Supply lines

I am writing today to talk to you about some thing that is of the utmost spiritual importance. FOOD.
If you will, please add this to my spiritual warfare collection. Yes. That is correct. Food is an issue of spiritual warfare.

Some of the most effective battle strategies through history have been to do with food. It's a well known saying that an army marches on its stomach and for a good reason. Without food all the weapons you can wield are useless. Its for this reason that master military strategists such as Napoleon have used scorched earth policies. The practise of burning all the crops behind them as they advanced. Other effective strategies have been to disrupt and target enemy supply lines, the routes and means of supplying your troops as they fight. Few armies have been able to take enough with them to be able to progress fast enough or to sustain them long enough. Thus looting has long been a practise of various military campaigns.

So why would Satan, a masterful strategist, ignore so vital a part of his campaign against you? Will he come at you only with a direct attack, wielding his tongue like  a sword and showering you with fiery arrows of accusation? Or will he, perhaps, deploy the age old tactic of cutting you off from God's ordained supply lines? I think I know the answer to that. He wants you spiritually anaemic. He wants you weak. He wants you apathetic. He wants you so hungry you will even eat things that may harm you. I am of course speaking of spiritual food here!
So I would say that it is vital to know the supply lines that keep us strong for battle. I don't think I am going to surprise you here, but I want to tell you the things that I think Satan wants to cut you off from.

1. Prayer

Our growth and strength in God depend upon our feeding on Gods presence. If you stop praying you start dying inside. It's really that simple. Its all about the relationship. Satan will do anything he can to disrupt your prayer life. Among his tactics; discouragement, distractions, and disasters that break the flow of daily prayer. Things that are so big that they seem to require ALL your attention, but long after the crisis is over you have still not picked up the baton again. He makes that first molehill-step back to prayer look like a mountain, but it's not. Remember the prodigal story. The father is waiting with open arms to fall on you and embrace. Keep the lines of prayer open, no matter how crappy you feel. It is vital. You need it. Maybe now more than ever. I would include in this section, bible reading too, and all forms of personal devotion.

2. Fellowship.

Satan wants you to think you can go it alone. Especially, he will sometimes  exaggerate the importance of the prayer (Ironically) in order to get you to neglect this one. 'You only need God'  and 'Your personal prayer life is enough', he will say. He doesn't really want you to pray, but he loves to play the anti organised religion card. 'it's messy where other people and their egos are involved', he will say, and he's right. Sometimes it is. But it is vital food to you. God put the command, to love him first, into the context of loving your neighbour. This love is food to us. Both the giving and the receiving. The community of God cannot be neglected if we are to be spiritually sustained. If you walk away from the camp then you walk away from the camp kitchen too. Don't be deceived. We need input. We need the sharpening of clashing egos, of failure and restoration and we need encouragement, all in the context of the Father's love and grace. And, of course, in this context we receive a whole smorgasbord of foods; like corporate worship, instruction, accountability and service. These sustain us too.

3. Obedience.

I left this till last because it is the hardest. Jesus said that his meat was to do the will of the Father.
This is so hard. But if we are cut off from obedience by the thousands of excuses we make (and the devil suggests) we really cannot expect to be sustained as spiritual beings. Like all of these points I have made, I have personal experience of this. But of this more than any other. Every disobedient act weakens us, robs us of our sustenance, be it things we have done that we shouldn't have, or things we should have done, but havent. The fastest way to grow in strength and grace is to feed on doing Gods will. Accept no substitute. It was vital for Jesus, how much more so for us?
If we can identify where our food comes from, we can be much better equipped to defend the supply line. Only a fool would neglect to do so. You keep on fighting on the front line, but pay no attention to your supply, and you are going to do the enemies work for him...and starve yourself out. And that would be a true tragedy.

Grace and peace.

Discipline

I've been spending a lot of time in Hebrews 12 today,  where we are reminded that God disciplines those he loves, or loves those he disciplines.

Now, I have to be honest. Although I have been a Christian nearly all my life and I have  long understood the same God who so loved the world that he sent his only son, is the same God who allowed Job to be tormented by the devil. I've not found this picture of a loving but disciplinarian Father to be all that helpfull.
I have understood that his love is unquestionable,  even when we are going through the worst of times and that somehow,  in his mystery, he allows us to go through suffering because he wants us to grow. Because he loves us.

