The Crawford Blog

Birds

2011-09-26T09:26:00.000-07:00

I enjoy birds.

I always have, though at times, with more intensity than others.

What it is about those little fluttering scraps of feathers that excites and inspires the imagination?

Their aeronautical acrobatics.
The delicately hued combination of feathers
The elaborate dances and dips and dives
Their pure lightness of being.
The language of their birdsong, with its alarming clucks, animated chatters, and soaring arias.

And the fact that each one is an individual, contributing in its own small way to the richness of God’s vast biodiversity. When I was boy I was given a book “Birds as Individuals” by Len Hutton, written way back in 1952, which opened my eye as a young teenager to the fact that it's not just about birds as species, but that each one is a separate individual, in particular, in the eyes of God, in the eyes of whom..

"not even a sparrow falls to the ground without its Heavenly Father knowing."

So there I was, Sunday morning, out walking by the river.
Early morning.
Sunrise.
The silence.
Before the runners, the walkers, the cyclists

And all at once, a reed warbler.
Least, that’s what think it is.
Dancing along the wire
Flitting between bush and fencing post
Just you and me, in a secret conversation.
Yes, I’ll leave your babies alone.
No, I won’t go near your nest
Just let me enjoy your beauty

In the early morning
Amen

Now How did He do That?

2011-09-23T03:59:00.000-07:00

This little 11 year old girl on Youtube interviews Irish rugby legend Brian O’Driscoll, and one of the questions she asks him is “If you met Jesus on a bus what would you ask him?” I love it. And his answer was just as smart and off the cuff. “I’d ask him how he did that water into wine trick.”

Now that’s interesting. It’s not the most obvious or the most dramatic of Jesus miracles. Yet, it’s the one that catches the imagination. (O’Driscoll must have gone to Sunday school somewhere along the way to hear that story). And to me the fascination of the miracle is not the question “how he did it” but the “why he bothered”. How is it Jesus decides that the first time he would demonstrate his supernatural powers as the Almighty Son of God is to help out a friend at a wedding party. To add a bit more gladness to a happy event.

It’s not as if it was a matter of life and death. The worst that could have happened was that the friend would have ended up a bit embarrassed that the wine had run out, and the guests gone off in a huff. But bringing joy and gladness is very central to what Jesus is all about. Yes it’s about saving us from Hell, and Him paying the price for our sins and setting us on the right path to walk with God through life, but its also about adding that extra sparkle into life, putting the “joie” in the joie-de-vivre, the “spumante” into the Asti, and generally giving us the ability to truly “enjoy” life. He said as much when he declared later on that “I have come that you may have life, and that you may have life abundant”

We were at this wonderful wedding in an amazingly beautiful location earlier this month, and the preacher Paulo Oliveira, preached from this very story about the wedding feast, and as the day turned into night and we chatted and conversed with Davide and Arlete’s wonderful family and friends, it was as though Jesus was still there turning the bland water of an ordinary everyday Portuguese wedding ceremony into something rich and special and that tasted wonderful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFTRWa8LgIs&feature=player_embedded

More About Brittany

2011-09-22T01:30:00.000-07:00

Discovering Brittany in August was the most pleasurable rewarding thing we have done in a long, long time. Partly it was the amazing richness and variety of culture history and natural scenery; partly it was the companionship of being together and doing different stuff, (plus enjoying some amazing hospitality); and partly it was...well, being in a corner of France that is not really France...or at least does not consider itself to be French.

You were kind of on the edge of Europe, and yet you felt at the heart of Europe, among ancient dolmens, and with the marks of the Romans, and Napoleon and Hitler imprinted in the landscape. And you’re always within reach of the amazing Atlantic coastline with its wonderful light and shade and every colour of an artist’s palette. No wonder Gauguin and Monet and Turner and others flocked here for inspiration

Highlights of that coastline for were the amazing constructions in pink granite, shaped by the wind and the waves that lay along the northern coast, and the white expanse of the coast at Mont St Michel, where sky meets sea and salt marsh in one impressionistic monochrome sweep, and in the middle of this the medieval spires of the cathedral thrusting heavenward.

The climax of the holiday for us was last evening strolling in Lorient among the celtic flavours of Britanny, Galicia, Wales, Ireland and a host of other places and to end up at a concert of the legendary Chieftains which was amazing. Not so much that this band of brothers had been together for fifty year, but the eclectic bunch of talented young musicians from around the globe that they brought on stage with them

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwNyU5ZRKMU

The Kindness of Strangers

2011-09-20T03:13:00.001-07:00

Hospitality is one of those unsung gifts that the Bible mentions but that doesn’t get a lot of air time when people are talking about what’s important in walking the spiritual life. We experienced this gift last month with Mike and Valerie Smith, our hosts at Manoir du Poul deep in the countryside of Central Brittany. They run the manor as a bed and breakfast business, but it’s a gîte with a difference. Leaves visitors somewhat bemused as they experience a warmth and a welcome way beyond the polite professionalism of most of the hospitality industry. It’s there from the moment you arrive, and the personal interest is genuine in their conversation over meal times.

And it’s backed up by prayer, as they shared with us how they often pray for their guests, Valerie when she’s changing the beds or ironing the sheets, and Mike when he’s mowing the grass or weeding the garden.That takes some grace, and its where the gift comes in.

We experienced during that week in August, the kindness of strangers who end up not being strangers, but, even after only a few hours together, like friends we have known a long time. And because of the spiritual connection, the idea of hospitality takes on a yet deeper significance as it becomes the mutual sharing of the physical (food and shelter), and the spiritual (prayer and encouragement), as we feel that we as well have been able to minister into their lives, and they into ours.

The Field of Onions

2011-07-22T07:16:00.001-07:00

You’d be forgiven for not knowing where in Lisbon the Field of Onions is. Yet, most tourists end up there at some time or other, usually looking for a parking space so they can visit the Alfama, the Cathedral and the Castelo Sao Jorge. Or they stumble down to this open space after getting lost in the narrow alleyway of the Alfama.

Campo das Cebolas. The Field of Onions. Along the riverfront just before you come to Praça de Comercio, it’s an unprepossessing space full of parking lots, tramways and tired looking palm trees. Oh, yes, and the odd down-and-out, sitting on the pavement, pulling on a home made cigarette. For this is also one of those meeting points for the homeless of the city. And last night we were there and took part in an amazing dinner. Tables were set out on the pavement. Against the backdrop of buses and taxis passing by, and under the intermittent light of a few flickering street lamps, there was a buzz of animated conversation, as diners enjoyed rice and beans with shrimps, accompanied by orange juice, dessert and coffee. It was a dinner organised for the homeless by a Christian grassroots organisation called “Serve the City” that is seeking to make a difference in various cities across Europe.

What struck me, in talking with Antonio, Ze, Fernando and Nuno, how alive, alert and well informed these guys were. Here’s a guy who maybe finds you a vacant parking spot in a narrow street with a wave of his battered hat, and you give him a euro for his services. Society sees him (or doesn’t as the case him be) as worthless, dross of humanity, clogging up the unemployment statistics, and not worth caring about. And I’m afraid we do the same a lot of the time. But we’re called to be different, to have different values and not look with the world’s perspective. In the Kingdom every one has value. And it’s not about the money.

So it was good, but also with a bit of a sense of shame that we found ourselves interacting and listening to their stories. An accountant in the Cape verde Islands who hasn’t been able to find his way in life since coming to Lisbon. A young guy born and brought up in the shadow of the Castle, but who fell into drug abuse at an early age. Jesus loved them enough to die for them. We need to too.

Who Values Us?

2011-07-12T15:50:00.000-07:00

Last week I was fascinated by the the juxtaposition of two highly unconnected news stories, which I found connected together in a wierd sort of way.

At the beginning of the week, we heard the word “junk” being used in relation to the nation of Portugal. Specifically, Moody’s Investors Services had slashed its evaluation of Portuguese Government Bonds to the value of “junk”, precipitating the country further into the economic crisis it’s been wading through.

Meanwhile, by the end of the week, way down in East Africa, the newest nation on earth, South Sudan, was celebrating it’s birth. And the foreign press either didn’t bother to report the joy and jubilation of the newly independent but insignificant little nation at all, or cynically commented on its slim chances of survival in the cut and thrust of the 21st century world.

What struck me about both these stories was the question of who it is who is entitled to pass judgment or evaluate a person or a people. Living here in Lisbon, even though not myself a Portuguese, I felt deep in my heart the emotive hurt that accompanied the use of the word “junk”. Okay, so that may be the economic reality of the moment, and it most certainly will result in a lowering of confidence of investors and a tough economic future, but is that the way to judge this nation, this people?

Similarly, those who missed the Independence Day celebrations of South Sudan missed a vision of a people with heads held high, celebrating with a joy that seems to come naturally from their spirits. The statistics may make depressing reading. Nine out of 10 people live below the poverty line; more than 10% do not make it past their fifth birthday. About three-quarters of adults are illiterate. The people of South Sudan are under few illusions about the challenges facing them, but they are justifiably optimistic. Their country, though ravaged by long years of war, is blessed with so much natural wealth.

And when you read the new National Anthem (apparently chose by a popular vote as a result of an “X factor” style competition) the South Sudanese would appear to place this optimism in God.

Oh God!

We praise and glorify you

For your grace upon Cush,

The land of great warriors

And origin of world's civilization.

Oh Cush!

Arise, shine, raise your flag with the guiding star

And sing songs of freedom with joy,

For peace, liberty and justice

Shall forever more reign.

So Lord bless South Sudan!

Makes me think about how wonderful it is that our own value as people rests in God and God alone. What is important above all is how He sees us and judges us, not how others might evaluate us, brush us aside or put us down. And he values us highly. As he spoke about His people so long ago in the Book of Deuteronomy. (7:7-9)

“It is not because you were more numerous than other peoples, that the LORD set His affection on you and chose you, for, indeed, for you were the fewest of all peoples. But it was because the LORD loved you and kept the oath he swore to your ancestors. Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who follow Him”

The Olive Shoots and the Fruitful Vine

2011-07-03T08:41:00.000-07:00

Colin was the first to go, leaving Friday evening so he could get to the wedding of a friend in Oxford. Next, Sharon, early morning Saturday, after a frantic night of shopping in the Outlet stores in Alcochete, packing and repacking, weighing and reweighing. Well, she’s got the furthest to go. Finally yesterday evening, Judith left for London. And so ended a wonderful week and a half with family again.

Makes me think about Psalm 128 again, which talks about being blessed within the context of family. The fruitful vine and the olive shoots around your table. “Blessed (and prosperous) is the man who fears the Lord”. And here’s Colin moving on from BEng to MEng in aeronautics, and more positive in every way about study and work and the prospects ahead, Judith settling in to life in London and establishing her social networks, and Sharon blossoming in her photographic creativity and getting more and more opportunities in Bangalore.

I cannot but thank God in his goodness in blessing us with these three, three whom I enjoy hanging out with, whose conversations are fascinating, stimulating and funny, and three whom I’ve grown to appreciate more and more with every year of their lives. So this was a summer week with visits to Belem and Alfama, to Troia and Caparica, jazz, blues and fado, watching the sun go down by the Rio Tejo. Great memories!

Lisbon Doing What Lisbon Does Best

2011-06-20T05:56:00.000-07:00

Sharon is with us for the week and, so, looking for something to do on a Saturday night in June, I trawled through the weekend papers and the internet listings (“Guia do Lazer” hosted by the newspaper “Publico” at www.lazer.publico.pt I found most helpful) and I was not disappointed. We had a wonderful evening.

We headed out at 8pm, skirted round the city centre to avoid the thousands who were down at Praça de Comercio for the Tony Carriera concert. This was the conclusion of “Party in the Park”, which had been going on all day in the central Avenida Liberdade. Anyway, our first stop was in a far more out of the way corner of the city. Jardim de Amoreiras - a

little haven of a park tucked away just round the back of Amoreiras Shopping Centre where the cars on the A5 stream into the City. That’s what I love about this city - these little patches of green, with refreshing fountains and so on, and no-one knows they’re there.

It was one of four Lisbon parks that was billed as hosting free music concerts throughout the evening.

We were delighted to find an open air fado performance on one side of the park, and an excellent delta blues combo at the other side. Take your pick. We started with the fado, which was delightful as the sun went down, and then moved on to the Catacumbas Blues Band for the next hour so. From there we made our way down to Rua das Janelas Verdes where a festival of Latin American Dance was in full swing. Swaying to the sounds of salsa and samba with

the happy crowd for a while, before we moved on to Alfama, where, quite by chance, we discovered a troop of lads and girls all elaborately dressed up and dancing the traditional street marches associated with St Anthony’s Day. And so the night ended with sardines and farturas, and home to bed

What a crazy colourful, mixed up patchwork of culture, Lisbon is, and during June, it’s at its best and at its boldest. I’m quite sure that if we had had the energy, and the curiosity we would have found African Music, Irish music, jazz, dance and any number of other music genres of music filling the city’s bars and streets. It’s what the city does best - especially in June. And, by the way, what the city doesn’t do so well is marketing itself, and letting the general public know about these wonderful free events. I had to really struggle hard to find information about any of these, but maybe thats all part of the charm and the fun.

The Tree of Life

2011-06-16T05:02:00.000-07:00

I took this photo on the way back from the Algarve a few months ago (Monchique, to be exact, which, by the way, makes a wonderful detour through rolling hills and forests if you want to drive on something different than motorway). The photo is simple - it’s some kind of random wildflower on the side of the road where we stopped for coffee. But it’s more than that. It’s a sun. it’s a cosmos. It’s a magnificent creation of a wonderful God. And it positively glows with His glory. God of the micro as well as the God of the macro.

