Interreligious Uncertainty

Wow, so it has been a while indeed...

So I mentioned last time that I was off to Istanbul on my course. It was a really intense experience. Not only time-wise - contrary to the cheap holiday I had hoped I'd signed up for - it was an exhausting 9am-6pm fortnight of lectures. The conference was on interreligious dialogue in South East Europe and we covered issues surrounding Muslim-Christian relations. Some lectures I wasn't expert enough in the field to follow and others aren't adequately described by the term 'thought provoking'. The whole experience really got me itching. Not only the academic programme, but socialising with the other participants from diverse cultural-religious backgrounds became somewhat of a personal epidemic, demanding my attention: my [per]spect[ive]acles were after-all of the western, baptist-come-charismatic christian variety. But over the course of my time there, I began to realise that not only are there Muslims with as equal a strength of convictions as mine, but there are Christians from other parts of the world and other traditions, whose faith manifests itself in a manner completely alien to me. This realisation, that I am not the measure of all things, proved a bit tumultuous at first, but clearly in need of this sobering I have been mulling things over since and hope as a result that I am now less dogmatic. After all, the world will keep spinning on its axis irregardless of my lack of answers. What's more, things might shake up the nitty gritty of my theology, but nothing can take my experience of God away from me.

Anyway for fear of boring you, I shall put down my semi-philosophical meanderings, in favour of some more practical narrative. Since getting back from Istanbul, the reality of impending deadlines have been hovering over me like clouds and I have been seeking to shoot them down like Beijing before the 2008 Olympics. I have also had to say goodbye to two great friends who were studying at Leiden on Erasmus and having finished their programmes have returned to the UK (Johnny and Sophie I will miss you!). A rather strange phenomenon in two respects: 1. I still have a 20,000 word thesis to achieve and will not myself finish until the beginning of August; 2. Even then, I will not be following them back to the UK, having decided to stay put for at least another year.

For a while I felt like I was in exile here, being prevented from returning to my motherland and her benefits, but in a rather unspectacular way, God has whispered peace to me about remaining here. I had been umming and arring like ayo-yo for weeks as to whether to stay or go and just felt the need for decision rising up in me. So that's what I did. I don't exactly know what the following year will hold, but what I do know is that God will provide for me as He did before and always has done. I will have to seek some form of employment to pay my way, but have been offered a place to stay with my favourite Dutch couple (a wonderful pair from my church). Thus, I will imminently be turfed out of my sublet residence in Leiden and hit the Hague's suburbia. Whether I try my hand at bar-tending once more or take on a humble occupation as a cleaner, (or perhaps something more glam will pop up) I will again determine to simply put my efforts into seeking first God's kingdom. A tried and tested cliche, I need some serious shuffling of perspective to make this possible. Besides earning some dollar and serving the King, I will make a proper effort to learn Dutch. My pathetic 'beetje' of Dutch so far is part and parcel of a distraction in MA-form, but I hope that once my study becomes another shiny piece of paper, I will have the mental space to seriously tackle the acquisition of another language.

I know you'll be wondering, what's a little further down the line? Well, at present (and I stress at present) the longer term goal is to train to be a secondary RE and Philosophy teacher. I have realised that I have a knack for explanation and what's more find myself really drawn towards teenagers. On top of that, the Istanbul experience did really stimulate me to think about promoting interreligious dialogue and open-mindedness. I wasn't really sure, who outside the walls of our conference would be affected by our abstract musings, but nevertheless thought we were getting at something. If our aloof considerations and inconclusive conclusions could be translated so that they become accessible to the many (rather than the academic few) and at a much earlier stage in education, then they could help to shape the thinking of influenceable young people, before their open minds become closed, and beyond that promote peace and understanding. I wonder if this could be my role as teacher? Sometimes we can snuff at this profession.

That being said, whilst I will apply for some teacher training programmes in the UK for 2012, I'm not 100% convinced that this will all come to pass. God has a habit of surprising me and my plans will thus reflect this in their pliability and openness to amendment. After all, life with God is an adventure and too much planning takes away the fun. I guess this blog is in essence an elongated and rather poetic way of saying, I really don't know what's around the corner.

