The Journey

I loved this when I saw it -  Mary Oliver-The Journey (illustated film by Connor Weekes)

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Dream Work

A Celtic Blessing

This blessing was sent to me in an email some time back by a friend.  It is by John O'Donohue (1956-2008) see link here . It's a good prayer to pray for colleagues.  So I think of all those I have had the privilege of working closely with over the years, especially those who have been in 'my team' (you know who you are!)

I particularly like the idea of being 'present in what you do'  rather than being  'lost in bland absences'.

May the light of your soul guide you

May the light of your soul bless the work that you do

with the secret love and warmth of your heart.

May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul.

May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light

and renewal to those who work with you

and to those who see and receive your work.

May your work never weary you.

May it release within you wellsprings of

refreshment, inspiration and excitement.

May you be present in what you do.

May you never become lost in bland absences.

May the day never burden.

May dawn find you awake and alert, 

 approaching your new day with dreams, possibilities and promises.

May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.

May you go into the night blessed, sheltered and protected.

May your soul calm, console and renew you.

celtic loveknot

Fishy Heaven

I had a great time recently, wallowing in mud - clearing out and cleaning a fish pond......  I received the following email from 'Ichthus' - obviously a pseudonym,  maybe from a resident of Fin-landia?   Although its origins are  a bit 'fishy',  I'm still pond-ering on its deep and watery meaning....

Instagram by Rachel

On behalf of the whole fish community in the Harwood Pond, I write to express our deepest thanks for all your hard work yesterday.  We are so grateful that now we can see one another, and see our way through the weed and around the stones.  Somehow the murk has gone and it is quite lovely to swim in such sparkling water.

It has also strengthened our faith in a fishy sort of heaven.  One of your number, Rupert Brooks, has written prophetically on behalf of us all a splendid poem which sums up our faith.

While writing, I hear rumours ... beyond the pond.... of our Guardians..... serious injury result would mean the end of our diet here in the pond. So not only can we swim in comfort but we are also reassured of a continuing food supply.

So thank you.....   Ichthus

Goldfish Heaven

 

HEAVEN  

Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And, sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud! -- Death eddies near --
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time.
Is wetter water, slimier slime!

And there (they trust) there swimmeth One

Who swam ere rivers were begun, 

Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent, and kind;
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
But more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.

Rupert Brooke

Simeon: Learning to wait well

During a Candlemas Retreat at St Columbas Woking we had space and opportunity  to do our own thing.  So I tried my hand at an 'icon', using oil pastels on an A4 art sheet (larger than my normal A6 pad).  More a impressionist painting than a proper, spiritual 'writing' of an icon. It was based on, or rather 'inspired' by an actual orthodox icon:   

  Holy Righteous Simeon the Receiver of God

I loved the cheek-to-cheek intimacy in the picture. As always the Christ-figure looks more a small adult than a child. And Simeon does not look that old... 

Simeon, if you remember, is the old man, who is on the scene when Jesus is presented in the Jerusalem temple (Luke 2:22-40).   He is described as 'righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel and the Holy Spirit was upon him'.  

  

When he sees the Christ-child he proclaims what is now called the nunc dimittus or 'Canticle of Simeon'. He declares, among other things, Jesus to be 'a light to lighten the nations and the glory of your people Israel'.    

I played a version Harry Christophers Ikon album 'The Sixteen'  during the 8 o'clock communion service on Sunday  You can listen to a sample here 

Here is another YouTube version sung by Aled Jones with Ben Crawley - Nunc Dimittis

Learning to wait well 

Watching and waiting

for Salvation to appear,

for the Promise to be fulfilled,  

for an Infant to be born. 

Recognising the small and insignificant One 

for what He is in all His potential.

And being content....

It is enough.  

Help me to be content,

with small beginnings

even when time seems to be running out.  

Haiku Prayers

I like the simplicity of Japanese haiku poems (17 syllables in 3 phases -  5,7,5)... 

Lord let your servant

depart in peace, for my eyes

have seen Salvation

Simeon watching
for salvation to appear,
Learning to wait well

The Bright Field......

Another reflection as a result of my bricoge picture At the Crossroads , this time a poem about a field.  I had added a picture of a field in the bricolage from a calendar of Van Gogh images, without really considering its significance.

The field represents hidden treasure, like in the gospel parable (Matt 13:44) and the wonderful story of 'the Alchemist: a fable about following your dream' by Paulo Coelho.  With Eternal significance...

And a VanGogh(ish) pastel drawing to go with the poem: 'A Bright field'.  One I did earlier and which seems to fit .....     