I think that’s what I liked about “Tree of Life”, the film by Terence Malick which we watched in the cinema last weekend. The juxtaposition of Malick’s grand eloquent vision of the creation of the universe set beside images of the first days of a new born child. The exploration. The wonder of it all. This new world he finds himself in. Some will find “Tree of Life” long, tedious, pretentious. I found it wondrous, exalting, life affirming. And what narrative there is, (and there isn’t much) sought to establish early on in the movie the antithesis between nature and grace, which was developed through characters of the mother and the father and their approaches and responses to life. versus nature early on in the narrative

“There are two ways: the way of nature and the way of grace.

We must choose which way we will follow,”

“Nature tries to please itself, be noticed, etc.,

while grace is humble, doesn’t need recognition….”

The Bible says something similar, but in a different way

“The flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit,

and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh.

They are in conflict with each other

.... But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law....

... So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.”

(Galatians 5:17,18)

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0478304/

Peter Rabbit for Prime Minister

2011-06-07T00:44:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s not exactly the English translation of the name Pedro Passos Coelho, who became prime Minister of Portugal overnight, but it’s close enough. Overturning the six years of the Socialist Party (PS) under José Sócrates (who, in spite of his name was not the greatest of thinkers that European has seen) Sr Coelho has a tough challenge ahead of him. Let’s hope his tenure as leader of the country will amount to more than a bedtime story.

Reading a little of his profile, he represents a significant part of Portuguese society that has a particular significance in recent history of the country. Growing up in Angola in the 70’s, he is one of the “Retornados” - European whites displaced through the colonial wars where were the backdrop to a Portugal’s Carnation Revolution of 1975. They came back to a Portugal that, to a large extent, they didn’t really own, and that didn’t really own them. There isn’t really an equivalent within the recent colonial history of other European countries. though perhaps the experience of white Zimababweans forced to find a different future outside of their adopted country, but then again perhaps not.

The “Retornados” have a unique story to tell and the stories vary from person to person. Some have found it easier than others, and have assimilated well into the fabric of Portuguese society, like our new Prime Minister. For others, it’s taken a huge toll and a generation on, families are still coming to terms with the trauma of being uprooted and landing in Lisbon with no possessions, no land, and no prospects. Well remember sitting in the modest home of one such family, radiant in their Christian faith, and sharing Sunday lunch with them, while listening to their story of leaving Mozambique, moving to South Africa, then to Portugal, losing a father and husband, and still struggling even now to makes end meet on a daily basis and make a life for themselves here.

Jacaranda Mist

2011-05-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

A beautiful ethereal amazing sight. The jacaranda trees in blossom alongs the streets and in the parks of Lisbon. The come into flower in early May and continue more or less through till the end of the month. It’s a short season, like the cherry blossom. it begins with a kind of lavender coloured mist at the tops of the bare trees lining the Alameda dos Oceanos here in Parque das Nações. The leaves tend to come later. Then gradually the trees fill out into a fully body of colour as though the paint from the treetops was slowly dripping down through the branches. The avenue, for a few short weeks, turns into that distinctive shade of mauve or purple. Then the blossoms begin to fall and the canopy becomes a carpet beneath your feet.

Psalm 145 says that “all of God’s works shall praise Him, speaking of the glory of His kingdom, and talking of His power” and Psalm 19 speaks of ”day unto day uttereth forth speech” and that the heavens declare the God and show his handiwork. Nowhere better displayed than in the Jacaranda mist that is covering Lisbon at present

Part and Bliss

2011-05-03T23:44:00.000-07:00

I’m continuing to rave about the contemporary Estonian composer. Arvo Pãrt. I am currently listening to an album of his music called “I am the True Vine” played by the Theatre of Voices led by Paul Hillier and am loving it. Am not quite sure of Part’s religious context, whether it is Lutheran, Catholic, or Orthodox (or indeed a mixture of all three) but in his musical treatments of Biblical topics I find he sticks closely to the scriptural text, in this case, of course John 15, and also Matthew 26 with “the Woman with the Alabastar Box” which is another stunning track. Wonderful, ethereal, uplifting heavenly music.

Other equally compelling music I am currently listening to is by Bliss, an outfit headed up by Danish musician Steffen Aaskoven. The contrast could not be more startling - instead of austere cathedrals of Tallinn, think sunsets over the beaches of Ibiza. “Quiet Letters” is an ultimate chillout album, just the thing to listen to with the last light of an evening twilight over the Rio Tejo. I guess I like it particularly as it combines European, Asian and African rhythms with the Portuguese lyrics of Tchando from Guinea-Bissau. Listen in to "Quiet Letters" if you can get find a copy.

Pãrt

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tP5s2BxM-L0

Bliss

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emeVWAK1YZA&feature=related

The Sovereign Mother

2011-04-23T11:48:00.000-07:00

Look at the picture and ask yourself : “If you came from another planet where nothing was known about the Christian tradition, what would you conclude about the procession seen here? - That it was about a humble mother cradling the body of her son, who was in fact the Son of the Living God and had just vanquished evil and death by giving up his life? - Or that it is some sort of conquering queen triumphing over the man she has just managed to vanquish?

I mean, look. The expression on her face for a start. Here’s this lady with a crown on her head and flowers all around her, and there’s this poor guy, all scrawny and bloodied. Okay, its only religious art, but somebody must have created it in order to convey a certain meaning. And what is it supposed to mean, exactly? Because I’m afraid I don’t quite get it.

And what of the event itself, that happens this and every Easter weekend in Loulé, Algarve, when, practically the entire population of the town turn out to celebrate "A Mãe Soberana" . Yes, that's what they call her - The Sovereign Mother! It's a procession that appears to all intents and purposes to be a coronation of Jesus mother, rather than a celebration of His own resurrection!

And she is the one that is crowned at Easter time? Crowned by whom? And when? And what is she now Queen of? Can it be that the interpretation of a curious verse in Revelation (12 v.1) is enough to justify proclaiming Mary Queen of Heaven or Star of the Sea or whatever? That sounds to me too much like Iemanja, Goddess of the Sea in Brazil, or any of a number of female demi-gods from cultures around the world. Far removed from the Mary of the Bible.

I prefer to see the Mary at the side of the cross, vulnerable yet strong, and very definitely without a crown on her head - a devoted follower and yet still the mother of her son (as so thoughtfully portrayed by Olivia Hussey in the 1977 film version Jesus of Nazareth). * In our Sunday fellowship, we’ve been looking at the seven words of Jesus from the cross, and the one that impacted me most powerfully, surprisingly enough was Jesus words to Mary and to John “Woman, here is your son” and “Behold your mother” (John 19 v.26). You never stop being a parent, even when your child is full grown and exercising his independent ministry. Something we have found with our own adult children. The relationship does not stop being that of parent and child - it just develops.

Jesus was helping his mother manage her impending grief . That sword of which Simeon had spoken so many years previously, was about to pierce her own heart also. (Luke 2:35) Jesus gives her his best friend John to mother. A new focus to fill up the void his passing will create. Over Easter weekend we watched “Rabbit Hole”, ** an excellent film about grief in which Nicole Kidman sensitively portrays a bereaved mother. At one of the central points in the movie for me was when Kidman asks

her mother (of grief) “Does it ever go away?”

“No. Well, it changes, the weight of it, I guess. At some point, it becomes bearable. It turns into something that you can crawl out from under and... carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you... you even forget it, for a while. But then you reach in for whatever reason and - there it is... Which... is kind of ...good, actually.”

For Mary, even though he rose again, and, even though she would end up spending more time with him before he ascended, the grief would still be there, the grief of losing the son she had mothered and it would continue. But it would be a good kind of grief.

* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4B5OWBW7SQ

** http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0935075/

Between the Lightning Bolts

2011-04-19T07:50:00.000-07:00

Last Night was both weird and also wonderful. We were supposed to have been (well if I had been a bit quicker and on the ball we would have been) in the Auditorium of the Gulbenkian Museum for Bach’s St John Passion played by the Amsterdam Baroque orchestra and choir. But by the time I had noticed it was on, the tickets were already sold out. So instead we were at home, observing he impending storm from our ninth floor window. Rolling up the River Tejo from the direction of Palmela and the Arrabida, occasional flashes lit the night sky, along with rumbles of thunder, and then the rain came, hammering down on the balcony.

We slept with the window open, and smelt the freshness of the night air. It had been dry for several weeks, and the farmland of the Alentejo was beginning to show its thirst for water. Great drops of rain fell from the heavens and flashes of lightning illuminated the room. Trawling randomly through youtube, I discovered a version of the Passion according to St John not by J S Bach, and that I had not heard before. It’s by Arvo Pärt, a 20th Century Estonian composer (he’s still alive, so I suppose he’s also 21st Century) whose minimalist approach to sound and music I have grown to appreciate through his works “Spiegel im Spiegel” and “Tabula Rasa” in particular (the latter piece making me feel like I’m swinging on a garden gate with a rusty hinge on a hot day in high summer).

The whole “St John” piece lasts 70 minutes (amazingly available for free to listen to in it's entirety in 8 youtube videos) and is based solely on the Latin text of the Gospel of John Chapters 18 and 19, ending with a resounding “Consumado est!” “It is finished”. I felt drained listening to it through the early hours of the morning, and thus entering into Easter Week, with a strong sense of the wonder of this moment of ultimate sacrifice and eventual salvation for us.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YhFmIZi978&feature=related

PS I stood for several minutes on our balcony in an effort to get a proper photo of the lightning strikes, but to no avail, so the image is unashamedly someone else's!

Andorinhas

2011-04-08T02:25:00.000-07:00

"One swallow doesn’t make a summer”, we tend to say in Ireland, but here its more like one swallow doesn’t make a spring”! Way before they hit the shores of freezing Northern Ireland, they’re already flitting around the Anema’s farmhouse in the Alentejo by the end of February. Their shrill calls to one another is a clear signal that winter’s on its way out. They’re a bother to Elisabeth building their nests in the eaves above her front door and decorating the porch with their droppings, but pure joy to watch.

They’re called “andorinhas” here in Portuguese, and there’s a lovely little song by the Portuguese group “Madredeus” currently going around in my head called “Andorinha de Primavera” (check the link below). Sometimes, like yesterday, I’m just overwhelmed by the privilege of living. I was down by the gardens of the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum near the city centre to meet someone who didn’t show up. I was about to return home, when I thought - well here I am in these amazingly beautiful surroundings. Why don’t I just have some time for me. So I did.

Wonderful. Just me and the swallows. Wheeling about overhead, screaming their joy to be alive. And the ducks. And the doves. Dozing on the grass in the warm sunshine. And God. And one or two locals on their lunch break. And a party of school children. And the sunshine. And the buzz of the nearby traffic. And the sense that I’m alive. That I’m chosen, loved and with a great and awesome purpose to be here in this place, at this time. What a privilege to be alive

Little black winged swallow where are you going?
You who fly so high
Come, take me with you up to the heavens,
For from there I will greet my love

Oh little swallow
of Spring
Oh how I wish I could also fly
how great it would be

Oh little swallow
of Spring
to also fly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m0jOgx4CafE

Is Portugal Going to Die, Mummy?

2011-04-04T09:56:00.000-07:00

The columnist Inês Teotónia Pereira, in Saturday’s paper recounts a conversation she had with her children at the kitchen table. “Don’t be silly” scoffs the older brother, “Countries don’t die... except maybe Libya..” he adds. Writes Ms Pereira, we know that we’ve arrived in a crisis when even the youngest of our children become politically aware at an early age, realising what it means when the IVA (VAT) goes up and puzzling over the departure of the Prime Minister. “Will Mr Socrates give all the money back that he took? What if the people elect him again? [older brother] “Oh, he won’t come back. He’s tired of being Prime minister. He wants to do something else.”

I found the column interesting with its insights into a child’s eye view of what’s going on in our country at present. In her blog she has an interesting piece which I thought I would try and translate and include here

The Tragedy of Portugal

retold for children

in the style of H C Andersen

The fridge is almost empty, there’s nothing in the freezer

and the sell-by date on the yoghurts expires in June.

The parents, always irresponsible, never paying the electricity

or the water, have fled, leaving piles of unpaid bills.

The children are home alone. They know the neighbours

will only help them if they promise to spend the rest of their lives

working for them, carrying out the rubbish, cleaning the steps,

doing the shopping and washing the cars. The ladies from the

Social Security could arrive at any moment to take them to an

orphanage, but the children don’t want to call for help,

because the parents had told them never to talk to strangers.

And the food runs out in June.

Time, then, for the Portuguese to give up hope? No. Time rather to call on God and find in Him the true source of all hope. The devastating Lisbon Earthquake of 1755 shattered faith throughout Europe in a good God, who has prepared for us the best of all possible worlds (Voltaire). Perhaps these seismic shockwaves in the economy of the 21st Century will bring us here in the south west corner, and indeed the rest of Europe, back to a realisation that our lives and our economies are ultimately in the hands of a God who sees and knows, and who is above all, compassionate and loving to all He has made.

http://aummetrodochao.blogs.sapo.pt/231738.html

The Tables are Turned

2011-03-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

Yesterday on Facebook all our Brazilian friends (well, at least three of them) posted a link to a column in yesterday’s Financial Times which was picked up and reported in the Portuguese press. The FT columnist (probably with tongue firmly in cheek) proposed a radical solution for Portugal’s current economic woes, suggested that Portugal should become an offshore province annexed to Brazil!

More or less in the same breath, Time magazine popped through our letterbox with the headline in the economy section : “Rise of the Rest : With all the focus in recent weeks on Japan and the Middle East, an important economic milestone has gone relatively unnoticed: Brazil has surpassed France and the UK to become the world’s 5th largest economy.”