Alive and Kicking

I have been insanely busy since I last blogged - I have absorbed copious literature and secreted a 19 page essay on healing over the last few weeks ... exhausting and mind-frazzling. What this means is that I am intellectually bankrupt and incapable of creating any novel material this evening. I imagine it will be a while until I blog again (I'm going to Istanbul for 2 weeks as part of my course - what a hard life). However, I have just - whilst thoroughly tidying my room for the first time this semester - unearthed a poem that I wrote a little while ago and I thought I could share it with you. It very much reflects the spirit of the motivation behind the essay I have just been writing and my thoughts on healing and the Christian life in general as I perceive it.

I don’t want to live a normal life,

Don’t want to give up sex, drugs, inebriation

And not replace the thrill with a new sensation.

I don’t want to suck the joy out of my being

And replace laughter for stillness

Dancing for kneeling,

But I want to live my life to the full.

Her solemnity is not a reflection of my saviour

His rigidity is not an imitation

Their ritual does not proclaim him

Empty religion does not honour him.

On most days I’m radical

On Sundays they’re cynical, sceptical

I’m over the top – I don’t think so,

It’s just that he fills me until I have to go

The passion it just overflows

What he’s done for me no other man ever could;

No other man ever would.

They pretend to herald the good book

I wonder if they’ve had a good look

As they fallaciously traditionalise

Birthing unbiblical rigour

Fairytale, fable, fiction minus action

Their twisted version, a boring perversion

Of a living freedom, a free invitation

To a much faster experience

A more intense kick

Laced with superior spirituality,

Supernatural expectancy:

The dead raised, lepers leaping

Blind men seeing

He said it would never stop

He said it would never stop

FULL STOP

But greater things he announced

We would pronounce

With holy articulation, righteous authority

Graceful affirmation, miraculous authentication.

They want to introduce you to doctrine

But I want you to meet my man

Breathing oxygen into these formerly withering bones

I exhale captivity, inhale freedom

Shackles broken.

So give me an adventure of faith

Abandon me to the unworldly, otherworldy way

Which I was created to walk in.

Oh and one other thing, a preemptive HAPPY EASTER! Jesus is alive and kicking.

I don't have to say anything

I think I talk too much,

Predicating to my mind

thoughts I'm not sure there abide.

I must be still

and know you are God

Silent, and know who am I.

Calm my active, wagging tongue

Harbour this dissonant song

and only allow harmony.

I don't want to give myself away

parcelled oft in uncareful words.

Protect this fragile heart of mine

Block the gush of biographical verse

I think from now, I'll talk less.

So I'm feeling pretty down at the moment. If you're a prayer, please send one up for me!

Facebook fast

So, how do you like your pancakes? I like mine bigger than my face with bacon, banana, cheese and maple syrup. Yum yum, yes please, ding dong. This year the most glorious annual day of cakes in a pan fell on the anniversary of my birth, but I didn't feel the need to honour it with pan flipping agility, since the Dutch eat pannekoeken all year round in restaurants dedicated to the flat and versatile delights and I have frequented them these past few weeks. (I thought this pancake definitely merited the feature of my first photo in the blog - it's massive like!)

I nevertheless had my fair share of sweetness, don't you worry, hosting a High Tea for my birthday instead. I managed to bake some delectable and quintessentially English scones in the excuse of an 'oven' housed sheepishly in our kitchen.

Now I don't know for sure, but I think pancake day has something to do with lent. Traditionally I believe we had to use up all our rich ingredients before the chastity and abstinence from all things nice began. Rather than fighting over which family member should assume the daring responsibility of flipping the pancakes, which in the land of pannekoeken must have lost its novelty way back when, the Dutch instead drink their faces off at carnival. Strange that the English have a reputation for lager-loutishness, when its the Dutch that seem to like to party at every opportunity from what I have thus far experienced.

I am not a huge drinker, so I didn't feel the need to go out on Tuesday evening and get wasted before a 40 day alcohol strike (even though it was my birthday, I managed to stay almost sober -Dutch beer is pretty weighty). This year lent didn't creep up on me as it sometimes does and in the weeks approaching, I thought about whether there was anything I should try giving up. Given that I never do anything for the sake of it, I wanted to consider whether there was anything that I was wasting my time, money or effort on, or something that was in some way detrimental to me, or that I had become ultra-dependent upon...

