Ablaze

I woke up today to spring birds singing, Oxford University students walking in and out of Pembroke College and cars searching for a parking spot, jolting over the cobble stones in front of our house. What a difference to the Ugandan morning song of the past two weeks - the NAREC girls praising God during their 'morning glory' at 5am (and eerily dragging my consciousness out of the dreamlands) and then getting ready for school, birds with much shriller, sharper calls, and boda bodas and lorries racing past the compound as the sun's heat slowly claimed every inch of sky.
The 12 500km flight back to England went fine, but my mind is still wandering round the streets and alleys of Kampala and hasn't quite arrived in Great Britain yet. What an inspiring, challenging, exciting and beautiful two weeks they have been! My horizon has exploded, and I am praying that it won't stop - that by re-living, thinking and interpreting what I have seen it will continue to expand on each side like stones catapulted by a sling. A two week window is not very much - and yet those glimpses of places, people and situations shine bright and won't be dimmed for a long time. I really want to see more of what God is doing in and through all of this. I am not praying for the confusion, challenge and discomfort of some of the situations to go away - I am praying for them to last, so that I seek God more and eventually gain His perspective on His world.
I have always been slightly condescending - perhaps proudly so - of people who went to Africa to help 'poor little African children' (often resulting in facebook profile pictures of them surrounded by cute little slum kids), without seeming to have much of an idea of the bigger picture of the government, economy, history and international relations they are involved in. I admit that my attitude is very much conditioned by studying postcolonial literature and theory for my degree, and even though a lot of their thought helpfully puts the Western mind into much needed boundaries, I still need some God-purification of the things I've learnt. I can't claim that I myself have a sufficient and above all, godly, understanding of the 'big picture'. All I do is working on what questions to ask, and I could do with some input and correction here.
That said, it still makes me flinch when I see Westerners go to 'Africa' (or any other formerly colonised place, for that matter) to 'help', or to 'go on mission', mostly because I am aware of the unquestioned mindset of some of them. Many have no idea that their derivation and inbred view of the place they go to have massive implications on the mission they are trying to do. Being pointed out as 'mzungu' over he last couple of weeks wherever I went was really strange, as it immediately brought back the centuries of patronisation of the North over the South, which sadly in many, more subtle ways, is still ongoing. And I'm certain I've missed some of the other connotations the word 'mzungu' implies...
This was also highlighted when I told people in Uganda about my friend who did her research there, for which I usually met a not very enthusiastic, maybe even defensive, reply. "So she knows more about our country than we do?" I find this interesting because I myself am thrilled when people do research in Germany - it presents new perspectives to my own understanding of my country, and I do feel that I as a German have the power to suggest areas of interest, my own corrections and examples to whatever they are researching. This is just a small instance, but again points out some of the unhealed relations of the world we live in.
If nations were people (and that's what they ultimately are, as they are made up and ruled by them) and we look at our history, this reaction is very understandable. And if nations were people, it is also only natural and essential that those who are in a better position (however they got there in the first place), and they realise others are less advantaged, go and share what they have. I leave this vague, as "better position" and "less advantaged" needs some explanation and is very much subjective. It is a good reflex to help and share when we can; what I question is whether we need to think more about what would actually be helpful.
Again, as a German I have been brought up with efforts over efforts of reconciliation with the Jews on whom horrendous suffering was inflicted during the Second World War. This makes me wonder how much reconciliation still needs to happen for the ugly sides of the colonial entreprise of my nation (which was moved slightly into the background), and those of the British Empire... I believe that for the Kingdom of our risen Lord to come, deep reconciliation needs to happen, on every scale possible. I wonder what our part is in this...
What I loved about our trip to Uganda is that we could join in with what God and the church are already doing. I can only speak for 'my side', but I have certainly profited from being able to surrender to the plans of our Ugandan friends and leader, of going along and doing things 'their way'. I learnt so much by doing so. Maybe there is even a glimpse of redemption in this.
And despite all the 'big picture talk', I found that actually meeting, praying for and giving hope to individuals is a way towards relieving situations that are not right. Apart from striving to understand the international relations that I am ensnared in and working out the consequences of my decisions within them, this is what I actually can do for my brothers and sisters, no matter where I come from.
It has become so clear that as people from different places (history aside) we can inspire, teach and challenge each other, and I believe we and our church in England and Germany would definately profit from a team of Ugandans visiting and joining in with what God is doing here, and offering their perspective on it all...
God rightfully demands our all - and I'm learning that this includes history, attitudes, mindsets, motivations, identity, power. May He continue to do His work in us...

