Advice

simply be
love life
take opportunities
explore the world
enjoy the world
discover hope
and joy
and laughter
let your life be an expression of what you hope the world to be like

Found in a ditch

Grace found me in a ditch, left out to die
Warping myself, hung out to dry
Grace took me and fed me
Grace clothed me and held me

For a broken man was I

All alone, wanting to die
Scarred by life, desperate to cry

Grace found me embroiled in dirt
Grace found me while I still hurt
Grace lifted me and washed me
Grace kissed me and loved me

For a broken man am I

Christ’s alone, trying to bring
A precious life, a grace filled thing.

Calm this Storm

Love in the darkest of nights
Is the brightest of lights.
As the days go by,
And the pain multiplies

Remember me in your glory
This day in paradise
Light up the way
Calm this storm

Fire up the beacon
The men are coming home
Let the fireworks go,
As our hearts explode

Remember me in your glory
This day in paradise
Light up the way
Calm this storm

The frost devours the flowers
The rain comes in showers
But hope remains ours
Love the greatest of powers

The songs we’ve sung
The deeds we’ve done
The futility of victory
The shame in all we know

Remember me in your glory
This day in paradise
Light up the way
Calm this storm

A mini reflection on the prodigal son

See Luke 15:11-31.

The prodigal son is a story not only of repentance, but of God's ceaseless love and grace. Notice that the father in the story embraces the son before repentance is declared.

This shows God is committed to us.

Our commitment to God is shown in our day to day living. God's commitment to us is shown in his day to day grace.

This is the gospel. Go share it if you understand it. If not, ask about it.

Laments have a purpose

God, you have called me, embraced me. And now it seems you have abandoned me. I faithfully call on your name and silence replies. My anguish builds up, my mind tears itself at the desolate state of my heart, the emptiness of the words in your Word. So come and live within me again, come and hold me to you, let me come ashore for a brief time that I may sail all the further for you. Let firm ground be beneath my feet so I can be assured of it in the storms to come. Amen

Soul Survivor

It wasn't that bad. I do think there is a bit of a power hungry edge to some of the workers/volunteers, but generally God moves there. It was good.

Rambling thoughts on Christian Summer Festivals

I am going to Soul Survivor tomorrow. I am taking a group of young people who are all immensely looking forward to it. I suspect I will forget things, but I think I'm looking forward to it as well (bar the tiredness and the rain).

However, I can't help feeling Soul Survivor festivals are about a fix, a high on the Spirit of God (not always on his Spirit I suppose) which sometimes changes lives for the better, and is helpful. But what about those who go and find this amazing and wonderful God but who have no one to invest in them back home? No one to challenge them healthily? These are the people we should be reaching. This is the kind of people the Eden Project works with, and is so effective with. Long may it continue.

I also feel that these festivals can be a bit false, people so happy to be in the presence of God, but not telling him how annoyed they are with him for their troubles in the year, because they don't want others to consider them unholy. Why do we feel we cannot moan at him when he does not help us?

Jeremiah gives us some good examples of rants at God, at laments and tears. For as the tears fall noiselessly, the heart despairs and we must ask ourselves, where is God now? If we do not, how can he answer?

Across the Street

Across the street
Screams are plain
Missiles blast
Infants in pain

The soldiers yell
The people flee
Guns firing
‘Victory!’

Across the street
A lone man shivers
The winter arrives
His body still quivers

The shoppers pass by
Smiles on faces
Eyes not looking
To the poorer places

Across the street
Starvation reigns
Famine cares not
for the lives it stains

Orphans and widows
Left by its grip
Weaker now
To death they slip

Across the street
People flee
Civil wars
Poor refugee

Turned to prostitution
By the ‘great’ and the ‘good’
Ignored in the country
Celebrating Robin Hood

Across the street
We walk on by
Hardly noticing
The poor people die

Across the street
We condemn the men
Who murder others
Yet we’re just like them

Ignoring the pain
Ignoring the cold
Ignoring the hunger
Ignoring the sold

In our own little bubble
In our own little world
We're righteous people
In a darkened world.

