T: Okay now, do we have anything we could pray for?
P: Can you pray that I’ll manage to do all my work and still spend some proper time with God?
D. Suits me fine! 'Cause in the last few days I’ve been praying that God might go spend some proper time with someone else!
T. Dany!
Saturday 27 October 2007
Thursday 25 October 2007
This made me laugh...
(on whether recreational flying is "a symptom of sin")
This bishop is not very fun. A real Christian would be talking in terms of airflight being 'Wanton Harlotry afloat on the Devil's Own Breath' or words to that effect. If we could get more blood and thunder in the church's utterances they may get more credibility. For instance they could draw attention to the colour of the tarmac used at airports and say that 'Evil is that Black Expanse upon which the Godless artifacts of the Misbegotten, nay and thrice nay, etc. etc.' Let's have some good old Bible waving and shouting from the pulpit about lost souls in torment. Is there any wonder people stay away from the churches if all one gets from the clergy is the same old crap that the politicians are coming out with?
The comment was left by "Slightfoxing" on the Guardian's Comment Is Free page.
Wednesday 24 October 2007
Mr Sauder's Commencement Address
Yesterday while reviewing my notes I came across a passage that I had lifted from one commencement lecture given at the Faith Mennonite High School by a guy called Mr Sauder. This address is absolutely brilliant and quite possibly the number one best thing I’ve read this year so I thought I’d link to it. The initial link was provided a while back by Espiritu Paz, to whom I referred a couple of posts back. An exceptional blog in many respects.
"But the most important point I want to make in connection with this sort of sacrifice is that you must be committed to it, in the deepest parts of your soul, in order to go through with it. There will be difficult moments, perhaps when your investments have displaced the resources that another tribe survived on for centuries and you have to briefly glance at painful newspaper pictures of their starving bodies over your morning cup of coffee, or listen to sobering 25 second sound bite analysis of their deadly poverty during which Expert Economists try to explain that their deaths were unavoidable".
"But the most important point I want to make in connection with this sort of sacrifice is that you must be committed to it, in the deepest parts of your soul, in order to go through with it. There will be difficult moments, perhaps when your investments have displaced the resources that another tribe survived on for centuries and you have to briefly glance at painful newspaper pictures of their starving bodies over your morning cup of coffee, or listen to sobering 25 second sound bite analysis of their deadly poverty during which Expert Economists try to explain that their deaths were unavoidable".
Monday 22 October 2007
In some corner of England...
We had seen each other in Church before, but we met again on the way to lunch. It turned out that we had a lot in common, and that included a burning desire to go and explore the West Coast of North America. At lunch we found each other again and continued the conversation where we had let off. I noticed that he was wearing both a Star of David and a Hand of Fatima around his neck. I liked this. He showed me a third medal around his wrist. Then I noticed. His forearm was covered with scars. “Wow” I said, hoping to mean “man this is hardcore!”. “Yeah wow” he said, meaning “this is where I’ve been”. Shit.
We were having lunch at one of elder’s home who was in charge of the students and who had consequently invited them round to his place. There were quite a few 18-years-olds whose parents had phoned our church to make sure that they would be cared for. Most students were here for the first time. The weather was brilliant and the conversation was lighthearted. Most kids were fresh out of youth group and actually knew each other from yearly gatherings and camps.
So um, well. Conversation. There was definitely a blank, but not an awkward one. Rather a weird sense of fellowship. Though I’ve never actually self-harmed, I’ve been quite tempted to. On some days I could not verbalize the pain and I wished there was something else to take my mind off it, to escape from it. Also, it seemed like a way of expressing that I felt guilty somehow, guilty for not knowing better, guilty for not being better. I’d been quite close to that point. So in this silent fellowship we laughed. Wholeheartedly we laughed. There were two of us and we had found each other. Life is shit isn’t it? We were happy.
Anyway the scars looked very old (several years I’d say). They were white by now. And hell they must have been deep too. I still wonder whether it’s rather good or rather bad that I am always able to de-escalate things. Some days I think it’s bad because I’ve got no heart. On other days I think that’s good because I do have a radically democratic heart that refuses to construe others as pathological while it gets to feel smug and “functional”. So I de-escalate homelessness and I de-escalate self-harm. We’re in this together. You’re not that fucked up. You’re great.