Almost immediately it became clear that facebook was this thing. The social networking sight has always been a welcome distraction from study, but since being here, away from the majority of my friends, it has posed as somewhat more of an attraction, offering cyber company when I have been momentarily bored or my study ethic has see-sawed towards futility. I hereby announce that until Easter Day I am on a facebook fast. I will have one day a week off, this is tradition (see wikipedia if you doubt me) but also because facebook does still remain a vital link with home and I'm not sure I can bare to be out of touch with you all completely.

Whilst I will permit myself a sign-in a week, what I will no longer tolerate is the sheer amount of hours that I pour away, signing in almost hourly to scour for little red notifications or message alerts; trawling through my homepage to see what my friends and acquaintances, some I have barely seen recently (or in more extreme cases - ever) have been doing with their time, other than documenting such activities; and scanning through pretty pictures of people, casting an embarrassing eye back at my own gawky (of late double-chinned) profile snaps.

I am currently warring against the demand for a 20 page paper, due in at the end of the month and as time runs out, I am determined to lay hold of my time rebate. "Facebook, please give me my life back." OK, so it never got that bad, but I have been signing in, first thing in the morning, last thing at night and oh-no-the-world-might-not-still-be-spinning-on-its-axis-if-I-don't-verify-this-with-my-online-family numerous urgent(ish) times during the day.

More than my time however, I want to get my identity back. Does it really matter if I am kept completely in the loop with all 900 or so of my acquaintances (yes I really need a friend clear-out) and does it really matter if all of those are kept up to date with my latest bulletins, most of them hand-selected to make it appear like I am having a better life than you. Maybe facebook should change it's name to boastbook or fakebook. My friend told me the other day about an article written on the facebook phenomena and how it leads many to depression as they only ever get bombarded with the great things other people are doing and feel their lives to be inferior or dull. Don't worry peeps, you're acquaintances profiles have probably been airbrushed and their news feeds are for the most part edited to perfection. I don't want to me sucked into the online social interactive magazine anymore.

Even if I am a little bit out of the loop over the next 40 days, I want to focus my energy and my spare time on something much better, Jesus. How much happier (and productive) would each day be, if rather than feeding myself with your news and countless others, I was munching on the good news that Jesus loves me just the way I am. I wouldn't have to worry as I learnt about x's new job or y's year travelling, about my current uncertainty, meditating instead on Jeremiah 29 vs 11, "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Hear me right by the way: I love facebook, I love hearing about what you're all up to and sharing my times with you also - but it is sometimes a wee bit excessive, just like the size of my pancake!

He who has ears to hear

I spent today with my oldest friend. We’ve known each other since we were wee four year olds without a care in the world. When we were about fourteen our lives went down different paths; or rather I should say, that I took a diversion sign-posted ‘Jesus’. I hadn’t been seeking a road to spiritual enlightenment, but just happened by a lucky chance to stumble across this narrow pathway I might have easily missed, and, too curious to pass by, I took the detour. Today as we met up almost eight years on, here in my current whereabouts, Leiden, we updated each other on the goings on in our lives since our last meeting, almost two years ago.

I don’t necessarily realise how much I talk about God. To me it’s natural. He’s with me in the morning, throughout the day, before I go to bed and as I came to appreciate recently, in my dreams (more on that later). I’m just so used to God. He’s my reality and more than that, He’s the most important person in my life and the person I put my trust in, worries to, and direct both my frustration and happiness towards. But my friend said to me today as I was recounting stories, ‘Do you not think you’re reading God too much into everything? I mean what do you think?’ I guess I had just told her about how I felt like God wanted me to move to the Netherlands, God had provided the finances and how I wasn’t sure what God wanted next. From her point of view, I guess it seems like I’ve been taken over to a certain degree and that I should step up, make my own decisions and not let someone else (if indeed God isn’t a mere figment of my imagination) take the reins. ‘You think about God too much Nay’. The thing is, I don’t think I think about God nearly enough.

God isn’t just the object of my religion, which I have fanatically taken to the extreme. I wouldn’t even consider myself a religious person – religion stinks for the most part. But God is more real to me than my own hands! I am sure to the depth of my battered and fragile soul that He’s there and not just there as if He was outside and beyond me, but that He’s here with me, next to me, within me by His Spirit. This sounds weird? I’d probably think the same if I was still on the same road my friend and I both started out on. She asked me today, ‘But how come it works out for you? Why don’t other people see this stuff? Isn’t it coincidence?’

