Masterpiece

The Bible says of us that “We are God’s masterpiece, created anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago”. Now that’s in the second chapter of Ephesians which has all sorts of other wonderful stuff about passing from death to life and being incorporated into this amazing body of people, this community we call the “church” in which we are no longer foreigners and aliens, trying to make it through life it all on our own.

The word “masterpiece” strikes me as very important. It’s “God’s workmanship” in other translations and is actually “poema”, in the original. That’s the Portuguese word for poem. I’m a unique work of art, a poem written by my Father God, the creative expression of His heart! Now, I was going to upload a picture of a Van Gogh or a Rembrandt to illustrate what’s going through my mind, but then above my desk is the “Old man of Stour” in the Isle of Skye looking down at me in glowing colours of the setting sun. So I’ll let you look at that instead. It’s the September page on the Scotsman calendar that my brother sends to me faithfully every Christmas. So, before I turn over to October, here it is. Now there’s a wild work of art, a masterpiece in granite and heather, in light and shade.

All of the wonderful fine art down through the centuries has been just men and women repeating in a lesser way what God has been doing all along - creating form and beauty out of rough raw materials, out of ochres and pastels, and setting it forth for others to wonder at and respond to. It strikes me that, if art and creativity is so much a central part of the Creator’s relationship with what he has made, then why is that so much of what we do as “church” tends to become routine and run of the mill? We repeat a tried and tested format every Sunday, but where is the imagination, the creativity? A good sermon should be a true work of art, a painting in the air made of words, a conception of the God we can’t see, formed out of the pages of the Bible. Singing and praising and praying should be art in motion, emerging from vibrant, imaginative souls caught up in a passionate relationship with their Lord.

That’s why we’re His “masterpiece”. So that we can explore fully all those wonderful things that He has already planned for us to do in our lives, and in so doing create our own personal “masterpiece”. For His Glory.

Pó

Pó is the Portuguese word for dust. Powder. Two little letters that indicate something infinitesimal, insubstantial. Something that you would brush off your coat sleeve, something that you might blow out the window. And the Portuguese Bible says :

“lembra-se de que somos pó”

.... ..“He remembers that we are dust”.

I like it. Two simple letters. Reminding me of my total insignificance in the light of eternity. In the light of anything, really. We think we are something and we’re really not. The title of an early Chemical Brothers track was “In Dust we Trust” and it sometimes seems like that. That everything created adn fored and fashioned by humankind, this tottering edifice, is nothing more than so much dust. And as such, without God in the picture, it is all built on insubstantial crumbling foundations. This month, with elections in the air here in Portugal, and with so much bluster along the corridors of power, it is good to be reminded that theres a lot more to life and reality than our human dust.

Getting back to the psalm, its the juxtaposition of the two phrases “we are dust” and “He remembers” that makes it so amazing. It tells me that the One, the Eternal One, knows me. He knows who I am. He knows how I am formed, and how easily I fall apart sometimes. But, more than that, it communicates to me His, (and here’s that hugely significant Bible word), “COMPASSION”. He has compassion on me, my being, this dust bug. He showers me with His love, and has such a huge personal concern for all that I am and hold dear. Truly amazing stuff, and no matter how often I read it, still can’t fully take it in.

But there it is in prophetic print for all to read.

The LORD is compassionate and gracious,
........slow to anger, abounding in love.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
........so great is his love for those who fear him;

As far as the east is from the west,
........so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

As a father has compassion on his children,
........so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;

For he knows how we are formed,
.........he remembers that we are dust

Psalm 103

Jesus Shows the Way

We have just finished a weekend retreat in Carcavelos, down where the river meet the ocean. The combination of a nice place to stay, good company and fellowship and the fresh September air by the sea has been extremely restful.

Our theme for the weekend was “Jesus and his team” looking at the way in which Jesus developed teamwork among his disciples. The funny thing is that when I went to the internet to look for an appropriate image to introduce the theme, I plugged in the phrase “Jesus e a sua equipa” (Jesus and his team) into Google and came up with something completely different.

“A Bola” is one of the three daily newspapers here exclusively dedicated to football (it gives a measure of how seriously Portugal takes its football) and this headline was the response to my search. Benfica’s manager Jorge Jesus saying, of his team, that we’re on the right path, after a good start to the season! Yes, we have more than one “Jesus” here in Lisbon. And it’s another interesting aspect of Portugal’s ambiguous relationship with its religious heritage, that the press love to make a play on this manager’s surname, in creating their headlines.