I’m sure that it all sounds a bit reflexive on a screen. I.e. there goes Dany feeling all nice and warm inside because she was able to be supportive to some social charity case. This is not what happened. I was not reflexive at all. If anything, I was surprised that such a great guy had had such a rough background.
I thought his guy was awesome. I was so proud to have met him. I wanted to congratulate him: Well done! Well done for turning into such an engaging, soulful young man! Well done for making it to this University! Well done for thriving in it, despite a suicidal mother and non-existent father! Well done for caring so efficiently for her! Well done for joining this church and finding support in it! Well done for the all-out loveliness with which you simply enjoyed church and the company of normal church-going kids before university! Well done for the way in which you single-heartedly love them! I mean, you’re not just normal, you’re beautiful. I noticed that well before I noticed your arms.
I’m not sure our lousy church deserves to mumble its litanies next to someone who cries when he prays, but it is an honour to worship God next to someone like you.
We were having lunch at one of elder’s home who was in charge of the students and who had consequently invited them round to his place. There were quite a few 18-years-olds whose parents had phoned our church to make sure that they would be cared for. Most students were here for the first time. The weather was brilliant and the conversation was lighthearted. Most kids were fresh out of youth group and actually knew each other from yearly gatherings and camps.
So um, well. Conversation. There was definitely a blank, but not an awkward one. Rather a weird sense of fellowship. Though I’ve never actually self-harmed, I’ve been quite tempted to. On some days I could not verbalize the pain and I wished there was something else to take my mind off it, to escape from it. Also, it seemed like a way of expressing that I felt guilty somehow, guilty for not knowing better, guilty for not being better. I’d been quite close to that point. So in this silent fellowship we laughed. Wholeheartedly we laughed. There were two of us and we had found each other. Life is shit isn’t it? We were happy.
Anyway the scars looked very old (several years I’d say). They were white by now. And hell they must have been deep too. I still wonder whether it’s rather good or rather bad that I am always able to de-escalate things. Some days I think it’s bad because I’ve got no heart. On other days I think that’s good because I do have a radically democratic heart that refuses to construe others as pathological while it gets to feel smug and “functional”. So I de-escalate homelessness and I de-escalate self-harm. We’re in this together. You’re not that fucked up. You’re great.
I’m sure that it all sounds a bit reflexive on a screen. I.e. there goes Dany feeling all nice and warm inside because she was able to be supportive to some social charity case. This is not what happened. I was not reflexive at all. If anything, I was surprised that such a great guy had had such a rough background.
I thought his guy was awesome. I was so proud to have met him. I wanted to congratulate him: Well done! Well done for turning into such an engaging, soulful young man! Well done for making it to this University! Well done for thriving in it, despite a suicidal mother and non-existent father! Well done for caring so efficiently for her! Well done for joining this church and finding support in it! Well done for the all-out loveliness with which you simply enjoyed church and the company of normal church-going kids before university! Well done for the way in which you single-heartedly love them! I mean, you’re not just normal, you’re beautiful. I noticed that well before I noticed your arms.
I’m not sure our lousy church deserves to mumble its litanies next to someone who cries when he prays, but it is an honour to worship God next to someone like you.
(Absence of) picture credit: I really can't remember where I nicked that one from.
Friday 19 October 2007
A beautiful quote + some news
"My advice to the women of America is to raise more hell and fewer dahlias". William Allen White.
I don't really know where to start this post since I haven't been blogging for a month or so, and Geez, it's been a busy month! It's quite frustrating when I've got plenty of new topics in my head but they're all still "beyond words".
I don't really know where to start this post since I haven't been blogging for a month or so, and Geez, it's been a busy month! It's quite frustrating when I've got plenty of new topics in my head but they're all still "beyond words".
- I think I've finally discovered how to get rid of the skewed subject postion of being the "giver" or the "helper". I know it, but words don't come quite yet.
- Also I should really blog about my beautiful friend Will, the cynical South African guy who's seeking so hard that being in his presence is a bit mystical. I'm proud as hell that he likes me so much.
