A Time to Pray

I have run dry…..worn thin……lost momentum.
I have given so much that I have nothing left to give.
So I am going to the mountains.
I will be at Dharmaragiri for the next two weeks.
This is a place of prayer located deep in the Drakensberg Mountains.
I will spend time in silence. And in reading. And in reflection and journalling.
And in walking the mountains.
Pray for me.

Now and then, set aside for yourself a day on which, without hindrance, you can be at leisure to praise God and to make amends for all the praise and thanksgiving you have neglected all the days of your life to render to God for all the good he has done. This will be a day of praising and thanksgiving and a day of jubilation, and you will celebrate the memory of that radiant praise with which you will be jubilant to the Lord for eternity, when you will be satisfied fully by the presence of God, and the glory of the Lord will fill your soul.

- Gertrude the Great
Spiritual Excercises, Quoted in "Essential Monastic Wisdom", by Hugh Feiss.

1976 June 16

This day is etched into the history of my country.
It is the day that the education of our children became the battle ground for socio-political change in our country. Schools closed, people marched in the streets, police and army units tried to restore order, and politicians and preachers pontificated.



The past two weeks - 31 years after the first June 16 protest - my country sees teachers on strike, children at home, people marching in the streets, politicians promising, and police and army units trying to keep the peace.

And I wonder?

• I wonder at how quickly the 1976 activists, now turned Cabinet Ministers, can forget what it is to struggle for life.
• I wonder why these cabinet ministers are so eager to accept their 30% pay rise, but insist that public servants should not even get a 10% increase.
• I wonder how the struggle veterans can be so dismayed at the militancy of the unions.
• I wonder why these “representatives of the people” should lock the doors of parliament last Friday when a peaceful march by the people reached parliament.

I wonder why we do not learn from the past.
And I wonder at the silence from the Christian clergy. Why do we not preach of these things, and pray publicly, and stand with our people. But in 1976, despite the outstanding leadership of a religious few, most of the local church was silent too.

Pray with me for our land….
God bless Africa
Guard our children
Guide our leaders
And grant us peace.

A Good American

Jen Tyler shared her day with me.
Jen is a student at Garrett Theological Seminary in Chicago. She is spending her summer (our winter) in South Africa to reflect on her inner promptings to live and work in Africa. And I have set up a programme that introduces her to the variety of cultures and people that make up our land.

So Jen spent the morning with me worshipping with “coloured” communities. These are people who walked to church in the pouring rain; people who choose to go to church because they need strength to cope with the harshness of cold wet winters; people who are currently on strike for better wages; people who sing for courage, and who huddle together for shared support.

And next weekend she will be in the Xhosa community of Masiphumelele. These are people who live in shacks made of corrugated iron and wood; rural people who have come to the city looking for the mythical “gold paved streets”; people who bring melodious songs and vibrant red and black church uniforms; people who will welcome this American export with warmth and joy.

And I want to believe that there are more Americans like Jen: because from the tip of Africa, most Americans appear to be insensitive to people who think differently, are unable to see their desire for world domination as sinful, and are unwilling to share their wealth – unless you think like an American.

Jen is not like this.
She is warm, caring, and genuinely interested in the people she meets. I believe that she will find a warm welcome here.

the Lord God made them all...

They are children trapped in old people’s bodies.
They are Joan, and Sharon, and Paddy, and oh so many others who live in a home just around the corner from me. Their bodies have lived faster than their minds. So they have inquisitive, playful, irresponsible, naughty, short tempered, kind, easily distracted childlike thoughts. But these thoughts are contained in bodies that have lived for fifty, sixty, seventy – and in once case ninety-three – years.

Life has been difficult for their families, as their parents have had to come to terms with a differently-abled child. And then the worry about providing for the future of a beloved child/adult. And then the heart-sore decision to place them in a home that can care for them in ways that an aging parent cannot. So there has been sadness.

But today was a birthday party. This home from home, Adam’s Farm, was turning ninety years old. I was invited to share cake and tea. I was invited because I have come to know them on Sunday Mornings. They come to church and sit in the pew halfway down on the right hand side of the church. This is “their” pew – and beware anyone who sits here by mistake. They will be told to move up, probably by Paddy. And when it comes to the part in the service when we celebrate special occasions one of them will claim a birthday (I am convinced that they decide in advance whose turn it is). And then Sharon will thank the congregation for praying for her family, and Joan will ask to sing “All things bright and beautiful”.