If that is not enough to flatten the ego of any former world power, and discoverer of half of the globe, along comes Madame President, Dilma Rousseff, recently sworn in as Brazil’s first woman president, over here on her first European visit, and being greeted by recently “ex’ed” Prime Minister Jose Socrates.

Among her words of support for the former colonial master, she expressed her assurance that “...our economic teams have been having a permanent and fluent dialogue on the matter... One of the possibilities is buying part of Portugal's sovereign debt...”

My, how the tables of turned since the days of King Joao VI, Back in 1808, he skilfully avoided confrontation with the all conquering Napoleon by physically moving the seat of the Portuguese kingdom and all his royal court from Lisbon to Rio de Janeiro, thereby elevating Brazil from mere colony to a sovereign Kingdom united with Portugal!

“The grass withers and the flowers fall, kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall, but the word of our God stands forever” Isaiah 40:8

I Arise Today...

2011-03-18T00:49:00.000-07:00

I went down to the river this morning as the sun was rising and cried out “I arise today through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, belief in the threeness and confession of the oneness...” St Patrick’s been in my head more or less since the start of this month

This past week has been a rare celebration of my Irishness, what with the weekend filled and the jigs and reels of “Slemish”, and last evening to be invited to a reception at the home of the Irish ambassador. (At which, by the way, we had the rare privilege of being introduced to one of the last living descendants of the Niall of the Nine Hostages and the High Kings of Tara, Hugo O’Neill, who's family has been living in Lisbon under the blessing of the Kings of Portugal since the 18th century). It’s good to see also, on the internet news, the colourful way in which St Patricks Day was celebrated yesterday in Belfast and other parts of Ireland - nicely removed from the sectarian voices of a few years ago.

But it irritated me to see the way the American press laid into the organisers of the New York parade for not acceding to the request of Gay Pride to be included in their march. After all, said one commentator (or words to that effect) wasn’t St Patrick a nice old man who would have sought to include everyone? Back to your history books, I say. You might as well open up the parade to the Ancient Order of the Druids then. St Patrick was a fearless warrior who used every moral fibre in his body to create in the people of Ireland a true biblical morality and a consciousness of a supreme and loving God as revealed in the person of Christ. That’s why his prayer, “St Patrick’s Breastplate”, so focusses on the all encompassing nature of the that glorious person.

“Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,

Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ on my right, Christ on my left,

Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,

Christ when I arise,

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,

Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,

Christ in every eye that sees me,

Christ in every ear that hears me.”

Saint Kevin

2011-03-16T04:36:00.000-07:00

Here’s a little more Irishness sparked by “Slemish” wonderful visit last weekend - my head still ringing with the beauty of the music, and, yes, the sheer beauty of the lives of those guys lived out for God. They may joke about their reputation as the ugliest band on Ireland, but on the inside there’s a peace and an inner joy that comes through in their music, their laughter and just the way they are with each other.

None better to exemplify this than Kevin Burns, or Saint Kevin-of-the-Burns, as I think I shall rename him, from West Belfast. As he shared his story in two of the venues where they played as a band, it was wonderful to hear how his journey took him from Ireland through Denmark and Germany in his search for reality and truth to eventually find his peace with God through finding it in the reality of the person of Jesus.

It reminds me of an earlier Saint Kevin who lived in the sixth century, probably born around the year in which Patrick died, and lived a life of solitude and contemplation in the wild beauty of Glendalough in the Wicklow mountains. His name meant “Gentle One” and you only have to walk around the upper lake and the lower lake there to get a sense of that peace and harmony with God and with nature.

But, whether you’re a saint of the sixth century or of the twenty first century, the reality remains the same. You get to be a saint, only because of what God has done within you, and what God has declared about you, and not because of anything you have done, or from any decision of the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. At the beginning of his letter to the Corinthians, Paul describes them as "...the church of God which is at Corinth, to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints...." - all of them notice. Not just the elders or those in high office, and not just the odd one that happened to have perfomed a miracle, or been extraordinarily nice to the tea lady. Everyone single of them that was in that church was called a saint by Paul. Well, I am very happy to be in that number, even before they go marching in.

http://www.reverbnation.com/slemish

Suvla and Sud-al-Bar

2011-03-15T10:52:00.000-07:00

“The Foggy Dew” that wonderfully haunting Irish ballad, famously sung by Sinead O’Connor with the Chieftains (and not so famously but still very evocatively sung by “Slemish” during our Irish St Patrick’s weekend here in Park of theNations) contains within it the lines

“'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky

Than at Suvla or Sud-el-Bar.”

I’ve listened to the song many times on my iPod and always was mystified by that sentence and those strange sounding place names. So, in preparing for this past weekend, and doing my research on the story of St Patrick, and also some of the songs the guys were going to be singing, I delved into the background of the “The Foggy Dew” It was written by a Charles O’Niell of Newcastle

County Down, as a lament to the memory of the men who lost their lives in the failed Easter Rising of 1916. That part I knew. But it also serves as a complaint against the futile irony of war, where Irishmen in their thousands were off fighting for the Allies in the horrors of the First World War, while their own land continued to be subject to the British crown.

“Suvla” and “Sud-el-Bar” were places on the Gallipoli peninsula in the Aegean sea, which, along with the Somme, has become a by-word for the futile waste of young lives through poorly devised war plans. I had always thought of that as an Australia/New Zealand tragedy. But apparently two Irish platoons formed a part of that Allied disaster. Men assisting the Allies in bringing about the liberation of the smaller nations of south eastern Europe, while their own nation remains under British rule.

And so, "The Foggy Dew”

“...'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free";

Their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves or the fringe of the great North Sea.”

Makes me think that there’s still a lot of senseless lives being lost in Afghanistan and elsewhere, in the service of political and military decisions that are maybe less than wise, and not always in the best interests of the people they’re supposed to be helping.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13MQFCfCYdQ&feature=related

The Plant's Story

2011-03-06T03:49:00.000-08:00

Today the cherry blossoms are just beginning to peek out creating a pink cloud over the bare branches of the tree. That and the charming tinkling of a goldfinches song from a nearby tree gave this morning a wonderfully magical feel to it on our way down to the river. Spring is definitely in the air, even if it is still cold, and there could well be a chance of rain later today.

My dear old mother would have loved it. Frances E Crawford, mostly known to her friends as Frankie, loved plants and nature. I think she even talked to her african violets. She always brightened up, lying in her room in the nursing home, if you were to bring in a bunch of flowers or a potted plant. Now there's a story attached to this plant in the photo (I’m sorry I don’t know what sort it is). It's her’s. It sits in our lounge area here on the ninth floor of a Lisbon apartment building. Before that, it flourished in our living room in Somerset Park Coleraine. And before then in my parents home in Portstewart. It is most probably, according to Anna, over 20 years old.

But when we came to move to Portugal, it was impractical obviously to carry plants with us. So all the ones we had were taken to a friend’s house. Except for the tiniest scrap of a leaf and a shoot from this single plant for the sake of the memory of my mother. It nestled protected by a piece of kitchen roll in a plastic cup in between underwear and books on two easyjet flights and for a long time, months, lay sadly dormant in a little pot in the kitchen of our new apartment. But three years on, look at her flourish. It’s as if my mother is here singing and smiling, and expressing her joy that God never stops working - continues to bless, enrich and watch over us!

A Hymn for This Generation

2011-02-06T03:57:00.000-08:00

That’s how the weekend press here described the song “Parva que Sou” (“What an idiot I am!) which was introduced on the stages of Lisbon and Porto last week, by the relatively new band Deolinda. In the last couple of years Deolinda have established quite a following through taking the old “fado” folk music tradition of Portugal and popularising it for today’s generation

"A Hymn for this Generation". Meaning, of course, the under 30’s, struggling through the present economic crisis, with graduate unemployment, still living at home, paying off debts. We live among them! They’re our friends. The song’s reception, on the stage of the Porto Coliseu, as you can hear in the youtube video, was nothing, if not enthusiastic. It has obviously struck a lot of chords with people. Not a new radical politic, or a fresh idealism, but a somewhat fatalistic acceptance of this is the way things are, so let’s get on with it, have a drink and have a bit of a laugh at ourselves.

I’ll try and roughly translate the lyrics (rather badly) here, though it may lose a lot of the poetry. (I love the first line)

I am of the generation without remuneration

neither does it bother me that much

What an idiot I am

Well, this bad state of affairs may go on, but

At least i got lucky and got a “estagio” (unpaid work experience post)

What an idiot I am

And I am thinking the world’s so stupid too

Where you have to study to become a slave.

I am of the generation that stays at home with Mum and Dad

If i’ve got everything there, why should I want more

What an idiot I am

Children, husband, I’ll keep putting them off

While still waiting to pay off the car

What an idiot I am

And I am thinking the world’s so stupid too

Where you have to study to become a slave.

I am of the generation : “why should I complain”

There’s always someone worse than me on TV

What an idiot I am

I am of the generation : “What’s the point of doing anything”

This kind of situation has been going on since forever

What an idiot I am

And I am thinking the world’s so stupid too

Where you have to study to become a slave.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8lo82tXbWU

Clouds got in My Way

2011-01-27T11:07:00.000-08:00

This first month of the year, the sun has been conspicuous by its absence for the most part, and rain has been pouring down the narrow streets of the Alfama and filling and overflowing the drains far more than in previous winters. Now it’s nothing like Queensland or Rio has been, but it’s enough to get your average Lisboeta into a foul mood about the “mao tempo” . Sets me thinking about how sunshine and clouds affect the way we feel. Sometimes life is sunny, but more often than not it’s clouds that block the view. “So many things I would have done but clouds got in my way” sang Joni Mitchell 50 years ago (yikes, is it that old already).

But a lot of the times we need those same clouds, that carry sweet refreshing rain and break through in times of drought. More than that, the formation of those banks of wondrous clouds in the backdrop of the heavens is an amazing sight and adds a majesty and a sense of depth and perspective to the world. More than that, even though they might hide the sun’s face periodically, the light they carry, diffuses and reflects the continued presence of the sun’s life giving rays behind the bank of clouds and gives hope of future streaming summer days. Such was this awesome picture over the river from our balcony this morning.

Death and New Life

2011-01-06T00:46:00.000-08:00

With the turn of the year comes the expectation that the old will give way to the new, and with that the idea that life emerges from death. We were down with the crowds in the park just after midnight on the 31st December as the fireworks lit up the night sky. It’s funny how people get excited about the countdown, and the popping of champagne corks - as though we could somehow banish the ghosts of 2010, the disappointments and failures, and start off the New year with a clean sheet. Of course it doesn’t happen like that, as anyone who has ever tried to keep New Year’s resolutions would know.

But there is something of a truth in the principle that the old needs to pass in order for the new to come forth. The seed falls into the ground and dies in order for the new life to spring up. The removal of the one allows the other to emerge and blossom. Joshua was aIready actively involved in leadership as the assistant of Moses, but it wasn’t until the death of Moses, that we find him coming into his own. “Moses my servant is dead. Now then .. get ready, with all this people, ... to GO.... And Be strong and ver courageous ... for , as I was with Moses, so shall I be with you.” (from Joshua Chapter 1)

2010 has died. And in these misty cold first days of January, fresh opportunities are springing up, the potential for new relationships is taking root, and there’s a whole year ahead in which to discover God, in which to serve Him and lead others, in which to express and declare and tell out the wonders and glory of Christ.

The Genius that was Don Van Vliet

2010-12-20T05:37:00.000-08:00

I cannot let the weekend pass without mentioning the passing of Don Van Vliet, otherwise known as Captain Beefheart, who died Friday in California. Along with his Magic Band, he entered my consciousness back in 1974 or so. Back then I used to listen to some strange output from my roommate’s stereo in a student flat in Earls Court in London - “Trout Mask Replica” “21st Century Quaker” - and the music as strange as the song titles.

Bit it was also oddly compelling, and I still have two CD’s of Captain Beefheart and his Magic band, “Clear Spot” and “the Spotlight Kid” which I have plugged into the car stereo and have been playing all over the weekend in homage to the maestro, as we were driving around doing Christmas shopping and other things. It’s a mix of gutsy blues and avant garde funky jazz, inspires by the likes of Howlin’ Wolf and Lightnin’ Hopkins. Black meets white, rural meets urban, acoustic meets electric. For sure, not your average Christmas music, except perhaps for Track 9, entitled “There ain’t no Santa Claus on the Evenin’ Stage”

There ain’t no way t’ pull the curtain

‘N hide from hunger’s rage

There ain’t no town t’ stop in

There ain’t no time t’ stop in

There ain’t no straw for my horse

There ain’t no straw for my bed

There ain’t no comfort in cold boards

There ain’t no rumours or food for my stomach

‘N someday I’m gonna be saved

‘Cause I gotta eat ‘n drink ‘n breathe ‘n sleep

‘N I’m ah slave

No, it doesn’t sound at all Christmassy, but it probably rings a bell with the homeless guys trying to keep warm by Oriente Metro station, and after all isn’t that what it’s all about. A manger is not a bed of roses, and Jesus did not have much better throughout his life.

"There was Thick Fog in Greendale..."

2010-12-14T08:02:00.001-08:00

So began one of the more popular Postman Pat stories that played constantly on our car stereo on long road trips in Pakistan when the children were small. It had all the ingredients of a simple lost and found story for an intrigued 5 year old and a 3 year old. At least it kept them quiet.

Now, Every time the winter fogs roll in from the coast up the River Tejo and envelop our home in Parque das Nações in a white shroud, that first line always comes back to me.

Today was particularly magical. From early morning it was a white blanket. Then by about midday the mists began to clear.

At one point the sun came out about midday, even as the thick white fog continued to hang over the middle of the river. Looking out over the Vasco da Gama Bridge there was this eerie effect of traffic apparently disappearing into nothing ness. Life is sometimes like that. Sometimes you have to keep driving even though you don’t know what’s ahead and there’s not much to guide you. You have to trust the indications you have been given, and to know that the white glow all around you is a promise that gives you that somewhere up there is the sun, and that eventually it will clear, and you’ll know your way better.

