Cloud by Day

Here I am, often thinking I can't see ahead. Here I am looking behind me at the path I have made, and seeing not a confused tossing aside of good things, but a course running steady and growing as a stream. Recently a friend and I considered that a growing thing is consistently in movement. (It is interesting to me as I reflect, that we were discussing this on a bus en route.) It so often seems to me that God has given us models for all of life contained within the secrets of the natural world. We have only to look long enough and deeply enough to find them. In the film "The Power of One," P.K. is told by his guardian that all one needs to learn from life one can find in nature. As Romantic and Idealistic as I think this indicts me as (and I confess this conditions are most likely the case), I really find this is true. Especially in terms of movement.

I think this idea of movement is critical, and it is something I keep coming back to over the years. One finds it all over the place in C.S. Lewis ("Aslan is on the move...", etc.). Also. I think it is fundamental to the Biblical narrative, which I think is the perfect lexical model for our living (but we ought to look at the whole picture of it). We see YHWH's people in pursuit of their destiny throughout exile and generations of desert wandering. While the Psalmists often write on finding rest and calming and queiting our soul, I do not think this is even without its own sense of movement toward something else. The Psalmist does not stand still within his troubles, but he moves out of them into the shelter and refuge of YHWH.

The Kingdom of God is a kingdom of restoration, and this restoration cannot occur without a sense of movement as well. The perfect image of restoration is found when Jesus says, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up" in John, chapter two. The meaning of this, I am sure, is layered (like most discourse of Judaism), extending from a literal temple to Jesus' own physical body, but one cannot help but imagine stones returning to each other and literal temple walls being rebuilt. I can't think of a more beautiful physical scene demonstrating restoration than the image of a house of worship being rebuilt, though the scenes my South African friends have told me of national healing and identity nearly are.

In the midst of movement, especially if we can consider the Exodus narrative, there remains a centre to which movements are percieved as moevements at all. In the Exodus narrative, the centre may be seen as the Tabernacle. Thee people disassembled and reassembled the Tabernacle so they would have a centre, the Holy of Holies, to which they could orient themselves, not only in terms of setting up camp for a dozen or so tribes, but also a metaphysical centre of the Shekinah Glory in their midst. Today we can find that centre when we make room for Jesus and pursue Our Creator through our silences and our times of prayer. We do not have to wander in the literal desert. But that is where the narrative model comes in. Our life often feels like a desert sequence, and we can usually find something in the Exodus story to which we relate. But still, however we understand it, our centre remains in God. We move as He moves us. I consider it that it is really our centre that is the thing which moves, and as it moves we are carried by its motion. He really is the calm in the storm, but maybe it is us we who are the storm surrounding the peaceful centre.

I think because of this it is so incredible to me that YHWH revealed Himself to the people as a fire by night and a cloud by day. When they didn't have the Tabernacle to centre themselves on, YHWH still revealed Himself as their centre- as their axis, the crux, the Centre to which all their circumvening would position itself. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and staff, the comfort me." (Psalm 23).

Tolkein said, "Not all who wander are lost." Let us look for the cloud, that we would know our Centre well, that we would not be guilty of aimlessness.

