OK, you have to give me credit for going a few posts without mentioning some kind of superhero? Maybe you won't, but I accept that I'm a geek and a nerd and still make a beeline for films based on comics I used to read when I was younger. Note, used to read!
Anyway, I didn't get to see Bryan Singer's Superman Returns at the cinema, and watched it this week after succumbing to the low price strategies currently being employed with great success by some high street shops to drag mugs like me inside their doors and convince them to part with their cash in exchange for DVDs.
It's a great film.
In terms of reflecting on the film though, I became aware of how few people actually seek out relationship with Superman. Sure, there's Lois Lane, but there are segments of the film showing Superman rescuing people all across the world. Yet they are only interested in him when he is saving them. Not before, not after. They want to know Superman is around for peace of mind in difficult times, but that's as far as it goes.
Now, this is reflection was influenced in light of the work I'd done on the magi post I wrote earlier in the week. I'm still amazed at how close Bethlehem and Jerusalem are, and I'd never noticed that before. I puzzled as to why the religious leaders didn't bother to go with the magi to find the baby. I figured it was because they were looking for a messiah to deliver them and a baby didn't fit that bill. Maybe they'd wait until he was a bit older and posed a real threat to the political status quo, but thought there was no point taking an interest in him until he actually proved his worth. And so they stayed at Herod's court. Maybe they liked they were inwardly thrilled at the idea that their hoped for messiah had arrived. But they would wait until he did something first.
Just to clear things up, I'm convinced Jesus is real and also healthily convinced that Superman is a fictional comic book character. But I'm convinced that this behaviour of only wanting a saviour in times of need is one that does pervade our culture. I know people who accept that Jesus existed, but want to treat him as some kind of divine rubber ring, stationed in an easy to reach place on the edge of the waters of their life, ready to come to their aid if they should get into difficulty.
But there is so much more to him than that.
Just imagine. If the citizens of Metropolis wanted to get to know Superman, outside of him saving their necks, they could find out all about where he came from, why and see their lives differently.
Just imagine if we took the same approach with Jesus. Not just at Christmas, but all the time-wanting to get to know him and not just to call out to him in times of difficulty. In seeking a relationship with him, everything changes. As Philip Yancey writes, no one who meets him ever stays the same.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Trying To Solve Algebra Equations By Chewing Bubblegum
I successfully managed to avoid sleeping properly last night. This was not a deliberate endurance challenge or some kind of well paid medical experiment. More of a consequence of allowing myself to get on the treadmill of worrying about things. Things which I knew I could do nothing about in the early hours of the morning, but somehow decided were still worth ruminating on for prolonged periods.
Jesus famously taught us not to worry about tomorrow. In fact, he followed up this statement by pointing out the reason for not worrying-that tomorrow has enough trouble of its own and there is therefore no need to add to the troubles each day brings.
After reading such statements, I wonder how it is that some sections of Christianity focus on the concept that following Jesus is some guarantee of an easy ride. He certainly never taught that, and that is not the road that was before him during his earthly ministry.
But I find it encouraging knowing that my Saviour understands the world in which I live. And whereas my worries may not dissolve overnight, I can take solace in the fact that one day, all will be restored with no more tears and no things to fret over.
In the meantime, I understand today why it's important not to worry. Because my lack of sleep yesterday due to worries can have a ruinous impact on my day today. And that could mean mistakes made, words misspoken and generally cause more things to worry about.
If only I'd reread that passage in Matthew 6:24-34 last night. Maybe I would have slept better.
Jesus famously taught us not to worry about tomorrow. In fact, he followed up this statement by pointing out the reason for not worrying-that tomorrow has enough trouble of its own and there is therefore no need to add to the troubles each day brings.
After reading such statements, I wonder how it is that some sections of Christianity focus on the concept that following Jesus is some guarantee of an easy ride. He certainly never taught that, and that is not the road that was before him during his earthly ministry.
But I find it encouraging knowing that my Saviour understands the world in which I live. And whereas my worries may not dissolve overnight, I can take solace in the fact that one day, all will be restored with no more tears and no things to fret over.