 

But here's the thing.  It always seemed a bit twisted to me.  Sadistic, almost. Not because I doubt his love, but because I doubt his method.

And I realised today why that was. It is my relationship with the word discipline. You see, where I read the word discipline, I heard 'punishment'. I've been to bible college.  I know this is not what is being spoken of, but subconsciously I don't think I have ever escaped the connotations of the word.

When I think discipline,  I think of the smacking and humiliation I received as a child.  The phrases that stick in my head are 'I'm doing this because I love you', 'this is hurting me more than it is you' and the all time classic,  'it's for your own good!'

I am not suggesting for a minute my father didn't love me. I am not attempting to set this out as a case against corporal punishment. It has its detractors but this is not the time and place for it. The problem is that for a child, its a very confusing message. I'm being hurt here but I'm being told that this is good, that this is love??

But the issue with this kind of discipline is that it is more of a punishment than it is anything else. It is retribution and penalty.  It seems, as I suppose all these things do, to act as a deterrent,  or like aversion therapy.

 

I guess I have never shaken those associations with the word discipline. Especially in terms of Gods discipline.

 

But if we take the word in another of its forms  'disciple' we have entirely different concepts to work with. Think of the way Jesus corrects his disciples, lovingly,  at times with humour.  Sometimes with  the stern rebuke. Yes.  But always with a tender tone. And disciples are there for one thing,  to learn.  And that is what is behind even my own childhood discipline.  My Father was not just disciplining me when he was punishing me. That was just one small part of the discipline he offered me. He discipled me when he taught me to mend a puncture or to solve a mathematical problem.  He discipled me when he showed kindness to my mother,  he discipled me when he prayed with me.  He discipled me through every part of life that he shared with me. This was discipline too. And he did it because he loved me. He wanted to equip me as best as he could to face the world as a godly man. And I respect him for it.

 

And so when I think of Heavenly Father disciplining me today, I see his tender love, his care for me. He is discipling me 'through' the hard times and suffering. He is teaching me, with me, by my side. He's not above, me, pouring out some kind of karmic retribution, hurting me for my own good. He disciples those he loves.

The Anchor and the Storm

Faithful one, so unchanging
Ageless one, you're my rock of peace
Lord of all I depend on you
I call out to you, again and again
I call out to you, again and again

During a worship song at church today, I had one of those moments, the ones where I had to share. I promised God, at the start of this year that I would be obedient to these when they come along. Sometimes I am waiting for the right moment, specifically hoping it will never come, so I don't have to put myself 'out there'. This was not one of those moments. I was nervous, as I always am, but I was certain that I was willing to bring it when the time came. However the right moment did not come. The song, which had inspired the word, drifted into a time of singing in the spirit and then, while I was waiting for it to die down enough to speak the musicians led us into another song.

 So I prayed about what to do with it, and then I thought, 'write it down'. I hope that this is why God didn't allow more space in the meeting at that exact moment. If he had allowed it, I never would have written it down and then you wouldn't be reading this. I hope you know that by me saying you, I mean someone who is meant to be reading this. And it may be that you were in that service and this is still for you. And even if its not specifically for you then it is, at least generally, still for you.

          You are my rock in times of trouble
you lift me up when I fall down
All through the storm
Your love is, the anchor
My hope is in You alone

 

 

 The song we were singing is 'Faithful one', A song that rarely fails to touch me as , for a season at least, it was one of my Mothers favourites. This time the line 'All through the storm your love is the anchor' really grabbed me. I am given to pondering on the imagery of the lyrics, during worship and so it was no surprise to me that I found myself imagining a diagram of an anchored ship, more particularly a sail ship. I saw a cut away sketch that revealed the ship sideways on and the anchor stretching below down to the sea bed.

Firstly the thing that struck me is that there must be some slack with an anchor. I am not remotely naughtical so I may be misinformed. However if the principle stands true for narrow boats then I presume it will for sea going vessels. If you moor your boat with a too taught rope and the water levels rise dramatically  then it will cause the boat to capsize because it is unable to rise with the levels.
So our anchor is. There must be movement. it may look from the surface as though we are drifting a little but we will never go further than the chain allows. If there is no slack, the anchor can work against us.

