At the weekend, I treated myself to a writer's magazine. I suppose that deep within there is a desire to not just improve my skills, but also to widen my horizons. I am conscious that most of my work tends to have a spiritual bias. There are very few things I have written over the last couple of years that I would label as secular!
One of the tasks that one of the writers set was to look at a newspaper and find an article that could inspire you to write something. There was a lovely little story about a disappearing scarecrow. It had gone missing from its usual place, only for the farmer to find it scaring crows in a field a few miles away. I like that and I will have to sit on that particular egg and see what hatches!
The other article that caught my eye was about recent storms unearthing the remains of ancient skeletons on a island in the Outer Hebrides. Hurricane force storms tore across the Isle of Barra revealing an infant and an adult skeleton. It made me think about the revealing nature of storms! Storms have a tendency to strip away things that are not firmly rooted, or nailed down - whether that be soil or trees or the shed roof. I know I said I would try to be more secular - but this just lends itself to a spiritual point!
It was the storms, the wind and the rain beating upon the two houses in Jesus' parable that revealed the nature of the two houses. Had there been just sunshine and gentle breezes, the house that was built on sand would never have fallen over. The poor quality of the foundations would never have been revealed. The house that was built on the rock would not have fallen over either - not that it did anyway - but the builder would never have known the strength of his foundation. It is in the storms of life - and I have been through a few - that the quality of the building is revealed. The quality of my walk with Jesus is clearly demonstrated when I go through difficult times. As much as we don't like trials, they are good for us, as they test and prove our faith to be strong.
It was the storms, the wind and rain beating upon the fishing boat, that caused the disciples to wake Jesus up and ask him to save them. Had there been sunshine and gentle breezes, the boat would never have been in danger of sinking. There is a tendency to think we can manage all by ourselves, that we are experts in certain areas of life and that we don't need help. It took a violent storm for the disciples, some of them seasoned fisherman, to realize that they were out of their depth and in need. Without the storm, the disciples would never have known that Jesus was stronger than the storm they faced.
As I look back over some of the "storms" that I have faced, I am not always sure I like what they reveal about me. The foundation is solid, but I think a few of my windows get broken, and one or two slates fall of my roof!
Monday, November 28, 2005
Friday, November 25, 2005
Footprints in the snow
I woke up this morning to a world of snow! It is much colder than I would like it to be. I am also much colder than I would like to be! I remember one year of snow needing to walk to the shop to get milk or bread or something. Either it was the days before we had a car, or the days when the snow was so deeply settled, and my confidence not so. Not being so tall, it can be a real trial ploughing your way through snow. Someone esle had been that way, and I thought that rather than forge my own path, I would just step where he stepped. He didn't take the mincing little steps that I do - no ambling for him. I found myself really stretching from print to print. It was an abnormal stride for me. Quick as a flurry of snow, the Holy Spirit said how much he longed for me to stop my mincing little steps of faith, and my ambling and start striding out in my Christian walk. What was an abnormal stride to me, was his natural pace. If I maintained it, it might also become my normal pace too!
Faithwriters topic this week was "Winter". That incident came to mind and I wrote a poem.
Footprints in the Snow
Winter snow, a crisp cold blanket
Covers all in glistening white
Trees bow low with branches heavy
Bathed in yellow morning light
All is silent, sound is smothered
Still the air, with peaceful calm
Here I walk with careful measure
Captured by the winter charm
Someone else has walked before me
Steps like stains upon the snow
Dark and deep, they mark his passing
On the path, his route they show
I begin to fill his footprints
Treading out to walk his way
Step by step, my pace is stretching
Matching stride I aim to stay
Tall this man with legs extended
In his steps I move so slow
Always striving pushing forward
His, the way I choose to go
Picture this, my walk with Jesus
His own steps I make my own
Onward pressing, forward slowly
As he makes my pathway known
In step with him, always trusting
Faith so small will surely grow
As my walk grows ever closer
Joy complete I’ll come to know
Faithwriters topic this week was "Winter". That incident came to mind and I wrote a poem.
Footprints in the Snow
Winter snow, a crisp cold blanket
Covers all in glistening white
Trees bow low with branches heavy
Bathed in yellow morning light
All is silent, sound is smothered
Still the air, with peaceful calm
Here I walk with careful measure
Captured by the winter charm
Someone else has walked before me
Steps like stains upon the snow
Dark and deep, they mark his passing
On the path, his route they show
I begin to fill his footprints
Treading out to walk his way
Step by step, my pace is stretching
Matching stride I aim to stay
Tall this man with legs extended
In his steps I move so slow
Always striving pushing forward
His, the way I choose to go
Picture this, my walk with Jesus
His own steps I make my own
Onward pressing, forward slowly
As he makes my pathway known
In step with him, always trusting
Faith so small will surely grow
As my walk grows ever closer
Joy complete I’ll come to know
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The West Coast of the Periodic Table
I am not one who sees magic in the Periodic table like chemists and physicists do. To me they are just letters and numbers.
Last night, on my way home from work, I was listening to a radio programme about the periodic table. The presenter likened it to a map and talked about the “west coast”, the line of elements that are on the left hand column of the table. He talked about potassium being just south of sodium.
Then he told an interesting tale about the two elements. Apparently they look very similar and they have about the same atomic weight. It could be easy to mistake the one for the other with quite disastrous results.
Apparently someone had been carrying a sample of potassium in a bottle. After transferring it, or using it – I might have been negotiating a tricky corner in the car at this point as I don’t remember what he did with it – he bought the empty bottle back to the lab. Thinking to clean out the bottle, he turned the tap on and filled the bottle with water.
The bottle exploded, fire shot up from the sink and set the curtain alight. Clouds of black stinking smoke filled the room.
He thought the bottle was empty. It certainly looked empty, but apparently wasn’t empty at all. Just the tiniest sliver of potassium had reacted with the water and exploded. It seems that potassium reacts to quite a few things, and reacts explosively! I think that it is one of the ingredients in fireworks! It is also in bananas – which will make me treat them with a bit more respect!
Has the sample been sodium – which looks very similar and has a similar atomic weight – no amount of water would have caused a reaction.
To the untrained eye, sodium and potassium may look alike, but they behave in very different ways.
Christians and not-yet Christians may look remarkably alike! They may live in similar houses, have similar jobs and incomes, or similar hobbies and interests. Both may take an equal concern in current affairs and be into voting at elections, buying organic produce and recycling empty bottles and cans. They may even both be earnest church members and give generously.
I like to think that genuine Christians, those with a vibrant relationship with God, are like the potassium – reacting negatively to the presence of sin, and positively to the presence of the Holy Spirit. Touched by the presence of God they blaze with purity and passion! The not-yet Christians are perhaps like the sodium. They dwell in the presence of sin and perhaps even accommodate it, giving little sign of the awareness of the presence of God.
Sadly, sometimes Christians forget how to blaze. Maybe they loose a few essential spiritual atoms and protons, and end up as something less potent, less reactive, more accommodating – less like who and what God has called them to be.
Last night, on my way home from work, I was listening to a radio programme about the periodic table. The presenter likened it to a map and talked about the “west coast”, the line of elements that are on the left hand column of the table. He talked about potassium being just south of sodium.
Then he told an interesting tale about the two elements. Apparently they look very similar and they have about the same atomic weight. It could be easy to mistake the one for the other with quite disastrous results.
Apparently someone had been carrying a sample of potassium in a bottle. After transferring it, or using it – I might have been negotiating a tricky corner in the car at this point as I don’t remember what he did with it – he bought the empty bottle back to the lab. Thinking to clean out the bottle, he turned the tap on and filled the bottle with water.
The bottle exploded, fire shot up from the sink and set the curtain alight. Clouds of black stinking smoke filled the room.
He thought the bottle was empty. It certainly looked empty, but apparently wasn’t empty at all. Just the tiniest sliver of potassium had reacted with the water and exploded. It seems that potassium reacts to quite a few things, and reacts explosively! I think that it is one of the ingredients in fireworks! It is also in bananas – which will make me treat them with a bit more respect!
Has the sample been sodium – which looks very similar and has a similar atomic weight – no amount of water would have caused a reaction.
