Tatters

I've been struggling a lot with depression recently. It's part of the whole "burnout thing" but it isn't the first time this has happened... it is the worst since I have been a Christian though.

I can't really estimate how long this has been around - it's hardly a binary state - but though life got particularly hard this last term it wasn't until the middle of June, when my degree ended and the change of pressure inevitably hit, that I have been steadily failing at keeping on with God... Often, you see, it was a way to draw near to Him; a place where being dependent resulted in intimacy, no burden was too great and every struggle could also be seen as a blessing. Not a place of perfection but somehow different to how things are now... where, though nothing much has changed in my actual world, it just sucks. I have been rubbish in no uncertain terms and I ain't gonna dwell on my Roman's 7ish tendencies (link). Nor will I exhort the Romans 18:28-ing (link) of them with any stories, though I have them (God is good). Rather I have an analogy.

It is of course resistance training. When you work out it isn't the rep's you can do that are building muscle, but the ones you really can't. Before I was coping, so up goes the pressure. Simple. I am getting strengthened for the next fight I gotta be in (link). Turns out the stuff from before wasn't enough to grow me beyond my limits. I signed up for it with some reckless enthusiasm about being refined and thus made ready to defeat the nasties in the world, and it seems that prayer gets answered... so I am broken, like the ragged, sinewy fibres of a pumped and aching bicep.

I am not going to tell you that I am ok with this. I sometimes am (rarely) and I will be in the future but it is chronically painful a lot of the time and I am very very shaky in my sinful - that is unloving, lifeless, hopeless and generally dodge - attitude and actions. My faith is a wreck, nothing seems to be working out, and I'd rather I was driving along just dandy down the motorway that is my life instead of stuck on a back road with a girt fat tree across the path... or some such. But something put into words by the father of Sam (link), whose tragic death can teach us all a thing or two about putting up with crap, has spoken to me with a far better analogy:

I had a thought today.

It may seem a little random to you but whatever.

As I was thinking about my faith it seemed that it was in tatters around my feet. shreds of it lay all around.

And then I thought perhaps a good way to picture what faith is like would be to imagine a warehouse full of expensive material, sillk or something like that.

Then imagine that someone had placed a bomb right in the centre of the warehouse and blown it up. bits of cloth would fly all over the place and the once beautiful rolls of silk would be chard, ripped and ruined.

and now imagine me (or you?) standing amongst all the bits, the rags that were once silk sheets but are now no more than tatters.

Surely that cant be can it?

Surely our faith is so precious that it must remain in tact. Surely there are things we cannot question!

As I am thinking these thoughts I run around and try to find matching shreds and try to piece them together but I reject the idea of trying to put them back together since they can never again be the beautiful thing they once were, they will never, ever be beautiful, silky smooth, unblemished rolls of perfect silk.

But thats all I have left.

So, I gather the bits together, I carefully and lovingly sew each piece to its partner, and slowly, very, very slowly I rebuild. eventually, after the most amazing ammount of effort I get to the point where I have connected all of the pieces together and now I have a roll of silk again.

But my roll is scarred, stitched together with unskilled hands, threads sticking out here and there, a piece connected back to front and not exactly pefectly straight edged. no longer perfect, not by a long chalk but its there. All my work has seemd to have been for nothing.

How can I present my broken and ripped faith to Jesus? how will this inadequate, distorted thing ever be good enough to get me into heaven? Can I ever use it again? How dare I? what would Jesus, the "author and perfector of our faith" think.

I have not the first idea but in fear, I approach Him and present what I have.

I hold out my faith, falling apart at the seams, ragged and torn to my Lord.

He reaches out a hand to take it.

His hands are the strong hands of a carpenter, hard skinned and knocked by years of practice, but most of all I notice his wrist, torn through, a ragged hole where a nail once ruined his perfect body, I look up and see his eyes, lovingly examiniging my broken faith, his head is marked by thorns, his back is ripped to shreds by a whip that broke his body and his side is ripped open by a spear "just to see if he was dead".

and then I realise, the author and perfector of my faith understands better than I can ever do what it means to be stood among the pile of shreds that was once your beautiful faith. He knows what it means to be crushed, broken and seperated even from God in a way that I will never know.