But back to the teamwork, and Simão Silva, one of the speakers at the weekend, pointed out how Portugal can produce such world class players in Deco and Ronaldo and yet a team that can barely manage to qualify for the world cup finals (time will tell). Jesus (not the Benfica one) took a bunch of nobodies and created a team that turned the world upside down. Its amazing how being connection to this person, this Jesus, can change a person. Not just individually, but also as he relates to others. I can do all things, says Paul, through Christ who gives me strength. And WE can also do ALL THINGS, as a group of believers, followers, disciples, bound together in love and commitment to Him.

It Takes a Lot to Laugh, it Takes a Train to Cry

I never could figure out that song title from Bob Dylan’s 1965 “Highway 61 Revisited” for a long time and there wasn’t much within the songs lyrics that gave a clue either. In fact there wasn’t much in the lyrics of the whole album that made a lot of sense, but for a fourteen year old boy when it was the first LP record you had ever gone out with your saved up pocket money and bought for yourself, it was pure magic. That album, along with Jack Kerouac and John Steinbeck informed my vision of Americana, growing up as a teenager in Northern Ireland.

Now, having been through a number of goodbyes and farewells through the years, I think I get the hang of it. It takes somethng of an effort to create and keep your life filled with fun and happiness, but it only takes the mournful wail of a train drifting off into the distance (or the whine of an airplane) with someone you love on it to bring a lump to the throat and a tear to the eye.

On this occasion it is Ryan and Dana Bocock with their three little girls who are quickly passing out of our lives. They have been our neighbours here in Park of the Nations since we arrived a year and a half ago. They have helped us immensely in the early days of settling in and have played a huge part in the life of our growing community. We’ve enjoyed forest picnics, pancake breakfasts, and 4th of July parties with them, and we’ll miss them lots. Ryan’s laidback Texan style contrasted with Dana’s energetic go-getter personality. Though they were out and out Americans, they had an insatiable appetite for all things Portuguese, and a deep love of the culture and the people and every weekend had to be filled with visits to Sintra, to Belem, to the museums and gardens that this city excels. And this infectious exultation in life was carried on through their children, who we will always remember of an evening desperately fighting off sleep in order to keep on playing and enjoying all that the day still had to offer.

So it’s back to Austin, Texas and a different future and a new area of service. Their going leaves me with the two realities of living this life for God as we do. One that God brings just the right people into our lives for the right season of our lives in order to fulfil His plan and purpose for our lives. The second is that when God removes someone he always has another chapter about to open up. There’s never a vacuum with God. When the curtain closes on one particular scene, it lifts almost immediately on the next scene.

I the LORD have spoken, and I will do it. And then they will know that I am the LORD

A Walk among the Cork Oaks

“How the trees can sometimes bring you round”, was the title I gave to a piece of poetry I wrote when I was about eighteen. I don’t have it still. I wish I did, seeing as I don’t write poetry, as a general rule. As an eighteen year old you do a lot of things that get lost with the passing of time. All that angst and acne.

It was written sometime in between being an unbeliever and entering into a full and living relationship with Jesus Christ, and expresses that sudden awareness that there is a lot more to everything than meets the eye, when it comes to matters concerning God and atheism and faith and doubt. And it was the trees that brought me round to that particular realisation.

Tall trees, stately trees, swaying in the winter wind trees that whistled round our home back then growing up in Coleraine. Trees, that in their own way, spoke to my heart of a Creator who formed them, placed them there, and to whom they returned glory and honour…..simply, by existing. I remember back then as I tried to express my feelings in words “how the trees can sometimes bring your round, the tall trees, the stately trees...” I wish I could remember it all. It was kind of along the lines, and possible inspired a little by the words of Isaiah, “and the trees of the field shall clap their hands as you walk out with joy” * . Words from the old book that at that time I was not ready to fully acknowledge as the Word of God, were already speaking into my life. That would come later.

And now, thirtysomething years later, I find myself walking through an ancient forest of cork trees here in Alentejo, Portugal, and the power of the trees to express something of their Creator comes back to me. These trees in particular seem to possess an ancient wisdom, if trees can be said to have wisdom. Tolkein was good at investing trees with personality with his “Ents” and his “Treebeard” in the forest of Fanghorn. I feel something of Fanghorn’s mystery here in this forest of cork oaks. Their twisted wizened shapes, their weather beaten bark and their spindly branches reaching up to your heavens.

