diaries of a doubtful believer

Jesus is not the answer

2012-01-07T11:06:00.000+02:00

We all have heard the classic Christian one liner: “Jesus is the answer.” I remember as a kid in Sunday school, whatever the question was, we would always answer “Jesus”. What if we had it all wrong, what if Jesus never intended on giving answers to life’s tough questions.

Jesus never wrote anything himself. That must be our first clue. He did however told plenty of open ended stories. Funny enough, whenever he was confronted with a question, he responded with a story.

Or a question in return.

Although more than his stories, you’ll find his questions.

According to Richard Rohr, Jesus asked 189 questions in the four Gospels. Guess how many he answers.

Only three.

(I really love that about Jesus. Somewhat slippery. Jesus probably would have been a lousy Protestant preacher.)

So maybe Jesus is not the answer, but rather the question. Or questions. Tough, tricky questions we need to ask our ourselves.

Jesus is the mirror God holds up.

John Dear writes that Jesus’ questions can reposition you. Put you back on track. Reframe your God imagination and invites you into new creative possibilities. Rohr adds to this by saying that Jesus leaves us “betwixt and between”. The questions Jesus asked, backed up with uncomfortable open ended silences or even better: his earthly yet timeless life parables, leads us into liminal, transformative spaces. As Christians we follow in the footsteps of a questionable Rabbi leading us into questionable spaces that can alter the direction of our lives.

For that to happen we need not to find the right answers about God, but rather become (in the words of John Dear) answering persons responding to the questions asked by a questioning God.

Richard Rohr and John Dear says it way better than me, check it out.

God has scars

2011-06-02T16:42:00.000+02:00

Today is Ascension Thursday. Christian churches all over the world celebrate the new reign of Jesus the Good Ruler.

The first faithful had one statement of faith which caused a lot of controversy in the first century world: Jesus is Lord.

A good, law abiding roman citizen would have been very nervous around friends and family who converted to the Christian faith proclaiming that Jesus is bigger than Ceaser. A good, faithful Jew in those time would have been appalled by such a statement. How can a human be Lord (Yahwe). Who in their right mind will compare a dead Rabbi with the Mighty Yahwe?

But in spite fierce criticism, they held on tight to the hope that the new life of Jesus and his ascension to the heavens is the beginning of a new way of life possible for all of mankind.

Tom Smit writes on his blog http://www.soulgardeners.com the following:

“Ascension is the celebration that God has rose to power. It is an image that places Jesus at the top. He is higher. In the heights he has ultimate power. In the creeds we confess that, “He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God”. In Psalm 68 we hear tha this power is about:

Father of the fatherless and protector of widows

is God in his holy habitation.

God settles the solitary in a home;

he leads out the prisoners to prosperity,

but the rebellious dwell in a parched land.(v5-6)

Tom then brings Bruegemann into play with the following:

It turns out that the one who has ascended into power is not transcendent in remoteness, is not splendid in indifference, but is deeply in touch with the reality of the earth where money and power and social leverage and differentiation of gender, race, and class leave some dangerously exposed. This father-God to whom we pray “our father” rides the clouds not as a joy-rider, but rather to be in a position to see and to know and to care and to intervene and to feed and to heal and to forgive and to reconcile and to liberate. It turns out that ascension, whereby God is celebrated in power, is a claim that the earth is ordered differently because of the one who governs it. (p3-4).

I love this part that Tom wrote:

Ascension is therefore the day in which we celebrate that what God has done to Jesus now becomes the mandate of the church to serve the world. We become agents of the new government!

The ascension states that there is a regime change in the world.

A new order ruled by the one who was known as the Suffering Servant.

With this in mind I would like to add another angle to this day of celebration:

This coming Sunday our church will have reflections on Doubting Thomas and his moment of eternal fame when he touched the scars of Jesus’ suffering.

As far as know, Jesus went to heaven with those scars still in place. Or let us assume so for the sake of my heretic argument.

Today on twitter someone made the comment: “heaven is under human rule”, referring to Jesus the crucified human sitting on the right side of God: Right side being a metaphor for governing, ruling, being in charge alongside God.

I am not good with scars. I’ll rather embrace my doubt than stick my finger into someone’s wounds.

Popular culture is not good with scars, hence Photoshop and Botox.

We prefer perfection to be unblemished and unscarred.

Heaven is our ideal projection of perfection.

In heaven there are no scars. No reminders of a life of suffering. Just pure eternal bliss.

But maybe Ascension Thursday can invite us into another way of imagining heaven.

Jesus taking back the gift of humanity.

Wounds, scars, vulnerability, brokenness.

In a sense contaminating (the platonic version of a perfect) heaven with our frail humanity.

Inviting heaven downwards.

Ascending to bring heaven down.

Turning heaven into a home.

Where there is lots of room for the wounded.

Coffee Incarnation

2011-05-31T13:35:00.000+02:00

I love writing in coffee shops. I usually look for a spot way at the back, some nook or cranny where it is just me and the occasional chit-chat with an over eager waiter. Today I got the table on the “outside”, right in the walkway, almost on the edge of the shop next-door. Outside is obviously the wrong term, because there is still a roof over my head, I am after all still indoors. But that is just typical shopping mall jargon, classic suburbia. The idea is to make you feel as if you are sitting somewhere in (pseudo)nature, when you are actually in the comfort of a controlled environment.

Back to where I am sitting: The so-called “outside”, the edge. The place I prefer to avoid. Here where “they” are right in my face, or rather “me” right in their way.

What is the drawback of sitting here? Why do I avoid it most of the time?

I don’t like the buzz of people when I need inner inspiration.

It is too noisy.

I might see someone I know, eye contact will lead to conversation, and things might get awkward. I hate small talk.

I prefer to check people out from a distance, it makes me feel safe. I feel uncomfortable when I feel like I am in the middle of them. Someone might be checking me out. Where is the fun in that?

I feel exposed.

I am confronted with the fact that I am one of them, whoever they might be.

Sometimes I need to be alone.

On the arrival of my second cuppa chino I need to reflect on the magic of the table on the outside.

I see things from a different angle.

I am forced to look at people, most of them strangely familiar.

I see the guy behind the till in the shop next door. He looks unhappy.

The waiters are more chit-chatty with me, because other customers can see us. I get to learn a lot of new names.

I am part of the action (bear in mind that “action” is relative to the context of a suburbia shopping mall)

My inner inspiration is complemented (or challenged?) by a multitude of external impetuses.

From here I am writing with a different reader in mind.

After a while I become more aware, more in tuned with the world I live in, faces, names, thoughts, ideas, movements, music, lyrics, marketing promises, noises and smells become a way of opening myself to new ways thinking.

Maybe this is what the incarnation in the Christian faith tradition is all about. Putting your “carne” your body in a different place, moving from the known to the unknown in the hope of experiencing Metanoia, the opening of the mind to a bigger reality.

Charter for Compassion

2011-05-26T08:14:00.000+02:00

The Charter:

The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect.

It is also necessary in both public and private life to refrain consistently and empathically from inflicting pain. To act or speak violently out of spite, chauvinism, or self-interest, to impoverish, exploit or deny basic rights to anybody, and to incite hatred by denigrating others—even our enemies—is a denial of our common humanity. We acknowledge that we have failed to live compassionately and that some have even increased the sum of human misery in the name of religion.

We therefore call upon all men and women ~ to restore compassion to the centre of morality and religion ~ to return to the ancient principle that any interpretation of scripture that breeds violence, hatred or disdain is illegitimate ~ to ensure that youth are given accurate and respectful information about other traditions, religions and cultures ~ to encourage a positive appreciation of cultural and religious diversity ~ to cultivate an informed empathy with the suffering of all human beings—even those regarded as enemies.