So now I can try.

At least I can try to pick up the piecses of my faith, find a needle and thread and start to work out how it all goes together.

Thats where I am at right now...

"For it is by grace that you are saved through faith and this is not the result of your own good deeds so that no one can boast."

any one got a needle?

Thinking like this doesn't come easy to me, mind; I don't always have the 'give-a-damn'-ness to want to do that, even having realised the grace both in this parent's attitude and Jesus's actions. But the very nature of that grace necessarily says that I don't have to bring anything myself to the table to be changed. Two days after starting this post I already feel a bit more alive... and if my experience and (meagre) trust is anything to go by then this fight is not over yet...

The Cat of Redemption

I'm in London for one night only (well, probably two now actually, extended by popular demand) to visit some friends who were passing through, raid the folk's fridge and do my laundry. It's thus far proven successful on the first two accounts already and I only arrived last night.

When I got in about 11pm I saw my cat Tilly standing in the hallway. She is a shy thing, all black and half feral, who had only slightly begun to be sociable just before we got our psychotic dog four years ago. Since then her feral side had come out in full force as she spent all her time in the neighbour's shed, only coming in to eat and skulking round the house on person alert if it was cold outside. Yesterday she stood there for ages and looked at me.

The first thing I though was how lovely it was to see her there, sort of greeting me.

The second thing I thought was how very sad that the reason she was is that my psychotic dog got put down since I was last here (see this link), for (not surprisingly) being psychotic. At the time it was an analogy for things going horribly wrong in the world from the bad choices people make (though I didn't mean Wendy necessarily had a choice... but people do, however small it seems). Since that post I have experienced close at hand a shocking real example of this (see this link if you don't know what I mean but be prepared for sadness). I said no analogy befitted it but, since I really do believe in the premise of my blog that everything points towards something bigger, this tragedy too has proved to be an analogy for many things. One of which is, it turns out, unexpected life.

Sam's death brought new life. We have seen so much of it in the way communities have rallied round, friendships have deepened and God's comforting presence has been known. One woman I've heard of who turned her back on the idea of God many years ago, after the untimely death of her husband, was so impressed by the way that his parents have reacted that she became a Christian and got baptised last weekend. I acknowledge that this story only means something for Christians but it means a heck of a lot for us. No-one can deny the love that has been grown out of this darkness and, from our perspective, eternal life too. Wow.

Now, it sounds really clinical to say it's worth it. That's because it isn't. The effects of death can't be undone just like that, his family are heartbroken and will grieve for the rest of their lives. Their earthly lives. Yet being a both/and world it also is, even if we can't truly mean that in our hearts now, 'cause Sam isn't really dead. Once we get free from the now there will be no more grieving, and when that woman gets to heaven and meets him oh my will it be beautiful.

Anyway. This is a tricky conversation and I defy anyone to really know how to say that, particularly given half (made up statistic) my readers aren't Christians so won't agree at all. Back to the animals...

I am more of a dog person really and had just spent the evening with three delightful ones at Chris and Katherine's. [Actually, a another redemptive story about a dead dog is that his parent's puppy got tragically killed by a car about 6 months ago and when they did get a new one recently she was already named Grace. Isn't that lovely?] Wendy was magic (when she wasn't psychotic) and nothing can or ever will replace her but I love my cats too and we have three in the house, all of whom are experiencing a new lease of life with the death of a canine. Tilly came up to me in the kitchen this morning and was both scared of and desperate for attention... she let me "smooth" (as the Bristolians would say) her a while before she ran away. I can't wait to see how things will yet change.

[EDIT: She is SO different, even to how she was before the dog. I had a proper cuddle with her this morning for a good few minutes :-D]

The cat of redemption has reminded me that out of all things there can be brought forth good - light after the dark, sunshine after the rain, love after heartbreak, "life" after "death"... Life after Death...