air port

A port of air. Taken from places all over the world, carried in the lungs of passengers going here and there and then mingling, only to be taken in again and carried on. Any goods to declare? A few particles of air from Karachi, from Buenos Aires (hope it's good), and from some unkown sources I cannot track down. Oh, and then someone sneezed on me - he sounded Swiss, but I'm not quite certain.
Airports are strange. So many barriers are crumbling in these few hundred square metres of internationality. Even though airports are built right at the heart of a nation (most of the time), they do not really belong, they are spaces of their own. Most people don't really want to be there anyway, especially if they are only in transfer. This bit of earth is only a chair to sit down on until that next aircraft carries you to another place, it doesn't matter whether it is in Yemen or Argentina or the Philippines. It is always day at an airport wherever it is, and yet for some people it is 3am in the morning, for others 2pm in the afternoon. Body clocks tick very differently here. It is a space filled with empty hours of waiting, with goodbyes and expectations sloshing in from either side. And it's all about mingling and meeting and crashing, air and languages and world views and consumption and culture. My own little identity is in the midst of this, gaping and wondering at all these possibilities.


* Thoughts from Doha, Qatar, when my body clock told me it was about time to switch my brain off and sleep...

Stationed at the Cross

When Katia first asked me whether I wanted to be involved with the 'Stations of the Cross Service', I was battling with the thought of having yet another thing that would cut into my already busy timetable. However, I loved the idea of being able to worship creatively, and her vision for the service was really inspiring; also, I increasingly base my decisions on the time I can then spend with people I want to learn from, so I saw this as an opportunity to get to know her (and some of the other postgrads involved) better. Therefore, I agreed to help out.

Looking back on the week just past, I am more than glad that I gave in; the making of the stations really was an extraordinary experience.

We almost invaded the Parish Centre, and turned various rooms into wonderful dumps of glue, paper, craft knives and mount boards. What fun! As we were working away throughout the week, a number of people commented on our messy creativity, with bursts of admiration ranging from the UK-ian "quite nice" to the continental "IMPRESSIVE!!" One of the more inquisitive people thought (to our amusement) that we were cutting the stations for Lauren's wedding on Saturday... which would have turned it into a rather sombre occasion I believe!

A beautiful confirmation of God's delight in His worshippers were the details of His provision. On Thursday, when we were in full flow and had quite a number of people working on the stations, we got really hungry but didn't want to lose any time getting food. Just at this moment, someone walked past us with a plate of five leftover baked potatoes, which then filled our five hungry stomachs... they must have been the best baked potatoes we had ever dug our teeth into! We even got dessert by a different person who offered us leftovers from another church event. And on Saturday Katia and I were invited to the leftovers from the wedding – which means we didn't just get ANY food, but WEDDING food!! It's almost as if the Lord wanted to remind us of what will come after that last station...

And then there were those random acts of kindness, like people getting us coffee, vergers renewing the play list every time it ran out, and turning up the music so we could hear it in another room, or staff offering to hoover up our mess after we'd finished.

All this was beautiful. However, one of my key moments (which changed my approach to the whole project after having been very frustrated at the slow progress on Wednesday night) occurred on Thursday, when I was carving the contours of a praying Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane; his figure was stooped down, and just like in the gospel, drops of sweat like blood were falling from His forehead. As most will agree, there is something deeply moving about fully grown men in such agony; this hour of Jesus in the garden, with His disciples asleep, however was only the beginning of an ever-increasing darkness He had to enter. As I was cutting and carving out this figure of Jesus, I entered anew into the realisation of His sacrifice, and it hit me again: "HE DID THIS FOR YOU!!"

Cutting, carving and assembling the stations was not at all about craftsmanship - although for the glory of God I did not want to give less than my very best. But really it was about worshipping and loving the one whose passion we would reflect on as we journeyed through these stations of the cross.

