videotape September 13, 2009

My alphabet for the month of August gone.

A is for Archer

Like the archer who misses the target because he is aiming for something else in the distance, further up and further in. Like the Baptist, John who grew in name and popularity. It would have been easy to set up offices, hire a printer, assign phone lines and begin to market John’s Baptisms Inc. He did not. He remained true to his vocation. Where is my place in the complexity of this life, in the sourness that it brings? Do I sweeten here or aim for something more holistic? Where is my place? For the first time in my life, I am standing where I need to be, in the right place.

B is for Ball

I love football, and no doubt as a result of my parents estranged marriage, I chose to elevate a sport when relationships didn’t do what they were supposed to. At nine that was the best way of dealing with life. At thirty-nine there are better ways. I can love football in a passionate balanced way that speaks of harmony.

So when the rich man walks away, after meeting with Him, all sad and desolate, it’s not because his wealth is evil, it’s because of what his wealth meant to him. It represented something he was unwilling to let go of.

C is for Craziness

The teacher who modeled life, didn’t have enough time to live it here. He left the ninety-nine, rescued the abandoned sheep and later became abandoned himself. Abandoned by the people, abandoned by His friends, abandoned by His father, if only for a short period of time.

He loved all and yet was so unloved by many. What is this craziness, the core of my faith built around the humiliation of God? Life has a personality. There is a flow that I can sometimes feel rushing past me. Standing on a sea bed, having the current overhead, that is the energy that I can feel, almost touch. A life of abandonment has unravelled itself to offer security and ultimate belonging.

D is for Dinner Party

Stress. Wrapped up in the doing. Following the business path, the careers path, the self righteous path. I want my life to have just one core mechanism that everything revolves around.

If everything that I am re-building is based on Him, when He speaks into my life, everything can stop.

Mary’s life work stopped when He stepped in and Martha’s didn’t.

E is for Extravagant

So deeply loved that one forgets oneself. So profound is the depth of acceptance that I have to cry.I have to dry. I have to waste perfume on dusty feet.  I have to because I desire to, not out of obligation but from a deep love. Extravagant gratitude triggered by extravagant mercy. If the mercy is for all and does not discriminate, then the love needs to be likewise. For all, with no discrimination.

His life like the bottle of perfume she pours out, generously, extravagantly, wastefully. His life emptied out, every drop shaken out, bottle tossed away, finished. It is over. It has begun, a new life. Like a URL of hope embeded  into humanity, there for all to actively seek, engage with. His life like the story itself, grace, mercy and hope.

F is for Focus

There is always a way through. Nothing is ever lost. The reaction is as important as making the right choice in the first place. Distorted; we are always going to get things wrong. Always. How I react, how I restore, is where my faith comes into crisp focus. Like the kings of Israel one foot in faith the other in control? Or do I believe that red can become green. Wrong can become right. Nothing is lost.

G is for Generous

Live generously. Is there a better way to live? Generous with time, money, hope, expectations, life. My challenge is to be generous regardless of the recipient. Its easy to be generous to folk who I would choose to be generous to. Not wanting to be a doormat but becoming a heart to serve. To give with transparency and with creativity. To give, not as slave with a big star stitched onto rags, but as a human being, a soul inhabiting the real estate of hope.

H is for Happy Endings

A comedy, a tragedy and a fairy tale. The hallmarks of Him.

The comedy of heavily armed guards turning up to a prayer garden in order to arrest a preacher. I start laughing at the excess, the hyperbole. This is lunacy. Like a scene from Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, Buttle instead of Tuttle, the laughter however, begins to fade as the consequence of the overkill begins to fall like cotton on cedars.

A tragedy because the guards seize Him and this becomes a dark hour, a tragedy because His followers scatter, lose their heads, betray with a kiss. A tragedy because swords are raised, an ear is sliced off, hope seems further away. In the midst of the dark garden, in the midst of the dark hour, there comes a mini fairy tale. One that profoundly illustrates the outstanding work still to be done. The twist is when the guard who was there to arrest Him is being healed by Him. The guard who was ordered to snatch Him is being restored by Him. The guard, who served in the army, that came to take His life has just had it given back. Caught up in an army, in humanity, I advanced like the guard. I shuffled along until one day I got hurt so badly that I fell, clutching my ear. That’s when it happened. The parameters of my world gave way. A bigger bang. A new world. A new life. A comedy, a Tragedy, a Fairy Tale.

I is for I

I can lay down in Bethsada content and broken. I can watch a life pass me by. I can convince myself that this is a good as it gets, and quite frankly it could be worse but I am here to change-ish. I do kind of want to be a better person. And then, fireworks. Explosions. Dynamite. He sees me,

“Do you really want to be change?”

Do I? I thought I did. My life positioned my self in a place where I wanted to improve. Maybe my actions didn’t always demonstrate that, but, yes I do want to change.

“Yes”

“So change, leave this place, Go.”

So change? That’s it? Comedy. What a joker. After a few seconds, minutes I realised there was no wry smile on His face. I stood up and left. I kept walking in the direction He went. I have never looked back. I am still walking, following Him. All this time, waiting for some magical fairy dust to transform my life. All along I could have just got up and left. I Spent so much time trying to over-complicate everything, find the broomstick of the wicked witch and move onto the next task. All along I could have just got up, all I need is Him.

J is for Judge

Where are they all? Where did they go? They were the best of the best, the elite. They looked like they meant business. They had a fire in their bellies. It was so wrong. Wrong that their actions were protected by the law. Wrong that an agenda was attached to a judgement.

A pocket of wind scooped up a middle eastern dustbowl that was no sooner in mid air that it darted into different directions, a hindrance into the eyes and mouths of the so called elite but desert ink for Him. Crouching down he cut into the soft dryness producing arid graffiti.

Like the relentless thud of a bass drum pedal at sound check. Rocks and stones dropped from heights of less than a meter creating a percussive soundtrack, a rhythm that is awkward for some and enchanting for others. Hands that gripped judgement tightly are now compelled to do no more than simply let go. Only the most zealous retain their weapons of destruction, the oversized rocks distorting the shape of their hands. The desire to launch their pride for now has been diminished by the wisdom of the one who writes in the wastelands.

Soon, they were all gone. There was no reason to stay. In the end just He and her.

Woman He said, where have they all gone? She as mystified as those who gathered to punish her, shrugs her shoulders in disbelief. has no one condemned you? A fragrance wrapped up in dust circles her, frees her. No master, no one she said. Then neither do I. From there a call to pursue a life undistorted, to walk away from a twisted routine to becoming a gem stone.

K is for Known

To be known is a beautiful place to be

There is a deepness to which I am known. As mysterious as the ocean, depths that I cannot travel and yet someone else has. The further down the more transparent. Until at the sea bed is me. Simply me, no inhibitions, no agenda, no fig leaf, no appearance for the sake of the world. Me, the me who has no fear because he has no hatred and is full of love. That me that knows His voice. Starring down at the sea from the safety of a fishing boat, I know His voice. But He KNOWS me. Truly, madly, deeply.

To be understood when no one else quite gets me. To be understood before I can understand myself. To be known. On the sea bed I look up with the refractive index of hope, one day there will be no more saltwater. One day the restoration from distortion to gem stone will be complete. He knows me distorted, looking down at the sea, and He knows me as a gem stone, looking up from the sea bed. He knows me. Through Him I can Know me. Through His time machine eyes I can see my distortion and my gem stone. Through knowing Him, I can dive into the big blue. By being known I have a start point and a destination. I have a journey. By being known by Him I cam make myself known to others.

L is for Look

The Magi knew where to find Him. The outcasts knew where to seek Him. The broken hearted knew where to listen to Him. The sick knew where to be healed by Him. The guards knew where to seize Him. The women knew where not to look and even Judas knew where he could betray Him.

The disciples, who should have known Him the best, acted as if they knew Him the least. The ones who saw more miracles and heard more stories than anyone else, still didn’t know where to find Him.

Hope comes to those seeking it. A call to belief, an engagement with life, with Him. The Magi with no hope would never have left to see the child. Matthew’s house would have been a lot quieter if the outcasts didn’t believe they would be spiritually and socially touched. The crowds gathered to hear Him because they had faith. Belief. Hope.

A hopeless situation is one where hope is rejected from the outset. With no hope, it is impossible to find Him. A molecule of hope is all that is needed to begin the journey from distortion to gem stone, it is all that is needed to find a precious pearl, to find a lost coin, to avoid the empty tomb and seek Him amongst the living, not in a cemetery.

M is for Mirror

Comedy. A moment, what lies before me had been spoken in an anechoic chamber, no sound apart from God sound. In that moment the foolishness of what was said drip drips into my mind. So crazy, I have to laugh. It is comedy no?

My dear Nicodemus, why its obvious, you simply have to be born again. Thank you and goodnight.

(N) What? Come again?

My good fellow, its like the wind, comes and goes. That’s it. No more.

(N) You’re kidding right? That’s it? No more?

Comedy, the comic before the relief, the joke before the pain. Laughter before tears. Life. From one comedy to another tragedy. The great thing is that the fairy tale is real. The fairy tale changes my life. The fairy tale isn’t an alternate ending, it is my only beginning, my only now and the only conclusion I would ever want.