We urgently need to make compassion a clear, luminous and dynamic force in our polarized world. Rooted in a principled determination to transcend selfishness, compassion can break down political, dogmatic, ideological and religious boundaries. Born of our deep interdependence, compassion is essential to human relationships and to a fulfilled humanity. It is the path to enlightenment, and indispensible to the creation of a just economy and a peaceful global community.

click here to go the website

Eagleton on Dawkins

2011-05-26T08:00:00.000+02:00

Terry Eagleton flinging punches at Richard Dawkins. I wonder who will turn the other cheek?

http://www.lrb.co.uk/v28/n20/terry-eagleton/lunging-flailing-mispunching

The Missional Ponderings of a Leftbehinder

2011-05-21T21:34:00.000+02:00

While the perfect Christians have been raptured to go and live in their heavenly mansions of shimmering gold, we, “the left behind followers of Jesus” will have to embrace life here on earth.

For those of us who feel a little left behind, this is my Top Ten Tribulation Survival Guide:

1. Earth is our home. Contrary to popular Christian belief, this is all we’ve got (for now). We were made out of the Earth, this is where we belong. God loves Earth. As followers of Jesus, we need to love it too.

2. God is first love, then grace, then just.

3. The raptured Christians are wrong when they say that the time of grace has come to an end. Grace never ends.

4. Humour goes a long way. It is OK to laugh, especially in (at) church, because the stuff some Christians say about God is really funny.

5. No, the ANC were not responsible for the logistics of the rapture. There is a better explanation for why it did not happen: It is just bad theology, simple as that.

6. There is more than one way to read and understand The Bible…

7. …but to read it in a fundamentalist way is just plain dangerous.

8. Christians need to learn how to believe with more that just emotions. It is OK to use your brain when it comes to God.

9. We are called to add flavour to this life, not to sit and wait for God to take us out of life.

10. Love wins.

Fear or faith?

2010-09-09T14:24:00.000+02:00

If this guy could do it, so could Jesus...

when trees and coals become a way of praying

2010-09-07T11:17:00.000+02:00

the last few weeks have been tricky to say the least. life has a way of showing you all her ways at once.

I stood beside the death bed of a child. only five years old. grandparents in the kitchen keeping their minds busy with dirty dishes. mom and dad growing in faith while I feel like loosing mine. life slowly leaving a body.

I shared in their lost and sorrow.

the same week I sat with a young couple planning their wedding. DJ, flowers, wine and ceremony. We joked about the honeymoon, spoke about sex, touched on communication and conflict.

I shared in their joy and hope.

life and death, are like trees and coals.

here in the city where I work and live, we treasure the life of trees. Johannesburg is the largest man made forest in the world. over the weekend my wife and I planted 6 new trees in our garden. the hope is a small forest we can call home. there is something sacred in planting a tree. a tree has a soul. it is as if it knows something about life that I, mere homo sapien will never fully grasp. a tree's breath gives new life. it cleanses, it heals, it becomes a filter that keeps life brimming.

to plant a tree a hard work. try planting a tree instead of hitting the gym. but more than that, it becomes a way of praying. you find a rhythm. your mind focus. your body adapts. your soul for a moment become part of the soul of the tree. somewhere between mud, manure and the simple way of a young tree, you see and feel something of God's presence.

last night I lit a fire. our first braai to welcome spring. I thought about the circle of life. a tree died, it became wood. it made friends with paper and fire. it glowed with a new identity. it burned full flame. it turned into coals.

lamb on the grill became a holy feast.

the death of a tree. the death of a lamb. a sacrificial celebration of the first signs of a new season.

sounds familiar?

2010-08-23T08:35:00.000+02:00

Yesterday, God of our days,

when our hunger for hope

had so weakened us

we could barely speak,

you fed us with

the Bread of life,

spread with the sweet honey

of your grace.

Today, Host to the poor,

when we look for you

in the powerful and the rich,

among the superstar and celebrity,

we will find you

seated with the children,

your knees squeezed painfully

under the table,

entertaining them

with your stories.

Tomorrow, Spirit of Service,

when we will be scrambling

for the seats of honor,

you will be in the kitchen

cooking dinner for the prisoners;

making up the guest room

for the immigrants;

singing lullabies of love

to the lost children

of our world.

God in Community, Holy in One:

yesterday, today, tomorrow, always,

we will pray as Jesus has taught us, saying,

Our Father . . .

(taking from http://lectionaryliturgies.blogspot.com/)

Jesus the gardener

2010-07-20T22:14:00.002+02:00

I met Jesus the other day in a public restroom at OR Tambo airport. He greeted me with a cloth in the one hand and disinfectant in the other saying: “Welcome to my office!” His office was pristine and his pride sincerely genuine. To my shame I only gave him a tip and a thank you. Only later on the plane back home did the thought cross my mind: Maybe that was Jesus?

Two millennia ago a girl named Mary met Jesus in a graveyard garden. At first glance he looked like the local gardener.

Why a garden? The day after the resurrection John takes us back to the beginning. The story of God and us started in a garden, God getting his hands dirty with chaos and darkness, working life into soil, water, light and air, resting after a hard week’s work. Old Adam getting his first job description, “tend to God’s garden”. John introduces us to Jesus, the Neo Adam. The first encounter with this new Adam is also in a garden. God’s story reaches full circle. Jesus the Resurrected Gardener tending to God’s new creation. Later on in the Scriptures Paul reflects further on this theme saying “Christ is the firstborn of all creation, for in him all things in heaven and earth were created.”

Reading the stories of Jesus in a garden confronts us with state of the garden(s) we call Earth. It is impossible to ignore the fact that so many of the settings for the Jesus narrative are played out in relationship with nature. The metaphors of the gospel are embedded in and born from the first garden. To read the gospel without noticing the desert, the “veld”, the ocean, the flowers, the orchids, the mountains and the gardens is almost impossible. Yet that is exactly what the church has done for a very long time. Otherwise we would not have been in such a big mess right now.

Jesus a gardener? But this essay is not necessarily about the search for a faithful eco-theology, although that goes without saying. I am fascinated with Jesus being the gardener. Eugene Peterson writes that nature, “for all its considerable attractions, it is considerably deficient in person”. A garden longs for a gardener, more accurately a good gardener. I suck at gardening and my garden is not silent about it. Weeds take over and reveal my lack of a “hands on” approach, young plants die in the winter frost and old beddings cry out for more creativity and beauty. O but when the gardener loves and understands his garden! When he or she puts time, effort and patience into it, it flourishes to say the least.

Eden was created by and for the Good Gardener through whom God reveals life and creativity. To love the garden is to love the person taking care of it.

I, on the other hand need to make a confession: I struggle with Jesus being a gardener. I grew up in a context where a gardener is called a “tuinman” ,“tuinboy” or “die boy” depending on what side of the railway tracks you lived, the latter being less political correct. As a child it was often my duty to make sure he is sorted at lunch time. The order was pretty standard: Four thick slices of bread covered with butter, two eggs fried, one slice polony and a tin cup of sweet “plastic koffie”. He used to sit in the sun or the shade depending on the Western Cape weather and ate his meal in silence, with only the dog and cat as companions. On any good day a gardener is dirty, scruffy and sweaty, covered with hours of hard work and sunburn. Yet Mary confused Jesus with one.

Even more confusing is that this happened after the resurrection, after the big victory, after he was crowned Christ, the Saviour. The shackles of death are broken, hell is overcome and a new life is possible all because of Jesus, what a letdown then to be confused with someone toiling away in soil, stone and manure.

Jesus the Resurrected King (as describe in the last book of the Bible) was at first glance mistaken for someone working in a graveyard garden. What does that say about Jesus, about our Christology, our images, metaphors, music, prayers and liturgy?

Jesus “die boy” My friend Reggie Nel is spot on when saying Jesus was not white. Especially in a world where white represents upper/middle class suburbia, private schools, swimming pools and holidays at the coast.

In this story Jesus was a “tuinjong” or rather “die boy”.

