modern nomad

I hate to say goodbye. Once I've grown to like a place, or the people in it, I just don't want to face the reality of having to cut the ties, never to return again. So whenever I leave somewhere for some other place, part of me thinks, "Surely I will come back here. This is not goodbye." Which leaves bits of myself all over the place, like a net of home ('Home is where your heart is,' remember?), otherwise - and less sympathetically - called "geographic promiscuity" (http://themodernnomad.tumblr.com/).

I realise these days that I'm not the only one who is not tied to one single place, but with many places called home. Especially in a place like Oxford, which draws people from all over the world and then sends people everywhere for research and conference-hopping and working, all seems to be interconnected, and the strings that tie people to places cross and stretch and knot.

It is certainly true that many people migrate (and never in history have so many people been on the move) for pressing and valid reasons: war, famine, persecution, economic hopelessness. Always searching for places peaceful and prosperous to work and live with hope of a future and the protection of human rights." (http://www.blackbird.vcu.edu/v6n1/gallery/zakharia_c/nomad.htm)

Fair enough. But what about those who have all these things, and still wander? Part of it is work-related, sure. But what about this extreme group of people, those who choose to give up their wealth to go and live in exotic places (almost a reverse migration), and call themselves 'modern nomads'? What is it within humans that always draws us to explore and claim 'new' territory? Especially entitled by an 'old' name? This is almost a neocolonial movement - the desire for the foreign exotic that leads those from welathy nations to 'nomadically' move around, learning and appropriating and influencing, and tieing places together that have never been connected before.

And yet they will never be fulfilled. This desire of people to conquer has led people to the moon and the universe, and still we have not found that place called home. Tolkien famously said, "Not all who wander are lost." But as long as we are searching this world for our ultimate home, we will be - no matter how tight the net is knit. Only when we set our hearts to a Kingdom that is not from this world, will we ever be free from our many ties to places; our ultimate home is Jesus in us, and eventually life eternal in Him.

Peace All Over

"He calls us to such conscious realisation of His presence that trust becomes as natural an instinct to us as breathing. As Chambers put it, "When you really see Jesus, I defy you to doubt Him. When He says, 'Let not your hearts be troubled,' if you see Him I defy you to trouble your mind, it's a moral impossibility to doubt when he's there. Every time you get into personal contact with Jesus, his words are real. 'My peace I give you,' it's a peace all over from the crown of the head to the sole of the feet, an irrepressable confidence. 'Your life is hid with Christ in God,' and the imperturbable peace of Jesus is imparted to you." Such trust results in an inner peace that defies personal circumstances and trials. Whatever life throws at us, we know Jesus is bigger. Even in death, he gives us total assurance and confidence to trust Him and stand firm till the end."
- Simon Guillebaud in: 'More than Conquerors. A Call to Radical Discipleship.'

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...