The Bright Field

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

~ R. S. Thomas ~

(Another from the wonderful anthology,
Soul Food: Nourishing Poems for Starved Minds,
ed. by Neil Astley and Pamela Robertson-Pearce)

There is a lovely reading of the poem by Nichola Davies (set to Tallis's music Spem in alium)
 

  

Wild Geese

I was introduced to a poem called Wild Geese by Mary Oliver (from Dream Works). It was in response to my bricolage picture:  Crossroads and some of the images. As a poem, it spoke to me..... As the poem says, it caught my imagination.... 
So I have done a pastel crayon drawing of a wild goose, a snow goose to accompany the poem

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
© Mary Oliver

The Celts used the Wild Goose as a symbol of the Holy Spirit -   You can read more reflections in a  blog about symbols of the holy Spirit (by Blue Eyed Ennis)

And whilst youare at it why not relax to some music and wild goose footage from Youtube: 'winged flight of geese'  (Music by Bruno Coulais)

And a bit more fun:  Geese sing 'Just a perfect day' in another YouTube clip

Candidates for Newness

Van Gogh seemed obsessed with the Cypress tree.  They appear in many pictures, almost church steeple like, pointing to the sky, encouraging us to look upwards. Where the heavens are a never ending movie of shifting shapes, full of Kaleidescopic possibilities.


My paintings  are both Oil Pastel drawings in my small A6, postcard size, stetch book. Copied from Van Gogh's images. They seemed appropriate images at this time of Ascension, when we seem to look intently into the skies (Acts 1:10-11).   

I  have also been reading a poem in Walter Brueggemann's excellent little book:   Prayer for Privileged People


'Candidates for Newness'   is a poem about Ascension, the space between Eater and Pentecost   anbout looking up to new possibilities but also staying close to the ground, and what we think of as reality. It  advocates a hesistant expectancy  
I found it very encouraging, when facing change and newness.....

 Candidates for Newness 

We live the long stretch between

Easter and Pentecost, scarcely noticing.

We hear mention of the odd claim of ascension.

We easily recite the creed,

"He ascended into heaven."

We bow before such quaint language and move on,

immune to ascent,

indifferent to enthronement

unresponsive to new governance.

It is reported that behind the ascending son was

the majestic Father riding the clouds

But we do not look up much;

we stay close to the ground to business and

to busyness

to management and control.

Our world of well-being has a very low

ceiling, but we do not mind the closeness

or notice the restrictiveness.

It will take at least a Pentecost wind to

break open our vision enough to imagine new governance.

We will regularly say the creed

and from time to time-

-in crises that

drive us to hope and to wish—

wait for a new descent of the spirit among us.

Until then, we stay jaded,

but for all that,

no less candidates for newness.

Walter Brueggemann Prayers for Privileged People

Bamboo in the Wind - Dhulikhel, Nepal

The drawing is a Dhulikhel Mountain range visible through Bamboo bent over in the wind, based on a  photo taken from the balcony of my bedroom. It is  a drawing in Oil Pastel.  I have included the Instagram picture as a comparison (enhanced by Snapseed app on the i-phone).  The Oil Pastel drawing I have given to Simon a Korean Colleague as a momento.

We were in beautiful Dhulikhel, Nepal for a gathering of CMS people from all over Asia,  about 70 in all. It was a splendid occasion, full of encouragement, as people shared their stories. We had an AsiaCMS board meeting at the beginning and then the Trustees stayed on to meet the people-in-mission (PiM).  We heard from KangSan and Francis about their vision for the future. Vinod lead the bible studies on (modern) Parables of the Kingdom.   There were inspirational dramas based on the personal  stories shared.  Plus visits to local churches and projects. Good food.  And lots of time to talk and chat and catch up.   I led a day training at the end on Samaritan Strategy.  There was a camp fire and cultural evening and the Asia PiM all said farewell to the 3 musketeers: Adrian,  John and myself. It ended in dancing the conga !

The views from Dhulikhel were stunning when the clouds lifted

I came across this poem which combines Bamboo, Wind and Mountain. I'm not sure if Dhulikhel held any such romantic notions for any of the participants.  We'll just wait and see!

The Mountain and the Wind

The mountain stands
The wind plays with her
Leaving her treetops in disarray
The wind moves on, unaware
Of the rustling gossips
Of him and her.

The mountain stands
The wind serenades her
A sighing song among the leaves
The wind moves on, unaware
Of the thousand songs he gave
Echoing in the bamboo grove of her heart.

The mountain stands
The wind dances around her
A waltz, a tango one eventide
The wind moves on, unaware
Of the face he left behind
Carved forever in her heart. 

Angelina Pandian

And here is my attempt at a Haiku poem (5-7-5 stucture) after Matsuo Basho

The Wind blows silent,
As Mountain Peaks through Bamboo,
A prayer is spoken.