It’s true we’ll never completely escape the subjectivity of personal experience and I can’t prove to you that my landing £10,000 by a non-law-of-nature-breaking-means two weeks before I moved to the Netherlands (completely covering costs that I was in no state to even scrape towards otherwise) was any more than lucky coincidence. But rather than thank my lucky stars, I have attributed it all to a God that I believe loves me and knows my name and had the logistics worked out and a redemptive plan ready to execute when I unsuspectedly turned in front of a fast-moving car as a starry-eyed eighteen year old new driver and obliterated my parent’s car and almost one of my best friends.

My interpretation: “I’ve got that covered” God must have thought as He saw me beside myself with hysteria, anxiety crippling my lungs at the fear that I had killed my passengers. But four years on, my friend who was badly injured has been miraculously healed of her injuries, met this God for herself and as a result half-funded my year here with the compensation from the accident, which she wanted to use for God’s purposes. Pretty sweet turn of events. Coincidence?

The Bible says, he who has ears to hear, let him hear (Matt 11:15).

I can’t help but chuckle. So I told you we’d return to the dreams. Well the other day, I dreamt that God gave me some words that He wanted me to tell a friend of mine. When I woke up in the morning, I could remember them word for word, an uncommon experience, but although I wrote them down, I decided this was probably just me reading too much into things again. You’ve all been bored by a friend recalling an incoherent and in your eyes insignificant dream. Well I put this dream on the don’t send-them-all-to-sleep shelf until the next morning when the said friend came on facebook and I just felt an urge to tell him after all. With the caveat that I might have an overactive imagination, I hesitantly shared with him the words that I felt God wanted him to hear. ‘No way. I was praying last night and felt God say the exact same thing to me’ was his response. Flippin’ crazy, I’m no Mystic Meg.

But then it dawned on me that in the same dream, God revealed to me that another friend had something up with her ears and that I should pray for healing for her. So following the confirmation that my dreams were at least freakishly accurate if not God-inspired I took a stab in the dusk and asked my mate if she had anything up with her ears. Without confusedly remarking on the oddity of my question, she nonchalantly tells me that she thinks she has an ear infection. I told her that was weird as I had had this dream and would she like me to pray for her. Yes she would. We meet up and I pray. Her ears get better. Earie business.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this all. Perhaps the Dutch air is making me dizzee. If you’ve got ears to hear though, take out the plugs of preconception and let ‘em hear a new song, which might seem a bit bonkers. It’s rocking my socks off.

Divine Romance

When I first decided to follow Jesus, I remember feeling like my eyes had been opened up to a whole new world where anything was possible. I went from resignedly wondering ‘is this it?’ about my meagre existence, to a giddy excitement; the kind that a novel romance might conjure up.

But starting my relationship with Jesus didn’t just make me feel better looking, more interesting or more desirable than I had without him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I did feel damn special and pretty significant all of a sudden, but this divine romance effortlessly thwarted the menial butterflies of school-fling-frolics and utterly changed my outlook on life. Now I was day dreaming about what l automatically assumed was bound to be an adventure. It had to be right, anything is possible for God.

This is what I pondered the most. Excitement is an understatement. What I started to read in my Bible (which I desired to read even more than I had used to desire to read and reread soppy texts during the pastimes that they cluttered my inbox) was that Jesus was absolutely wonderful and through his father God could do anything. I was particularly captured by the fact that he healed everyone he saw. Wow, this is the guy that has pursued me, died for me and who takes the blame for the bad stuff I have done, so that I also get to call his father ‘dad’(Matthew 6:9). This is the guy that said I am not a servant but can call him ‘friend’ (John 15:15). I was obsessed by what being the daughter of God and friend of Jesus might mean for me.

Think about a person that is special to you. Perhaps you sent them a card today or maybe you are feeling a little disappointed that you would have liked to receive a card from them. Whether it’s love or strong admiration you feel, it can be so wonderful, allowing that significant other to consume your waking thoughts... What makes them happy? What makes them sad? Where would their perfect day be spent? What do they love doing? Do they enjoy the rain? What are their dreams? Do they think about me? Where will they end up in life?