But they are good for our church. They remind us that God loves “all creatures great and small”. And their presence helps to knock the arrogance out of those of us who believe that our intellectual abilities can bring us closer to discovering God. And their participation is a wonderful reminder that we do not have to be “perfect” in order to be loved by God.

And so I shared in today’s service of thanksgiving. We sang “All things bright and beautiful”, and some prayed short uninhibited prayers about people we did not know but who were clearly loved by the child/adults, and then the happy clatter as we scrambled for the tea. And many pushed and shoved to get their pictures taken.

And I came home grateful for the blessing they brought into my day.

Dying

I am dying.
I think I have known this for some time.
I look in the mirror and see cells that are dying: my hair cells have given up trying to produce colour. My skin cells have slowed their regeneration. My knees ache when I run, my shoulders hurt when I play tennis. And my aging sinuses give me headaches when the weather changes.

I am reminded of dying when my beloved dog dies.
I am reminded of dying when I have one too many funerals for people I have loved.
I am reminded of dying when the Middle-East/Dafur/Iraq explodes once more into death and destruction.
I am reminded of dying when the Church I have worked for, and loved, for nearly 50 years shows (yet again) her capacity to squeeze the life out of me…
And I wonder what lies beyond death.

I choose to believe that the relationships of this life will reconnect after death.
I think that all of life is so sacred that death is not life’s grand destruction.
And so I believe in resurrection…..
….a resurrection of every life that has been lived – human, animal, plant, insect.
And I believe in redemption: that all of life is valuable and that no life is lost.
And that there will be things I still need to learn.
Some may have more to learn than others.
I imagine that Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Robert Mugabe will have much more to learn about valuing life than say Desmond Tutu or Mahatma Gandhi.

This means that there are no harps and clouds, or 1000 virgins for every righteous man, or eternal rest, or thrones and golden crowns, or rewards for good behaviour. These are clearly projections of human longing. And heaven is not “above” and hell “below”. In fact there is no hell. Hell is probably meeting the one you called “enemy” and having to learn to be friends; or discovering that the one you condemned as an unbeliever is compassionately welcoming you to your next life.

I believe that God calls me to follow the way of Jesus as the most helpful way of learning my lessons, and living my life. And I will share the wonder and the passion I have found in the Jesus way of life with other searchers, in the hope that they too may grow in their spirits. And I will honour those who hear God calling them to follow a different spiritual path.

So this life extends beyond death. And the things I learn in this life will become useful in another life after my death. There is never a moment in this life that is wasted – because everything is useful. Both good and bad alike.
So bring it on.

Sheena 1/11/2000 - 19/05/2007

An Irish Setter.
But much more……
A running companion who would hop and skip while waiting for the lead to be clipped to her collar. True to her breed, she had endless energy and loved exercise.
A truly messy dog. She loved to lie in the sand, or rub herself through the bushes, coming into the kitchen with sticks in her feathering, and her long hair messed up like a nutty professor. Her permanently optimistic disposition was never put off by obstacles such as rain or wind. She would stand in the rain, or pant into the wind, until called inside.
A gentle spirit who loved being scratched behind her ears, or stroked on her face. She tried barking, but her “yip” was not enough to frighten anything – not even the tortoise.
An everhopeful spotter of squirrels in the back yard. Her task was to spot the squirrel so that Nugget, our Labrador/Great Dane, could set off after them. Together they prowled the garden keeping the small furry creatures in the tops of the trees.
An inquisitive, intelligent girl, who learned how to snatch a sandwich off the kitchen table, and to sneak down the passage in search of the cat’s food. She managed to look so contrite and bashful when caught, that Granny never thought her to be guilty. She loved fruit such as apples, banana and grapes. And biltong. In fact she loved eating.
Thank you for bringing joy to our lives for a time.

Winter is Coming

The rain is falling against the window pane next to my computer. Rain driven by the North-Westerly wind. The television weather woman has told us about the cold front marching on Cape Town from the South Pole, bringing heavy rain and gale-force winds. She added that there was a good probability of snow on the mountains that ring our city. Winter is coming.

The leaves on the grape vines are changing colour. Golden yellow orange turning to brown. So too are the oak trees. But their leaves are falling to the ground. Great heaps of them. I recently walked through them, kicking my way forward with the exuberance of a young boy. Remembering leaves as a sign that winter is coming.