Strathkinness and Beyond

Sometimes it takes a new thing to remind one of the old things they have loved so much. I have recently been astonished, in small ways throughout the day, how much I love the things I love. I have been listening to a band I discovered last fall. Normally I would have stayed away from them for a few years, and then let myself enjoy it, after any hype died down. This would be in order to feel sincere. However, I took a risk and decided to buy “Fleet Foxes” last fall, shortly after arriving to Scotland. Or maybe it was in January. In either case, I enjoy it very much. And of the many things I can say, I think I will choose a thing I have not entirely figured out. But it seems to me that this music simultaneously taps into something I have long enjoyed, a brown aesthetic of sorts, and also urges me on to more exploration, more and current ways of enjoying that “common thread” which I may find among the things I love. When I say “things I love”, what I mean to refer to are those particular aspects of the world and the life one lives that seem to hold a unique appeal to them and them alone. Although these things may be shared with others, there is always a unique perspective for the individual and it may often be unable to maintain any lexicographic explanation. Sound and image are usually the things to which I am referring. For me, I find it is a used Mason jar on a wooden table. I find it in Picasso’s “Old Guitarist” ( I have known this painting to go by various names). I find it in autumn, historically. And here is an interesting point that I have intended to explore this whole time. Many people will say that Autumn is their favorite season. Especially artists. Contrarily, these people will often find Winter the most disagreeable season. There is an excitement to stand so close to the thing that you hate or fear, and still find something beautiful to enjoy; in fact, it might be right there where one finds the culmination of their joys: immediately before they disappear. So, I guess the whole point is that I am very thankful for things in the world existing in a way that I can understand and love them. There are many things to be thankful for, and I think I am starting to realize that I have only embraced a small percentage of them. I consider the fascination that those near death often have with the simplest of things. I am reading “Gilead” by Marilynne Robinson. What wonderful things can be seen in the simplicities of living. I believe it is the Lord who reminds us of that. I believe this is at the centre of what he means when he speaks of “abundant life”, abiding in him as he abides in us. The kingdom of God is one of shalom peace, the kingdom feast and celebration. There is room for everyone in the kingdom to enter the court, and find themselves and their tastes welcome.

I believe that God is not a separatist, and he does not make the distinctions that we do. What I mean is that, although he saw fit to make many different creations—each of us and the parts and pieces of creation, as we all dwell and inhabit the world together, reflecting each his or her or its own piece of God himself—he does not make distinctions between what he does and does not love, what can and cannot be redeemed, and what is or is not allowed in his kingdom. He looks for the good and finds it, for he knows where it is hidden, and the hidden good is brought to maturity and dwells in fullness in his kingdom. We glimpse this dimly when we love a thing, and love it well. We see it as God, its maker, sees it. Perhaps. Of course I do not mean these things as doctrine, but as reflections on the world and how I am coming to understand it.

On to more concrete things. Two of my best friends from Missouri came to see me for 10 days a few weeks back. Garon and Lindsay arrived on a Tuesday afternoon and I met them at the bus station in St Andrews after a class and tea with a classmate, to kill time. They were very tired, and I remember now how tired I was when I first got to Glebe Cottage in Strathkinness. I was unrecognisably different than I am today. We took the bus into Strathkinness and passed the Foster’s home where Toby was working in his garden under a blue afternoon sky like a teacup tipped over a secret. We waved us up to the garden. Soon Carol was in the garden chatting as well. We left their bags at Glebe, chatted to Phil and Fiona, and returned to the Foster’s for a cup of tea and a couple hours of conversation. I watched and listened, and participated a little. The two sides of my life were coming into contact, and I was as happy as a child. So I watched. And I loved it.

The next day, Wednesday, we left for Ireland. We landed in Shannon and Lindsay drove us to Galway where we stayed with my friend Hannah Stothers and other members of the Galway Vineyard church plant. The pastors and Hannah graciously allowed the Todds to sleep in their guest room, and I stayed between there and another house around the corner. We visited the Cliffs of Moher and turned around Galway for a day. We returned to Scotland on a Saturday late at night, exhausted, and woke up early to get to church. I did not have to serve, so I tried to introduce G&L to people, also trying to be sensitive to the fact that we were all very tired. Poor Lindsay felt the brunt of it all, form having to drive so much. I felt very bad for her. Sunday we tried to rest, and I think did well to.

We hired a car on Monday and drove around Scotland. We went to the “bonny banks of Loch Lomond” (look it up) and back to Strathkinness. This took all day. I drove a little to give Lindsay a much deserved break. And on Tuesday we took a day to stroll St Andrews. Alie and I met up with Garon and Lindsay on the cathedral grounds and we just roamed around a bit. I was sublimely thankful for them to see my new town and a good glimpse of my life here. We spent the next day in Edinburgh and said goodbye in an uneventful moment below some traffic lights, just off from the Waverly Train Station steps. It was so nice to see them. I was sad to have them leave.