Prophets of a future not our own

Paul Kollman our CMS Missiologist in Residence shared the story of his visit to El Salvador. He focused particularly on the work of Archbishop Romero, who was martyrted as he shared mass with the people he loved and served. Paul quoted from a well known Poem/Prayer attributed to Romero: 'A future not our own'

I particularly liked the sentiment behind the lines:

We plant seeds that one day will grow

We water seeds already planted

Knowing they hold future promise

I suppose that, more than planting new seeds, watering seeds others have planted has been an integral part of my work for a long time. It is what I do as I travel around Asia on behalf of CMS, encouraging mission and the transformation of communities. Hence the painting I have featured - a 'VanGogh-ish' picture of an impressionist harvest which I did earlier this year. A Harvest represents that 'future promise', which is normally 'beyond our vision'.....

The text of the full poem I have taken from ekklesia

More information about ongoing work in the spirit and memory of Archbishop Romero can be gleaned from the Romero Trust: http://www.romerotrust.org.uk/

We are prophets of a fuuture not our own

It helps, now and then, to step back
and take the long view.
The kingdom [of God] is not only beyond our efforts,
it is beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of
the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete,
which is another way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No programme accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about:
We plant seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything
and there is a sense of liberation in realising that.
This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for God's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results,
but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders,
ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.

Self Portrait - free of heart

This is a self portrait I did recently - my 'Afghan look' - an image I feel very comfortable with. It is part of my identity.

I have just been in Kabul where I chair the board of a partner NGO. I travel every May and November. It is something I enjoy immensely. There is something about Afghanistan and the Afghan people that gets inside you. It is a privilege to be involved in some small way.

The NGO work is demanding, with many projects designed to serve the people of Afghanistan. And sorting out governance and management We have just had a consultant with us helping to restructure the board governance. There was an overwhelming sense of agreement in the direction we are going. But it all takes time and is necessary. And sometimes seems a distraction form the real work.

Afghanistan is not an easy place to be. The demands are high, with constant security threats and the need to be vigilant. I recently wrote blog on the Mazar UN murders

There is a lack of infrastructure - so many basic things to do. Yet there is a sense of excitement in what some have called the Wild, Wild East.

I remember reading the classic 1960s novel set in Afghanistan - James A Mitchener's 'Caravans' with stories of play readings in Kabul and packs of wolves wandering the streets, of Nomadic Kuchi peoples wandering the Steppes on Camels, of a German engineer learning about how flexible Afghan bridges survive better than solid Western ones. There's a lesson there...

'I love Afghanistan. Who cares about the dysentery and the loneliness? For I knew that Afghanistan was the toughest assignment on record. Here was the post which sooner or later tested a man and for me the preliminaries were over. I was about to plunge into one of the world's great cauldrons' James A Mitchener: Caravans

People get romantic about Afghanistan and see enormous significance in its untamable wildness. Maybe none more so than Mohammad Iqbal (1876-1938) Pakistan's Poet laureate:

Asia is a living body, and Afghanistan is its heart.

In the ruin of the heart lies the ruin of the body;

So long as the heart is free, the body remains free;

If not it becomes a straw adrift in the wind.

A reminder to us all to be free of heart, free spirits ...

like the young woman in James Mitchener's 'Caravans' in spite of the trouble it may get us into.

Robin Redbreast

I came across the poem by Wordsworth and it reminded me of the friendly Robins we have in the bottom of our garden. Very familiar and interested in what I'm up to, especially when any digging or wood-chopping takes place. They are particularly interested whenever I play birdsong on my i-phone! It confuses them a bit and they respond. It almost feels like we are having a conversation.

The painting tries to capture the curiosity of a robin listening intently (in a sort of Van Goghesque style). The poem is about a Robin chasing a butterfly.... which I have not yet witnessed. I like the cultural bits about the bird's name in different countries. And the dilemma and tension around two aspects of nature that mankind enjoys, at obvious odds with each other rather than in idealistic harmony. a bit of 'nature raw in tooth and claw'

The Redbreast Chasing the Butterfly by William Wordsworth

Art thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
When Autumn-winds are sobbing?
Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors?
Their Thomas in Finland,
And Russia far inland?
The bird, that by some name or other
All men who know thee call their brother,
The darling of children and men?
Could Father Adam open his eyes
And see this sight beneath the skies,
He'd wish to close them again.
-If the Butterfly knew but his friend,
Hither his flight he would bend;
And find his way to me,
Under the branches of the tree:
In and out, he darts about;
Can this be the bird, to man so good,
That, after their bewildering,
Covered with leaves the little children,
So painfully in the wood?