Secondly the slack that we have, during a storm would allow, to all intents and purposes, the impression to be given that we are at its mercy. The boat will still be tossed about, It will take a battering. But it will not drift further than the anchor allows.

Love is the anchor, within the imagery of this song. Not a harbour. Nor a port. Love is the anchor. We might prefer a harbour, safe and protected but, as wiser people have pointed out, a ship is not meant to be in a harbour. It is meant to be at sea. And you were not made to be in one place of safety for the rest of your days. You were made for voyages. Love is a security that you can take with you. It is a portable harbour.

I believe God wanted to say that despite appearances, out there on the high seas, if you're taking a battering, if you appear to be drifting, his love will not let you go. It holds you, unseen beneath the waves. You may only drift so far. All through the storm, his love is the anchor.

In our life group this past week we looked at a well known passage from scripture, Romans 8, which speaks about the unconquerable power of Gods love for us, that is in Christ;

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.~ v37-39

This anchor holds firm through EVERY storm, Christian. EVERY storm. If you drift, you never go beyond its reaches or ability to keep you. This is love that wilt not let you go.
If you are in the storm, take courage. If you are in the port, put out to sea. God made you to have the wind in your sails and air of freedom in your face.

Job's Other Children.

While he was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, “Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!” Job 1:18-19

Job is consoled at the end of his story, by 10 more children, Seven sons and three beautiful daughters. He lives to 140, and sees his descendants to the 4th generation. His riches are restored and he was blessed more by God, in the post disaster part of his life, than he had been in the first part. But I wonder, if at 139, bouncing his great, great grandchildren on his weakened knees, he didn't spare a thought for the children that he lost in that awful storm. I suspect that no matter what came after, nothing could have replaced what he had lost. Grief is like that. It never goes entirely. It kind of reshapes you, it becomes livable but it is still present.

I have always struggled to find comfort in the children that Job receives after the event. It seems to me, (taking aside that these were real children, real human beings with their own individual attributes and personalities and ways of relating to their Father), that their presence in the story just rubs salt in the wounds. I am a father. I am sure it doesn't work like that. You love each child on their own merit, and sometimes without much merit. But it seems to me that we are being asked by the story, to simply accept that everything is okay again. And what about those Children? What had they done to deserve to be wiped out like that?

At some fundamental level my response to this is the same as it would be to those deaths of school children in Oklahoma this week, the same as it would be to any children lost in natural disasters, or any adults for that matter (and Jobs children were grown, that much is clear by the nature of the activity they were involved in at the time of their demise). My response is, 'its not fair!'

But the thing I realised about the story of Job is that it is the story of Job. Profound, hey? What I mean is, ultimately, as far as the story goes, it is not about them. That does not mean, that if they were real flesh and blood people, that God did not care about them, or that he had simply chalked them up as collateral damage. It means that that is another story, and one that is not told in scripture. The story we are told is about Job and not his children. It is about how we respond to suffering, and how we maintain our integrity when all the anchors of reasoning and emotional connection to the Almighty are ripped out of the ground in a single moment.

Job's story raises many questions about the origins of evil and causes of suffering. Job mostly maintains his integrity but none the less, in the awe inspiring end to the long explorations of these themes, God declares himself to Job. He says

Who is this that obscures my plans with words without knowledge?

Firstly it needs to be observed that whenever we speak about these things, we are lacking in a knowledge of what we speak of. We only get one very limited perspective. We see in part, only. God then, through a series of questions compares his own achievements to Job's (and really humanity's) own. It is really his way of making the distinction clear. We are not dealing with another man here. This is the Almighty, maker of the universe. Essentially, who are we to question him?

Not exactly the comfort we are looking for but, at some deeper level I think it might just be. God is enshrouded in mystery. Perhaps that despite an all powerful and benevolent creator there is such suffering is the greatest mystery we will ever have to face. Our impotence in the face of it is quite humbling. Perhaps we don't need answers, perhaps we need acceptance. If God was not loving though, this would be a terrible state of affairs. It is only when we understand the love of God that we can start to trust him, that he knows what he is doing, even when we are clueless and blinded with grief and rage. He never lost control. Not once. Sometimes the things that we must face are crippling but If God is redeeming the world to himself, at least, ultimately, there is a purpose in it. It is not needless, senseless suffering. It is a mystery but it is not without reason, nor apart from divine love.