So when Nicodemus ponders on the comical answers there will be tragedy as the time bomb of His words go off like a big bang when you least expect it. Tragedy when realisation dawns and opportunities remain un-grasped. The story isn’t about Nico at all, it’s about me. It’s for everyone who dares and wishes to engage. It’s a mirror.

N is for Night

Night. Dark, the world shrinks as the Sun makes its way to the next shift. Like a photographers developing bath, the sky scape slowly reveals twinkling stars. Houses almost vanish, their presence barely maintained by television flicker and breaks in the curtains. Country lanes disappear altogether, tossed into diminishing scrutiny as vehicles stab the road with their full beams. City skylines lose their tailored architectural edges, replaced by loose fit soft commercial lighting.

Night. Dark, the world shrinks. Shrinks to nothing except a flame, a light, a word that grew, a word that entered the world through a unique door. A word that became flesh. The big bang at the beginning, spiritually repeated when He entered into the world and marked every evening as darkness advances and the stars explode. A time to remember that Hope set foot into this world when the contrast was at its greatest. A night sky full of stars. It’s easier to see the stars against blackness. Darkness is full of hope that I can see.

O is for Outsider

Outsiders. I have felt an outsider before. Excluded.

I have carried plastic bags of rejection, that weigh heavy. The plastic handles bunch up to form a razor sharp grip that cuts into my hands. I have carried these loads before Exclusion hurts.

My skin was terrible at high school. There would be days I would cry before leaving for school. I really didn’t want to have to face anyone. Excluded; from the groups and from playground existence.

There is a solace in having a lost property tag. Someone has to acknowledge that I exist in order to put the tag on you. The patron saint of lost causes is Santo Jude. Nothing is ever lost.

In its most extreme, exclusion denies existence as a human being. Inclusion was always on His agenda. That irritated the religious people. They wanted the good stuff for the people that subscribed to the good stuff journal. He said, Believe in it, don’t subscribe just subscribe to it.

Hope is for all not just those  who subscribe to religious lives, and in fact sometimes they miss the boat entirely. Hope is for all. Everyone is invited. Everyone.

P is for Property

When I was younger I was convinced that I could find that which was lost. Dramatically rescuing the hidden. A bike that was stolen. Items that were deemed lost, I knew I could find them. Invariably I did. I have been waiting to be found. With a lost property tag, brown paper with string looped through my lapel. Next to a soft toy bear. To be found is a celebration. A party. To be found is to start a long journey back home again. To be found is igniting the process from distortion to gem stone. Missing coins or lost sheep. I have found them all. I have been found.

Q is for Questions

They swept into this village because actually their religion didn’t quite inspire them, didn’t quite engage with their heart, mind and soul. All conquering Greeks in Galilee. They knew where to find Him. All they sought was truth and it lead them to a feast in a small fishing village with a large lake.

The Far East sent representatives to cradle The Christ, the Far West sent them to His cross. Central to all things is The Christ. So when the Greeks turn up at a feast in Galilee and ask to see Him, there is reason for His strange reaction. They were not random party crashers, they represented a unity that He was preparing himself to be broken for. The figure of these two Greeks symbolised a global nation, moving from comfort zones to seek Him.

He reacts with all the fusion of a bitter cocktail; Hope and Sacrifice. The reconciliation of life itself should countervail his being but somehow his Galilean shoulders distribute the load and He drives forward. To have it, you must be prepared to lose it.

What does He say when invited to an audience with the out of towners? A comedy, A Tragedy, A Fairy Tale. You must fall into the ground and die before you can grow. Like a seed, Like hope, Like a dream, Like a grain.

I am burying myself deep in Him, ready to grow.

R is for Restoration

Restoration begins in many ways, but is there a more profound path to restoration than believing it before it happens? I want to live my life reaching out from a crowd, like she did all those years ago. Believing she could be restored by just a touch. Faith that I can be restored, faith that our dreams will flourish and breathe, faith that our life will be human, faith that I have left distortion and am on the express train to diamond

S is for Serve

I want to serve and in doing so, serve Him. I was ignored and you noticed me. I was overlooked and you engaged with me. I was hurting and you spoke hope to me. I was helpless and you helped me. I had whipped the back of society but you befriended me, you were real to me.

T is for Tree

A sub conscious mental self harm that has its roots in the twisted.

The distortion birthed in a moment of naked realisation. The introduction of fear into life happened after deception. The first fear was swiftly pursued by the first shame. Almost hand in hand. Since that moment the distorted grew more distorted, since that moment the twisted became more twisted.

It must come as no surprise that He wanted to address fear. He made sure the message was not lost. Do not worry about what you will eat, wear, live. Being a human, from distortion to gem stone, transforming into a way of life with deception, fear and shame eradicated. It sounds crazy no? Like a fairy tale.

²²Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. ²³Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes.

²⁷“Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. ²⁸If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you.

U is for Understood

When One ascended into Heaven, the Other descended from Heaven; into the hearts of all who hope. A friend, born out of Him. A bigger big bang. Like Quantum Physics’; some personality to life that forces particle formation out of nothing. From nothing into something. Life is birthed. Hope squeezes itself into this world and then before He departs, sends more Hope to “live in.”

A new energy, a driving force created in me. My life ready for the spirit to walk inside, in the cool of the day. Where are you SantoJude? Here I am, I say. I am not hiding anymore, I am right here. I know, says the spirit, I Know you. Known by all three. Understood.

V is for Visible

Such smallness. Countless stars. Known from a distance. Such smallness packed with enough Hope to start a big bang. Such smallness that evaporates when the world rubs its eyes and yawns, stretches a morning stretch to reveal how vast this life is. How huge this sky is. How big the universe is. I disappear, the scale of proportions do not have a facility for me. Me who is invisible when viewing the earth from space,no matter how hard one looks.

On soul radar I beep every time the luminous green second hand sweeps around the clock face. I am big. My soul is recognised. In these scale of proportions I am visible from Heaven. My lungs breathe in, my frame swells, I am known. I am seen. Visible from the sun, visible from the moon. Visible if I stand in hurt, visible if I bruise myself on tragedy. I am visible always, I am known always. I am seen always.

W is for Wait

To wait on hope, is an altogether different prospect. It is active. Waiting, attentive, ready, more like an athlete under starters orders than someone waiting for a bus. Waiting for hope is expectation with communication. Waiting in hope is part of what stretches life. To wait on hope is to see shapes emerge. Shapes I can trust, shapes I can build my life around.

Wait in line He told her, but instead She said, I’ll wait here because even the dogs under the table get the crumbs. Her waiting was active, it was hungry for hope.

X is for Xerxes I

A journey from Tehran to Hope. From Iran to The Christ. A revolution in my heart, bigger than that of ’78 and ’79. A revolution bigger than the Islamic Republic. A spiritual revolution that breaks the generational ties. Like a good king can break the lineage of a series of bad ones.

Y is for Yale Lock

A key turns, a barrel spins, a lock drops, a handle twists but the door remains closed. A locked door; boundaries, security, secrecy, limitations. A restriction on travel. Authorised personnel only. No Entry. Private.

A room full of students. Drunk on fear. Replaying the past few months, looking for clues to illuminate. A belief ushered into darkness can distort compasses, can fray the edges of reliable maps, can remain lost when everyone else knows where to look.

Hope can walk though walls, it has no restriction. Hope has no secrets, it brings balance, restores maps and re calibrates compasses. Hope reminds a room full of students where to look. Hope appears to an absent student and reveals marked hands and a scarred side.

This morning that same hope climbed through my bedroom window. The grey Sussex sky wept His name as he walked though walls. He brought gifts of balance and restoration. He reminded me where to look. A re calibration of the soul. Hope filled my lungs.

Clean laundry lounges on the armchair in the bay window. Hope breathes in. Hope breathes out

Z is for Zeal

I am learning. I am growing. My life expanding. Very few divisions. Balance merges every facet. My faith, reflected in how I choose to do life. It is not a Sunday morning chore, neither is it a bible study, it’s my life and how I wish to model my faith. The actions and decisions I take, I do so with a desire to profile my beliefs, I do so motivated by my beliefs. Hope is the spine that runs along my framework.

I wish to BE my faith not just do it. To be. To model. To be commissioned by Him to be grace, to be life, to be faith. Commissioned with gifts; a bouquet of restoration, a jeroboam of unmerited favour, a garland of hope. Gifts brought to my soul not by the Magi following the course of the stars but by the Great Comforter charting out my course. Spiritual farming brings a harvest of hope; Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness.

Videotape August 2, 2009

I believe in a God who speaks to Muslim and Christian, Skinhead and Sikh, Atheist and Baha’i. Priest and Prostitute. I believe in a God who speaks to the heart that wants to change regardless of religious or non religious affiliation. I believe in a journey and not conformity. I do not believe in hypocrisy, I aspire to transparency. I believe in new and fresh expressions. I believe in compression from distortion to gem stone.

Live Free

• They call me Mr Glass
• Distortion
• Seat Belts

Ask Questions

• Receive few answers,
• Ask more questions
• XXL Faith

Hope

• From distortion to gem stone
• Zephaniah’s New Language {Pollen Honesty}
• Haggai’s New Temple {Spiritual Architecture}
• Zechariah’s Bridge {The pursuit of Him in community}
• Matthew’s Bistro {Inclusiveness not an exclusivity}

Live Free

A memory of an M.Night film with Samuel. L. Jackson pleading, ‘they call me mr glass.’ In so many ways I feel we all are born in a brittle, fragile, breakable state. Born into a distorted world, with our hearts glasslike. There are broken shepherd staffs in Zechariah, too brittle for use. If it can be broken, then it can be put back together. If it can be snapped then it can be restored. Often being broken is the start of a true restoration one that develops into a stronger, less fragile, less brittle heart.

