point. We can’t all do so. But it does seem as if the people who are serious about disconnecting and reconnecting are also the ones who become more fully present, somehow; for whom life gains perspective.
They must have something to teach us, about the way we can live, from day to day. And how we can play our part – however small - in becoming more present: a part of the landscape, on this very day, within God’s presence. Within the Presence.
* * *
rsvp special:
park life
One of the Lent 40 community, Ben, from Heavitree, Exeter, has helped to pioneer a creative and courageous project in his local park. I invited him to ‘rsvp’ a few thoughts, to inspire us all – as we continue to reflect on how we can ‘be the change’, and become more fully present to the world around us...
“Park Life has evolved over a number of years, but it’s only recently broken the surface. We’re a small group of residents from Heavitree who believe that a community café would be a great idea in our local park. We’re linked by local geography, by how we spend our leisure time and where are kids go to school.
These connections helped us spread an idea into our community. Over the last 18 months, we have run and organised a number of events to build community, to consult with people and to give some momentum to our vision. These include an Eden Project ‘Big Lunch’, an art activity at the bank hoilday fun day, a community football match and a Mother's Day event - at which we gave out tea, coffee, cake and bags to ladies (including flowers, chocolates and free stuff from Lush!). See the photos at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=103837296335545 . In May we are having a ‘cream tea and lawn bowls’ event.
Our next phase is to draw up plans with an architect and apply for planning permission, as well as starting to start fundraising. A local lawyer helped us to establish charitable status, we have joined the local community association and have started to work closely with councillors.
This is what you find above the surface of Park Life. But the passion for what we are doing comes not just from a love of cafés and parks but a love of people and a desire to help and see lives changed. We loved Mary Oliver’s words from earlier in the Lent 40 series, and thought ‘Fire, Rope and Bread’ would be a great name for the café.
It is a community we are establishing, not a building. There is no hidden agenda, or ulterior motive. We are not secretly planning a cult in the park, or trying to get people to go to church. But the six of us moving this forward are Christians from a range of backgrounds. Personally, I have struggled for years with a nagging feeling that a lot of what I've been brought up thinking and doing in the church has been missing the point; but we have been inspired by reading and listening to people like Rob Bell, Brian McLaren and Michael Frost - particularly his book Exiles.
Below the surface of Park Life is a whole world that we are about to start exploring: one in which there might be a completely different way of doing ‘church’ and even of being a Christian. Not a better way, but a different one. One in which people can belong to something before they believe in something or behave in a certain way - where you are 'in' before you start; not ‘out’, or ‘lost’, but part of the community.
And who knows? Down the line, we might start asking some questions together...”
Do let us know if you have started a local project or are trying something new. It’s often as we read about other ‘ordinary’ people’s ideas and actions that we gain the courage and the energy to have a go, ourselves.
* * *
May you show up, today – wherever you are.
Go well!
Brian
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
The Movement
simplicity // 32
the Movement
“I’d join the movement if there was one I could believe in” (Bono, U2, ‘The Acrobat’)
Wouldn’t we all? Sometimes, we find ourselves becalmed, because we feel let down, by our organisation, or our church, or our friends, or even God. We check out of the movement, if you like. We reach inertia.
Now, that’s not to say that we should always keep moving simply for the sake of looking busy (surely the worst of reasons). But there does come a point when we must take responsibility for our own pilgrim’s progress through life. Others will inevitably let us down, as we, inevitably, let others down, from time to time. And that’s when we need to know - for our self - the reason for keeping on going. Your parents can’t make you believe in God. Your boss can’t make you believe in the work. An e-mail series can’t make you believe you should travel a particular path.
It’s your call(ing).
So, what does ‘movement’ look like to you, this lent? Perhaps, very simply, it means starting to move, again, after a long time of sitting the journey out. Perhaps it means choosing to live deliberately, moving proactively (instead of reactively) through each day, which is a microcosm of your life. Gesture by gesture. Perhaps it means implementing a daily rhythm to your life. Perhaps it means deciding to move towards something – a goal, a dream, a calling – that until now you’ve considered too far out of reach. Perhaps it means moving on, or away from a situation.
Above all, surely it means becoming the movement you can believe in, the one that will make all the difference to the world around you. We must “be the change”, as Gandhi said.
One last thought, then: I wonder how the way you move – whether you’re walking, driving, working, surfing, dancing, running... - helps determine where you wish to get to, in the end? Look out for it, today, as you move on.
* * *
action point:
What is your reason to keep going?
Review your original goal, “I am moving towards...” How much movement have you experienced? What does the way you move through life (frenetically? elegantly? empathetically? ignorantly? compassionately?) tell you about where you want to get to, in the end?
Draw a treasure map of your life. Where are you now? How can you represent that visually? Where do you want to get to? What’s in the way? Where might you find hidden treasure? What’s the terrain like? Who else is ‘on the map’?
If there’s always been something you’d like to do with your life – especially in terms of making the world a better place, and living your faith or beliefs or philosophy more creatively and courageously – then why not do something about it, today? Often it just takes a start; from there, you gather momentum.
Please let us know how you get on – it’s great to hear from you!
* * *
rsvp:
“Today, I wasn’t well, and stayed at home in bed. An unexpected space opened around me. The day took on a completely different quality, as, freed from the constraints of time, I simply lay there and ‘was’. I’d have preferred not to have been poorly, obviously – but it was fascinating to observe the way the day ‘felt’ in the light of your observation about space.” Jonathan
“Amazing! When I got up this morning before I read this I decided to make myself conscious and aware as I travelled through the day. My PA says I already failed! However... As I read your thought it reminded me of the story of filling the jar. A friend stood in front of a group and filled a large glass jar with large stones right to the top. He asked if it it full and the attendees said yes. He then put smaller stones into the jar which fell between the larger stones and asked was it full - the others said yes. He then put tiny pebbles into the jar which fell between the smaller stones and asked was it full - the attendees said yes. He then put sand into the jar which fell between the pebbles and asked was it full - yes. He then poured water into the jar which fell between the sand and silence fell on the room. It made me think that our view on space is relative to how we perceive it. There is plenty of space out there daily to explore and it depends on our mind set whether we fill the gaps with frustration or positive energy. It’s so important that we let our positive energy flow through the jar so we can fill all the space, whether it is with silence or activity, and do it in a way which builds rather than sucks our energy away. Namaste!” Ciaran
“The barefoot experience. What joy! Walking on the hard surfaces of the garden path, not nearly as troublesome as I had expected, indeed more comfortable than shoes. Perhaps to me a reminder that the hard times and experiences we fear are rarely as bad as we expected. But then the grass. Oh, the joy of it. Childlike delight, and understanding perhaps what a cat feels like when it’s ‘making dough’. And a determination and a desire to enjoy this more often - not just back to nature, but back to my creator and my true nature, born to enjoy what he has created with all my heart, my soul, my mind...
“And what of sound, or rather silence? Hard to find in a back garden two miles from Heathrow! I was reminded of what a strange experience it was this time last year when volcanic ash silenced the metal beasts of the air. But yet, even here I can find silence - almost despite my expectations - that still small voice of calm, the peace that passes all understanding... I closed my eyes, and really listened - in a way perhaps I rarely do or have. I could sense direction far better than radar; I could hear one bird which I could place in one tree to my left, and another to my right - I was ‘guided’ to where they sang. These experiences have been such a revelation. I still don’t know exactly where God is guiding me - how can I best serve him at this stage in my life, to the max? But I know, again, that he loves me, is pleased with me, and will never let me go.” Mark
“Oh “the ‘wild place’ - I missed you today. Place of beauty and peace. Place of summer days and winter storms. Place of renewing springs and leave-behind autumns. Place of real earth where God whispers. I missed you today.” Sandra
“I am still managing to use the internet much less and focus on the now, spending more time with my fmaily, especially my children. I have used some of the time to learn to crochet and have made them both bed throws... However, I still struggle with the 'moving towards' as my future is still not certain. Sounds daft when I write it as no-one’s future is, really, but I know my workplace will shut in two year's time and I am still looking for where to go next. I still struggle with the 'waiting' rather than the 'searching' and the 'trusting' insterad of the 'seeking'. This is my goal in the next few days. My soul is quieter but not quietened.” Paula
* * *
May you find direction, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Movement
“I’d join the movement if there was one I could believe in” (Bono, U2, ‘The Acrobat’)
Wouldn’t we all? Sometimes, we find ourselves becalmed, because we feel let down, by our organisation, or our church, or our friends, or even God. We check out of the movement, if you like. We reach inertia.
Now, that’s not to say that we should always keep moving simply for the sake of looking busy (surely the worst of reasons). But there does come a point when we must take responsibility for our own pilgrim’s progress through life. Others will inevitably let us down, as we, inevitably, let others down, from time to time. And that’s when we need to know - for our self - the reason for keeping on going. Your parents can’t make you believe in God. Your boss can’t make you believe in the work. An e-mail series can’t make you believe you should travel a particular path.
It’s your call(ing).
So, what does ‘movement’ look like to you, this lent? Perhaps, very simply, it means starting to move, again, after a long time of sitting the journey out. Perhaps it means choosing to live deliberately, moving proactively (instead of reactively) through each day, which is a microcosm of your life. Gesture by gesture. Perhaps it means implementing a daily rhythm to your life. Perhaps it means deciding to move towards something – a goal, a dream, a calling – that until now you’ve considered too far out of reach. Perhaps it means moving on, or away from a situation.
Above all, surely it means becoming the movement you can believe in, the one that will make all the difference to the world around you. We must “be the change”, as Gandhi said.
One last thought, then: I wonder how the way you move – whether you’re walking, driving, working, surfing, dancing, running... - helps determine where you wish to get to, in the end? Look out for it, today, as you move on.
* * *
action point:
What is your reason to keep going?
Review your original goal, “I am moving towards...” How much movement have you experienced? What does the way you move through life (frenetically? elegantly? empathetically? ignorantly? compassionately?) tell you about where you want to get to, in the end?
Draw a treasure map of your life. Where are you now? How can you represent that visually? Where do you want to get to? What’s in the way? Where might you find hidden treasure? What’s the terrain like? Who else is ‘on the map’?
If there’s always been something you’d like to do with your life – especially in terms of making the world a better place, and living your faith or beliefs or philosophy more creatively and courageously – then why not do something about it, today? Often it just takes a start; from there, you gather momentum.
Please let us know how you get on – it’s great to hear from you!
* * *
rsvp:
“Today, I wasn’t well, and stayed at home in bed. An unexpected space opened around me. The day took on a completely different quality, as, freed from the constraints of time, I simply lay there and ‘was’. I’d have preferred not to have been poorly, obviously – but it was fascinating to observe the way the day ‘felt’ in the light of your observation about space.” Jonathan
“Amazing! When I got up this morning before I read this I decided to make myself conscious and aware as I travelled through the day. My PA says I already failed! However... As I read your thought it reminded me of the story of filling the jar. A friend stood in front of a group and filled a large glass jar with large stones right to the top. He asked if it it full and the attendees said yes. He then put smaller stones into the jar which fell between the larger stones and asked was it full - the others said yes. He then put tiny pebbles into the jar which fell between the smaller stones and asked was it full - the attendees said yes. He then put sand into the jar which fell between the pebbles and asked was it full - yes. He then poured water into the jar which fell between the sand and silence fell on the room. It made me think that our view on space is relative to how we perceive it. There is plenty of space out there daily to explore and it depends on our mind set whether we fill the gaps with frustration or positive energy. It’s so important that we let our positive energy flow through the jar so we can fill all the space, whether it is with silence or activity, and do it in a way which builds rather than sucks our energy away. Namaste!” Ciaran
“The barefoot experience. What joy! Walking on the hard surfaces of the garden path, not nearly as troublesome as I had expected, indeed more comfortable than shoes. Perhaps to me a reminder that the hard times and experiences we fear are rarely as bad as we expected. But then the grass. Oh, the joy of it. Childlike delight, and understanding perhaps what a cat feels like when it’s ‘making dough’. And a determination and a desire to enjoy this more often - not just back to nature, but back to my creator and my true nature, born to enjoy what he has created with all my heart, my soul, my mind...
