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.”


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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.


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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


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May you fight to live another day.
Go well!

Brian