I couldn't find a pic of Tilly quick to hand but this is Kitty and the shot is very cool... Analogise That!

Creating Space

What is he doing, that boy in midfield
With the innocent-looking face?
He's losing himself in the midst of the crowd
Creating space.

How does he do it, that ordinary boy
With no obvious surge of pace,
Find for himself in the crowded pitch
A private place?

The rest of the team and the other team too
Are happy to tackle and chase.
He strolls by himself in the midst of the crowd
Creating space.

Where has he gone to, that ordinary boy
With the incredibly smiley face?*
How could he shift from the well-marked pitch
Without a trace?

The rest of the team and the other team too
Continue to tackle and chase.
He's off on his own in a bubble of time
Creating space.

Allan Ahlburg, Friendly Matches, p46. Puffin, London 2002
*words slightly altered to better describe Sam


An ordinary boy was Sam. Yet really really not. Everyone knew - they could see it in his smile - just how different Sam was. The start up message on his phone said "Smile, Jesus loves you" and that is why Sam smiled... and why he was different. A little over two weeks ago this (extra)ordinary boy walked out of his football game, onto the pavement, into the arms of Jesus and now he is home (link).


A message from his dad:

Sam was a great boy. There was a reason he was like he was, its not just because of the way we brought him up or his awesome friends. he was different.

In the Bible it talks about Christians being like aliens, people who are not like other people, people who don't belong to this world, children of God, in fact.

Real Christians, like Sam, are not super heroes, they make mistakes and do things wrong and don't think they are any better than any one else but they know a secret that other people don't know and it makes them smile.

Sam knew that secret.

You wanna learn to smile like him? If you do then you need to know the secret. Thing is, it's not meant to be a secret, God has made it as plain as day.

If you don't believe in God you can't learn to smile like Sam. But if you believe...

You wanna know more? Reply to this and I will tell you what I told him and then you can chose to believe it and smile or turn your back on it and live any way you want.

The Bible says that if you know the truth you will be set free.

That makes you smile.



Today I create space for the message of a man that just cremated his extraordinary 11 year old son and still wants people to smile. Can you create the space to hear it? Maybe you already have the space and this "secret" of which we speak sounds like it might just fit...

Good Grief

Today has been the most painful day so far. God is really really good.

I have analogies to back this up but I also have a bed time to honour. So instead I will welcome the newest member of my online community and be really thankful for the fact that she too is joining in the fight against darkness.

This new blog, Good Grief (link), is my most recent analogy for the reality of hope (whilst also being a totally wonderful play on words). I don't think she will mind me explaining that the author is the same friend I mentioned yesterday as having just received an extra dose of tragedy to cope with.

Her attitude now is such a blessing to me, re-emphasising just when I really needed it that this hope is for everyone. Which is good since there isn't much point in being excited about it otherwise... This is what community is about - taking it in turns to support each other as we alternate between strong and weak.

I can't wait to read how someone else is approaching the question of light from their own perspective and language. I particularly like that it won't be a Christian blog actually... I think it'll be ace to see what universal truths are there under the semantics.

OW

I know there is such a thing as blogging too much but I don't care, it is all I can do right now.

Last week on Monday Becca marveled at my cheer. I assured her that I did have the occasional half hour of despondency and she told me that, even so, if I ever actually needed her she would be there. She did not know what she was letting herself in for.

I don't think I have ever actually seen more pain ever in one place. We are not just talking Sam, though that sort of shadows the whole thing. Failed ambitions, broken hearts, lost dreams, yet more death. Everywhere I look. What is going on...?

When I started this blog it was Easter and I wrote about that day and the resurrection of Jesus as a symbol, or analogy, of hope in and potential for fullness of life. This is still true. Yet, well, show me the fullness...

I wasn't wrong to be hopeful like this but I did miss a vital part and that part is Good Friday. The day that represents death. The day of darkness. The day that reminds us of the things in this world that block freedom and life and, to me, shows the need for the substitution of Jesus.

