Leaving an Impression

Dear reader,

Just to let you know that I have moved to wordpress. You can find me blogging in the urban orchard

Cheers,

Jon : )

love and war

It's a striking dichotomy. Love and War. But it surmises remarkably the story I have recently found myself in.

The last few months have been pretty difficult for me, I've struggled and strived, and found that life can sometimes just be so hard. I've encountered immeasurable evil - like you would not believe.

But I have taken great hope from Ecclesiastes, for which I thank my little sister!

In chapter 3, the writer tells of how there is a time for everything under the sun. I specifically wanted to focus on: a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

What a remarkably wise statement! I've always struggled with balancing everything, and these words brought me great comfort.

I'll explain. I don't know if you're anything like me; sometimes I need to go to war against my work, or my emotions, or my approach, or (rarely, but sometimes) others. Sometimes I need to hate the status quo, hate the difficulties, hate the circumstances enough for me to want change so much it forces me to close my eyes, marigold my hands, or open my door, motivated by an angry love that it is not meant to be like this. And sometimes I don't need those emotions.

Life flows with an inevitable energy, a love that cannot be measured, a rhythm that's amazing. Everything works.

Whether war or peace, contentment follows... "He has made everything beautiful in it's time!" captures a mind-blowing understanding of a God whose work cannot be button holed, boxed in or summed up in three - short - words.

The flowers on the back lawn at college: breaking through the turf; the leaves on my garden path: very slowly dying and those wisdom teeth: still doing their utmost to burst through my gums. Beautiful. Love and War.

Where are your wars? And what do you love?

Don't Panic!

It's been a really hard week. I can't share details really, but all I will say is that I had to make a tough but necessary call the other day. It was pretty horrific.

It's been amazing for my character though. This week I have experienced the carnage of a very hurt, tragically broken world. It's a total mess. And it reminds me of the need for a broken, betrayed down and out saviour, who conquered death and all of his friends.

And yet this evening at around 5.30pm, as the sun was setting, as light bounced around, and dancing in step with the moon, the sun lit the view from my bedroom window with a spectacular, moody half light. The trees were at war with gravity as they clutched the sky, trying to drag the stars to earth. And the sky was fighting too, fighting the darkness, trying to stay alive. It could not. It was inevitable. But light will have its day at dawn.

Only the creator God could make such a beautiful world. And only such a God could redeem it. Can I wipe away all of the stains of human misery? Can I tell the sun to shine in the day or the moon to glow at night?

It is God who does such things. It is God who justifies. It is God who rescues. And his name is Jesus. Come Lord Jesus! Come Lord Jesus! Wipe away the tears from our faces, the tears of children and adults. The tears of those who long for the world to be transformed into the fullness of the kingdom you have promised through your Son. Come Lord Jesus!

The hilarity of obscenity

Footprints. I don't know whether you've ever seen some fresh cement, and had the urge to walk across, concreting your green flash in geological history.

Well guess what? We've recently had our pathway resurfaced as part of an external works programme carried out by our social landlord. They did it in the afternoon. That fateful night (monday actually!) whilst I was away, some local young people etched an obscenity in the freshly poured cement.

"W***ers" it read, or so I have been told, hastily fixed by giggling builders the following day.

I had to join them (the builders that is, not the young people) in this sentiment. The lads who did it even signed their names. Hats off to you Sam and JJ.

I wanted to use this space to publicly thank the couple of charming young men who had the decency to write such obscenities in my pathway. A few 'pointers' for you boys:

1. Footprints would have done.

2. I've been feeling a little demotivated recently, and this actually made me laugh rather loudly to myself as I walked to the bus stop this morning! You encouraged me to lighten up a bit, so thanks!

It's funny how in our concrete jungle, we've replaced stealing apples from old couple's gardens, with an urban equivalent: tagging and grafitti.

In all seriousness though, sometimes the best way to deal with such things is to laugh, and then hastily reach for the trowel... before the neighbours take offence. I'm sure they worked at floors to go.

blessings from the infidels

I'm getting tired of the sound of my busy typing fingers this week. From a once a month guy when it comes to blogs, I've sprayed colours into the blogosphere a lot this week. But there are reasons; the first thing to say is that my week has been particularly beautiful. This morning a received an amazing email from a friend.

He encouraged me to "keep praying". This was encouraging. He's not even a christian! And his email was warm, the funniest I think I have ever received. It exposed those lies people tell through their keyboards all the time... I genuinely laughed out loud. Probably woke the neighbours it was that funny.

My second encounter today was with Mormons in Ashton on my way to pick up some groceries. They were decent blokes. It's a shame they didn't follow Jesus as God. They would have made good Christians: very polite, reverent, honest, loving, friendly... norwegian. (honestly, one of them was!!!)

Not the wooden people you come to expect trying to sell you something, but people on a journey, who believed they'd found God, and wanted to tell the world about him. They even laughed when my phone went off, blaring the James Bond Title music in the Newspaper room at Ashton Public Library... if there's one place you don't want it to go off, then trust me, it's the newspaper room... the looks you'll get will tarnish one generations view of another forever!