Immaculately Conceived?

2010-12-10T08:54:00.000-08:00

“Feriados” or public holidays are dotted around the Portuguese calendar like raisins in a current bun. They are a mixture of national and religious holidays. What surprises me most is that when you ask the average man in the street, people usually have very little idea what the holiday is for. They know it means a day off work, fewer traffic jams, and that the Shopping centres will be packed. Beyond that, it’s hard to say. Even smart well educated people will hesitate, scratch their heads and come out with “um..well, it could be Republic Day, or is it the restoration of the monarchy ..no .. actually I think its the immaculate conception.”

This week that is the one we have had. December 8th. The date on which in 1854, Pope Pius IX defined as dogma the idea that Jesus mother, Mary, from the moment of her birth was preserved by God from original sin and was filled with sanctifying grace. Being brought up in the Protestant tradition, I’ve never really had to deal with concepts like the assumption, the immaculate conception and the eternal virginity of Mary. So I’m afraid the logic escapes me a little. The idea of God taking on humanity in order to procure our salvation is a huge enough concept to comprehend. So why add to it ideas which have little or no Biblical support and which add nothing to the reality that Jesus was fully human. Something Jesus said to John at the time of his baptism comes to mind. I know I don’t “need” to be baptised, (he was free from sin) but it is still right for me to do so, as part of my humanity. Surely that "humanness" of Jesus would include also having a mother who was every way normal as other women. Surely it would include also being part of a family with brothers and sisters. Or am I missing something?

Miraculously conceived? Yes. The divine entering into human life. Immaculately conceived? Not if that means Mary, unlike anyone else the Bible speaks about or indeed, anyone else at any other time in history, was without sin.

Reforming the Resistance

2010-12-05T23:51:00.001-08:00

This past week we so enjoyed having Jason, Sambo and Ryan stay with us along with Ryan’s wife Genette. The three guys form a rock group with the name“Reform the Resistance”. They are based out of Nashville, Tennessee, and had come to play in an event, “Rock on Christmas” organised by our friend Denny Hurst. The aim of the event over Tuesday and Wednesday of last week was to bring together young Portuguese rock musicians with Christian musicians from other places.

Their music was loud, energetic and aggressive. And yet they themselves were so authentic and gracious. Staying in our home we sensed the presence of Jesus in their lives. Sharing around the dinner table, laughing and talking about the Lord, it was like having family with us. Great to see the fire in their hearts and in their voices, and to know that God is raising up a generation who will stand up and be counted. Intrigued by the name of the band, I puzzled over it for some days and decided it was like this. We, the Church, we who name the name of jesus, are the resistance, going against the flow, trying to knock down Satan. But we’re not that good at it. We need - to be reformed. Constantly by God’s word and His Spirit. That’s it! they said. You got it. And their lyrics reflect the thought.

“Open your eyes, you’ll see the difference

I said open your eyes

The truth is dangerous

Fight for your right to think for yourself

The end is coming

We will not bow down to anyone

I won’t go back to sleep

I don’t want dreams and fairytales, no lies

my God, I’ll fight for you

You are truth.”

** www.reformtheresistance.com (you can download their music there)

River wide

2010-11-18T01:50:00.000-08:00

I like running by the river. I find it clearer thinking there. The wide expanse of the water, the clear air, the blood pumping with the exercise. It feels good. Reese Witherspoon, in a dizzying display of logic in the film “Legally Blonde” explains it : “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands. They just don't....” ( ** love that quote)

Today I ran as far as the NATO Summit perimeter fence and back again. Excuse me, Mr Obama, aside from the many other things they may accuse you of, you have chopped at least 2 km off my morning run and kept me and everyone else from a lovely part of the riverbank by the Atlantic Pavilion and the Oceanarium!

So why am I happy today? ( I mean apart from the endorphins ) Why do I feel like rejoicing? Well, the wide expanse of water matched with what I had read in the Bible earlier on in the morning from Romans and Isaiah ***

“Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!” screams out Paul. “How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!”—And Isaiah writes : “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways”, declares the Lord. “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

Somehow, the river, with its vast clear expanse to the other side this morning, is a good image of all this, as I run by. Here at the edge the water is agitated, shallow and brown with mud and sediment. My thoughts. Out there, its clear and it runs deep and it is steady in its course to the sea. God’s thoughts. Or rather, you have to go right out down to the ocean, past Alges and Belem and plumb its deeps to get even a tiny understanding of the dimension of Gods thoughts and love.

A children’s chorus I used to sing many many years ago has got it theologically corrects.

Wide, Wide as the ocean. High as the heavens above

Deep, Deep as the deepest sea, is my Saviour’s love...

**http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Coemj2qdWMw&feature=related

*** Rom. 11:33; Isa. 55:8, 9

When the Saints go Marching in...

2010-11-01T11:16:00.003-07:00

Today is All Saints day, so its a public holiday here in Lisbon. No great big celebrations. Not even a religious parade to explain what its all about. Just quieter streets. No traffic jam on the Segunda Circular. Families off to visit the parents in the Alentejo. Kids playing in the park. That sort of thing.

But tomorrow’s All Souls Day. So what is it all about. Well, according to Wikipedia, (not necessarily to be trusted every time) the “saints” in questions are those who have made it through to Heaven and are currently enjoying paradise, while the “souls” refers to those still making their way through Purgatory, hence the need to visit graves, say prayers for the dead and pay for masses for their dearly departed.

Sipping coffee in Cascais and watching waves break this Bank Holiday morning, I find myself with a lot of unanswered questions. For example, how long do you get to stay in Purgatory? Or, if no-one ends up praying for you when you’re dead and gone and paying or masses to be said (because your family were particularly mean, or, maybe they just forgot about you) do you stay there forever? Or, where exactly in the Bible does it tell us about this intermediate state of grace, where you’re not exactly saved and you’re not exactly lost either? Or maybe I’m just missing the point.

I think I’d rather stick with what Paul says about “saints” in Philippians, greeting ordinary regular believers in Jesus in the town of Philippi as “saints” and sending greetings from ordinary regular believers in Jesus in Rome, whom he likewise calls “saints” (phil 4:21,22). Knowing that Jesus has already paid all the price necessary for me throughout eternity, in order for me to be totally forgiven of all my sins, to be considered holy, a saint, and accepted by God - that is enough for me, and it’s what the Bible tells me. Or is the church so badly off, that it needs to meet its bills through the payments of gullible relatives, plagued by guilt about the eternal destiny of their dearly departed?

Let the saints go marching in, I say, and let me be in that number!

Desliguei (des-leeg-aye)

2010-10-24T00:09:00.000-07:00

Desliguei. This week’s Portuguese word. I heard it twice in two separate conversations I had on Monday, and then again on Thursday. “ I switched off...”

A young guy in a park. Talking about faith and religion. And being brought up in the church, baptised confirmed, even taken to the Catholic shrine at Fatima by his grandparents. But then in his teens “Desliguei...” I switched off.

Librarian in the local library where we went to join. Said “you are missionaries?” (noticing what we had written on the form for profession). “I was too .... once. I was training in Rome ... to become a priest. But...

“Deslliguei...” I switched off. It was not the faith, or the theology. It was the control. The hierarchy. The sense that I was no longer able to think for myself. So I left it all behind. A long way behind.

And the interesting thing in these two incidents, that both have switched on again, one to a living faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and the other to follow the precepts of an Indian guru.

The danger in switching off from the religious system of institutionalised Christianity is that you throw out the baby with the bath water. Throwing off the shackles and confines of a religious upbringing, you tend to run a mile from anything that even smells of Christianity, and run toward whatever is different, esoteric, and “non Christian”. That’s why the shelves in the local bookstore are stacked with books on spiritism, buddhism, mysticism and every other “ism” than the Bible

There’s a lot of people around us who are “desligado”, switched off, and the challenge for us is to be able to enter that void, as in the case of Nino, the boy in the park, and introduce them to the living Jesus, not the religion.

Afiado (af-i-ado)

2010-10-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

This week's new Portuguese word, though actually, I had learnt it before, but this week it takes on a fresh significance. Afiado. Means "sharpened" or "keen". Or in my case, it means a cut finger. I have to blame Colin. I mean, he's the one who, according to Anna, kept saying there's not a sharp knife the house, when he was cooking in our kitchen.

So, Anna decides we need a few new knives about the house. And she has gone and acquired this thing called, appropriately enough, a "kitchen devil". It would slice your finger off as soon as look at you! So there I was engaged innocently enough in peeling an apple, not quite realising the thing I held in my hand. And suddenly, blood everywhere. The kitchen counter, the cupboard, the floor, the sink. Of course, Anna blames me for not doing the sensible thing and putting a plaster on it rather than dancing around waving my finger in the air. But that's a man thing, I suppose, to make a song and dance about even the slightest injury. After all, we've never had to go through childbirth, so we can't be expected to have the same perspective on pain thresholds.

Anyway, so the edge of this devil is keen and sharp. I read later the instructions attached to this new addition to the family. Do not chop on glass or marble surfaces otherwise the knife will quickly lose its edge. And I'm thinking. How easy it is for us to "lose our edge", when we're dealing with hard hearts, dull minds or abrasive personalities. The Book or Proverbs talks about "sharpening one another" - "As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend" (Prov 27:17) and I supposing that's what is meant by mentoring. When we spend time with a friend or colleague, intentionally seeking to encourage, challenge, spur on to good works, and to a closer walk with God, it has an amazing impact not just on him or her, but on ourselves. We get sharpened ourselves as we seek to sharpen others. The reverse is also true. If we're unresponsive, tough and opinionated, arrogant or self sufficient, not only do we take the edge off the person seeking to reach out to us, but we become blunt ourselves in the process.

I thank God for the good relationships we have with people around us and that we are able to "sharpen" one another when necessary, which is quite a lot of the time, by the way. May He continue to keep us sharp and usable in His service.

Morning Playlist (random shuffle)

2010-10-05T01:11:00.001-07:00

Grey sky

Sun and then cloud.

Then sun again

A heron stands in the shallows.

Waiting

Alison Sudol (A Fine Frenzy) sings beautifully in my head. She's a relatively new singer. Lovely voice.

Well crafted songs

“Making the best of it ..

You’re not alone in this ..

There's hope for the hopeless

....Still when you're heart is sore

And the heavens pour.....

Like a willow bending in the storm

You'll make it .....

There's hope for the hopeless....”

Downstream past the Havana Bar, the Irish Pub,

the Lisbon Casino.

All quiet now on a Monday morning

Debris piled up from the night before

Party in the park.

Now it’s Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler (yes, he of Dire Straits fame)

An interesting collaboration. “Beyond my wildest dreams” Gentle country.

“And as the dawn appears

At the edge of the night

There's still a light that gleams

Beyond my wildest dreams...”

Now past the Oceanarium, then the Marina.

There’s a cruise ship docked out in the river.

Tourists here to see the grand city of Lisbon

Must be about the 3 km mark. Time to turn back.

Grey clouds swirling. A few drops of rain in my face.

“I've been thinking”, sings Van Morrison in my head

(“Take me Back” from Hymns to the Silence)

....there's so much suffering,

too much confusion in the world....

Take me way, way, way, way back...

when the world made more sense....

in a green meadow...

in the golden afternoon

In the eternal moment,

in the eternal moment

In the grace, in grace

When you lived in the light

In the light, in the grace....

Passed a photographer on the boardwalk.

Camera poised. catch the early morning light.

And the bridge. And the birds.

“A Luz!.” I call out to him as I run past “Fantastico! Excelente!”

He looks bemused and then he smiles. But I’m gone

Mellow throaty tones of Cesaria Evora now. Melancholy and latin.

Very different but fits perfectly the morning mood. Caboverdiana, though she sings in Spanish on this one.

Kiss me, as though it was our last night on earth... she sings :

“Bésame, bésame mucho
Como si fuera esta la noche
la última vez

Bésame, bésame mucho...”

Rain’s steady now. I’m soaked. But loving it. Fresh. New.

And a change of pace in my headphones. Muse.

Now how did that get there ...must be Colin.

“It’s a new dawn

It’s a new day

It’s a new life

For me

And I’m feeling good”

Home.

Wet.

Rejoicing.

God is good.

Balkh. How Holy is the Spirit?

2010-09-29T02:16:00.000-07:00

Running this morning by the river, there was a flock of seagulls on the grass down by the water and in among them several egrets, standing tall and stately. The white of the egrets’ plumage so remarkably pure and snowy. And in my memory it took me back ... a long way back ....twenty years and more it must be ...

A drab day like any other in sun beaten Balkh in northern Afghanistan. For how many days had we been driving, sand between our teeth, the taste and smell of dust everywhere? Then to chance upon this ancient city of ruins. The fabled Bactra of Alexander the Great. Not much to show for it now. A row of mean houses. A sleepy bazaar. And in the distance the line of ancient walls that mark the ruins of the former city. And everything in monochrome. In my memory, it

seems that it was filmed in sepia. Interminable shades of brown and grey. Even the fruit and vegetables have no colour.

And then with a flurry of white wings by a small stream a flock of snowy white doves rise up. Amazingly out of the dust - pure white. Glistening and dazzling in their purity. How come they are not tainted by the same shades of terracotta? How can they rise up and fly and the dust does not cover them?

And I at once thought of the Spirit that lives in me. God’s Holy Spirit. How Holy is that Spirit? Because if he lives in me, then He must live beside all that is tainted and unholy in my thoughts and actions. And yet He remains pure, and divine, and sanctified. What conflict, what pain, what grief must I cause, in continuing to sin, in thought and mind and deed, when my life is inhabited by God’s holy dove. And yet, what power also, He gives me to rise above all that is wrong and unholy, and follow a purer thought pattern.