Being born into this world brings upon me an unavoidable bag of crimes.

Compromise. Distortion, everything that happens outside of my control. Decisions taken on my behalf with my petrol money, my supermarket money. My birthmark is death, instantly limiting my time on this planet. This is why the virgin birth is so important to me. Someone being born outside of the rules, means miraculously that person escapes the weight of the world. The bag of crimes that compromise and entangle our lives. The virgin birth fulfils a promise. It has a past. The virgin birth means the world has someone living in it who is outside of the worlds distortion. This is important to me.

I want what is real, right now. I don’t want to be sold a hope that comes into effect only when I die. I want to live a full life, one that applies to here, right now.

When that which I fear is unmasked to reveal itself, then it can no longer be a source of fear for me. That is my life. Identities revealed. Hope realised, here today, and maybe for longer. I believe so anyway.

A complete trust eradicates fear. The boundaries are important but only as part of a holistic relationship. On their own, they are just rules, with a relationship they become seat belts. In place to offer security and safety.

He says come, if you’re tired, if you’re worn out, come if you are burnt out by following rule book. Come. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. Learn to live freely and lightly. Come. Breathe. Life.

Who do I profess to be? Something that I am or something that I am not?

I am a shadow, brought into life by the sun and one day diminished by it too.

I own nothing and I owe nothing. This is Freedom.

Ask Questions

There are an ocean of questions that my heart often delivers to my mouth, in the full knowledge that reconciliation is unlikely.

My faith is not a bulletproof marketing campaign that was designed to withstand a political slanging match. The bible was never written to prove or disprove carbon dating, the theory of relativity or a scientific journal of humanity.

I can understand free will and the consequences that arrive with making choices, however I am still broken when I see poverty. My heart is crushed when I contemplate the state of this world. I want Him to engage with the little girl in the red coat. Save her. Save them. Where were You then? Where were you when the clowns took control?

I must be able to question aspects without the whole structure crumbling.

Do not tow the party line. Do not speak what is expected of you. My faith is XXL, it can accommodate a distorted man, and it can withstand my questioning. Speak from the heart. Always. Job did, The Psalms did, and Habakkuk did.

Hope and the journey from Distorion to Gem Stone

There is hope amongst the tables being turned. There is hope within the final words. There is hope in the dying minutes. There is hope in hopelessness. Because of this, I can live. Because of this I know I now move from distortion to diamond, from grit to precious pearl.

A gem stone language like Zephaniah writes of; an undistorted one. I am learning the vowels of an untwisted vocabulary that can only be formed from an untwisted mouth. In compression from distortion to diamond. From nebulous to perspicuous.

My life in compression. Forced into this world and praying into another.

When Haggai urges the people of Israel to build a temple, a new temple, it is not a call to build another structure that will decay. It is a model of living. A way of living holistically, beautifully. A way of living life with freedom. To build my temple. Architects for a different world. When Haggai writes of a temple for ALL to worship in, there is more than a building. When he writes of building work it is as much conditions of the heart as it is stone masonry. When he writes of construction it is as much faith and Selah as it is straw and mud.

To build for the world that lasts, an investment in eternity.

Zechariah leads me to a bridge. Contextually around 520 BC, the Persians have defeated the Babylonians, and Cyrus II and later Darius decide that Israelites should return to their land and in fact the Persians would pay for the rebuilding of the temple.

In Zechariah chapter two there is a passage that says He is coming to live in our midst. It follows, and many nations will join the lord and become my people, I will live among you.

What if more attractive and significant than any speakers corner session is to live among a community and model hope. What Israel saw as a dark time, living in exile in Babylon, could have been an era when a people of hope lived that life amongst the rest of the world.

Cyrus, Darius, Alexander, Ptolemy Philadelphus, Augustus, and Tiberius ALL paid respect to the temple by sending offerings. Persian Empire, Greek Empire and Roman Empire moved by the hope and consistency of a people and their relationship with God.

When Zechariah writes of many nations, I can see the uncomplicated way. Be different. Be radical. Be true. Choose Life. Life attracts life. Hope begets a community of belief.

He did not seek the outsiders. They came to Him. He wasn’t just hanging out with the marginalised they saw hope in Him. They saw in hope beyond power and vanity, beyond masks and society’s approval. They saw in Him something magical and unique. This was never a PR campaign, hanging with the excluded groups, it was the excluded being drawn to life.

There is an inclusiveness in Him that is beyond this day, this life, my street, my social groups. An inclusiveness into His country. Not an exclusive country golf club, no women allowed, but an inclusive feast where ALL are most welcome.

The dazzling hope at breakfast, the endless possibilities of the day ahead. This is my compression. This is my life, my crucible.

Hope in the power that silences a raging storm and straightens a twisted mans heart.

I still have an ocean of questions and yet I still have a peace that His hope sustains me. Quiets my soul, revives my heart. Provides me with the framework of being human again in an inhuman world.

More than rules. More than promises. More than good deeds. In my life, to be fully alive is to pursue Him every day, choose life and experience a coronation in my heart.

videotape July 1, 2009

A marriage, once difficult and turbulent now balanced, with harmony.

Love is a word that has lost its shape. Once incisive and creative now prosaic. We use and abuse love. We drug her and muzzle her.

Love is as much the I DO and I WILL that pepper our wedding vows as it is the emotion that can be distorted. Love is the consistency in actions that back up our words. Love is deed not just words.

Have you ever seen a word die? I used to speak with words that die. Sometimes as soon as I birthed a sentence, the words, one by one, breathed their last breath.

Words born from heaven do not change, they are permanent, they sparkle, they can travel back to the creator, they grow brighter.

Have you ever seen a word light up? illuminate before your eyes? Words that march from your mouth growing stronger, brighter. These words have always been there, like beauty that I never noticed before.

He brings rotation to my life from my soul

So should I be surprised that He spends all his currency on distorted products? Good love, spent on twisted and broken hearts. Does that make me wonder?

No. He unties my knots straightens my coils. This is the compression from distortion to gem stone. This is life.

This is a gravity of hope that acts on all hearts, pulling them toward Him. The same God gravity that pulled the prodigal son back home is the same God gravity that pulls this Iranian revolution into His heart daily and the same God gravity that re-laid my zig zag path.

His plumb lines make a serpentine structure as straight as an arrow.

Tethered to hope with the gravity of mercy. I am twine, thread that is taught, learning to be stretched not twisted.

He brings rotation to the globe from my soul

Living is a compromise. An acknowledgement of national and global debt necessitates my conversations with Him.

He cannot be affected by human caprices. He cannot be twisted like propaganda or curtailed by the censorship of an agitated regime.

He cannot be restricted by inhuman rights or political corruption. His eyes were not blindfolded like the Chinese denial of Tiananmen Square or the Turkish denial of the Armenian genocide. He sees it all from the riots in Tehran, that we are not supposed to see, to the moral bribe of the heart.

Nothing can contain Him. Nowhere is hidden. Nothing can separate me from His brand of justice, one that is jam packed so full of mercy that it outweighs my circumstance.

He brings about an Acceleration of Life..

In the journey…

A journey so deep that somehow, creator and creation communicate, not a self proclaimed wizard from Kansas behind a dog chewed curtain, but the living, breathing, hope giving Christ. That is where all things start from. I choose to continue on this “return ticket” everyday. I could alter and make it a “one way” but I choose life.

In the micro..

In the detail there is connection, sometimes paper thin like the skin of a lunar module or solid ice, like the polar ice caps on Mars.

In the connection there is detail. Sometimes in the tumbledown bridges I build to Him and sometimes in the acceleration of life, shade and sunshine that He calls into being.

In the difficulties…

Life will always shake me well before use.

I know that the contents of my actions and reactions will indicate who I really am. Poured out, I will either give life or diminish it. Nothing I say or write will ever matter unless it is in deed and in my heart.

The world spits and hisses, strikes and screams. My weather beaten, world beaten soul can withstand it all, because I retreat to a granite safe house, built for me.

story

On that day when dust rises, what does my life come down to?

I can choose to breathe life, speak truth, make untwisted choices and live without distortion. This is my choice. This is trusting in Him, using a currency that was forgotten a long time ago.

I am a shadow, I live from sunrise to sunset, I own nothing. I owe nothing. I breathe.

From distortion to diamond. Unbreakable and yet broken for me. A gemstone with no blemish, yet blackened for me. Priceless, yet cheapened by me. Unchanging yet changing me.

In this state of compression I choose not to trust in cannonballs, I choose a gift.

Isn’t that my story, our story? In the darkest times, we pray, we hope for a deliverance from a situation and when it comes? When deliverance comes, what then? The three words that support almost every bible story, the reason for every bible story.

DO. NOT. FORGET.

videotape June 1, 2009

Distortion

He sees me as a distorted gem stone, wanting to compress the carbon to its purest form. We have been forced, squeezed, sliced and packaged into shapes that we were never designed to be. This world has been distorted, this global society has been stretched like a plastic carrier bag, taught. The colour long gone, the handles twisted and thin. Life is Pushed and Pulled, so misshapen that there remains little resemblance between how it is and how it was designed to be.