For me as a white “Suid-Afrikaans” (currently suburbia) believer, who grew up eating and drinking out of a different set of cutlery than the person working in our garden, this encounter with Jesus poses a big problem. Because: “die boy” is black. He comes from the homelands. He lives in a shack. He did not finish high school. “Die boy” works in my garden. He broke the “grassnyer”. “Die boy” drinks his “soet koffie” out of the old chipped cup. He walks back home. My neighbour keeps his children away from “die boy”. We all are a little scared of him.

But “die Boy” is Jesus and like Mary, I also confused Jesus for just the gardener, for someone I can dish out stale bread and polony, while I helped myself to toasted rye bread and Serrano Ham.

This brings me back to the restroom worker at the airport who might have been Jesus. The way Jesus reintroduced himself to the world after the cross and the empty grave invites his followers to a new way of relational living. These strange encounters with the people who knew him best, challenges the church (humanity?) to take another look at the stranger and the poor. After Mary confused Jesus for a gardener, every other gardener for the rest of her life would have gotten a second glance, a look accompanied with an expectation. The same is true for the two fellows who travelled to Emmaus and struggled to see Jesus in the form of a stranger on the road. Will they ever be able to treat any other stranger as if he or she is just a stranger passing by?

The more I read this story, the more I imagine the alternative. Is it possible to make the same mistale as Mary, but the other way around? Can we learn the art of mistaking ordinary people for Jesus? The invitation of the Jesus story is to confuse a gardener with Jesus, to make the foolish mistake of treating people as if they are the Resurrected Messiah.

How can I, after reading that his close friends discovered Jesus in the oddest of times through the oddest of people, not expect to meet Jesus on my way to pee?

There is an old legend of a monastery in the woods with unresolved conflict and envy amongst the monks living there. Out of desperation the Father went to an old Jewish Rabbi who also lived in the forest. The only advice that the Rabbi gave him was that one of his monks were indeed the Messiah. The Father walked back to monastery very confused. At his arrival the rest of the monks were waiting for the news from the rabbi. “One of you is the Messiah.” the father spoke quietly. During the coming weeks the monks could not stop talking about the fact that one of them was indeed the Messiah. As time went on they started treating themselves and the other differently, as if one of them were the Messiah.

Madiba, a messiah. Let’s for a moment confuse an old president for Jesus. Here in South Africa the birthday of Nelson Mandela is getting bigger and bigger, to the point where we celebrate it almost with an air of religiosity. Lately his birthday aka Mandela Day is accompanied with an invitation: To give 67 minutes of your time in doing something good for your community. 67 minutes of following in Madiba’s footsteps. 67 minutes of becoming Madiba-like. 67 minutes of practising the art of mistaking ordinary people for Nelson Mandela.

I can’t help but to see the connection between Jesus the Resurrected Messiah and Nelson the South-African messiah. Maybe that is what distinguished Madiba from other heads of state and what distinguished Jesus from other ancient Jewish Rabbis, both practised the art of treating ordinary people, events, places and created things as if they where God with us.

The same is true with other messiah figures in other cultures and religions. The lives of people like Abraham, Moses, Mother Theresa, Ghandi, Mohammed, Buddha, Tutu and co. invites humanity into the graveyard gardens where ordinary men and women covered with sweat and dirt are confused with Christ the Saviour of the world.

Imagine such a garden...

missional pockets

2010-04-24T08:55:00.000+02:00

God is at work in the world. In the mundane, everyday going to work, eating, drinking, playing, doing love life, we are able to stumble upon the fresh footprints of God. I call these footprints missional pockets. Small (and big) signs of God's presence, his will and the things God's up to.

Most of us, if we take a good look at our lives will be able to see one or two missional pockets taking shape in and around our life stories. From a group of friends getting together, eating, sharing and praying that something meaningful will grow out of their friendship; to a teacher making extra time for an under achieving student.

The trick (or the grace-bit) is to look with missional eyes at the everyday stuff we do.

Being apologetic

2010-02-19T08:29:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I met a stranger to the Christian faith story, someone that does not believe in (any) God. We did not talk about religion or Christianity, instead we small talked about the country, Africa, crime, cycling and work. Afterwards I imagined the conversation going a bit deeper, towards him asking me why I am a Christian.

Why do I (try to) believe? I will leave the "what" for another doubtful day.
Why bother with religion, faith, church and God?

My answer will probably sound soppy, but just bear with me for a moment.

If not for Jesus son of Mary and Joe (and eventually "son of God") I could not have cared less about faith. The last few months I read the four Gospels' account of the life, death and new life of Jesus the Jew from Nazareth. The more I think, contemplate and allow the stories about Jesus to shape my everyday spiritual imagination, the more hopeful I get about knowing God.

Here was someone who got life right, in such a way that his friends (and even family!) experienced his way of life as the Way of God (also known as the coming of the kingdom of God). Even after his death, or especially after his death did the picture he drew about humanity and God bacame so clear that his friends (and family) believed him to be alive again. Some of them had the gift of (re)telling the stories about his life in such a way that it kicked started a revolution of faith. From all walks of life people joined the movement in the direction of a new way of being human.

Because of the way Jesus lived and died, a new world is possible.

It took me a long time to believe in this "new world". I got stuck in the ways of religion and culture, but through the stories told by Mark, Matthew, Luke and John Jesus rescued me from the mundane ways of religiosity and the selfishness of consumer humanity.

I (try to) believe because I see it to be the only way to reconnect with what it means to be truly human.

Christian imagination

2010-02-18T09:56:00.000+02:00

The last two weeks I’d been having different conversations about following Jesus. Most of the time we ended on a very hopeful and inspiring note, but in almost all of the conversations there was a moment when we felt stuck, as if we have reached a dead end in terms of what it means to be a “disciple” aka a follower of Jesus. As I am writing these words, I again feel the slight frustration I felt during the conversations.

Why do I struggle to follow Jesus?

Because it is hard, tough, tricky and dangerous? Sure.

But the above were not the reasons for the dead end feeling during the conversations. In fact the above stuff did more to spice up the conversation than to discourage it.

The dead end was created by something else: Our Christian imagination. The way we think, dream, hope, talk, pray and listen to/about the calling of Christ.

It has been high jacked by years of church.

When we hear: “Follow me” we immediately think: Church, bible, outreach programmes and worship services. We hear the words “full time ministry” and we tend to think that priests and pastors are “called” in a more special way than people with “working jobs”. Eventually we end up with a very fuzzy imagination about what it means to follow Jesus in the 21st century.

A friend of mine is part of a faith community in the suburbs of Cape Town. A year ago a theology student volunteered to work full time the community, helping out with day to day stuff. The first conversation that my friend had with the student was about his Christian imagination. At the end he told him: “Before we give you any responsibilities, we first have to detox your imagination, because it has been contaminated by too much church.”

Sometimes we need to "unchurch" or faith journey so that we can reimagine the way of Jesus.

Jesus is not my boyfriend

2010-02-10T08:36:00.000+02:00

"Jesus lover of my soul, Jesus I will never let you go..." I used to sing this song at the top of my voice back in my crazy charismatic days. I thought that this is what following Jesus is all about. The touchy, feely, needy stuff that makes you all warm inside and glowy on the outside.

I guess it's OK if that's the way you fly your religious kite.

But things have changed for me the last few years.

Jesus is not my boyfriend anymore.

He is the rebel Prophet, son of God in whos footstep I blindly stumble. There is nothing romantic about following Jesus. With him nothing is fuzzy and fluffy. It is always grounded, solid, real and truthful. It cuts straight through my cultural bullshit and gets to the heart of what (my) life can look like.

A few months ago I blogged about a book called The Irresistible Revolution. The writer, Shane Claiborne wrote that Jesus wrecked him.

Wrecked?

That's not what you expect from "Boyfriend Jesus". No, "Boyfriend Jesus" soothes the soul, warms the heart and puts a little band aid on your scratch mark.