I must say that at first I had been slightly annoyed at the unrealistic plans of carving relieves of several figures for each of the A0-stations, and at the precision and relentlessness that went into the actual process; it would take us days on end, when really we could have put together something much faster and possibly equally effective. But then I realised - isn't the Most High King worthy of such extravagance? In fact, He is worth much more than this; my efforts are like a droplet in the ocean of the sea of praise that should constantly engulf Him! This is only a tiny bit of what I can do to show Him how much I love Him...

As I was cutting and carving, I anticipated the actual service and became aware of the responsibility of the 'visual worship leading' that we had embarked upon; the representation of these stations are likely to have an (even subconscious) impact on people's understanding of the scenes, so the expression of the figures' emotions needed to be faithful. This, too, made me want to give that extra bit, not be satisfied with second-class results: no fringed edges were tolerated, no pencil mark left to smudge the white cardboard. Soon I became completely engrossed in the scenes of the stations. So much so that it was a weird sensation to be cutting the spears that would later pierce Jesus' side, and before that cause Him so much threat and pressure and mocking. Or to cut the beams that would form His cross - my initials are carved right into them... after all, this is what led Him there in the first place.

I think now I can understand a bit more the gift of Mary who poured precious oil over Jesus' feet... yes, if she had sold the oil, she could have given the money to the poor. Yes, if had used my time this week more effectively, I would have got things done. And so could all of us, especially those who had presentations for their courses to do, or Dphils to complete... I found that the hours upon hours spent in creating these stations really epitomised my mission for this Lent - not to prove that I can go without biscuits or coffee for a set amount of time, but to just BE in His presence and go with His gentle promptings. I had tried to consciously give a tenth of my time each day for this, as way of forming a lifetime habit. The results have been incredible, even though they are secondary. The creation of these twelve stations especially will be a reminder of what Lent (and our life really) is all about, and I think I will always think back to this week as a highlight of this season.

smoke

May the beams You break to free me of my prison, and the planks You help me pull out of my eyes be transformed into logs that fuel the fire of worship before Your throne. May it burn and burn and become a pleasing smoke of incense before You, o God.

Jesus in You

Where are You taking me, Lord?

- To a place where the angels sing and and where every particle that does not belong to Me is being singed; Jesus in you will lead you there.

I want to come and see You as You really are, Lord, not as what I've made You to be; let my eyes become adjusted to Your beauty... I want to be reminded of the fact that You have called me to eternal life.
What can I say? 'Thank You' are all the words I've got, but they do not come close to describing the swinging of my heart as I train my gaze to behold this horizon...

Through a tunnel I run, towards the light. As I emerge I enter into a thick white fog - the cloud of glory!! The air is filled with angels, and I am drawn into their song, and must sing at the top of my voice, 'Holy, holy, holy God!'
I can see a bridge, leading even deeper into this foggy sea of eternity. At the end of it, there are wide and huge steps, covered in the most sparkling and beautiful jewels and precious stones, all framed in pure gold.
I am terrified of stepping closer, but at the same time filled with an overpowering longing to see what is at the top.

The latter gets the better of me, so I take the first step. The noise and music and voices grow so loud, they are almost deafening. They seem to seep through my very being...
On the second step, the light becomes so glistening that I am almost blinded by it. It is white and shiny and radiant, brighter than anything I've ever seen.
I take the third step, which again is covered in jewels and precious stones and gold, and I can see the shape of feet. Oh the fear and longing to come closer!!
Another step, the fourth one. I look up again and am overwhelmed. Three people are sitting on a throne, all spinning and twirling around each other so that they look like one. And they are laughing with pure joy! It is the most delightful and carefree laughter, that gives you no choice but to join in, so I laugh with them and the joy is almost tangible. At the same time, I am aware that I have never in my life seen anything more holy and worthy and beautiful and majestic...
I dare to go another step, even though my knees are shaking now.
And then the Trinity is looking at me. A gaze that cuts through my innermost being. He knows everything - my past, my present, my future. Evert second of every day is known by Him. Shame is almost taking me down, however, something seems to hold me, like a frame that supports - oh yes, I remember... Jesus in me...

Drawn by this gaze of the Most High I venture one step closer. This sixth step is no longer made of gold, but of something even more beautiful, almost translucent.
And then I see a hand. The King of Kings, Maker of the Universe, is offering me His hand! Is this really happening? I remember all those moments in which His promises seemed so close and real, when He seemed near. It is actually true... and then - oh... my name is engraved in this hand. There it is, LENA, my very own name!
Tears run down my face, but they dry before they hit the ground.
Everything, everything, everything is true...
On my face, on the ground of translucent gold I lie before the throne of my King and Saviour, the One Who Loves Me Most. What my words cannot express, every cell of my body must display - 'I am Yours and there is nowhere I'd rather be!'