“And what of sound, or rather silence? Hard to find in a back garden two miles from Heathrow! I was reminded of what a strange experience it was this time last year when volcanic ash silenced the metal beasts of the air. But yet, even here I can find silence - almost despite my expectations - that still small voice of calm, the peace that passes all understanding... I closed my eyes, and really listened - in a way perhaps I rarely do or have. I could sense direction far better than radar; I could hear one bird which I could place in one tree to my left, and another to my right - I was ‘guided’ to where they sang. These experiences have been such a revelation. I still don’t know exactly where God is guiding me - how can I best serve him at this stage in my life, to the max? But I know, again, that he loves me, is pleased with me, and will never let me go.” Mark
“Oh “the ‘wild place’ - I missed you today. Place of beauty and peace. Place of summer days and winter storms. Place of renewing springs and leave-behind autumns. Place of real earth where God whispers. I missed you today.” Sandra
“I am still managing to use the internet much less and focus on the now, spending more time with my fmaily, especially my children. I have used some of the time to learn to crochet and have made them both bed throws... However, I still struggle with the 'moving towards' as my future is still not certain. Sounds daft when I write it as no-one’s future is, really, but I know my workplace will shut in two year's time and I am still looking for where to go next. I still struggle with the 'waiting' rather than the 'searching' and the 'trusting' insterad of the 'seeking'. This is my goal in the next few days. My soul is quieter but not quietened.” Paula
* * *
May you find direction, today.
Go well!
Brian
The Space
simplicity // 31
the Space
At the beginning of Lent I asked, 1) How will you make space?, 2) What are you moving towards?, and 3) How will you become more fully present as you go? I’d like, now, to reflect on space, movement and presence in turn... as we edge towards home. It’s not too late to create or embed a positive habit. In fact, now is an important time to make the most of this journey, so that you can finish well!
Lent is a space which opens out before us. It’s a longer, broader space we’ve entered willingly, and have committed to exploring. And it’s funny how – especially if we’re giving something up for the duration – such a space can seem so big.
And yet, within each day, many of us struggle to find space for the things that matter. How does that work? There is, in truth, plenty of space out there, daily, to explore. It’s just that most of us have filled it twice over, already, with appointments, entertainments, meetings and distractions.
“We always think that space should be doing something,” writes the poet and novelist Ben Okri in his brand new book, A Time for New Dreams. “Or that we should always do something within a space. If a space is not being used, isn’t being built up, we think of it as useless, or dead space. We also have this attitude to time,” he continues, “which is another form of space. And so we create a world of diminishing space.”
By quitting a habit for 40 days, or changing a routine, or relinquishing a luxury, or restricting your Internet intake – or whatever it is you have been trying - you will inevitably create space, however small, to explore. So be encouraged! The skill comes in using that space wisely - perhaps by resolving to fill it with nothing, for the time being - and allowing your self simply to be exposed to it, and touched by it. Slowly but surely, such a practice will become a good habit, one that becomes second nature. If you can finish Lent having changed one thing, you’ll have done well.
And it’s funny: as we make space on the outside of our life, a space seems to open up on the inside, too. Have you noticed? It becomes hard to see the join; that point at which our world is turned inside out.
“As within, so without,” goes the old saying. “And as without, so within.”
* * *
action point:
How have you been getting on, ‘creating space’? One thing you could do today is simply to review your goal. What has worked well for you? Remember the exercise about looking for the blank spaces in between the appointments? Well, try to inhabit those again, today; and make the most of unexpected spaces that open up. A queue at the supermarket, for instance, does not have to be annoying, but gives you the chance to slow down, and breathe deeply, and count your blessings. Likewise a traffic jam! Or a tube delay... Notice how you feel – tense, irritated, impatient, perhaps – and allow yourself to relax into the space you have been offered.
If you’re really brave, you could cancel an appointment, or simply (and politely) say “no” to the offer of one today! But you need to be able, first, to see space as something that does not have to be filled to be useful.
Otherwise, find an ‘outside’ space and stay there a while, today, reflecting on how this physical space can help you to create some arms-wide-open space on the inside of your life. What are the benefits for you of creating some more space, today? And what is stopping you?
* * *
rsvp:
“What limits me most is expectation. So often my expectations are too high that I feel let down and, after today's reading, realise now that they are in danger of "reducing my life". Take yesterday for example - I took the children to see the prolific display of bluebells in a nearby wood. Quickly I realised we were a bit early - the bluebells were coming but the dizzying display of last year was yet to arrive. I felt so disappointed that it could have ruined our outing. Thankfully the children's enjoyment of a new venue meant I suddenly saw the incredible, if less electrifying, carpet of wood anemones and dog violets. Not what I had sought but equally as satisfying and meaningful. And we can always go back in a week or two...” Kate
“We had our celebration yesterday - a combination of Mother’s Day and my mother’s birthday, a week late. My mother suffers in the late stages of Alzheimer’s Disease... Not wanting to bypass a celebration, even if it meant nothing to her, I was delighted that she was able to read her name: “Lorna”, written on the cake we made. She laughingly joined our singing ‘Happy Birthday’, not concerned with who the celebration was for. Who is my mother now? Sometimes I observe the ragged remains of the person who gave birth to me and brought me up, and wonder just where she is now. Sometimes I question why this should happen to anyone. But mostly I simply watch amazed: her personality, although gentled and dimmed, still shines - she is still who she‘s always been. She may not remember who I am, but still she hugs and holds me as though I were precious. This is still who she is: still daughter, still wife, still mother, not entirely “forgetful”; not entirely “naked”, but “trailing clouds of glory”. Sandra
“I would say that the big thing that encloses me is travelling for an hour each day to work in London. What's the sense in it, surely there's a way to work that is integrated more into my home community? Why work to earn more money simply to buy more luxuries? Isn't it time I thought more intelligently about how I fit into the world?” George
* * *
May you have the space, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Space
At the beginning of Lent I asked, 1) How will you make space?, 2) What are you moving towards?, and 3) How will you become more fully present as you go? I’d like, now, to reflect on space, movement and presence in turn... as we edge towards home. It’s not too late to create or embed a positive habit. In fact, now is an important time to make the most of this journey, so that you can finish well!
Lent is a space which opens out before us. It’s a longer, broader space we’ve entered willingly, and have committed to exploring. And it’s funny how – especially if we’re giving something up for the duration – such a space can seem so big.
And yet, within each day, many of us struggle to find space for the things that matter. How does that work? There is, in truth, plenty of space out there, daily, to explore. It’s just that most of us have filled it twice over, already, with appointments, entertainments, meetings and distractions.
“We always think that space should be doing something,” writes the poet and novelist Ben Okri in his brand new book, A Time for New Dreams. “Or that we should always do something within a space. If a space is not being used, isn’t being built up, we think of it as useless, or dead space. We also have this attitude to time,” he continues, “which is another form of space. And so we create a world of diminishing space.”
By quitting a habit for 40 days, or changing a routine, or relinquishing a luxury, or restricting your Internet intake – or whatever it is you have been trying - you will inevitably create space, however small, to explore. So be encouraged! The skill comes in using that space wisely - perhaps by resolving to fill it with nothing, for the time being - and allowing your self simply to be exposed to it, and touched by it. Slowly but surely, such a practice will become a good habit, one that becomes second nature. If you can finish Lent having changed one thing, you’ll have done well.
And it’s funny: as we make space on the outside of our life, a space seems to open up on the inside, too. Have you noticed? It becomes hard to see the join; that point at which our world is turned inside out.
“As within, so without,” goes the old saying. “And as without, so within.”
* * *
action point:
How have you been getting on, ‘creating space’? One thing you could do today is simply to review your goal. What has worked well for you? Remember the exercise about looking for the blank spaces in between the appointments? Well, try to inhabit those again, today; and make the most of unexpected spaces that open up. A queue at the supermarket, for instance, does not have to be annoying, but gives you the chance to slow down, and breathe deeply, and count your blessings. Likewise a traffic jam! Or a tube delay... Notice how you feel – tense, irritated, impatient, perhaps – and allow yourself to relax into the space you have been offered.
If you’re really brave, you could cancel an appointment, or simply (and politely) say “no” to the offer of one today! But you need to be able, first, to see space as something that does not have to be filled to be useful.
Otherwise, find an ‘outside’ space and stay there a while, today, reflecting on how this physical space can help you to create some arms-wide-open space on the inside of your life. What are the benefits for you of creating some more space, today? And what is stopping you?
* * *
rsvp:
“What limits me most is expectation. So often my expectations are too high that I feel let down and, after today's reading, realise now that they are in danger of "reducing my life". Take yesterday for example - I took the children to see the prolific display of bluebells in a nearby wood. Quickly I realised we were a bit early - the bluebells were coming but the dizzying display of last year was yet to arrive. I felt so disappointed that it could have ruined our outing. Thankfully the children's enjoyment of a new venue meant I suddenly saw the incredible, if less electrifying, carpet of wood anemones and dog violets. Not what I had sought but equally as satisfying and meaningful. And we can always go back in a week or two...” Kate
“We had our celebration yesterday - a combination of Mother’s Day and my mother’s birthday, a week late. My mother suffers in the late stages of Alzheimer’s Disease... Not wanting to bypass a celebration, even if it meant nothing to her, I was delighted that she was able to read her name: “Lorna”, written on the cake we made. She laughingly joined our singing ‘Happy Birthday’, not concerned with who the celebration was for. Who is my mother now? Sometimes I observe the ragged remains of the person who gave birth to me and brought me up, and wonder just where she is now. Sometimes I question why this should happen to anyone. But mostly I simply watch amazed: her personality, although gentled and dimmed, still shines - she is still who she‘s always been. She may not remember who I am, but still she hugs and holds me as though I were precious. This is still who she is: still daughter, still wife, still mother, not entirely “forgetful”; not entirely “naked”, but “trailing clouds of glory”. Sandra
“I would say that the big thing that encloses me is travelling for an hour each day to work in London. What's the sense in it, surely there's a way to work that is integrated more into my home community? Why work to earn more money simply to buy more luxuries? Isn't it time I thought more intelligently about how I fit into the world?” George
* * *
May you have the space, today.
Go well!
Brian
Tuesday, 12 April 2011
The Wild Earth
simplicity // 30
the Wild Earth
John O’Donohue warns us against becoming too “self-enclosed”, which is a lovely, if challenging, phrase.
“When we domesticate our minds and hearts, we reduce our lives,” he writes. [Anyone for a skinny latté?.] “Almost without knowing it, we slip inside ready-made roles and routines which then set the frames of our possibilities...”
And yet, all the while, “almost unknown to ourselves,” he writes - even as we conform to type, or go through the motions – “we are standing on wild earth at a crossroads in time where anything can come towards us.” Holy ground, if we did but know it. Moses took off his sandals when he found where he was standing. What might we do?
It’s easy to forget that underneath the parquet flooring of our lives, lies wild earth. Jesus knew it, and stood himself within that wild-ness for 40 days. Disconnected. Reconnected. And when we dare to remove ourselves somehow, our soul, too, will stir; after all, it is, beneath the protective layers, original, wild and blessed.
