True all over the world!
Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand: (Matthew 12:25)
~~~
It’s a time for prayer…not politics; it’s a time for healing, not hurting; it’s a time for unity, not division…for a house divided against itself cannot stand.
Today’s Advent poem comes from from one of my all time favourite poets and fellow sinner, John Donne (1572-1631) – of “No Man is an Island” fame.
A statue of Donne dressed in his funeral shroud in St Paul’s London. Courtesy: Google Images
At the round earths imagin’d corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise
From death, you numberlesse infinities
Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,
All whom warre, dearth, sage, agues, tyrannies,
Despaire, law chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe.
But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,
For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,
‘Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,
When wee are there; here on this lowly ground,
Teach mee how to repent; for that’s as good
As if thou’hadst seal’d my pardon, with thy blood.
John Donne
In recent years I turned my hand to Advent poems. This year I thought I would remember classics from the past. My first comes from Christina Rossetti.
Stained Glass Window Cologne Cathedral
“Come,” thou dost say to Angels,
To blessed Spirits, “Come”;
“Come,” to the Lambs of Thine Own flock,
Thy little Ones, “Come home.”
“Come,” from the many-mansioned house
The gracious word is sent,
“Come,” from the ivory palaces
Unto the Penitent.
O Lord, restore us deaf and blind,
Unclose our lips tho’ dumb;
Then say to us, I come with speed,
And we will answer, Come.
I spent 5 years of my life travelling to Queenscliff every school day – from Form 1 to Form 5. To be honest, I didn’t take too much notice of the town. Afterall, it was the site of my compulsory incarceration. There was an Army Staff College situated in a C19th fort and a fishing fleet, which made it distinctly different to the town I came from. However, this year I have gone to the town on variety of occasions. Our Year 12 retreat was held there, my wife and I did one of our extended walks nearby, we have taken friends there for a meal and we have passed through using the ferry that goes from Queenscliff to Sorrento. This has given me an opportunity to take a variety of photos. This in turn has opened my eyes to the uniqueness of this Victorian town. Queenscliff is a small borough but it packs in a lot of history – especially by Australian standards.
The Queenscliff Hotel: One of the grand C19th century establishments
The Vue Grand Hotel: Also established in the C19th
St George the Martyr’s Anglican Church built in the 1860s
The School/Parish Hall
Queenscliff Pier and old Lifeboat shed.
Whenever m
y wife and I go camping it is very unusual if we don’t end up near water. We love camping near rivers, lakes and, especially,the ocean. Some of our most memorable camping experiences have been next to water of some sort. In a blog I did over a year ago – Our Top Ten Camping spots, the majority of them were next to water. Even in the arid country of the Grand Canyon the Colorado river still surged through the ravine.
Water has moods. Water is almost human in the way it moves from c
almness to fury and back again. A raging angry river, a placid sea or an agitated lake all remind us of traits in ourselves. There are other aspects. Some watery places are secluded and intimate, others are large and expansive and still others are mischievous or treacherous. Recently walking along the beach I noted that the most dangerous part of the ocean wasn’t the foaming surf but the dark rip of water that could have taken an unsuspecting swimmer hundreds of terrifying metres out into the ocean.
But of all the watery places it is the sea that always gives me glimpses of the Creator. It is untameable and vast. The sea reminds me of my own smallness and vulnerability. And yet, when I am in ship or boat it holds me and takes me great distances. It brought me to Australia as a child, I paddle at its edges and I can ride its waves. Yet it is always the sea. It continues to have a mind of its own and nothing I do will change it.
Paper thin,
weakest link,
hair’s breadth.
Unexpected.
Always present.
The certain
uncertainty of
our time
and timing.
The
“are we there yet?”
of life.
In the midst of
this ambiguity
there is
a hand that
upholds and rules
so that every
tear and worry,
fret and angst,
burden and hassle
disappears.
Recently my wife and I watched the acclaimed french film “Amour.” The acting was stunning, the pace reflective and the themes challenging. The film introduces us to the twilight years of a loving couple, Anne and George
s, at about the time Anne has a stroke. We then see the struggles that this stage of life introduces them to and their attempts to deal with that.
I was amazed how much this film unsettled me. Films don’t normally eat at me so much and I began to ask why?
One reason that this film challenged me is that both my wife and I have lost our mothers in the last 5 or 6 years. It brought back painful memories. Helplessly watching people at the end of their lives is not a pleasant experience. Added to this was that it also brought back memories of difficult pastoral visits that I have made in the past. As a young (and when I reflect back, often clueless) pastor I assisted many people in these final years. Some people going with assurance and peace and others with fear and trepidation.