Purify my heart.. Lord ... My heart's one desire
is to be holy, set apart for You, Lord.

I choose to be holy, set apart for You ....

Purify my heart, cleanse me from my sin and make me .... holy.

Dia do Mar

2010-09-28T10:06:00.001-07:00

While on the subject of the sea teeming with all kinds of fish, yesterday was apparently World Sea Day, an annual day to raise awareness worldwide of issue like overfishing and pollution of the oceans. On Saturday morning we used the date to have a “sea” theme at our childrens activity, “Lusitos”, out in the square. (We’re always on the lookout for topical ideas that will be of interest to the kids.

So here’s the result of all that activity, the finished article. nice and colourful isn’t it? Just like the ocean is, in fact. And as the kids got stuck into the activities,

colouring and cutting around and, along with their parents, identifying the names, both in Portuguese and in English, of all the different fishes in the sea, I thought about how wonderfully and particularly each one is created, suited to his environment, and made to be fruitful and to fill the oceans.

Snorkelling in August with Colin in the shallow waters by Praia da Figuerinha near Setubal, an hour south from here, even there, the waters were teeming with life. Small dabs blending in with the colour of the sand, larger fish weaving in and out of the weeds, seagulls diving for a quick snack. Life is rich. God is good.

A City That has Foundations

2010-09-27T02:31:00.000-07:00

This past weekend we descended underneath the city of Lisbon. And it was not to take the metro. Much closer to the surface and underneath the old centre of the city, the part known as Baixa Pombalina, runs a whole system of underground galleries that date back to the first century. They were built during the reign of Caesar Augustus and lay undiscovered for centuries until the city centre had to be rebuilt after the great earthquake of 1755. No-one’s totally sure what they were used for, whether for storage or for water supply, but they are well preserved. For three days in late September each year the City Museum opens up these chambers to the general public.. So we stood in a queue for an hour or more, slowly moving up the line, waiting our turn to go down through an open manhole in the middle of the street, (dodging the trams which were still running!) into the depths below. The reason they only open for these three days, is because there’s an underwater stream that floods the chambers which normally stand in four feet of water, which all has to be pumped out in order to allow visitors in

Central Lisbon built on top of water! How’s that to inspire you with confidence when you’re walking across Rossio square or down the Rua Augusta to the river. One of my most memorable moments in this underground journey (which, by the way only took about 20 minutes) was standing astride a one inch fissure in the ground that ran the length of the chamber and out of which issued clear and pure water, not the dirty water from the river nor from the sewer system. Nut sure where it was coming from, some mysterious stream of fresh water from higher ground further outside the city

Reminded me of the image Ezekiel had of a city, a city with foundations out of which flowed a stream of water, clear as crystal, a stream that eventually became a might river and brought freshness wherever it flowed. Writing in his prophecy, he describes it vividly : “I arrived at the place and saw a great number of trees on each side of the river....and where it emptied into the sea, there the water became fresh. Swarms of living creatures live wherever the river flows. Fishermen stand along the shore. from Engedi to Eglaim there were places for spreading nets. Fruit trees of all kinds grow on both sides of the river. Their leaves will not wither and their fruit will not fail. The fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing. (Ezekiel Chap 37)

What a vision! Here, where we live in Parque das Nações, there are fisherman dangling their lines in the murky tired waters of the Tejo. Every morning they stand by the riverside walk, and you can watch them from our balcony. And they do catch the odd fish. But imagine the life that could come if the water is cleansed, refreshed and invigorated. That’s what Christ in His mercy promises for this wonderful city of ours!

A Sense of Wonder

2010-09-21T10:30:00.000-07:00

The older you get, the harder it is to fill your life with wonder, and its not just that our lives tend to get filled with the mundane and the commonplace. We also live, in the words of Tim Keller, in the most wonder-killing culture that ever existed.

So, driving cross the mountains of Northern Portugal in the early morning with septembral mists swirling through the valleys and the emerging colours of autumn beginning to tinge the vineyards in russets and ambers, it was good to feel that sense of wonder restored.

Wonder in a God of seasons who creates everything perfectly in its place, who changes and yet is ever the same, who demonstrates his power in totally amazing ways. And it’s not just about enjoying nature and this world we live in. But the way He works in people’s lives, the way He powerfully intervenes, the way He gently show His compassion, just when we need it. The way He speaks quietly but insistently. The way he picks us up when we’re down, and knocks us down in our arrogance and our complacency.

Back to Tim Keller again. In the sermon I quoted above, he also spoke about how we try to escape the mundanity and the ordinariness, because we need wonder in our lives.

“...We jaded contemporary western people go to the stupidest summer blockbuster movies, poorly acted, terrible character development, nothing but special effects and we lay our money down, and you know why ..... because we need to know a sense of wonder in our lives .... that fleeting realisation that there’s more to life than all this..... that there are mysterious and stupendous powers out there that can come into our impossible situation...”

August Heat

2010-08-30T03:50:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of the year.

The city takes a breather.

The mercury rises in the thermometer

Residents pour out to the Algarve.

Or to the nearby beaches of Cascais and Caparica.

Anywhere away from the hot dry city.

The traffic across the city moves freely

The toll booths on the 25th April Bridge are empty

You can almost feel the pavements relaxing.

Tourists trip along the cobbles of Alfama and Belem.

The cafe on the corner has shut down for the month.

Fishermen cast their lines in down at the riverside.

The national flag flutters atop the Vasco da Gama tower.

Lawnmowers hum.

Sprinklers spray fresh cool water

The smell of freshly mown grass.

The playpark is empty.

Children are bored

Parents push hats on their heads and keep them indoors

And the sun beats down

it’s August

Chuva

2010-08-11T07:16:00.000-07:00

That’s the Portuguese word for rain. Its a nice gentle word, not like the insistent driving rain that takes all the joy out of a summer holiday in Portstewart. And not the life sucking smothering monsoon rain thats currently robbing so many in Pakistan of their lives and livelihoods.

It’s also the name of a song sung by one of Portugal’s greatest exponent of the musical genre called “Fado”. I’ve tried to translate it below, but to be honest it sounds much better in Portuguese.

We arrived back in Portugal last Saturday, and woke up on Sunday morning to the gentle sound of rain falling on tired and arid ground, (and with that distinctively unique smell). It was the first fall of rain of the summer - and so so refreshing. So I’m thinking of the meaning of rain this week, and how the same thing can bring horror and wreak so much havoc in one part of the world, and be a source of so much refreshment in another.

Water being the base of our very existence, brings life ... as long as it remains within the the bounds set by the seasons. Rain unbounded is a killer and a destroyer. Meteorologists this week talk of a “supercharged jet stream” creating a dangerous imbalance in the monsoon weather system, and creating conditions for the present disaster. Life and death, prosperity and disaster, held in such a delicate balance. Rain can depress, rain can uplift. Thank God that over all the weather systems, He remains in control. This world with its rain, its drought, its heat and its storms. The seasons. It all may seem in uproar, out of control. But God’s in charge

Chuva

The common things in life ................... As coisas vulgares que há na vida

Leave us with no longing or regret......... Não deixam saudades

Only the things which cause us pain........ Só as lembranças que doem

Or make us smile ............................. Ou fazem sorrir

There are days that mark the soul......... Há dias que marcam a alma

And the life of a people .....................e a vida da gente

And the day you left me..................... e aquele em que tu me deixaste

I can never forget ............................ não posso esquecer

The rain drenched my face ................. A chuva molhava-me o rosto

Cold and tired ................................Gelado e cansado

The streets of the city...................... As ruas que a cidade tinha

Each one I wandered ........................Já eu percorrera

The rain heard and kept silent ........... A chuva ouviu e calou

My secret from the city ................... meu segredo à cidade

Listen to how it beats on the glass ...... E eis que ela bate no vidro

Bringing that memory back ............... Trazendo a saudade

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzrUs08-SWs

Here’s another “rain” songs I happen to like.

John Lee Hooker’s drumming account of a great flood that hit the town of Tupelo in Mississippi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GOCAC8FCqE

Any others out there?

The Lion Inside of Me

2010-07-30T09:18:00.000-07:00

While on the subject of the spirituality or mysticism of Van Morrison’s music, the tracks that stand out for me beyond the seminal “Astral Weeks” are “You Don’t Pull no Punches” from the Veedon Fleece album and “Listen to the Lion” from Saint Dominic’s Preview.

For this latter song, as with much of Morrison’s more introspective music, it’s not so much the lyrics, as the way he sings them. After all the poetry in itself is pretty sparse

Oh, listen listen 

To the lion 

Oh, listen listen listen 

To the lion... Inside of me 

Oh, oh, oh

  And I shall search my soul 

I shall search my very soul 

And I shall search my very soul

 I shall search my very so-o-oul  

For the lion

For the lion... Inside of me

But its the growls, the grunts and scats that make the song. The artist expressing the living breathing lion inside of him. And don’t we all have that? That inner self that wants to break out of the humdrum workaday life, to find expression and give vent to a mighty roar of “THIS IS WHO I AM” into the jungle of this world.

I have often been intrigued by the image of Jesus as the “Lion of Judah” that John paints in the Book of Revelation (Rev 5:7). I mean its only a single reference unlike the messianic metaphors of lamb, light, shepherd which pretty much run right throughout the Old and New Testaments. And its also a metaphor thats been taken up variously by Judaism, Ethiopian nationalism and the Rastafari reggae music of the West Indies, and C S Lewis of course in his Narnia books

John uses the metaphor it in direct contrast to the Lamb, looking as it had been slain (Rev 5:6) - meekness and power, suffering and triumph, gentleness and strength. Its a fantastic picture.

So Jesus is this Lion inside of me, roaring, His word consuming my being. Jeremiah talks about the Word of God being in his heart like a fire, a fire shut up in his bones. He is weary from holding it in. And that rugged old shepherd of Tekoa, Amos, declares in his prophecy, that the Lord is like a Lion

“The lion has roared, who will not fear.

The Sovereign Lord has spoken.

Who can but prophesy.” Amos 3:8

So ROAR, King Jesus. Consume me from within. Proclaim your lordship over my life. Declare yourself to be King of all creation

In the Garden

2010-07-27T01:13:00.000-07:00

I was listening to a song on my ipod yesterday called “Garden” by Misty Edwards and it put me in mind of the track by Van Morrison, “in the Garden” from his album “No Guru, no Method no Teacher” that gripped me back in the eighties . Misty is a worship leader with the International House of Prayer, and the song is a relentless eight and a half minutes celebration of the intimacy God seeks to have with us if we would only draw near.

It's You and me alone God,

You and me alone

Here it's You and me alone
God, You and me alone...

Strikes me afresh just what a garden is. It’s an enclosed space. It’s a marked off territory that is owned by someone , cultivated by someone and to be enjoyed by someone. That’s why it was a garden planted in Eden and not a wilderness space, that became the backdrop for the creation of Adam. That’s where he found intimacy with his creator God. And in each one of our lives there’s a cultivated space that’s to be protected and kept. A place to retreat to and find oneself alone.

“And I felt the presence of the youth of eternal summers in the garden

Alright, and as it touched your cheeks so lightly
Born again you were and blushed
And we touched each other lightly
And we felt the presence of the Christ
Within our hearts in the garden

And I turned to you and I said
"No guru, no method, no teacher
Just you and I and nature
And the Father in the garden"

Listen, no guru, no method, no teacher

Just you and I and nature
And the Father and the Son
And the Holy Ghost in the garden wet with rain”

Amazing lyrics from the 1986 Van Morrison track, and maybe it won’t tick everybody’s theological boxes, but it’s an insight into the spiritual longing of the artist – a longing for intimacy, for acceptance, for transcendence and for understanding of the divine.

Back to Misty Edwards. She writes, in an interview

"I have a great desire to see the knowledge of God flood this generation. I mean the real knowledge of God, not the distant Sunday School version but the true encounter with the Uncreated. I have devoted my life to searching Him out through His Word, prayer and fasting, and to ask Him to reveal Himself in my day and time. There's no other point for my existence but to touch the Transcendent.”

That hungry generation was very evident at New Horizon last week. So good to see so many young people (and old) hungry for God and seeking his face here on the north coast of Northern Ireland

Van Morrison http://www.amazon.co.uk/No-Guru-Method-Teacher/dp/B0018PJF0W

Misty Edwards http://www.amazon.co.uk/Relentless-Misty-Edwards/dp/B001V6F840/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1280307941&sr=1-1

Teams and non teams

2010-06-30T13:40:00.000-07:00

This past week we had the misfortune to be following two teams that didn’t really get it together as teams, when it really mattered. To be fair, Portugal put on a better performance than abysmal England, but they still lost. Both pairings, England v Germany and Portugal v Spain, were fairly evenly matched in terms of individual strengths and capabilities, and both teams had their magic talisman, as the media would have us believe, in Rooney and Ronaldo.

But having a wonder boy, who can score fancy goals is not enough when the teamwork isn’t there, and last night it just wasn’t. Being able to work together and recognise one another’s strengths, supporting one another and having a common strategy that everyone understands and follows. These are all part of good teamwork. Last night, it didn’t happen, and they were overpowered by the team that actually did act as a team. Lisbon, this morning, was a rather subdued place to be living in.
Makes me think of how it is with us working together as a team, here in Park of the Nations, and that the unity we have in God is, in the end, far more important than the sum total of our individual strengths and qualities. Once upon a time, another group of characters acted together as a team and brought down the might of Mordor even though the individuals themselves were mere dwarves and elves and hobbits.

Yes, we’re back in Middle Earth again.