That’s why periods such as this, during Lent, are invaluable. It’s a time when – through giving things up, or reflecting more deeply, or doing things differently - we loosen our grip on “domestication” as O’Donohue calls it: on business as usual, on the same old routines, on our limiting expectations, on religious dogma, on presuppositions, on stupefying comforts, and on the luxuries that make our reduced existence seem a little more excusable and palatable in the end.
So press on! Not long, now. Time to make the most of it.
To breathe again.
To live again.
To be born again?
Wild.
* * *
Action point:
Try to identify one thing you do within a typical day which has made you “self-enclosed”, and has “reduced your life”. It might involve a role you play or a routine you have; anything that you sense stops you living more fully. What is stopping you from removing it from your life, or changing your routine?
Alternatively, try to get outside again today, and spend five minutes or more reflecting on the ground beneath your feet. You might say a few times over in your head, ‘This is holy ground. I am standing on wild earth.’”
* * *
rsvp:
“Saw my first butterfly yesterday while walking along the river enjoying the sunshine - didn't realise its significance until I read this. Thank you.” Gill
“I spend each Monday in prison as a volunteer providing bereavement support. I didn't read today's message until I got home, but I had to smile when I did. A young man had asked for help to come to terms with the loss of his partner and baby daughter - an accident caused by a drunk driver - some 10 years previously. He was extremely anxious about actually doing it, but had taken the plunge nonetheless and kept going despite the difficulties. When I met him today he was full of smiles and so different from the young man I first met. He told me how he'd been reflecting on his life over the past 10 years and how he'd come to understand a lot about himself. But the best thing was that he'd already started to put into place some measures to mend some of the hurt he'd caused, especially to his Mum. We shared his joy and I said that if I'd had a gold star I would have stuck it on him - which made us laugh all the more!” Ann
“Some years back, I received a picture of my life, as a small, brown earthenware jar. The jar was broken into pieces in front of me; I was in pieces. Then, I saw the jar put back together. There were cracks and fault lines all over it. It was no longer the 'whole' jar, but it was whole, none the less. The jar was then filled with the best oil; a thick, rich olive oil. I expected it to spill over the top. However, the tone of the jar darkened from the bottom upwards as the oil saturated the jar itself. Only then did it start to fill the jar, and as it did, the oil began to leak through the cracks... it ran out from and began to soak into the surroundings, too. I was struck by two things: First, I have to wait, and be soaked. Only then can I truly affect the world around me - through 'my faults, my cracks, my fracture lines'. And here's the beautiful, humbling bit: it's through those faults and cracks that the impact is made. Through the fault-lines of my pains, hurts and bereaved spirit I can draw alongside others and allow the Balm of Gilead that has so comforted, soothed and healed me to help a fellow traveller on this journey through life.” Stuart
* * *
May you know where you stand, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Wild Earth
John O’Donohue warns us against becoming too “self-enclosed”, which is a lovely, if challenging, phrase.
“When we domesticate our minds and hearts, we reduce our lives,” he writes. [Anyone for a skinny latté?.] “Almost without knowing it, we slip inside ready-made roles and routines which then set the frames of our possibilities...”
And yet, all the while, “almost unknown to ourselves,” he writes - even as we conform to type, or go through the motions – “we are standing on wild earth at a crossroads in time where anything can come towards us.” Holy ground, if we did but know it. Moses took off his sandals when he found where he was standing. What might we do?
It’s easy to forget that underneath the parquet flooring of our lives, lies wild earth. Jesus knew it, and stood himself within that wild-ness for 40 days. Disconnected. Reconnected. And when we dare to remove ourselves somehow, our soul, too, will stir; after all, it is, beneath the protective layers, original, wild and blessed.
That’s why periods such as this, during Lent, are invaluable. It’s a time when – through giving things up, or reflecting more deeply, or doing things differently - we loosen our grip on “domestication” as O’Donohue calls it: on business as usual, on the same old routines, on our limiting expectations, on religious dogma, on presuppositions, on stupefying comforts, and on the luxuries that make our reduced existence seem a little more excusable and palatable in the end.
So press on! Not long, now. Time to make the most of it.
To breathe again.
To live again.
To be born again?
Wild.
* * *
Action point:
Try to identify one thing you do within a typical day which has made you “self-enclosed”, and has “reduced your life”. It might involve a role you play or a routine you have; anything that you sense stops you living more fully. What is stopping you from removing it from your life, or changing your routine?
Alternatively, try to get outside again today, and spend five minutes or more reflecting on the ground beneath your feet. You might say a few times over in your head, ‘This is holy ground. I am standing on wild earth.’”
* * *
rsvp:
“Saw my first butterfly yesterday while walking along the river enjoying the sunshine - didn't realise its significance until I read this. Thank you.” Gill
“I spend each Monday in prison as a volunteer providing bereavement support. I didn't read today's message until I got home, but I had to smile when I did. A young man had asked for help to come to terms with the loss of his partner and baby daughter - an accident caused by a drunk driver - some 10 years previously. He was extremely anxious about actually doing it, but had taken the plunge nonetheless and kept going despite the difficulties. When I met him today he was full of smiles and so different from the young man I first met. He told me how he'd been reflecting on his life over the past 10 years and how he'd come to understand a lot about himself. But the best thing was that he'd already started to put into place some measures to mend some of the hurt he'd caused, especially to his Mum. We shared his joy and I said that if I'd had a gold star I would have stuck it on him - which made us laugh all the more!” Ann
“Some years back, I received a picture of my life, as a small, brown earthenware jar. The jar was broken into pieces in front of me; I was in pieces. Then, I saw the jar put back together. There were cracks and fault lines all over it. It was no longer the 'whole' jar, but it was whole, none the less. The jar was then filled with the best oil; a thick, rich olive oil. I expected it to spill over the top. However, the tone of the jar darkened from the bottom upwards as the oil saturated the jar itself. Only then did it start to fill the jar, and as it did, the oil began to leak through the cracks... it ran out from and began to soak into the surroundings, too. I was struck by two things: First, I have to wait, and be soaked. Only then can I truly affect the world around me - through 'my faults, my cracks, my fracture lines'. And here's the beautiful, humbling bit: it's through those faults and cracks that the impact is made. Through the fault-lines of my pains, hurts and bereaved spirit I can draw alongside others and allow the Balm of Gilead that has so comforted, soothed and healed me to help a fellow traveller on this journey through life.” Stuart
* * *
May you know where you stand, today.
Go well!
Brian
Monday, 11 April 2011
The Clouds
simplicity // 29
the Clouds
Forgive the self-indulgence: it’s my daughter Betsy-Joy’s first birthday today, and I’m excited.
We gave her the middle name Eveline, after Eve, as we wanted her to remember her family roots. Back in the day, I’m sure Eve was gorgeous, just like her, and full of innocence, and wonder. Sometimes it takes a brand new life to remind us of our ‘original blessing’; of the fact that the story of life starts in Genesis 1 with the Creation, not in Genesis 3 with the Fall.
Whatever Eve and Adam did, exactly, I’m not entirely sure; but they did something that meant that we, as a human family, became disconnected from each other, and God, and the Earth, and we began to expect the worst of each other. “We can’t help it,” people now say. “We’re only human.”
Well, we’re not only anything, of course. (Think of what Jesus made, and re-made, of humanity.) And today, just as I expect the very best of, and for, our daughter, so we can expect the very best of, and for, each other. For we still bear the image – each of us, uniquely – of the Creator, as the Creator’s children.
William Wordsworth knew it, and through these lines in Ode: Intimations of Immortality, he evokes the deep and precious mystery of new life:
‘Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.’
It’s worth remembering, and celebrating, today, birthday or not: we trail clouds.
* * *
Action point:
Try to create an impromptu celebration of (new) life today. Buy some cakes for your colleagues at work; drop something round to a neighbour; send someone a card out of the blue; put on some music loud and dance as if you were 18... Anything, to spread a virus of celebration through this community and into the world around it. :)
* * *
rsvp:
“My husband, who knows I am following this journey but doesn’t know the content of your mails, called to me to come and see our first brimstone in the garden too. A chalky, lemon yellow and fluttering so freely above the salad patch and the newly mown lawn. Inspired, I went outside to sit in the garden for a while and noticed the beautifully gentle buds of soft pink and white on our apple tree and the still closed, colours- hidden buds of the aquilegia. It seems that there has been much promise and hope of new beginnings for me today.” Paula
“I am blessed to live in a beautiful little fishing village in Cornwall. As we walked the half mile into the centre of the village on Friday evening we found many people sprucing up their properties for the expected Easter holidays, windows were being washed, paintwork being refreshed and general scrubbing and polishing. It made me think of two things: of the village awakening from the winter, dusting herself off and stretching, like a cat, in the sun. And it also made me think about a bride preparing for her bridegroom. And it made me glad to the centre of my soul to have survived another winter and to be rewarded with sights such as these.” Andree
“I felt the same elation as Michael McCarthy on seeing the first butterfly of the year. I was enjoying a quiet day at a local church and as I walked through the beautiful churchyard, a butterfly flew in front of me and settled on the ground. It was a Peacock. Butterflies have always been significant for me. On a retreat a few years ago, there were countless Painted Ladies surrounding me on a walk. They signify for me hope and resurrection. The one I saw today was amongst the graves. Later, I saw another, this time a cabbage white. I noticed so many things, having the time to stroll; the first clump of bluebells, shy violets hiding in the shade under a yew tree, a huge bumble bee, buds bursting into leaf, the smell of newly mown grass and the warm sun on my back. It was sheer delight - the ‘unstoppable renewal’. Diana
“Today I was in the garden and saw my first butterfly. A Red Admiral it flew down onto the soil right in front of me and sat with its wings out enjoying the sun for a moment before flying off. It was just beautiful.” Kirsty
“Wow! ‘I make all things new’... From time to time I have found myself actually being jealous of nature in that it is allowed the privilege of re-generating itself year after year, seemingly with no end in sight. Trees that have been witness to so much history and so many generations of people, etc. And here we humans are confined to 70 or so years of life... But when we stop to ponder the big picture, the promise of us being made new means that perhaps we are mere caterpillars awaiting to be re-born into something (someone) so much more beautiful than our "caterpillar minds" can currently comprehend.” Chris
“I wake up around 5am every day in allot of pain. Today when the sun came up I watched the red kites flying in the beautiful blue sky, my mind can escape from the daily pains, to see something so beautiful really inspires me. It reminds me that life is ongoing and renewable, we just need to take a few minutes each day to find some peace within ourselves and share this joy.” Jon
“The Inkling
When the sun dipped and the sea calmed
We walked above the shore
When the woodland rested and the sky deepened
We time-tasted the cooling air
Horses gently close-cropping the grass
Rabbits safe-scampering home
Trees stilling, birds settling
Dew damping, waves lapping
Sun-warmed, dusk-dimming
Green-scented, may-blossom frothed
Weary eyes softening
Tired limbs relaxing
Spring’s peace-offering at the end of the day
And God walks in the garden too.” Sandra
"’Seek beauty within the imperfection of it all’. I didn't have to search long for a piece of imperfect ground - it was waiting for me just outside the door - the area that is yet to make it to the top of the to-do list. I looked at the weeds and tried to find the beauty but I couldn't help thinking that they're weeds because they're not very beautiful. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of colour and sitting there was a humble dandelion, ‘bright shining as the sun’ to quote John Newton! Whilst normally designated as a nuisance and regularly ripped up when the lawn is cut, this tiny bit of God's earth stood resplendent today, and it made me smile!” Andree
* * *
May you make the most of this gift of life, today.
