Something to SHOUT! about

Yesterday was a day for discoveries.

Three new things to discover and they are all interlinked (well, kind of...)

Firstly, I discovered a new beach I didn’t know existed - Praia da Adraga.

Tucked underneath the lighthouse of Cabo da Roca, and the westernmost beach of continental Europe, it’s a jewel of a pirate cove with deep blue waters, shelving sands, caves and sharp rocky outcrops. With a few hours to kill on a June afternoon while Anna attended a board meeting in Rio do Mouro in nearby Sintra, I found my way down there and was immediately captivated. Well worth the effort to get there.

Secondly, I discovered that Primark exists in Portugal . in a brand new shopping centre in the northern suburban sprawl of the city.

This we had in fact discovered a few weeks ago, much to Anna’s delight – Irish styles and Irish prices. So today (and here’s the albeit tenuous link) in order to appear presentable at a concert that we were to attend that evening in the Centro Cultural de Belem, and having just crawled out of the surf at Praia da Adraga and without sufficient time to make it home to change and back again, a visit to Primark (shirt €7, trousers €5, comb €1) was considered appropriate.

Thirdly, I discovered a new kind of sound. a Portuguese version of Gospel music.

The concert we were to attend was be a group named SHOUT! And we were there on the invitation of our good friend Maria, whose colleague at work was one of the 9 girls and 4 guys who made up the choir. Sung from the heart, amazing harmonies, very well presented and with a central focus on the name of Jesus, this was a real blessing to experience It is unusual to find in today’s Portugal any form of Christian music achieving such prominence. Usually, in the popular mindset it is relegated to the ranks either of either dull hymns droning in dusty cathedrals, or off-the-wall Pentecostal ravings from Brazil. But this was professional, measured, rich and above all enjoyable. Openly enjoyable to the performers who were having a great time, and infectiously enjoyable to us also, the audience.

My only observation, is that they have adopted a musical genre that is still distinctly foreign, belonging as it does traditionally to black American culture. I’m sure that it could and should be developed with time into an authentic Portuguese sound that could become a dynamically creative musical expression of personal faith and hope in Christ for this generation. Portugal certainly needs it.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q59FIQ19Gp0&feature=related

Portuguese summer

We have come to the conclusion that the Portuguese do summers well. During the grey days of winter, everyone seems to keep their heads down, and get on with life and work in a kind of semi hibernation mode. But summers are different. People even dress better. And by June in Lisbon with the Festa de Santo Antonio lasting up to three days it becomes one long party, full of sardines, sangria and sunshine.

Yesterday being officially the first day of summer, and the current heatwave set to continue a few more days, and not having church till the evening, Anna and I thought we would be smart and beat the traffic and the midday heat by heading out to the coast first thing. By “first thing” I mean 08:30 when conventional wisdom says most people are still in their beds on a June Sunday morning. Wrong! How come ten thousand other Lisboetas in their cars had exactly the same thought. Beat the traffic. Beat the heat. Find a good parking spot by the beach. And all converge on the narrow strip of Avenida Marginal to crawl along beside crystal waters with one hand on the gear stick and the other on the horn. I guess we must be starting to "think Portuguese" which can only be a good thing.

Anyway down on the narrow strip of sand it was good to watch the boats in the bay, to see the sunlight glistening on the clear water and to know that

“God has made everything beautiful for its own time, and planted eternity in the human heart, even though people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end” (Ecclesiastes 4:11).

Bloomsday

Yesterday, June 16th, apparently was “Bloomsday”, which probably would have passed you by unless you were of a literary inclination. It would most certainly have passed me by, had it not been for an advertisement for a free show with a cocktail reception after that come into my email inbox the other day.

Anyway Anna and I trooped along to the Teatro Sao Luiz, in downtown Lisbon, to see what it was all about. Bloomsday celebrates the fictitious day in 1904, described by James Joyce in his classic book “Ulysses” and the Irish Association here in Lisbon had put on this one man show called “Jimmy Joyced!” in which the actor Donal O’Kelly delivered in the space of an hour and twenty minutes what amounted to a one-man dramatised year in the life of the writer James Joyce

Anna thought it might be a drag, one actor and a bare stage, but I had a hunch we were in for a treat. The Irish have a knack for storytelling in a way that keeps you enthralled to the end, even when it’s Norman McCracken up in the pulpit of 1st Presbyterian Coleraine telling one of his "shaggy dog" stories. As it happened, we were enthralled and enjoyed the evening immensely. The theatre was filled with what I guess would have been a mixture of the expat community and the Portuguese literati. The Irish may not have colonised the world like the British the Spanish or the Portuguese yet they have created a form of cultural colonisation with the likes of James Joyce and U2, so that wherever you go in the world there’s a warm and positive welcome if your Irish.

Contrast that with today’s news from the gentle emerald isle of racial tension and Romanian families in South Belfast being rehoused for their safety from thugs and vandals. That’s the eternal enigma of the Irish. Yes, the welcome’s there in the parlour, we’re warm, expansive generous and hospitable, but at the very same time, we can be narrow, bitter, intolerant and hard. And in Christian terms we have one of the highest concentrations of churches and evangelical communities in Western Europe, but we still find it tough to express the love of Christ in a way that wins over the man in the street.

http://www.donalokellyproductions.com/?p=136

Hymns to the Silence

For quite a few months I have been struggling with my right knee. An intermittent strain or stiffness that has kept me from running for ages. At least that was my excuse.

There was probably a lot of laziness in there as well. I had also dropped the touch rugby for a time. And during this time there’s a fear that the years are at last catching up. The old joints aren’t going to work any more the way they did. The freedom to be able to up and run down the river is going to be taken away.