Now, how did I get onto that. Well, mainly because, Tim Keller (Redeemer Presbyterian, NY) happened to refer to the Lord of the Rings in a message we listened to last Sunday. So it’s been in my mind all week. He was talking about Abraham and how God called him out to leave his home and his family even though he hadn’t a clue where he was going. Referring to this, Keller said that the Christian life is not just a “there and back again” kind of “adventure” like Tolkein’s earlier book “the Hobbit” , where we go out and do stuff for God, and then return to live our normal lives. No, it’s a full blown “quest” like Tolkein’s trilogy, where we go out, not really realising all that we have got ourselves into, except that its big and its scary and its exciting, and we NEVER return the same.

“It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as his inheritance.

He went without knowing where he was going. And even when he reached the land God promised him, he lived there by faith—for he was like a foreigner, living in tents.

And so did Isaac and Jacob, who inherited the same promise.

Abraham was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations,

a city designed and built by God”

Petyanna

2010-06-22T01:12:00.000-07:00

Simão, just coming up to his second birthday, calls us “petyanna”. “are we going to petyanna’s house?” he asks in his toddler Portuguese. We find it kind of cute. It’s a collective term because he sees us as one, rather than two people, which is a nice complement. Simão is imaginative, energetic and talkative (not unlike his father in that respect), and I can usually figure out one word in twenty of what he says. I have a bit more success with Pedro’s Portuguese! Our son Colin, sees him as the real life version of Calvin, of Calvin and Hobbes cartoon fame. He’s even got the same hairstyle.

Besides Simão, we have a number of other surrogate grandchildren. Duarte, who lives down the corridor and has just turned two, is also our real life godson. Nati who comes to church with his parents Madeline and Gil, has unfortunately been down with the mumps for the past week or so. And Anabela, who has just learnt how to stand on her own two feet, is soon to be travelling on a big plane back to visit her real grandparents in Australia.

It’s a real privilege to have these little ones around our house, to find ourselves tripping over toys and picking up bibs and plastic beakers after they’ve gone. It’s especially great if they see us as “petyanna”, and if we are able to reflect the oneness and consistency and stability of a strong marriage , that is a grandparents’ privilege. We hope one day to have grandchildren of our own, but until that day, these will do.

Pics 1 : Our daughter Judith transforming Simão into a tiger, at least for a short while, at our kids' programme "Lusitos". Find out more by visiting our church's Facebook page "A Ponte" in the links.

Pics 2 : Duarte on his second birthday - the guy with the cool hat

Return of the Nephilim?

2010-06-21T15:14:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had to preach on Genesis 6 and Noah’s flood in the small church that meets in our apartment. It’s bad enough having to explain the bit about the sons of God marrying the daughters of men and bringing forth this mysterious generation of alleged giants who are called the “Nephilim” in the Hebrew language. But having to do it in Portuguese got a bit beyond me. The internet didn’t help either (not that you would expect much help rom that direction. Typing “nephilim” into google produced a whole array of weird and wonderful theories of extra terrestrial beings, alien abductions, UFO sightings and the like.

However I was keen to find an application of this peculiar portion of scripture to our own day, and in particular the needs of our own little community here in Park of the Nations. What struck me, in my reading of the passage, was, not so much the biology of how these beings came about, or their physical size, but that they were described as the “heroes” and the “famous ones” of their day (depending on your version of the Bible), and that God judged the influence they had on society as exceedingly harmful and evil, to the point where the society of the day required a total revision, and only one family, that of Noah’s, was found to be faithful.

So then, are there “Nephilim” in our day? Maybe not physical giants. But we have our own heroes. Our own men and women "of renown". Our celebrities. On the stages of the entertainment world, in the corridors of political power, in the ivory towers of the universities, in the fields of conflict around the world, and behind the media’s television cameras. People of stature, influence and finance who powerfully persuade (is “intimidate” too strong a word?) others into their line of thinking, which is generally pitted against God, and often against that which is honourable, good and pure. And slowly but surely, society moves in that direction. And the words of Peter begin to take on more of a reality.

"But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare. Since everything will be destroyed in this way, what kind of people ought you to be? You ought to live holy and godly lives as you look forward to the day of God and speed its coming.....So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him."

.................................................................2 Peter 3:10-14

Edges of His Ways

2010-06-16T01:07:00.000-07:00

My mother used to use a book of devotions by Amy Carmichael who was a well known missionary of the last century from Northern Ireland who served in India. I remember the title. It was called “Edges of His Ways”. I think I discovered today where that title was probably taken from. In the Book of Job, after all that he has passed through, Job describes the amazing power of God in the vastness of the Heavens, and the greatness of the oceans. And at the end of that chapter he says that

“these are but the outer fringes - the edges - of his works. How faint the whisper we hear of Him! Who then can understand the thunder of His power?” (Job 26:14)

Makes me think of the seaside, the sand between your toes, and that mysterious foam that froths and bubbles and disappears so quickly from the hot sand with the receding wave. Growing up only five miles from the ocean, I’ve always had a fascination with the edges of the sea - the tidal pools - rugged cliffs - sweeping strands. (The photos are from last summer’s adventure down the south west Alentejano coast of Portugal - highly recommended). As you wade out into the water and you feel the pull of the tide, and the strength of the surf, you suddenly realise how much more of all this there is. You look out to the horizon and you see a heaving ocean. And you get that strange sense of peril side by side with safety, of the powerful and dangerous alongside the gentle.

God is a bit like that. What we know and understand of him are the mere edges of his ways - that which we have to come to know of His grace and His love. These are the shallow waters where we learn to swim and enjoy that sense of floating, and experiencing His presence around us. But that is but the beginning. There’s an ocean of understanding and experience out there. We just need to go that little bit deeper. As Job says, if we remain in the shallows how will we ever understand the thunder of his power.

Nationhood

2010-06-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

This weekend it’s about nationhood. About what it means to be Portuguese, and what it means to be a "Lisboeta", to belong to Lisbon. It begins with Thursday 10th which is Portugal Day and runs straight into Dia de Santo Antonio on the 12th (today) when the whole city (including us) gathers down in the city centre and the old district of the Alfama for fun and festivities. Now Portugal Day does not commemorate a famous battle, a revolution or a declaration of independence. There are other days for those things. No, this day is about a dead poet. Luis de Camões who died on the 10th June, 1580. Because being Portuguese is about the language, about history and culture, and about the exploits of a great people who, in their day, discovered half the world.

Camões is to Portuguese as Shakespeare is to English, and more so. Well, he didn’t write tales about star crossed lovers in some random Italian city. The subjects of his epic poem, Os Lusiadas, are the incredible voyages into the unknown of Portuguese sailors like Vasco da Gama. And he didn’t just write all this from his armchair either. He travelled the world with da Gama, fought in India, was shipwrecked near Vietnam, and generally lived the life he describes. Here’s a section of the poem, in which he describes the arrival in India

They were already drawing closer to the land
that had been longed for by so many,
that is enclosed between the currents of the Indian Ocean
and the Ganges, that lives in the earthly sky.
Now, come, strong people, who in war
wish to emerge victorious:
You have already arrived, you have before you
the abundant riches of the earth!!

Which brings me to nationhood, and the way our world is split up into peoples and cultures with distinct identities. I’m Irish, (or Ulster-Scots or British depending on your political tastebuds). But I feel enriched by living here among a people with such an amazing cultural heritage. Indeed, as I was enriched by our eighteen years living among the Punajabis and Sindhis and Seraikis of Pakistan. Some would view the Babel account of Genesis Chapter 11 as a cruel judgement by God and an unhappy division of humankind into warring and divided people groups, separated by language and culture. I see it more as part of Gods overall plan and the richness of his creation, in that we all form such different nations, each with a unique contribution, and a unique way of declaring God’s glory in this earth. Its awesome to look forward to a time when all the nations, tribes and peoples will be drawn together to worship round God's throne.

Where the Pope did not pass

2010-06-05T08:02:00.000-07:00

The following (which I've translated from the Portuguese) is by my friend Pedro Barbosa from his facebook page. I thought it gives an interesting perspective on where the Portuguese nation is at....

The whole City was dressed up to the nines for the visit of Pope Benedict XVI. To increase the sense of celebration the Prime Minister declared a public holiday. Everything was ready for his visit. Flags and bunting on every street, welcoming his Holiness, declaring the devotion of the Portuguese people to the Christian faith.

But how true is it?

Two weeks before the visit of the Holy Father, the Segunda Circular, the highway I pass by several times during week, was exhibiting publicity posters for a cable TV channel, described as “sexy hot”. The publicity was not so explicit, as we are still, thankfully, a little bashful in this country. In another place, one of the roundabouts near Santa Iria da Azoia, where pass when I go to fill my tank, there is another poster of a lady dressed provocatively in her underwear, advertising a Sex shop, alongside a supermarket, an insurance agency and a pet shop.

I ask myself the question, if the Pope were to have passed by this roundabout, would the powers that be have requested for the advertisement to have been withdrawn, at least temporarily.

This is not intended to be an X-ray of our country, in which, on the one hand, we legalize the marriage between persons of the same sex, putting into question the basic value of the family such as God idealized it, while, on the other, we legalize the voluntary interruption of a pregnancy, throwing the value of the human life into the hands of a momentary choice of intense emotion, and bearing fruit through permanent repercussions in the life of the one having the abortion, be she an adolescent or an adult woman. We have here social and moral values, defended by the government and by the citizens in general, which run clearly against the Christian perspective (Roman Catholic or otherwise).

I wonder if it is a sort of schizophrenia or another similar disease, from which we are suffering. On the one hand we receive with great enthusiasm festivals of erotica, as is the case with the Salão Erótica International de Lisbon, which during the three days it was on, received thousands of visitors, while, on the other, we receive the Holy Father, representing the Catholic Church, one of the Christian confessions that defends the moral, intellectual and physical wholeness of the human being.

I feel confused and leave you with one question: Was what we have all been involved in over this past month, a mere "Puppet show" and a play of political interests, giving a good impression to the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic church, or do we, at the bottom, still respect and hold dear those Christian values on which our country was based, and which can still make a huge difference in peoples’ lives?

Fatima

2010-05-17T02:03:00.001-07:00

The end of a week with the Pope’s visit to Portugal and around half a million people gathered together at the shrine of Fatima about 100 km north of here. Which is a lot, when you consider the population of this country is not much more than 10 million. Fatima sort of sums up the relationship of the Portuguese people with their religion.

Apart from cynical elderly gentlemen like José Saramago, even those Portuguese who have already shrugged off any personal faith in God retain some sort of affection or affinity for the devotion that Fatima stirs up. The columnist José Gameiro in Saturday’s paper writes : “I’m an agnostic of 17 years, following an intense period of connection to the church .... but more and more I am finding myself trying to transmit to my children the same values that I had back then, and that are consistently vomitted out by today’s society”.

So what is there at Fatima? There’s an aura of mystery in the whole history of the place. It has to do with visions that were supposed to have been seen by three poor shepherd children in 1917. Balls of light, secret prophesies, an attempted assassination of the Pope and a cloistered nun. A curious mixture of reality and mystery, of fact and fiction.We’ve only been to Fatima once. We found it a bit bewildering. An odd mixture of lofty architecture and tacky commercialism, of individual piety and of ecclesiastical hierarchy. Shops selling religious artifacts. The heady sell of burning candlewax. Silent devotion.

What the place lacks is, well - Jesus.

Well he’s there set on an oddly incongruous

crucifix set far away in the corner of the plaza that surrounds the sanctuary. That was the thing that struck me forcibly in my impression of the place. This angular steel structure set in a corner, oddly jarring with the white marble and soft curves of the rest of the place. Its as though Jesus has been sidelined, forgotten about - which, in reality is pretty much the story of the place. The story of this country

Fatima needs Jesus. Portugal needs Jesus. We need Jesus. I need Jesus.

Lead me to the cross
Where Your love poured out
Bring me to my knees
Lord I lay me down
Rid me of myself
I belong to You
Oh Lead me, lead me to the cross

New Life, Old Body

2010-05-12T08:32:00.000-07:00

When Nicodemus came to Jesus by night, he seemed confused by the idea of being born again. I always thought his response to Jesus to be a bit simplistic. “How can that be?” he says “can a man return to his mothers womb after he is old?” Hold, on, Nic, don’t you realise that Jesus is talking in metaphors. It’s not about physical birth. He’s a spiritual teacher, remember.

The thing is, Nicodemus was no fool. He was a Rabbi, a member of the Jewish ruling council. He knew his stuff. He spent his days talking in riddles and parables. And, in asking that question, he actually opens up a whole other area of philosophical inquiry, one that continues to confuse and to challenge.

If I become a Christian at the age of, say, twenty, what happens to all the stuff that has gone on before. Is it just obliterated? Do I just become like a clean slate? What about all the bad stuff that I have done, and the bad stuff that has been done to me. Do

es it no longer affect my life?

Well, yes and no. We do continue to be exactly the way we are, with all those early influences that shaped our character for good or ill. The big difference is that the perspective has shifted and the control has changed. Now are freed. No longer bound by the terrors of the past. Sin – abuse – hatred – lust – addiction. None of this stuff any longer has any power over us.

No wonder then, when Jesus died on that dark day on the cross, that it was Nicodemus who emerged from the shadows along with Joseph of Arimathea, to take down the body and lay it in the cold tomb. He’d learnt where true freedom and new life was to be found.

Who will sack Goldmann?

2010-04-28T01:53:00.000-07:00

In all the complicated arguments back and forth on our TV screens and newspapers concerning the Goldman Sachs fraud investigation, the most compelling I find has nothing to do with weighty concepts like derivatives, hedge funds or subprime mortgages. Its a simple illustration a commentator came up with. If you were a used car salesman, he asks, would you sell a car with a faulty axle to a working man with his family, and then, bet that they would be in an accident before the weekend.