I really really want it to be Sunday now, all the time, but I realise it isn't. Experience speaks for itself that all is not well. Some poeple would tell me I am living in a limiting mindset. I tell them to wait for what comes next if they don't believe me yet. Every day I wake up knowing that the day has something significant to bring and every day I go to bed and am hit by the sadness of what the day did bring. This afternoon I saw hope come to one girl as she dealt with her grief... only to hear a sudden death stole the life of her friend tonight. What is going on? I thought I had it bad. How are we to stand this?

Thing is, I do. I can stand it. I don't get it but I still fervently believe in the true love forever. I think I must be autistic. When love is imperfect our hope might be misplaced. When love is perfect then, by definition, it will not fail us.

If I had to pick a day of the week to be an analogy to life now I think it would be Saturday. Touched on both sides by the dark of Friday and the light of Sunday it is the both/and once more. Moving ever closer to the next day and farther from the one before, but not yet arrived... we have departed though, our destination is certain and it is at least the weekend.

So I sing. 'Dancing in the Moonlight' and 'Dance the Night Away' are pretty helpful. They are cheesy crap but I need that right now. It is Saturday night and the lights are down low. So DANCE. What else to do? I have more vehemency for life. I don't want to be bitter like Wolverine or Inigo Montoya. I have decided to be a musician, or at least actually try. Life is too short for wishful thinking and it seems the best way I know to bring joy. We need joy so so bad. And a soundtrack to dance to.

No, my hope is not stolen yet. Au contraire, it makes me all the more desperate to get away from Friday and see the dawn rising. I think we have to be ready to herald that dawn in and seek the rising sun and the casting away of the shadows. That is where the belief in the brighter future comes from even though we are still painfully aware of the things that happened yesterday.

I don't know how much more darkness will come and I desperately hope that I can stay joyful if it does. Literally anything could happen in the blink of an eye. The world as we know it is changing before our eyes.

Apparently, though, when Pandora opened that box and let evil out into the world, left in the bottom was hope. (No, I haven't confused my religion with ancient mythology.) Fragile though it was, it was there after all the bad stuff attacked.

Every generation sees shi*t happen and they didn't all see the end of the world come. I can't possibly speculate. I don't pretend to. But the phrase "the darkest hour is before the dawn" comes to mind. Time scales are of no consequence. I personally feel I can't cope with much more of this and still keep smiling most of the time but I could be wrong... we will bear what we will bear and the promises of what will come are very good and very real. People are tougher than they think. So what if I've got an injury and may not be able to race at the weekend; and my degree is falling apart before my eyes; and, well, I don't know what will sneak up on me next to try and steal my joy but it has all been having a pretty good go. However, if I can resist long enough it will stop and then the good will come... and it's not just true for me either. It is a little scary as to what may happen next, I admit. Better pray harder. In the end though, we go through hardships (link) now for a kingdom that will not fail or end. That's not just the Bible, it's the very nature of resistance and endurance training - ask any athlete.

Yes, we really still can see the brighter future. I once marveled to myself at how chirpy this blog had turned out and how much the world seemed to be telling me bright, joyful things. Now? I think it is telling me something quite different... but also that, in the valley, good things will come and how, though still dark, the dancing for joy isn't not true.

What joy for those whose strength comes from the Lord, who have set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of refreshing springs. The autumn rains will clothe it with blessings. They will continue to grow stronger, and each of them will appear before God in Jerusalem.
Psalm 84: 5-7 (link)

Becca and I watched The Princess Bride again tonight. Keeping the vision. Lol, watching our "Perfect Love" in the shape of Westley the Farm Boy more like:


I jest because I don't know what else to do. And because I can. Hey, this is my Jesus, my true love, and I will not "marry another while He lives"... and, well, he sure is perfect... :-P Before we did this we lay on top of my car and watched the night sky and wished upon some stars. Then, well, I thought it was funny - a bloke walked past and in a moment of brilliant quickness I looked up and said:

"This isn't your car is it?"