The other Jesus, the one I struggle to understand, describe or get to grips with sends you out into the wilderness like lambs among wolves, he gives you a cross (though lighter than the burden of the world) and then he measures your character and faith with the help of the poor and the hungry.

Shine

2010-01-11T09:05:00.000+02:00

Creation started with the words: “Let there be light”. Millions of years later, an ancient poet king, known as David, wrote that we are bright with Eden's dawn light (Psalm 8).

I wonder if we ask the sheep, cattle, whales, fish, birds, plants, soil and trees that also feature in the David's poem whether we are still shining with Eden's light, what their answer will be. I think they will say no.

Somewhere the human race got lost in the darkness. Eden’s light that was once shining in all of us faded.

When it comes to our true identity, we’ve missed our mark.

Centuries later, a wild Jewish Rabbi told his friends and followers that he is the New Light. The more they got to know him, the more they discovered it to be true. The ancient Light of yonder year, back when we “narrowly missed being gods...” was once again shining in the life of a human.

Later, after his death they remembered his first sermon. “You are the light. I am making you light bearers. I am putting you up on a hill, like a city. Shine, so that other can see the God colours of this world!” (Matthew 5:13-16)

Imagine a world where the ancient light of Eden shines again through every human being.

Avatar

2010-01-08T18:11:00.000+02:00

I went to see the new James Cameron film, Avatar. Every human being who lives with a longing of finding our way as a specie again has to go and see this film (if at all possible go see it in 3D!). The energy of Life is the central theme and over and against it is the human race's disconnection with it, or shall I rather say "Her".

I struggle to find words to describe the film and especially what it did to me.

I think I have to go see it again and again and again...

The longing behind the list

2010-01-06T08:25:00.000+02:00

Every year millions of people make their new year's list. Most of the time it all boils down to the same old stuff. Loosing weight, getting fit, stay healthy, save money, spend more time with family and stop smoking. As individuals our spesific commitments for a new year might differ, but looking at the bigger picture, I believe it all has to do with the same journey: "The longing to return to paradise lost." Somewhere in ancient history the human race lost it's true identity, being made "imago Deo", in His likeness. Our lists over New Year are like prayers or yearnings to be made new or to become new. To find the old ancient path(s) that will restore us with the One in who's footstep we're suppose to follow.

The reality is that no list can ever help us find our path. No self help book, no blog, no mountain hilltop or pilgrimage. It may help us to find traces of His footprints in the wilderness where we got lost, signs saying that Someone came after us, we were not left alone, God sent out a "search and rescue".

A few years ago, while studying, a local church came up with a catchphrase during a time when they as a community were wrestling with the theology behind grace and salvation. The poster on the lamp post near my flat read: "Be found." Behind the words was small boy lost in the wilderness.

To be found.

Maybe that is the message locked up in the secret codes of our New Year's lists.

The energy of change

2010-01-05T08:33:00.000+02:00

I love change. I can go on for miles as long as know that whatever I am working on will shape, grow, demold, reshape and start growing again. That is the power of a new year for me, the potential and the go-ahead for change. It is as if everyone this time of the year are open toward new ideas. The world around me starts to dream, so I just follow the creative stream.

But this year, instead of trying to bring in something big en new, I'll be working on the lifestyle changes I made last year, trying to keep up the good work that is already going on inside me.

Here is my list of old things I'll keep on doing, but maybe just a little better:

Eat more from our veggie patch.
To keep on blogging and writing.
Read as wide and often as I can.
Keep on adding to a greener lifestyle.
Stay fit (last year needed to become fit!).
Learn how to pray.
Share my life.
Give away.
Humor the roles society gives me.
Stay connected (especially with El, my wife).

Tomorrow I will reflect about the meaning of this list.

Tending to the limp

2010-01-04T08:56:00.000+02:00

Last night at church someone asked me when I am going to take a holiday, since I have worked the graveyard shift all through the festive season. No I told him, I don't think this train is going to stop pretty soon. This year is already running at full steam. Some of my friends are still sunbathing somewhere on a Cape Town beach, but here in die heart of the economic capital of Africa the train has left and is going at full speed.

So first things first, that my new years plan.

Top of the list: Fixing the limp.

I just got off from a telephone conversation I dreaded for a long time, a meeting I avoided, a connection born in conflict. To keep on avoiding it will be to ignore the wound and keep on limping.

Another friend who went out of his way last year to do something good to me, is also waiting for my "thank you". Or so I think. For some or other reason, after I received his goodwill, I just went on with life, never looking back, never saying thanks. Given enough time and some one's goodwill towards you, becomes life's judgement of your true character. And I failed, spectacularly.

Now I am limping in the new year.

I need to get this limp fixed. I need to face the conflict that has the potential of dragging on and holding me back.

Sunday

2010-01-03T08:38:00.000+02:00

It is the first Sunday of the new year. A decade since the dawn of a new millennium. I woke up last night while the rain was belting down, this morning it is as if the earth around my life has been washed clean. I find it symbolic and very meaningful, cause isn’t this what most of us hope for at the start of a new year: to be made new, to start off fresh, to be handed a clean slate.

But somehow life doesn’t work like that, for most of us anyway.

At the start of every new beginning you still carry a piece of the old journey with you. Maybe a treasure you discovered along your old way, or a limp from a fall on some tricky and dodgy road.

I have learned that these treasures and limps help us on our new journey.

As a human race we need to embark on a new journey, a new way of doing life. Although we’ve picked up (in most cases stolen and exploited... some stunning treasures, we have left the earth with a big limp. If we continue on this road it will lead to a dead end. But I believe that there is a way off this path towards a better road and hopefully towards a life giving end.

May we have the courage to take the detour, may we have the kindness of soul to tread lightly through the unknown wilderness and may we create a new path by walking it in love.

More about Soul Khaya

2009-11-24T12:17:00.000+02:00

Ages ago a few friends and strangers, outcasts and insiders, intellectuals and hopeful nobodies, rich and poor, men and women saw a glimpse of a new way of life in a Jewish Rebel Rabbi called Jesus Ben Josef, or JC for short. After his death, whenever they got together they felt a powerful new presence of their old friend in and amongst them. As individuals they felt as if they got a new change at doing life even though their history told otherwise. They believed that through the death of their friend and this new presence that they feel whenever they get together, they are being made new.

One of them coined a term “Neo Adam” (check out the writings of Paul in the NT) and developed a whole new theology just to get to terms with what it means to live as human being who got a second change.

As a group of friends, whenever they were together (two or more), their old Friend would show up, sometimes as part of the conversation, sometimes as a stranger along the way, but most of the time while they were eating. The more they got together the more they started to believe that whatever was happening to them should be like butter, it must be spread. And so they went out, telling stories, sharing meals, mending broken bodies, minds and souls, changing lives, creating hope. As more and more people joined and changed, they got the feeling that they can change the world.

And they did.

Some called this movement Church, some called it Christianity, but at the start it was just known as The Way.

More and more followers of Jesus are starting to reclaim that first “label”, because somewhere between The Way and The Church we've lost our first love for the Rebel Rabbi and his invitation to be like him. Recently a few friends and myself stumbled upon the term: "Soul Khaya" (in the Zulu language khaya means home) and something inside us kicked like the first kick of an unborn baby. It's as if our imaginations about a new way of being "church" got wings and took flight. Ever since we've been dreaming about being a "Soul Khaya". We hope that Soul Khaya will be about being a Way again, about the “getting together of friends and strangers” in the hope that our Old Friend will show up.

Soul Khaya and friends

2009-11-23T22:34:00.000+02:00

There is a new yet ancient way of being that’s breaking through the horizon. All over the globe a new Christianity is being born, a movement away from doctrines and dogma towards a life of habits and regulas, from religion to relations, from joining an institutional church to following Jesus in community with other hopeful believers.