To the untrained eye, sodium and potassium may look alike, but they behave in very different ways.
Christians and not-yet Christians may look remarkably alike! They may live in similar houses, have similar jobs and incomes, or similar hobbies and interests. Both may take an equal concern in current affairs and be into voting at elections, buying organic produce and recycling empty bottles and cans. They may even both be earnest church members and give generously.
I like to think that genuine Christians, those with a vibrant relationship with God, are like the potassium – reacting negatively to the presence of sin, and positively to the presence of the Holy Spirit. Touched by the presence of God they blaze with purity and passion! The not-yet Christians are perhaps like the sodium. They dwell in the presence of sin and perhaps even accommodate it, giving little sign of the awareness of the presence of God.
Sadly, sometimes Christians forget how to blaze. Maybe they loose a few essential spiritual atoms and protons, and end up as something less potent, less reactive, more accommodating – less like who and what God has called them to be.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Shallow poetry
Do you ever write something, post it off, and then look back at it later and cringe with embarrassment? If it had been a blog entry there is a delete option that is always available, but in this case, it is non-deletable!
I have been a member of Fathwriters.com, a Christian writers internet web-site and discussion forum. Every week they set a writing challenge. They have a panel of judges that read all the entries and the top ten submissions are published. The stimulus is usually just one word - in this case "Rain"- and they leave it up to you to interpret the word in a poem, short story, devotion or whatever. Poems rarely win. Good poems may be somewhere in the top ten, but rarely hit the top spot. Bad poems don't get anywhere.
I wrote a poem based on the story of Elijah and Ahab racing each other back to the city in the rain that fell just after the victory on Mount Carmel. The rhythm and meter were just about perfect and the rhyming scheme was spot on, and I was delighted with the whole thing and posted it off, confident that it would not be ignored.
After last night's "soaking" and being inspired to write the poem about encountering God, I looked back at my Elijah poem. The only words that came to mind were "empty" and "meaningless". It might have been a master class in rhythmic meter and rhyming schemes, but it was cold, calculated and too precisely put together. It didn't stir anything within. It didn't light my fire. It was an incredibly shallow poem and I would really like to delete it.
I thought that I didn't do shallow - it is kind of a shock to acknowledge that I do!
Having said that, I also know that I do deep! I had an email from a friend who edits a Christian newsletter called Cross Times. He wrote to confess that he had used a poem of mine, "The cool of the day", in the November issue and was writing to check that I didn't mind! I have a following in some parts of Illinois and Nebraska!
The cool of the day
Once I waited
In keen anticipation
For the sound of His footsteps
In the cool of the day
As the sun at dusk
Stole colours
From the sky
And hid
Behind the horizon
Far away
Now I hide
In dreadful fear
At the sound of His footsteps
In the cool of the day
The taste of fruit on my lips
Steals peace
From my heart
And sin separates me
From God
Far away
So I wait
And I listen
And I hear
His Voice
Calling
But my shame
Binds me
Forbids me
To answer
He knows
That I know
Too much
I have been a member of Fathwriters.com, a Christian writers internet web-site and discussion forum. Every week they set a writing challenge. They have a panel of judges that read all the entries and the top ten submissions are published. The stimulus is usually just one word - in this case "Rain"- and they leave it up to you to interpret the word in a poem, short story, devotion or whatever. Poems rarely win. Good poems may be somewhere in the top ten, but rarely hit the top spot. Bad poems don't get anywhere.
I wrote a poem based on the story of Elijah and Ahab racing each other back to the city in the rain that fell just after the victory on Mount Carmel. The rhythm and meter were just about perfect and the rhyming scheme was spot on, and I was delighted with the whole thing and posted it off, confident that it would not be ignored.
After last night's "soaking" and being inspired to write the poem about encountering God, I looked back at my Elijah poem. The only words that came to mind were "empty" and "meaningless". It might have been a master class in rhythmic meter and rhyming schemes, but it was cold, calculated and too precisely put together. It didn't stir anything within. It didn't light my fire. It was an incredibly shallow poem and I would really like to delete it.
I thought that I didn't do shallow - it is kind of a shock to acknowledge that I do!
Having said that, I also know that I do deep! I had an email from a friend who edits a Christian newsletter called Cross Times. He wrote to confess that he had used a poem of mine, "The cool of the day", in the November issue and was writing to check that I didn't mind! I have a following in some parts of Illinois and Nebraska!
The cool of the day
Once I waited
In keen anticipation
For the sound of His footsteps
In the cool of the day
As the sun at dusk
Stole colours
From the sky
And hid
Behind the horizon
Far away
Now I hide
In dreadful fear
At the sound of His footsteps
In the cool of the day
The taste of fruit on my lips
Steals peace
From my heart
And sin separates me
From God
Far away
So I wait
And I listen
And I hear
His Voice
Calling
But my shame
Binds me
Forbids me
To answer
He knows
That I know
Too much
Friday, October 28, 2005
Connecting
Our church is introducing a variety of mid week meetings with the idea that while some might not appeal or be what you are looking for to strengthen your relationship with God, others will just hit the right spot.
For want of a better word, the Friday meeting was called "Soaking". It is a word bandied about lately with the notion of being in the presence of God without any agenda and connecting.
It didn't sound like my kind of meeting, and it took a lot of spiritual arm wrestling to get me there. Part of it was the fear of not connecting! What if everyone was having some deep spiritual experience while I was just not connecting at all? The times that I make significant connections with God tend to come through studying the word. My mind engages in meditation and my spirit warms up. I thrive on activity and to be so almost passive does not sit squarely on my shoulders.
I hate missing out on things. I was consumed with the idea that I might miss out on a spiritual outpouring of some kind. Inevitably there was also a tinge of guilt about not turning up too - that's the Roman Catholic in me.
One thing that became very apparent to me was that although I might be quiet, my thoughts are not. It was like chasing rabbits down holes!
Joe had been watching a program earlier on in the week. It was a "what if" scenario. In this case it was "what if" a person living a hundred years ago was born today. Would they be able to cope with modern day technology and the pace of life. The picture that stuck in Joe's mind was of the person standing with their hands over their ears trying to block out the noise! There are cars and truck trundling up the roads, aeroplanes taking off, thumping music blasting out of shop doors and mobile phones pressed to people's ears. It seemed to him, to make sense to find time to come away from all the noise, and in the silence, to listen for a small still voice.
What occurred to me as I tried to be silent and connect was just how often I did make the connection to God throughout my working day. Muslims pray five times a day, at specific times outlined on a calendar, with the notion that they connect with Allah regularly throughout the day. I love making the connection with God, but I can't switch it on at certain times. Throughout the evening I was aware that to some extent I was failing miserably. It has to be something of a learned habit, something that comes with practice - and I will continue to practice, though, maybe not on Friday evenings. Even so, I was prompted to try to express my encounters with God in a poem.
Sometimes we touch
A brief encounter
Soft as a whisper
And a tender smile
An easy glance
Or a gentle touch
Gossamer threads of contact
Like commas and pauses
Punctuating the day
Sometimes we dance
Hands resting lightly
Spinning and twirling
Matching steps and strides
In perfect synchronicity
Rising and dipping
Enjoying closeness
Moving as one
Together in harmony
Sometimes we stand
Arms enfolding
Embracing and holding
Supporting and steadying
Strengthening
Shoulders damp
Soaking up tears
Reassuring
Restoring peace
Never abandoned
Never alone
Always
With You
For want of a better word, the Friday meeting was called "Soaking". It is a word bandied about lately with the notion of being in the presence of God without any agenda and connecting.
It didn't sound like my kind of meeting, and it took a lot of spiritual arm wrestling to get me there. Part of it was the fear of not connecting! What if everyone was having some deep spiritual experience while I was just not connecting at all? The times that I make significant connections with God tend to come through studying the word. My mind engages in meditation and my spirit warms up. I thrive on activity and to be so almost passive does not sit squarely on my shoulders.
I hate missing out on things. I was consumed with the idea that I might miss out on a spiritual outpouring of some kind. Inevitably there was also a tinge of guilt about not turning up too - that's the Roman Catholic in me.
One thing that became very apparent to me was that although I might be quiet, my thoughts are not. It was like chasing rabbits down holes!
