May my prayer be set before you like incense... Psalm 141.2a (BSB) So many people are lifting up prayers to God, so many people talking about God, so many people sharing something of God's steadfast loving kindness with their neighbours, with their family, and with those who are hurting. And I am convinced, that as our prayers are lifting up to God, God sees them (all smells them if they truly are like incense!), and God acts.
Whatever comes from all this, I pray and hope that it will be a world more aware of the effect we as humans have on each other and have on our planet. I pray and hope that we'll be more conscious of what we are giving our time to. And I pray and hope that those of us who know God's unfailing love will be more courageous to share it with others. Please God, act for good here. Stay safe, and take care!
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For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. 2 Corinthians 2.15 You've all experienced it if you've been outside for any reason at the moment: you're running along, or walking to the supermarket, and someone comes around the corner on to the same path you're on and they're coming towards you. Either you or they cross the road - maybe the streets by you are so empty like they are by me that you run in the road. Maybe you try to smile, to imitate some kind of friendliness, but we each - and rightly so right now - are avoiding each other like we stink.
I'm not saying don't do this. Stick to government advice: stay at least 2m from anyone when you're out for your necessary trips. But it was an experience like this that made one of my church pastors think of this Bible verse for today's LOOK UP IN LOCKDOWN post. And I wonder if there are ways, right now, that our "aromas", our presence (physical, virtual, in a letter or card, or a gift ordered online), could be as the pleasing aroma of Christ is to God. Something that when it is received, it is loved and wanted and good. I baked ginger parkin the other day (today is the 3rd day since, so we finally get to eat it), from my grandad's recipe. And the smell, even just as I mixed up the mixture, was amazing! I'm not sure I can even describe it! It filled me with a warmth, and a want, and a thankfulness! Can my actions, thoughts, words, deeds bring that to someone after, but also during, this lockdown time? In my pastor's words: 'How to encourage that to happen in each of us is worth pondering.' As always: Stay safe, and take care! "Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, clear as glass, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life, with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations." (Revelation 22.1-2) "All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again. All things are wearisome, more than one can say." (Ecclesiastes 1.7-8a) Water is ubiquitous. There is water we need to drink. Where I live, there is often water that falls from the sky, pin-pricks spiking through my clothes as I cycle and as clouds begin to let go. There is water we wash in. There is water that seeps out of the corners of our eyes when things become too sad, or too happy, or too overwhelming, or too disappointing. There is water that powers across the sea, crashing as waves against rocks, or cliffsides, or beaches. Water that wears down the land itself. There is water in streams, and lakes. There is water locked up in glaciers and ice-caps. There is water melting, tumbling, crashing. Sometimes life can be like water. Like everything is moving, cycling, yet necessary. What do you think? If all that I do goes into the world, yet the world is never full (complete, perfect, right, better), why do I bother? Ecclesiastes 1.7-8a. When all things are more wearisome than one can say, what keeps us going? Perhaps the utopian images of "something better" that we cling to, even if we are unable to say how it could become reality. And then we believe, somewhere deep inside us, that there can be life-giving water, that tears can be no more, that fruit can grow and sustain all year round, and that nations can be healed. Revelation 22.1-2. They are both here. We know the world is too broken for us to be able to fix it, but we also know that we've got to live this life as if we're trying to - or what's the point? This is metamodern. This is what a large majority of millennials and gen-z's feel. But it feels almost as if we're crashing around, tumbling and melting like ice-caps when we feel this way. We keep our heads above water, but only just. And what do we miss while we're so intent on surviving it? Sometimes, in the midst of it all, I need another lens through which to look.
There will be time again to fight the wrong things in the world. There will be time again to realise the world is beyond my power to fix. There will be time again to decide to keep trying to do good anyway.
But there needs to be time for silence, and to be still. I want to make two points, using this painting to do so:
1) Movement. Notice the curve blowing over at the top and the peachy-white spaces smudging against each other and floating on the tips of the waves. Working with fluid acrylics creates space for this movement. And movement reminds me that things change. That negative spaces can become positive and good times should be counted as blessings rather than a guarantee. 2) Colour. I love these colours. You might also love them, or you might not, but zoom in (click on the images below) and you can see bright red that becomes deep red as it nears a particular edge; coral overlaid with dark teal lines; teal that runs through green to blue, to purple, to almost black; and flecks of gold that shine. Like, really shine. There are colours and interactions between colours that you only see when you look close, and which I, as the artist, didn't always plan for. It reminds me of the possibility of more. Points me to a God who "is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or imagine, according to the power at work within us" - if I'm willing to stop, look and notice them. Shows me that sometimes things appear when and where they're not expected. Even during annoying, anger-provoking or sad times, unexpected good ideas or occurrences can appear! As if from somewhere beyond you - and this, at least for me, is a comfort I need to be able to rely on! I just got back from a week away by the sea! It's good to be home and to catch up on all the things I didn't do while on holiday, but I'm also always sad to say goodbye to the sea. And this photo pretty much sums those feelings up for me. I imagine my face with this wistful, longing look on it, gazing out, trying to know every undulation and take in all of this expanse - which I can't possibly do - while I can.
The sea has always made me think of God. How vast it is. How powerful it is. That I could never fully take it all in, but therefore, that I could never tire of endlessly exploring it. I remember a couple of years ago, sitting out on a surfboard in Cornwall waiting for a wave to come, and I kind of feel like that now. I feel like God is allowing me to glimpse something of the wonderful plans God has for me to get involved in - out there on the horizon - and I'm waiting. But it doesn't feel like it has at points in the past: like I'm aimlessly waiting, and praying desperately that God would reveal to me what I'm to do, because without that purpose explained I'm just bobbing around. And my legs are so tired from all the treading water that I know I can't keep it up. In those moments, I've needed God to save me. And God did. But this is different. This is like sitting on that surfboard. I have the feeling in my muscles from the shorter waves I caught closer in, practice spaces, trial and planning phases. I'm grateful for the rest as I sit and feel the undercurrents of God - the motions and movements, the direction they're pulling in. I'm immensely impressed at the beauty and vastness of God as I stare out at the sea all around me. I don't mind that I'm waiting this time - sure, I'm excited and looking forward to when it does come - but I'm not anxious or distressed in this waiting, because I'm spending this time delighting in who God is and all that God has done. And possibly more than anything, I am so hopeful. I'm excited. I feel elevated. There is a sense still, while I'm waiting, that something is about to happen. The waters are starting to stir in the way they do when there's going to be a big wave. And I want it. I don't know if I'll be able to ride it in all the way; there's a real possibility I might fall. But this is the sea we're talking about. This is God we're thinking of. There will be more waves. Grace comes again and again - and the more I ride on these waves, the more exceptional those rides will become. Don't get me wrong - I've experienced both of these kinds of waiting, and I probably will again. Sometimes waiting is just really hard. We all today live in a culture of immediacy, which means that waiting for something jars with us. We start to think that maybe it won't happen at all. I have struggled with this on numerous occasions. But I wanted to share this with you all because there are other kinds of waiting too, and waiting can be a positive experience. If you're in the midst of a waiting struggle - keep praying, be honest to God with your feelings, and allow God to save you from them. And if you're in the midst of a waiting like mine on the surfboard - delight in it, document it so you can remember it in the future, praise God in it. God is a God of all our different experiences and emotions. So keep God involved in them! |
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AuthorI'm a recent Cambridge Theology graduate now studying for a Masters in Biblical Studies and blogging about all sorts of things! I'm interested in faith, Church, theology, social action, the great outdoors and being creative, and all of those things - along with many more - come through in my posts!
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