the aftermath of the cosmic bosh...

It's over. The work of another term is done, and the seven major projects, totalling more than 20,000 words are complete until I start again in late January 2009. It feels good to have finally reached the top of the mountain that is my third semester of theological study.

Over the past two weeks, I have noticed adrenalin knocking its way through my carefully mapped out schedule, forcing me to work at ridiculous hours of the morning, mostly because I could not sleep. Writing essays is a test of psychological as well as intellectual muscle, as I'm sure you can identify with. I've struggled on through, fighting "the wall". The worst thing is, just as you think you've crossed the line, then remember it needs a title page, stylistically correct footnotes and a detailed bibliography!

It's as if I were stumbling towards the top of the mountain, ring in hand, trying to avoid the enchantment gained from peering at its inscription. If essays are people then this one has definately been a conspirator. I set aside some time to work, and my laptop was locked away out of my reach for half a day. Then my only pen ran out. To cap it all, today I discovered that I had run out of plastic files to hand the essay in, in. And WH Smith had sold out. A divine conspiracy, some would say, but clearly someone in Ryman in the Arndale Shopping Centre likes me - I even managed to wangle student discount!

What puzzles me is the warring, aggressive spirit with which I have to approach essays in order to complete them. I don't understand it really, wish I did. The view of the painting is marvellous. I'm sure I "missed a bit". Thankfully his grace is sufficient for my mistakes. He sees the bigger picture; a busy market relaxing after a long day's trade. The storeholders are exhausted, the shoppers are ready to drop; I'm off to relax for a bit

eye in the sky

This evening my studies were disturbed by blue flashing lights and sirens. It was no revelation from God! Rather, as I struggled with the question of pre-existence, I noticed a helicopter was circling the bottom half of the estate where I lived. I was intrigued. From 30 minutes to an hour, the chopper engaged in a circular route around my house. I stopped working and gazed out my window for a few minutes, hoping I would get to see a chase. It passed off with a dissappointing finale, back at the dead end dilemma of whether or not Jesus existed before time.

Do you ever feel as if you are being watched? Sometimes this is exactly my fear. Don't be afraid! Embrace the reality that you are wonderfully and intimately known by someone so compassionate it would blow your mind if you realised how good he is.

love thy neighbour

We are no strangers to loss or theft. Three times in the past year and a bit, myself and my housemate Mark have been victims of theft. This time it was a securely locked up bike which was stolen from outside the eden office in Fitton Hill. As we opened the door at the end of youth club Mark, who had finished late at work, stepped outside to find his bike gone, the lock securely fastened around the bars of former police holding room for an office.

We both got home, I was dismayed, gutted for mark that life could be so cruel - to be a victim of crime again in such short space of time. He naturally felt persecuted - who wouldn't in his situation. Urban estates are fast moving places though.

Faith told me to leave the back gate open tonight, and not lock and bolt it as has become my custom, allowing a safe and anonymous back garden return. Common sense prevailed, but I still believed it would be returned overnight. We sent out a text with the description, and waited and watched a dodgy show on e4 about youtube clips! It's funny how you not only lose your appetite when bad things happen, but sometimes your taste as well.

At 10:10 this evening, our neighbour knocked on the door with a couple of his mates. And that wasn't all. Leaned against our garden wall was something that looked suspiciously familiar. "You've no idea what a mission we've been on to get that bike back", he told us, reliving the recovery story.

The words of Jesus ring in my ears: "love your neighbour as you love yourself" he teaches, after saying that the greatest commandment is to Love God. It's funny how sometimes the best person to teach you is not Jesus (don't burn me at the stake for that comment), but the lad who lives next door.

I have this immense sense of victory inside of me. Not my own, but one for the Kingdom of God.

for the journey

My morning commute takes me through some very different places. I begin on an estate, travel into the city and then back out into the suburbs. How much does that sound like the American dream?! By the time I've stepped of my second bus onto the rain filmed tarmac, I'm in a quiet village-like setting; a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the congested thoroughfares of urban Manchester. In this little part of the world, seasons have clearly changed.

Autumn has dumped it's harvest cocktail of rain, leaves and dirt onto the street corners. The drains are overwhelmed with water; the pavements smattered with an organic sludge. Crisp yellow colours are basted to the city floor, trodden under the heals of passing school children. Nature's deposits acquiring a dew licked sheen as they float steadily to the ground. The colours are rich and bright.