A Trembling Soul

A trembling soul,
Looks up to the stars,
Wishes the heavens
Weren’t so afar,

A washed out wreck,
Surveying the scene,
Seeing the past,
What could have been,

A lone rider,
Running away,
Hurt and bruised,
Afraid to pray,

Hope is adrenalin,
Tricking our mind,
Love a chemical,
Left behind

For romance is dead,
Lights have gone dark,
The stars are weary,
Leaving your heart.

A Parable

It is time to begin again; with a parable.

There was once a nosey man who lived alone in an enormous castle on the side of a hill. The man took great interest in the view from his towers, for from his towers he could see the village at the bottom of the mountain. He used to sit in his tower rooms for hours at a time, peering through a telescope, recording events and actions in people’s lives. At times the man would chuckle to himself at someone tripping, or become angry at thieves he witnessed stealing from shops in the village. Always, he would write down what he saw in a diary, and his recording was remarkably accurate. For years the man would rise early in the morning, and go straight to the tower to write down what happened during the day. His records lasted for years, and he knew the details of village life. He knew who was having affairs, and who was faithful. In his mind he knew who he would have as his friends and who he would ignore because of their thieving or promiscuity. There was one particular woman who he knew was particularly immoral. He could see her visiting different houses, spending a little time there, and moving along to the next house. The man was sure she was the only prostitute in the village with the courage to work in daylight, and was appalled at her daily antics. The man continued to watch all aspects of life in the village, and for years he did not leave his castle.

Meanwhile, in the village, lived a young woman. She used to visit the families in the village, delivering bread to those in need and flowers to those in grief. Her smile was wide, and her heart warm.

It came about that the man in the castle was summoned to jury duty one summer. He had not visited the village in many years, but jury duty was drawn out of a hat, and he was obliged by law to go. He decided he was pleased with this turn of events; it was an opportunity. The man put on his coat and boots, dusty from years of sitting in one place. He left his castle and walked, determined, towards the village. He wondered what people would say when he carried out his plan.

As the man entered the village square he looked round, approving, his descriptions of the square from his castle were so accurate. Then it happened. His time was now. He saw the woman sneaking out of one of the houses in the corner; he was going to confront her about her immoral actions.

‘Excuse me woman!’ he cried,’ I need you over here.’ The woman wandered over, clearly concerned about such a summons for she walked stooped and slowly, with her head bowed.
‘Yes sir?’ she asked,
‘I need you all to listen! Can I have your attention please!’ the man called out across the square. The people in the square looked up, and gathered around as he signalled for them to do so.
‘I tell you people, this woman is the scourge of this village, she is promiscuous like no one else in the village and she deserves expulsion!’
The people began to look shocked and horrified, the man knew that they had not noticed her immoral ways, so he continued, knowing the good he was doing for the village,
‘I have watched this village for many years from my castle, up there on the hill. I have seen this woman enter many different houses around the town to offer her despicable services!’
The crowd began to boo; they began to shout at the man,
‘What are you saying?!’
‘Do you know who this woman is?’
‘No,’ the man said, ‘but I do know what she has been doing, I have seen her going into many houses around the city, I know she is a terrible woman.’
A man spoke up in the crowd, ‘Yes, but she has been visiting us when we have been sick, or ill. When we have been hungry she has brought us bread, when we have been in grief she has brought us flowers from her garden. Her heart is warm and we are very grateful to her. Please do not offend her so.’

Something I wrote about the time between becoming a Christian and now.

In that time we have highs and lows,
We wonder what, if anything, goes,

We continue to knock, to seek and to wonder,
Wishing God's voice would sound like thunder,

And always we come back before God,
kneeling before his majesty's throne.

Scared

After rereading 'Sacred' I thought it's anagram of 'scared' would make an equally good word for the start of the first three verses.