In the meantime, I understand today why it's important not to worry. Because my lack of sleep yesterday due to worries can have a ruinous impact on my day today. And that could mean mistakes made, words misspoken and generally cause more things to worry about.
If only I'd reread that passage in Matthew 6:24-34 last night. Maybe I would have slept better.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
The Generation Game
Recently at our church we had a generation sharing moment, and split the congregation into the traditional market research categories, you know, the ones that rudely awaken most people into realising that they aren't as young as they thought.
On this occasion, I got a shock in addition to the now obligatory reminder that I'm nearly 30.
I was the only member of the congregation to fit in the 21-30 category.
I cast my mind onto those not in attendance and worked out that even with the absent folk, literally only a handful of people in our church fit into this age category.
I don't really know the breakdown of the ages for others churches in Andover, but don't feel optimistic that any of them are hiding away hordes of people in their twenties.
Maybe it's just an Andover phenomenon. Perhaps bigger towns and cities find it easier to attract twentysomethings and keep them part of the church family.
But I've been alone with this thought for a couple of weeks, so thought I'd blog it in the hope that it stops bothering me.
In a way, I hope it doesn't though.
It reminds me that for all my concentration on working with young people and getting the message out to them, there's an even greater need to get the message out to my peers. It may be more difficult to appeal to them, as the lure of careers, mortgages, socialising, relationships and so on gradually impeaches on their time.
But it's necessary to take on the challenge of doing what is difficult.
Without that, there will be a missing generation in our church.
On this occasion, I got a shock in addition to the now obligatory reminder that I'm nearly 30.
I was the only member of the congregation to fit in the 21-30 category.
I cast my mind onto those not in attendance and worked out that even with the absent folk, literally only a handful of people in our church fit into this age category.
I don't really know the breakdown of the ages for others churches in Andover, but don't feel optimistic that any of them are hiding away hordes of people in their twenties.
Maybe it's just an Andover phenomenon. Perhaps bigger towns and cities find it easier to attract twentysomethings and keep them part of the church family.
But I've been alone with this thought for a couple of weeks, so thought I'd blog it in the hope that it stops bothering me.
In a way, I hope it doesn't though.
It reminds me that for all my concentration on working with young people and getting the message out to them, there's an even greater need to get the message out to my peers. It may be more difficult to appeal to them, as the lure of careers, mortgages, socialising, relationships and so on gradually impeaches on their time.
But it's necessary to take on the challenge of doing what is difficult.
Without that, there will be a missing generation in our church.
Why Heaven Isn't A Half Pipe
I've had the day off work today and have spent around three hours wondering around carrying out various tasks. And now my knee hurts.
Now, I'm not going to waste blog space by bemoaning the state of pavements or the potentially leg breaking movements required to avoid the marauding terror represented by twin pushchairs, overloaded with children and massive bags of Christmas shopping.
Instead, in a cheap attempt to provide my readership with a few laughs, I will explain how it came to be that I'm now wincing in pain after some relatively straightforward exercise.
In June 2005 I made my first venture into a skate park. Thankfully, this was not some kind of mid-twenties crisis-I was one of the adults accompanying some of the young people from my church and some of those who attend Fusion.
Looking back now, I realise that had I kept this clear divide, reminding myself that I was an adult with a job to go to and many bills to pay and that these were young people I served and who would heal a lot faster than me, things would probably be different today.
Throughout the course of the evening, I began to develop the foolish notion that this skateboarding lark couldn't be that difficult. After all, I go surfing and I'm not a great swimmer, so if I could conquer those issues and develop the necessary skills to surf, surely skatebaording and blading would be no different?
I managed to keep such ideas to myself for the majority of the evening, until the point in the evening was reached where the young people began to dare the leaders to tackle a variety of hazardous challenges.
Hannah was dared first, to go down the half pipe on her blades. To set this in context, the half pipe is about seven feet high of curved wood with a mattress of concrete at the bottom.
Hannah understandably had a variety of reservations about completing this challenge but the young people had already decided that they weren't going home without seeing one of their youth leaders make a public fool of themselves. Seeing as that comes particularly easily to me, and in light of self talk earlier declaring that "It can't be that hard", I stepped up.
