Praising a Plastic Jesus...(I know that's a snowman!)

I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen the magazine programme “the one show” on BBC 1 every night at 7pm. It contains an eclectic mix of magazine type material that you tend to find on breakfast television, only it’s on in the evening; if you’ve never seen it before, think Blue Peter – but for adults.

There was an article on just before Christmas (I know that's long gone now, but I just remembered about it, and it upset me), featuring Carole Thatcher interviewing different people who made up her modern day nativity scene. One example was a farmer, a modern day shepherd, who still had to get up at 5am on Christmas day to milk his dairy herd. This countryside connection naturally struck a chord with me, but I have to say that after the doctors for wise men who also still had to work Christmas day, I was weary after a few minutes, and grew somewhat agitated. Right at the centre of the scene sat a plastic model of Jesus. This I thought, was typical of our western worldview (which I do incidentally love - lest I would be carving this in stone tablets, not posting it on my blog.)

We make Jesus into a girl, we make him into a white American from the 1970s and worst of all we make him into a powerless plastic model, an inanimate object incapable of anything vaguely like humanity or divinity. In fact it seems that we make him into everything but the transformational Middle Eastern refugee human yet God that he was, who came to heal the world through his life, death, resurrection and spirit. Please- don’t make Christ into what you have made his world of.

the mormon on market street

A couple of weeks ago, as I wandered around Manchester City Centre with bags full of Christmas shopping, I came across a conveniently placed bench to sit and eat my Boots Meal Deal Sandwich at.

As I sat there, devouring my two crusted triangles, a young woman from the church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints approached me. She was young, not more than twenty years old with brown hair and an empty expression on her face.

With a brief and polite "Excuse me", she began to tell me about what she believed. My expectation was that I would hear nothing new and we had a discussion about prophets and authority. I told her that I was a Christian; I was surprised that she not attempt to define herself at all. This disappointed me. Eventually I told her that I was not interested in a home visit, but would like to know more about what mormons believed. I asked her for the web address.

I came away feeling challenged, not because my faith was floundering, because it was not, nor because I wanted to become a mormon, because I did not. Rather, I was concerned that this person was allowing herself to be treated like a catalogue. She was just there to sell something. Amidst the flurry of consumerism occurring that day, their existed another instance of buying and selling, but this time it was ideas, and not socks from primark.

Throughout our conversation, I was continually bombarded by questions in my own mind; who was this person? What was her name? What were her experiences? How had she gotten involved in Mormonism? What was her Job? What was her family background? Had she, like me, fallen over when she was a child, and scraped her knees.

Of course, she must have had an answer to all these questions, but I chickened out and didn't ask her the one question that would sum all of these up:

Who are you?

The experience was full of emptiness; I felt that her life reflected the expression on her face, but could not quite get my head around what was happening here. I was also challenged by my own lack of courage. Why didn't I ask the question that would have undermined the script, and engage this person in truly life changing conversation? It was, I felt, a challenge from God.

Home

I'm currently house hunting. This process began with a six page form, which with a friend from the Eden project, we filled out and submitted to the housing association. Last week we had a really positive meeting with one of the housing officers responsible for the area, and things were looking fantastic - chances were we would have a house really soon and he was extremely positive. Today we have hit difficulties as he has just let us know that the house I was supposed to be viewing today is probably going to fall through.

Why do our souls long to find a place called home? What is it about security that we love so much? I'm intrigued by Jesus teaching on it. For this you need to read it in the context of the passage; you'll then realise what I'm talking about - maybe there is part of me that wants security and safety, rather than the different lifestyle God has called us to once we have accepted Jesus.

Out of Eden...

I write this to you as my first blog out of Eden, in Oldham, Greater Manchester.
An update so far:

The night I moved, my parents' car got broken into. Thankfully only two items were taken and no one was hurt, but if you see a pair of conga drums sitting in an Oldham back street, do give me a ring!

I'm staying with hosts until I get my own place. I am currently in the process of filling out a housing application, so I would value your prayers that the process would be as quick as possible, or I face the prospect of moving several times, which is obviously not desirable.

Some reflections:

God is good and I adore him. He allows us to enter his presence and be with him and experience just a glimpse of his glory, yet this glimpse makes us in awe of him... how great must he really be?!

There is a real sense of community here - earlier I was introduced to a lady and went into her house for a cup of tea - I ended up staying for a couple of hours and being invited round to watch a football game at their house next saturday! And they're not even Christians!

This might sound random and not in keeping witht the rest of my blog, but I watched a Richard Dawkins documentary the other day (an activity that never ceases to raise my blood pressure). My conclusion is that scientists like Dawkins will never understand artists like God. But yes, a lot of homeopathic medicine is wierd and does not work!

This blog is not nearly as punchy or good as the last one, but I'm tired, it's late and I'm recovering from a visit to ASDA today (three good reasons why my brain can be excused from working as it normally does!)

Exit Strategy

I've been thinking a lot recently about leaving things behind. This is due to the fact that in a couple of weeks, I will be moving from the idyllic English countryside to the urban sprawl of a housing estate in Oldham. I'm going to join one of the 10 Eden projects in Greater Manchester, working amongst local communities and with young people to bring about God things in their lives.

This does however mean that I am leaving my current situation, my securities and my home, not to mention many good friends. The act of leaving brings about strange thoughts, feelings and ideas for the leaver. At the moment there is a wierd sense of suspension, as if in limbo, waiting for the next part of life to begin. It is as if, having been cut off from the past and like a canonball, I am waiting eagerly to be fired at high speed into the next adventure, the next voyage of discovery, full of resistance and obstacles but doubtless also enjoyment and vibrancy.

Over the last few weeks, I have been struck by the words "Exit Strategy" - as whenever we leave something, we want to leave well, with a carefully executed strategy which enables us not to linger around for too long, nor to leave too quickly - a leaving that strikes the perfect balance of excitement and disappointment - longing and grieving. I wonder whether you have ever thought about your exit strategy? Myself? I think I know how creation feels...