Together with a few friends, my wife and I are feeling the first kicks of this unborn hope. We call it Soul Khaya.

We long to live in real community with one another, to share our stories, our fears, our hopes, our prayers, our stuff, our homes and all of our lives with friends and strangers.
We hope to be the change we long to see.
We try to walk in the deep and dangerous footprints of Jesus.
We invite strange people into our journey.
We hope to get invited, because we are the strangers.
We look at our own lives and discover our own strangeness.
We practise the art of getting lost and being found.
On Fridays we share a traditional South-African meal in a local township eatery.
We long to break out of our middle class way of living in the suburbs and we battle with the temptation of being safe and comfy.
Once a month we get together and allow our faith and doubt to rub off on each other.

The last few months I have met more and more people that are witnessing the movement of the Spirit in similar ways like Soul Khaya. My friend Tom Smit, the Soul Gardener from “Kleipot” has been part of something similar for six years now. On the other side of the globe Alan Hirsch and friends discovered that they are like a “small boat in a big sea”. The Ordinary Radicals like Shane Claiborne have found it to be “The Simple Way”. Recently I have made friends with 3rd year students at Tukkies in Pretoria who are reframing “church” and are about to be embark upon this strange yet exciting faith journey.

More about this journey as the week unfolds.

http://soulkhaya.blogspot.com/
http://www.thesimpleway.org/
http://www.soulgardeners.com/
http://www.claypot.co.za/
http://www.smallboatbigsea.org/

The death of a tree

2009-11-16T14:45:00.001+02:00

A few months ago I wrote about a little “Karee Wilger” tree that was uprooted by a gardener who declared it dead. A friend brought it to me after he saw that there was still a little branch growing new leafs. We planted it and I did everything I could to help it survive the winter. At one stage it looked as if the little bugger was going to make it, but then the last revenge of winter’s icy frost gave the little tree its final blow. And so it died right before spring could breathe new energy and life into it.

It reminds of the life story of German theologian Dietrich Bonheoffer who fought hard and brave for the cause of Christ and then, right before the liberation of Europe and the fall of Hitler in 1945, he was executed.

Life has got a funny way of going in the other direction and reminding us that we humans are not as in control as we hope to be or think we are. Even for those travelling on the straight and narrow, life gives no guarantee.

An ancient philosopher, poet and writer struggled with the same thing. Good happens to bad people, bad happens to good people. The strong gets the same deck of cards as the weak.

In other words: Shit happens.

But then I stumbled upon a chapter in Brian McLaren’s book “Everything must change” called:
Hope happens.

Hope not shit. Hope from underneath the shit. Hope amongst all the shit. Hope in spite of shit. Hope against all shit. Hope because of shit.
The death of a tree leads to the decomposing of roots, leaves and branches, which in turn leads to new life. The death of a theologian by the hands of the enemy leads to the immortalising of his ideas, thoughts, truths and wisdom about how to become a follower of Jesus.

Only through death is resurrection possible.

Sacred Garden

2009-10-16T08:55:00.000+02:00

Is there anything more sacred than ripe strawberries from your own little veggie garden, or watching the runner beans breaking through the soil to experience their first taste of sunlight, or smelling the newly planted sweet basil, rocket and parsley, or the expectancy of a little crop of maize, or the forest floor smell coming from your compost heap, or the sheer joy of growing your own tomatoes, chillies, lettuce, spring onions, beetroot, radish and Chinese cabbage?

No wonder the Book of God starts off with God being in a garden. Sowing, planting, growing and creating.

And then God looked at Homo sapiens and said: This is your home. Get your hands dirty! You’ll find joy in what you do.

But somewhere, with the help of shopping malls, plastic bags and pesticides we lost our earthly connection with Creation and its Creator. We’ve evolved into specie that relates better to lifeless, plastic, shiny metal stuff, than with earth, water, wind and fire.

No wonder we give a shit about life on earth.

Until you start to get compost and dirt underneath your fingernails, until you eat an entire meal out of your own little patch of life, until you reconnect with the way the seasons change and life grows and dies before your eyes, until then you’ll be fine with having carrots out of a plastic bag,

Let them have cake

2009-10-14T11:23:00.000+02:00

In half an hour from now we’ll be throwing a spur of the moment birthday party for Humphrey.

Humphrey takes care of our garden once a week.

I did not know it’s his birthday today.

But Humphrey arrived here with a big cake.

His birthday must be noticed.

His humanity must be validated.

The cake becomes an outcry, a sort of metaphor reminding us that countless people from all walks of life arrive and leave unnoticed; men and women who never get to blow out candles and hear the cheers of friends and strangers celebrating the honour of being human.

At the place where I work we tend to make a big fuss about the people that look, talk and think like us. The rest, those who we so easily forget, are just given a cake, but without the cheers.

But not today.

Today will be different, because while the lawnmower growls in the background, and the chicken is cooking in the oven my wife is out doing some extra shopping, because a cake won’t do justice to Humphrey’s worth and value in and around our home and lives.

Nduvha lavhudi lamabebo anu Humphrey!

Kinderkrans

2009-09-17T08:49:00.000+02:00

I am a child of the eighties. I grew up in a white, farming community. Every Monday after school my brother and I went to an “obligatory” Christian gathering for kids, called “Kinderkrans”.

Now forget everything you know about children education, experiential learning or fun activities, because the wife of the dominee had other plans.

Kinderkrans was a mini-church council meeting. We had agendas and minutes. We had to stay dead quite, only the adults could talk. Only once did they do something fun with us. On a hot summers day they brought out trays full of Oros cool drinks. That was it.

This morning I thought of the stuff they taught us in Kinderkrans.

1. The correct pronouncement of the word: “Hallelujah”.
2. To live “apart” from people that believe, look, think and talk differently from you is the way the world should be.
3. Jesus died on the cross for my sins.
4. Only missionaries should “work” amongst “the blacks”.
5. Jesus lives in my heart.
6. Black people don’t believe in Jesus, that’s why missionaries are so important.
7. All people who aren’t Christian will go to hell.
8. How to pray the “Our Father” prayer.
9. Christians don’t swear, drink, dance or marry blacks.
10. Catholics and Jehovah’s witnesses are also going to hell.
11. It’s the best to give money to help the missionaries hand out Bibles to the black people in Mozambique and Malawi, but you don’t have to give your money to help the blacks of South-Africa to live a decent, humane life.
12. Jesus loves all children.
13. Children must be seen, not heard.
14. Heaven is a perfect place for perfect people.
15. The Dutch Reformed Church has a perfect theology.

No wonder I am a doubtful believer, my faith was built on shit let alone sand.

Crazy Church

2009-09-14T08:00:00.000+02:00

"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them, disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward. Maybe they have to be crazy. How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on heels. We make tools for these kinds of people. While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

Apple Computers came up with the above marketing mission statement.

I think this is how a church should act and think as well.

Ages ago a Christian writer named Paul, took a look at the first followers of The Way and remarked that they all were a little bit crazy.

While Apple is making "tools" for these kinds of people, Jesus helped them to see that through their stories the Kingdom of God is getting closer by the day.

Imagine a church filled with misfits, rebels, troublemakers, rifrafts and round pegs...

I wonder how long till the roof comes down so that we all pray and play under stars?

Jesus in Suburbia

2009-09-07T08:38:00.000+02:00

Last night I spoke about how our suburb is changing, but not our church. In the Afrikaans South-African story churches became the last place of safety and comfort. Apart from our high-tech security that changed our streets into base camps and our houses into prisons, the church became that one place where everything must be familiar and predictable.

We do this with language and cultural theology.

The idea is (although we don’t admit it) that when outsiders stumble in, only those that look, think and talk like us will come again. The rest must keep on looking for a church with people of their kind.