And it is not the story of those whose time is done, be they seven or seventy. The question is what are we to do, how are we to respond?

My life is in your hands

I haven't done this for a while. No, not the blog, although I haven't. I mean the type of blog. I don't tend to use it for personal journalling but tonight I wanted to just get this down while its fresh. But it is quite personal. Don't worry, not THAT personal.

I've been thinking about trying some meditation again. A while back, a long while back, I had in my possession a clutch of books that taught on meditation, from a biblical perspective which I fully intended to read, and apply. The ancients used to do it, the Patriarch's of our faith, King David, the church fathers, the desert fathers and lots of godly people. I have a sneaky suspicion that Jesus used to do it himself. But in my church tradition it is almost a dead practise. There is a wide acknowledgement that biblical meditation is a perfectly  acceptable and beneficial practise. But can I find anyone in my acquaintance who regularly practises it, or who teaches it? I'm sure there may be a few who dabble but I have rarely heard anyone speak of it.

Anyway I had started to read a couple of the books. Richard Foster's 'Celebration of Discipline'' (Which starts with Meditation) and 'School for Prayer' by Metropolitan Anthony. I had started to experiment a little with silence, in my prayer life, but felt about as spiritual as a discarded prophylactic. But that was nothing to the conviction I started to feel when I read the books by these Godly men. There writing was so rich with spiritual authority that it almost hurt to read it. I could barely get through two sentences without being deeply challenged. I wanted to achieve a deeper prayer life and a closeness with God but in all honesty I found it, and still do in many ways, too costly. You don't get nearer to God without transformation. Its that simple. And, after a short time, I had wimped out.

But I had been thinking lately that it might be time to face it again. Indeed, I thought a little earlier in the week that I may well pick up one of my books again and start putting it in to practise, reporting back on my progress in a weekly blog.

Almost independently from this thinking, I had an experience this evening which kind of confirmed things to me again. That this was the right direction for me. I was walking home from house group, across the fields, a few miles listening to my MP3 player the whole way. As is my habit, when walking and not surrounded by people, my thoughts were interspersed with prayer, but no real concentration. I was approaching the last field when I felt, from nowhere, seemingly, that perhaps I ought to just turn off the music and walk over this last field, in silence. And listen, you know, to God.

In all my times at home sitting in silence, even using a biblical mantra on a few occasions, I had never experienced anything but frustration. But on a few of the occasions I have practised this silence whilst walking I have heard Gods voice. Not an audible one, a voice that is identical to the sound of my thoughts. In other words, It is no different from my thinking. what IS distinctive about it, when it actually happens, is the nature of the thoughts themselves. they are always authoritative and gentle. Direct and wise. And they nearly always bring clarity. the first time I heard God speak like this, he said 'Shut up'. A very good starting place. The bible tells us, be still and know that I am God. Yes. that requires some reverent silence, accompanied by more than a little awe.

And almost immediately as I stepped into that last field, he began speaking to me. He told me it had been too long since I did this, he affirmed that it felt good tom me to be in his presence, didn't it? (yes it did, Lord) and he told me, He had been here waiting for this, ever since I gave up on it. That he didn't mind, because he is patient. I started to respond in my head, in the silence, and my thoughts got mixed up with his. I started to surrender to him. And the words came into my head, 'My life is in your hands'. I took this to be an expression of trust on my part.

And then it became clear to me, or at least clearer. Wasn't it God that had been speaking. Yes, I think that was him, not me. God was saying 'my life is in your hands'. I had to think about that.

Was he saying I was responsible for his life? Of course not, at least not in the most obvious sense. But the more I think about that phrase, the richer it is.  But in a way I am responsible for his life which he has put inside me. Not responsible for ensuring his safety, but responsible for what I do with the gift he has given me. He has placed it into my hands. My decisions and actions are therefore doubly important.

And on another level, 'My life is in your hands'. Hands are symbolic of what we do, our actions. So in what I do, in how I chose to serve him, that is where his life is. In two distinct ways. One is that I am acting as his hands and feet. His life is reaching others through me. I am acting as his representative when I do his work. Two is that he brings life to what my hands do, when they are employed in his service.