Because that would seem to sum up what they in fact did. When you surround yourself with the mumbo jumbo and jargon of high economics, when you wear a suit and tie to work, and when your society and peers applaud and richly reward you for what you are doing, it might seem that you are operating in a world beyond morals. It might make you feel like, as Lloyd Blankfein, Goldman’s CEO expressed it. “I am doing God’s work.”

In one sense that is an amazingly honest and accurate observation for him to make. In their ivory towers they do act as gods, and the whole world bows down. And was that not what was predicted as one of the results of eating the fruit of the tree in the middle of the Garden. “You shall be as gods”? And are we not all, to one degree or another, little gods, born to be creative, yes, but with a streak of self interest and greed inbuilt in us that drives us sometimes to the most inhuman of acts? We are little “goldmen”. And when self interest develops from personal selfishness to corporate selfishness or national selfishness, the results are clear - chaos in the Eurozone, panic in the markets, insecurity in the unemployment lines.

Thank God, that the future image that John reveals in the Book Revelation is not that of a bull or of a bear, but of “a lamb, as it had been slain”. And the Lamb, which epitomised unselfishness through its offering of itself as a sacrifice for sin, is deemed worthy. Worthy to receive “power and wealth, wisdom and might and honour and glory and blessing”. Things that the executives of Goldmann Sachs might covet, and indeed think they possess, but which are a figment of their own imagination. Arturo Di Modica, who, in 1989 created the famous “Charging Bull” statue that stands near Wall St, New York, described his creation as a symbol of strength, power and hope for the American people for the future. Where is that hope now?

Snooker

2010-04-27T04:48:00.000-07:00

I like Steve Davis. He is like everybody’s favourite uncle, smooth, relaxed, unflappable. Now, at not that far short of my age, he could be a favourite grandfather as well. So it gave me great pleasure at the weekend to watch him strut his stuff at the snooker table once again against world champion John Higgins. Not that I watch snooker that much. To confess to being a snooker fan is normally an indicator of a misspent youth or an idle retirement. But there is something remarkable poetic about the movement of the balls around the table. The different colours arranged against the green background. The angle of the elbow, the chin almost resting on the cue, the deep concentration, the elegant stroke, the click of the cue ball, and the satisfying plop of the ball in the pocket.

There can’t be many other sports, where one’s opponent has to sit out the entire length of the game until you make an error. No such thing as turn and turn about. I guess the nearest thing is squash, where you continue to hold your serve and score points until you make an error. But even then your opponent still plays. He doesn’t sit on the sidelines scratching his head and biting his fingernails.

But the thing about the game is that its all about control and about placement and knowing two or three moves ahead of time where the balls are likely to end up. Thats what I like about watching a maestro like Steve. You watch the delicate balance of the balls moving about the table Sometimes I see God in control of the events of my life like that. The balls are all over the place. Some awkwardly placed or hidden from view. But when he takes control, when He watches over my ways, He manages to connect each event together and propel them in such a way that I grow in grace and He gets the glory

"He knows the way that I take and when He has tested me I shall come forth as gold". (Job 23:10)

The things that happen, by themselves don’t seem like much, but they all work together with a single vision and purpose in mind.

God's presence and God's back

2010-04-20T10:28:00.001-07:00

This past week we drove to Gandia in Spain and back again under the cloud of God’s presence. We stopped overnight in Toledo on the way which is an amazing magical city lying on a bend in the River Tejo. Yes, the same water that passes by our house in Lisbon flows by here in the heart of Spain. I mention the cloud of Gods presence because it seems appropriate. The ECM Conference we attended kicked off with a meditation on Exodus 33 by our President, Johan Lukasse, where God gives Moses an awesome promise, “My Presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest.” Then on the final session of the final day, Johan returned to the same chapter and theme.

That chapter in the Bible has aways been for us hugely significant throughout our 30 years of marriage, so it was good to be thinking of it in a new light. Toward the end of the Chapter, Moses asks of God “Show me your Glory”, and there’s this odd little account of how God places Moses in the cleft of a rock, and causes His glory to pass by him, while saying to Moses that you cannot look see My Glory and live. The idea being that Moses is nevertheless able to get a glimpse of God’s back. That always intrigued me as an impressionable schoolboy. What on earth would God’s back look like?

But that night, as the conference drew to a close, I suddenly see it differently. No, we can’t see God’s face. We’re sinful mortal beings, and he is holy and altogether other. Yes, we do see Jesus, standing in our place and enabling us to come before a Holy God. But, God’s back? Well, we see God’s back, simply because He’s there before us and - we’re in position - following Him. If you can see someone’s back, it means that they’re ahead of you. And you are behind. You know that they’re leading you on. The evening drew to a close with almost 30 people coming to the front, new missionaries for Europe, to be commissioned and prayed for. Amazing. Yes, God’s doing a new thing in Europe, and His presence does continue with us still, and He does give us His rest.

What's so Good about Friday?

2010-04-02T13:59:00.000-07:00

The acronym TGIF is one of those quirky features of the post modern era. So much does it reflect the “zeitgeist”, that it has turned itself into a global money making restaurant franchise. It’s basically saying, I’m done with the working week of drudgery - bring on the weekend. Lets’s eat, drink and be merry, for, come Monday we go back to our daily death. Now, you can eat in TGI Friday in Belfast, Dublin, Melbourne or Washington. And the menu and the decor will be the same wherever you go, no doubt.

Well, I say, Thank God it’s Good Friday!

TGIGF, I suppose.

Because the “good” in Good Friday is about a Life that passed through Death, and a Death that produced yet more Life. The one TGIF is a reflection of the negativity of the age we live in. Life is just to be tolerated and money to be earned, for the sake of those transient moments of pleasure when you can lose yourself in the drink and the crack and the fun.

Well, I’d rather live a life that goes on getting better and better and moving towards an unending and glorious future. Even if it means you don’t get to blow it all on one Saturday night. Its good to be back in Lisbon again and worshipping along with friends this afternoon, contemplating the Cross. Not that Ireland wasn’t fine. We spent four wonderful weeks there, were enriched, refreshed and inspired. But its nice to be home again. And just now, its Lisbon that feels like home.

In the run up to the first Good Friday, in all his popularity and acclaim, a few Greeks, (non Jews) came into Jerusalem asking after Jesus. They came up to Andrew and the others saying “We would see Jesus”. And in that instant, jesus perceives this is it. This is the moment I have been for. To give my life as a sacrifice, so that all men, whether jew or greek or any other shape or size, might see and know God. And so he said :

"The hour has come....

unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone;

But if it dies, it produces much grain."

So, Thank you, Lord, for allowing yourself to be sown, as it were, into the ground, and producing me ... the fruit!!!

The Walk to the Bank

2010-03-01T00:51:00.000-08:00

An amazing rainbow hangs in the air in the early morning. Clear as crystal. The sun shimmers through a curtain of light rain. The river dazzles. We take a walk along the river down to the Branch of the Santander Bank. We do this at the end of every month. It’s become something of a ritual for us. A symbolic walk for us - an exercise in prayer and faith. We go there to ensure we have enough money in our account for the rent withdrawal which takes place on the 5th of every month and we do any transactions if we have to. We could do the transactions online from home, but it has become meaningful to walk to the bank. Its high tide, so the river is awash with all sorts of flotsam and driftwood from the recent storms that have lashed the country. People died in France and Galicia over the weekend.

We leave the river bank to walk up between two apartment blocks and past Escola Vasco da Gama. We think of last night, which was the first time we held church in the auditorium there. For just over two years we have been paying our rent, and each week, watching our place being used as the small fellowship into something more significant. Like a small plant that you keep in a plant pot on the windowsill it grows and stretches its roots till its ready to be planted out. As numbers increase and commitment to one another grows, now is the time to begin to just stretch a little. Not move entirely. That will come in time. But just feel that gentle moving to the edge of the nest. To feel what its like to meet with one another and worship God in another place.

So the rainbow fades. We return home. The sky is clear now and the rain stops. And God reminds us through his provision for one more month, of his unending faithfulness.

Who Eats But is not Satisfied....

2010-02-16T03:48:00.000-08:00

Who eats but is not satisfied

Who hears but does not see,
. Who falls in love with wealth itself
. And turns his back on me.

Sounds like Micah, or some other Old Testament Prophet, and it could well have been. In fact according to the Jewish writer, Lawrence J Epstein, these lyrics sung by Bob Dylan in “I Pity the Poor Immigrant” from the album “John Wesley Harding” are full of allusions to the 26th chapter of Leviticus. And, as it just so happens, I am reading Lev 26 this morning

Now, for those of you who missed out totally on the sixties, “John Wesley Harding” was the album when Dylan moved, against the tide, and the current of “stream of consciousness” psychedelia back to a more rootsy sound based in the common human lot of of living and surviving in middle America. Its a world full of hobos and drifters, immigrants and small town gangsters. And its a world conscious of a God who has His eye on the wicked and on the righteous, on the deceiver and the deceived, on the oppressors and the victims

In fact, as I re-listened to “Poor Immigrant” this morning, I suddenly saw it as written from the persective of God - God’s eye view on a humanity that rebels and twists and lies and deceives in order to try and make sense of and manage his world, and yet a humanity to be pitied and loved and shown mercy. Amazing poetry

I pity the poor immigrant
Who wishes he would've stayed home,
Who uses all his power to do evil
But in the end is always left so alone.
That man whom with his fingers cheats
And who lies with ev'ry breath,
Who passionately hates his life
And likewise, fears his death.

Getting back to Leviticus 26, I read the startling and awesome contrast between what it means to obey God and to walk with Him, on the one hand and what happens when you constantly turn your back on him, on the other. Its a chapter of blessings, and woes of the riches of living in harmony with Him, and the ultimate horrors of living without Him. You should read it. For me, by following Him, I find a wonderful trio of “p”s -

the Promise of fruitfulness,

the Peace that no human comfort can bring, and

the Presence of an Almighty Everpresent God who says

“I will put my dwelling place among you,

I will walk among you and be your God

and you will be my people”

* 'When Dylan Spoke for God', by Lawrence Epstein, August 2009 on http://thebestamericanpoetry.typepad.com

Leviticus 26:12

Lot's Lot

2010-02-07T03:21:00.001-08:00

Sometimes the choices in life seem good at the time. But they lead us bit by bit into a situation when we suddenly realise how far we have moved out of God’s plan for our lives. It may have been a career decision, or a relationship choice, or something else where the grass seemed greener, more secure, more exciting. But now, you feel stuck, unable to move on or out, and increasingly influenced by the culture around you.

Its kind of like the path that a man called Lot took when he made the choice to separate from his Uncle and head over towards the fertile plains of Sodom. The choice was most probably an astute one, given the economics of the situation, and the need to settle down from the nomadic lifestyle and put down roots. But the poor guy didn’t seem to have the foresight to see that its not just about the money. That the end result of living in a godless culture would lead him not just to distance himself from God, but to open himself and his family up to all sorts of risks. And its not just about the sex. Thats what Sodom has come to be famous for in history. But a society with few controls on moral behaviour rapidly becomes a society that opens itself up to violence and injustice.

But what struck me by the whole Lot and Abraham story is that incredible passage in Genesis 18 where Abraham debates with God over the fate of Sodom and his nephews family who are living there. What struck me is that sometimes a good man, like Lot, can be stuck in an intolerable situation, and become spiritually unable to help himself to escape. What he needed was an Abraham, living on a higher plain, walking in communion with God, to intercede and pray on his behalf.

What a powerful spiritual tool is intercession. To be able to stand in the place of people who cannot or will not pray for themselves, and who are maybe not even conscious of the dangerous situation they are in. I walk through the park and down by the river, and I see countless faces, marked by worry an anxiety. And I wonder, who is stand up for them . Who is interceding before a holy God and pleading for their lives, for God to break through and overwhelm them with His mercy and love. I wish I could be that one.

By the way, the picture is of a 5th century mosaic depicting the parting of the ways between Abraham and Lot that is situated in the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome

Breaking Through

2010-01-29T13:22:00.000-08:00

So there’s this big rock. A massive lump of granite, taller than a building, and it seems to have been sitting there for centuries. Originally it would have probably stood on its own in a patchwork of rice and wheat fields. Now its hemmed in by the growth of the city around it, and in fact forms part of the compound of “Beakthrough”, Bangalore, where our daughter Sharon and husband Rohit now live, and where we spent ten days of our Christmas holidays in India.

What fascinated me about this rock was its energy. On the early mornings, as the sun was making it over the horizon, I would walk through the garden, climb the steps up onto the back of this mountain, and gaze out over the busy roads and there commune with God. It was an easy place to talk to God. Now, I’m not one given to attaching spiritual significance to places, but I sensed a particular vibe there that made it easy to pray. A little oasis of spiritual peace in the midst of all the temples and mosques.

But the energy of the rock lay in its one unique feature. Two or three massive fissures ran down through the rock literally splitting it right down the middle. And within these fissures, the roots of an ancient tree forcing their way down through to the earth. And on the pinnacle of this rock, the wizened branches of this old tree reaching up to the heavens. You have to see it to really imagine the sheer power of life that managed to split a rock in two. The phenomenon inspired the name of the outdoor activity and team building company that Robin and Linda Paul have been running there since 2000 - “Breakthrough”. Helping individuals and teams to break through in terms of performance and communication.

So in the shadow of this powerful symbol of the strength that life has over death, that growth has over inactivity, I give glory to God, the author and perfector of this faith that helps me see beyond the mundane and to perceive the wonder in the ordinary

http://www.breakthrough-india.com/

There and Back Again

2010-01-25T04:13:00.000-08:00

Wow. 2010 has started and its January 25th already. I guess I’ll begin the year with two more mini movie reviews. Courtesy of Air India, they were what I watched on the flight over to Bangalore on December 10th and back again on January 2nd.