The tortoise in our garden has slowed up. We fetched him a year ago from a farm near Carnarvon, where he was called Bloukrans. The family have taken to calling him “Tortie-boy”. All summer he ate his way voraciously through lettuce, cabbage, cucumber, and the back lawn. He would make his journey down the long driveway to stand against the back gate with his head through the bars peering across the road while he absorbed the sun. But now he emerges reluctantly from his home in the dog kennel to lie in the sun for a while. After nibbling a bit at his breakfast, he returns to his kennel. Because winter is coming.

And Sheenah, our beloved Irish Setter, is lying on the kitchen floor. Her red coat is matted with sweat and her eyes are exhausted. She has suffered from epileptic seizures over the past 18 months. Which have curtailed her enthusiastic, madly hopeful barking at the squirrels in the garden. But the fits are increasing in severity - 10 seizures in the past 24 hours. And the medication is not helping. I fear that her winter is coming.

And I sit like a rock in the grass, waiting for winter to wash over me.

Seven Secrets

I’ve been tagged by Denise to write seven things no one knows about me. It's blog tag. And I'm IT. And Denise is a wonderful writer (who is really worth visiting for her evocative writing)who has no problem with spilling the beans... Okay, little known facts about me…



One: I wish I was 10 kg lighter. I weigh 90kg, and used to weigh 80kg. That was when I was running 100km per week. But right now I am not running at all. I pretend that I am a runner by reading running magazines. But I am over my running weight and after more than 100 marathons the knees are sore and the spirit is not as disciplined as it used to be.
Two: I love writing. I feel free when words are being shaped, prodded and pushed through then ends of my fingers. I wish that I could take a year off and just write. But the responsibilities of a family, and of putting a roof over our heads and getting bread on the table are ever present. So I snatch at moments in between other things.
Three: I take great delight in initiating my daughters into the ways of men. Because they have no brothers, they need to discover that men burp loudly, that we swagger with style, that we turn up the sound when rugby/cricket/golf/tennis (in fact any sport) in on the television and we turn down the sound when Days of our Lives or Generations comes on. I take great delight in the collective groan when I begin my “manly” act.
Four: There are songs that make me cry: like when Katie Melua sings The Closest Thing to Crazy, and when Eva Cassidy sings Songbird. I cry when Ralph McTell sings Streets of London, and Johnny Cash sings Orphan of the Road.
Five: I sing to myself when I am driving. Often I sing along with the song playing on the CD or the radio. I also curse other drivers. And plead with God to open a space in the traffic for me.
Six: I have bookshelves filled with many, many biographies. I am inspired by reading the lives of other people. My favourites are the lives of Nelson Mandela, and Desmond Tutu: Mr Mandela has autographed his book. Archbishop Tutu has inscribed his book to me and signed it. These are my heroes in life. I absolutely admire their integrity. And their unswerving commitment to justice. And their capacity for forgiveness and grace-filled living.
Seven. I hate it when someone says to me “I support your position” and then they are not willing to be with me when I act on my beliefs. This last weekend I was asked to leave my church’s Synod because of my support for blessing same-sex unions. Some of my friends and colleagues joined me in a public declaration of faith. But then some who kept quiet said privately that “they were with me”. No – you were not with me. I was in the water, and you were on the river bank. (as you can see I am just a bit raw at the moment).

So who to tag? I have some wonderful people who visit this site from time to time. And would love to discover more about you. Dion is a wonderful scholar and Vesper addict; Wessel has a beautiful wife and family; David lives in the north of Scotland, inspires my dreams of an emergent church – and of birds; Murray writes from England and plays an amazing new guitar; Gus reads books, plays guitar, and loves his wife/dogs; Steve runs a wonderful blogsite to challenge Stupid Church People; and suddenly I realise that this is very male…...so Becky the master’s English scholar, had better come to the party.