The distortion makes it impossible to measure anything against the world. The reference points have been compromised. All the values have been disproportionately twisted. How can I measure a good life? By possessions? By status? By class? By health? By longevity? By happiness?

There is however a standard that untwists. A place where the distortions are made undistorted. The spectacular news is that this place isn’t for lottery winners, it’s for everyone. This place isn’t for the lucky few it’s for all. This place offers everyone the opportunity to become spiritual millionaires. It is inclusive. 

 Cobain said, Come, Come as you are. Fear is a black cocktail that holds me back from coming forward. Terror can grip, but Come, Come as you are, as a friend. He is not angry. Isaiah 43 says, “You are precious in my eyes, and honored, I love you”

He sees me with sleepy dust in my eyes and comedy hair and He says, You are precious. He sees my soul, He sees the good, the hopeful the faith and he says You are precious. He sees my crimes, my selfishness, my anger, my ego and He says, You are precious. He sees the crimes done to me, the hurts, the pains and he says You are precious. He sees my laughing, He sees me crying, he says You are precious. When I was born, He said You are precious, when I die, He will say You are precious. Before I was born He said, You are precious, after I die He will say You are precious. When I pray He says You are precious, when I forget He says You are precious. He sees my confusion, my choices, good and bad and He says You are precious. He looks into my blackened heart and says You are precious. 

At thirty eight years old, He looks into my life, the perishable and the eternal. He sees it all. He sees it all and He still says, hey you!

Me? I say.

Yes, you. You are very very precious to Me

I hear those words, they register with my eternal and with my perishable.

 

Reuben sang in cities of fire of Sin being burnt, An image of an angel pressing coal that burns distortion on Isaiah’s lips, it burns my bag of crimes, it gives me life. Reinstates. Restores. Redeems. Isaiah expected death and He received forgiveness, Mephibosheth expected execution he was blessed with restoration. The prodigal wanted to return as a servant and he was welcomed back as a son.

We are all distorted. I am distorted. God sees me as a treasure worth dying for. He sees this distorted gem stone as something worth holding. I expect judgement I receive grace.

 Why does He weep? Because, we never knew Him. 

 

Diamond

He makes me into an indestructible treasure. Like it was. Like it is meant to be. I am a treasure that he has sold everything for. He is a precious pearl that I have exchanged my life to own. We are treasured by Him, in order for us to treasure each other. Just like the rock that is unbreakable, yet broken for me. This treasure costs everything I have and yet it’s free.

Song of Songs, chapter eight says;

Love is invincible, flood water can’t drown love, torrents of rain can’t put it out. Love can’t be bought, love can’t be sold

Romans eight says;

For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I experience evanescence but I trust in everlasting. My God says His love for me is everlasting and I think all my life, but He means for ever. He means before me, after me, during me, around me, above me, beyond me, inside me and redeeming me.

 

Compression

From slave to human, from carbon to diamond, from prisoner to free man. The journey is my life. The journey is the compression. The crucible.

In this compression is the wind, the seasons, the speed, and the go-slow. The now and the future. The temporary and the permanent. Hope that speaks into the “now” that can inspire and nourish. Hope that has it’s place in the future. My heart is calm because of His restorative work in me. One that can never be fully realised until that day, but a restoration that is working in my life right now and will continue to transform my life.

Like the writer of Ecclesiastes, I could choose to measure my life purely on morality. If that is the case life is about travelling from one opiate to another. Part of my distortion, my bag of crimes, is  my mortality. It is my birthmark. Getting old. Packaging, not shiny anymore. Shrink wrap ripped,  carton squeezed. The rush of being young? Equalled by the thrill of being alive for another day. Walking packaging, a living suitcase. My choice to be an empty jewellery box. Treasure stored elsewhere. Let the jewellery box decay, let it fail. What is important left the box some time ago, what is important lives elsewhere.

There is a beauty on earth, in the cadence of the seasons and in the way that, sometimes, I can see God emerge long enough to burn hope. A message that everything is not lost. Even though I don’t understand it all I still choose to live it passionately.

Cannonball

In that time of compression trust becomes paramount. What and whom I choose to trust in determines my journey.

Eventually Solomon chose War Horses and Chariots to trust in, I used to choose myself, ten of the twelve spies chose logic, a world chooses knowledge, a serpent, deception.

In Isaiah, there is a King called Hezekiah, whom when it came time to see if his faith would take the weight of his life he chose to put one foot in. He decided to trust in God but also make sure he had some back up too. 

I have a trust that serves my ephemeral body; a combination of gravity and the secure structures I choose to walk on. My soul needs to trust in something that will carry my spiritual weight, my doubt, my fear and my hope. If my God can’t do that then I should cut a deal like King Hezekiah did. 

I have decided to put everything I have on a crucified man. I believe this is the only way to become a human and that this is the most sustainable way to live my life, regardless of what happens when my heart stops beating. I am a merchant who one day noticed a precious pearl and decided to give up everything that he had in order to have that pearl in his life. I have it in my palm. I will not let go. I put all my trust in that pearl.

A trillion pounds is worth nothing in the Kingdom of God. A currency that has no value. Isaiah goes on to compare false gods to deadweights. We end up carrying these heavy burdens that were sold to lighten our lives. False gods weigh me down.

I have found that messages promising a life change without a spiritual one offer fake hope. I am body and soul, to offer hope that speaks only to my temporary life and not my eternal soul is to deny part of my existence.  To choose fake hope is to distort myself. When the biblical prophets spoke, they did so with a life action and a spiritual consequence. A holistic rotation. This is my touchstone. 

When Hananiah {Jeremiah 28} prophesies of peace and prosperity with no spiritual call, warning lights should be activated.Popularity and approval are words that are not often equated to God movements. Noah, Isaiah, Jesus and Jeremiah were unpopular, which made any message they had even less appealing. However, that is exactly the point of truth. Truth does not require charisma, a stylist or a spin doctor. Truth is not in need of online sales or marketing campaigns. Truth remains true, even when the courier is unpopular and disliked. Truth remains true. This is my touchstone.

Elephant

Luggage. A set of keys. The Ten Commandments. A mobile phone charger. Hope. Other peoples birthdays. God. Money. A single sock. Homework. My mind. God. Formulas learnt at school. God. The latest PIN number. God. God. God.

Where do the lost and forgotten congregate? A lost property of moments, time, possesions and faith. The bible; The great lost and found story. We all forget our story. A story that shrinks with the passing of each generation.  

My God does not forget neither must I.

courrier

Restored to humanity, my soul walks with Him.

A universal design for life that has become my essence.

My gift of a precious pearl to the poor in spirit.

My gift of healing to the broken hearted,

not with string and sellotape, but with The Maker, who makes all things new.

To bring the gift of humanity to those who are far from human, 

An exodus of hearts, escaping the yellow and black flag of quarantine. 

 

His breath brings stillness to those who mourn.

An interval in the tears.

I want to tell of this place, where lives can be changed, where mourning can partner comfort, where hope is not lost and when the fairy tale ending ceases to become a fairy tale and simply becomes reality.

The world I live in is cobbled together with empty hope. Medicine, that does not cure, justice, that does not protect, power, that brings corruption, jobs, that brings no peace, governments, that should not exploit,(but they do) communities, that still harbor racism and hate.

In chapter 11 and later in 65 Isaiah talks of a place where justice is more than being just, it is grace, where power flings stars into the sky and breaks bread, where love does conquer all, where enemies do not exist and where hope does not flicker like a flame. It sounds unimaginable no? Spiritually this kingdom already exists. The world I live in is cobbled together with empty hope. The world I trust in is brimming with love and truth. The world I live in will move forward and I, in it, traveling to a natural decay. The world I trust in is leading me to a natural restoration. Dead and Alive. Physical and Spiritual.

videotape May 3, 2009

Selah:

I pick up an Ebenezer. I do not want to forget, where I came from.

Every day I must cry, “O God You are my God, and I will ever seek you”

Quiet the noise. The noise the separates me from You. Selah.

 

I submit to You

Death is my birthmark. Getting old. Packaging, not shiny anymore. Shrink wrap ripped, the seal broken, the carton squeezed. The rush of being young? Equalled by the thrill of being alive for just one more day. Walking packaging, a living suitcase. My choice to give all that I have to You. My choice to be an empty jewellery box. Treasure stored elsewhere. Let the jewellery box decay, let it fail. What is important left the box some time ago, what is important still lives. The exterior will fade the interior will soar.

 

I say Thank You:

I am born with distortion, spiritual and physical. My physical distortion begins the moment I breathe on this earth and the clock on my mortality commences the backwards countdown. Death will visit my body. Spiritual distortion is not permanent, The Christ has defeated spiritual death and forged a path for me. This journey requires an orientation of my spirit, to be transformed from distorted to undistorted. This discipline is the changing work of rotation. This is love. Made in Your image, I am journeying back to that image.

My soul re planted nearby a stream bordering an orchard. Not twisted anymore, but straight, undistorted.

 

Thank You for falling on my life like an ocean. You make all things new.

Thank You that my heart does not grow twisted and black anymore. 

Thank you for giving me a heart that grows straight.

 

I breathe You:

You are in the expansion and contraction of my lungs.

Each time I breathe my soul creeps toward You.

You are in everything from the letters that form my life scaffolding, to the matter that connects particles.

