Birds

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?

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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?

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

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...

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

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

“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