Half-time: June reflections

It has been many months since I have felt the compulsion to write. The pace has certainly picked up, in every arena of my life – in my journalistic work, in our work as a community of believers, in the acquaintances, friendships and relationships I have strengthened since returning from Singapore in February.

I can liken it to an accelerated learning course, where the intensity and richness of my experiences have been concentrated and crammed into a short six months. I have been hurried from one listening point to the next, and it is almost bewildering some days, as I seriously wonder, what’s next? What will I make of these seeds when they germinate and grow?

Since February, I have revelled in the gurgling joys of new life. But I have also come face to face with the pain of loss, and the prospect of imminent death.

I have been heartbroken by some of the mistakes we have made in our lifetime, which for some, holds consequences which are irreversible, which offer no reprieve, and which we will spend our whole lives paying for, despite the repentant state of our hearts.

With much sorrow, my eyes have also been made keenly aware of the injustice and inequality that surrounds us – between the rich and poor, the mighty and the meek, the shrewd and the naïve, the bureaucrats and the common people. I cannot run away from the stark realisation that there are those – and indeed there are many – in the developing nations and war-torn countries, where concerns over food, housing, hygiene and money are framed in a radically different context from us middle-upper class folk in the western developed nations.

I am grateful for theologians like Tom Wright who have been able to articulate the cries and groans that I have struggled to put into words. It is a deep ache that resonates from deep within me, a burden that I have been unable to lift, or shrug off.

But I suspect that is precisely the point.

I cannot be Christian by simply ignoring the gruesome realities that our insular western world soothes and placates us with the distractions of Hollywood culture, drawing us into a world of reel-life and make believe. We bite at the carrot that materialism dangles before us, as our common-prayer becomes I want, I want, I want.

But I will drown in despair and despondency looking upon these disparities that plague our world knowing that I can do little about it, and man’s good work so far – through NGO’s like the UN, WHO, World Vision and the like – have been painfully slow.

To borrow Wright’s words from his book, Surprised by Hope, it is no good being Christian if we are unsure about the ultimate future hope held out in the Christian gospel: the hope, that is, for salvation, resurrection, eternal life, and the cluster of other things that go with them.

And with that, it is about the discovery of hope within the present world: about the practical ways in which hope can come alive for communities and individuals who for whatever reason may lack it.

What lies beyond death?

How do we rediscover hope in the public and political world?

As a writer, a writer who is Christian in a public world, I am also now thoroughly convinced of the need for a new language when it comes to articulating our hope – putting away our colloquialism, the Christianese dialect that we speak to one another.

If we are the signposts that point to a future hope, than our signs must be discernible to the sojourner, the passerby, the confused traveller looking for direction.

The Write Time

Apart from work, it's been hard putting pen to paper of late. Words elude me before I find a moment to put it all down. A rush of thoughts often assail me at the most inopportune time. When I'm brushing my teeth, taking a shower, in the car, slicing up vegetables.

The new year hardly feels like the fresh start I would have awaited with eager anticipation in times past. I've made no new year's resolutions this year. I haven't dreamed up grand plans for what I'd like to achieve this year. I don't have a vision of where I'd like to be at the end of 2008.

Stepping well and truly into adulthood, perhaps I've lost some of that youthful idealism, that naivete. Not cynical, not bitter. Just that I'm finally honest enough to admit that there are many times which I simply don't know. Don't know where things are going, which path I will find myself on at the end of the road. And I will neither presume to know, nor set myself upon a course from which I shall have to beat a hasty retreat.

But the one hope that I hold, tomorrow is a new day.I have another opportunity to explore, find out, discover in Him and in myself, things I never knew about.

So let it be.

Confessions of a Gym Junkie

I am sad and moody, but I won’t be reaching for my runners, singlet top, sweatpants and cap. The idea of spending an evening writing ranks pretty low on my list of what I’d like to do after a busy day in the newsroom. But I plant myself on the couch and type away anyway.

Because I know there are too many things that I need to get out. That I would need more than the rush of endorphins coursing through my veins to lift my spirits. That I would need something more to inspire me than the promise of a well groomed and chiselled physique.

It’s 12 days to Christmas and almost 20 to a new year. Yet, scenes and memories from the previous season of merrymaking are still etched vividly in my mind. Has it been that long?

Perhaps the best way to explain it is like this: Time passes like a flash when we are most engrossed, enthralled and entertained, while the hours stretch out for what feels like an eternity when the day that has past feels exactly the same as the one before, and we find ways to pass time, fill time, kill time.

I have taken an extraordinarily long route this year, and as I backtrack 2007, I wonder if I can trace it all – every step, every wrong turn, every pit-stop, destination and milestone.