Go well!
Brian
http://www.spiritualintelligence.co.uk
the Clouds
Forgive the self-indulgence: it’s my daughter Betsy-Joy’s first birthday today, and I’m excited.
We gave her the middle name Eveline, after Eve, as we wanted her to remember her family roots. Back in the day, I’m sure Eve was gorgeous, just like her, and full of innocence, and wonder. Sometimes it takes a brand new life to remind us of our ‘original blessing’; of the fact that the story of life starts in Genesis 1 with the Creation, not in Genesis 3 with the Fall.
Whatever Eve and Adam did, exactly, I’m not entirely sure; but they did something that meant that we, as a human family, became disconnected from each other, and God, and the Earth, and we began to expect the worst of each other. “We can’t help it,” people now say. “We’re only human.”
Well, we’re not only anything, of course. (Think of what Jesus made, and re-made, of humanity.) And today, just as I expect the very best of, and for, our daughter, so we can expect the very best of, and for, each other. For we still bear the image – each of us, uniquely – of the Creator, as the Creator’s children.
William Wordsworth knew it, and through these lines in Ode: Intimations of Immortality, he evokes the deep and precious mystery of new life:
‘Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.’
It’s worth remembering, and celebrating, today, birthday or not: we trail clouds.
* * *
Action point:
Try to create an impromptu celebration of (new) life today. Buy some cakes for your colleagues at work; drop something round to a neighbour; send someone a card out of the blue; put on some music loud and dance as if you were 18... Anything, to spread a virus of celebration through this community and into the world around it. :)
* * *
rsvp:
“My husband, who knows I am following this journey but doesn’t know the content of your mails, called to me to come and see our first brimstone in the garden too. A chalky, lemon yellow and fluttering so freely above the salad patch and the newly mown lawn. Inspired, I went outside to sit in the garden for a while and noticed the beautifully gentle buds of soft pink and white on our apple tree and the still closed, colours- hidden buds of the aquilegia. It seems that there has been much promise and hope of new beginnings for me today.” Paula
“I am blessed to live in a beautiful little fishing village in Cornwall. As we walked the half mile into the centre of the village on Friday evening we found many people sprucing up their properties for the expected Easter holidays, windows were being washed, paintwork being refreshed and general scrubbing and polishing. It made me think of two things: of the village awakening from the winter, dusting herself off and stretching, like a cat, in the sun. And it also made me think about a bride preparing for her bridegroom. And it made me glad to the centre of my soul to have survived another winter and to be rewarded with sights such as these.” Andree
“I felt the same elation as Michael McCarthy on seeing the first butterfly of the year. I was enjoying a quiet day at a local church and as I walked through the beautiful churchyard, a butterfly flew in front of me and settled on the ground. It was a Peacock. Butterflies have always been significant for me. On a retreat a few years ago, there were countless Painted Ladies surrounding me on a walk. They signify for me hope and resurrection. The one I saw today was amongst the graves. Later, I saw another, this time a cabbage white. I noticed so many things, having the time to stroll; the first clump of bluebells, shy violets hiding in the shade under a yew tree, a huge bumble bee, buds bursting into leaf, the smell of newly mown grass and the warm sun on my back. It was sheer delight - the ‘unstoppable renewal’. Diana
“Today I was in the garden and saw my first butterfly. A Red Admiral it flew down onto the soil right in front of me and sat with its wings out enjoying the sun for a moment before flying off. It was just beautiful.” Kirsty
“Wow! ‘I make all things new’... From time to time I have found myself actually being jealous of nature in that it is allowed the privilege of re-generating itself year after year, seemingly with no end in sight. Trees that have been witness to so much history and so many generations of people, etc. And here we humans are confined to 70 or so years of life... But when we stop to ponder the big picture, the promise of us being made new means that perhaps we are mere caterpillars awaiting to be re-born into something (someone) so much more beautiful than our "caterpillar minds" can currently comprehend.” Chris
“I wake up around 5am every day in allot of pain. Today when the sun came up I watched the red kites flying in the beautiful blue sky, my mind can escape from the daily pains, to see something so beautiful really inspires me. It reminds me that life is ongoing and renewable, we just need to take a few minutes each day to find some peace within ourselves and share this joy.” Jon
“The Inkling
When the sun dipped and the sea calmed
We walked above the shore
When the woodland rested and the sky deepened
We time-tasted the cooling air
Horses gently close-cropping the grass
Rabbits safe-scampering home
Trees stilling, birds settling
Dew damping, waves lapping
Sun-warmed, dusk-dimming
Green-scented, may-blossom frothed
Weary eyes softening
Tired limbs relaxing
Spring’s peace-offering at the end of the day
And God walks in the garden too.” Sandra
"’Seek beauty within the imperfection of it all’. I didn't have to search long for a piece of imperfect ground - it was waiting for me just outside the door - the area that is yet to make it to the top of the to-do list. I looked at the weeds and tried to find the beauty but I couldn't help thinking that they're weeds because they're not very beautiful. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of colour and sitting there was a humble dandelion, ‘bright shining as the sun’ to quote John Newton! Whilst normally designated as a nuisance and regularly ripped up when the lawn is cut, this tiny bit of God's earth stood resplendent today, and it made me smile!” Andree
* * *
May you make the most of this gift of life, today.
Go well!
Brian
http://www.spiritualintelligence.co.uk
Friday, 8 April 2011
The Inkling
simplicity // 28
the Inkling
“I have struggled,” writes Michael McCarthy, for the Independent, “to find a way of expressing my elation at seeing the first butterfly of the year.” Have you seen yours?
“It was a brimstone, a bright yellow brimstone,” he continues. “Using science, and rationality, I can tell you quite a lot about it: that it was an insect; that it belonged to the butterfly family Pieridae, the whites... that in its caterpillar stage it had fed on the plants buckthorn or alder buckthorn; and that it had hibernated disguised as a leaf, probably in an ivy clump, until the first warm day in March woke it up.”
But that doesn't really describe it, he muses. That brimstone “electrified me instantly; it was the sign of the turning year, not just of the warm times coming again but of the great rebirth of everything, the great unstoppable renewal, and the brilliance of its colour seemed to proclaim the magnitude of the change it was signalling...”
My dad and I had a similar experience when walking through some gentle countryside in the late afternoon sunshine this week. We’d already savoured the spectacle of a buzzard circling low, and a heron hauling itself up and away like something prehistoric. But what thrilled us the most was the unmistakable silhouette against the blue sky above us, of the first swallow of the year.
Such a small signal of what’s to come – my mind raced to cricket, fresh-cut grass, rivers, beer gardens, sunsets - but one that lifted the spirits and touched our souls in a way that left us walking in cheerful, contemplative silence, for a few moments, buoyed by a shared inkling.
The turning of the year, as McCarthy puts it: the rebirth of everything, the great unstoppable renewal... I’d say he did a pretty good job of describing what we can sense, deep down, on a weekend such as this, when the world spins towards the light, and a season turns before our eyes, and we feel that fierce and fathomless link to the promise that “I am making all things new.”
* * *
action point:
Look for the simplest of signs, today, and try to describe its effect on you.
Michael McCarthy’s lovely article about science and beauty can be read by clicking here.
* * *
rsvp:
“Have you ever listened to ‘Here, there and everywhere’ by the Beatles with God in mind? Really lovely on such a sunny evening...” George
“Lord
I volunteer
More importantly - you volunteered
Freedom still needs a volunteer - it always did
Only because you set your face like flint and chose to go to the cross
Only because of you I am free to volunteer
Thank you, first volunteer of freedom.” Mike
“For Lent I have tried to give up over-indulgence - not just food, but other areas of greed as well. Making space for others' needs, moving towards (hopefully) becoming a hand of hope for those who have had theirs stripped away. I have grappled with the over indulgence a lot, trying to justify why I needed this or why I deserved that; observing my own irrelevant needs has not been comfortable! Gradually I realise that God has been showing me how I can become a hand of hope... Freedom needs a Volunteer. Love is not for hoarding. May His light become a beacon of hope for the people he wants me to reach my hand to.” Heather
“The place where I am has become too small. Stretching in their cramped home, my roots cause the pot to crack. A gentle crack, because the compacted soil and my roots adhere to the inside surface of the pot, so nothing looks very different. I feel like I ought to be able to get out, but in the piercing blackness numerous unhelpful thoughts disturb my mind. Above and beyond me I see a chink of light which casts a shaft of seemingly unreachable hope. The light indicates an exit (that’s the hope), but I don’t know how to get there (that’s the despair). The light penetrates the darkness, suggesting freedom. I remember that where there is light, there is hope. In the darkness it is easy to focus on the shaft of light and to know what I want and where I am heading. I don’t see any reason to stay here any more. I struggle to be free of the pot. More cracks. More light. Final exposure. Then the sense of being homeless and undefined. In this light place I see that all must be well; yet it is harder to focus, harder to journey, harder to work, harder to do anything. Should I just sit and think? I fear being useless. Should I search for a path? I fear being confined by its limitations. I seek a greater wisdom.” Sandra
* * *
May you be a sign, yourself.
Go well!
Brian
the Inkling
“I have struggled,” writes Michael McCarthy, for the Independent, “to find a way of expressing my elation at seeing the first butterfly of the year.” Have you seen yours?
“It was a brimstone, a bright yellow brimstone,” he continues. “Using science, and rationality, I can tell you quite a lot about it: that it was an insect; that it belonged to the butterfly family Pieridae, the whites... that in its caterpillar stage it had fed on the plants buckthorn or alder buckthorn; and that it had hibernated disguised as a leaf, probably in an ivy clump, until the first warm day in March woke it up.”
But that doesn't really describe it, he muses. That brimstone “electrified me instantly; it was the sign of the turning year, not just of the warm times coming again but of the great rebirth of everything, the great unstoppable renewal, and the brilliance of its colour seemed to proclaim the magnitude of the change it was signalling...”
My dad and I had a similar experience when walking through some gentle countryside in the late afternoon sunshine this week. We’d already savoured the spectacle of a buzzard circling low, and a heron hauling itself up and away like something prehistoric. But what thrilled us the most was the unmistakable silhouette against the blue sky above us, of the first swallow of the year.
Such a small signal of what’s to come – my mind raced to cricket, fresh-cut grass, rivers, beer gardens, sunsets - but one that lifted the spirits and touched our souls in a way that left us walking in cheerful, contemplative silence, for a few moments, buoyed by a shared inkling.
The turning of the year, as McCarthy puts it: the rebirth of everything, the great unstoppable renewal... I’d say he did a pretty good job of describing what we can sense, deep down, on a weekend such as this, when the world spins towards the light, and a season turns before our eyes, and we feel that fierce and fathomless link to the promise that “I am making all things new.”
* * *
action point:
Look for the simplest of signs, today, and try to describe its effect on you.
Michael McCarthy’s lovely article about science and beauty can be read by clicking here.