But Jesus took his little band of travelling Jews on a different journey. Instead of visiting the familiar, safe and predictable Jewish towns, he took them to the Samaritans, the Greeks, the Romans, the Arabs, the Africans, the lepers, the prostitutes, the poor and the vulnerable. He took them out of their place of comfort and safety, on a dangerous and tricky road.

Imagine Jesus as a Dutch Reformed pastor today in an all white suburban utopia.

I wonder how long till the church counsel kicks him out?

Soul Khaya

2009-08-28T21:41:00.000+02:00

In search of a spa as a birthday treat for my wife, I stumbled upon a little spa called The Soul Khaya. In the Zulu language Khaya means home.

In the book "The Irresistible Revolution that I am blogging about for the next few weeks, Shane Claiborne speaks of Christians forming hospitality houses as a new way of living in community.
Tonight our home became a hospitality house, or a Soul Khaya if you will. Strangers became new friends when a group of Jesus Followers from Mozambique joined us for a very simple but soulful dinner.

Religion taught me that church happens in a big building on a sunday, or when Christians pray and read the Bible together.

But recently new voices are helping me to find a Third Way of living with faith. This Third Way is neither religion, nor anti-faith. Rather it's that thing that happens when humans transform their ordinary personal day to day life into little Soul Khayas so that weary travelers can find rest and strangers can become good friends.

Soul Khaya, it's what happened when two friends invited a stranger on their journey into their home, just to discover that the stranger was their old friend Jesus.

Soul Khaya happened this week when a group of Jesus friends took a detour in their daily life to visit a few police stations in the area, taking with them grace in the form doughnuts and good coffee.

Soul Khaya happened around our dinner table tonight.

Soul Khaya, I call debs on the name for the church/community I hope to belong to one of these days.

Resurrecting Church

2009-08-26T08:20:00.000+02:00

“...at that moment we decided to stop complaining about the church we saw, and set our hearts on becoming the church we dreamed of.” (Irresistible Revolution, Chapter 2, p.64)

When I lived in Cape Town I was part of a group of friends who spent every Wednesday in the company of homeless people living in the city centre. It started as a failed attempt to “plant” a church for the young and rich living in the city, but it ended up as something very meaningful and life changing. We called ourselves: Street People Church. There I saw a glimpse of what Shane and his student friends saw while living life in an abandoned Catholic Church with homeless people who found their refuge there.

The church I dream of.

Somewhere down the line I have lost that dream; a place where anyone is always welcome, a way of life that creates deep friendships out of an honest interdependent community living.

But recently this dream started to flicker, just a tiny little light. I am actually too scared to say it out loud in fear that I might blow it out.

Two nights ago my wife and I came home from a weekend away. It was late and the gate of the church (we live on the premises) was closed. We waited for 20 minutes before the security opened the gate. While waited (very impatiently) I had this feeling of standing outside a building called church, but that being church is something completely different. The dream and the reality is far removed.

But then I hear the stories Shane tells of life in the so-called Badlands of Philly, or my friend and his brother in law who are helping people living in poverty to start their own veggie gardens, or my wife who spends extra time each night to help a little girl with her homework, or the brother I came across cleaning the men’s restrooms at the airport; at the door he greets everyone coming in for a pee or a poop with the words: “Welcome to my office”, classic!

Suddenly the dream is not that far away...

Breaking out

2009-08-19T12:41:00.000+02:00

"I learned in confirmation classes about the fiery beginnings op the Methodist Church and its signature symbol of the cross wrapped in the flame of the Spirit. Where had the fire gone? I learned about John Wesley, who said that if they didn't kick him out of town after he spoke, he wondered if he had really preached the gospel. I remember Wesley's old saying, "If I should die with more than ten pounds, may every man call me a liar and a thief," for he would have betrayed the gospel. Then I watched as one of the Methodist congregations I attended built a $120 000 stained-glassed window. I stared at that window...longing for Jesus to break out of it, to free himself, to come to rise from the dead...again." (taking form Irresistible Revolution, Shane Claiborne, page 43)

Christianity in the rich suburbs of Jozi is a dangerous activity. Before you know it it can get you into a lot of trouble. Around here, as in most rich areas around the world, life and faith tend revolve around stuff. And stuff tend to revolve around money.

Last night we looked at our church's monthly budget. It's probably more than the collective earnings of most poor communities around our suburb.

Being rich and a follower of Jesus is a tough tension to balance.

Mostly I find it's easier to ignore Jesus and just try to be a good, civilized modern human being, it goes down well in church, cause mostly people relate that type of living to Christianity.

But since I have encoutered the Ordinary Radicals of The Simple Way and the way Shane tells their story, I was forced to take another look at Christianity, but this time with Jesus.

Now, all I see is stained glass windows I long for Jesus to break out of.

How did we end up like this? How did the church move from a Way to a Religion, from a community of nobodies to an exclusive club of lookalikes?

We need a new kind of ressurection again, then hopefully all we'll see and hear is the shattering of glass.

"When Christianity was still safe"

2009-08-17T12:08:00.000+02:00

"It's what always happens to the saints and prophets who are dangerous: we bronze them, we drain them of their passion and life and trap them in stained-glass windows and icons, confining them safely in memories of the past. St. Francis becomes a birdbath, Malcoml X is put on a stamp, and Martin Luther King gets a holiday. And Jesus gets commercialized...It becomes hard to know who Jesus really is, much less to imagine Jesus ever laughed, cried, or had poop that smelled."

In the first chapter of Irrisitible Revolution, Shane remembers his life when it was still comfy and cozy, before Jesus wrecked him.

Jesus wrecking people, that just does not sound like the Jesus of Suburbia I got used to. My Jesus never confronts, never challenge, never speaks his mind. He is too a softy to do that.

Man, but am I bored with my Jesus.

So last night I spoke to a big group of friends. I told them that maybe Jesus was more of a bad ass than we make him out to be. The Jesus I grew up with and the Jesus I now try to believe looks more like a pale face, red cheeks, goodie two shoes whity than the radical rebel of Love that guys like Mathew, Luke and Mark remembered him to be.

The more I read the stories of Jesus as told by his friends and the friends of his friends, the more I realise that the Jesus I grew up with is so much different than the one of 1st century AD. I am getting this dreadful feeling that the Jesus I have been praying to the last few years is still lying, wrapped up in the grave. Very convenient though, cause this Jesus will never be able to challenge my consuming, suburbian lifestyle that I so often translate into Civilised Christianity.

But the Jesus I am encoutering in the Scriptures and the Jesus Shane and his friends at The Simple Way speaks of has the nack of pulling the rug from underneath your feet, turning your whole life upside down.

Shane is helping me to see that it is time to de-commercialize Jesus, to stop with the sugur coating, marketing bullshit and start telling the real stories of the life, death and resurrection of a Rebel Prophet who took on the oppressive systems of his day for the cause of the coming Kingdom of God.

No wonder I avoided reading this book, the rug I am standing on is just to damn comfy.

The Irresistible Revolution

2009-08-13T19:15:00.000+02:00

There is a book, no rather a movement, a simple way called The Irresistible Revolution that I have been avoiding like a plague. A year ago or so a good friend told me about a guy called Shane Claiborne and this book that he wrote that broke and changed her life. Ever since I had this freakish fear of reading it.

But now I have come to that dreaded point of no return. A friend who also read it gave me his copy and said: "Good luck, see you on the other side."

I am scared shitless.

So I decided to take, whoever is following this blog, on this irrisistible journey.

Starting Monday, the 17th of August I will do one chapter a week and blog about my journey with Shane and his community called The Simple Way.

Day 93

2009-08-06T09:25:00.000+02:00

I recently stumbled upon the following ancient words:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” – Matthew 11

Maybe faith is just this:

To learn the unforced rhythms of grace. Nothing heavy. Nothing ill-fitting. Just the good company of Jesus and the journey towards a free life.

Sounds great doesn’t it?

Day 90

2009-08-03T11:53:00.000+02:00

Back in high school a song about God topped the charts and dominated the airwaves for a while.