These trees don’t have voices. They are barely able to “clap their hands” either n this windless day of summer. But without words or actions they nevertheless bring glory to their Creator. They do so, simply by existing.

* Isaiah 55:12

Beat the Donkey

Friday night we listened to what to me was the most amazing anarchic energetic creative exhibition of musical theatre I have encountered in a long time. It was billed as a concert by Brazilian percussionist Cyro Baptista and his troupe of assorted musicians who call themselves “Beat the Donkey” and was part of the week long Festival of World Music in Sines 150 km south of Lisbon which we have been enjoying while here on holiday in the Alentejo Coast

The fact that these multi talented artists trooped out on stage at about one in the morning after two other sets by Polish and Indian musicians had finished did not lessen the surprise at how different this all was. It exploded on stage with rhythms and beats emerging from a whole plethora of strange objects. It seemed to be a case of if it can make a noise, it can make music. In retrospect, maybe that’s why they call their band “Beat the Donkey”- If tapping out a rhythm on the back of your donkey can help you express what’s in your heart, then go ahead and beat it (as long as you don’t hurt the creature).

Isn’t this something even just a little bit close to the words of Jesus when he claimed that if the people on the side of the road who were singing to bless Him were to be silenced - “even the stones on the side of the road would cry out" * , or the cacophony of praise described in Psalm 150. "Let everything that has breath praise the Lord". We are made for music. We are born with rhythm. It’s the natural way we know of expressing what’s inside of us. Lets find ways of harnessing this to what its meant to be – praising the One who made us who we are.

While on the subject. Isn’t it a bit odd that the whole world music scene is so devoid of any expression of authentic faith in the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ There’s room for tree huggers, aryudevic massage and lingam stones. But the name of Jesus is so conspicuously absent. What have we, who know Him to be alive and with us, done to deserve that? Or more pointedly, what have we not done? If we claim that we desire to reach out to embrace the world with evangelistic zeal, how have we so completely ignored this celebration of richness and diversity in this wonderful world our God has made? The growth in world music, and the coming together of rhythms and harmonies from Mali, or Mongolia, Iceland or India, over the last thirty years or so is something that everyone else seems to have noticed and paid attention to. But the evangelical remains silent and uninvolved. So it’s really good when we do meet someone engaging in this so human of cultural expressions and trying to invest it with meaning and enrich it with authentic Christianity. Rave on, Rod and Donna, in the deserts of Sindh!!

Links

* Luke 19:40 in the New testament

http://fmm.com.pt/en/programme/

http://www.cyrobaptista.com/index_flash.cfm

What it Means to be Held

Another day, another premmy!! Yesterday we visited a tiny two week old baby, son of good friends here, who, according to the laws of pregnancy ought still to be safely tucked away back in that comfortable all embracing womb for anther two weeks before emerging into the light of day. But here he is, and his puckered up face expresses his distaste for having to breathe air so early and to cope with all these strange new realities around him.

And as Joana carries him off to be changed, screams of indignation filled the air to be placed on a changing mat and no longer held, even for a moment. All he wanted was to be held. The enduring picture in my mind is of the little one content and secure in his mother’s embrace. Sometimes all we want is to be held as well. News this morning is about possible panic surrounding the spread of swine flu, and about the rise of child poverty in Germany, Europe’s richest nation. We might be advanced, we might be prosperous, we might be comfortable in our lives, but there’ still a lot out there to make us anxious and afraid. We still need to be held.


Puts me in mind of Natalie Grants beautiful song “Held”. Written by American singer/songwriter Christa Wells, against the background of three of her friends who had had to cope with tragic loss, the first verse being inspired by one young mother’s loss of her baby after only two months

Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling

Who told us we'd be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it's unfair.

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held

You should listen to it. More than that, you should immerse yourself in the words of Jesus who promises us, not that we won’t ever suffer loss, nor that the sacred thing we hold most dear, will not be torn from our lives in some tragic moment, but that He will remain constant with us through everything we face, and will hold us in the palm of His hand. And reflect on your condition with the words of the ancient Psalm…

“….But I have stilled and quieted my soul.
Like a weaned child with his mother
Like a weaned child is my soul within me.
Put your hope in the Lord.
Both now and for evermore.

Psalm 131

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-hJ87ApWtw&feature=related

http://www.christawells.net/what-it-means-to-be-held.html