* * *
rsvp:
“Have you ever listened to ‘Here, there and everywhere’ by the Beatles with God in mind? Really lovely on such a sunny evening...” George
“Lord
I volunteer
More importantly - you volunteered
Freedom still needs a volunteer - it always did
Only because you set your face like flint and chose to go to the cross
Only because of you I am free to volunteer
Thank you, first volunteer of freedom.” Mike
“For Lent I have tried to give up over-indulgence - not just food, but other areas of greed as well. Making space for others' needs, moving towards (hopefully) becoming a hand of hope for those who have had theirs stripped away. I have grappled with the over indulgence a lot, trying to justify why I needed this or why I deserved that; observing my own irrelevant needs has not been comfortable! Gradually I realise that God has been showing me how I can become a hand of hope... Freedom needs a Volunteer. Love is not for hoarding. May His light become a beacon of hope for the people he wants me to reach my hand to.” Heather
“The place where I am has become too small. Stretching in their cramped home, my roots cause the pot to crack. A gentle crack, because the compacted soil and my roots adhere to the inside surface of the pot, so nothing looks very different. I feel like I ought to be able to get out, but in the piercing blackness numerous unhelpful thoughts disturb my mind. Above and beyond me I see a chink of light which casts a shaft of seemingly unreachable hope. The light indicates an exit (that’s the hope), but I don’t know how to get there (that’s the despair). The light penetrates the darkness, suggesting freedom. I remember that where there is light, there is hope. In the darkness it is easy to focus on the shaft of light and to know what I want and where I am heading. I don’t see any reason to stay here any more. I struggle to be free of the pot. More cracks. More light. Final exposure. Then the sense of being homeless and undefined. In this light place I see that all must be well; yet it is harder to focus, harder to journey, harder to work, harder to do anything. Should I just sit and think? I fear being useless. Should I search for a path? I fear being confined by its limitations. I seek a greater wisdom.” Sandra
* * *
May you be a sign, yourself.
Go well!
Brian
Thursday, 7 April 2011
The Volunteer
simplicity // 27
the Volunteer
“What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving.” Matthew 6.30 (Message Version)
Even though our culture often tells us that we are nothing but the clothes we buy, the cars we drive, or the roles we play, the Bible sees it differently, because God sees us differently.
The writer of Psalm 139 knew it, and wasn’t afraid to say so, either. “I praise you, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” he said. “Your works are wonderful. I know that full well.” And we are all “works” of God.
Ultimately, of course, we will have to lay down every accoutrement anyway; every lifestyle accessory, every prop we’ve picked up along the way - the “things that we have carried here” (to quote the brilliant Martyn Joseph song) - will one day disappear, to leave us with nothing but... the person we were created to be. *Gulp*. “We can be free,” he sings.
Sadly, however, through fear or insecurity, we tend not to embrace the promise of such freedom on this side of eternity. Lent helps us to experience something of the lightness that comes from being less “preoccupied with getting”; but the challenge remains, to respond “to God’s giving” fully (as we read in the verse from Matthew’s gospel, above). How do we do that?
“Freedom needs a volunteer,” sings Martyn Joseph. Perhaps, this Lent, we might simply choose to stand up and be counted; to resolve to travel more lightly, yes – but also to live as if we believe that God has made us fearfully and wonderfully. “Beautiful,” as the singer concludes, so movingly. “We can be beautiful.”
Any volunteers?
* * *
action point:
Try to give something away, today. Experience a little more lightness. And as you do, ask yourself how you can respond more fully to “God’s giving”.
Martyn Joseph’s ‘The Things That We Have Carried Here’ is from his album Vegas.
You can watch a live version of the song by clicking here.:
* * *
rsvp:
“Thank for the the picture of a young child running home from school at an age when life was so simple. I was fortunate as a child to go home each day to a place of love and care, and now as an adult I can use that same picture of me running (maybe walking now) to my heavenly home where I am also loved. And His love is enough to sustain me on that walk, even when the earthly ‘love’ I often look for or want to feel isn't there.” Chris
“Sitting on the DLR yesterday morning, asking God who He is and who am I. In the background all I could hear was the taped voice of a woman saying, ‘Please remember to take all your belongings with you.’ NO! I wanted to shout. That’s the opposite of what we need to do. Leave it behind and press on towards the goal! God’s grace was sufficient and I said nothing but quietly kept asking God who He is and who am I, dutifully taking my briefcase with me as I left the train.” Daphne
“I finally had a chance to return to today’s theme on my journey home when I repeated the prayer and this is what my daily commute prompted me with...
O God, who are you?
God of justice
Who calls created order into being
Connections, relational
More than global
Of the wealthy and powerful
of the poor, disadvantaged
Of creation
Who am I? a child of God called to reflect Him.” Kate
“‘Who am I Lord?’ – am trying to give up ‘busy-ness’ for lent and taking on seeking and waiting on God. Living and working in an intense boarding school in Kenya with four young children of my own, I’m constantly juggling and fighting a feeling of being busy – but I’m convinced it’s just that – a mentality rather than having to be a reality. In the question ‘Who I am?’ however, I feel it is deeply caught up in relationships. So I will try to resolve (again!) to show more of those little signs of love to the people around me, to look into people’s eyes, to smile from my heart, to give them myself as we converse. I am particularly rubbish at ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ – perhaps not wanting to express emotion to people – why? Perhaps I think they won’t want to see my emotion, perhaps I myself am embarrassed by it, perhaps it’s that tiny moment of vulnerability as it’s a moment when you could feel a bit rejected by people. So I’m going to pray ‘Lord help me to be more loving in my ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’. Not just in a superficial polite way, but showing people something of my heart, of Your heart.” Monica
“I attended a funeral of a good friend yesterday who got a brain tumour 15 months ago just after retiring. It refocused his life to the simple things - such as making sure that the bird feeders were adjusted in the back garden so that the small birds could have feed as well as the big birds! He learned to respond in different ways to the signs of God around and within him. He selected his memorial readings not to reflect the world he was going to but to recognise that we carry enough challenges for today and not to waste energy worrying about tomorrow. The certainty of his impending death changed his priorities to give full focus to today - he really did live Cohen's song. Forget your perfect offering, and let the light in through the cracks.” Ciaran
* * *
May you see that you are beautiful, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Volunteer
“What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving.” Matthew 6.30 (Message Version)
Even though our culture often tells us that we are nothing but the clothes we buy, the cars we drive, or the roles we play, the Bible sees it differently, because God sees us differently.
The writer of Psalm 139 knew it, and wasn’t afraid to say so, either. “I praise you, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” he said. “Your works are wonderful. I know that full well.” And we are all “works” of God.
Ultimately, of course, we will have to lay down every accoutrement anyway; every lifestyle accessory, every prop we’ve picked up along the way - the “things that we have carried here” (to quote the brilliant Martyn Joseph song) - will one day disappear, to leave us with nothing but... the person we were created to be. *Gulp*. “We can be free,” he sings.
Sadly, however, through fear or insecurity, we tend not to embrace the promise of such freedom on this side of eternity. Lent helps us to experience something of the lightness that comes from being less “preoccupied with getting”; but the challenge remains, to respond “to God’s giving” fully (as we read in the verse from Matthew’s gospel, above). How do we do that?
“Freedom needs a volunteer,” sings Martyn Joseph. Perhaps, this Lent, we might simply choose to stand up and be counted; to resolve to travel more lightly, yes – but also to live as if we believe that God has made us fearfully and wonderfully. “Beautiful,” as the singer concludes, so movingly. “We can be beautiful.”
Any volunteers?
* * *
action point:
Try to give something away, today. Experience a little more lightness. And as you do, ask yourself how you can respond more fully to “God’s giving”.
Martyn Joseph’s ‘The Things That We Have Carried Here’ is from his album Vegas.
You can watch a live version of the song by clicking here.:
* * *
rsvp:
“Thank for the the picture of a young child running home from school at an age when life was so simple. I was fortunate as a child to go home each day to a place of love and care, and now as an adult I can use that same picture of me running (maybe walking now) to my heavenly home where I am also loved. And His love is enough to sustain me on that walk, even when the earthly ‘love’ I often look for or want to feel isn't there.” Chris
“Sitting on the DLR yesterday morning, asking God who He is and who am I. In the background all I could hear was the taped voice of a woman saying, ‘Please remember to take all your belongings with you.’ NO! I wanted to shout. That’s the opposite of what we need to do. Leave it behind and press on towards the goal! God’s grace was sufficient and I said nothing but quietly kept asking God who He is and who am I, dutifully taking my briefcase with me as I left the train.” Daphne
“I finally had a chance to return to today’s theme on my journey home when I repeated the prayer and this is what my daily commute prompted me with...
O God, who are you?
God of justice
Who calls created order into being
Connections, relational
More than global
Of the wealthy and powerful
of the poor, disadvantaged
Of creation
Who am I? a child of God called to reflect Him.” Kate
“‘Who am I Lord?’ – am trying to give up ‘busy-ness’ for lent and taking on seeking and waiting on God. Living and working in an intense boarding school in Kenya with four young children of my own, I’m constantly juggling and fighting a feeling of being busy – but I’m convinced it’s just that – a mentality rather than having to be a reality. In the question ‘Who I am?’ however, I feel it is deeply caught up in relationships. So I will try to resolve (again!) to show more of those little signs of love to the people around me, to look into people’s eyes, to smile from my heart, to give them myself as we converse. I am particularly rubbish at ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ – perhaps not wanting to express emotion to people – why? Perhaps I think they won’t want to see my emotion, perhaps I myself am embarrassed by it, perhaps it’s that tiny moment of vulnerability as it’s a moment when you could feel a bit rejected by people. So I’m going to pray ‘Lord help me to be more loving in my ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’. Not just in a superficial polite way, but showing people something of my heart, of Your heart.” Monica
“I attended a funeral of a good friend yesterday who got a brain tumour 15 months ago just after retiring. It refocused his life to the simple things - such as making sure that the bird feeders were adjusted in the back garden so that the small birds could have feed as well as the big birds! He learned to respond in different ways to the signs of God around and within him. He selected his memorial readings not to reflect the world he was going to but to recognise that we carry enough challenges for today and not to waste energy worrying about tomorrow. The certainty of his impending death changed his priorities to give full focus to today - he really did live Cohen's song. Forget your perfect offering, and let the light in through the cracks.” Ciaran
* * *
May you see that you are beautiful, today.
Go well!
Brian
The Simple Prayer
simplicity // 26
the Simple Prayer
St. Francis of Assisi would spend whole nights praying the same prayer, over and over: “O God, who are you? And God, who am I?”
Such a prayer cuts, of course, to the heart of our identity. I prayed it yesterday, while on retreat with a wonderful group from Kent. Walking across a field – barefoot, as it happens – in the gorgeous spring sunshine, I repeated the prayer for some time. And caught almost unawares, the smell of sun-warmed grass and earth returned me, vividly, to the days when I would walk home from primary school joyful, trusting, uncomplicated, loved. It was a simple place to be, and to be me (and I am grateful to have such memories); complete, before any extra layers of personhood built like sediment around me.
I glimpsed, in that field, a small part of the answer to the question, “Who am I?”; for I am still that person, that boy, and I am learning, in a sense, to become him again: joyful, trusting, uncomplicated, loved, and this time, in relation to God.
It was an unexpected answer, provoked, not by words, or a verse, but by smell and touch. We all learn in different ways, and we “hear” in different ways, and we respond in different ways to the signs of God around and within us.
Ultimately, the way God sees us is the way we truly are. That’s why it’s worth praying St Francis’ prayer. It makes good sense to seek at least a glimpse of that person for ourselves, and, where necessary, to welcome them home.
* * *
Action point:
Pray the prayer today – try to repeat it, for 5 or 10 minutes – and don’t think too hard about an answer, just let it come.