Joe had been watching a program earlier on in the week. It was a "what if" scenario. In this case it was "what if" a person living a hundred years ago was born today. Would they be able to cope with modern day technology and the pace of life. The picture that stuck in Joe's mind was of the person standing with their hands over their ears trying to block out the noise! There are cars and truck trundling up the roads, aeroplanes taking off, thumping music blasting out of shop doors and mobile phones pressed to people's ears. It seemed to him, to make sense to find time to come away from all the noise, and in the silence, to listen for a small still voice.
What occurred to me as I tried to be silent and connect was just how often I did make the connection to God throughout my working day. Muslims pray five times a day, at specific times outlined on a calendar, with the notion that they connect with Allah regularly throughout the day. I love making the connection with God, but I can't switch it on at certain times. Throughout the evening I was aware that to some extent I was failing miserably. It has to be something of a learned habit, something that comes with practice - and I will continue to practice, though, maybe not on Friday evenings. Even so, I was prompted to try to express my encounters with God in a poem.
Sometimes we touch
A brief encounter
Soft as a whisper
And a tender smile
An easy glance
Or a gentle touch
Gossamer threads of contact
Like commas and pauses
Punctuating the day
Sometimes we dance
Hands resting lightly
Spinning and twirling
Matching steps and strides
In perfect synchronicity
Rising and dipping
Enjoying closeness
Moving as one
Together in harmony
Sometimes we stand
Arms enfolding
Embracing and holding
Supporting and steadying
Strengthening
Shoulders damp
Soaking up tears
Reassuring
Restoring peace
Never abandoned
Never alone
Always
With You
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Lifting my gaze
Autumn is not really a season where I take notice of things. I just tend to focus on the day when the clocks move back and then anxiously endure the next few months until spring arrives. The first leaf that falls from the tree is something I don't look forward to. I am looking for the leaves on the ground rather than at the leaves on the trees, and I miss the changing colours.
Yesterday I saw colours! We went for a drive over to the West Coast of Scotland. There are times when I wish I could paint and yesterday was one of them. The colours were just magnificent. I don't know enough colours to adequately describe the variety of shades of brown, and yellow and red. For a writer that is an appalling confession!
At certain points along the way I became a dangerous driver, more concerned with the beauty of the scenery than with the twists and turns in the road. It was awesome! For long stretches there was just acres and acres of bracken in a million shades of brown ending at the base of granite mountains. We didn't discover that we had the camera in the car until late on in the afternoon, so the breath taking scenery went unrecorded.
We stopped off a Loch Marie. The water was so still that Mountain behind was perfectly reflected on the surface. We both lamented that we didn't have proper walking boots as there were a number of walks around the woods and along the loch side.
Then there was this perfect rainbow. (That is when we discovered the camera in the car!) The colours were very crisp and defined.
I am amazed that I live in a country with such awesome scenery to be enjoyed now and yet here I am ticking off the days until spring comes! I am appalled that I can live my life looking for the dead leaves on the ground and not lift my eyes to see something more spectacular. I think yesterday was a wake-up call to stop living my life gazing down at the ground, and lift my gaze upwards.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
A leap of faith
There we stood, half a dozen people, leaning over a rail, watching the water, waiting patiently. It wasn't a big waterfall by anyone standards, but there again it wasn't the water that interested us, not even what was in the water, but just for a moment what hung above it, hurling itself upwards. Salmon leaping has just got to be one of the most awesome sights of nature.
Something inside compels them to head back to the water where they were born. An irresistible urge, a suicide gene, draws them on to swim against the tide. No hurdles are too high, no foes are too fierce, to stop them.
Did you know that they listen to the water? Before they attempt to jump, they wait for just the right amount of water to flow at just the right temperature. They gather just enough oxygen, and with one spectacular burst of energy they make their jump. If they fail that first time to hurtle over the obstacle, they have to wait another six or seven hours to replenish their strength. And then they try again, and again, and again.
How often do we look at obstacles in our way and see them as too big? Heaven is birthed in our hearts and yet we are earth bound. We don't listen to the Spirit, we don't wait for His timing, we don't gather His resources, and then with a burst of our own strength we make our move. When we don't hurtle over our obstacle, do we try again?
Just as we watched the salmon, urging it to make the leap and willing them to clear the waterfall, angels watch us, urging us to make our leaps of faith, willing us to soar above our obstacles!
Friday, October 14, 2005
The next eleven years
I received an email from one of my nieces the other day. It took the form of a chain letter that you were encouraged to copy and paste and send on to hundreds of other contacts. Like most chain letters it played on people's fears. The content was about the Jamie Bulgar murder done by two ten-year-old boys. After having spent eleven years in a young offender's institute they are about to be released, being granted anonymity for the rest of their lives.
I was told in the letter that "We cannot let this happen" and "They are getting away with their crime" and warned that "if Robert and Jon could be so evil at 10 years old, imagine what they could do as adults!"
The people we were at ten years old are not the same people we become at twenty-one or twenty two. I am not the same person I was at ten years old. I can't believe that the two boys have been sitting in their young offender's institute planning their next murder as soon as they get out. I don't believe they have got away with their crimes either - they have lost their freedom and most of their childhood. Yes, they took away someone else's childhood too, and the rest of that person's life, but I don't think that there haven't been times where they have regretted it. Regret doesn't bring someone back. Executing the criminal doesn't bring someone back either. Keeping them in prison merely makes it three wasted lives instead of one.
I am perhaps naïve in thinking that they wouldn't be released if a group of people didn't think that they were no longer a threat to people. If they have to be granted anonymity, they are the ones being threatened.
What is the alternative to release? As I see it, they are becoming too old to remain in a young offender's institute. That means a transfer to "grown up" prison. Leave them there for the rest of their sentence - another eleven years. Each day they rub shoulders with grown up criminals, not children or youth, but the real hard cases. What are they going to learn in that environment? I think they might possibly learn how to become better criminals with any lack of respect for authority being totally eroded away. At twenty one, outside in the world, going to university, getting a job, earning money and contributing to society, rubbing shoulders with people who love others and are capable of demonstrating compassion - they are not so old that they are fixed in their ways. Leave them in prison for another eleven years with people who for the most part do not know how to show compassion, who hate, and then release them when their attitudes and opinions are fixed in place - that is dangerous. Let's face it - they are going to be released one day. I refuse to see the next eleven years as chances and opportunities for them to kill more people, but chances and opportunities for us to show them why life is sacred and must be respected.
The gospel, the Good News, is about the possibility of change, to be new creations. God doesn't write off anyone, and I don't think we should either.
I am not copying and pasting the letter.
I was told in the letter that "We cannot let this happen" and "They are getting away with their crime" and warned that "if Robert and Jon could be so evil at 10 years old, imagine what they could do as adults!"
The people we were at ten years old are not the same people we become at twenty-one or twenty two. I am not the same person I was at ten years old. I can't believe that the two boys have been sitting in their young offender's institute planning their next murder as soon as they get out. I don't believe they have got away with their crimes either - they have lost their freedom and most of their childhood. Yes, they took away someone else's childhood too, and the rest of that person's life, but I don't think that there haven't been times where they have regretted it. Regret doesn't bring someone back. Executing the criminal doesn't bring someone back either. Keeping them in prison merely makes it three wasted lives instead of one.
I am perhaps naïve in thinking that they wouldn't be released if a group of people didn't think that they were no longer a threat to people. If they have to be granted anonymity, they are the ones being threatened.
What is the alternative to release? As I see it, they are becoming too old to remain in a young offender's institute. That means a transfer to "grown up" prison. Leave them there for the rest of their sentence - another eleven years. Each day they rub shoulders with grown up criminals, not children or youth, but the real hard cases. What are they going to learn in that environment? I think they might possibly learn how to become better criminals with any lack of respect for authority being totally eroded away. At twenty one, outside in the world, going to university, getting a job, earning money and contributing to society, rubbing shoulders with people who love others and are capable of demonstrating compassion - they are not so old that they are fixed in their ways. Leave them in prison for another eleven years with people who for the most part do not know how to show compassion, who hate, and then release them when their attitudes and opinions are fixed in place - that is dangerous. Let's face it - they are going to be released one day. I refuse to see the next eleven years as chances and opportunities for them to kill more people, but chances and opportunities for us to show them why life is sacred and must be respected.