However, the most confronting aspect of the film was the reminder of my my own mortality. My wife and I maybe relatively healthy now but there is no guarantee as to how long this will last. One of us is going to look into a coffin to say goodbye to the other. So the questions arise, how will I react as the carer or the one being cared for? How gracious and patient and forgiving will I be? My track record hasn’t always been that good.
The saddest aspect of the film was that faith and hope were largely absent. There was love and dedication and certainly a hint of Christ-likeness in their attitude toward each other but there was no future or eternity in view. So as unsettled as the film made me, the biggest reminder for me is to continue to stay focussed on Christ. My life here is a pilgrimage and not the destination.
In my last blog I finished with the statement, “My consistency and that of the Christian community to a gospel life style should be the first line of defence against assaults on Christian values and principles.”
A number of people have responded to me with regard to that comment. It struck a chord. Christians are apt to accuse the world of persecuting them (and it does) but we often forget, particularly in the West, that our greatest witness is our life style, and in the last few decades that has been badly tarnished. We have had the disturbing litany of fallen televangelists, abuse of children in Christian institutions, corruption, unedifying bickering and … sadly, the list goes on. I haven’t even mentioned my own poor personal example to the neighbourhood in which I live.
Those of us who are old enough will remember the ’60s song “We are one in the Spirit“. It ends with the chorus, “They will know we are Christians by our love.” In John 13:34 Jesus gives his disciples a new command: “Love one another” and he adds in verse 35, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Love, agape love – sacrificial, giving not expecting in return love, is to be the badge of the Christian.
Two thousands years later it is still a difficult task for us. We are good at making our views heard on a whole range of social and moral issues. But often these voices are strident, judgmental and graceless with no sense of the compassion that Christ showed a fallen world.
Maybe we, and I certainly include myself, need to go back to basics. We need to go back to the attitude of grace that God called his children to have and show. So when we are persecuted or martyred or pilloried in the media, we would hope that what the world sees is not the hissing of people like cornered snakes, but the face of a Christlike family of people who share the grief of their master for a fallen world.
It still surprises me that I don’t always react as I would have expected. After 6 children and over 40 years of marriage, my wife and I heard the news that (finally) we are going to be grandparents. We have always told our children that whether they have children or not is their decision and our thoughts should not come into the equation. These decisions are between them and God.
Then we heard over the weekend that we are going to be grandparents. I have to admit it was a thrill to hear the news. The level of thrill surprised me. I can’t even tell you why I am so excited. But I am. I am chuffed!
I suppose some of the reasons are that I believe my daughter and son-in-law will make wonderful, dutiful and loving parents, and the grandmothers, in particular, will make the most overwhelming duo a grandchild will ever meet! Other grandparents tell me that the best thing about being a grandparent is that at the end of any given day you just hand the child back. The sleepless nights are somebody else’s worry.
At the same time this announcement brought back many frightening memories of when I was a young clueless dad. Being a new parent was both exciting and scary. What do you do with them and how do you do it? Babies are such frail helpless creatures and I remember being a helpless lump. By the sixth I think I got over it.
However, I remember clearly the most overawing words that were spoken to us when we were expecting our first child came from our pastor. He reminded us that when a child is conceived it is conceived for an eternity and as parents we must do all we can to ensure that it is an eternity in the presence of God.
And I suppose that is the other reason for the thrill. When a child is conceived it is a another creation reflecting the image of God – which it will do perfectly, in Christ.
Dad’s Violin
I have a violin, which may seem strange, as I can’t play a note. Next month I will have had it for 20 years and I still don’t play a note.
It is my father’s violin. I say “is” because even though he died 20 years ago it will never be mine. It will always remind me of him – playing in the evening, in a group or even doing a duet with one of his granddaughters on keyboard or recorder.
The violin goes back as far as I can remember in my distant recollections – back to Holland. My dad had many musical instruments over the years: pianos, harmoniums, keyboards, recorders, pan pipes … He tried all sorts, even a guitar but his fingers were too short for the neck which made the violin ideal. He played by ear so it was not always enjoyable when he first got hold of a new instrument.
Dad and his violin
But the violin is the oldest. It is the one instrument that is always part of my memories of my father. Yes there are many other memories like dad packing my mother’s vacuum cleaner into a soundproof box so it could push air into the harmonium with the result that he didn’t have to pedal – and mum didn’t have a vacuum cleaner. Yet over all these moments the image of my father and his violin remains the most enduring.
It will be 20 years next month when my dad was promoted from being an earthly fiddler to a player in heaven’s orchestra with some of his favourite composers and musicians. I can imagine dad under the musical direction of J. S. Bach.
But even after 20 years I still miss his playing – the good and the bad.
Travels from Ur 