I needed to hear this, because, I have lost some sense of connection to this, over the years. That I make a difference. It may not be a huge difference but it is a difference none the less. He is not going to indwell me and overpower me. If there is a blockage to my doing his will then 'Guess what, matey?' It's up to me to remove it.  I do not mean to play down Gods grace, not at all. I just mean to play up my responsibility to make a difference. I have a tendency to coast. Father knows that and tonight he kindly told me, that it is time to wake up, and see what a precious thing he has given me, and to see how much more effectively i can serve him with it. Because his life is in my hands. His healing can flow through them too. I am in him, and he is in me. To think I so nearly missed that tonight because he spoke to me in a way I would not usually have heard. Only if I was silent. Only if I was listening.

 I think the Richard Foster book may getting a visit from me in the not too distant future.

basis for belief. Part 1: The Theology of Instincts

How do we arrive at our own set of theological beliefs? what guides us? I am afraid this post may raise more questions than it answers. For me this subject has been the terrain on a journey of thought for a fair few years now.

A few weeks back I was talking to a friend I had not seen in a while. They were describing to me the church they are worshipping at regularly these days. "They're okay with homosexuality" my friend said, before adding with passionate intensity, "because I could never be part of a church that that didn't accept gay people".

Although the language of my own theological position might lead some to believe otherwise, the church I go to now, accepts gay people. That is to say, it accepts people who are gay. However, although I could not give you chapter and verse, I believe our position on practising homosexuality is that it is a sin.

This isn't a piece on homosexuality, it just happens to be a subject that illustrates the principle. I must confess at some level I was impressed with my friends attitude. It was that passionate, instinctive response that gave me cause for admiration. I have found myself , so, so often, having to be counter intuitive when it comes to certain theological matters. Counter intuitive in order to maintain integrity within the evangelical framework where my beliefs seem to sit best. So, say for example, that my first response to homosexuality was not disgust but empathy, was not judgement but acceptance then I would have to weigh that against what I believe the bible seems to teach. If the bible seems to say to me that homosexuality is a sin then for the sake of my beliefs in the authority of scripture (and let me be clear, the bible does not say judgemental attitudes are good or that empathy for homosexuals is bad, far from it) I must then submit my first (and most instinctive) response to that higher principle. Integrity in tact? Possibly, depending on your definition of integrity. If my guiding principle is to be true to scripture, then yes. If it is to be true to myself, then no. Unless being true to myself is to be true to scripture in spite of myself. let me put it this way. If I was supreme being, an awful lot of murderers would get off Scott free because I felt sorry for them. Sometimes you just have to bow to a higher law.
What I envied in my friend was their ability to believe wholeheartedly in what they felt to be instinctively right. An intuitive response to doctrine. This just feels wrong, therefore, it sucks and I am not going to believe it. A theology of instincts.

When I was a child I reasoned like a child. For me there was only one kind of Christianity. Our kind, the kind I was taught. It was simple. On meeting other Christians I would assume that we were on the same page. I knew nothing of the reformation or the canon of scripture, or really even denominations. God was loving. Jesus died for my sins, the bible is Gods word to mankind etc. It was that simple to me.

But something went wrong. Although I was raised in a house where my Father held to Calvinistic theologies, for example, I was intuitively sure (and they never taught either in Sunday school) that you could lose your salvation. I had no idea of "perseverance of the saints" and not a clue who Arminius was. Still don't, truth be told. I had no clue about doctrine. My faith was built from the half formed ideas that I had gleaned from the twin sources of parental wisdom (via the bible) and my own intuitive imagination.

When I got to bible college, years later, I was utterly shocked to hear about the early church councils , and of how our heavenly, divinely inspired scriptures were compiled and decided on, effectively, by a committee. I had never...and I mean NEVER thought about how the bible, the very thing I based my life on, was compiled. I had never even considered when the gospels were written, or if the people who were supposed to have written them had really written them. My only thoughts had been as to whether I believed them or not. Not where they had come from.

The whole process shocked me in its ordinariness. In its utter humanity. There seemed almost nothing divine about the process, Way too messy. How on earth could I have got this far and not even considered it? It beggared belief. It really did.
I have since come to terms with the sheer humanity of it all. I love the earthiness of scripture. I see the warts and all approach to narrative as an indication of its historicity, with its flawed heroes and its apparent contradictions.You would never include what is included if it was a fit up! I see the bible as divine because it shows how God gets involved in our mess, because he comes into our darkness and shines his light and our darkness doesn't overcome that light. Its a compilation of 66 books with multiple authorship spanning across human history but God is in it from Genesis to Revelation.