The gospel, the Good News, is about the possibility of change, to be new creations. God doesn't write off anyone, and I don't think we should either.
I am not copying and pasting the letter.
Put a staple in it!
Yeah, well - they did! The Daily Record put a staple in it - two staples in fact. This might seem a very insignificant point. I am sure that lost of people would welcome people putting staples in newspapers, but not me.
This morning, quite spontaneously, Joe and I went out for breakfast. We have a thing where we split the paper. He gets the outside pages that contain all the sports articles and I get the middle bit - mostly pages of advertisements I have to admit! We chomp away at our bacon butties in relative harmony.
Today, we encountered the staples. There was no division of the newspaper. There was supplement in the middle devoted to cars which didn't hold my interest, and one or two single sheet adverts. One was for life insurance for the over fifties - maybe in a few years I might start reading those. The other was for Sky TV for half price. I thought for a moment whether it was worth cancelling our subscription, and re-subscribing to get three months for half price. I wish that some company would do the same deal for existing customers and not just to entice the new ones.
I am glad that God doesn't do that. We all get the same deal whether we have been a Christian for thirty years, or for just the last thirty minutes.
This morning, quite spontaneously, Joe and I went out for breakfast. We have a thing where we split the paper. He gets the outside pages that contain all the sports articles and I get the middle bit - mostly pages of advertisements I have to admit! We chomp away at our bacon butties in relative harmony.
Today, we encountered the staples. There was no division of the newspaper. There was supplement in the middle devoted to cars which didn't hold my interest, and one or two single sheet adverts. One was for life insurance for the over fifties - maybe in a few years I might start reading those. The other was for Sky TV for half price. I thought for a moment whether it was worth cancelling our subscription, and re-subscribing to get three months for half price. I wish that some company would do the same deal for existing customers and not just to entice the new ones.
I am glad that God doesn't do that. We all get the same deal whether we have been a Christian for thirty years, or for just the last thirty minutes.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
This is the Place
I was inspired by the phrase that ends Isaiah 18:7 "the place where his name dwells." For the Jews in the Old Testament, that place where God dwelt was Jerusalem. For me that place can be anywhere. It is not so much a physical place as a in a church building, or beside a river. Where I am with God is that place. I got inspired to write a song.
This is the Place
This is the place, Your quiet place
Here there is rest for my soul
This is the place, Your holy place
Here I'm restored, I'm made whole
This is Your sanctuary
This is Your throne
This is Your dwelling place
I make it my own
My place of surrender
And worship to you
The place where your glory
Fills all - all that I do
OK - is a song without music just a poem? Is it a poem because it rhymes? There was music in my spirit as I wrote it and it kind of just flowed. I had read as article from Christianity Today about worship and, not what is wrong with it in our churches today, but more what could be more right! He mentioned about the need for churches to write their own songs. The experience of our church, our testimony as a body, is not going to be the same as another church. When you try to express that experience of God, you can end up leafing through the hymn book and not find just what you are looking for.
I can remember years ago expressing the view that we should be writing our own stuff and getting shot down on flames by the music group at the time. They said that there were lots songs and songwriters, more than enough for our needs. I don't think there can ever be enough songs. I don't know whether because you are a talented musician, or singer, that inevitably leads you into writing your own songs, or whether that is a specific gift. It just seems to me that song-writing should be the fruit of a heart of worship.
Having said that I wrote a song - I don't really do tunes. I am not a musician. If I hear a sequence of chords and a rhythm I can sometimes catch a melody. Left to my own devices what I come out with always sounds like something else. The last time I tried to come up with a tune, my husband said, "I've heard that before-…Ah yes, it Bali Hi from South Pacific!" So last night I took my song to music practice and explained that I couldn't do tunes. What happened next was just awesome! Our guitarist on hearing the words a couple of times strummed out a rhythm, sang a verse, declared the it "fitted" and we all got down to fine tuning the melody. It was amazing. Between us we created a beautiful worship song, that was ours, and not Matt Redman's. It still needs work done on it but it was amazing. We were all tremendously encouraged and felt that we had grown up and matured in some way.
This is the Place
This is the place, Your quiet place
Here there is rest for my soul
This is the place, Your holy place
Here I'm restored, I'm made whole
This is Your sanctuary
This is Your throne
This is Your dwelling place
I make it my own
My place of surrender
And worship to you
The place where your glory
Fills all - all that I do
OK - is a song without music just a poem? Is it a poem because it rhymes? There was music in my spirit as I wrote it and it kind of just flowed. I had read as article from Christianity Today about worship and, not what is wrong with it in our churches today, but more what could be more right! He mentioned about the need for churches to write their own songs. The experience of our church, our testimony as a body, is not going to be the same as another church. When you try to express that experience of God, you can end up leafing through the hymn book and not find just what you are looking for.
I can remember years ago expressing the view that we should be writing our own stuff and getting shot down on flames by the music group at the time. They said that there were lots songs and songwriters, more than enough for our needs. I don't think there can ever be enough songs. I don't know whether because you are a talented musician, or singer, that inevitably leads you into writing your own songs, or whether that is a specific gift. It just seems to me that song-writing should be the fruit of a heart of worship.
Having said that I wrote a song - I don't really do tunes. I am not a musician. If I hear a sequence of chords and a rhythm I can sometimes catch a melody. Left to my own devices what I come out with always sounds like something else. The last time I tried to come up with a tune, my husband said, "I've heard that before-…Ah yes, it Bali Hi from South Pacific!" So last night I took my song to music practice and explained that I couldn't do tunes. What happened next was just awesome! Our guitarist on hearing the words a couple of times strummed out a rhythm, sang a verse, declared the it "fitted" and we all got down to fine tuning the melody. It was amazing. Between us we created a beautiful worship song, that was ours, and not Matt Redman's. It still needs work done on it but it was amazing. We were all tremendously encouraged and felt that we had grown up and matured in some way.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Just dreaming
I have a writers’ inspirational book at home which I picked up from a second hand book stall at the Marymass Fair in August. The author sets little exercises every so often with the aim of provoking the creative juices. One of them was about writing down your dreams. Writers should be writing and she suggested that one source of inspiration can be your dream life. It is not with the aim of digging out a dictionary and analysing them, just describing them, to practice your writing skills.
I confess to being a dreamer – a very vivid dreamer. Sometimes I can trace the source of the dream, other times it is a mystery!
Last night I was dreaming about a memorial or a monument. It was built beside a church. I didn’t recognise the church. Along the side of the wall of the church was like a series of neon tubes, various sizes and thickness, much like a church organ that cast a gentle white glow over the sculpture below. The sculpture was a table. It was rectangular, and one end had an empty seat. The other seats were filled with children. I got the impression that they were from different cultures and ethnic backgrounds. They were all laughing and smiling. I once knew a wee boy, Peter Petra, about two years old, who had not yet mastered the art of talking properly. He used to tell these awesome stories in gobble-de-gook complete with wild hand gestures! These children reminded me of him. It was very lively and full of fun, open and inviting. I don’t remember seeing any food on the table but there were words carved into the table – love, justice, peace, joy – those kind of words. The light spilled down from the neon tubes.
I knew that the empty seat was about providing a space for the presence of Jesus, but was also aware that other people had come up with their own reason why it was there. Some said that the empty seat was a reminder that some children had died in needless wars and the seat was empty because that shouldn’t happen. Other people said that the empty seat was to remind us that there should always be space for more. We should always be ready to invite new people into our friendship groups and never exclude anyone.
I wish I was an artist – I would draw a picture of it. I wish I was a sculptor. I know I can try to paint a picture with words -–but words fail to convey the mood that the monument evoked.
The world we leave behind, is the world that the next generation of people will have to inherit. A world where people laugh and smile, and where peace and love are carved into people’s hearts – only Jesus can create that kind of world.
I confess to being a dreamer – a very vivid dreamer. Sometimes I can trace the source of the dream, other times it is a mystery!
