Reflecting back on day 9 of lent I remember the sense of achievement I felt in completing the ride from my parents house in the valley of Ironbank, to the top of Mt. Lofty. I certainly had my doubts at the beginning of the journey however as riding a bike up some of these hills can be quite unforgiving on the body, particularly now that I’m 15 years older than when I used to do this.
I followed the roads that round up through Stirling and Crafers to get there. Along the way I began to notice a different in my attitude compared to when I was younger. For me everything used to be a competition, not only was the goal to get to the top of the mountain, but I had to do it in record time. I would almost kill myself doing it too. My body would yell and scream at me with all it had to tell me to slow down, take it easy, I was pushing beyond my limits.
This time was different, there was more of a sense of adventure about it, sure it was hard, but it didn’t seem to be so much a competition anymore, I had nothing to prove to myself. As I climbed that steep long stretch from Crafers to Mt. Lofty I found that I had found my rhythm in the ride, I was pacing myself in such a way that it didn’t seem so hard anymore. Sure there were times when I had to stop so I did. The fact that I was in pain ranked higher than pride on my priority list now.
Reaching the top was breath taking. Even though I worked at the restaurant there for 2 years day in and day out, I still had an appreciation for this early morning view that stretched out over Adelaide, across the sea and to the Peninsula on the other side.
How often is it that we want to rush through life to the next goal in sight? I realized that I can have a habit of doing this all too often. Not often enough to I stop in the journey to appreciate my surroundings, or pause for long enough to enjoy the view. Yet finding a particular rhythm in life allows us not only to appreciate what’s around us but also to find ourselves.
It’s times like this I reflect back on my days in village life in Vanuatu and I remember the phrase we coined and integrated into our life, ‘stap nomo’. Or in the English translation, ‘just be, nothing more’. Part of a Psalm I dwelt with the first time I went to Vanuatu was from Psalm 46, “Be still, and know that I am God”. May you find the rhythm in your life that helps you be still for long enough to know God.
Shalom
Mark
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Barbed wire fences
Early on day 8 of lent I decided to ride my bike up to the top of the big Ironbank Rd hill (it’s legendary in Ironbank…trust me). Each day of lent I’ve taken a different path on my bike. Much to my lament I soon worked out that there is nowhere I can ride from my parent’s place that doesn’t first require a grueling uphill ride. My parents live in a valley and there are hills all around in every direction.
I reached the top of the hill and paused for a while to appreciate the view. It’s amazing how my attention was immediately taken by the vast expanse of the big picture before me. The thick tree tops followed the shape of the rolling hills all the way to Mt.Lofty. As a glanced down to my left through a valley I could see the ocean. What a view! I could see from the highest peak of the Adelaide hills to the lowest valley to the ocean.
After I had appreciated the view I began to notice the little things like the properties that were laid out before me in the foreground. These were quite picturesque and full of character. Grazing land for sheep and cattle, fruit tree orchards and rusty old sheds near big old farm houses. I also noticed that everything was surrounded by barbed wire fences.
It’s nasty looking stuff. I’ve had an accident or two with this barbed wire as a kid. I wonder where the idea of barbed wire fences came from? Was it a need for protection, security, prevention? Actually I noticed that most things were protected in some way, like the fruit trees covered with nets to protect the fruit from the birds. And the hay bails in the barns to protect them from the weather. But what is it about barbed wire fences? Are they to keep things in or keep things out?
There’s a story about fences that goes a little like this; An American tourist visits an outback cattle station and is over awed at the size of the property which stretched from one horizon to the next. The American wasn’t used to this, they have states in America smaller than the size of this property. He was used to masses of people confined to small spaces. However he noticed something that puzzled him, there were no fences to keep the cattle from straying. “How do you keep your cattle from straying when you have no fences?” the American asked the farmer. “We don’t need fences, we have wells. Our cattle know which direction to go to stay alive.” replied the farmer.
To take the metaphor of the fences further I’ve noticed people put up ‘barbed wire fences’ (boundaries) to warn people to stay away or keep their distance. Churches tend to want to construct fences to keep people in, make sure they don’t stray too far.
I find it interesting that Jesus used the world around him to teach people about the nature of God, the kingdom of God and the community of God’s people. John chooses to tell a story of Jesus sitting by a well talking to a stranger, an outsider about the life giving water available to all. We don’t get any sense from the Gospels that Jesus was intent on fencing people in to an exclusive club he founded. Instead we find Jesus in the places where he knows people gather for that which is life giving.
After focusing on the little things for a while I cast my eyes back over the landscape one last time before I took the fast downhill ride home. Mt. Lofty, the furtherest peak in the distance, the highest peak in the Adelaide hills, caught my attention. 'Tomorrow', I thought to myself, 'I will take on Mt. Lofty.'