We laughed for like 5 minutes.

Right here right now OW is a pretty good summary. But then so is WOW. Both/And. The best part is: the bad is fleeting and the good is not. This is why joy has, thus far, survived.

Sorry to be so intense, life just is right now. I wonder if it will ever not be...

A Death and a Wedding

When Sam, aged 12, died on Friday night I really didn't think this blog would be an appropriate forum to discuss it in. Well at first I didn't so much think at all, it was mostly an emotion of deep sadness. As the waves of grief wash over a person the internal processing is also tidal, and when I did get round to reasoning about it, particularly in the context of my world view, I didn't know how I could possibly reconcile my (still existing) hope and love of life with public expression or enthusiasm. There is distaste and then there is betrayal of dear friends in their terrible loss.

I made two mistakes. The first was an air of flippancy about joy as I blogged before. The second was to think that I must not be joyful now.

On Friday morning I felt like I wanted wanted to write a clarifier in response to my enthusiasm about dancing (link). Since Friday night I have had the fuel for this clarifier but it literally grieves me as to what it took to help me understand.

I find a useful model for experiencing the ups and downs of life in both the Bible and ancient philosophy. 1 Corinthians 4 (link) talks about a church that grieves together and rejoices together whilst Plato (link) too describes this when outlining a "city with the best constitution". We need to be respectful of one another when we see what we are going through but, more than that, community is about truly sharing in each others's lives. This morning at church we grieved corporately. I saw mourning parents, spoke with them, hugged them, cried a little too. It was really real and it was terribly sad and there are no answers.

And I don't think we are supposed to have them. We believe in a God that raises people from the dead but we live in a world where people do die and stay dead. The knowledge that Sam knew Jesus is a huge comfort to those of us who believe that means he is is heaven, but it doesn't stop the tragedy of a young life coming to an end; and expecting good things to be brought from this does not justify the loss. I think perhaps there are sometimes more questions as a Christian than not, because we believe that God knows what will happen and has power over everything. The need to let go and remember our humanity is difficult in the promise that we have the authority of Christ living in us.

So there is Both denial And acceptance of this death. And this is the first of many BOTH/ANDs. God is good... and bad things happen. We are free and empowered to live life in fullness... and life gets taken away. We should be glad for what is out there... and there are nasty things out there trying to get in. Continuing to believe in the best things... and seeing the worst happen. Knowing that Jesus said fullness of life is right here right now if we choose to live in it... but also knowing that He said He's going to one day come back and bring it with Him.

That last one in particular... it fits with my adamancy of late that we have the complete potential to be totally whole and free and living life in all it's fullness, yet with this happening as a sudden stark reminder of the final chapter to come in the story. It is NOW and NOT YET. How can this even be the case?

But it is the case. And as we mourn and are genuinely sad I have also had tons of laughter in the past 24 hours. I was at times so hopeful for what will come from this that I felt guilty... until I randomly met with my pastor in the street at just the right time, had some great sound advice from friends, re-remembered how to cry, then heard a sermon that reminded me I am only finite in my capacity to feel and that people can be both JOYFUL and GRIEVING simultaneously. I saw smiles and laughter at church, even through the tears of his parents. It was only a moment but everywhere and in every way we and life are both/and. [I highly recommend the sermon actually and will put a link up just as soon as it is online. It isn't overt-God, just really helpful ideas about expressing the truth that joy and hope and love is not wrong in the face of this, but that the pain is still real.]

Studying maths I have learned that many things are beyond understanding. If backed into a corner, even the most brilliant of theorists will have to admit that the very foundations of maths are unproven, circular and paradoxical. That is a nightmare and because of it we mathematicians live behind a veil of ignorance (wow I would not be popular in my department if they knew I said that!). The same impossibility applies here. Stuff happens that the actual processes of logic we use to function can't grasp. Life (and counting) does seem to work and go on but the why is totally incomprehensible and that is the point of trust.