McD Christian Churches

Our consumer culture infests the Christian Church.
We who are deeply shaped by the need for instant gratification, want to use our Church as a place to buy instant happiness. I encounter new church members who want to join my church “because of the friendly atmosphere”, or “for the great music”, or “because of the excellent preaching” (I have colleagues who preach very well).
David Fisher writes that

The church is often seen as a place to receive goods and services rather than a body whose purpose it is to serve….Consumers of religion decide church affiliation on the basis of the best services available.
David Fisher in the 21st Century pastor p.77

I long for people who will say to me that they have come to us because Jesus has called them to be here. And that they are called to serve in our street people project, or to visit the retirement homes we care for, or that that they want to participate in our summer Youth Holiday Club.
I pray that we will resist our lust for spiritual orgasm. And instead be willing to commit to a lifestyle of obedience to God’s call.

3:00am

So it is the middle of the night.
And I woke up to see the light on and the computer running – well it hums away to itself. And upon further exploration found my daughter Lisa working on an essay in her room. And I despair of the modern youth. Because she has to submit a University assignment by tomorrow. And so last night (Saturday) she watched a DVD with the family in the lounge and painted. She is working on a trilogy of canvases depicting a girl dancing. And this morning (Sunday) she watched another DVD with her sister Amy. Then she went out to lunch to celebrate the birthday of a friend. They just had to go to Nandos in Camps Bay….in the pouring rain nogal. Then she came home and told the family she is stressed out because she has to submit this Religious Studies Assignment. “And I will be working all night so don’t ask me to do anything else”…like drive to the rental shop to return the DVDs that she had watched!

So now I am awake. And I went through to her room. And I read through her work and helped her make sense of what she is writing. It is an assignment of mysticism within the Muslim tradition. And what do I really know about Sufism anyway? But I tried, because she is my daughter and she is “stressing” and it does not really help to berate her now for socialising her weekend away. Although it is very tempting to say “But why did you not begin this on Friday?” I guess we were all young once. Except that this stuff makes me old. And once I am awake it is harder to get back to sleep than it used to be. So I sit and write

Imagining God

I grew up with a God who was on my side.
God helped me with class tests and conversation with girls. God was this Magical Male in heaven who had blessed me with a stable family, opportunity to study, and a wonderful (White’s only) beach to play on after school. I was dimly aware that things were not well in my country, but thought that if Black people really believed in God then they would stop rioting and knuckle down to gain a good education. And they would discover the joy of serving the Lord.

I have since realised that this was a God of my imagination. I projected my needs onto God – and viola: a God in my own image. Richard Rohr puts this well “God turned into a mirror image and projection of our own self”. (Simplicity: the Freedom of Letting Go New York, Crossroads Publishing 1991 pp21-22) Rohr continues:

In the end we produced what was typically a kind of tribal god. In America God looks like Uncle Sam, or Santa Claus, or in any case a white Anglo-Saxon. In England, God evokes the British Empire. A Swiss God, perhaps, resembles a banker or a psychologist….we find it very, very difficult to let God be God who’s greater than our culture and our projections…..and so we’ve created “God” to go on playing our games: a God who fits our system. A God who stands outside our system and who calls to us is something we can’t endure. Thus, for example, we’ve continually required a God who likes to play war just as much as we do. We’ve required a domineering God, because we ourselves like to dominate.

Once we realise that God is a projection of our own need we have one of two choices: either we reject the notion of “God” and plough our own furrow in life. This allows me to live life as I please, choosing my own beacons for direction. The other option is to seek a Divine Being larger than my personal imaginings. This option asks me to dissolve my personal ego-driven life into the possibility that there is more to life than I will ever understand. This asks me to allow for a God who is beyond my explanation. This asks me to submit my life to a Divine Will that is beyond my manipulation. A God who will take me to places that are alien, that will make me uncomfortable, and even afraid.

I choose to be drawn into life by the Unknown God.
And ask your prayers that I can occasionally glimpse signs of the promptings of the Divine Spirit.

Freedom Day

Today is Freedom Day for South Africa.
We were once a people divided by race, oppressed by hate, and trapped in fear. A miracle of transformation saw those who were once oppressed become the rulers of this land. Desmond Tutu coined the phrase “a rainbow nation” to describe our dream that this land should be a home for all who live here. We have eleven languages, people with roots in many different parts of the world, and a variety of social and political cultures.

But are we free?
The short answer is that we are only free when our neighbours are free too. Our Zimbabwean neighbours are (mis)ruled by a despotic President Robert Mugabe. Slightly further north are the fearful people of Darfur, who are terrorised by other Sudanese citizens intent on driving them off their land. And then there is the Congolese struggle for power between government and rebel forces. So we are not free while their citizens flee to find refuge in our country.