Squeezing into a borrowed pair of blades that were two sizes too small for me, I approached the edge of the half pipe. Little did I know, doubts over my ability to do this were also at the edge of the half pipe. But I couldn't possibly back down now. That would make me look stupid.
Although, not as stupid as I would look a few seconds later.
With a deep breath, I stepped forward and began to roll down the half pipe.
And I fell.
To describe me as falling with style would have been a generous overstatement. An ungainly mess of wheels, flailing limbs and panic stricken expressions would be more accurate.
And now I was in the really dangerous place. It surely could not be that difficult to do. So, I hauled myself up back to the top of the half pipe for my second attempt.
Second attempt, same result.
The second attempt was when I began to feel the pain in my right knee and lower back, but the laughter had somehow knocked into my pride during the second fall.
So I tried a third time.
Dragging myself up the slope again, resembling the moment in Revenge of The Sith when Anakin Skywalker, minus arms and legs tries, to pull himself up a hill, I was certain I could complete the challenge this time.
No chance. As I crashed down this time, the laughter was tempered with a few sympathetic murmurs as the pathetic spectacle clattered into the ground again.
The protest from inside me meant that this was definitely my last attempt. As I got back to the top of the ramp and took the blades off, Hannah completed her descent of the half pipe on the first attempt.
In time, people who were there began to say encouraging things, like I had deliberately put myself in that position to relate to our young people. Maybe. But realistically, as soon as that first attempt had failed, it was stupid male pride that had driven me to throw myself down the ramp on two further occasions.
Stupid male pride that probably explains why my knee hurts today.
Now, I'm not going to waste blog space by bemoaning the state of pavements or the potentially leg breaking movements required to avoid the marauding terror represented by twin pushchairs, overloaded with children and massive bags of Christmas shopping.
Instead, in a cheap attempt to provide my readership with a few laughs, I will explain how it came to be that I'm now wincing in pain after some relatively straightforward exercise.
In June 2005 I made my first venture into a skate park. Thankfully, this was not some kind of mid-twenties crisis-I was one of the adults accompanying some of the young people from my church and some of those who attend Fusion.
Looking back now, I realise that had I kept this clear divide, reminding myself that I was an adult with a job to go to and many bills to pay and that these were young people I served and who would heal a lot faster than me, things would probably be different today.
Throughout the course of the evening, I began to develop the foolish notion that this skateboarding lark couldn't be that difficult. After all, I go surfing and I'm not a great swimmer, so if I could conquer those issues and develop the necessary skills to surf, surely skatebaording and blading would be no different?
I managed to keep such ideas to myself for the majority of the evening, until the point in the evening was reached where the young people began to dare the leaders to tackle a variety of hazardous challenges.
Hannah was dared first, to go down the half pipe on her blades. To set this in context, the half pipe is about seven feet high of curved wood with a mattress of concrete at the bottom.
Hannah understandably had a variety of reservations about completing this challenge but the young people had already decided that they weren't going home without seeing one of their youth leaders make a public fool of themselves. Seeing as that comes particularly easily to me, and in light of self talk earlier declaring that "It can't be that hard", I stepped up.
Squeezing into a borrowed pair of blades that were two sizes too small for me, I approached the edge of the half pipe. Little did I know, doubts over my ability to do this were also at the edge of the half pipe. But I couldn't possibly back down now. That would make me look stupid.
Although, not as stupid as I would look a few seconds later.
With a deep breath, I stepped forward and began to roll down the half pipe.
And I fell.
To describe me as falling with style would have been a generous overstatement. An ungainly mess of wheels, flailing limbs and panic stricken expressions would be more accurate.
And now I was in the really dangerous place. It surely could not be that difficult to do. So, I hauled myself up back to the top of the half pipe for my second attempt.
Second attempt, same result.
The second attempt was when I began to feel the pain in my right knee and lower back, but the laughter had somehow knocked into my pride during the second fall.
So I tried a third time.
Dragging myself up the slope again, resembling the moment in Revenge of The Sith when Anakin Skywalker, minus arms and legs tries, to pull himself up a hill, I was certain I could complete the challenge this time.
No chance. As I crashed down this time, the laughter was tempered with a few sympathetic murmurs as the pathetic spectacle clattered into the ground again.