Shalom
Mark
I reached the top of the hill and paused for a while to appreciate the view. It’s amazing how my attention was immediately taken by the vast expanse of the big picture before me. The thick tree tops followed the shape of the rolling hills all the way to Mt.Lofty. As a glanced down to my left through a valley I could see the ocean. What a view! I could see from the highest peak of the Adelaide hills to the lowest valley to the ocean.
After I had appreciated the view I began to notice the little things like the properties that were laid out before me in the foreground. These were quite picturesque and full of character. Grazing land for sheep and cattle, fruit tree orchards and rusty old sheds near big old farm houses. I also noticed that everything was surrounded by barbed wire fences.
It’s nasty looking stuff. I’ve had an accident or two with this barbed wire as a kid. I wonder where the idea of barbed wire fences came from? Was it a need for protection, security, prevention? Actually I noticed that most things were protected in some way, like the fruit trees covered with nets to protect the fruit from the birds. And the hay bails in the barns to protect them from the weather. But what is it about barbed wire fences? Are they to keep things in or keep things out?
There’s a story about fences that goes a little like this; An American tourist visits an outback cattle station and is over awed at the size of the property which stretched from one horizon to the next. The American wasn’t used to this, they have states in America smaller than the size of this property. He was used to masses of people confined to small spaces. However he noticed something that puzzled him, there were no fences to keep the cattle from straying. “How do you keep your cattle from straying when you have no fences?” the American asked the farmer. “We don’t need fences, we have wells. Our cattle know which direction to go to stay alive.” replied the farmer.
To take the metaphor of the fences further I’ve noticed people put up ‘barbed wire fences’ (boundaries) to warn people to stay away or keep their distance. Churches tend to want to construct fences to keep people in, make sure they don’t stray too far.
I find it interesting that Jesus used the world around him to teach people about the nature of God, the kingdom of God and the community of God’s people. John chooses to tell a story of Jesus sitting by a well talking to a stranger, an outsider about the life giving water available to all. We don’t get any sense from the Gospels that Jesus was intent on fencing people in to an exclusive club he founded. Instead we find Jesus in the places where he knows people gather for that which is life giving.
After focusing on the little things for a while I cast my eyes back over the landscape one last time before I took the fast downhill ride home. Mt. Lofty, the furtherest peak in the distance, the highest peak in the Adelaide hills, caught my attention. 'Tomorrow', I thought to myself, 'I will take on Mt. Lofty.'
Shalom
Mark
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Vox Congo urgent news
I interupt my lenten reflections with an important Vox Congo update.
Check it out on Vox Congo's blog
For anyone new to my blog, these guys are Congolese asylum seekers Verity and I have journeyed with for the last 4 years. They play unbelieveable music. They have become close friends of ours. I used to manage their band but gave that away when I moved interstate. I keep people posted on their immigration status on their blog. Check it out.
Mark
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Companions on the journey
I emerged from another ride in the scrub on day 6 of lent and arrived back at the roadside about 500 metres from my parents property. I thought to myself, instead of going home I'll go for one last little ride up to the end of the road and back. As I headed up to the colder sack at the top of the hill I came across a familiar face. It was my dad and he had our two dogs with him.
I said g'day and stopped. I guess my early morning rides have inspired someone to take the dogs for early morning walks. Instead of going on my way I stayed with dad and the dogs chatting with dad on the way home. Dad's a good mate.
It wasn't always this way with dad. In my late teenage years I was a right little punk. I gave my parents absolute hell. I remember having some run ins with dad that I thought our relationship as father and son would never recover from. Sometimes I can't imagine what I put my parents through with some of the choices I made and the arrogance by which I lived my life. I could tell story after story about things I did that strained my relationship with my parents almost to the point of disrepair. There was a time there where I thought, either they were going to kick me out of the house or I would leave.
Yet through all of this my parents loved me, they provided for me and they prayed that through some divine intervention I would wake up to myself. There were times in my life back then when I felt very alone yet my parents were the unfailing companions all the way.
When I saw dad on the road with the dogs it reminded me of that sense of companionship. Being Labrador and Border collie, they are the most loyal dogs, they'll stick by you through anything. We need companionship like that through the journey of life and discipleship. May we all be blessed with loyal companions.
Shalom
Mark
I said g'day and stopped. I guess my early morning rides have inspired someone to take the dogs for early morning walks. Instead of going on my way I stayed with dad and the dogs chatting with dad on the way home. Dad's a good mate.
It wasn't always this way with dad. In my late teenage years I was a right little punk. I gave my parents absolute hell. I remember having some run ins with dad that I thought our relationship as father and son would never recover from. Sometimes I can't imagine what I put my parents through with some of the choices I made and the arrogance by which I lived my life. I could tell story after story about things I did that strained my relationship with my parents almost to the point of disrepair. There was a time there where I thought, either they were going to kick me out of the house or I would leave.