But are we free?
Another answer suggest that we are not free while some South Africans live comfortably with access to education, work, and healthcare, and many others struggle to survive. While people face the ravages of HIV/Aids, TB, hunger, rampant crime, and homelessness, we are not free.

But are we free?
I see the greedy self-interest that drives many of the newly elected Parliamentary representatives and Government officials. I note the lucrative bonus incentives given to the newly appointed board members of large corporate business – the same businesses who pay minimum wages to their workers. I despair at the consumer society that traps our children into thinking that PS3 and Motorola, Disney and MacDonald, Paris Hilton and Beyonce, are the desired objects of their affection. And I am aware of the passion for sport that drives our nation to national despair when our teams lose. We do not live live with joyful freedom.

So what is it to be free?
Richard Rohr observes that true freedom is when we learn to let go. We are free only when we let go of our limited image of God, and discover a God beyond our controlling explanations. We are free when we abandon our self-centred individualism, and embrace the community around us. We are set free when we discover that the rule of God is far bigger than the Christian church. And we are free when we abandon prayer as a spiritual duty and discover the gift of silence. (Richard Rohr Simplicity: The Freedom of Letting Go).

Pray for me that I may be free.
And pray for my land – that we may never abandon the dream to be a Rainbow Nation.

The People formerly known as the Congregation

Let me introduce you to Bill Kinnon The People formerly known as The Congregation.
He wrote a comment on the church that has swiftly spread across the bloggosphere:

There are millions of us. We are people - flesh and blood - image bearers of the Creator - eikons, if you will. We are not numbers.
We are the eikons who once sat in the uncomfortable pews or plush theatre seating of your preaching venues. We sat passively while you proof-texted your way through 3, 4, 5 or no point sermons - attempting to tell us how you and your reading of The Bible had a plan for our lives. Perhaps God does have a plan for us - it just doesn't seem to jive with yours.
Money was a great concern. And, for a moment, we believed you when you told us God would reward us for our tithes - or curse us if we didn't. The Law is just so much easier to preach than Grace. My goodness, if you told us that the 1st century church held everything in common - you might be accused of being a socialist - and of course, capitalism is a direct gift from God. Please further note: Malachi 3 is speaking to the priests of Israel. They weren't the cheerful givers God speaks of loving.
We grew weary from your Edifice Complex pathologies - building projects more important than the people in your neighbourhood...or in your pews. It wasn't God telling you to "enlarge the place of your tent" - it was your ego. And, by the way, a multi-million dollar, state of the art building is hardly a tent.
We no longer buy your call to be "fastest growing" church in wherever. That is your need. You want a bigger audience. We won't be part of one.
Our ears are still ringing from the volume, but...Jesus is not our boyfriend - and we will no longer sing your silly love songs that suggest He is. Happy clappy tunes bear no witness to the reality of the world we live in, the powers and principalities we confront, or are worthy of the one we proclaim King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
You offered us a myriad of programs to join - volunteer positions to assuage our desire to be connected. We could be greeters, parking lot attendants, coffee baristas, book store helpers, children's ministry workers, media ministry drones - whatever you needed to fulfill your dreams of corporate glory. Perhaps you've noticed, we aren't there anymore.
We are The People formerly known as The Congregation. We have not stopped loving the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Nor do we avoid "the assembling of the saints." We just don't assemble under your supposed leadership. We meet in coffee shops, around dinner tables, in the parks and on the streets. We connect virtually across space and time - engaged in generative conversations - teaching and being taught.
We live amongst our neighbours, in their homes and they in ours. We laugh and cry and really live - without the need to have you teach us how - by reading your ridiculous books or listening to your supercilious CDs or podcasts.
We don't deny Paul's description of APEPT leadership - Ephesians 4:11. We just see it in the light of Jesus' teaching in Mark 10 and Matthew 20 - servant leadership. We truly long for the release of servant leading men and women into our gifts as apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers. We believe in Peter's words that describe us all as priests. Not just some, not just one gender.
We are The People formerly known as The Congregation. We do not hate you. Though some of us bear the wounds you have inflicted. Many of you are our brothers and our sisters, misguided by the systems you inhabit, intoxicated by the power - yet still members of our family. (Though some are truly wolves in sheep's clothing.)
And, as The People formerly known as The Congregation, we invite you to join us on this great adventure. To boldly go where the Spirit leads us. To marvel at what the Father is doing in the communities where He has placed us. To live the love that Jesus shows us.
http://www.kinnon.tv/2007/03/the_people_form.html

Baptiszo Sum

Christian Baptism – traditionally the sign of welcome into the Church – has become a place of exclusion

I participate in a tradition that practices infant baptism. We baptise babies as a sign that God’s Grace is at work in our lives before we even know that there is a Divine Spirit. I willingly embrace the idea that we do not find God, but rather that it is God who comes in search of us. I believe that infant baptism is a wonderful, symbolic way of expressing this.