But it raises the question. On what basis did I accept that the bible was my divine authority? The word of God to me, to be obeyed without question?

I suppose it goes back to those early church councils, set up to define orthodoxy and build a comprehensive canon of scripture. What was their purpose? To refute heresy and to build a clear basis for authority. Here's the bottom line, and I am speaking form a protestant perspective here, with out scripture we may as well believe anything. Many of Paul's letters are in and as of themselves written for that very purpose, albeit initially on a local level. To define sound doctrine and good practise. I have to believe that just as God was sovereignly "in" the situations whereby the individual authors came to write the words, using their language and personality to get down just what he wanted to be there (without possessing them and controlling their hands as they wrote), that so was he sovereignly "in" the minutiae of the councils decision making, causing what he wanted to be included to "float to the top". In short I have to have faith in it, in the same way that I have faith in Jesus. There are many depths to be plumbed here but I want to get to the heart of the argument so I will.

For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.~ 2 Tim 4:3

This to me is the most convincing argument for orthodoxy. As with homosexuality, as with the doctrine of hell and, to a lesser extent, for me, male leadership there are many things that are traditionally included in the gospel which seem more unpalatable now than they ever did. I am not immune to it, I am a child of my age.

If my instincts alone were to come into play I would, in all honesty, do away with hell, promote women bishops and Arch Bishops and outlaw any form of discrimination against homosexuals whatsoever.

But when I joined the church I came to understand one fundamental thing. That my instincts were, if not motivated by sin, then tainted by it. (The heart is desperately wicked and deceitful above all things, who can know it? Jer 17:9). And in order to join the body of Christ I must die to myself, lay down my understanding where ever it contradicted God. Humility is the key. And so my instinct is (I told you I would be getting back to this) that while my friend may feel unable to be "part of a church that does not accept gay people" I feel far more strongly that I am unable to be part of a church that throws off all accountability and believes and practises only what it likes. The day you find yourself in a situation where no part of your worship contradicts your own desires, only agrees with your own world view and reflects your own opinions, is the day, I humbly suggest that the thing you are worshipping may just be your self.

Next time I hope to be looking at this in a little more detail.

The spilling out of truth

It was a fair few weeks after mum died. Dad was being extremely efficient at dealing with Mums stuff and we had agreed between the four of us that my sister should have her car. This was the day she had come over to collect it. The car was one of the last things to be dealt with as it was away from the house, parked on the drive. Not like her possessions which had filled the house that we were living in.

The initial shock of her death had worn off and I had been able to do a great deal of grieving by this point. I was coming to a place resembling a sort of stability and that crushing weight seemed to have started to lift. Things look very different from within a microcosm. I had no idea what to expect or what the journey I would undertake would hold for me. In truth even now, some 7 yrs on, I am still unwrapping the experience.....but now the surprises are not so thick and fast. They have slowed almost to a standstill.

However on this day in question, I was starting to feel like I was finally coming to terms with my mothers early death from cancer. I naively thought that the worst was over. That was my experience. My sisters was probably very different. My fathers grief seemed from an outside perspective fairly self contained but of course that was only a snapshot. As I have discovered, we all deal with grief very differently.

My father, my sister and I were stood on the driveway looking at the navy Renault Clio while discussing aspects relating to it. How it ran, how many miles to the gallon it did and how much Mum had loved it. All good. There was little teasing of my sister relating to her track record with accidents, a glass house from which I have no entitlement to throw stones, but do, none the less. The atmosphere was casual, even jovial.

And then we looked inside. Just to check what was there, in order to deal with it appropriately. Nothing noteworthy. The usual things were there. A few cassettes,  a leftover parking ticket, a bit of lip balm, a half finished packet of Polo's. The Polo's sent me into reminiscence a little and should have hinted at what was about to be unleashed. My mum was well known for her polo mints. A tool she had so often used to extend friendship and to bring comfort. When one was hurt the offer of a mint could be kindness that started a healing process.