* * *
rsvp:
“Amen, amen, amen to the words today. I thank God for his grace and mercy as each day he forgives and loves me despite my imperfections and sends me out to show his love, compassion and light to others. From 'one cracked vessel'...” Barbara
“Imperfection: today I had to drive over 200 miles to attend a work-related one-day conference. However, the location was fabulous – a large restored manor house set in beautiful countryside. During the lunch break I took a solitary walk to drink in the beauty. The footpaths around the house were bordered with rows of blooming daffodils. Then I noticed that the perfection was marred as I came across a solitary severed daffodil flower lying on the path. Immediately the words of the chorus ‘Above all powers’ sprung to my mind – ‘Like a rose, trampled to the ground, you took the fall, and thought of me , above all.’” Dylan
“So interesting that many of us who started off doing so well have found the going tougher in the last week or so. I am not alone - look, for a start I'm on the computer in the middle of the afternoon - and it's so encouraging to know I am not alone - I am not the only failure. We are all in need of grace...” Jemma
“We are currently refurbishing an old warehouse into an arts centre. Its image bases itself around its patched-together nature. All of the new parts that go in are made of salvaged parts of the building or new bits that seamlessly fit with the old. It is lovely to be able to think of today's message whilst I draw these new old parts of the building.” George
“The reflection today made me smile as I see the light through those cracks often, especially in myself.” L
“Today’s rings a particular bell with me. Years ago a friend of ours told us: ‘If a thing is worth doing it’s worth doing badly!’ The comfort that twist has been to me when I’ve felt I had neither time nor energy to do things that mattered to the quality I wanted! Faced with the choice of either doing something at the level I could manage or just putting it off, remembering the worth of the thing, even if it’s ‘half done’, has often got me into action. It isn’t always true, but many times it’s been a help. And God does seem to be able to cope… Leonard Cohen sings it much better though!” Wendy
“LIBERATING! While everyone else, it seems, is still managing to avoid sweet things for lent, I managed only the first week. But the one very important issue that I prayed would be behind me before lent ended, God has miraculously and beautifully spoken to me, healed me, delivered me from. Perhaps I thought I could do the first thing in my own strength. The second I knew I couldn't as I had already struggled with it for a year. So God's power was made perfect in my weakness.” Sam
“Thank you! Today's reflection couldn't have been more appropriate. It arrived on a day when I feel far from perfect. There are so many cracks that the walls sometimes seem in danger of collapsing. It also came off the back of a church talk on Sunday about that very passage from Paul, with a reminder that 'we have this treasure in jars of clay'... I'm working in a room with one window overhead, so I will try and take time to see how the light comes in from above.” Philippa
“Today I sought beauty in the washing pile! For the first time (ever?) I put an un-ironed t-shirt in the airing cupboard. Is God's grace sufficient? We'll see. I LOVE ironing.” Daphne
“On the ‘Silence’: I re-read it a couple of days later. I’d woken very early. I heard three things in succession: first, loads of birds singing their dawn chorus, making me think of Jesus saying that not one of them falls to the ground without his Father being aware of it; second, the wind was blowing through the trees and I thanked God for the movement of the Holy Spirit in our church; third, my wife breathing as she slept at my side – I thanked God for giving me such a great wife. Does this seem too flowery? It’s honestly how it happened.” John
“I did an assembly on Monday to 250 year-10 students without my shoes and socks on. Great reactions - some didn't want to look as if they had seen something they shouldn't have. One kid walked past on the way in, just looked down, carried on walking and said 'Shoes are overrated anyway'.” Ben
* * *
May you discover more of who you are,
and may you discover more of God, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Simple Prayer
St. Francis of Assisi would spend whole nights praying the same prayer, over and over: “O God, who are you? And God, who am I?”
Such a prayer cuts, of course, to the heart of our identity. I prayed it yesterday, while on retreat with a wonderful group from Kent. Walking across a field – barefoot, as it happens – in the gorgeous spring sunshine, I repeated the prayer for some time. And caught almost unawares, the smell of sun-warmed grass and earth returned me, vividly, to the days when I would walk home from primary school joyful, trusting, uncomplicated, loved. It was a simple place to be, and to be me (and I am grateful to have such memories); complete, before any extra layers of personhood built like sediment around me.
I glimpsed, in that field, a small part of the answer to the question, “Who am I?”; for I am still that person, that boy, and I am learning, in a sense, to become him again: joyful, trusting, uncomplicated, loved, and this time, in relation to God.
It was an unexpected answer, provoked, not by words, or a verse, but by smell and touch. We all learn in different ways, and we “hear” in different ways, and we respond in different ways to the signs of God around and within us.
Ultimately, the way God sees us is the way we truly are. That’s why it’s worth praying St Francis’ prayer. It makes good sense to seek at least a glimpse of that person for ourselves, and, where necessary, to welcome them home.
* * *
Action point:
Pray the prayer today – try to repeat it, for 5 or 10 minutes – and don’t think too hard about an answer, just let it come.
* * *
rsvp:
“Amen, amen, amen to the words today. I thank God for his grace and mercy as each day he forgives and loves me despite my imperfections and sends me out to show his love, compassion and light to others. From 'one cracked vessel'...” Barbara
“Imperfection: today I had to drive over 200 miles to attend a work-related one-day conference. However, the location was fabulous – a large restored manor house set in beautiful countryside. During the lunch break I took a solitary walk to drink in the beauty. The footpaths around the house were bordered with rows of blooming daffodils. Then I noticed that the perfection was marred as I came across a solitary severed daffodil flower lying on the path. Immediately the words of the chorus ‘Above all powers’ sprung to my mind – ‘Like a rose, trampled to the ground, you took the fall, and thought of me , above all.’” Dylan
“So interesting that many of us who started off doing so well have found the going tougher in the last week or so. I am not alone - look, for a start I'm on the computer in the middle of the afternoon - and it's so encouraging to know I am not alone - I am not the only failure. We are all in need of grace...” Jemma
“We are currently refurbishing an old warehouse into an arts centre. Its image bases itself around its patched-together nature. All of the new parts that go in are made of salvaged parts of the building or new bits that seamlessly fit with the old. It is lovely to be able to think of today's message whilst I draw these new old parts of the building.” George
“The reflection today made me smile as I see the light through those cracks often, especially in myself.” L
“Today’s rings a particular bell with me. Years ago a friend of ours told us: ‘If a thing is worth doing it’s worth doing badly!’ The comfort that twist has been to me when I’ve felt I had neither time nor energy to do things that mattered to the quality I wanted! Faced with the choice of either doing something at the level I could manage or just putting it off, remembering the worth of the thing, even if it’s ‘half done’, has often got me into action. It isn’t always true, but many times it’s been a help. And God does seem to be able to cope… Leonard Cohen sings it much better though!” Wendy
“LIBERATING! While everyone else, it seems, is still managing to avoid sweet things for lent, I managed only the first week. But the one very important issue that I prayed would be behind me before lent ended, God has miraculously and beautifully spoken to me, healed me, delivered me from. Perhaps I thought I could do the first thing in my own strength. The second I knew I couldn't as I had already struggled with it for a year. So God's power was made perfect in my weakness.” Sam
“Thank you! Today's reflection couldn't have been more appropriate. It arrived on a day when I feel far from perfect. There are so many cracks that the walls sometimes seem in danger of collapsing. It also came off the back of a church talk on Sunday about that very passage from Paul, with a reminder that 'we have this treasure in jars of clay'... I'm working in a room with one window overhead, so I will try and take time to see how the light comes in from above.” Philippa
“Today I sought beauty in the washing pile! For the first time (ever?) I put an un-ironed t-shirt in the airing cupboard. Is God's grace sufficient? We'll see. I LOVE ironing.” Daphne
“On the ‘Silence’: I re-read it a couple of days later. I’d woken very early. I heard three things in succession: first, loads of birds singing their dawn chorus, making me think of Jesus saying that not one of them falls to the ground without his Father being aware of it; second, the wind was blowing through the trees and I thanked God for the movement of the Holy Spirit in our church; third, my wife breathing as she slept at my side – I thanked God for giving me such a great wife. Does this seem too flowery? It’s honestly how it happened.” John
“I did an assembly on Monday to 250 year-10 students without my shoes and socks on. Great reactions - some didn't want to look as if they had seen something they shouldn't have. One kid walked past on the way in, just looked down, carried on walking and said 'Shoes are overrated anyway'.” Ben
* * *
May you discover more of who you are,
and may you discover more of God, today.
Go well!
Brian
Tuesday, 5 April 2011
The Light
simplicity // 25
the Light
I have tried hard to give up perfectionism for Lent, but I feel like I could have tried harder. It’s a vicious circle, that one.
So it’s liberating to remember a line from an old Leonard Cohen song (‘Anthem’). It may give you heart, too, if you are struggling to make it through Lent as effectively as you might have hoped.
“Ring the bells that still can ring,” sings Cohen. “Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in...”
Perhaps it’s our unique imperfections, as much as anything else, that help to make us what and who we are, in the end.
And if we don’t want to take Cohen’s word for it, there’s always St Paul, who believed that God said this to him, in a time of struggle: “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness.” Which is surely the point of Lent. It weakens us, in so many beautiful ways.
Thank God, then; you are not perfect. Let there be light.
* * *
action point:
Find a landscape that is imperfect. A slightly unkempt garden. A bit of wasteland. An overgrown patch of earth. And seek beauty within the imperfection of it all. Notice what you notice there. What does it say to you?
Alternatively, finish a task earlier than you might normally dare. Complete the talk, the homework, the project, the essay, the chores - whatever it is you spend too much time trying to perfect, for whatever reason – a bit earlier than usual, and do not return to it. Notice how you feel. Spend the time you have redeemed by doing something playful or spontaneous or kind (delete as applicable).
Or, find a crack in a wall and watch the light stream through it.
* * *
rsvp:
“Re: ‘the Silence’. I went to see a great band last week, the loudest guitars imaginable. Yet somehow I felt God’s presence envelop every space in the room, and felt something like silence but more like a peace and understanding than anything physical, and mixed with a great joy for the music .” George
“It so happened that on Monday I was on retreat for half a day, when silence was your theme. Needless to say the space was filled with a delightful sleep in the convent chapel. In the evening I bumped in to some neighbours who said, ‘Blimey Daphne – you look great. Have you been on holiday?’ ‘No,’ says I, ‘I don’t wear make up, they’re all my own teeth but I have been on retreat today. You know, chilling out with God.’ And today I woke up to Fire, Rope and Bread – I’m definitely on FIRE!” Daphne (51 but feeling 31)
“About 20 years ago I was given the words ‘you are a pearl of great price'. Pearls are formed over years as a result of a foreign body getting into the shell -when I think of this now I can see how it fits the journey I am travelling with God towards healing and wholeness.” Kirsty
“On a lighter note (I had to giggle to myself), with this idea of describing ourselves metaphorically - I could be the ‘filing cabinet’ of our church. Members are always saying I am a very organised person, so they all throw things and ideas at me and I sort them all out and come up with a plan. The ideas are ‘filed’ inside my mind and very soul, ready to be sorted and after great thought and many hours of work are handed back in an ‘organised’ format, to do with as they will (hopefully I have heard the still small voice and it is God’s will too)! Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life itself was so straight forward as this..?” Sue
“You are correct, Barbara – you are not the only one struggling. You are also correct that God understands our frustrations – and he meets us where we are at. I didn’t ‘do silence’, and I didn’t ‘do barefoot’, nor many other of the daily actions. I can do today’s however; I didn’t relate to Mary Oliver but I did to Douglas Coupland – my gift (I think) is to “shock people into new ways of thinking”. Hopefully there is some “captivating” in there too but I am probably better at the “shock” bit.” Tim
* * *
May you delight in the imperfections, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Light
I have tried hard to give up perfectionism for Lent, but I feel like I could have tried harder. It’s a vicious circle, that one.
So it’s liberating to remember a line from an old Leonard Cohen song (‘Anthem’). It may give you heart, too, if you are struggling to make it through Lent as effectively as you might have hoped.
“Ring the bells that still can ring,” sings Cohen. “Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in...”
