River wide

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...

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)

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)

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)

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?

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

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.