The business having all but concluded, the conversation started to take the air it does when it was about to be wrapped up. Sentences becoming slightly more succinct, body language a little more kinetic. We had all but turned away from the car when Dad decided to have a quick look in the glove box.

They spilt out as soon as he pushed the release, like they had been inside there pushing against the flimsy panel for an eternity, stuffed in there as they must have been, their volume barely being contained by the tiny unit of the glove box, spilling out onto the passenger seat. Her black fur trimmed hat, her tartan scarf and her gloves.

It was not so much what was in there, although the trio of objects instantly conjured an image that was so typical of my mother, but rather it was that we did not expect it that caused it to have such an impact. It was like a jack-in-the-glove-box of my mums personality. And it was uncontainable.  The shock rocked across the faces of my father and sister and, although I could not observe it, I am sure that my sense of shock showed in my own face as much as their own did in theirs. We had not really gone there together at this stage, although obviously it had been talked about, and this corporate wave of grief seemed to overwhelm us all simultaneously beneath the same wave. We awkwardly addressed it but none of us really acknowledging the depth of it. At least that was my perception.

It was, for me at least, symbolic of the pattern of grief that was to unfold over the next few years particularly. C.S. Lewis wrote a book entitled "Surprised by Joy". If I were to write one based on my experiences over that time, I would have to call it "Surprised by Grief". So many times, unexpectedly, the grief would come like a wave. And like a wave it would send me reeling. Once, in my kitchen, in the middle of cooking dinner literally unable to stand under the weight of it, sobbing and heaving on the floor.

But the things that would set off my grief were often memories and the memories were so often good. The image of my dead mothers accessories spilling out of that glove box was an image of life emerging from death, of repressed emotions erupting from soul-sucking numbness. I'd rather have the pain of loss with the joy of the memory than the true death of no memories at all.

There comes a time when the thing you suppress becomes greater than your ability to contain it. In one of my favourite films "Sense and Sensibility" this theme is addressed expertly. Ang Lee, who is more than adept at portraying repression (See The Ice Storm or Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) directs Emma Thompson as Elinor Dashwood, a woman who is forced to enact the sensibility of the title by repressing her feelings for Edward Ferrars and acting with what must be the crushing civility demanded by the social conventions of regency period etiquette. Throughout the film she is thwarted again and again and forced to act as indifferent whilst she is slighted and sidelined as her heart is broken by degrees. And then comes the moment where she is faced with Edward Ferrars, whom she previously believed to be married and he tells her that she is mistaken. In a wave of grief and relief as she is unable to control her emotions any longer she lets out a howl which rocks you to the core. All the more for the repressive feeling of the rest of the film and the quiet nature that you have been falsely led to believe is hers. There are flash points like this, for all of us, where we connect to who we are, deep down, despite our best efforts. It is impossible to hide all of the time.

King David wrote in his psalm;

You have searched me, Lord, And you know me.....you perceive my thoughts from afar....Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely (Psalm 139).

I always take great comfort in the knowledge that I do not surprise God. I may surprise myself but not him. I may disappoint myself....but not him. I may fool myself...but I cant fool him. He knows and yet his love for me is unchanged.

I suppose one of the reasons I like the psalms is their raw honesty. They rarely attempt to make pretty pictures of how the author is feeling. If they are in anguish they say they are in anguish. If they are being outcast or picked on, then that is what is depicted. If they are feeling abandoned by God then the accusation is levelled directly to the ears of the almighty. Questions are raised and aired and, shock horror, sometimes left unanswered. In short their authors were finding a space, a prayerful space where there was an outlet for all emotions. And I know we can be scared of the depths sometimes but we need to be able, like David at the end of Psalm 139, to pray sincerely "Search me and know me". I like even more that these earthier songs of disgruntlement were at times sung corporately. So unlike some of our far more indulgent but stagnant acts of worship. In Lamentations 2:19 we are told to

pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord

 

 

Lying to yourself will never produce good results. Lying to God could be a form of spiritual suicide, in that you cut out your only true means of healing. Thank God, David also said in 139

 

If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
   even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

 

 



 



Pretty amazing, right? You see, you can lie to God, but you can never pull the wool over his eyes. In his grace this light that searches us, is a healing light, because he loves us. And because he loves us, he will not let us hide forever. Somewhere there is a flash point, waiting for you, like the glove box was for me. For darkness is as light to you. I love that.