You breathe life into my dusty lungs

I breathe out and You sign Your name in the air

 

I follow You:

Like Simon of Cyrene I find myself approaching what looks like a parade but as I draw closer my faith is called into question. By taking up the cross I am able to pursue You on this pilgrimage of the heart. By taking up the cross I learn to serve. I learn to be a human being. I learn to be like You.

 

I kneel before You;

Like Mephibosheth I want to crawl to You.

Like Isaiah I want to burn in worship of You.

Like the Pevensies before Aslan I am filled with fear and excitement.

My humanity is dwarfed by Your divinity. I kneel before You my God.

 

I talk to you:

Every prayer is an exodus from slavery into freedom.

With God; answers embrace me.

On earth; it’s a mystery.

With God; I see the simplicity.

On earth; it’s complex.

With God; I understand it all.

On earth; scholars scratch their heads.

With God; I live.

On earth: I die.

 

I seek You in Your word:

Your word tears down walls in my life. Your word strengthens my spirit, Your word is my diesel, fuel for my soul, which feeds my mind and body. God’s gym.

 

Your truth skyrockets from your word like steam from a hot bath. Your stories make me feel like a little boy, believing that my bankrupt childhood can be restored. Sitting by a fire listening to You telling me bedtime yarns. My eyelids grow heavy, there is a huge smile on my illuminated face. You pick me up and a storybook falls out of my sleepy hands but deep down I know You never really needed the book, You know it all off by heart. I want to learn Your stories. Tradition is good.

 

I seek You in this world:

Before I can learn to be a human being, I have to unlearn being a slave. 

The things of God increase my world and make me feel human. The things of man shrink my world and advance me into slavery.

 

Israel realised in the wilderness, that rejecting being human means embracing being a slave. A slave to power, sex, money, adventure and knowledge.  

Without God the only yardstick is mortality. When this is the case, each experience becomes an opiate. The need for bigger experiences necessitates larger opiates, for life must me lightened as mortality weighs down. Life must be drowned as mortality screams your name. Each opiate spirals man further away from being human.

Disconnected from God; my world becomes small, mortal, urgent, a scream.

Connected to God; my world becomes infinite, eternal, slow, deep breathing.

You teach me how to become a human with humanity.

 

You are my Rock:

Your truth protects me like brightly coloured ribbons that dart and trail around my being.

You are the Guardian of my humanity and spirituality. You are constant. You are elemental. Your name echoes in the sound of life like the stones in David’s Psalms, like the reverberation in Isaiah’s vision. The bricks of our mortgaged house sing Your name, as does the freshly dug earth of our vegetable patch. I hear You in the rattle of our cutlery drawer and see You in the waxy heat rising off Summerheath Road on a hot day.

Unbreakable and yet broken for me. A gemstone with no blemish, yet blackened for me. Set in a high place, yet lowered for me. Priceless, yet cheapened by me. Unchanging yet changing me. Impregnable yet standing with open arms like a father waiting for his prodigal son. 

 

You are my Treasure and I am Yours:

In Song of Songs You compare me to a dear friend, as pleasing as a fine rare wine, as fragrant as an exotic spice, a sparkling splashing fountain. I am treasured, in order for me to treasure. To treasure God, to treasure each other.

 

Your Love is a treasure, invincible and priceless. Flood waters can’t drown it, torrents of rain can’t put it out. Love can’t be bought, love can’t be sold-it’s not to be found in the marketplace.

You see me as precious. You see me as a locket to wear around Your neck. I don’t need a stretched limousine to feel special, You make me feel special.

The kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls:  Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it.

I am a treasure that You have sold everything for. You are the precious pearl that I have exchanged my life to own.

 

You are my Sanctuary:

A bass guitar is protected by a case; a car is safeguarded by bumpers. A letter defended by an envelope and a bus shelter shields its travelers from the rain. Our lives insulated by indemnity, our property fortified by locks and alarms. The legal system protects the innocent, the oppressed and the poor.

What I know to be true from experience, is that guitars get damaged, cars are written off. Letters are torn and people get wet waiting for a bus. I know that warranties and insurance plans have small print and burglaries happen in-spite of locks and security measures. I know that the judicial system can be twisted.

What my soul knows to be true; is that Your name is a strong tower, I can run into it and be safe. A protection that has no small print and one that can untwist all that has been distorted.

The poor in spirit can be rich and the oppressed can be freed.

 

You are my embassy. My protection in a distorted world.

You are my ambassador of hope, love, grace and peace.

Your endorsement is all I seek. I do not want to exhaust myself chasing bank notes issued by man or tire myself pursuing prominence. 

 

You are in charge:

You examine my life, investigate my heart. Here I am standing on this earth, wishing my childhood could have been different, why was there so much sadness? I ask to see the manager. Who’s in charge here? I want to speak to someone who can change this situation. 

I meet with You. I rotate. I walk. I kneel. I lie flat. I crawl. I cry. I smile. I laugh. I change.

 

You are my Judge:

I will not judge. I am ready to be taught by You.

You taught Agur from Mash to live by faith. You gave him enough. Not too little, so that he would take control of his own life, and not too much so that he would become independent from You.

You teach me about pain;

In Ecclesiastes 7 it is written “You learn more at a funeral than at a feast”

Very few of the characters within the pages of the bible were able to enlarge their world and grasp a concept of God without experiencing pain or hurt. From the sons of Korah to Mephibosheth, from Adam to Noah, from Jacob to David, from Job to Jonah and from Joseph to Jesus they all experienced pain. 

Within my hurt there are lessons to be learnt and mysteries to be revealed.

videotape March 31, 2009

In the last month I have learnt about my journey. How the various articles of my faith fall into specific points within my journey.

 

I have felt the benefit of rituals meeting the Scared. I live in this mystery that is hope fuelled and not meant to be as complex as scholars make out. There is simplicity to life that is enchanting

 

East

When the world was a child, she had a bad experience and ran away. Thousands of years later I am still running away, in the same easterly direction. From the moment I was crawling, I was crawling East. I am mind, body and spirit. Only one of these needs to be walking eastward in order for the whole to follow.

East is; the days we have on this earth and nothing more.

East is being naked in this world. No one owns anything, it’s all borrowed. Nothing gets taken from here to there. There is no carousel after death where you can wait for your bags. East is Naked. 

East is The Tower of Babel, going to Tarshish by boat and The Tree of Knowledge, littered amongst soliloquies from those who did it their way.

 

Name

In the midst of my travels, I hear my name, pronounced in a way only I know. It is my unique language that cannot be explained or taught, it is as idiosyncratic as my fingerprint and as unrepeatable as the set of circumstances that delivered me onto this planet. I stop. It sounds beautiful, but it fades too quickly. It sounds beautiful but the mass of travellers going East drown out the sound of my name. It sounds beautiful but I must run in the direction I have been running all of my life.

I hear my name falling to the ground but the birds come and take it away before it can be planted. I keep on running East. I hear my name falling to the ground but the ground is hard, I keep on running East.

 

Rotate

I hear my name, pronounced in a way only I know. It is my unique language that cannot be explained or taught, it is as idiosyncratic as my fingerprint and as unrepeatable as the set of circumstances that delivered me onto this planet. I hear my name falling to the ground and it grows. The voice is louder, clearer. In that moment I understand a portion of what it means to have my name called uniquely. In that moment I see in a very dim light, a promise being made to me. I scream out the words “Thank You”

I engage with mind, body and spirit. I rotate. My head, my soul and my heart now face a direction I had only ever seen going the other way. I am facing life. The world is hurtling past me at terrific pace. I rotate and move toward the voice I cry.

“O God You are my God, and I will ever seek you”

 

Ark

An Ebenezer is literally “a stone that saves” it serves as a reminder of a significant moment. I fall to the floor and grab an Ebenezer, I grab another. I need something to put them in. I find a box, a place where I can keep these Ebenezers. A collection of these stones will become an altar, filled with meaning that is personal to me. “O God You are my God” becomes my Shema, (Like a verbal Ebenezer) I put it in my box of stones. This box contains stones and words that I view and repeat daily. My Ark.

 

Selah

Selah, means Stop and Listen. As I begin to walk, I keep stopping and listening. I want to be careful that I do not lose sound of the voice. I walk, I stop, I am still. I listen.

Constantly listening to the calling. Frequently finding myself desperately trying to hear he voice, I have to stop. Selah. Quiet, Silent, Still, until I can hear my name again. Through my journey I pass the pain and hurt that I ran through in my earlier life. I pick up an Ebenezer. I do not want to forget, where I came from.

Every day I cry, “O God You are my God, and I will ever seek you” As the backdrop to my cries I hold onto Psalm 106, “His love lasts”, it represents more hope than my human frame can absorb. It is another written Ebenezer placed inside my Ark.

 

Breathe

I breathe, I inhale a mixture of oxygen, pollution, heaven and The Christ. He is in the expansion and contraction of my lungs. When I breathe I am praising Him. When I pray I am acknowledging Him.

Each time I pray, my soul creeps toward Him. Prayer is weightless, yet outweighs my heavy circumstance. 

I breathe. Selah. I pray. Selah.

From this place, God begins His work in me. He breathes ”the breath of life” into my nostrils, and I became a “living creature” My eyes are opened for the first time. I blink. Genesis. 