Perhaps it’s our unique imperfections, as much as anything else, that help to make us what and who we are, in the end.
And if we don’t want to take Cohen’s word for it, there’s always St Paul, who believed that God said this to him, in a time of struggle: “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is made perfect in weakness.” Which is surely the point of Lent. It weakens us, in so many beautiful ways.
Thank God, then; you are not perfect. Let there be light.
* * *
action point:
Find a landscape that is imperfect. A slightly unkempt garden. A bit of wasteland. An overgrown patch of earth. And seek beauty within the imperfection of it all. Notice what you notice there. What does it say to you?
Alternatively, finish a task earlier than you might normally dare. Complete the talk, the homework, the project, the essay, the chores - whatever it is you spend too much time trying to perfect, for whatever reason – a bit earlier than usual, and do not return to it. Notice how you feel. Spend the time you have redeemed by doing something playful or spontaneous or kind (delete as applicable).
Or, find a crack in a wall and watch the light stream through it.
* * *
rsvp:
“Re: ‘the Silence’. I went to see a great band last week, the loudest guitars imaginable. Yet somehow I felt God’s presence envelop every space in the room, and felt something like silence but more like a peace and understanding than anything physical, and mixed with a great joy for the music .” George
“It so happened that on Monday I was on retreat for half a day, when silence was your theme. Needless to say the space was filled with a delightful sleep in the convent chapel. In the evening I bumped in to some neighbours who said, ‘Blimey Daphne – you look great. Have you been on holiday?’ ‘No,’ says I, ‘I don’t wear make up, they’re all my own teeth but I have been on retreat today. You know, chilling out with God.’ And today I woke up to Fire, Rope and Bread – I’m definitely on FIRE!” Daphne (51 but feeling 31)
“About 20 years ago I was given the words ‘you are a pearl of great price'. Pearls are formed over years as a result of a foreign body getting into the shell -when I think of this now I can see how it fits the journey I am travelling with God towards healing and wholeness.” Kirsty
“On a lighter note (I had to giggle to myself), with this idea of describing ourselves metaphorically - I could be the ‘filing cabinet’ of our church. Members are always saying I am a very organised person, so they all throw things and ideas at me and I sort them all out and come up with a plan. The ideas are ‘filed’ inside my mind and very soul, ready to be sorted and after great thought and many hours of work are handed back in an ‘organised’ format, to do with as they will (hopefully I have heard the still small voice and it is God’s will too)! Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life itself was so straight forward as this..?” Sue
“You are correct, Barbara – you are not the only one struggling. You are also correct that God understands our frustrations – and he meets us where we are at. I didn’t ‘do silence’, and I didn’t ‘do barefoot’, nor many other of the daily actions. I can do today’s however; I didn’t relate to Mary Oliver but I did to Douglas Coupland – my gift (I think) is to “shock people into new ways of thinking”. Hopefully there is some “captivating” in there too but I am probably better at the “shock” bit.” Tim
* * *
May you delight in the imperfections, today.
Go well!
Brian
Monday, 4 April 2011
Fire, Rope and Bread
simplicity // 24
Fire, Rope and Bread
I was touched recently by the simple conviction of the poet Mary Oliver, and the metaphorical way she understands what she does. In an introduction to one of her books, she writes:
“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. And it requires a vision, a faith, to use an old-fashioned term. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. Yes, indeed.”
Would that we could understand our life’s work with similar potency. But what’s stopping us? Surely it’s not just the poet who can express so vividly the gift that they bring to the world around them?
I love the culmination of Douglas Coupland’s recent novel, Player One: “Here’s a toast,” he writes, “to everyone on earth who’s ever been eager – no, desperate – for even the smallest sign that there exists something finer, larger, and more miraculous about our inner selves than we could have supposed.
“Here’s to all of us reaching out our hands to other people everywhere, reaching out to pull them from the icebergs on which they stand frozen, to pull them through the burning hoops of fire that frighten them, to help them climb over the brick walls that block their paths. Let us reach out to shock and captivate people into new ways of thinking.”
There is, I am sure, within every single one of us, a way of expressing our story that will help to release our imagination and to realise more fully our potential; a way that is not just “words, after all”, but fire, and rope, and bread.
* * *
action point:
Which metaphor(s) could you use to describe the gift you bring to the world around you?
* * *
rsvp:
“Having received your thought on silence this morning, I looked out my office window a tree which is bursting into a vivid display of green just outside. I reflected on the silence of the the tree - do I hear its cries of joy or pain? Does its silence have the presence of something which is not sound? It is planted there to be and to reflect the evolution of the seasons and the presence of God. How do we use our gift of active reflection to help us to find the same level of of stillness of heart?. For me today it is reflecting as I sit here observing the tree that I need to give time to being present to the same stillness that the tree lives and breathes each day” Ciaran
“Took a cue from ‘the Silence’ and didn’t turn on the radio or the television in the pre-school rush this morning... thereby meaning there was no pre-school rush. We all actually paid attention to each other, instead of a box...” Nev
“I am really struggling with this Lent series. Finding time to escape, to be silent, to just listen seems well-nigh impossible some days. This evening as I continue working I can hear three different televisions and someone on a phone. The noise is horrible and there is no hope of silence. But I am sure I am not the only person struggling. I know the wilderness was not a pleasant experience for Christ ; I think there must have been great silence but also the 'searing screams' of the devil tempting him, and I know he had difficulty at times escaping from the crowds and the noise, but he managed it. So he understands my frustrations. I want to learn to be more like him.” Barbara
“I am moving towards - finishing my book; other written reflections... And I have noticed that lots of words seem to want to gush out and that I enjoy playing with the words until they express something more than their face value. Like any artist, in any medium, the creative gift is to tell the story in such a way that this ‘something more than’ is passed from the writer to the reader...” Sandra
* * *
May you reach beyond “just words”, today.
Go well!
Brian
Fire, Rope and Bread
I was touched recently by the simple conviction of the poet Mary Oliver, and the metaphorical way she understands what she does. In an introduction to one of her books, she writes:
“Poetry is a life-cherishing force. And it requires a vision, a faith, to use an old-fashioned term. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry. Yes, indeed.”
Would that we could understand our life’s work with similar potency. But what’s stopping us? Surely it’s not just the poet who can express so vividly the gift that they bring to the world around them?
I love the culmination of Douglas Coupland’s recent novel, Player One: “Here’s a toast,” he writes, “to everyone on earth who’s ever been eager – no, desperate – for even the smallest sign that there exists something finer, larger, and more miraculous about our inner selves than we could have supposed.
“Here’s to all of us reaching out our hands to other people everywhere, reaching out to pull them from the icebergs on which they stand frozen, to pull them through the burning hoops of fire that frighten them, to help them climb over the brick walls that block their paths. Let us reach out to shock and captivate people into new ways of thinking.”
There is, I am sure, within every single one of us, a way of expressing our story that will help to release our imagination and to realise more fully our potential; a way that is not just “words, after all”, but fire, and rope, and bread.
* * *
action point:
Which metaphor(s) could you use to describe the gift you bring to the world around you?
* * *
rsvp:
“Having received your thought on silence this morning, I looked out my office window a tree which is bursting into a vivid display of green just outside. I reflected on the silence of the the tree - do I hear its cries of joy or pain? Does its silence have the presence of something which is not sound? It is planted there to be and to reflect the evolution of the seasons and the presence of God. How do we use our gift of active reflection to help us to find the same level of of stillness of heart?. For me today it is reflecting as I sit here observing the tree that I need to give time to being present to the same stillness that the tree lives and breathes each day” Ciaran
“Took a cue from ‘the Silence’ and didn’t turn on the radio or the television in the pre-school rush this morning... thereby meaning there was no pre-school rush. We all actually paid attention to each other, instead of a box...” Nev
“I am really struggling with this Lent series. Finding time to escape, to be silent, to just listen seems well-nigh impossible some days. This evening as I continue working I can hear three different televisions and someone on a phone. The noise is horrible and there is no hope of silence. But I am sure I am not the only person struggling. I know the wilderness was not a pleasant experience for Christ ; I think there must have been great silence but also the 'searing screams' of the devil tempting him, and I know he had difficulty at times escaping from the crowds and the noise, but he managed it. So he understands my frustrations. I want to learn to be more like him.” Barbara
“I am moving towards - finishing my book; other written reflections... And I have noticed that lots of words seem to want to gush out and that I enjoy playing with the words until they express something more than their face value. Like any artist, in any medium, the creative gift is to tell the story in such a way that this ‘something more than’ is passed from the writer to the reader...” Sandra
* * *
May you reach beyond “just words”, today.
Go well!
Brian
The Silence
simplicity // 23
the Silence
Silence is not simply a negative; the lack of noise. We do, of course, need to lose the noise, in order to hear properly again; we need to switch the iPod off, unplug the TV, stop chattering ceaselessly, slow ourselves to stillness.
But then, still, we must listen. And if we do, we may hear something that was there all along.
“Increasingly,” writes Sara Maitland in A Book of Silence, “I realise there is an interior dimension to silence, a sort of stillness of heart and mind which is not a void but a rich space...
“Silence is not an absence of sound,” she concludes, “but the presence of something which is not sound.”
* * *
action point:
Go in search of silence, today. And please tell us where you find it, and how you would describe the presence she speaks of.
* * *
rsvp:
“How strange that having read ‘the Fighter’, later on Saturday I looked at the Telegraph and found an inspiring account of Arthur, a little fighter for life, written by his mother, Becky Pugh. There seemed to me to be a link, though it would be complicated to explain. Lent is pretty difficult this year, even more than usual and I am having to fight in various ways most days. Yesterday I won one battle and when I went out into the fields a small moment of light came with the first lark of the year ascending over me, an amazing thing to watch and to hear the song so loudly, even when the bird is a barely visible speck in the sky. I shall press on.” Anne
“...I now spend more time giving my full and proper attention to my children and husband. I have spent time every day thinking about and/or doing the daily action points, quite a few of which I’ve comtinued to do on subsequent days. So I must assume that I am spending longer each day considering my journey and learning to watch and wait. I am compiling a journal/scrapbook of my thoughts which, even now, as I look back to the start of lent, reminds me of the thoughts and feelings I was experiencing then. This will, I'm sure, continue to be an inspiration to me after our 40 days together. I remind myself regularly of what is truly important to me and try as often as I can to keep that in forefront of my mind and daily practices...” Paula
* * *
May you find the rich space, today.
Go well!
Brian
the Silence
Silence is not simply a negative; the lack of noise. We do, of course, need to lose the noise, in order to hear properly again; we need to switch the iPod off, unplug the TV, stop chattering ceaselessly, slow ourselves to stillness.
But then, still, we must listen. And if we do, we may hear something that was there all along.
“Increasingly,” writes Sara Maitland in A Book of Silence, “I realise there is an interior dimension to silence, a sort of stillness of heart and mind which is not a void but a rich space...
“Silence is not an absence of sound,” she concludes, “but the presence of something which is not sound.”
* * *
action point:
Go in search of silence, today. And please tell us where you find it, and how you would describe the presence she speaks of.