I have been to the heights of loved-up. It can be pretty breath-taking. Perhaps you’re on the lovey peak of Everest today, but you know you could be up a mountain that would make a molehill out of your summit. I’m talking about Jesus. He promises so much more than a string of great dates, so much more than a great sex life, so much more than an exotic holiday, a white wedding, 4 bedroom detached house and kids, and so much more than a great job and a golden Labrador! None of these things are bad by the way, but they’re not the ultimate sources of satisfaction in life either. When I started to spend my thoughts on Jesus I felt more fulfilled and enchanted than ever before. No guy could cast this spell.

I am daily in awe of him, he is better, more glorious and lovely than I can grasp and anything is possible for him, and through him, for me! I am so excited about our future together. I can only faintly imagine what he might have in store for me.

Perhaps today is a sensitive day for you. Maybe you are dissatisfied in your relationship, maybe you are jealous of your friends that they're in one and you’re not, or you are feeling worthless and unattractive. Whichever category you fall into, Jesus is crazy about you and would love to invite you into (or continue) a divine romance with him. Let him sweep you off your feet. His arms are open wide and chocolate, roses or even an engagement ring were not enough to show it - he gave his very life in love for you. He promises only good to you. He is faithful and won’t get bored. He is exciting and abundant in love. He is crazy about you and relentlessly pursuing you. Why don’t you give him a try? He might be the best valentine’s offer you have ever had.

I AM LOVED BY GOD AND THIS MAKES ME HAPPY.

A church plant?

I realise that several of my blogs have a) been a bit angsty and b) been a bit me, me, me. I’m sure my initial motivation for setting this blog up was to encourage you dear reader (excuse the period drama speak) about my amazing God and tell you about the adventure of planting a church. It has occurred to me that I have said little about this church-planting malarkey and some of you still remain in the ‘unknow’ about what I am actually doing.

In fact I’m sure over Christmas a few people asked how the church I’m building was going. Such has been my ambiguity, that some of you think me heroic enough to be part of a building project. Let me clarify, once and for all, that I am not involved in physically resurrecting a church.

To dispel another myth that none of you have been sheepish enough to query, I am not physically planting a church either. Hopefully you will have by now realised that this is a metaphor, even if you couldn’t quite work out what it implied. They plant a lot of tulips over here, but to my knowledge church bulbs are as of yet, unavailable, even in the Netherlands. Apologies for the confusing terminology that Christians have chosen to adopt here. The term ‘church plant’ is a metaphor alluding presumably to the fact that when you start a church from scratch it begins small and formless like a wee-seedling and then becomes a massive sunflower, bush, tree [insert your favourite foliage in here].

So I am in Holland planting a church, which means in plain English, that I am part of a team of people who have moved to The Hague to start meeting together to worship Jesus and we hope that by starting jobs, university courses here and getting involved around our neighbourhoods and with activities that float our respective boats that we will befriend people, introduce them to our amazing God and then flourish into a wonderful church (photosynthesis galore) as more people decide to join us. There are currently over 40 of us meeting on a Sunday, but the number seems to be creeping up weekly.

We don’t have our own building yet and are renting another church’s hall, but in mid-March we are hoping to move more centrally into The Hague, we’ll possibly be renting a theatre, but we are still waiting on God for this. Where we meet isn’t the most important thing though, we just want to be somewhere with space for all our activities and somewhere that’s really easy for everyone to get to.

Our desire as a church will be to see new people meet and glorify Jesus and as they do to see the city of The Hague blessed as lives are restored, broken relationships are reconciled, the sick are healed and for God’s love and joy to reign in our lives. It’s also our desire to be a multicultural and economically diverse church, which truly reflects God’s heart for all people.

There’s one final thing to clear up. Some of you seem to think that I am working for the church. This is not true per se. I am here simply as a regular member, but we are all needed to make church happen. We each are essential to meet invite our friends and people we meet to church (or Chris, our leader, would be preaching to empty chairs), but we are also needed to make church practically happen (serving tea and coffee, helping out with the kids’ work, playing in the worship group, welcoming people etc.) When I’m not at church (which is most of the time) I am still loving and worshipping Jesus, but in a different way. The Bible says that we should offer our whole lives to God as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1). I do this in Leiden mostly as I enjoy my MA course, rowing and spending time with all the wonderful people I have met so far.