Yet at the same time my church’s Laws and Disciplines make it so hard for parents to baptise their children. We ask that at least one of the parents be a “full member in good standing” with our denomination. And we have ways of determining how this requirement is fulfilled. We look for membership promises, regular church attendance, committed financial support for the local church, marriage, community acceptance, and a host of other unwritten values. And this works well for those who are “inside the club”. But this makes access to baptism very hard for those who are on the margins : single parents, people who cannot afford church dues, those in relationships outside of heterosexual marriage – and especially those who have drifted from regular church attendance!

We justify this by saying that for infant baptism to be meaningful, the parents must show evidence of a capacity to keep their promises: “prove that you are able to get over the bar and we will reward you with our religious ritual”. Something that should tell of a Godly encounter, has become a reward for religious success. And we get to be the judge of someone’s spirituality. A ceremony that should speak of welcome, has become a moment of exclusion.

And I am no longer in the same place as my church tradition.
I am awed when someone comes to me and asks to make a public commitment to being a good parent. I am overjoyed when someone wants me to pray God’s blessing over the life of their child. I am humbled that someone should want their child to be welcomed into the Christian Church. And I will no longer set up hoops for you to jump through before you are welcome. I will willingly baptise your child.

Unexpected Grace

Peter is a drunk.
He guards cars in the street outside my office during the day. And then at night he drinks. He has a bedroll, which he unrolls in a dark corner of the church garden. And alcohol gets him through the night. Increasingly he is using alcohol to get him through the day too.

Peter is a qualified boilermaker, who used to work on oil rigs making good money. He has a 12 year old daughter who lives with foster parents, and does not know about him. Last year he hitch-hiked to her home so that he could see her. She was at school when he visited her foster parents. Peter told me about the prizes she had won at school, and how proud he was of her. He stood across the road from her home and watched her return from school – but did not speak to her.

Peter often tells me that he is going to reform his life: “After Christmas”, and then “In the New year”. And more recently “I will be at church on Good Friday, and then I will stop drinking”. Most of the time his only contact with the church is to use our garden as his toilet. Recently in a drunken rage he threw his bedroll into the church garden and damaged a flower bed that a church couple had nurtured to life in memory of their son. And I had to explain to them that this damage was not vindictive, and that street people are loved by God too. But I am finding this hard to believe. And I am exasperated by him.

And yet….
Today I met a young unmarried mother who has been thrown out of her home and who now lives with her grandmother. They survive on a welfare grant, in a tiny city council apartment. She desperately hangs on to life, and admits to crying herself to sleep at night. “So how do you get through the month?” I ask. She replied:
“Well, I met Peter in the road. And he said I should come to you for counselling. He also gives me money from what he makes as a car guard”.
And I learned a lesson about the grace of God that is to be found in every person.

Prayer

Prayer leads you to see new paths and to hear new melodies in the air. Prayer is the breath of your life which gives you freedom to go and stay where you wish and to find the many signs which point out the way to a new land,. Praying is not simply some necessary compartment in the daily schedule of a Christian or a source of support in time of need, nor is it restricted to Sunday morning or a as a frame to surround mealtimes. Praying is living.

- Henri J.M. Nouwen
from “With Open Hands”

Christ is Risen?

Christians are not alone in believing the death and resurrection of a divine being.
Long before Jesus, the Egyptians worshipped Osiris, the Babylonians believed in Tammuz, and Syrians and Greeks worshipped Adonis. All celebrated a cyclical death and resurrection of their particular god. So is this Christian resurrection tradition not built on the already well established traditions of Mesopotamia and classical religious faith? And of course the celebration of resurrection is timed to coincide with Spring, and the return of the sun to the Northern Hemisphere. And it is all too easy to dismiss Jesus as just another in the long history of resurrections narratives.