Last night I was dreaming about a memorial or a monument. It was built beside a church. I didn’t recognise the church. Along the side of the wall of the church was like a series of neon tubes, various sizes and thickness, much like a church organ that cast a gentle white glow over the sculpture below. The sculpture was a table. It was rectangular, and one end had an empty seat. The other seats were filled with children. I got the impression that they were from different cultures and ethnic backgrounds. They were all laughing and smiling. I once knew a wee boy, Peter Petra, about two years old, who had not yet mastered the art of talking properly. He used to tell these awesome stories in gobble-de-gook complete with wild hand gestures! These children reminded me of him. It was very lively and full of fun, open and inviting. I don’t remember seeing any food on the table but there were words carved into the table – love, justice, peace, joy – those kind of words. The light spilled down from the neon tubes.
I knew that the empty seat was about providing a space for the presence of Jesus, but was also aware that other people had come up with their own reason why it was there. Some said that the empty seat was a reminder that some children had died in needless wars and the seat was empty because that shouldn’t happen. Other people said that the empty seat was to remind us that there should always be space for more. We should always be ready to invite new people into our friendship groups and never exclude anyone.
I wish I was an artist – I would draw a picture of it. I wish I was a sculptor. I know I can try to paint a picture with words -–but words fail to convey the mood that the monument evoked.
The world we leave behind, is the world that the next generation of people will have to inherit. A world where people laugh and smile, and where peace and love are carved into people’s hearts – only Jesus can create that kind of world.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Called, Cleansed and Commissioned
I brought the word in church this morning. The pastor has loaded it on the internet. Here is a link if you have a spare half hour to listen!
Called, Cleansed and Commissioned
Boar burgers and peanut butter icecream
Joe and I spent the afternoon at an event organised by the Highland Food festival. All this week there are special events on in different towns. The idea is to make use of local produce to cooking up unique mouth watering recipes.
At Nairn, some fifteen miles away, there was an afternoon of food tasting and a cookery demonstration extravaganza. The weather held up just for the couple of hours we were there, and then the skies emptied in torrents as we drove home.
Maybe I will just list all the goodies I had a taste of, plus any little anecdotes that come to mind. Tasters of most of the things were free, but you could pay for a proper portion if you wanted one.
Glenmorangie whisky kicked off the taste buds. I am partial to a wee dram - not watered down, or on the rocks, just neat. Malt whiskies are my thing. When I went home this summer for a week to see my family, I stayed with my niece. Her husband to be is also fond of a wee dram - and as he says, "Ye canny drink alone." What could I do? He has an interesting collection of whiskies.
The other drinks on offer - a few tables along was locally brewed beer. I had a taste of a light coloured beer while Joe went for the stout. Very nice, but I didn't really want to wash the taste of the whisky from my lips, so Joe drank most of my wee cup.
Then there were fruit and veggie juices freshly made. I had a small cup of something that had spiced apple, banana and carrot in it - interesting, but quite sludgy when all was said and done. Much later on we tracked down a highland roast coffee company and their coffee was nice - that is praise from a mostly preferred tea drinker.
The eats - I remember mueseli in a plastic cup with a tad of milk swirling around. I have a packet of mueseli in the cupboard at home. I am aware that it is probably a very good source of fibre and stuff, but it usually only comes out when the Rice Krispies box is empty. This mueseli was nice. It had blueberries in it.
Wild boar sausage was another thing. Joe knows the man. He was looking for funding from the Crofter's Commission to buy a boar. He had a boar called Caesar and lots of sows - a harem of Caesar's wives. As long as Caesar was around, the wives respected each other, but when he died, the sows turned on each other. The man was looking for another boar to replace Caesar and bring order and stability to the harem. Later on in the afternoon we had boar burgers and boar sausages which were quite tasty. They are low in fat apparently.
Oh yes, haggis pakora! Not content with a taster I brought a whole portion! The Caledonian Curry Company produces some really great chutney's and chilli sauces. The first time we met up with them was at the Muir of Ord Agricultural Show. The man had just cooked up haggis samosas. He had added his own peculiar mix of curry spices to a traditional haggis, wrapped it up in triangles of pastry and cooked them - delicious. The haggis pakora was superb.
There were lots of jars of preserves. I am not really a jam person. Joe bought a jar of mustard. I tried an apple and ginger jelly which was very sweet.
Peanut butter ice-cream has got to be the most disgusting stuff ever! There was also Irn Bru flavoured ice cream too which I left well alone.
Yes, it was an interesting collection of nibbles. In one of the other tents they had cookery demonstrations, and in another tent they had children under the supervision of chefs, making pizzas. It was very participatory! There were fishy things too, but I don't like fish so I kept my distance.
I never knew there were so many nice and interesting local things to eat!
At Nairn, some fifteen miles away, there was an afternoon of food tasting and a cookery demonstration extravaganza. The weather held up just for the couple of hours we were there, and then the skies emptied in torrents as we drove home.
Maybe I will just list all the goodies I had a taste of, plus any little anecdotes that come to mind. Tasters of most of the things were free, but you could pay for a proper portion if you wanted one.
Glenmorangie whisky kicked off the taste buds. I am partial to a wee dram - not watered down, or on the rocks, just neat. Malt whiskies are my thing. When I went home this summer for a week to see my family, I stayed with my niece. Her husband to be is also fond of a wee dram - and as he says, "Ye canny drink alone." What could I do? He has an interesting collection of whiskies.
The other drinks on offer - a few tables along was locally brewed beer. I had a taste of a light coloured beer while Joe went for the stout. Very nice, but I didn't really want to wash the taste of the whisky from my lips, so Joe drank most of my wee cup.
Then there were fruit and veggie juices freshly made. I had a small cup of something that had spiced apple, banana and carrot in it - interesting, but quite sludgy when all was said and done. Much later on we tracked down a highland roast coffee company and their coffee was nice - that is praise from a mostly preferred tea drinker.
The eats - I remember mueseli in a plastic cup with a tad of milk swirling around. I have a packet of mueseli in the cupboard at home. I am aware that it is probably a very good source of fibre and stuff, but it usually only comes out when the Rice Krispies box is empty. This mueseli was nice. It had blueberries in it.
Wild boar sausage was another thing. Joe knows the man. He was looking for funding from the Crofter's Commission to buy a boar. He had a boar called Caesar and lots of sows - a harem of Caesar's wives. As long as Caesar was around, the wives respected each other, but when he died, the sows turned on each other. The man was looking for another boar to replace Caesar and bring order and stability to the harem. Later on in the afternoon we had boar burgers and boar sausages which were quite tasty. They are low in fat apparently.
Oh yes, haggis pakora! Not content with a taster I brought a whole portion! The Caledonian Curry Company produces some really great chutney's and chilli sauces. The first time we met up with them was at the Muir of Ord Agricultural Show. The man had just cooked up haggis samosas. He had added his own peculiar mix of curry spices to a traditional haggis, wrapped it up in triangles of pastry and cooked them - delicious. The haggis pakora was superb.
There were lots of jars of preserves. I am not really a jam person. Joe bought a jar of mustard. I tried an apple and ginger jelly which was very sweet.
Peanut butter ice-cream has got to be the most disgusting stuff ever! There was also Irn Bru flavoured ice cream too which I left well alone.
Yes, it was an interesting collection of nibbles. In one of the other tents they had cookery demonstrations, and in another tent they had children under the supervision of chefs, making pizzas. It was very participatory! There were fishy things too, but I don't like fish so I kept my distance.
I never knew there were so many nice and interesting local things to eat!
Sunday, September 25, 2005
What does God see in me?
Despite not needing to be at church early today, I still managed to wake up early and after a few minutes of trying to induce myself to fall back to sleep, I decided to get up and have my usual Sunday morning soak in the word. I had read about a paragraph before the Holy Spirit pulled me up, for just not preparing my heart properly! This wasn't some page-turning novel that I had just picked up, but something that was life changing and I needed to be alert and responsive! So I prayed and then went back to reading.
Song of Songs was probably one of the most disputed books of the bible when it came to establishing which books made it into the Bible and which didn't. It doesn't mention God, but it does mention intimacy between a young man and a young woman. I am sure that Christian marriage counsellors can dig deep in the book and come up with a millions things that as Christian couples we need to be doing to make our relationship with our spouse deep and fulfilling.