One of the problems with the maths is the realm of the infinite. Things just change when we deal with numbers that aren't tangible. There is no more "logic". Sam's death is simply wrong on our finite human scale. When we factor in eternity it doesn't stop our human reasoning from being in pain because we are still human, but it does mean that somehow something is different... even if we are unable to fully grasp it. His six year old brother serenely drew a picture of him going off in a balloon from the rest of the family to a happy place. Kids that age don't have a grasp of the impact of "forever" apparently. I think maybe we are ones the that don't have the grasp. Who knows, perhaps that is the childlike faith we are told to believe in.

It was a steal, not a plan. But in the long, actual long, run, in a way we don't yet get, it is still fullness of life. Not the kind of death (link) that I wrote of before, so we don't mourn like those without hope (link). But we do mourn for now. Yet not too.

To carry on we must remember it is both/and. The sadness of death is true but so is the joy of life and, since the size (or cardinality for a mathematician) of the life far exceeds the size of the death, the net result is still good. In theory at least.

The wedding celebrated in our church on Saturday reminds us of this joy. A wedding, like the one Jesus gives (as mentioned a couple of posts ago (link)) as an analogy for the union of us with Him when He returns for good. The picture of perfect love, intimacy and joyful celebration for ever. We are still to hope for that and remember that it is coming in entirety one day...

Another thing we did yesterday was take part in a social action project, blessing the very community (I actually drove past the spot) in which the hit and run took place. Sharing love potentially, and definitely symbolically, with the drunk driver responsible. I was group leading with some children that day who are Sam's age and younger. They can't help but be joyful it seems. As we were driving along they started shouting excitedly out the window and, after a conversation about sensitivity to different people's beliefs, the little girl next to me began calling:

"Welcome to the future!"

When we got to lunch, for some unknown (possibly unknowable?!) reason there was a camp man playing a white custom-made fancy electric organ (with "Byron Jones The Welsh Wizard" written on the front) there, practising for a hymn concert that evening. Amidst the tunes he suddenly blasted out "Dancing Queen" and we all had a sing-a-long.

It IS the future, it IS dancing... and it is still a little bit now and sometimes crap with a capital 'C' too.

Fullness of life isn't always about merriment. My enthusiasm before was concerned with counteracting apathy and cynicism, not about grief in the things that genuinely demonstrate a lack of life. Yet the constant, all-pervading, joy is still a valid notion when considered in relation to the future hope; it just doesn't always look like dancing. (Though it still can do too.) Bitter-sweet.

The Bible says that the Kingdom of God (Christian lingo for total fullness of life (a necessary tautology I now realise)) belongs to those such as the children. It also says that death has lost its sting. We do still feel the bitter puncture wound right here right now but in heaven today, and forever more, Sam is dancing (well most probably playing football actually)... and he is gonna get better and better at it for ever and ever. That is just sweet.

No analogy befits this

God is still good.

Everything I've said about joy and life and hope and possibility still stand. I don't deny them for a minute. However, today I will not chirp with excitement because it is one of those rare times to mourn.

I also don't deny that there can still be these things in a place of grief. But they are not to be bandied about or paraded insensitively since the horrific loss of a young life to a drunk driver occurred in my close community last night.

He nearly got hit by a car that morning and told his mum he would never forget the day he almost died. They had a long conversation about heaven that day because of it, about how great it would be. Then that evening, leaving kids club, standing on the pavement in a crowd of friends, he was gone.

From carefree playing to eternity with Jesus in an instant. It's that close. There are questions we cannot answer and neither have we the right to understand.

We do know that good things will come... but right now we mourn.

1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18
¹³ And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. ¹⁴ For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died.

¹⁵ We tell you this directly from the Lord: We who are still living when the Lord returns will not meet him ahead of those who have died. ¹⁶ For the Lord himself will come down from heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God. First, the Christians who have died will rise from their graves. ¹⁷ Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever. ¹⁸ So encourage each other with these words.