“what if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus...”

I remember being in two minds about the song. Can we really sing along with this, God being one of us? Back then; being a typical teenager I had a very negative view about people in general. God had to be out there, far away and utterly different for me to believe in him.

These days I find the opposite to be true.

The more human God becomes, the better I relate to God.
Last night I listened to someone speak about God being Jesus-like. We usually talk about Jesus being God with us, but maybe we should flip it upside down.

God imitating Jesus.

Good luck chewing on that one for a while...

Day 80

2009-07-24T10:56:00.000+02:00

Death always takes us by surprise. Even after a long sickbed, when we had time to reflect about the dreaded hour to come, most people will still have that “cheated out of life” feeling.

Henry Nouwen once wrote that one of our great difficulties in dealing with life’s realities is that we live under the illusion of immortality.

Take modern society as an example. The stuff that sell the most, are the kinds that promise to keep us young and pretty.

Or how about Mainstream Religion? From all walks of life Religion tends to take us out of here, focusing the eternal life to come, never really dealing with the common, everyday realities that this life has to offer as a gift and not a curse.

So we end up living and praying as if life will go on forever. As if sickness and difficulties will never cross our or our love ones’ paths.

But this is just an illusion.

We have to move beyond this way of living.

For Nouwen this move meant prayer.

To pray is to realise your own mortality, your own vulnerability and your desperate need for community, friendship and intimacy.

But Nouwen was not referring to bed side prayers and the endless list of wants and needs we communicate to God under the banner of Faith and Prayer.

He was talking about a life constantly engaged with God. Not just talking, but really listening to the inner voice of the Big Spirit who dwells in all of us, being guided by God’s voice instead up being tossed around by all the other voices screaming in cacophonic chaos from the top church pulpits, bill boards, magazine covers and Hollywood illusions.

Then, when death happens we might find the grace to embrace it as part of the trickiness of Life going through the motions.

Day 78

2009-07-22T09:10:00.000+02:00

Last night I was called out to a young couple whose six months old baby boy died.

What do you say to people you don’t know who had just experience the biggest trauma every parent pray will never happen to them.

What do you say?

Nothing.

I had nothing to say. I was completely at a loss for words.

They told me their story, of how there was a change of serious complications during pregnancy. The doctors advised abortion. But then Faith kicked in and a beautiful baby boy was born, healthy as can be. Two weeks ago they had him baptised, believing that God will take care of their child.

And yesterday they saw him die.

"What the fuck?" that's all I can think of saying right now.

Day 76

2009-07-20T08:55:00.000+02:00

A good friend send me the following words from the pen of Oscar Wilde: "Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."

Liberating and almost impossible.

From the start to the finish we are bombarded with images and messages that make us believe that our true selves are never enough. You need to change, upgrade and convert. Otherwise you will never fit in.

Somewhere down the line, through all your effort to keep up with the bunch, you lose yourself.

There is a great expression in my mother tongue: “Ek is gatvol”. You end up feeling depressed and tired. It’s draining hating who you are.

But true conversion, the real upgrade happens when you stop the chase, when you embrace the face in the mirror and when you learn to love yourself.

This truth goes way back.

Someone asked Jesus about the main theme in the Hebrew Faith. What’s it all about?

“Love God and others, like you love yourself.” he said.

To love starts with loving yourself.

Day 75

2009-07-19T10:00:00.000+02:00

It’s Sunday morning, church as I know it is starting.

But I am not going.

Instead I’ll make another cup of chai and retreat into the winter sun. There I will write, read, pray and listen. There I will become part of an ancient understanding of what it means to be “church”.

I am the church.

We are the church.

In our everyday walking, breathing, living life, we can become the flesh and bones of Kingdom Come.

Not only in buildings made of bricks and stones, or in pews made of wood and plastic, but in the unfolding of plots, plays and stories through the lives of ordinary human beings God is being worshipped.

Let’s pray...

Day 73

2009-07-17T09:01:00.000+02:00

At the start of this doubt and faith journey, I had the feeling that my soul is heading towards winter.

Well, I am smack bang right in the middle of it and it is freaking freezing out here.

I am getting the feeling that the winter of the soul is unavoidable. Anyone who decides to embark on a spiritual journey will have to deal with the cold of winter, the darkness of night and with the dreadfulness of the desert some time or the other.

It’s inevitable.

It happened to the Ancient Hebrews in search of something better than the slavery of Egypt.

It happened to almost every great prophet who battle with the truth of God and the lies of religion.

It happened to Jesus, right at the start of his Kingdom Story.

The winter and the desert prepare us for the big paradox in being followers of Christ, because to be a Christian is to be depressed yet hopeful, scared yet fearless, alone yet in love, fragile yet powerful.

Or in the words of Alanis Morissette:

I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy
I'm high but I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful
I feel drunk but I'm sober
I'm young and I'm underpaid
I'm tired but I'm working
I care but I'm worthless
I'm here but I'm really gone
I'm wrong and I'm sorry
I'm free but I'm focused
I'm green but I'm wise
I'm shy but I'm friendly
I'm sad but I'm laughing
I'm brave but I'm chicken shit
I'm sick but I'm pretty
And what it all boils down to is that no one's really got it figured out just yet

Isn’t it ironic (scuse the pun), that in the first recorded sermon of Jesus he picked up on the same theme?

“Happy are the heartbroken...Happy are the poor...”

He preached these words straight after his journey in the desert, his soul was probably still recovering from frostbite...

Pit stop

2009-07-08T11:41:00.000+02:00

Taking a break for a week and a bit.

Going into the wild.

Silence and solitude.

Next post:

17 July, God willing.

Day 63

2009-07-07T07:54:00.000+02:00

A Japanese businessman, Masara Emoto did something strange with two glasses of water. At the one he swore and shouted words of anger like “I hate you”, at the other he spoke gentle words of love and grace, like “I love you”. Then he froze the two and studied the formations of the crystals that formed in both.

The one looked ugly and demented, the other beautiful like snowflakes.

When you Google his name, you’ll find arguments against his findings.

“Not scientific enough.” “The man is a hoax.” “What does he know?”

Maybe all true, in a modernistic way of looking at life.

But there is a Truth behind his finding as old as life itself.

Words create reality.

Way before Emoto, a Jewish Rabbi said that the tongue is the most toxic thing on earth. To call a man an idiot is to commit a murder. Words can kill.

But words can also heal.

The beginning of the story of God as told by an ancient farmer in the book Genesis happens with words of Life being spoken. When God speaks, Life happens.

Millennia’s later Jesus told his friends to listen and obey his words.

It was words of love.

According to one of his close friends, all Jesus had to say was this:

“Love each other.”

It starts with words.

Day 62

2009-07-06T09:11:00.000+02:00

Last week I attended a workshop about radio meditations. One of the national radio stations are looking for new voices to do the bible and prayer readings on air. I went there with a lot of religious baggage. When it comes to the religious minute between the news and the rest of the day, I usually switch over to another radio broadcast. So I decided to be real and honest about my struggle with religion, especially mainstream media’s take on it.

But what I failed to see was that this workshop was the start to something fresh and new. It was loaded with energy and possibillities.

Everyone was excited.

Except me.

I was still dragging the past along.

The day opened with a group discussion on our expectations for the day, as well as for radio meditations in general. The first thing coming out of my mouth was critique. I blabbered on about how I turn the radio off every time one the meditations came on. I gave everyone a piece of my mind whether they asked for it or not. When I eventually stopped, someone else spoke. He went the appreciative inquiry route. He validated the good from the old and gave hope and meaning to the new journey the radio station decided to embark upon.

Guess whose words sounded like Kingdom Come.

Guess who got a call back to be one of those new voices.