Anna doesn’t quite understand my fascination with Bollywood. I guess I must have looked a bit odd on the flight. The passengers seated around me were all Indian and tuned into the English channels on the in flight enter

tainment. I was the only one watching the Hindi movie! This obsession, if you like to call it that, began around 1999 when we were working in Pakistan. The first movie that really fired my imagination was Kuch Kuch Hota Hei with Shah Rukh Khan and Kajol. I guess it has something to do with the catchy tunes, the elaborate dance sequences, the melodramatic acting and the corny dialogue, the set piece plots which are often total fantasy and yet rooted in the culture of the subcontinent and its interactions with other cultures. But Bollywood has come a long way from that stereotype, and has grown up in many ways.

I haven’t had the chance to watch much on offer in recent days, and so I was considerably impressed with the quality of both “Delhi 6”, on the way out, and “Love Aaj Kal” on the return journey. The latter was a cute and contemporary love story, and the cultural nuances were painted by juxtaposing the contemporary relationship with one of twenty years ago which is played out in a series of flashbacks. Delhi 6 was also good, not only because of another excellent soundtrack by A R Rahman, but in the way it expresses the life of the community in a corner of Delhi as an often confusing mix of ancient and modern, tradition and superstition, mixed religious sensibilities of the older generation and the yearnings and passions of the younger.

Kind of sums up our trip to India - that totally sensory overload of smells, sounds and colour that hit us between the eyes on landing in Bangalore, and followed us to the beaches of Goa. It was the combination of ancient and modern, the go-ahead 21st century city, bursting at the seams with energy and struggling to keep up with itself, and the calm and serene way of life of the Goan coast and countryside being ruthlessly taken over in the name of tourism. More about these themes later, I am sure.

Two War Movies

2009-12-06T04:39:00.000-08:00

I’m normally not a huge fan of war films. I never really got into “Saving Private Ryan” and their like. But this last week I watched two world war II movies in rapid succession, because they happened to be on the television channel and found both to be compelling viewing.

The one, “Downfall”, was in German with subtitles, and depicted the last days of Adolf Hitler in his bunker while Berlin fell around him. Bruno Ganz´s portrayal of Hitler was mesmerising.

The other, “Enemy at the Gates” from 2001, is a little bit earlier, but none the less, a remarkable vision of the Battle of Stalingrad from a Russian perspective. That was the first battle the Germans lost, and spelt the beginning of the end of the Third Reich (and apparently the battle with the highest number of casualties of all time)

I suppose I found them both interesting because they didn’t give the normal British or American interpretation of that particular period of warfare, and also because they both showed the devastating impact of all out war on a people and a city.

My generation grew up without the idea of war as an immediate reality on the doorstep. There were plenty of other issues to deal with in the 60’s and 70’s, but war was not one of them. It was hard for us to imagine the level of deprivation and suffering that marked our parents generation, for whom, values of honour, loyalty and endurance were not just on their lips - they were written in their lives and part of their beings.

The thing that I came away with from those two films, was the madness, the savagery, the hell that marks so much of conflict that tears up our world, but in the middle of it all, glimpses of human dignity and real heroism. On the spiritual level also, I see myself and those around me caught up in a cosmic battle between the forces of good and evil, with the same measure of ugliness and pain, deception and betrayal, but also with a real hero and a confidence in victory

........................."He who does what is sinful is of the devil,

because the devil has been sinning from the beginning.

The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil's work." 1 John3:8

"You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them,

because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world." 1 John4:4

Being Irish

2009-11-27T01:52:00.000-08:00

Today I feel a bit ashamed to be Irish. Even though, being of Ulster Presbyterian stock, I could disassociate myself from dark misdemeanours of the Roman Catholic clergy in the Republic. I could join others in pointing the finger - that’s them, not us. But I feel tainted.

I feel tainted, when the world’s media glares on my island, and at an institutional abandonment of the principles of truth and light and care, in preference for lies and darkness and self-service. And all that in the supposed interests of God and His church.

I feel tainted by a shared humanity. And a deep knowledge within myself that, I too harbour the potential to do harm and to cover up the harm with lies, and under the cloak of religiosity and good works.

“Men have always loved darkness, instead of light,” says John the Apostle, “because their deeds were evil”.

I suppose what angers me, though, is that when something like this happens, and there is much apologising and wringing of hands, there’s also a kind of attitude of “let’s put this thing behind us, and get on with the business of managing our world better – after all, we’re not as bad as all that, are we”.

Why don’t we ever listen. Why don’t we ever see. Stories like this, and all the other sin-filled stories that fill the newspapers this morning, only go to show the truth of what was told long ago, that

..............................................The human heart is the most deceitful of all things,

and desperately wicked

We are all infected and impure with sin.

When we display our righteous deeds,

they are nothing but filthy rags.

Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall,

and our sins sweep us away like the wind.

But, God who is rich in mercy, because of his great love for us,

made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in our sins—

for, it is by grace you have been saved.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,

that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

From Jeremiah 17, Isaiah 64, Ephesians 2 and John 3

Season of Mists

2009-11-04T01:52:00.000-08:00

Morning. 7am. No birdsong. Muffled noise of cars from the northern Highway. A plane rising from Lisbon Airport. The usual sounds of the morning air silenced by a white shroud of November mist sweeping down the river to the ocean.

Its like this most mornings these days and reminds me that life is not always as clear as we would like it to be. And once the mist has cleared, which often happens around midday, the colours of day take on an amazing brilliance, and it seems the air smells sweeter.

We’ve just had a weekend of fog also in the calendar. Halloween on Oct 31 followed by All Saints Day, Nov 1st and All Souls Day, Nov 2nd . The one, a confusion of children’s parties thinly overlying a somewhat more sinister underworld, the other two days, vaguely understood religious traditions to do with the dead passing through on their way to Paradise.

It’s a pity that so little of the real majesty of a God who has made a sure and tested way of finding eternal hope and an escape from this world of sin and uncertainty is not more visible in these cultural events that dot the calendar. It’s easy to pass off Halloween parties as so much innocent fun and those who would say otherwise as spoilsports, but what if this world of ghouls and witches is not so make believe as they make out. Is it not so much better to celebrate the reality of God’s great rescue plan

He has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves.

....................................................................................................................Colossians 1:12

Mustard Seed

2009-10-27T03:16:00.000-07:00

Sunday was the turn of the seed and the sower in our series on the parables of Jesus. Picking up with my finger tip a mustard seed, it amazes me that something so tiny, insignificant, infinitesimal, has the potential for life. To the untrained eye it has no more worth than a grain of sand, but for the one who knows, it holds a wealth of growth and fruitfulness.

Looking around our room on Sunday evening at where we are at as a community of Christians, we may seem a small and insignificant group, yet we have the most amazing potential for something massive and awesome that God is wanting to do. Holding out this Word of Life in a crooked and soulless generation, and shining here like stars in the universe

This last week, the Portuguese newspapers related two events which, in one sense, had little to do with each other and yet had everything to do with each other. One was the launch of a new edition of the Bible by the Sociedade Bíblica de Portugal to mark 200 years of its existence. Not so much a new translation but an elegant new presentation, without chapter and verse numbers, created to look and be read as a work of literature

The same week heralded also the launch of Jose Saramago’s new novel “Caim”. Saramago is Portugal’s nobel prize winner, and best known author, probably best known for his book “Blindness” for which . Unfortunately his words at the Press Conference showed neither much nobility of spirit, nor vision. In a vitriolic and bitter attack on the integrity of the Bible, he called it a catalogue of violent acts and the worst aspects of human nature, and not a book suitable to be put before children.

Yes, if you don’t know the difference between a mustard and a grain of sand, you would be inclined to sweep up both and throw them out in the rubbish.

Doing justice, loving mercy and walking humbly

2009-10-18T02:12:00.000-07:00

We live in a rich area. You can tell by the clothes the children wear. You can tell by the way the roads and the lawns are kept tidy. There are all the tell tale signs of prosperity around us.

On discovering that this week was a special campaign of the Micah Challenge movement here in Portugal and that yesterday, Saturday October 17th was the Global Day of Eradication of poverty, we wondered what do with our regular Saturday morning activity in the square. How can we inspire our little “Lusitos” who come to us every Saturday morning for crafts and colouring in to think in terms of need, and hunger and pain.

How do you communicate to four and five year olds these harsh realities that are so much a part of life for the half of the world they know nothing about. This was the result. A simple do-it-yourself little cardboard hut. It was easy for them to cut out and put together and provided a talking point. “How do you think it would be to live in a one-roomed hut with your mum and dad, brothers and sisters, grannies, cousins uncles and aunts. How would you all sleep? Where would you all go to the toilet?”

I think the message got across. It’s a constant challenge, knowing how to inject what we do (plasticine and colouring pencils) with the values of the Kingdom. But as Micah himself says.

He has shown you, o Man , what is good,
And what does the Lord require of you
To act justly
To love mercy
And to walk humble before your God.
...............................................................................Micah 6:8

In all that we are doing and trying to be, I think that has to be the key thing. It’s at one and the same time, a simple thing to follow, and yet a profoundly difficult balancing act to maintain.

What does it mean for me to practice justice and righteousness in my relationships with my friends. What is mercy and how do I show mercy to the people down my corridor. And when do I find clear time to walk humbly with my God.

http://www.micahchallenge.org/

http://www.desafiomiqueias.com/www.desafiomiqueias.com/DM.html

Who's Getting your Best

2009-10-13T02:49:00.000-07:00

Does God sometimes speak to you through rock songs? Well, probably not. But I don’t know. The lyrics sometimes come from human experiences born out of deep pain and frustration.
So when Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters screams out

“Is someone getting
The Best
The Best
The Best of you?”

Do I not sometimes feel God shouting at me in the same terms. Am I giving Him my Best? In the morning when I wake up, does he get the Best part of my day? When I receive my income for the month does He get the Best of my money? When I’m working does He get the Best of my time, the Best of my energy, the Best of my concentration?

Dave Grohl growls out what any lover feels. Jealousy! And the Book of Exodus (34:14) looks at God and calls him Jealous.

“Do not worship any other god, for the LORD, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God”

We like to have all sorts of other names for God. Good, Loving, Merciful, Kind. But this Jealousy is as much a part of His character as the others. He wants us all of us all for Himself. Not just a bit. He’s not about to share us with anyone else..

And while on the subject of being faithful to one person, doesn’t it strike you as odd that, in an age when monogamy is history and lifelong commitment to one person is out of date and everything is swinging, the huge number of song lyrics we listen to every day of the week on our car radios long for, yearn for, commitment to the One, possession by the One, and life long love for the One

"I could hold you
For a million years
To make you feel my love" ........................Adele

"No one, no one, no one
Can get in the way
of what I feel for you" ................................Alicia Keys

"No, they don't know who I really am
And they don't know what I've been through
but you do

And I was made for you..." ......................Brandi Carlile

"Just like a tattoo, I’ll always have you" Jordin Sparks

It seems like people are crying out for something that will last, something that won’t involve the shame of lying, the wretchedness of leaving, and the pain and frustration of rebuilding. Amazing, isn’t it, that we already have that in God. And when we have God, we have everything else besides.

"Since he did not spare even his own Son

but gave him up for us all,

won’t he also give us everything else?"

* Romans 8:32

A Sense of Wonder

2009-10-10T06:54:00.000-07:00

I don’t even pretend to be a literary buff but there was a poem by William Wordsworth that always caught my imagination. And it wasn’t “the Daffodils” either. “Intimations of Immortality in Early Childhood” was composed at Grasmere in the English Lake District aroud 1803. It is a long philosophical ode describing among other things, the “sense of wonder” that children instinctively have in all that is around them. As an impressionable 15 year old, the title itself of the poem was enough to intrigue me.

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream
It is not now as it hath been of yore;—
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen
I now can see no more”.

Let's learn to look at stuff more with the eyes of a child. Today in our Saturday morning kids programme “os Lusitos”, we did autumn and falling leaves, and it was cool watching kids’ imagination run wild as they coloured in autumn leaves fantastic shades of purple and vermillion. Us adults, we would say, oh yes, the leaves change colour and fall to the ground. There's a simple scientific explanation. More than that it becomes someting of a nuisance to drivers. Children, on the other hand, possess that elusive “sense of wonder” that enables them to perceive the magic and the grandeur of their planet in a way that we have somehow lost as we deal with the prosaic.

Of course I have to quote Van the Man at this point. Anyone who reads my blog will know of my attachment to the music to my compatriot and his longings for East Belfast and the lost world (for him) of the Castlereagh hills. He describes Autumn and the passing of the seasons thus in “A Sense of Wonder”

.........................................“…I said I could describe the leaves for Samuel and Felicity
..........Rich, red browney, half burnt orange and green.
..................Didn’t I come to bring you a sense of wonder
....................Didn’t I come to lift your fiery vision bright

Didn’t I come to bring you a sense of wonder in the flame.

It’s easy to describe the leaves in the autumn

And its oh so easy in the spring

But down through January and February
It’s a very different thing.

On and on and on, through the winter of our discontent.

When the wind blows up the collar and the ears are frostbitten too

I said I could describe the leaves for Samuel and what it means to you and me….”
(Van Morrison "A Sense of Wonder" 1985)

And so the song goes on. The point that I am making is this. Let’s never lose that sense of wonderment at life and love and creation and redemption and us and God. I like to feel that I continue to nurture that sense as I look around me, at nature, at the lives of my friends and neighbours, at marriage and childbirth, sunset and high tide, and a whole host of other daily miracles that we can so easily miss out on, and never see the wonder of it at all.