But today was good. I was able to pound up and down the river and do the full four kilometres. I got “Hymn to the Silence” on my iPod and I set it to repeat, so it played over and over again. It’s got a nice easy beat that keeps you going. And Van Morison with his homespun wisdom, all about feeling the silence at half past eleven on long summer nights, and dreaming in God. Van, you’re the man. Silence and wind, and the river and the bridge. Clouds and sunshine and God is good

And alongside me, the bride-to-be is pounding her way along the river too. Getting into shape to look her best and fit her dress. Not that she needs to. I keep telling her she’s thin as a rake. If she works out any more she’ll waste away to nothing before the wedding day even come. But I’m laughing anyway.
I already have my suit (SEE BELOW FOR PREVIOUS ENTRY). So I can tuck into the Cadbury’s creme eggs without batting an eyelid.

Spring Station

“Em Abril, águas mil”. An old Portuguese saying reminds us that April is the month of one thousand rainfalls”, and it has seemed like that this year. At least it now feels as though it’s about to change with bright sunshine today and a cool breeze

The word for season in Portuguese is “estação”, which is the same as the word for railway station. It’s an interesting concept. Every season is another station, another staging post to stop at and be refreshed. Winter gives way to Spring, and Spring turns into Summer. It’s the same in life. The seasons we pass through kind of define where we are, and they’re all part of the one awesome journey.

There’s a song that’s been buzzing in my mind in recent days as its been played quite a lot on the radio. It’s “The Story” by Brandi Carlile and seems to sum up the impact that all these seasons have on us as we walk through life

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am

But these stories don't mean anything

When you've got no one to tell them to

It's true...I was made for you

Talking about lines,
Peter Sluimer is a man with plenty of them on his face!!
Last weekend we were down in the Algarve for a specific purpose – a farewell service for these wonderful colleagues. Peter and Marianne Sluimer. Having spent twenty five years here in Portugal and starting the International Church of the Algarve, they are now moving on, not to retirement, but a new “station” in life, working with a small church in the Pyrynees.


On the Saturday evening there were many tributes from al over, but the most poignant and meaningful for us was from a Portuguese woman who lived literally just up the road from them. She came down to the front of the room and said with real emotion in her voice “I’ve known Peter and Marianne for just four years and now I’m angry with God. I‘m angry that I didn’t get to know them sooner, and now they’re leaving!” And she went on to share how meeting the Sluimers introduced her to the wonder of a real relationship with Jesus and enriched and blessed her life in many ways. I guess, I'm left thinking and praying that as we pass on from one station to the next, we will leave people enriched and blessed, and spread the aroma of Christ wherever we go.

Suntoucher

Yesterday, no, it was Sunday, Easter Sunday, and I found myself on top of a hill in the Algarve at 06:30 waiting for the sunrise. It was wonderful!
It had been ages since I took part in an Easter sunrise service, and my mind goes back to a Portrush headland in a dull grey dawn, to Tehran, to Faisalabad and to the beach at Karachi. But this was not an Easter sunrise service. Just me and the dawn and the cold wind. Because although it’s already the 12th of April, the early morning air is cold.

I settled down on the rough ground to wait, pulled my coat closer and leaned back against a tree trunk. And waited. Watching the hill to the east. First an intense glowing from behind the hill. Then, as it were, waves of golden light began pouring down into the valleys on either side of the ridge. Then a blazing wisp of cloud leapt up from the brow of the hill. And finally, and I watched, open-eyed in wonder, a silent explosion of light as if the very top of the hill had suddenly come off and revealed a boiling cauldron of molten – light. It boiled and hung in the morning air for some moments and eventually detached itself from the hillside. My eyes shut. Couldn’t cope with the intensity of the light. Burning into my soul. Blinding me to all else. The ground once visible and tangible, now suddenly plunged into a nether world of shadows once more. AND SO I THOUGHT…
This is what Resurrection means. A burning realisation that all we are in the here and now is transient, a vague dream that is soon over and gives way to the proper day. Thank you God for this moment.

“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you. ~

See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples,

but the LORD rises upon you and his glory appears over you.”

Isaiah

“Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned”

Isaiah

“But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise

with healing in its wings.

And you will go out and leap

like calves released from the stall.”

Malachi

Bridge to Nowhere

Every morning we’re confronted with the amazing symmetry of the Vasco da Gama Bridge, all 17 kilometres of it crossing the River Tejo right by our house. It’s quite a sight especially bathed in early morning sunshine.

And on long summer nights with the window open, you can hear the constant hum of traffic, and the occasional roar of boy racers doing their illegal stuff across the bridge at two or three am. The point is, this bridge is going somewhere. It’s the gateway to the Algarve, to the Alentejo, to Sapin and anywhere else you might care to go. On Friday afternoons and holidays, it’s crammed with traffic getting away from the city.

A huge amount of thought, effort and expense went into the creation of this bridge. And much of that preparation would have included the approach roads on either side that define its usefulness and access to people. And then I see a bridge that lacks that. Solidly constructed yet with no function in terms of connecting people together. On the TV news last night there was a short piece on a motorway bridge over the A4 at Maia, near Porto. They showed a google map image of the bridge and you can see for yourself how its become a laughing stock after 14 years of just sitting there and going nowhere. Something to do with a dispute between the construction company and the landowners. And now its due to be demolished to allow for widening of the motorway.

Sometime churches can be bridges to nowhere. Either they are rooted in community, everyone has easy access, is welcomed on board, but then they find that their church does not actually deliver. It does not actually lead them on to know God, and move onto a road that will lead to a solid spiritual walk with the Lord. Or there are other churches, so well designed and constructed in their theology to deliver anyone on it safely to the other side, but so far removed from everyday life and culture, that few actually make it onto the bridge. Church needs to be rooted in both. Blaze a clear pathway to the other side of life with God, but understand and be rooted in the life and culture of the society it exists for.