I listen to Him, to His stories and they change me, they change my world. His truth like steam from a hot bath encompasses me like brightly coloured ribbons that dart and trail around my being

I become more like Him. And He is my Rock. Unbreakable and yet broken for me. A gemstone with no blemish, yet blackened for me. Set in a high place, yet lowered for me. Priceless, yet cheapened by me. Unchanging yet changing me. Impregnable yet standing with open arms like a father waiting for his prodigal son. 

He is my Rock, but He is unlike any rock known to man. Impervious and sure under foot. A rock that makes all things new. A living rock, one that sings out praise. 

Be Still. Breathe Him.

 

Kneel

The more I journey toward my name, the more I feel like bowing. Like Mephibosheth I want to crawl to Him.

My humanity is dwarfed by his divinity. I kneel before my God.

I want to run toward Him and run away from Him at the same time.

I am filled with fear and excitement.

 

Judge

He is my Judge, so I need not judge. I am still, I breathe, I kneel. In that place I am ready to be taught by Him. He teaches me to speak with measure and humility. He teaches me to speak with Honesty, regardless of right or wrong actions, He wishes for my honesty. I will remind myself of His grace and justice that encompasses all time and spans my entire life.

 

 

Restoration

You, God, have uprooted this twisted tree from this twisted forest and replanted me unravelled and honest  in Eden. I do not control or seek to control my life. My Leaves rustle in the wind drowning out enemy talk. By day and by dark this tree belongs to You, My God. You answer me in pregnant silence. You still the storms that threaten to break my branches. Your answer grows in silence like a baby in the womb. Your answers grow with me and in me.

 

We are all poor in spirit, we are all hungry in hope, we all live on scraps and we are all searching through rubbish bins but through The Christ we can be justified, redeemed and made new. Me, you, society, the world, it has all been covered in the reconciling work of The Christ. 

A big explosion created the world, and a big implosion restored it.

 

videotape {rewind} March 1, 2009

 Submit to Him.

 Do not Judge.

 Seek His Kingdom.

 Build this temple.

videotape March 1, 2009

 My Judge

“Like Ezra, I want to acknowledge my crimes, the crimes done to me and the worlds crimes, I want to be free of them all”

A prayer of acknowledgement but not of blame. The Kings shame and mistakes become that of the whole nation. Ezra prays into the state of the escaped nation and takes the actions of the Kings as something they are all responsible for. 

I am learning about a parallel journey. There is forgiveness for those who seek it, acknowledging that not choosing life was unwise. However in some ways the reconciliation of self to God is comprehensible, where there are consequences the journey is not so straight forward. Like the Kings, who hurt nations, I have hurt people. Ezra’s prayer was not one of blame or finger pointing. Amazingly Ezra prayed for forgiveness. I have been a King and a nation. I have hurt and been hurt. I have sought forgiveness for things I have done wrong, but for the wrongs done to me, I have held onto. Forgiveness releases the King, and to some degree that nation too, however Ezra in prayer, actually lines up the nation shoulder to shoulder with the Kings choices. There is a deep magic at work in the hearts of those hurt and the unlocking of that pain has to rest with the understanding of atonement. Christ suffered in innocence from the actions of Kings and religious leaders.We suffer innocently from the actions of those close to us. Those close to me suffer innocently from my actions. 

Spiritual justice has already taken place. Every day that moves forward is also tethered back in time. Spirituality is not linear. The Cross although 2000 years old, is also 2000 years into the future. Spiritual Justice has a framework. To break from spiritual justice and the cross,  to highlight someone else’s wrong would mean our lives would have to be negotiated away from the Cross too. 

“For my own safety, I must not judge others or I will be judged”

A wider understanding of our humanity leads me to a precipice that cannot nudge me further to judge anyone anymore. If I judge anyone, I am surely condemning myself.

Do not weep for Hoda Judah Armani

He is no more. His heart though good, was eaten by black. His mind though quick, was pedestrianised by applause. His body though strong was weakened by the fall of man, his fall, the fall of his heart and mind. Do not weep for him; he reached both to the left and to the right. He could not resolve. Pity him not.      

Do not weep for him because all that is dead was death anyway. Do not weep for him because all that is lost was lost anyway. Do not weep for him because all that is gone was fallow, hard soul soil. Buried with his fine clothes, DVDs and burgeoning address book he lives no more.

Buried with armies of manipulation and deceit, that advanced his desire of success, he breathes no more. Buried with his judgment and anger. Buried with his selfishness and pride. Buried.

“Like Mephibosheth before King David, I expect judgment but I receive grace.”

In the throes of civil war, a five year old boy, the grandson of the fallen King Saul, was told to “flea the palace, King Saul is dead” The boy and his nurse fled, in the chaos, she dropped the child and he severely damaged his back. The fall would cost him the use of his legs. The nurse picked him up and ran far far away. She arrived at an obscure town and changed the boy’s name. Here he could grow up in safety. Wise actions from the nurse indeed as the rest of the fallen kings extended family were hunted down by the victorious faction and hung.

After the noise and bloodshed came a peace of sorts and David was crowned King. He called for anyone of the deposed Kings extended family to come forth. One man was brought to him. A middle-aged man. A cripple. What must have been running through the exiled man’s mind as he dragged himself toward King David in his palace? Crawling on the cold marble floor, pulling his body weight and damaged limbs closer to the seated King. His eyes focusing on the detail of the floor stone inches away from his face. Surely this is my judgment. For everything that my grandfather stood for, like the rest of my family, I am going to be punished.

King David bestows on him all the property that had belonged to his grandfather, gave him servants to tend the land and insisted that he take every meal at the royal table for the rest of his days.

One of the saddest lines of literature I have read is from a book called Genesis, “Adam hid” That’s what happens when things don’t go to plan. The five-year-old boy at the breakout of civil war hid, Adam hid, Moses hid, I hid. Maybe I sought a twenty first century hiding place, an alternate state?

A kinder god? An anaesthetic to reality. Like the grandson it’s a long crawl on the palace floor but like most things in the Kingdom of God, the outcome is unexpected.

Hope is a beautiful thing. Now the war is over, songs can be sung.

My Jesus, I submit to you. I do not want to judge or the power that comes with it.

Back at Sinai, fresh from slavery, God told Israel I just want you. I don’t want your sacrifice. It all starts with you. When you submit, then all things are possible. I want to choose life in all I do.

Be still, Breathe, Choose Life, and Crown Him.  This is my new process. It’s not my methodology it’s a turnstile on my heart. A gateway to the city. Submit in the stillness, Invite Him into the moment, make a God choice with a God motive, and prepare for a coronation.

A gateway to the city is where Absalom once stood, as self promoted judge. Good choices with a self-promoting motive. He stole the hearts of everyone in Israel. 

The job I do and the work I produce are not a measure of my heart or life. Who I am and to whom I belong offer the worth that my soul hungers for.

“For my own safety, I will not judge what I have been given  or I will be judged on what I have been forgiven”

What do I own? What is mine really? What claim do I have on any property? Beyond that which lasts for a few years, or even a lifetime, what do I own? Not even my own flesh. It too will be gone; I have no control over it any more than I have ownership over my soul. Everything from the migrating birds to the face staring back at me in the mirror, with the razor cuts of mistakes; everything is making a journey back to their owner. 

You count that which is yours, no? You count your belongings. David counted all Israel and Judah. Is that any worse as I count my mortgage, my possessions, and my salary?

If I count my possessions, I should also count my sin. If I truly want it all, then I will receive it all.

I want nothing of this.

Forgive my black heart, I want to submit. Because I own nothing, I owe nothing. Because I own nothing, I have no debt, financial or spiritual.

 

“For my own safety, I will not lean on my own understanding and wisdom, but seek His counsel, seek His Kingdom”

Back in the day after Solomon was King no more, his boy Rehoboam and his ex chum Jeroboam were fighting it out for the whole kingdom. They ended up diving the land once ruled by David and Solomon into a north (Jeroboam) – south (Rehoboam) divide. Jeroboam was concerned that the southern section had Jerusalem as a draw to the people, what if the northerners decided that they wanted to worship God at the temple in Jerusalem? That could prove fatal for Jeroboam’s rule. He decided to build a Northern convenience temple. It’s like going to Jerusalem except its a lot closer, plus there’s a little something for everyone. Beautiful golden calves, festivals, make shift priests. 

Like I have done many times, Jeroboam trusted himself instead of God. He decided his own initiative would save him, in this case it was contrary to God and totally damaging. I have decided many times to take control of a situation, my intellect, my wisdom, my control. Every time it has led me to a cold place, a golden calf, a convenience store, a half eaten apple. 

“I will not forget my redemption or else I will be in danger of walking back into judgement.”

Rituals like Vigils and Vespers and the Shema are important. The building of altars to remind me of my salvation. These are the bricks I need to brick up the doorways from where I came, so that I do not return to that place again. Israel was redeemed, brought out of slavery in Egypt and into freedom at Sinai. However they walked straight back into slavery in Babylon.  

I can see the narrative of man becoming heavy in the heart, mind and body. God rescuing man. God redeeming man and making a union with him. Man forgetting the union, forgetting the redeeming, forgetting the rescue, forgetting God. Man becoming heavy in heart, mind and body. The flip side is a compassion that is unyielding. A compassion that if engaged, does reconcile the most broken hearted.

An innocent man murdered by a King who wants his land as his kitchen garden.