Scared hope,
bound blindly in me,

Scared faith,
insecure and trembling,

Scared love,
hidden within,

Scared joy,
fragile and brittle,

Scared peace,
Surrounded by rage,

Scared future,
impossible to predict.

Fear grips us. Fear binds us. Fear holds us down. Fear suffocates.

In 1 John 4 it says, 'perfect love drives out fear.'

Do you believe this to be the case? If so, are you living it? If not, why not?

Sacred

Sacred hope,
bound blindly in me,

Sacred faith,
insecure and trembling,

Sacred love,
hidden within,

Sacred Lord,
mysterious warrior,

Sacred God,
untameable creator,

Sacred Christ,
risen redeemer,

Sacred.

Why can't love be easy?

Why can't love be easy?
Why can't love be free?
Why must it cost your life?
Why must is cause such strife?

Where were you when I called?
Where were you when I cried?
Why did you let me fall?
The heart in me died.

How much more can I give?
How much more can I pour out?
How much longer can I live?
Can I really go without?

Must I stand here all alone?
Must I weep cold tears at night?
Are all my chances really blown?
Is my future dark or bright?

New Title

I was told my title was not that great, so based on consumer feedback I have changed it. I have named this blog 'Insane Messenger' because I hope I give messages that challenge and inspire, as well as provoke thought and sometimes create a smile.

Expect Nothing Back

Expect nothing back,
Then your life will be a flowing river,
a bubbling stream of happiness,
Not begrudging,
Not belittling,
Only giving,
Flowing down the mountain of life,
Encompassing more and more as you go,
Allowing others to flow into you when they are able,
But not expecting them too,
Expect nothing back.

A letter to God

God, I have not spoken to you in a while. I seem to have forgotten your love. I have tried to live for you, without communicating with you. You called me to live this life, but it is hard to do. I know I should take up my cross, but where are the miracles to go with it? Where is your hand in my life? I need to return to you, give my life back to you. Let me return to your arms, and enjoy your embrace once more. Give me back my heart for you, for serving at your will. Give me renewed passion, renewed drive and renewed energy. Let me be yours. Let me be yours. Let me be yours.

Amen

3WW: A life of integrity

3WW: modify obey veil

I am called to obey,

to take up my cross and follow,

to modify my behaviour,

truly.

I am called to learn,

to take up my calling and go,

to build others up,

truly,

If I simply veil my hidden thoughts,

And have two lives,

How can I follow?

How can I go?

Truly

I must live with integrity,

I must live with real love,

Value all around me,

Bow before the King.

Doubted

Waves of doubt,
Come crashing down,
On the rock,
Of certainty,
Blemished by fear,
Captured by speculation,

I am not free to choose,
I am bound by mistrust,
I am expected to stand,
But it is not believed.

3 WW Beauty or Objectivity?

I recently read The Abolition of Man by CS Lewis. In it Lewis supposes that if humanity continues to try to conquer nature, to objectify beauty and to attempt to work out the sacred we will lose, through the process, the essence of our humanity. Lewis bases all of this on the existence of the Tao. The Tao is essentially an absolute moral code which we can choose to live within or to step outside and observe dispassionately. I think he may have a point, and, fortunately, I think we may be returning to an appreciation of things because we cannot understand them, rather than a preference for understanding. For example, I think most adults will look at the stars, or over the plains of a Savannah and permit themselves to stand in wonder rather than to objectively consider the working of photosynthesis, of the ecosystem, or of the exploding gases in the universe. Humanity possesses the ability to amaze itself with wonderful paintings, or exquisite compositions of symphony, or a singing voice more stunning than a lark’s. Yet, Lewis would argue, this state is frail if we decide to lose our sense of the bigger picture, of the sense of something pervading even our biggest achievements that is not there to be understood, but there, instead, to be mysterious and beautiful.