* * *
rsvp:
“How strange that having read ‘the Fighter’, later on Saturday I looked at the Telegraph and found an inspiring account of Arthur, a little fighter for life, written by his mother, Becky Pugh. There seemed to me to be a link, though it would be complicated to explain. Lent is pretty difficult this year, even more than usual and I am having to fight in various ways most days. Yesterday I won one battle and when I went out into the fields a small moment of light came with the first lark of the year ascending over me, an amazing thing to watch and to hear the song so loudly, even when the bird is a barely visible speck in the sky. I shall press on.” Anne
“...I now spend more time giving my full and proper attention to my children and husband. I have spent time every day thinking about and/or doing the daily action points, quite a few of which I’ve comtinued to do on subsequent days. So I must assume that I am spending longer each day considering my journey and learning to watch and wait. I am compiling a journal/scrapbook of my thoughts which, even now, as I look back to the start of lent, reminds me of the thoughts and feelings I was experiencing then. This will, I'm sure, continue to be an inspiration to me after our 40 days together. I remind myself regularly of what is truly important to me and try as often as I can to keep that in forefront of my mind and daily practices...” Paula
* * *
May you find the rich space, today.
Go well!
Brian
Saturday, 2 April 2011
The Fighter
simplicity // 22
The Fighter
The story goes that when Winston Churchill’s finance minister approached him, during the war, to argue for a cut in funding to the arts, Churchill replied, very simply, “Then what are we fighting for?”
It’s a question we ought to ask of ourselves every now and then. Because you don’t have to be a Christian to work out that we’re all involved in a battle.
When Jesus went into the desert, he helped to embody the nature of the fight, which is both without and within. Jesus faced down the devil himself – the epitome of external forces of evil – yet he also experienced the kind of inner opposition we all do to our life’s purpose. He was sorely tempted...
What was he fighting for, out there in the desert? Because it was a battle.
And what are we fighting for, as a result, this Lent? Because if we don’t know, our resolve will falter. And even worse: when the battle is over, we’ll not know what to do next. For this is not just about the battle, as Churchill saw so keenly.
“The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy,” Jesus told his disciples. “But I have come that you may have life, and have it to the full.”
“Life,” said Mother Teresa. “Fight for it.”
* * *
Action point:
If you’re keeping a journal, why not review the aims you wrote down at the start. How are you making space? Where are you moving towards? How are you becoming more fully present?
What have you noticed so far? What has been stopping you? When have you come more fully alive? How might your goals have shifted, even during this short time? Try to spend just a few minutes reflecting. After all, we’re beyond the half-way mark now.
* * *
rsvp:
“Friday afternoon teaching Year 7 geography. Shoes off. I feel a little shorter and if anything a bit more 'grounded'. I walk about a lot barefoot in the summer. On the street, in the garden, at the beach, in the shops. It's great to see people's reaction. I always notice that at the start of the summer I feel a lot and cannot tolerate much but by the end my feet are hard and resilient. Maybe there's a life lesson here. Exposure to hardships and suffering = resilience and ability to cope. I'm just taking a moment to think now about how much time and effort I spend trying to avoid difficulty and play it safe - 'protect my feet'... Ben
“Today's subject of bare feet really struck a cord with me as I have ‘claustrophobic’ feet and to me bare feet equals freedom. Pushing my poor reluctant feet into a shoe (or even worse a boot!) is essential but unwelcome! Favourite holidays have been the ‘no shoes, no news’ ones in the Maldives and I literally cried when I had to put shoes on to leave, as they symbolised returning to responsibility and hassle. My love of being bare footed is inherited from my mum, who spent many of her last months in hospital. The nurses would come along and tuck mum in trapping her feet under the sheets and blankets. One of the things that I could do for her was to gently peel back the covers so that her feet were back in the air the way she liked it.” Andree
“Another challenge! Lots to think about. Jesus wore sandals (all four gospels have John the baptist's words about "’he straps of his sandals’). There is some textual discrepancy as to whether Christ sent the 70/72 out with sandals or not (Mark has with; the other synoptics have without), but either way footwear is one of the three things the father gives the returning younger (prodigal) son in Luke 15. I guess it's the difference between being one of the sons who accept servanthood and sending out (the 70), or a ragged returning refugee being clothed by the happy dad (the prodigal). You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes ;-) “ Oliver
“Thinking through this chain of thought, I was reminded of my childhood and one of my earliest memories. I would have been about 4 or 5 and we lived on a Naval caravan site. There were many children and wives living, working and playing closely together while the husbands and dads were away on board ship. My younger brother, our friends and I were playing in the grassy area between our vans when a lady passed and called in to our mother’s something along the lines of, ‘Are you aware that these children are in 3bare feet? Do you realise how dangerous and unhealthy it is?” To which my mother, walking down the van steps and not in the least put out, replied, in her own bare feet, that neither she, nor the other parents were wearing shoes either and how good it feels. Even at that young age, I remember feeling joy at how I had been allowed my freedom, and the space to be able to explore beyond the boundaries of someone else's expectations. I try to be like that with my own children and I hope today, and throughout my Lenten journey, I will remember to be just like that myself too. I am often guilty of forgetting to revisit the child within for moon-fighting or mud-splashing!” Paula
“You may not want to print this one... As a child I lived ‘in bare feet’, including belting around Dartmoor. The soft peat squidging up between my toes – or was it the cow pats? And while we’re going bare foot – why not streak? Skinny dipping in Dartmoor streams is a blast. I still wear bare feet when I can, although the streets of London aren’t very forgiving.” Daphne
“My thought train rattled on after reading the words in the poem, 'nor can foot feel, being shod.' I thought of the very unpleasant sensations of ill-fitting shoes, new shoes that chaff your heels or ones that pinch your toes. How hard it is to walk, to work to concentrate, to relax. And what a relief to take them off! When we wear the yoke (rather than the shoes) that Jesus has made for us, it is designed to be a perfect fit. But we have to walk in step with our Mentor, listen to Him, turn as He turns, dig our furrow alongside His. Then His yoke will never chaff as our living and working become our worship. It may not be 'easy' in the sense of being effortless, but it will be... just right, so right.” Barbara
“I was reflecting yesterday on your thought on horizon and got the opportunity to stand under an enormous old cedar tree swaying in a strong breeze in Stratford upon Avon where Shakespeare is understood to have first performed A Midsummer’s Night Dream. I looked straight up the trunk into the incredible web of branches which had been formed over the centuries. The horizon for this tree planted in this location was all of the activities the tree has been present to whether historic or otherwise. I reflected that we spend so much of our lives in constant motion, that to take time to be planted in one spot and be fully present with soft eyes to all the events within our horizon is an exercise in awareness acceptance and groundedness.” Ciaran
* * *
May you fight to live another day.
Go well!
Brian
The Fighter
The story goes that when Winston Churchill’s finance minister approached him, during the war, to argue for a cut in funding to the arts, Churchill replied, very simply, “Then what are we fighting for?”
It’s a question we ought to ask of ourselves every now and then. Because you don’t have to be a Christian to work out that we’re all involved in a battle.
When Jesus went into the desert, he helped to embody the nature of the fight, which is both without and within. Jesus faced down the devil himself – the epitome of external forces of evil – yet he also experienced the kind of inner opposition we all do to our life’s purpose. He was sorely tempted...
What was he fighting for, out there in the desert? Because it was a battle.
And what are we fighting for, as a result, this Lent? Because if we don’t know, our resolve will falter. And even worse: when the battle is over, we’ll not know what to do next. For this is not just about the battle, as Churchill saw so keenly.
“The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy,” Jesus told his disciples. “But I have come that you may have life, and have it to the full.”
“Life,” said Mother Teresa. “Fight for it.”
* * *
Action point:
If you’re keeping a journal, why not review the aims you wrote down at the start. How are you making space? Where are you moving towards? How are you becoming more fully present?
What have you noticed so far? What has been stopping you? When have you come more fully alive? How might your goals have shifted, even during this short time? Try to spend just a few minutes reflecting. After all, we’re beyond the half-way mark now.
* * *
rsvp:
“Friday afternoon teaching Year 7 geography. Shoes off. I feel a little shorter and if anything a bit more 'grounded'. I walk about a lot barefoot in the summer. On the street, in the garden, at the beach, in the shops. It's great to see people's reaction. I always notice that at the start of the summer I feel a lot and cannot tolerate much but by the end my feet are hard and resilient. Maybe there's a life lesson here. Exposure to hardships and suffering = resilience and ability to cope. I'm just taking a moment to think now about how much time and effort I spend trying to avoid difficulty and play it safe - 'protect my feet'... Ben
“Today's subject of bare feet really struck a cord with me as I have ‘claustrophobic’ feet and to me bare feet equals freedom. Pushing my poor reluctant feet into a shoe (or even worse a boot!) is essential but unwelcome! Favourite holidays have been the ‘no shoes, no news’ ones in the Maldives and I literally cried when I had to put shoes on to leave, as they symbolised returning to responsibility and hassle. My love of being bare footed is inherited from my mum, who spent many of her last months in hospital. The nurses would come along and tuck mum in trapping her feet under the sheets and blankets. One of the things that I could do for her was to gently peel back the covers so that her feet were back in the air the way she liked it.” Andree
“Another challenge! Lots to think about. Jesus wore sandals (all four gospels have John the baptist's words about "’he straps of his sandals’). There is some textual discrepancy as to whether Christ sent the 70/72 out with sandals or not (Mark has with; the other synoptics have without), but either way footwear is one of the three things the father gives the returning younger (prodigal) son in Luke 15. I guess it's the difference between being one of the sons who accept servanthood and sending out (the 70), or a ragged returning refugee being clothed by the happy dad (the prodigal). You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes ;-) “ Oliver
“Thinking through this chain of thought, I was reminded of my childhood and one of my earliest memories. I would have been about 4 or 5 and we lived on a Naval caravan site. There were many children and wives living, working and playing closely together while the husbands and dads were away on board ship. My younger brother, our friends and I were playing in the grassy area between our vans when a lady passed and called in to our mother’s something along the lines of, ‘Are you aware that these children are in 3bare feet? Do you realise how dangerous and unhealthy it is?” To which my mother, walking down the van steps and not in the least put out, replied, in her own bare feet, that neither she, nor the other parents were wearing shoes either and how good it feels. Even at that young age, I remember feeling joy at how I had been allowed my freedom, and the space to be able to explore beyond the boundaries of someone else's expectations. I try to be like that with my own children and I hope today, and throughout my Lenten journey, I will remember to be just like that myself too. I am often guilty of forgetting to revisit the child within for moon-fighting or mud-splashing!” Paula
“You may not want to print this one... As a child I lived ‘in bare feet’, including belting around Dartmoor. The soft peat squidging up between my toes – or was it the cow pats? And while we’re going bare foot – why not streak? Skinny dipping in Dartmoor streams is a blast. I still wear bare feet when I can, although the streets of London aren’t very forgiving.” Daphne
“My thought train rattled on after reading the words in the poem, 'nor can foot feel, being shod.' I thought of the very unpleasant sensations of ill-fitting shoes, new shoes that chaff your heels or ones that pinch your toes. How hard it is to walk, to work to concentrate, to relax. And what a relief to take them off! When we wear the yoke (rather than the shoes) that Jesus has made for us, it is designed to be a perfect fit. But we have to walk in step with our Mentor, listen to Him, turn as He turns, dig our furrow alongside His. Then His yoke will never chaff as our living and working become our worship. It may not be 'easy' in the sense of being effortless, but it will be... just right, so right.” Barbara
“I was reflecting yesterday on your thought on horizon and got the opportunity to stand under an enormous old cedar tree swaying in a strong breeze in Stratford upon Avon where Shakespeare is understood to have first performed A Midsummer’s Night Dream. I looked straight up the trunk into the incredible web of branches which had been formed over the centuries. The horizon for this tree planted in this location was all of the activities the tree has been present to whether historic or otherwise. I reflected that we spend so much of our lives in constant motion, that to take time to be planted in one spot and be fully present with soft eyes to all the events within our horizon is an exercise in awareness acceptance and groundedness.” Ciaran
* * *
May you fight to live another day.
Go well!
Brian
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