What really struck me though was the picture it painted of the intimacy that God wants with his people. How many times does the man simply describe the woman? I counted at least three times. The man just reels off a list of her virtues - her eyes, her hair, he neck, her throat, he just works his way down her body! Think of the things he doesn't say. He doesn't say that her grey roots are showing and she needs to visit the hairdresser. He doesn't say that she has bags under her eyes, or a maze of wrinkles, or hairs poking out of her chin. He doesn't say that she is overweight and sagging. If I had a husband that said that and nothing else to me, I would not be happy. Yet how many times when we are spending time in God's presence do we brace ourselves for the inevitable conviction about some aspect of our character or behaviour that we expect God to point out that in his strength we can overcome or deal with? If the man can say nice things about the woman, and this is a picture of God and his people, then surely we ought to be listening to nice things that God says about us!
We seem to be consumed with our faults - whether that is as the Body of Christ, world wide, or our local expression of it, or our own individual walk with Jesus - we seem to be forever nit picking. I am not saying that there are not areas where we cannot improve - we are not perfect, but there are areas where we get it right and we totally overlook them.
When I thought about that this morning, that I am not a miserable failure that gets it wrong time after time, but someone that actually succeeds and triumphs time after time - I have to admit that I cried!
When God spoke to Gideon, he called him a "strong warrior" or something similar. He didn't say, "Hey, Gideon, you pathetic coward, skulking around in a winepress cutting corn." God saw what Gideon had the potential to be and chose to focus on that, not what he was right now. God sees what we will become, not just what we are right now.
I think we all need to tune into God's positive description of us!
Song of Songs was probably one of the most disputed books of the bible when it came to establishing which books made it into the Bible and which didn't. It doesn't mention God, but it does mention intimacy between a young man and a young woman. I am sure that Christian marriage counsellors can dig deep in the book and come up with a millions things that as Christian couples we need to be doing to make our relationship with our spouse deep and fulfilling.
What really struck me though was the picture it painted of the intimacy that God wants with his people. How many times does the man simply describe the woman? I counted at least three times. The man just reels off a list of her virtues - her eyes, her hair, he neck, her throat, he just works his way down her body! Think of the things he doesn't say. He doesn't say that her grey roots are showing and she needs to visit the hairdresser. He doesn't say that she has bags under her eyes, or a maze of wrinkles, or hairs poking out of her chin. He doesn't say that she is overweight and sagging. If I had a husband that said that and nothing else to me, I would not be happy. Yet how many times when we are spending time in God's presence do we brace ourselves for the inevitable conviction about some aspect of our character or behaviour that we expect God to point out that in his strength we can overcome or deal with? If the man can say nice things about the woman, and this is a picture of God and his people, then surely we ought to be listening to nice things that God says about us!
We seem to be consumed with our faults - whether that is as the Body of Christ, world wide, or our local expression of it, or our own individual walk with Jesus - we seem to be forever nit picking. I am not saying that there are not areas where we cannot improve - we are not perfect, but there are areas where we get it right and we totally overlook them.
When I thought about that this morning, that I am not a miserable failure that gets it wrong time after time, but someone that actually succeeds and triumphs time after time - I have to admit that I cried!
When God spoke to Gideon, he called him a "strong warrior" or something similar. He didn't say, "Hey, Gideon, you pathetic coward, skulking around in a winepress cutting corn." God saw what Gideon had the potential to be and chose to focus on that, not what he was right now. God sees what we will become, not just what we are right now.
I think we all need to tune into God's positive description of us!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Rats and hedgehogs
I was listening this morning to the radio. One of the items concerned one of the Western Isles, being over-run by rats. The rats were not lurking in the corners of people’s houses or anything. They were decimating the local bird population, by raiding nests and eating eggs. One particular species of bird was on the brink of extinction. Traps were being laid all over the place that even involved some people absailing down the sides of cliffs. No details were given of the kind of traps being set, but they didn’t sound rat-friendly.
Not so long ago, on another island, the same decimation of the bird population was taking place. This time the culprits were hedgehogs. They were committing exactly the same crime as the rats – eating the birds’ eggs and reducing certain species of birds to near extinction. Talk of “culling” the hedgehogs was enough to rouse the animal right campaigners out of their chairs. It is not as if they are a species that are endangered, but all of a sudden people were being called on to rescue the hedgehogs and have them packed off to the mainland where they could be re-homed.
I don’t see anyone crying out on behalf of the rats! What makes us fight for the hedgehogs, but ignore the rats? Neither species is close to extinction! I know that rats can carry disease, but hedgehogs probably carry their fair share of stuff, including fleas.
I collect hedgehogs – not real ones – fluffy ones, ceramic ones, glass ones – I have all sorts of hedgehogs. Birthday cards and Christmas cards that friends send are littered with hedgehogs! I like hedgehogs and I like the idea of rescuing them. I once encouraged a fourth year pupil to rescue a hedgehog that was being picked on by an ugly big seagull!
Why don’t I have the same passion for rats?
It speaks to me of the value that we assign things. Rats are not assigned value, hedgehogs are. You don’t protect things that have no value to you. You don’t fight for things that have no value to you.
God values people. He values ALL people. It is not just the good people He values, but the bad people too. It is not the rich people He values, but the poor ones too. It is not just the Christians he values, but the Muslims, the Hindus, the Sikhs and people of every philosophical stance you can come up with. God assigns equal value to people. He doesn’t have his favorites!
Until we see people the way that God sees them – as infinitely precious – and value them the way that He does, we will not fight for them the way that God intends us to!
Not so long ago, on another island, the same decimation of the bird population was taking place. This time the culprits were hedgehogs. They were committing exactly the same crime as the rats – eating the birds’ eggs and reducing certain species of birds to near extinction. Talk of “culling” the hedgehogs was enough to rouse the animal right campaigners out of their chairs. It is not as if they are a species that are endangered, but all of a sudden people were being called on to rescue the hedgehogs and have them packed off to the mainland where they could be re-homed.
I don’t see anyone crying out on behalf of the rats! What makes us fight for the hedgehogs, but ignore the rats? Neither species is close to extinction! I know that rats can carry disease, but hedgehogs probably carry their fair share of stuff, including fleas.
I collect hedgehogs – not real ones – fluffy ones, ceramic ones, glass ones – I have all sorts of hedgehogs. Birthday cards and Christmas cards that friends send are littered with hedgehogs! I like hedgehogs and I like the idea of rescuing them. I once encouraged a fourth year pupil to rescue a hedgehog that was being picked on by an ugly big seagull!
Why don’t I have the same passion for rats?
It speaks to me of the value that we assign things. Rats are not assigned value, hedgehogs are. You don’t protect things that have no value to you. You don’t fight for things that have no value to you.
God values people. He values ALL people. It is not just the good people He values, but the bad people too. It is not the rich people He values, but the poor ones too. It is not just the Christians he values, but the Muslims, the Hindus, the Sikhs and people of every philosophical stance you can come up with. God assigns equal value to people. He doesn’t have his favorites!
Until we see people the way that God sees them – as infinitely precious – and value them the way that He does, we will not fight for them the way that God intends us to!
Monday, September 19, 2005
Servants of the King
Remember that I was down for leading worship, knowing there were no musical instruments. A couple of years ago, I had had piano lessons for a short time. I wondered whether, with excessive practice, I might manage a tune or two. Yeah right! As if that was ever going to happen! In the end we just opted for singing. There was just the one tune that I pitched too low! It was not bad!
Another lady had been asked to bring the word, but she had not been well during the week, and meeting together on Friday, to plan strategy, we both decided that we would be more relaxed and laid back. The meeting would become a time of sharing, testimony and encouragement. That makes it sound as if all of our Sunday meetings are not like that – but they are.
God had said to me on Sunday morning, as I was preparing my heart, that we had a unique opportunity presented to us. There were no barriers and nothing to hide behind and we could explore for ourselves how we wanted to worship God that morning. We had a special kind of freedom that morning to make the time intimately personal and real and relevant – so we moved in that freedom and shared with one another.