There are memories I’ve done well to forget, others that I remember too well and would rather forget. Still others that have shaken the core of my being, changed me, strengthened me and reshaped my understanding of the world. They are a collage of names and faces, people and places, evoking different shades of emotions in me, invoking a sundry of my hopes and prayers, dreams and desires.

But two thoughts stay with me as I contemplate and ruminate.

Firstly, it is that as the year draws to a close, I shall not busy myself with the calculations – have I ended up where I envisioned myself to be at the start of 2007? The journey matters, and this windy route has taken me to places much further than I could have ever imagined.

And second, it is not how you start, but how you end that matters, a wise man once reminded me. I may feel like I have had a bad run this year, but what matters is that I keep on running. I can’t change what has past, but I can most certainly end the year on a hopeful note yet.

This Silence

Out of the depths I cry to you, LORD;

Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy.

If you, LORD, kept a record of sins,
Lord, who could stand?

But with you there is forgiveness,
so that we can, with reverence, serve you.

I wait for the LORD, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.

I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning.

Israel, put your hope in the LORD,
for with the LORD is unfailing love
and with him is full redemption.

He himself will redeem Israel
from all their sins

It is peaceful here in the safety of this monastery. Never thought I'd be stepping back in here - not so soon anyway. Nonetheless, I'm grateful for this safe haven, this refuge, this hiding place.

I vividly remember scenes from Philip Groning's Into Great Silence. I watched that sometime back in June. Where the Carthusian monks from the Grande Chartreuse perched on the French Alps meditate upon the Scriptures, the Psalms. Diligently, earnestly, wholeheartedly, they meditate and pray.

I'm beginning to understand the wisdom of immersing oneself so wholeheartedly in the one great hope we have in a life that's fraught with uncertainty, injustice, holy discontent. At the time of the movie's screening, I wondered to myself. What would drive ordinary men like them - some so full of humour, wit, eloquence and charm, not to mention family and friends - into a life of such austerity, of such great silence, into monastery? What did they give up?

Maybe now I've come closer to knowing. For it is in this space that I may let go of my own dreams and ambitions, the desire for progress, milestones, achievements, the pride in my knowledge of good and evil. In this space, I have no distractions to latch onto, no drugs to numb me, no daggers to wield in defense, no temporal pleasures to indulge in.

In this silence I have just one hope. The hope that our Lord is mighty to save. To save us from our sins. To save us all from our sins. To redeem, resurrect, restore, and put this world to right. In this silence, His forgiveness and grace fills the void, empty and barren places. He strengthens me in my weakness.

I wait for the morning.

Bad Grapes

Do you get it? The Vineyard of God-of-the-Angel-Armies is the country of Israel. All the men and women of Judah are the garden he was so proud of. He looked for a crop of justice and saw them murdering each other. He looked for a harvest of righteousness and heard only the moans of victims.

Doom to you who buy up all the houses and grab all the land for yourselves – evicting the old owners, posting NO TRESSPASSING signs, taking over the country, leaving everyone homeless and landless…

They make sure their banquets are well furnished with harps and flutes and plenty of wine. But they’ll have nothing to do with the work of God, pay no mind to what he is doing.

- Isaiah 5:7ff, The Message

ISAIAH’S words are chilling. It is not to ‘the others’ – the outsiders to the faith that he raises his cry against. The vineyard is the Lord’s, and Israel is the vineyard, the crop that the Good Gardener will tend and do the utmost for to ensure it is fruitful and well. Free from disease, from affliction, from barrenness. It is his pride and his joy, like any proud parent whose son or daughter excels and shines with glorious triumph.

In the past few weeks, the things I’ve come across through my work as a journalist have angered me, caused me to rage, lose my composure, my sense of propriety and to my surprise, seen me raise my voice as I narrate my experiences and encounters with passion. I’ve been bruised, bewildered and burdened, as I find my hands tied, powerless to do anything except to survey the carnage of my daily battles and endeavours.

Everyone does what is right in their own eyes. In my quest to gather the ‘facts’, to find people who will tell me the ‘truth’, I’ve sometimes wondered if this isn’t but one futile exercise. Everyone has their own version of the same event, their own story, a convincing reason, a confident justification.

And the crowning humiliation is perhaps the realisation that I, even if I tried my best, am incapable of judging righteously between right and wrong, good and evil.

Mere finger pointing, or bringing the ills of our society to light, isn’t going to make what God meant as a garden city a better place. Isaiah’s cries are searingly poignant in what it means for us to live as the chosen Israel – not to do what the Romans do, not to live as tongue-clicking finger-pointing citizens in an uproar over the decrepit lows of our society.

But as a Creation who knows the Creator and realises we have been given everything we need to flourish.