There is one more, the seventh step. However, it is not yet meant for me. But when the day of the Joy of Joys comes, I know who is waiting there for me...

Fire and Tornado

"Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people." (Exodus 13:22)

"And it came to pass, when Moses entered the tabernacle, that the pillar of cloud descended and stood at the door of the tabernacle, and the LORD talked with Moses." (Exodus 33:9)
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What must it be like to be drawn into this tornado when talking to God?
It's as if the three in one are twirling in dance, faster and faster, and to the measure I am submitting to their beckoning I am being roped into their eternal communion. Going up and up in this pillar of cloud, praising God for the rain and in the storm, and resting in the eye of the cloud pillar.
The manifestation of God's presence is awe-inspiring and wild; it is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. When the pillar of fire and the pillar of cloud go before the people, they can burn and sweep clear the way they ought to follow.

Let the pillar of purifying fire be always before us, Lord; sweep us up into Your trinitarian tornado. Lead clearly Lord, and make Your presence known no matter what the cost; it is grace for us to be allowed to follow You...

Off my Chest

I was expecting Jesus.*I had spent quite a while cleaning and tidying up and getting the place ready for His arrival. And sure enough, there's a knock on the door - and it's Him! He's come!
But as the Lord takes his first steps into the room, something is clearly going wrong. There is a massive chest of drawers very awkwardly placed right in the centre of the room, and no way to walk past it. How had I missed this?! I had no idea what to do next. Not wasting much time, Jesus, in a very Jesus-like, not reprimanding, but not overly apologetic tone of voice, asks, "What is this?"

Bless Him for asking - we both know what it is. Contritely, I look at the chest of drawers, then at Him, and say in a quiet voice, "My security."
I was hoping and expecting Him to lift it up and carry it out of the room right then. That's what He does, isn't it? Delivering, freeing people, helping them carry His burden instead of theirs. I would even have helped. As soon as I spotted it, I was ready to let go of it. I thought. But then Jesus says, "What is in it?"

Pause. Do we really have to go there, Jesus? Can't we just get rid of it, rather sooner than later, and get this done without creating a mess? It was a harmless question, but there is no choice. And even though I am mortified, I know that Jesus is the only one to whom I can actually entrust the content of these drawers. Strangely, He will be the one most hurt by these secrets, but also the safest person to open up to... So I open the drawers, one by one, laying bare the things I keep as my hidden emergency rations - things I hold on to while withholding trust in the Father's provision.

The first one is filled with clothes, and jewellery and make-up. Yes, there we go, I'm not free of this. I keep a tiny bit of extra 'wardrobe security' just in case; why does it not suffice to draw my beauty out of the knowledge of being cleansed and presented without wrinkles through Jesus (Eph 5:27), and of course the famous 1 Peter 3:4 "g&q spirit"? It's as if I'd never read A.W. Tozer's wise words -
"We need no more be ashamed of our body - the fleshly servant that carries us through life - than Jesus was of the humble beast upon which he rode into Jerusalem. 'The Lord hath need of him' may well apply to our mortal bodies. If Christ dwells in us, we may bear about the Lord of glory as the little beast did of old and give occasion to the multitudes to cry, 'Hosanna in the Highest.'"
It's Jesus in me that gives me the only chance of being the beautiful woman I want to be, and nothing else. And nothing else can ever be as secure...

On to the second drawer. It is filled with certificates, reports, references. Anything that can secure me a job, access to a course, or even just the approval of those I consider more accomplished than myself. It's the snug, "I have studied at this place" and "I was accepted here" and "My third language is", joining all these voices competing and screaming, "Look at me, I am better!"
And even worse, looking into my Maker's eyes while hiding his gifts behind my back, and saying, "They are mine! Don't take them away from me - this is why people love and accept me!" Do I not know that anxiety doesn't add one inch to my life span? That He who lets the lily radiate in beauty will not let me go hungry? Why can I not happily take the place at the end of the table, and wait for Him to assign me the place at His side? It's the orphan heart all over again.