Questions

Why must we forever be dissatisfied? Why can we not remember that last night we snuggled into a bed in a room with a roof? Why do we complain that our friends are not good enough? Why do we say that our bodies aren't beautiful? Why do we ceaselessly spiral in a world of consumer unhappiness? Why do we go with the flow even when the flow is saturated with uncaring? What happened to us that we do not care for the orphan in Africa? What happened to us that we are unperturbed by war in Afghanistan? Why do we forget them? Why do we remember only the bravery of our soldiers? What about the bravery of theirs? What about their valiance and courage? What about their martyrdom? Is it really martyrdom? Where did those passionate enough to die for mercy go? Did they all die so quickly? Did their deaths not inspire us to sacrifice ourselves to a greater cause? Is there a greater cause? Does it matter if there is a greater cause? Why? Why have I criticised dissatisfaction with the world through dissatisfied questions? Is hypocrisy a way forward?

3 WW

I wanted to generate a new post, but my ideas were scant and meager. Please don't tease me about it.

Where is Love

Where is love,
But on a plain,
And in the whims of life,
It seems to flicker out and in,
To take away all strife,

Where is love,
But in the heart,
And in the tears of life,
It seems to ever illusive be,
Yet be forever rife,

Where is love,
But in a birdsong,
And in nature’s joy,
It seems to build and lift on high,
Never to destroy.

3 Word Wednesday: On your knees and pray!

It will occur,
Upon that day,
That ragged man will say,
‘What is this chaos? What is this dream?
Tidy it away!’

And we will look,
Upon that man,
That ragged glorious day,
‘This chaos is freedom! This dream is hope!
Now on your knees and pray!’

See: http://threewordwednesday.wordpress.com , OK, so I didn't do it on Wednesday but I only discovered it today!

I love God, honest!

A poem written in response to the problematic phenomenon called 'enthusiastic dualism' by Laurence Singlehurst.

I stand Y-shaped
Before God
In his presence I am free
In his presence I am blameless

I go into the world
I stand alone
I crumble
In the world
I am chained
In the world
I should be blamed

It becomes a cycle
I stand in Church
My eyes closed
My hands high
I go out
I bow
Wretching on the pavement
After a night out.

A cycle.
Worship, sin, worship, sin.

Darkest of Nights

A little poem.


Someone help me through this darkest of nights,
Someone pull me up from the abyss,

Let me see daylight again,
Let me breathe freely again,

I need reassurance, I need comfort,
Stand by me, hold me up.

Hatred hurts

Hatred hurts and harms all those
Who cross its path or tread in its wake,
For hatred has power, power to kill
And all else falls, falls to the abyss,
And the whisper of hope is really a hiss,
And the heights of freedom are scales of pain,
For what we see is seen through darkness,
What seems so bright only glows in the dark,
For we have turned from the light,
It shines too bright for us to look upon its glory,
Instead of bowing we have turned away, and walked and walked and walked away,
But if we turn once more,
A speck of light remains, on the horizon, welcoming us,
Bidding us to come, bidding us to fall before it in awe,
And it will light the way should we turn, it will guide our paths if we’re true,
And we will find true hope, and we will scale heights of true freedom,
And we will be made whole when the light shines through us.

Jesus transforms

I wrote this wondering how many of us allow ourselves to be transformed by the love and power of Jesus, or recognise that we have been. I also wonder whether we realise we are still being transformed, and will continue to be so.

I decided to follow Jesus,
Once upon a time,
I really wanted to do good,
To be the next in line,

I shouted of his love,
declared his name to all,
but this lasted just a while,
I slowly forgot the call,

The love I once knew so true,
seemed to dissipate,
I was desperate and so eager,
but any return seemed too late,

Yet once I used to shout and swear,
I used to drink my fill,
I used to lust at women,
Rack up an enormous bill,

Now I'm calm and kinder,
I live each day for him,
I think that love's still there,
Washing away my sin,

I know I'm still not perfect,
I know I still do wrong,
but I know who I'll turn to,
all this journey long.