So why do I believe the resurrection of Jesus…. And ignore the story of Osiris, or Attis, or Mithras?

I believe because of my personal experience of being loved.
The Spirit of God loved me at an Easter youth camp, and changed my life: a small resurrection happened within me. I can trace other moments too – a moment when I was an instructor in a military base and experienced an insistent urge to renounce military violence and work as a pastor; a moment when I was detained by the Apartheid police and felt the deep peaceful presence of God; a moment in college when I knew the love God as I grappled with academic pursuit. (Of course my friend Dion will tell me that these are all electrical impulses in the synapses of the brain).

And yet each of these was a moment of resurrection. Because key to each of these moments was the knowledge that despite my fears, failures, selfish motives, and deeply destructive impulses, I was unconditionally loved by a Power bigger than myself. A Power described by Jesus as my “Father in heaven”. A Power that continues to conquer the many deaths in me with opportunities of renewed life. And therefore a Power able to conquer the death of Jesus.

Christ is risen?
He is risen indeed!

3 April 1982

On that day she was beautiful! (She still is). And I was amazed and delighted that Jenny agreed to marry me. The service was conducted by the Rev Ray Light – one of my life’s mentors. I and my two bestmen had contracted raging pinkeye (conjunctivitis). So we stood at the front of the church wearing dark glasses to help protect our painful eyes. So the stunning princess married the Mafioso!

Since then we have certainly had our ups and downs. I remember a very difficult time after the birth of Jessica, our second daughter. Jenny was struggling with post-partum depression, and we were struggling with a very fractious child . It took us 9 months to discover that Jessica had an inner ear infection, and longer to find medication to restore Jenny’s hormonal balance. And more recently we have been in counselling to understand each other as we face mid-life changes.

Do I believe that everyone should get married? No I do not! Marriage is a calling given to some. A calling that demands a lifetime of 100% commitment to a partner. Some people are not called to this, and have my unqualified support as they celebrate life without marriage. Do I regret getting married? No, never. I owe so much of my personal growth to being married to Jenny. I have enormous joy in my friendship with her. And I could not imagine living life without her.

So here’s to the next 25 years!

Foolishness

It feels a bit like an April Fool’s joke: The idea of a “Crucified Christ” is absurd. How can the death of one man in ancient history have any bearing on my life today? Christianity asks us to believe that a man called Jesus was killed by a minor Roman governor, and this shapes my relationship with God 2000 years later. Assuming of course that this man ever actually lived, and is not just an image borrowed from Egyptian religious narratives, or from Greek mythology.

St Paul wryly admits that “we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Corinthians 1 vs 23). And articulate bloggers like Eddie (F) at Edge of Faith candidly and very effectively point out the absurdity of the notion of Jesus leading us to God.

And yet….?
And yet I have discovered that the quirky foolishness of God is far more satisfying than the post-modern logic of a modern cynic. I am attracted to the idea of a God who chooses to seek me out. I am comforted by the belief that I am unconditionally loved by a Creative Being who is beyond my knowing. And I am inspired by the knowledge that this Godly foolishness is available to all people – irrespective of their wisdom or lack therof: inspired mainly because I am a deeply flawed, fragile, insecure, and often mistaken individual who finds comfort is a God who understands my foolishness.

I have no need of a God who perfectly executes the plans of life. Give me a God who indulges in the foolishness of loving broken people, and I am able to join this project. Out of my experience of being foolishly loved by God, I find the courage to love other foolish people too.

Tiger

I meet once a month with a group of bikers who reflect on our lives so that we can live with a greater sense of adventure. This morning we reminded each other of our desire to be better men. I desire personal authenticity; to be less afraid of stepping into the unknown. And this circle of men gives me courage to do so.

I also wanted to be at the meeting because yesterday I got a new bike. And it is awesome. It is a 2002 Triumph Tiger. This is an upgrade on my previous Tiger, which now has 95 000km on the clock. The new bike has 2700km (yes: two thousand seven hundren km) on the clock. And I have spent the past two days riding. For all those Vespa scooter peddlers who are reading this, come to Cape Town and you can ride over Ou Kaapse Weg, Chapman's Peak, Hout bay, Llandudno, Camps Bay. But of course you will need decent wheels.

And for those without a Tiger, I went onto the internet and found a Tiger that might interest you