"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.
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Sorry for the lack of a post last week - I've been really busy finding and then starting a job after finishing my Master's at the same time of preparing for and then taking part in an art exhibition! Which is what I wanted to write about today. Last week I had my first ever art exhibition. It was in central London and I exhibited with a group of 10 other people on the theme of Utopia. We all explored the theme from a sociological standpoint and a theological standpoint, and the conversations that grew out of this were incredible. I can't wait to do it again! This was my biggest piece in the exhibition: Measuring at 1m x 1.2m, it's also by far the biggest piece I've ever made! It's called Utopia: A Necessary Impossible Possibility.
My idea here is effectively that Utopia is something at the centre - at the core - which we’re searching for and yearning for, which is beautiful but impossible to fully grasp, impossible to reach and get to and put our hands on, and a mystery. But still it directs us. Around it, all the other aspects of ourselves and our lives float and mingle: some of them beautiful, others scary, others ambiguous. But they are directed into and towards the Utopia. As a Christian, the Utopia of a perfect God, and a perfect place where that perfect God will make all bad things disappear: well, I don’t understand that fully. It is impossible to fully grasp and reach, but it shapes how all the other aspects of my life fit together, flow and mingle. In the decisions that I make, I try to make them point towards that Utopia. Even though I know that I cannot fix the world and all its problems, I try to make decisions that do good, as if I could (even whilst knowing I can’t). In that sense, I am trying to bring into view something that is beautiful to others, and good, and impossibly wonderful, and mysterious. Something Utopian. Something like God. |
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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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