Cyclists, students and delivery drivers all leave their impressions on the earth in it's vegetative state. The earth takes a deep breath out after the joy and pent up excitement of summer.

The forecasts are grey and the crunch continues. But life and the world is no less beautiful.

madness

Earlier today I was in Manchester, half way back home on my regular commute. As I stood at the bus stop a homeless person approached people in the queue asking for change. You might be thinking "Big deal, it's a city, people are always asking for money - get used to it." Sometimes life makes you take a second glance though. This wasn't just any homeless person. In fact it took me a few seconds to work out what was going on. This was a young child, no more than a metre high, with cross eyes, her mother walking slowly behind her, complete with baby filled papoose. A whole family made homeless, and begging on the streets of our sore, scarred city. If you're not already aware, our current financial crisis is caused by a lack of accessible credit. My question to you is this, and pardon me for being blunt. Your next mortgage or your next meal... what are you worrying about? The world is an insane place to live sometimes.

wearing your heart on your sleeve

Many of you will know that I am intimately acquainted with the Greater Manchester Public Transport network. Three days a week I catch buses to and from college on my killer 3.5 hour round-trip commute.

Now there was nothing weird about the journey home the other day. As per usual I got on the bus (cold) and I sat until I reached my destination, reading a book. For my second leg I seldom read a book, primarily because it has become my custom to fall asleep.

A few minutes later, I woke up. I hadn't missed my stop, but there was a different passenger beside me than before we set off. He had a tattoo on the back of his hand. It depicted a cross (seemingly Christian) with a heart in the middle. Beside it was depicted a spider, spread across the skin on his varicose veined limb.

Having no shame (which happens when I've just woken up) I jumped straight in there with my inquisitive tone. "I like your tatoo..." (no response but a blank look) "What does it mean?" I said searching for some meaning.

I went away dissappointed. This guy didn't seem to know, and if he did, he wasn't going to tell me. He was closed. I didn't press him and we sat for the rest of the journey in silence. I got off the bus. I was disappointed.

So what do you think this tatoo means dearest reader?

And why did he not want to share?

community at 37,000ft

I've just gotten back from a friend's wedding in Germany. We flew there and back, and it's the first time I've been on a plane in five years or so. As we floated through the sky in a large metal tube, kicking chalk out of the engines as we went, I twice received gifts of kindness from strangers. Due to the immense heat, the diam encrusted milka I was munching melted, causing a plane travellers nightmare: sticky fingers. The lady next door offered me a wet wipe, and suddenly a burst of freshness came over me.

After the flight had landed, I left the plane. With my feet on the ground (but my head still firmly in the clouds!) I left my coat on the plane. A kind passenger reminded my friend that I was wearing a coat when I came on the plane. A new coat, which I had bought the week before nonetheless! I ran back onto the plane, and in German (even though the cabin crew were bilingual!) I explained that I had left my jacket on the plane. As I entered the cabin once again, there, accompanying my coat down the aisle was a german man. He passed me my coat. "Thankyou!" I exclaimed loudly.

The small things blow me away sometimes: the kindness of strangers, the friendship that you find in the most desolate places. An expression of community at 37,000ft.

breaking through the skin

Not for the first time in my life, I realised this week that I share something in common with a 10 month old baby (no cheap shots please!) As the picture suggests, I'm currently teething. The pursuit of wisdom can frequently be a painful experience.

It seems that these times shape us. As I mentioned in my previous blog, we were broken into a couple of weeks back. They've come and put a new back door on now, but it doesn't look as safe as the last one. I was a little concerned. However, I'm also really conscious that I do not want to live in a fortress. My view is that too many people want to shut the world out, and live a nice little life in a laboratory, utterly secure from natural interferences. It's the sterility that came two weeks previous that I want to avoid in my response. Jesus never asked us to pursue quaintness.

So I vowed never to live that way. I hope I can model surrender to Jesus, without ever resigning to less than God given circumstances. Part of this adventure is that danger lurks around some corners - it's how we rebalance ourselves that determines our fate through this jungle. So I'm asking God to enter again (as if he ever exited!), and make this a safehouse. A place of peace for all who enter in. Jesus was not stolen. And he never will be. So I'm praying that out of my mouth bursts a new and relentless forgiveness and passion. That he heals those wounds, enabling me to sit at his table in confidence.

the long road home

30th Birthdays. It might sound scary, but I still remember my parents'! I was six, and remember kicking a football across our farmyard with my dad's university friends, eating far too much cake and laughing for what seemed like forever as my brother, sister and I were chased by a very funny man named Kev! It was hilarious and memorable.