Hope that clears things up a little. I’ll keep you posted with our progress as a church, as well of course as with my personal adventures. And any questions - just whack ‘em in my direction!

Now

So I'm feeling really very frustrated as I have an imminent deadline for an essay, which ashamedly I have not started (and what's more, I have a second deadline on the selfsame day, for another paper that I haven't started either ... the dreaded day is January 31st - a party will follow!) The cause of my frustration is that I have to set my own title and the subject matter is 'death'. No wonder I don't feel so cheery. I just don't know where to start - I'm dead stuck... (rubbish gaff that my mum cracked earlier!)

A few of the questions that have been racing around my head: Everyone dies, so why do we fear death? What is it that we fear - pain or non-existence - or the worry of an afterlife and its essence? Is there a right time to die? When people are feeling suicidal, do they want to terminate their very existence, or do they just want to be free from the circumstances that life has dealt them? Should we prolong life for as long as possible or go to meet death?

I'm getting into an existential pickle (imagine if they sold that in jars). Last night, overwhelmed by the certainty - and yet uncertainty - of death, I lay in bed and listened to a sermon on Ecclesiastes and then this morning, I read it for myself. Life is a vapour. It passes us by. Everything good, or bad, comes to an end. So we need to embrace the moment and find God in it. To know His peace. I have been feeling less alive over the last few days whilst writing my papers in solitude. It's been an isolated dull(ish) succession of hours, punctuated only by food - how I love it! - and I have craved company other than my computer screen. I am a social animal. Ecclesiastes assured me that I was (or am, I should probably say) alive and that I should tune my head into NOW'fm rather than wishing away the present. So I did and the result, was this poem:

Now is the moment that I live for

Yesterday is a dream

Tomorrow is a possibility

A stream trickling past me into an amass of sea

I dip in my toe

Asserting the Now with a little splash

Undoes the shackles of regret

Unweights the worries in my chest

Alive in the stillness; this non-event

Torrents howl and fall

You're here, not vapour.

And on that note, I should probably proceed with my essay. There's no time like the present eh?

Here and there

I am sorry that I haven't blogged for over a month and I am also sorry that I will not do what I promised to in the last sentence of my previous blog. I had been toying with sharing some pretty emotional stuff, which would have made me very vulnerable to you all, as well as other folk involved. It is partly for that reason that I have not posted for so long, but also simply because I have been so incredibly busy.

I have just got back to Leiden from my time at home in the UK over Christmas and New year. (My time was an absolute blast. Thanks to those of you who blessed me with your presence.) On the way to the airport, I felt like I was snapping a lot at my mum. When I have underlying sadness I can be really quite a grump. I managed to suppress my tears as we neared Luton. Despite having felt so called here, months and months ago, I just did not want to return. Maybe my Christmas holiday at home was always going to be a better memory than what I imagine will follow this term, in virtue of the fact that holidays are meant to be full of relaxation and FUN and now I have only 20,000 unwritten words to keep me company. My time in Leicester and London had felt so right: two homely spheres between which I feel I fully belong.

Here, I am still an outsider and not completely settled. Arriving at Schipol last night, I just had to commit it to God. I do not actually want to be here (mind you if I was still living in London, things would have changed). Over the last week though, I feel God has reminded me, that my voyage over here was never about me. My walk as God's child is not about bending God's arm to make my life as easy as possible, but about submitting my will to His, for His glory and my joy. Volunteering to cooperatively be part of the larger plan and what a plan I cannot imagine... Jesus taught that we should be willing to give everything up for Him, the pearl of great price. I had forgotten that last semester and wondered why I found myself getting miserable. What I need to focus on, is that Jesus also teaches that if we give up our life for Him, we will truly gain it. Life to the full? (John 10:10) Yes please!

Hopefully, there won't be such chasms between blogs from here on; that being said I have to submit three papers and move house over the next couple of weeks, so no promises. I will conclude this notelet with a poem I wrote this morning:

Trains come and go

But you remain the same

Planes take off and land

But you remain the same

You are the platform and the port

There when I arrive and when I leave

And of greater comfort is this:

You go on the journey with me

Therefore, as I travel and as I go

Here and there and to and fro

I shall not be shaken

My God, you're here with me.