The King had previously offered to buy the land but the owner said no. He sulked like a child while his wife, Jezebel, devised a plan for her husband to get his kitchen garden. This story has a backdrop of God’s power saving King Ahab in two wars previous to this crime.

When God confronts the King Ahab on this hideous act, the King sees it as the opportunity to repent which he does with humility. Grace is poured out.

Even a wretch like me can read these words and draw hope. In the end however the Kings heart is not set on union, quick to forget. 

These are my landmarks. Altars built by travelers before me. These stories are my Skyscrapers fashioned for the sole purpose-”Do Not Forget” 

There is compassion and there is unmerited favour in abundance but the heart needs to be humble and the union needs to be real. If I can choose to be honest about my decisions and my actions then there is an ocean of hope. As simple as that. An Ocean of Hope awaits a man, not a good man or even faultless one, but an honest man. Honest doesn’t mean good, it means telling the truth. Truth is life. I choose life.

 “I will not forget my journey, I will use wisdom not judgement”

Josiah a good king was reminded of that which kings before him had ignored. Maybe it takes a good king to realize a mess, as bad one wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

In terms of Josiah’s journey it was upright, however on terms of his royal commitment he was compromised. We must not ignore our past and all the contributing factors that brought us to where we worship today. The people of Israel wanted a king. All the other nations have one, we want one too. But you have a king! A new model not following the old principles. God granted their request, however the kings never lived up to that which they should have. Being leaders they influenced greatly and mis-lead generations, made a crooked path and forgot from where their ancestors came. In the kings I see much of my own life.
Stubborn and blessed, angry and loved, selfish and forgiven. It takes a good king to realize a bad mess.

“For my own safety, I will see myself as a shadow, unable to own anything and brought into life by the sun”

A shadow cannot own anything, least of all itself. A shadow is cast by an object blocking the rays of the sun from the surface of the earth. A shadow can move, it’s life short, sunrise to sunset. A shadow has no wealth, a shadow has no pockets. A shadow has no colour to distinguish it from another shadow, all shadows are the same. All shadows are equal. There are no rich shadows; there are no poor shadows. Shadows can stretch, bend and split over floor and wall, beach and shore, pavement and building.

King David blesses God in 1 Chronicles 29. He questions the riches that we bring toward God as he is constructing God’ temple, he decides that he isn’t bringing anything to God that God doesn’t already own. He comes to the conclusion that he owns nothing and more interestingly that our lives are mere shadows. A blessing to God that brings humility to me and praise to Him.

I own nothing. I have no pockets.

I am a shadow in these shadowlands.

 “When darkness is moving toward me, trust in His judgement.”

Asa, had it, then lost it. Lived in it, then out of it. 

The threat of superior armies invading Judah led Asa to seek God. He felt the impossible scenario that faced him needed miraculous intervention. There were no other options. Why is it human nature, that when there seems to be no other option, we seek God. I have learnt that letting go of your life means choosing God in every choice that you are presented with. To seek him when you have no other alternative is limiting God. 

Earlier we read that Asa took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves as he prepared to act out on God’s message. 

Asa was a good King. However when the next round of impending war came on the horizon there were more avenues to explore before the “miracle” option was needed. Asa flicked through his address book and contacted Aram, a neighbouring King. Aram can provide reinforcements. The heart of the issue is not the war, it’s whom we turn to in every situation. Asa relied on a fruit tree instead of God. From the beginning of time to this day the same choice is there in all that is presented to me. 

“He is my  Judge and King, I will submit to Him”

Haman had it all. He was the King’s main man. He was rich, had a wife, plenty of sons, just got a promotion and on top of all of that, he was the only person to be invited to dinner with the King and Queen two nights in a row. For Haman, it still wasn’t quite right.

Like, almost having everything you want. It’s almost perfect, it’s just there is this one thing…….

For Haman, the one thing was a Jew that wouldn’t bow down to him when he walked past.

For me it was certain items of clothing, or hitting a salary target.

To measure life in achievements and possessions is to be ruled by them. To serve them. I served my possessions. They had dragged me all the way back to Egypt and I went happily. Bound.

To measure my life in my communication with God is to lose myself in hope. Buechner wrote of the sacred and the ritual touching fingertips. The ritual is the constant devotion, daily to God, within the routine is built a window. The sacred is God reaching into the window and meeting man.

When I serve my possessions I am building a ritual that goes underground, that is dark, that is death affirming. At the same moment the creator is reaching but there is no one there to meet the scared. No one there.

Our Grace

“The hurt that I can comprehend and the pain that I cannot; will be taken by Him”

Confusion and communication. The lack of one provides the ideal climate for the other to breed. The same could be said for a lack of understanding I suppose. 

How Thom Yorke’s “creep”, pleads to be noticed by his absence. How King David’s army is confused, winning the battle that has been asked of them but not winning the Kings acknowledgement. Regret to one mans heart and a sense of worthlessness to the hearts of all his soldiers. 

Where can the hurt feelings go?  

A landfill of hurts and pains, carrier bags of shame and old-fashioned suitcases filled with anger are fly tipped as close to a Roman tree as possible. 

Where can the feelings of hurt from something we don’t understand go?

Emotional refuse, regret and fear wrapped in pride packaging and out of date fruit from a tree that should never have been harvested. The crux. 

Where can the pain go?

A mystery. Not confusion; a mystery, not caused by a lack of communication or understanding. A mystery. Grace. 

 

“If I seek His kingdom it is with His kingdom I will be rewarded”

Once upon a time there lived a prominent woman in Shunem. She chose to engage with her intellect, spirit and strength. In recognising God at work in the life of a prophet called Elisha, she was generous, thoughtful and faithful. She was blessed and after a little time, the blessing seemed to sour; however her faith did not. Unswayed by the facts of the world she chose to breathe a different air, one filled with hope and faithfulness, the air of the Kingdom of God. She decided that mind lung; spirit lung and physical lung would inhale deeply. She sought out the prophet whom immediately set about ministering into the soured situation. She chose life and it was with life that she was rewarded. 

This reminds me of Roman who chose to breathe hope into his spirit and said to Jesus, you don’t need to come to my son, just say the words and it will be done. A man called Henri Nouwen once wrote, “at every moment you have to decide to trust the voice that says, I love you. I knit you together in your mother’s womb”

Jason Mraz sings, “Live High, Live Mighty, Live Righteously”

My childhood didn’t have a place or person of safety. However in living high, in living mighty, in living righteously I have safety. By engaging in mind, body and spirit I have safety. The same warmth that I feel when I have a ball at my feet, I have safety. I am home.

“Like Hezekiah invited all, like Mephibosheth was invited, like the parable of the banquet where all are invited, I am invited  to feast with Him everyday. I want for nothing”

Another King. A nation prepares. What to expect? 

Hezekiah, was a good King, he made some bad choices, however most of the time he made the right ones. Hezekiah decided to engage with Passover on a national level. He sent out invitations to all the tribes of Israel. The whole land, North and South was invited to celebrate the meal of thanksgiving and rememberance. Hezekiah went even further by imploring those who have not visited the temple for many years, maybe their ancestors had stopped coming and the impasse had become tradition, he implored them all to come back. He told them that God’s hot anger would not be reserved for those who return to Him. Those people will be treated with compassion, tenderly, with mercy. 

I am reminded of Jesus who gave the parable of a King throwing a banquet and inviting everyone. Hezekiah is bringing together that which had been fractioned for so long. However there is more than just a unity shared by faith. The invitation knits the physical with the spiritual. Those who have had to choose between Kings and Land or Faith and God are told you can serve a King, in your land and have your faith in your God restored. 

It is as much a personal story as it is a tribal one. I read about Hezekiah’s invitation and feel I have been invited to share Passover with this King. Come, Come as you are. It doesn’t matter if your ancestors stopped coming to the temple, it doesn’t matter what happened before. This invitation is saying “let’s start again” Come on, come in, come.

There is hope for many generations

Solomon was able to realise dreams that his father had. What a powerful heritage to hand down to your son. The strength in a God inspired dream, unfulfilled, passing down a generation. Being the bearer of the vision does not always mean being the executor. Moses didn’t see it and David didn’t build it. 

I always see the dreams that I have been blessed with in my life as being dreams that I will realise. I wonder if actually there is something more expansive than that in my life? 

God has provided peace all around – no one against us, nothing at odds with us. When that window presents itself, which it may just have done, I will grab it with both hands and hold it tightly like a father reunited with a son that had left home many years ago under a cloud and now returned with a longing to be with his family, humility. Once a squanderer now home.

His Kingdom

“See His Kingdom in everyone I meet and impart that to those I teach”

There is a high commission that must be adhered for those desiring to follow a Christ trodden path. In all relationships, teach well and learn well. Jehoiada was a teacher to Joash. A priest teaching a King. A man teaching a boy. A friendship. He taught well and Joash learnt well, he became a righteous King.

I pray about what I want to impart to others in my life. In doing so there is much for me to learn in order to impart that which I desire. Someone once sang, “All You want is all I have” 

I want to impart everything, however to do so I need to learn everything. Joash turned out to be a good King. He learnt well and led wisely. He did what please God for as long as he lived. 

As with the story of hope, life is imparted to generation, friends and family. We tell stories that are boxed presents, Fragile – Handle With Care stickers slapped all over these gifts. They protect truths and experience. History, my history. A life. My life. It’s the only one I have and I want to protect that which is good, impart the truths and learn much.