The protest from inside me meant that this was definitely my last attempt. As I got back to the top of the ramp and took the blades off, Hannah completed her descent of the half pipe on the first attempt.
In time, people who were there began to say encouraging things, like I had deliberately put myself in that position to relate to our young people. Maybe. But realistically, as soon as that first attempt had failed, it was stupid male pride that had driven me to throw myself down the ramp on two further occasions.
Stupid male pride that probably explains why my knee hurts today.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Magi
I didn't expect our arrival in Jerusalem to cause as much upheaval as it did. After all, we had journeyed with the expectation of finding the baby who was born to be king of the Jews. Herod and his people developed faces filled with anguish and panic.
Not that we hadn't suddenly become worried either. Thoughts flashed across my mind. Had the long journey all been in vain? Is it possible that we could have misread the stars?
We didn't get any answers to where the King had been born during that first audience with Herod. As we were ushered out of the throne room, we overheard instructions being made to assemble the chief priests and teachers of the law. I began to feel optimistic again. If we had made mistakes on the way, surely the religious leaders would have ideas as to where their promised king had been born. Maybe they could even guide us as to where he would be.
I can't explain how uneasy I felt on hearing that we had been summoned to a private meeting with Herod. It didn't take long to have heard rumours of Herod's cruelty around the court. I didn't particularly relish the prospect of being isolated in the presence of a man who had shown no qualms about ordering the execution of his wife, mother-in-law and his own eldest son. Although we were respectable people, I had no doubt that if he could murder members of his own family, he'd have no problem permanently removing us foreigners from his court and life itself.
However, it was Herod the politician we encountered behind closed doors. After asking for more explanation of how we had followed the star, he explained that the chief priests had outlined to him that Bethlehem was the place where the king would have been born. In the course of this discussion, we were involuntarily recruited by Herod to go to Bethlehem to confirm the birth of the king and report back to him. So he could come and worship him, he said. I felt uneasy.
Preparing to head for Bethlehem, you can't imagine how relieved and excited we were when the star that had set us off on this long journey in the first place appeared to be going ahead of us. We weren't just doing an errand for Herod, there was a sense that something altogether more important would be there at our journey's end.
Soon we arrived in Bethlehem. The star stopped over a house. Inside we found a couple and a child.
In hindsight, there should be something embarrassing about a group of grown men not just giving gifts, but falling to their knees and worshipping a child. But when we saw him, it didn't feel like there was an option not to fall down before the infant. Shame was chased away and our hitherto expensive gifts seemed insignificant.
He was just worthy of being worshipped.
That night, the peaceful sleep you would assume would follow after a long journey is completed failed to materialise. The most vivid dreams about the hideous consequences of letting Herod know where to find the king. One of us having this dream would be enough to put down to chance. But the morning brought the revelation that we had all had been shaken by the same vivid dream.
I looked over my shoulder a number of times as we started off on our alternative route home. Herod would no doubt find our decision not to return to his court with information tantamount to treason and would surely show us no mercy. More importantly, I didn't want our presence in the area to give away the location of the baby king, as the dream had convinced me that Herod had nothing but elimination planned for the child. The six miles between Bethlehem and Jerusalem was not nearly enough distance to be considered safe as far as I was concerned.
As soon as we had reached a safe distance away, thoughts turned from the threat posed by Herod to contemplation on the wondrous sight that we had found in Bethlehem.
How would his kingdom be brought about? Would he remember us?
Despite the great distance that lay between our location and home, and the distance in years that would have to go by before the baby king had grown up and could establish his kingdom, I had an unshakable feeling in my heart.
My eyes had seen the king.
Not that we hadn't suddenly become worried either. Thoughts flashed across my mind. Had the long journey all been in vain? Is it possible that we could have misread the stars?
We didn't get any answers to where the King had been born during that first audience with Herod. As we were ushered out of the throne room, we overheard instructions being made to assemble the chief priests and teachers of the law. I began to feel optimistic again. If we had made mistakes on the way, surely the religious leaders would have ideas as to where their promised king had been born. Maybe they could even guide us as to where he would be.