The third drawer is filled with folders and all of them have little name tags on them. I don't even need to take a closer look at them. They are all records of the people who have needed me in the past and who I could support in some way or other. While it certainly hadn't been wrong to do so, my keeping a list of these charitable deeds is highly questionable... What do I think I was doing? Telling myself how kind and compassionate I am? Keeping these folders in order to get them out and waggle them in God's face when He tells me to wash my sister's feet, implying "Look, I've done it already"?
As I flick through the files with the Lord, it dawns on me that I seem to take a deep pleasure in the power that comes of being in the position to help, in being stronger and more together in some way than other people. A fickle hope that I have got at least one part of my life right - and a false pride in controlling this particular area in the lives of my friends. So obviously my left hand has watched intently what my right hand had been doing (Matt 6:3) and made sure the rest of my being (and the world) knew as well... and it seems that I really haven't excelled in the "grace of giving" at all (2 Cor 8). Oh, what a rotten heart...

The fourth drawer is filled with contacts, business cards, address books, and so on, of people that could turn out to be useful; some I rely and depend on quite heavily already; some are pretty big fish, and their cards are stacked in a separate pile. I can see the "spirit of the world" oozing out right there (Eph 4)... why on earth do I think these people can get me any further than the King of the Universe? This really shows my true opinion, the true image I have of the Sovereign Father of all, who "marked out their appointed times in history" (Acts 17:26) in the first place... why would I even want to take a detour and trust in man, when I belong to the one who upholds the earth? A pro has verbalised it thus: "Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is kept safe." (Prov 29:25)

And then the fifth and last drawer. OH DEAR. I haven't even opened it, and yet already I can spot a white bit of silk sticking out. As I slowly open the drawer and look inside, my worst fears are confirmed. Yes, it's a white dress. A wedding dress. So it seems that deep down I had rather take this matter in my own hands than trust the Father because He is TAKING SO FLIPPIN' LONG!! As innocent as it looks, this piece of silk and lace, it's a ticking bomb, and promises desaster if I hold on to it any longer... but then again, I need to be ready, don't I? I need to show the Lord that I'm ready, and waiting, and that I already have so...
STOP. NOW.
How often do you want Him to repeat that He knows the plans He has for you? Do you still think that this "life to the full" Jesus speaks about (John 10:10) is something kept for the future, is tied to "when's" and "if's"? Have you already forgotten the urges of Jim Elliot, whose words you have learnt by heart:
"Let us not forget - that loss is imagined, not real. I imagine peaks - enjoyment when I think of doing things together, but let not the hoping for it dull the doing of it alone. What is, is actual - what might be simply is not, and I must therefore not query God as though He robbed me - of things that are not. Further, the things that are belong to us, and they are good, God-given, and enriched. Let not our longing slay the appetite of our living."
There was a moment, once, when I had surrendered the "desire for your husband", exchanged the Gen 3:16 for the John 3:16 because God "gave His Son"; when I knew that I was made to worship God, and was satisfied in this knowledge. How had this desire managed to wriggle up my aorta again? How could I choose love of man over the love of the ever-faithful, most perfect "husband" (Isaiah 62), whose wedding-"yes" resounds through the ages?

It's all out there now, but I sense this was only the beginning. Surrender is not a motorway. But the Father is kind, and He shows me the room where He would hold these things in storage for me when I hand them over to Him. It's right next to mine, and all I need to do is come and ask if I need anything. Yes, it will be at His command to give it to me or not; that's the difficulty.
But He is a good Father, and in His infinite wisdom He will give me what I need (and more, since even a single droplet out of His well cannot be but a waterfall to me!), and when I need it.
It is about getting to the heart of these two things the Father has told us, and getting the balance of-
"When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures." (James 4:3)
"Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete." (John 16:24)
He wants my joy to be complete. Complete! And His hands are the only ones to be able to fashion this as and when He wants. Really, what's the point in trying to fashion my life myself, and having to sort through these awkward drawers frantically to get what I want, risking to displease my Father and not even succeeding at my ventures?

So I let go, slowly but more and more confidently. And see the smile on Jesus' face spread wider and wider...

*This is a picture I had during a time of sung worship at my church recently; I don't normally share them widely but sensed that this particular one, even though very relevant to my own life, was intended not just for me alone...