 “We all need support, choose wisely those to uphold”

They were mighty, they linked arms as he took up his kingship, they helped him become King the way God had spoken, they killed for him.

Thirty friends, committed to their king, they journey into enemy land in order to bring their king water from a Bethlehem well. 

A few good men. 

In David’s life, and as an example to my life, the importance of friends willing to engage in committed prayer and the realisation of God’s calling is evident. How fragile a dream from God can be. Fragile enough that the dream still needs hope to breathe, it still needs a good heart to circulate life around it’s bloodstream and maybe most important of all, it needs the prayers of those willing to link arms to protect the birth of a dream. Maybe if Joseph had twelve friends willing to link arms instead of twelve brothers wishing to cause harm, his dream would have been realised in another fashion. Interesting that regardless of circumstance, God works in all situations. When there is prayer and support for the dream and often, especially where there isn’t. Life is fragile. God is strong. Hope prevails.

“Make your life’s work restoring your temple”

In the second slice of the Bible, In 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, Paul writes about our bodies being a temple for God. Solomon dedicates a temple hundreds of years earlier, soon after that it all goes wrong and it’s raised to the ground. Isaiah later prophesies that a new temple will be built, one that all nations can worship in. Jesus talks about knocking this temple down and rebuilding it in three days. Do you ever get the feeling that temples represent more than just stone? And so back to Solomon, and more introspectively, back to my life. This temple that has been toiled over, is my life right now. I need to toil and pray, minister and hope. My life’s work is dedicating my temple to Him. A temple that can be inhabited now but that can also be modified, restored and re-designed at the same time. 

 I dedicate my life to you. Thank You. This is one goes out to Him. It’s all you want. It’s all I have. It’s all yours. Make Yourself at home. I know its a bit messy, could really do with a clean. Feel free to move everything around and please, just throw out anything you don’t like. Keys are under the mat.

 Dear Jesus, help me build a temple that cannot stay silent of your Kingdom

A fresh sound-bite fed to standstill traffic on the M25. A new address cutting across the P.A. system at Victoria. A different message invades the departure board at Heathrow. A new song fills the carcass of the 207 west and east bound. Another story replaces “Mind the Gap” on the Central Line. 

For a moment the ferrying stops. We collide at busy  train stations no more. Cars are abandoned with keys in the ignition. Transit masses stop, we begin to slip away, mobile phones simultaneously dropped, creating a gargantuan stomp, a sound more akin to a giant’s tap dance routine. We decrease, we decrease. Tabloids and consumer coffees, breakfast baps and handbags are all released, they float away, framed by umbrellas, The Portrait of a Nation Travelling (accessories only). All that remains is a people extracted from routine, attachments and schedules. We are unplugged and ready, disconnected from our lives, but alive, buzzing like a live wire, still drawing electrical current.

We sparkle. We are amazed. 

In this place, in this space, something makes sense. Suddenly nothing else makes as much sense. We hear daylight, we see air, we touch time. For a moment everything is real and we grasp something outside of ourselves. We breathe deeply and mouth the words “thank you”. 

We begin a new journey.

“If I seek Him, then everything I do is building His Kingdom”

Nehemiah was a good man, he wasn’t a King and yet he ruled like the best of them, maybe even better? He gave up a career for a vocation. He illustrated that holy living was not separate to the financial choices we make but integral to them, especially in economically barren times. Nehemiah rebukes in Love and a nation responds. He demonstrates that everything can be holy, that everything must be holy, spiritual, set apart for God. Whether I am making a tent, building a wall or ministering, it is ALL holy.

Dear Jesus, help me to investigate every room in the temple regularly

Each room in the temple accounted for. When Nehemiah returns from Persia he sees things have changed. The priest decided to rent out some temple rooms to a man that  did not acknowledge God. Tobiah was renting rooms that would have stored grain offerings, tithe offerings, wine and oil for the Priests and Worship leaders. By renting the rooms out to Tobiah the worship and leading gradually stopped in the temple as nobody administered them. All it took was the occupation of a few rooms in the temple to grind everything to a halt. 

The temple belonged to the people, the temple was the people.

Ultimately Nehemiah threw out Tobiah and restored the temple and the leaders. Once again, as with the wall, Nehemiah brought restoration. Once again as with the wall, it was not the enemy that caused this disconnect but the hearts of the people. 

I have read the word “temple”, too many times in the bible to know that it doesn’t just mean a building. It is also the spiritual condition of our hearts. Is it in ruin and need of major restoration? Am I rebuilding it correctly? Are their traders selling and buying in the heart of it, or have I rented out rooms to one who does not care for God? 

This is my prayer today, examine me God, search my temple, every room, every office, I want it all to be holy.

“The kingdom of God is not the world I live in. My choices need to be from His heart”

Esther became still, looked into a royal mirror at the face that the King had fallen in love with. She closed her eyes and breathed a deep breath. She breathed out and frosted the mirror. With her finger she drew a star in the condensation, her name came from the Persian word for star. The mirror grew dark, a crescent moon rose in the upper corner, A nation was being led out of Egypt, Moses saw a bright star in the night sky. Sarah laughing in the foreground while Abraham is looking at the stars scratching his head. Jacob looks skyward to catch a glimpse of his fellow wrestler and gets an eyeful of stars. David surveys the evening vista, his life in grave danger, hunted by a King, he breathes in the night sky. Nehemiah stands on a wall looking heavenward on a still night. A group of Persians use a bright star as a compass, they watch evening the sky, it leads them to a baby in a stable. Esther smiled, the overflow of peace, the manifestation of knowing the choice you have made in your heart is right. Regardless of consequence or how it may look logically. She stood up and requested an audience with the King. She had a message to deliver.

 

God. Hidden and yet always at work. So much of Esther’s beauty queen, cover girl story is relevant today. In the whole story, God is never mentioned. Almost as if we are able to watch this show without seeing “the making of” or hearing interviews with the cast. We see this story unfolding with no God narrative. 

A breath of air was blown into Esther’s empty room. The mirror frosted over, a lion roared, the story of salvation took another step closer into being. The word was becoming flesh. 

videotape February 1, 2009

2 Samuel 1:24-27

A wider understanding of our humanity leads me to a precipice that cannot nudge me further to judge anyone anymore. If I judge anyone, I am surely condemning myself.

Do not weep for Hoda Judah Armani

He is no more
His heart though good, was eaten by black
His mind though good, was driven by applause
His stregnth though good, was weakend by his heart and mind.

Do not weep for him, he reached with a hand to the left and with a hand to the right. 

He could not resolve that which he would committ to.
Pity him not.      

Do not weep for him because all that is dead was death anyway.
Do not weep for him because all that is lost was lost anyway
Do not weep for him because all that is gone was fallow, hard soul soil.

Buried with his fine clothes, DVDs and burgeoning address book he lives no more.

Buried with armies of manipulation and deceit, that advanced his desire of success, he breathes no more

Buried with his judgement and anger.
Buried with his selfishness and pride.
Buried.

videotape December 14, 2008

In the chaos God works. From nothing He commanded light. In Egypt He commanded miracles and an exit plan. From wars He brings forth His salvation. From the word He becomes flesh.

In the midst of Chaos God is at work. Continuing His story of salvation.

There is a plan and we are all integral to His plan. If we look at the pattern of the old testament books we read this;

Egypt ~ God’s people cry
            God hears their cry
            God delivers His people
            Exodus

Sinai ~ God makes a covenant with His
           people. He forms a union, a
           marriage. Moses leads the
           People. Moses warns the
           people that if they forget this
           union, they will be exiled again
           become slaves again.
           Redemption

Jerusalem ~ God keeps His promise
                   and gives His people the
                   land. Temples are built but
                   Something is wrong. From
                   David to Solomon, the
                   People have forgotten
                   Their union, they have
                   become unfaithful to God.
                   The prophets warn of
                   the consequences.

Babylon ~    The Babylonians conquer
                   Jerusalem and destroy the
                   Temple. The Israelites
                   die or become slaves.
                   Exile.

In Babylon, God’s prophets begin to Prophesy;
Hosea talks of a new union or marriage with God that will replace the old one.
Jeremiah talks about the commandments not being written on stone but on our hearts and minds.
Issaiah talks of a new Moses, he also speaks of a new temple being built in Jerusalem, but a temple big enough for the whole world to worship in. The whole world? Not just Israel.
Jeremiah speaks of swords turning into ploughs, no more wars.
Issaiah also speaks of the line of David being upheld. It was David who started this Jerusalem “thing”, it will be from His line that it is completed.

A new exodus
A new Peace
A new covenant
A new Moses
A new union with God that is open for the whole world to worship.

A new marriage with God and Humanity.
A child to be born out of this marriage.

This is how the Old Testament finishes.
Prophets at the river in Babylon prophesying, while God’s people cry and God listens.

Somehow it all connects.
God is in the micro and the macro.

Today I read the story of Ruth.
Small insignificant story.
Ruth is a widow and a Moabite.
A stranger, a foreigner to Israel. That said does she play a small role in the working out of God’s plan?

Ruth married Boaz, and will become King David’s great grandmother.

In this small story, God chose the stranger, the foreigner to keep the salvation story alive.
Ruth wasn’t part of the exodus
She wasn’t part of Sinai
She hadn’t made a union with God.
However God chose her to deliver the next chapter of salvation.

God can and will use anyone even if they believe in Him or not in order to further His work.