Open Hands

Open hands
Nailed for me
I’m so tight fisted
Want to be free

Chained by love
Held by care
Dismissed by all
I can’t be there

‘Lean on me’
I sing out loud
I want to give
But assailed by cloud

I want my hands
To be open free
But I hold on tight
They cannot see

I remind myself
Of what to do
But my heart wrenches
Known by few

But I will stand
Hard as it is
With hands open wide
No one to dismiss

Nails may be driven
A spear in my side
But one’s there before me
Arms held wide

Busker

A wise old man
with his guitar
Busking,
Tending a scar

Seeing the pigeons
scanning the floor
stirs memories
millennia old

He eyes the preacher
across the street
and he recalls
the one he greets

Why won't you listen?
Why don't you hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near

He sees the people
Avoiding his gaze
Seeing their faces
He remembers again

Before thrones
Speaking God's word
Calling down fire
Making God heard

Faster than chariots
Water wide open
The furnace explosion
The whirlwind to Heaven

Why won't you listen?
Why do you not hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near

He's ignored
People pass by
Not seeing him
Not hearing his cry

Why won't you listen?
Why do you not hear?
I'm calling for you,
I'm calling you near

Success

My success is not measured in how many people love me, but in how much I love God and people.

I don't need to worry how many people attend my wedding or my funeral, but how many weddings and funerals I attend out of love.

I cannot be loved by all, for their hearts are not mine to control, but I can love all, for my heart is my own, to let harden or to pour out. I choose to pour it out. I need to love people as I love myself, and to love God with my all.

A little note

Of late it has been hard to keep going. It seems there is too much work and too much study and not enough friends and too little hope.

I still worship God though, because I that's all I can do. How many times have I sung that I will praise through hardship? So I try to. The silly thing is it's not really hard. I have food, and a roof and a bed. It's funny how ambiguous a hard life is really. In this post-modern world it's anything I suppose.

I don't have much else to say. I love God still and that is the sum total of my identity at the moment. Perhaps that is all it ever will be.

In the Image of God

A poem about being made in the image of God:

Looking down upon a still lake,
Someone watches from below,
My reflection, blurred,
And I look to the heavens,
Wondering,
Is this how God sees us?
The essence of how I look reflected in a lake,
The essence of who God is reflected in a person?
Perhaps it is not how we look,
Perhaps it is not how we think,
Perhaps it is not what we do,
Perhaps it is not who we are,
Perhaps it is not found in others,

Perhaps it is found in love.

Over me

The binding chains are loosed again
Free from my sin, my pain has gone
Released, redeemed, saved, repented
Rocked by your love, I stand in awe

Your love standing over me
Your love watching over me
Your love incredible
Your love, your love

Your love took all my fears
Your love has strengthened my feet
My arms, ready for battle
The blood you gave was not in vain

You’re watching over me x4
Watching over me

Your love, guarding over me
Your love, washing over me,
Your love, unbeatable
Your love, your love

I wrestled with love the other day

I wrote this poem when my friend suggested that perhaps Jesus does not require our all. Admittedly the end is a bit cheesy, but it gets the point across.


I wrestled with love the other day,
I fought with it, and I pounded it,

I tried to shove it out the door,
Throw it down the street,
I yelled at it to leave,
But it refused to be beat,

I told it it’s unwanted,
I told it to leave my life,
I don’t want it to rule me,
I just want it for my wife,

Why should I feed the hungry?
Why should I give my all?
I am happy where I am,
Not changing anything at all,

I wrestled and I fought,
I shouted out abuse,
It was written on my heart,
It really would not lose,

I wrestled with love the other day,
I fought with it, and I pounded it,
It tore apart my heart,
But it has taken hold of me,
I cannot wait to start,

Show me the poor and broken,
Take me to the lost,
I will give my all,
No matter what the cost,

I will follow Jesus,
Through all the highs and lows,
He asked me to follow,
And in him my love grows.