What ailed thee, Robin, that thou could'st pursue
A beautiful creature,
That is gentle by nature?
Beneath the summer sky
From flower to flower let him fly;
'Tis all that he wishes to do.
The cheerer Thou of our in-door sadness,
He is the friend of our summer gladness:
What hinders, then, that ye should be
Playmates in the sunny weather,
And fly about in the air together!
His beautiful wings in crimson are drest,
A crimson as bright as thine own:
Would'st thou be happy in thy nest,
O pious Bird! whom man loves best,
Love him, or leave him alone!

The Thresher's Labour

My picture is based on Van Gogh's 'The Thresher' (after Millet) painted in Saint-Rémy in 1889. A copy of a copy which loses something in the 'translation', My picture looks more like the Grim Reaper than a farmyard thresher. But maybe that ambiguity contains a glimmer of truth...

It is a strongly biblical image, suggesting the last days and the final judgement - the seperation of Wheat and Tares - of good and evil. It becomes a metaphor for the inevitablity of judgement and punishment of wickedness.

The Thresher's Labour a poem by Stephen Duck (1730) interestingly he later became a Rector in Byfleet so maybe he is not just describing an everyday farmyard scene, but something bigger, grander and more ultimate....

lines 27-41 of the poem are quoted below (the only ones I could find online):

So dry the Corn was carried from the Field,

So easily 'twill Thresh, so well 'twill Yield;

Sure large Day's Work I well may hope for now;

Come, strip, and try, let's see what you can do.

Divested of our Cloaths, with Flail in Hand,

At a just Distance, Front to Front we stand;

At first the Threshall's gently swung, to prove,

Whether with just Exactness it will move:

That once secure, more quick we whirl them round,

From the strong Planks our Crab-Tree Staves rebound,

And echoing Barns return the rattling Sound.

Now in the Air our knotty Weapons fly;

And now with equal Force descend from high:

Down one, one up, so well they keep the Time,

The Cyclops Hammers could not truer chime...

Stephen Duck was apparently a vicar in Knaphill who came to a tragic end - drowned himslef in a canal. Jonathan Swift wrote a satirical verse -a quibbl - about him On Stephen Duck, the Thresher, and Favourite Poet. A Quibbl

What think ye of Christ?

The painting: 'an imitation of Christ' was an attempt at a more iconic style - similar to Madonna and child - which was actually painted later. Oil pastels in an A6 sketch book.

Jesus in my picture looks a little cross-eyed to me. But at least he is not blue-eyed blonde-haired.

I do think everyone needs an opinion of Jesus. At some point we all need to look into those eyes as it were and work out what he was all about. What he represented. What he stood for.

Those eyes become a mirror of our own soul......

The poem by John Newton asks the same fundamental question: What think ye of Christ ? With his own conclusions at the end.......

What think you of Christ? is the test To try both your state and your scheme; You cannot be right in the rest, Unless you think rightly of him. As Jesus appears in your view, As he is beloved or not; So God is disposed to you, And mercy or wrath are your lot. Some take him a creature to be, A man, or an angel at most; Sure these have not feelings like me, Nor know themselves wretched and lost: So guilty, so helpless, am I, I durst not confide in his blood, Nor on his protection rely, Unless I were sure he is God. Some call him a Saviour, in word, But mix their own works with his plan; And hope he his help will afford, When they have done all that they can: If doings prove rather too light (A little, they own, they may fail) They purpose to make up full weight, By casting his name in the scale. Some style him the pearl of great price, And say he's the fountain of joys; Yet feed upon folly and vice, And cleave to the world and its toys: Like Judas, the Saviour they kiss, And, while they salute him, betray; Ah! what will profession like this Avail in his terrible day? If asked what of Jesus I think? Though still my best thoughts are but poor; I say, he's my meat and my drink, My life, and my strength, and my store, My Shepherd, my Husband, my Friend, My Saviour from sin and from thrall; My hope from beginning to end, My Portion, my Lord, and my All.

John Newton

"I am the Reaper"

The painting is based on one by Van Gogh of a Reaper with Sickle (after Millet). I did a painting of one of Van Gogh's sowers earlier: 'sowing seed: planting hope' The sower and the reeper complement each other:

Even now the reaper draws his wages, even now he harvests the crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together. John 4:36

The poem 'I am the Reaper' is by William Earnest Henley I think they go together rather well

I am the Reaper.

All things with heedful hook

Silent I gather.

Pale roses touched with the spring,

Tall corn in summer,

Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms—

Reaping, still reaping—

All things with heedful hook

Timely I gather.

I am the Sower.

All the unbodied life

Runs through my seed-sheet.

Atom with atom wed,

Each quickening the other,

Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless.

Ceaselessly sowing,

Life, incorruptible life,

Flows from my seed-sheet.

Maker and breaker,

I am the ebb and the flood,

Here and Hereafter,

Sped through the tangle and coil

Of infinite nature,

Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.

Taker and giver,

I am the womb and the grave,

The Now and the Ever