Both of these instances were with people who don't know Jesus as God yet: "infidels" was the politically incorrect term that used to be used. I would not use such language: God loves each of these people with an unshakable passion.

We need that Palestinian refugee to teach us and to show us. I need his footsteps to follow more than ever.

'But the people grumbled and said "He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner"'. Luke 19:7 NRSV

It makes me laugh with a beautiful and appreciative Joy! LOL!

clinging to whose cross?

I love my mum. She's one of the most incredible women alive. I ring her every week to chat things through. She's one of my best friends. Now before you get out a violin, a tissue or maybe a noose, let me set my comments in some sort of context. Along with a few friends, I had pottered along to a teatime church service (it wasn't songs of praise live, I promise!) After the sermon, we sang one of my favourite songs of the moment: Tim Hughes' "Clinging to the Cross"

It speaks of how the writers find thier hope in God, despite the trials that the world brings. I love this song, and identify with it's sentiments. The problem I have with it is this; it's really quite gnostic. I'll explain; some might be offended by this, it's a bit of a rant, but please engage me in conversation about it. What do you think?

Firstly, the idea that we have to "let go of all earthly things" is completely at odds with the message of Jesus. In fact, he embraced the world, and came to be exactly like us, in order to save us from sin, not the world. If he hasn't, then I can never be healed - he's just saved my soul, and that is not sufficient for the ressurrection that Christians believe in, nor is it capable of overcoming the vices of our bodies. Rather, he came to teach us to "let go of all of these things" which hold us back, make us stumble, trap us in fear; embracing his new way of living.

Further, if we ask God to "lead me home" we may not get what we bargained for; we are humans, our home is the earth, our humanity is not evil; it was created by God. I appreciate that our world is alienated by the first and continual mess of human bad living, but he made the world and saw that it was good! We're asking God to transform our lives now, leading us back to a place of Christ-like living - though we are citizens of heaven, we live on earth, and seek "his kingdom come". "Lead me to the lost"; "teach me of the cost" - this is the life we are called to, not removal from the sufferings through eternal disembodiment, floating in the clouds.

How much more powerful if we realised that this is the place to which Jesus will return? He will wipe away the tears from our faces - HERE! He has called us to be people who bring in his kingdom, and that means we have the power of God behind us, beneath us and within us. If we save all our eschatology for heaven, then that's where our hope ends up, leaving us nothing to offer those around us. Our eyes are in the sky, waiting for Jesus to come and save us from the "evil" world that we live in. The advance of God's kingdom until the return of the king is a massively powerful message. That's a story I'm happy to put my hope in. Someone who will turn our ashes into beauty, rebuild fallen walls, plant an oasis in the desert. Rather than discarding the world in favour of the spirit, renewing them.

And this was the rant I shared with Mum! She was gracious. Needed to think about it I think.

So what do you think? I'm not talking about the song now... you have the floor... feel free to comment. N.B. If anything is used as a weapon against someone, I'll delete it.

Whose cross do we cling to? Where is our home? What are the things we are to let go of?

follow the star

Yesterday I went to starbucks. It's a bit of a habit sometimes. As we sat in the surreal, generic, oil clad world that is this fantastical place of abnormal caffeine and sugar inhalation, my friend and I chatted. Whilst he watered the horses, I found a pencil in my pocket. Our conversation had been intriguing, I could sense God speaking to me, so I grabbed a napkin, scrawling some notes, stuffed it into my coat pocket and read it this morning. It made enormous sense. I opened my bible, began to read where I felt the chase was leading; it was a chase, as more came to me. Sifting through, I found him.

Rumbled. God had allowed me to blaze the trail, making tracks through the minds of others, using memory, bible, intuition, feelings, other authors. It resonated with me... an enchanting romance! No tacky residue in sight. The day was dripping with the stains of his goodness. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a dream

The trees sat squat in the hills. Bush branches grew towards their trunks, clutching the sky, as the Sun sank lazily within it. Mist began to rise from the freshly ploughed earth, gracing the rolling hills as it drifted. The earth was detoxing after the long hard season. The clouds were like a watercolour painting; a cheerful family ambled across the dampened fields in brightly coloured winter thermals, receive this Yuletide season. Everything around me was moving, and so was I.

A fire was lit by the side of a nearby house, the flames dancing, beckoning in a new year. In an instant, the world was enveloped in darkness. The tunnel dragged us in, and as it did, a world of memories was opened like a tin of beans; sound bounded around its container.


Light burst through the darkness of the carriage and we picked up the flow of the river, ever faster as we marched towards our destination. And then everything stopped. Suddenly the journey was interrupted. The station slowly pulled us in. We reached a halt. I received a text. I had left my sandwiches on the kitchen worktop.

Then nothing for ages, until the key hit the lock, twisting in it, the world rotating like drum in my washing machine. And now fresh snow sits on the lawn. It is poised for the suns of spring. What will this melting bring?

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