I went to my second 30th Birthday party ever last weekend, and it was great. One of my friends had reached the grand old age, and had organised a really great evening over in the Wirral, with some awesome food, good activities and lovely people.

Towards the start of the night, I received a phone call from my housemate. He told me that our house had been broken into. They stole some stuff, and I was pretty gutted. As much as I tried to put a brave face on it, as we got in the car to go home, the reality dawned on me - I was going back to face a scenario which I dreaded.

Yet I wished I was there. My heart was beating faster as we got ever closer, the car chewing up the M53 as we drove towards the ringroad. I had an irrational urge to assess the damage, fix the problems and turn things around. And yet amidst it all was the knowledge that I was powerless. I could not do anything. Resignation entered my soul, and I sat with the cold energy saving light bulb shining with sterility in the middle of our front room. Burgled. Our stuff was gone, our home felt empty, open and vulnerable.

And I realised something. We live in this sterile place. It's not morbid blog, so it'll warm up in a second! We live in these tensions all the time: wanting to be there, but dreading what we'll find, if only we were really, truly honest with ourselves. If only we were prepared to sit under that light bulb in all it's unflattering glory and stare at the painful truth that we cannot do it ourselves. We need help. We're all on this journey, but the street lights guide the way, and we journey with friends. Let's be unafraid.

my kitchen conviction

Tonight's oversight was classic. Just as we were expecting a guest for the evening (it was late, but you realise that time is an elastic entity when you are a student!) I opened the washing machine door to be greeted by a foul smell. My washing, which had been there for a few days (call me a scruff, it's been said more than once this week) wreaked to high heaven. As I slopped it out of the drum, the cloudy rancid water it was sat it splashed on our new vinyl floor.

Something was clearly amiss. Suddenly I realised that earlier, I had nonchalantly pushed the filter cover back in, thinking a tradesman had knocked it clumsily as he sidled across the room. How wrong could I be. One of the young people checked the waste water pipe, I checked the other two. It was fine, everything plumbed in correctly. And my attempts to blame the builders (my new favourite people!) were dashed. Suddenly I remembered the filter cover. I opened it up, and began to unscrew the cap. Sure enough, the entire contents of the drum, the rancid water left for 4 days emptied itself onto the crisp grey vinyl.

It's amazing how we miss what's under our noses, blame anonymous scapegoats without an attorney, then realise that our mistakes have led to this catastrophe. I hate wet feet. But the floor will be dry in the morning and so will my toes. I'm glad that God's mercy (like my socks) is fresh every morning.

the controversy of Jesus

I'm not gifted at biblical exegesis. If you want to ask her, my Biblical studies teacher will give you the lowdown! I'm hardly a theological heavyweight either. But I was amazed today as I read that most accurate of translations (the message) and discovered something amazing. For those of you who don't know, the message version is basically a paraphrase of the bible in today's (american!) english. It's great with young people of our MTV generation though. I realised something wierd and amazing; Jesus heals someone by spitting in his face.

Now generally, healing is considered a good thing... I've got a cut - great it's healed up. Last week's blisters from sun burn - great they are healed, I can wear a t-shirt without having to peal it off in agony afterwards. But Jesus heals by spitting right in someone's face. This is amazing!

As he is being beaten up by soldiers, Jesus is spat at, he's beaten up and his mocked. He's stripped and then he's hit with a whip until he's nearly dead. Yet he makes a mud pie from some spit and dust, then rubs it in a blind man's eyes... suddenly he can see. The same act that heals this man, spitting in his face, which was pretty rude, is the same act which formed part of Jesus humiliation. I just love the controversy of Jesus' new kingdom... it makes such a statement to our proud and polished world... it's gritty, disgracefully gracious, unbelievably faithful. It's a relentlessly loud, yet deliberately humble and secretive wave of true hope which surges through the community of the society in which Jesus lived.

For me, it brings a whole new meaning to the words "your kingdom come!"

I love to see the summer...

Thought I'd leave you with some John Clare. I love a bit of poetic reflection!!!!