There are many things I find hard to let go of and stand up against: The high life, the perceived needs that some jobs are more noble than others, that some of us are more sensible than others because we have our futures sorted out, that we’ve got the buying power for a new house, a new car, that we’ve secured ourselves a life partner, a superhero husband.

Increasingly, I find my dreams and ideals coming under the scrutiny of the Creator’s vision and purpose for our world, passing through the heat of the refiner’s fire. Woe to me that my hopes, dreams and vision for the future be another vain, murderous land-grabbing exercise that will disadvantage the orphans and widows – those who are humble and meek whom He so loves.

Twenty-five is a curious age to be in. It marks a time in your life where you are ready to lay the foundations and begin to build. I remember Paul’s words to Timothy, “I’m passing this work on to you, my son Timothy. The prophetic word that was directed to you prepared us for this. All those prayers are coming together now so you will do this well, fearless in your struggle, keeping a firm grip on your faith and on yourself.” (1 Timothy 1:18 MSG)

Keep my feet firm Lord, grounded in what you are doing in and through Creation. Amen.

Godspel

16 I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile. 17 For in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed—a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith."

- Romans 1:16-17, TNIV

Gospel. godspel. Good News. From god “good” + spel “story, message”. What is it about the Biblical story that makes it so good?

“I am not ashamed of the gospel,” says Paul in Romans 1:16-17. “Because it is the power of God that brings salvation… for in the Gospel the righteousness of God is revealed.”

All of our lives are a story, and it is in this continuity that we can make sense of things, find meaning and purpose through the passage of time, a constant thread that runs across every minute, hour, day, month, year. Knowing where people have come from and where they are going can be a powerful thing. For it gives meaning to those who are trying to know us. It gives others a context as to who we are, and why we are the way we are.

Perhaps this is why the Scriptures were given to us in the form of a story. For a story doesn’t just describe to us what God is like. It isn’t an apology defending God’s character, His goodness, mercy and righteousness.

The Scriptures draw us into the narrative, into history. It shows us the Creator’s purpose – that it hasn’t changed one bit since “the beginning”. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. He is faithful to keep His promises. We see it through the Israelite’s deliverance from Egypt. Their journey through the wilderness and into the Promised Land. The prophets that were the voice of the Lord during those times when every man did what was right in their own eyes.

And there was Jesus Christ, who came in flesh and did all the things he did that we may know the Father – that we may know that He so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whoever believes shall not perish but have eternal life.

"I had always felt life first as a story - and if there is a story there is a story teller," said G.K. Chesterton.

The story of Jesus Christ alone is given to us four times. One by Mark, another by Matthew the tax collector, another by Luke the doctor, and yet another by John. Such emphasis!

What is it about this story that makes it good news? It has the power to save us, says Paul. But the question is, from what are we saved from?

It’s good news because in the Gospel the righteousness of God is revealed – from first to last, from beginning to end. The righteous will live by faith. Does the Biblical Story, this “good news”, form the substance upon which my faith stands?

I'm a pilgrim still on this journey of disocvery. May this story make me ready to give a defense for the hope that I have. One step at a time, one chapter at a time, one day at a time, Amen.

A reason for this hope

Then God said, 'Let us make human beings in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky... and over all the creatures that move along in the ground. - Genesis 1:26

Most of us it seems, are creatures of habit. Routines help us feel safe, impenetrable even. But from time to time, the niggly questions lurking in the recesses of our heart do surface to assail us.

Questions of meaning and purpose.

Why are we here?
What are we here for?
Who are we really?

Where we have come from and where we are going? What would I be thinking in the moment where I shall have to draw my last breath - is this a life worth living?

Many turn to religion in hope of some answers. And perhaps the hardest question - and indeed the scariest are: Which god, Whose god, and Who is this God who is truly Lord over all?

What forms the substance of my faith? And how do I draw close to this God who sometimes seems so 'silent' and out of reach?

Christendom - and our religious tradition and bigotry, has in many ways been a bane to us. We approach the Scriptures with our own fixations and formulas. Inscribed in stone is our very own version of who we'd like God to be. We project our own image upon Him.

If this God is real, then a want a fair chance to get to know Him. Not on anyone else's terms, but on His terms. Perhaps the reason why I find it so hard to convince others of the sovereignty of He whom I call Lord and Saviour, is that I'm still not entirely sure what I can offer them, and how to persuade them into a different way of thinking.

Peter's words come to mind at this point: "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." (1 Peter 3:15).

What gives me reason to hope?

I'm passionately desperate, to tell this Gospel Story for all it's worth. A story that doesn't smack of religious bigotry, politics, self-righteousness, my own knowledge of good and evil. I want to tell the Story that has the power to save.

I want to be thoroughly and irrevocably convinced. So dear God, do help me, and open up my eyes as you did for Saul on the road to Damascus. Amen.