- And of course God had been rocking my boat in some unprecendented ways, leaving no two bricks standing on one another. Welcome to faith 101. I should probably blog about this too, but I may feel a bit too exposed for that.
- I finally got the classes I'm teaching this year: competitive austerity, urban renaissance, slum communities and geographies of health. I know f*ck all about health.
Wednesday 17 October 2007
Observing basil
I’ve killed about twenty pots of basil. I kept trying, but they all died until one friend told me: you’ve got to let is struggle. You’ve got to withhold water from your pot of basil until it visibly struggles and starts to falter. Then give it lots of water but never soak its roots.
So I let it struggle. I observed that while it struggled it made plenty of little leaves, but it never really "launched" them. There were lots and lots of tiny leaves. Weird. But it wasn’t faltering quite yet. Then my flatmate noticed how dry the earth was and she soaked it. I was pissed. My basil had not died yet in a month and a half and now she had soaked it. The basil finally launched all its tiny leaves. All of them. Thousands of them. I’ve never seen the pot of basil look quite so healthy!
So there was a book I hated almost as much as I hate stupid plant parables (and I promise this one will be an exception). It was a book about how to be a perfect preacher’s wife. I had gotten it in order to get into the mind frame of my neighbour, a CoE minister whose wholesome lifestyle and perfect kids puzzle me to no end, and whose cats I sometimes get to feed. I only got one piece of idea from it: a new attitude towards good intentions, failed attempts and assorted old sins. I’ve got a cupboard full of these painful memories.
It’s usual in some discipleship circles to really “get” at good intentions. Hell is paved with good intentions. Good intentions cannot keep a man from hell; they just make him more amusing when he gets there. Get to work you lazy bourgeois kid! I felt like a ton of shit. But the author of that book was of the opinion that these were just a cupboard full of bits and pieces that could be used by God at a later point to spun some new things.
It could be that these are plenty of tiny leaves not yet launched and that I could treasure them instead. It could be that all those past shortcomings can turn into a wealth of resources. It could be that the painful memory of my full-on treasons will keep pride at bay and soak my character a bit for the task to come. I hope that’s it. Because last week it scared the shit out of me when I realized that there were things I really wasn’t prepared to sacrifice even for God. Not that I was expected to at that point (although I’m still not 100% sure to be honest). So understandably, right now I need all the stupid plant parables I can get.
So I let it struggle. I observed that while it struggled it made plenty of little leaves, but it never really "launched" them. There were lots and lots of tiny leaves. Weird. But it wasn’t faltering quite yet. Then my flatmate noticed how dry the earth was and she soaked it. I was pissed. My basil had not died yet in a month and a half and now she had soaked it. The basil finally launched all its tiny leaves. All of them. Thousands of them. I’ve never seen the pot of basil look quite so healthy!
So there was a book I hated almost as much as I hate stupid plant parables (and I promise this one will be an exception). It was a book about how to be a perfect preacher’s wife. I had gotten it in order to get into the mind frame of my neighbour, a CoE minister whose wholesome lifestyle and perfect kids puzzle me to no end, and whose cats I sometimes get to feed. I only got one piece of idea from it: a new attitude towards good intentions, failed attempts and assorted old sins. I’ve got a cupboard full of these painful memories.
It’s usual in some discipleship circles to really “get” at good intentions. Hell is paved with good intentions. Good intentions cannot keep a man from hell; they just make him more amusing when he gets there. Get to work you lazy bourgeois kid! I felt like a ton of shit. But the author of that book was of the opinion that these were just a cupboard full of bits and pieces that could be used by God at a later point to spun some new things.
It could be that these are plenty of tiny leaves not yet launched and that I could treasure them instead. It could be that all those past shortcomings can turn into a wealth of resources. It could be that the painful memory of my full-on treasons will keep pride at bay and soak my character a bit for the task to come. I hope that’s it. Because last week it scared the shit out of me when I realized that there were things I really wasn’t prepared to sacrifice even for God. Not that I was expected to at that point (although I’m still not 100% sure to be honest). So understandably, right now I need all the stupid plant parables I can get.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)