I had a few busy days between that visit and my trip to Paris, where I met up with Brenda Tunstill and Jeremy George. Mostly I spent my time with Jeremy, of course, and we caught up and shared life and cried about the things we love. It was wonderful. I saw what I needed to see in Paris and loved the city. I did miss seeing Montmartre, which will have to wait for the next trip. I was very ready to come home. I got to the airport twenty hours early because I wanted out of the city, and spent the night walking around the villages of Tille and Beauvais, France. When the airport opened at 6am, I moved into its warmth and spent the next eight hours sleeping and reading and eating and waiting.

Eventually I made it home to Scotland and realized how thankful I am for all the things in my life. Both things in the States and things here. Both old things and new things. I love them all, even the things that hurt me. I am thankful for the shape and size of my life, and I know that I cannot move forward unless I move forward from this place. We often say “I cannot get there from here.” Well, now I am looking at my life and thinking, the only places I can get to are the places I can get to from here. And I am thankful for it. I am in a good place.

If you are reading this, I probably know who you are, and I am very thankful for our life together. Even though our proximities may be sparse, we are in the same kingdom, and friendship is a wonderful currency that does not lose its strength over time. Hopefully you feel the same way.

Both the old and the new point us to Jesus. His is a Kingdom with room for it all.

Blessings,
Andy

To those for whom I have kept too silent

The good news is I feel a notable blog coming on. I am simply trying to catch up with myself. Recent weeks have led me from Scotland to Ireland and back, visiting a school in Fife, and Paris. I have many stories to tell. Perhaps I will put some of them on here. A friend told me he keeps a separate blog for his travel entries. I guess I thought it a little presumptuous to think people would want to read about one's own travels. But, I know I would enjoy it if I were the reader, so perhaps I will begin at least by putting some stories on here.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how things happen. How things grow. That they grow. Things do not just appear on the scene in their final state. They evolve. They move. And they have to start somewhere. Recently, I believe fear of result and outcome has led to me to miss the blessings in their infant stage around me. I have missed many opportunities to live a good life. And yet, my life is still wonderful and I have no doubts that it will remain and grow even more so. I have been reading a good book. Probably my favorite in years. It has reminded me to live intentionally. I have not been, not inside. I hope to be changing that currently.

So, if you find this, many blessings to you. I will write more soon, or at least I plan to you. The book I mentioned is "Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson. I am a late-comer to things. I know she published "Housekeeping" in 1981, and I still have not read that yet. "Gilead" is surprisingly wonderful. I am astonished every time I sit down to read it, at how much I can enjoy something. This book unlocks me. I recommend it strongly.

In Peace
Dominus Illuminatio Mea
(The Lord is My Light)

Teach Me

"Don't teach me about moderation and liberty:
I prefer a shot of grape juice."

"Don't teach me about politics and government,
Just tell me who to vote for...
Don't teach me how to live like a free man,
just give me a new law.

I don't want to know if the answers aren't easy.
So just bring them down
from the mountain to me...

Don't teach me how to listen to the Spirit,
just give me a new law."

"There are two great lies that I have heard:
'The day you eat of the fruit of that tree
you will not surely die' and that
Jesus Christ is a white, middle-class Republican,
and if you want to be saved
you have to learn to be like him.

But my first allegiance is not to a flag,
a country, or a man,
my first allegiance is not to democracy
or blood,
but to a King and a Kingdom."

"Poverty is so hard to see
when it's only on your TV,
or twenty miles across town
where we're all living so good.
We moved out of Jesus' neighborhood
where he's hungry and not feeling so good
from going through your trash...
...I want the things you just can't give me."

"Do not be afraid."

-Derek Webb

Mostly I just wanted to share some of these lyrics because I cannot find an end to their worth and yield, lately.

I've also been so easily struck by things lately. Especially some of the smallest things. I feel a great sensitivity to coincidence lately. I was listening to the album the above lyrics are from this morning, and felt a strong connection to some of the lyrics like these here. And later on, I was in a quaint cafe where there is no trace of a religious message in the ethos of the place, but on the radio came two Switchfoot songs, and I am pretty sure an early '90's Christian song I remember from the radio or through my sister's bedroom walls. It may not be a contemporary (for it's time) Christian song, but I am pretty sure the chorus was "Hosanna... Hosanna...", if I remember it correctly.