People that are usually quiet took the opportunity to share situations and feelings they were facing. It was amazing how many of us were facing the same kinds of feelings.
The meeting highlighted two areas that I think I need to think about more closely. One was how I worry about silence. I suppose part of it is about how long silences should be. How long is a piece of string? When does silence become uncomfortable? I admit that I have a tendency to step in and fill a silence to prevent it becoming uncomfortable for me! Silence can be as long as it likes when I am alone – but with other people?
The answer to that question is my second area. I recognise that I don’t know people as well as I should. I don’t know people well enough because I don’t spend enough time with them! Outside of formal meetings, I don’t often just “pop over” to visit folk. I am not sure if I want to be in and out of other people’s homes all the time. I don’t think that I should know everything about everyone. I am challenged about how much time I spend in fellowship with folk. The more I know about the issues people are facing the more I am able to pray more effectively for them! Too often we wait for people to take the first step in sharing, or asking for help when we should be on the look out to “see” what help is needed and be swift to offer.
There is a story in the book of Jeremiah, when he is lowered in to a pit of mud because he keeps speaking God’s truth and the leaders don’t want to hear it. A man called Ebed-Melech, whose name means “the servant of the King”, has his ear to the ground, finds out about it and petitions the King to release Jeremiah. We are all servants of the King, with access to Him. How many of us have our ears to the ground, know about the needs of other people and petition the King to help them?
Another lady had been asked to bring the word, but she had not been well during the week, and meeting together on Friday, to plan strategy, we both decided that we would be more relaxed and laid back. The meeting would become a time of sharing, testimony and encouragement. That makes it sound as if all of our Sunday meetings are not like that – but they are.
God had said to me on Sunday morning, as I was preparing my heart, that we had a unique opportunity presented to us. There were no barriers and nothing to hide behind and we could explore for ourselves how we wanted to worship God that morning. We had a special kind of freedom that morning to make the time intimately personal and real and relevant – so we moved in that freedom and shared with one another.
People that are usually quiet took the opportunity to share situations and feelings they were facing. It was amazing how many of us were facing the same kinds of feelings.
The meeting highlighted two areas that I think I need to think about more closely. One was how I worry about silence. I suppose part of it is about how long silences should be. How long is a piece of string? When does silence become uncomfortable? I admit that I have a tendency to step in and fill a silence to prevent it becoming uncomfortable for me! Silence can be as long as it likes when I am alone – but with other people?
The answer to that question is my second area. I recognise that I don’t know people as well as I should. I don’t know people well enough because I don’t spend enough time with them! Outside of formal meetings, I don’t often just “pop over” to visit folk. I am not sure if I want to be in and out of other people’s homes all the time. I don’t think that I should know everything about everyone. I am challenged about how much time I spend in fellowship with folk. The more I know about the issues people are facing the more I am able to pray more effectively for them! Too often we wait for people to take the first step in sharing, or asking for help when we should be on the look out to “see” what help is needed and be swift to offer.
There is a story in the book of Jeremiah, when he is lowered in to a pit of mud because he keeps speaking God’s truth and the leaders don’t want to hear it. A man called Ebed-Melech, whose name means “the servant of the King”, has his ear to the ground, finds out about it and petitions the King to release Jeremiah. We are all servants of the King, with access to Him. How many of us have our ears to the ground, know about the needs of other people and petition the King to help them?
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Sing a joyful song!
When given a choice between leading worship or preaching a sermon, my inclination is to lead worship. Please don't get the wrong impression if I say that leading worship is easier. I spend time with God and listen to what he is saying and try to pick out songs that reflect that. I wouldn't class myself as a singer. I sing, but I am not trained in anyway and over the years I have been told that I have improved!
Preaching stretches me far more than leading worship. At the end of the day there are no song words or music to hide behind and everybody is listening and taking notes! I probably work harder to bring a word than I do to lead worship.
Given that - if I had a choice this week of what I would prefer - I would opt for preaching! In a small church we have a select number of musicians and next Sunday, all but the drummer are away for one reason or another. That kind of makes things quite challenging! Even with a keyboard player I don't always hit the right notes! Quite how things will go without one I really don't know!
Some twenty or so years ago I used to attend a Plymouth Brethren Church. The evening service included the use of a piano, but the morning meetings were music absent. There was a selection of a dozen or so tunes and each of the hymns in the book could be sung to at least one of them. There were moments when we sounded nice. I think there are also moments when the angels just joined in! There were other times when it was dire. Whoever started would begin at a nice cracking pace and then things would begin to slow down.
I googled "worship without music" just to see if anyone could give me any hints about how to handle Sunday. The first up was an article "Ten Ways to Worship Without Music - Building worship into your daily life." We all know, but tend to forget, that worship as in singing and music is just one facet of worship. To quote the article "Worship is the process of surrendering your entire life into God's hands. Everything you do can—and should—be an act of worship." Prayer is an act of worship, as is obedience to his word. Sharing your faith and serving others are also demonstrations of worship. This is nothing that I don't know already - doing it is another matter!
Another quote that is worth repeating - "Fellowship without the spirit of worship is just "hanging out." Discipleship without worship is nothing but a fruitless mental exercise. Ministry without worship is called "spinning your wheels." Evangelism without worship is a misplaced sales pitch. Worship isn't simply one area of your life; it is your life."
Excellent stuff, but not what I was looking for. What I was looking for was "How to lead worship when all the musicians, bar the drummer, are away!"
Another article focussed on the whole idea of having musical instruments in church as being unscriptural - sounds like my Plymouth Brethren Sunday mornings. Musical instruments may feature in the Old Testament but, according to this article, "Christ never authorised mechanical instruments of music in the New Testament to be used in worship of the church," and "It is a historical fact according to early church history, no mechanical instruments of music were ever used in church worship until about the year 670 A.D."
Spurgeon once said "Sing unto him. This is the sweetest and best music. No instrument like the human voice." Wesley's words on the matter - 'I have no objection to instruments of music in our worship, provided they are neither seen nor heard."
We do rely so very much on the music to set the mood and draw us into the presence of God. The times when we have deliberately set aside the instruments have been awkward and uncomfortable. When I think about the times at home when I break into song - and I often do - I don't pick up a musical instrument before I do so - I just sing. If I can do it at home on a Monday or a Wednesday, I should be able to do it at church on a Sunday! Right?
Maybe we will be joined by a few angels - keeping the time and the key for us!
Preaching stretches me far more than leading worship. At the end of the day there are no song words or music to hide behind and everybody is listening and taking notes! I probably work harder to bring a word than I do to lead worship.
Given that - if I had a choice this week of what I would prefer - I would opt for preaching! In a small church we have a select number of musicians and next Sunday, all but the drummer are away for one reason or another. That kind of makes things quite challenging! Even with a keyboard player I don't always hit the right notes! Quite how things will go without one I really don't know!
Some twenty or so years ago I used to attend a Plymouth Brethren Church. The evening service included the use of a piano, but the morning meetings were music absent. There was a selection of a dozen or so tunes and each of the hymns in the book could be sung to at least one of them. There were moments when we sounded nice. I think there are also moments when the angels just joined in! There were other times when it was dire. Whoever started would begin at a nice cracking pace and then things would begin to slow down.
I googled "worship without music" just to see if anyone could give me any hints about how to handle Sunday. The first up was an article "Ten Ways to Worship Without Music - Building worship into your daily life." We all know, but tend to forget, that worship as in singing and music is just one facet of worship. To quote the article "Worship is the process of surrendering your entire life into God's hands. Everything you do can—and should—be an act of worship." Prayer is an act of worship, as is obedience to his word. Sharing your faith and serving others are also demonstrations of worship. This is nothing that I don't know already - doing it is another matter!
Another quote that is worth repeating - "Fellowship without the spirit of worship is just "hanging out." Discipleship without worship is nothing but a fruitless mental exercise. Ministry without worship is called "spinning your wheels." Evangelism without worship is a misplaced sales pitch. Worship isn't simply one area of your life; it is your life."
Excellent stuff, but not what I was looking for. What I was looking for was "How to lead worship when all the musicians, bar the drummer, are away!"