I can't explain how uneasy I felt on hearing that we had been summoned to a private meeting with Herod. It didn't take long to have heard rumours of Herod's cruelty around the court. I didn't particularly relish the prospect of being isolated in the presence of a man who had shown no qualms about ordering the execution of his wife, mother-in-law and his own eldest son. Although we were respectable people, I had no doubt that if he could murder members of his own family, he'd have no problem permanently removing us foreigners from his court and life itself.
However, it was Herod the politician we encountered behind closed doors. After asking for more explanation of how we had followed the star, he explained that the chief priests had outlined to him that Bethlehem was the place where the king would have been born. In the course of this discussion, we were involuntarily recruited by Herod to go to Bethlehem to confirm the birth of the king and report back to him. So he could come and worship him, he said. I felt uneasy.
Preparing to head for Bethlehem, you can't imagine how relieved and excited we were when the star that had set us off on this long journey in the first place appeared to be going ahead of us. We weren't just doing an errand for Herod, there was a sense that something altogether more important would be there at our journey's end.
Soon we arrived in Bethlehem. The star stopped over a house. Inside we found a couple and a child.
In hindsight, there should be something embarrassing about a group of grown men not just giving gifts, but falling to their knees and worshipping a child. But when we saw him, it didn't feel like there was an option not to fall down before the infant. Shame was chased away and our hitherto expensive gifts seemed insignificant.
He was just worthy of being worshipped.
That night, the peaceful sleep you would assume would follow after a long journey is completed failed to materialise. The most vivid dreams about the hideous consequences of letting Herod know where to find the king. One of us having this dream would be enough to put down to chance. But the morning brought the revelation that we had all had been shaken by the same vivid dream.
I looked over my shoulder a number of times as we started off on our alternative route home. Herod would no doubt find our decision not to return to his court with information tantamount to treason and would surely show us no mercy. More importantly, I didn't want our presence in the area to give away the location of the baby king, as the dream had convinced me that Herod had nothing but elimination planned for the child. The six miles between Bethlehem and Jerusalem was not nearly enough distance to be considered safe as far as I was concerned.
As soon as we had reached a safe distance away, thoughts turned from the threat posed by Herod to contemplation on the wondrous sight that we had found in Bethlehem.
How would his kingdom be brought about? Would he remember us?
Despite the great distance that lay between our location and home, and the distance in years that would have to go by before the baby king had grown up and could establish his kingdom, I had an unshakable feeling in my heart.
My eyes had seen the king.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Fusion 8/12/06
Sum total of last night at Fusion:
2 young people attacked outside the building.
2 emergency service phone calls.
1 bag of ice cubes.
1 confrontation with two incredibly abusive and extremely inebriated young men who did not take kindly to my observation that they were possibly over our 11-18 age limit.
4 drunken teenagers.
1 birthday card.
2 splintered bannister poles.
1 unhelpful taxi driver.
1 helpful taxi driver.
Instances of general rudeness and negative attitudes amongst those in attendance? Too numerous to recount.
1 27 year old youth leader who in the face of all the above, didn't look a thing like Jesus. Or act like him.
1 amazing team of young leaders who in spite of all the chaos unfolding around them, served diligently, carried out their roles with dedication and showed their devotion by making sure the evening closed with prayer and worship to the One who inspired us to do this event in the first place.
Jamie was right. The evening could have been worse.
2 young people attacked outside the building.
2 emergency service phone calls.
1 bag of ice cubes.
1 confrontation with two incredibly abusive and extremely inebriated young men who did not take kindly to my observation that they were possibly over our 11-18 age limit.
4 drunken teenagers.
1 birthday card.
2 splintered bannister poles.
1 unhelpful taxi driver.
1 helpful taxi driver.
Instances of general rudeness and negative attitudes amongst those in attendance? Too numerous to recount.
1 27 year old youth leader who in the face of all the above, didn't look a thing like Jesus. Or act like him.
1 amazing team of young leaders who in spite of all the chaos unfolding around them, served diligently, carried out their roles with dedication and showed their devotion by making sure the evening closed with prayer and worship to the One who inspired us to do this event in the first place.
Jamie was right. The evening could have been worse.
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