Sonnet
I love to see the summer beaming forth
And white wool sack clouds sailing to the north
I love to see the wild flowers come again
And Mare blobs stain with gold the meadow drain
And water lilies whiten on the floods
Where reed clumps rustle like a wind shook wood
Where from her hiding place the Moor Hen pushes
And seeks her flag nest floating in bull rushes
I like the willow leaning half way o'er
The clear deep lake to stand upon its shore
I love the hay grass when the flower head swings
To summer winds and insects happy wings
That sport about the meadow the bright day
And see bright beetles in the clear lake play

Dig for victory

The provocative mantra of the second world war rang in my ears today, as Ste and myself sheared, mowed and dug for victory in my little slice of urban paradise. Tanked up on bottles of coke, chocolate and a cream cake at the end from my wonderful neighbour, we fought back the weeds in the battle for my back garden. At the risk of this becoming A Friday night on BBC2, I wanted to share some interesting observations from both myself and others, as we grafted away against bind weed.

Bind weed strangles things... it's really nasty stuff that was growing through from next door's heap of dug up turf. This menace was strangling my attempts to plant a hedge at the back, and soften the concrete wall which rises in front of the scrub land at the back of my house, soon to become a health and community centre.

Today I planted my first new item in the garden: some grass seed. Granted, it was wierd buying something God had created in a smart price branded box from ASDA, but it was the cheapest I could find. I was determined to plant it before the rains came. In a way, I felt a little bit like Elijah, waiting for rain to come and renew this bare and patchy corner of my garden, previously occupied by unwanted settlers (brambles and dock leaves!)

I'm really excited about my Garden. It has potential to be a beautiful space where people can be entertained, community can be fostered, and new life brought into being. There is opportunity for it be a place of family, community, laughter and friendship... exciting hey?! As unglamourous as it is, redemption is flipping hard work - now I'm going to collapse in bed.

Rediscovering Eden's Garden

My parents came up this weekend and we set to work on my ex council house garden. We've spent the time weeding the borders, ripping up brambles and cutting back bushes. We've cut the grass and I even cleaned out one of the drains!

The grass was getting pretty long, and although it was cut about a month after we moved in, it was great to really get our teeth into it (not literally, I used gloves and tools like other normal humans...) My Mum and Dad heroically pulled up a bramble bush and cut up everything small enough so we could take it to the tip. It was fantastic to know that we had removed the weeds, and I even rediscovered some shape and some beauty. It was quite amazing.

There was something redemptive about the whole thing. By this I mean that I felt involved in the act of changing something, being involved in the growth of other things, helping and nurturing something back into its fullness of life and helping it to find its potential. I might sound like a hippie, but I don't care: my garden is a place of life and somewhere with a fresh start now. I hope I can contribute similiarly to the people we work with.

God loves prostitutes

After watching the news last night, this was my realisation, as I sat, hearing about a man convicted of killing 5 working girls in Ipswich. Switching off channel4, I felt a profound sense of sadness for those women. 5 lives all with massive potential, women in need of help... wasted.

I have no doubt that Jesus was the most subversive man who ever lived. As Jesus sits and eats in the house of Simon (a Pharisee), a very brave woman, who The Message Translation brands "the town harlot" comes to him, weeps on Jesus' feet, wipes them with her hair and pours perfume on them.

The Disciples are outraged, The Pharisees are incensed and Jesus is anointed with a Jar of perfume that a prostitute would have used in her trade to lure men. It's shocking isn't it?! God loves prostitutes.

making the connections...

I'm slightly bemused. I bought a router on monday, (for £60 - that's more than double a week's rent!) hoping it would solve the problems we have been having getting wireless to reach my bedroom.

As it turns out, I'm now writing to you via the free router that the kind people at AOL sent us in the post. I thought that this free router was broken. I'm obviously wrong!

It turned out the problem was actually a piece of software I was using not being compatable with the new router... and it's taken me nearly a week to work this out...

It's amazing that we can be so stupid sometimes isn't it- God love us!?

A Picture of Reconciliation

Those of you who know me closely will know that myself and Mark (my housemate) have been having some difficulty in

getting to know our neighbours. An incident occurred a good few months ago, and it meant that we haven't really been able to chat to one set of neighbours properly or get to know them any better.

This had began to annoy me, so, prompted by God, I started to pray for reconcilliation with our neighbours.

I know how God delights in kicking evil into the wild blue yonder, and last week, he proved his power again, as my neighbour

greeted me, we chatted, and I became indignant on their behalf after someone had wronged them. Loving people who you struggle to get on with not only changes your attitude, it changes you. What's more, it changes your relationship with them and it changes them.

God has done something significant this evening... it's blown my head off. Please pray for my neighbours...God is clearly listening.