It seems like when we are ready to learn, when we are anticipating truth, when we are open, when we invite God to come in and kill anything He does not want to bless, when we are hungry and wanton of only what is true; God always seems to be faithful to this kind of heart.

The frustration for me is sometimes that even when I want this kind of heart, I recognise I do not have it right then, and grow impatient. But, I think it is not long after that that the contrite heart does finally come.

One thing I find so releasing about God, is that so often when He brings me back to sanity, I see once again that the things that bring me joy are the things I also truly love, and that He seems to favor them as well.

I will also share a short passage from Stanley Kunitz, a poet I am reading lately.

"We have no other world we can actually invade with all our being and at the same time be invaded by, so whatever we create is made of the materials of the life. And we should never think of the life as being the enemy of whatever we aspire to create." -The Wild Braid, p. 98

And another I have quoted before:

I can scarcely wait till tomorrow
when a new life begins for me,
as it does each day,
as it does each day.
- The Round

Blessings.

How We Wait

In early days, Hebrew literature contained language of waiting. (Perhaps it most likely still does.) We have seen this. "They that wait on the Lord..." or "We will wait on the Lord." I find this to be intensely encouraging and intimidating language of belief. The power of waiting is insurmountable, too great to be overcome. It occurs to me, that at any given time in our lives, we may be able to identify the thing for which we are waiting.

There is a scene from a film ("The Matrix") that I have never forgotten since I first watched it when I was in high school. Neo visits the oracle. She tells him, "You're still waiting for something," and he walks away believing that which he chooses to believe. I also consider that what he did or did not choose to believe, did not change what was and was not true. Only his experience changed. And, of course, his experience did change the course of some events, but not what was ultimately true. Much the same way, our choices have consequences or bear fruit, but do not alter the ultimate reality: that God is sovereign, and that He is good.

Recently, a friend of mine has reintroduced me to one of my favorite bands from earlier in my life called "The Waiting." Another synchronised element of recent days, I think. One of their songs has the lyric, "He brought me to His table, a son He never denies, He sure has effected my pride", which I can still barely get to the end of the phrase before I begin to feel the weight of its truth.

I have spent the end of last year and the beginning of this up here on a hill in East Scotland, reading and studying poetry, and more or less entirely in-over-my-head in terms of the quality of education and standard of both academics and creativity; I have never faced an equal to this level in my life up to this point. I find myself feeling the burden of things I had no knowing control of; of having not received the kind of education I wish now I had, or committing myself to academics as I believe I would now highly benefit from having done. However, in the midst of the anxiety and fear of rejection I am facing, or feel I am facing, each day, is the simultaneous reality (truth) and realization (though sometimes only in my brain) that my priorities are otherwise than academics and probably always have been. Though I still enjoy and love academics for its own right, I am learning, in a very deep and difficult way, that it is not the thing I value most, nor the thing which bears any definition on my character or identity, or 'calling'.

I have been waiting for the wrong things. Instead of waiting to achieve, succeed, or matter in the areas I had determined were most valuable, I now am trying to line myself up with that which I could not change if I tried. (And in fact, it is more of a relent. Choosing to give up trying to be something I am actually not). I am beginning to believe that I can turn my waiting into a holy waiting, a waiting on the Lord. A waiting which is affected by the Holy Spirit and points me further on to Jesus, and through Him to the places He says "Go", and not the my broken wells first, and then Jesus.

The nature of the Bible, and the language of Jesus is an always has been redemptive. From the dawn of Creation, the story has been: Redeem, Make Whole. How on earth cold our small dreams or disappointments overshadow such a sovereign and beautiful story. I encourage us to choose that story. To play our role in the great tale of the Universe, and mind that our small ideas and disappointments may be because we have taken something from the Big Story and twisted it into a failure of our own design. Let us remove the crispy layers of our thin constructions, and find again the nature in our centre: that we are forever made, welcomed, and recipients of God, who loves all He has made.

Let us wait on The Lord. Let us wait.