Yet through all of this my parents loved me, they provided for me and they prayed that through some divine intervention I would wake up to myself. There were times in my life back then when I felt very alone yet my parents were the unfailing companions all the way.
When I saw dad on the road with the dogs it reminded me of that sense of companionship. Being Labrador and Border collie, they are the most loyal dogs, they'll stick by you through anything. We need companionship like that through the journey of life and discipleship. May we all be blessed with loyal companions.
Shalom
Mark
Death and new life
Day 5 of lent and I've headed back out into the wilderness down the fire track I've been exploring. I remember, when I was younger there was another track that came off the main track only a few hundred metres from the gate. I used to walk this track all the time but now it seems to have disappeared. I had a careful look for it today and found it. Ever since the fire new growth had been springing up on that track and it was grown over, but you could still make out a path.
I decided to give it a go and see just how far I could ride along this track. I made it about a few hundred metres along the track before it started to feel like I was in the middle of nowhere with no place to go. Instead of getting worried about the track and how I was going to find my way, I took some time to notice and appreciate my surroundings since I was now deeper into the scrub away from the main track.
The scrub here isn't as dense as it used to be. I remember trees and bushes so think the sun could hardly break through. Now 12 years on (from the fire) and in the middle of a drought, the bushlands here have not recovered as well as they could have. This time instead of noticing the new life I noticed more of the trees and bushes that were left as skeletons and hadn't recovered. There was so much evidence here of death that interestingly I did not recognize when I first pedaled in on day 1. It's interesting how we look past the death to see the new life right away because we don't 'do' death very well, we'd rather go straight to resurrection moments and forget that which led to it.
I began reflecting on this some more in the context of what some of mine and Verity's friends are going through at the moment. A few of our closest friends are suffering this tension of holding the reality of a death in the family along with the expectation of a new birth. One couple lost their uncle to cancer just last week, they are also expecting their first child in a few weeks. Other couple are dealing with the loss of a parent. His mum died of cancer last week. His dad died just a few years ago. They are expecting their first baby in a few months.
How do you journey with such tragedy in the context of expectation of new life? How do you find the appropriate spaces for grief and for celebration in their own right? It's interesting, death and new life, it's part of everone's reality and some time or another. It's also Christocentrically at the core of our theology. Having said that, it also seems to be that part of the Christian faith we deny the most. Why don't we do the suffering, grieving, death stuff very well? We generally don't journey with it or acknowledge it well at all, it's too painful. Yet it is there and the scares are always left as a reminder even in the presence of new life.
I eventually emerged from the track I struggled to follow through the fire and drought burdened scrub. It actually brought me out of the track that leads to the grapevines. Now I was back on the main track and I new my way home. My vision was clearer now. My legs were a bit sore so I look down and noticed my legs were covered in scratches and black ash. A reminder of the journey through new life still emerging from a once dead and desolate wilderness.
Shalom
Mark
I decided to give it a go and see just how far I could ride along this track. I made it about a few hundred metres along the track before it started to feel like I was in the middle of nowhere with no place to go. Instead of getting worried about the track and how I was going to find my way, I took some time to notice and appreciate my surroundings since I was now deeper into the scrub away from the main track.
The scrub here isn't as dense as it used to be. I remember trees and bushes so think the sun could hardly break through. Now 12 years on (from the fire) and in the middle of a drought, the bushlands here have not recovered as well as they could have. This time instead of noticing the new life I noticed more of the trees and bushes that were left as skeletons and hadn't recovered. There was so much evidence here of death that interestingly I did not recognize when I first pedaled in on day 1. It's interesting how we look past the death to see the new life right away because we don't 'do' death very well, we'd rather go straight to resurrection moments and forget that which led to it.
I began reflecting on this some more in the context of what some of mine and Verity's friends are going through at the moment. A few of our closest friends are suffering this tension of holding the reality of a death in the family along with the expectation of a new birth. One couple lost their uncle to cancer just last week, they are also expecting their first child in a few weeks. Other couple are dealing with the loss of a parent. His mum died of cancer last week. His dad died just a few years ago. They are expecting their first baby in a few months.
How do you journey with such tragedy in the context of expectation of new life? How do you find the appropriate spaces for grief and for celebration in their own right? It's interesting, death and new life, it's part of everone's reality and some time or another. It's also Christocentrically at the core of our theology. Having said that, it also seems to be that part of the Christian faith we deny the most. Why don't we do the suffering, grieving, death stuff very well? We generally don't journey with it or acknowledge it well at all, it's too painful. Yet it is there and the scares are always left as a reminder even in the presence of new life.
I eventually emerged from the track I struggled to follow through the fire and drought burdened scrub. It actually brought me out of the track that leads to the grapevines. Now I was back on the main track and I new my way home. My vision was clearer now. My legs were a bit sore so I look down and noticed my legs were covered in scratches and black ash. A reminder of the journey through new life still emerging from a once dead and desolate wilderness.
Shalom
Mark
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)