Another article focussed on the whole idea of having musical instruments in church as being unscriptural - sounds like my Plymouth Brethren Sunday mornings. Musical instruments may feature in the Old Testament but, according to this article, "Christ never authorised mechanical instruments of music in the New Testament to be used in worship of the church," and "It is a historical fact according to early church history, no mechanical instruments of music were ever used in church worship until about the year 670 A.D."
Spurgeon once said "Sing unto him. This is the sweetest and best music. No instrument like the human voice." Wesley's words on the matter - 'I have no objection to instruments of music in our worship, provided they are neither seen nor heard."
We do rely so very much on the music to set the mood and draw us into the presence of God. The times when we have deliberately set aside the instruments have been awkward and uncomfortable. When I think about the times at home when I break into song - and I often do - I don't pick up a musical instrument before I do so - I just sing. If I can do it at home on a Monday or a Wednesday, I should be able to do it at church on a Sunday! Right?
Maybe we will be joined by a few angels - keeping the time and the key for us!
Monday, September 12, 2005
Birthday Bhoys
It was Joe's birthday on Saturday, so it was treats all the way, including a weekend away in Glasgow, clutching our tickets to the football match between Celtic and Aberdeen.
Two dates cropped up in the programme. On September 10th 1960 - the day Joe was born - Celtic lost to Rangers 5-1 at home! I don't know whether Joe's dad was pacing up and down the corridor of the maternity ward at the time, or there at the match!
The other date was September 10th 1985 - the death of Jock Stein who at one time was the Celtic manager. Through his leadership Celtic brought home the European Cup. They were the first British football club to do so. He died of a heart attack.
Just before the beginning of the game, there was a memorial to him. Some of the players from his era walked onto the pitch. Rather than have a minute's silence to honour Jock Stein, they had opted for a minute of cheering. With a silence, you always get a few people ignoring the silence and demonstrating disrespect - and it is noticeable. It was very atmospheric - people waving scarves and cheering. It was very uplifting and fitted the mood well. It was a really wise move!
The game itself was good. Although we were way up with the birds in the rafters of the stadium, we had a view of the one of the goals. There was a pillar in the way that restricted some of the viewing.
I am never quite sure if I like going to football matches. I miss the commentary you get if you watch the match on TV, or listen on the radio. Being so far up, the game is a like a step up from watching ant milling around below. Even with my new glasses and their vari-focal lenses I had a hard time identifying players. I kept having to ask Joe questions about who had done what.
I relied heavily on the commentary of the surrounding supporters. I had to filter out the expletives that came thick and fast when Alan Thompson or John Hartson, in particular missed an important pass.
I was very impressed with the Aberdeen supporters - the small corner of red jerseys in one corner of the stadium. They made a lot of noise and looked as if they were enjoying themselves, even though they eventually lost.
Two dates cropped up in the programme. On September 10th 1960 - the day Joe was born - Celtic lost to Rangers 5-1 at home! I don't know whether Joe's dad was pacing up and down the corridor of the maternity ward at the time, or there at the match!
The other date was September 10th 1985 - the death of Jock Stein who at one time was the Celtic manager. Through his leadership Celtic brought home the European Cup. They were the first British football club to do so. He died of a heart attack.
Just before the beginning of the game, there was a memorial to him. Some of the players from his era walked onto the pitch. Rather than have a minute's silence to honour Jock Stein, they had opted for a minute of cheering. With a silence, you always get a few people ignoring the silence and demonstrating disrespect - and it is noticeable. It was very atmospheric - people waving scarves and cheering. It was very uplifting and fitted the mood well. It was a really wise move!
The game itself was good. Although we were way up with the birds in the rafters of the stadium, we had a view of the one of the goals. There was a pillar in the way that restricted some of the viewing.
I am never quite sure if I like going to football matches. I miss the commentary you get if you watch the match on TV, or listen on the radio. Being so far up, the game is a like a step up from watching ant milling around below. Even with my new glasses and their vari-focal lenses I had a hard time identifying players. I kept having to ask Joe questions about who had done what.
I relied heavily on the commentary of the surrounding supporters. I had to filter out the expletives that came thick and fast when Alan Thompson or John Hartson, in particular missed an important pass.
I was very impressed with the Aberdeen supporters - the small corner of red jerseys in one corner of the stadium. They made a lot of noise and looked as if they were enjoying themselves, even though they eventually lost.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Jesus your'e my superhero
The kids in our church, and many of the adults, are bouncing around to a song about super heroes - "Jesus You’re my Superhero…" It has a catchy tune, and enthusiastic actions.
I was watching a programme a few nights ago about the ultimate top twenty super heroes. They basically fall into two categories. There are the ones like Superman, Spiderman and the Fantastic Four who all have some kind of super strength. They are not normal people. The other group of super heroes are normal people. They have gadgets that make them super - like James Bond and Batman. They don't have any super abilities beyond what the technology they have allows them to do. Incidentally one of the most bizarre super heroes on the list was someone called the Tick. He was dressed in blue and had two feelers. I am not quite sure what he does.
So which category does Jesus fit into? He didn't get a mention on the programme! I suppose that like Superman, Jesus is not of this earth, but unlike Superman, Jesus didn't wield super abilities. Jesus had gadgets!
Joe and I were singing last night a golden oldie song - "You laid aside your majesty…" Jesus when he left heaven to come to earth, left all his glory behind. He took on human form, with all of its frailty. What made him a superhero, for want of a better word, was his openness to allowing God to demonstrate his power through him. Jesus had access to all of God's resources and took a hold of them through prayer and wielded them to bring down the enemy strongholds - death and sin.
I have access to all those resources Jesus had access to - so that makes me a potential super hero - or heroine.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Let's blame the chillies!
I have got, and have had for 48 hours now, a really sore stomach. If I was pregnant, which I can assure you I am not, I might be thinking in terms of baby on its way. I am working my way through a box of Alka Seltzer tablets I bought this morning and have had some respite, but the symptoms persist.
I had been thinking it was the chillies I ate on Saturday night. I have long suspected that I may be developing curious allergies to things, but decided that I am not giving up the things I like. I can put up with a few hours of discomfort - a plate of chilli con carne is worth it! Not 48 hours of it though.
I am beginning to think that the culprit may be something else. This is the chilli defence layer talking:-
"So let's blame the chillies, shall we? It couldn't possibly be the unhygienic state of your kitchen. No, it is not the unwashed pan from a week ago, is it? It is not the grimy scourer you insist of using! Have you actually used any of those anti-bacterial wipes on the surfaces or is that tea stain part of the pattern? Or the fridge - is it possible that something deadly lurks in the re-used margarine tub? It couldn't possibly be those yoghurts that are well out of date. What about the decomposing veggies in the box? It couldn't possible be them! The pedal bin lid - when did that last see a dash of disinfectant? And let's not talk about the floor, shall we? Your kitchen is a dose of Legionnaires Disease just waiting to happen!
No, let's blame the chillies shall we?"
My home economics teacher, who may well be dead, may well be turning in her grave. My sore belly compelled me to get cleaning! Just the kitchen floor and the fridge to go.
I had been thinking it was the chillies I ate on Saturday night. I have long suspected that I may be developing curious allergies to things, but decided that I am not giving up the things I like. I can put up with a few hours of discomfort - a plate of chilli con carne is worth it! Not 48 hours of it though.
I am beginning to think that the culprit may be something else. This is the chilli defence layer talking:-
"So let's blame the chillies, shall we? It couldn't possibly be the unhygienic state of your kitchen. No, it is not the unwashed pan from a week ago, is it? It is not the grimy scourer you insist of using! Have you actually used any of those anti-bacterial wipes on the surfaces or is that tea stain part of the pattern? Or the fridge - is it possible that something deadly lurks in the re-used margarine tub? It couldn't possibly be those yoghurts that are well out of date. What about the decomposing veggies in the box? It couldn't possible be them! The pedal bin lid - when did that last see a dash of disinfectant? And let's not talk about the floor, shall we? Your kitchen is a dose of Legionnaires Disease just waiting to happen!
No, let's blame the chillies shall we?"
My home economics teacher, who may well be dead, may well be turning in her grave. My sore belly compelled me to get cleaning! Just the kitchen floor and the fridge to go.
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