Day 58

2009-07-02T20:06:00.000+02:00

Today I had to make that dreaded unavoidable visit to a dressing room of a clothing store. Those little cubicles are the least flattering place on earth. What’s up with all the lights and mirrors? Do I really want to see that part of my body that I forgot existed? I bet they will make tons of more money if they soften the lights a bit, give the mirrors a slight tint and play some soothing music to prepare you for the disappointment in the pants you thought were just the right size, but did not even make it past your chubby knees.

Some religious places are like that. Eyes on you like florescent lights and a theology that mirrors all your faults.

What we need instead are sacred spaces filled with a gentle kindness that highlights our beauty instead of our flaws.

Through the centuries the followers of Jesus called this “Grace”.

But somewhere down the line Modern Christianity redecorated the Grace-space of Jesus. We replaced the candle lights with spot lights and instead of faded reflections we opted for religious x-rays.

No wonder so many people have the feeling that when it comes to church, they just don’t fit in.

Day 57

2009-07-01T09:36:00.000+02:00

The problem with being a coffee snob is this: Not everyone you have coffee with buys freshly roasted coffee, grinds it just before making it and uses just the right amount of coffee to water ratio, not to mention the type of cup and temperature of the water used to make the coffee. No, most of the times someone offer me coffee, they mean the stuff coming out of that big yellow tin, which is fine if that is the way you drink your coffee.

But not me, I am a coffee snob.

So I ask for tea instead and I don’t even like tea.

That’s also the problem with being on a very specific spiritual journey. This doubtful believing path I have chosen to explore is in the end a very lonely path. Out there in Religion Country, most people prefer the more “straight and narrow” Way of life. So whenever someone offers me a cup of Spirituality, they mean to talk about God like the way they do at their church, or their bible study, or through the words of the latest paperback quick fix that they got from a friend who got from a friend who got it from their pastor whom in turn got it from the writer himself, which is fine if that is the way you unpack your Faith.

But not me, I am a doubtful believer.

So I change the topic and talk about the weather instead and I don’t even like winter...

Day 55

2009-06-29T09:22:00.000+02:00

Wrapping up last week’s conversation on food and spirituality here is a story of a little ritual my wife and I have.

Every Saturday when Humphrey works in our garden, we have lunch together. That’s just something we do. I remember, growing up, our maid and garden worker had their own “special” cutlery and their own “special” place where they ate their meals. This always bothered me. My wife, El, had a similar experience a child.

So now we try to do it differently. Humphrey and Martha eat and drink out of the same cutlery as we do.

Two Saturdays ago we sat down for our weekly lunch. Boerewors, pap and beer, your average South African cuisine is just the right medicine to build cultural bridges, while recharging for the next hour or two of weed pulling and grass cutting.

We talked about the garden, our home towns, beer, shebeens and local soccer. Afterwards Humphrey went back to his work in the garden, El disappeared into her art room and I got behind my computer to do some Saturday writing.

When the day was done I got ready to take Humphrey back to his house in the squatter camp. We were ready to go, both of us in the Landy, when Humphrey suddenly got out and ran into the house. Few minutes later he came back smiling and we left.

Afterwards El told me what happened. Humphrey went back in the house and told her the following:

“I wish you more days.”

At first she did not understand what he was trying to say, so she asked him to explain.

“I wish God will give you more days because you have been so kind to me.”

Humphrey was giving us a blessing, a prayer of some sort. It was his way of saying thanks.

I think it is safe to say that last Saturday was a Kingdom Come moment. Every time I experience a moment like that, it makes me (doubtfully) believe that, like Jesus, we can change the world.

It’s as simple and difficult as having lunch with the person working in your garden.

Day 53

2009-06-27T21:05:00.000+02:00

Back in high school, I had a friend who was Jewish. Whenever we had a conversation about food, he would say: “You are what you eat. If you eat pig, that’s exactly what you are. ” Back then, I thought he was just being Jewish, but now I tend to agree, but with a twist.

"If you eat like a pig, that's exaclty what you are."

The way you go about food says a lot about you as a human being.

Jesus was once in conversation with the Church leaders of his day. The topic: The holiness of eating. Jesus made a very good argument that it is not what goes into your mouth that determines your holiness, but rather what goes out of your mouth. The point being that the criteria for one’s Faith is to be found in the way we treat other people. Our words are far more toxic than food gone bad.

This is still true today.

But I think that if Jesus lived today, in a world with extreme gluttony in the one hand and extreme hunger in the other, his argument would have been slightly different.

The problem Jesus had with the church leaders was that they were missing the point about holiness and food. The first intention with the food regulations found in Scripture was HEALTH. When a group of people coming out of slavery wander off into the desert, they need to find a common set of health regulations that can keep them safe and healthy. But somewhere down the line, as this group of people moved from desert to city, from poverty to wealth, the health code turned into a holiness code. It moved from common sense to superstitious religiosity.

By the time Jesus arrived on the scene that first intention was long forgotten. Jesus tried to bring them back to the ancient common sense truth(s) of Scripture.

He’ll do the same today.

The only difference is that our battle is not with moralistic religion, but rather with modernistic greed.

We are eating ourselves to death.

But not just ourselves, also others. The more we selfishly consume, the more others will die. Think of an old school scale. The more you stack on one side, the more unbalance the whole thing becomes. Or think of a seesaw, the fatter the child on the one end, the less fun it is for the skinny one at other end.

We need to spread the butter better, more evenly, into all the little corners.

At this stage of time the butter is one big knob smack bang in the middle of the slice of toast.

Day 52

2009-06-26T14:33:00.000+02:00

One of the first prayers I was taught as kid was a prayer to say grace at the table. Part of it was to ask God to be with “those less fortunate” while we are being blessed with lots to eat.

The prayer stuck.

It got under my skin and I never seemed able to shake it off. Every meal, no matter how simple of decadent the contradiction or that prayer keeps coming back. While may plate is full, others’ has been empty for days.

That’s the problem with talking about eating while living in Africa. Too many people struggling, too many hungry, too many dying while the rest of us are queuing up for seconds.

The same contradiction is found in the life of Jesus. One of the first stories told of his colourful life, involves a wedding and 2400 glasses of award winning wine.
It’s a story overflowing with abundance and decadence.

But just as quickly as he turns water into wine for the young and hopeful, so does he feed the crowds of hungry people drawn to his message of Good News.

The one night he parties with a mafia boss, the next day he asks a rich man to sell all of his possessions, give the money to the poor and follow the signposts of the Kingdom of God.

The Way of Jesus:

A blessing and a burden

An invitation to feast and a call to follow

A prayer of a young boy at a dinner table asking God to be with the less fortunate...

Day 50

2009-06-24T08:49:00.000+02:00

There is a movement all over the world called “Slow”. The dream behind it is to encourage people to take it easy, to slow down their crazy busy lifestyles and start living life. When it comes to “slow food”, this movement is all about good, hearty, delicious dishes prepared with patience and love.

To eat is not just to get your tummy full.

No it’s an expression of our authentic humanness.

To eat is to celebrate life. To eat is to invite friends over. To eat is to entertain the senses. To eat is to love.

There is a beautiful story of two sisters who invited Jesus and his friends over for dinner. The one was all over the place preparing the food, running up and down, counting the guests, setting the table and working herself into a frenzy. All the while the other one sat at the Jesus’ feet listening to all his stories. No point in mentioning that the one sister eventually got fed up with doing all the work while the other enjoys the luxury of Jesus’ company.

At one point she told Jesus (her guest) to tell her sister to start getting her hands dirty and do some work.

Jesus did the opposite.

He told the busy one to be more like the “lazy” one. Slow down. Relax. Having friends over for dinner should be a joyous, festive occasion with lots of talking, laughing, relaxing and every odd now and then also eating.

Back in the Cape where my wife I lived our whole lives before moving into the fast lane up here in Johannesburg, we were part of a group of friends called “The Saints”. Almost every Sunday we will get together and eat, drink, talk, laugh and sometimes even cry till late at night. Imagine starting every Monday tired from the little sleep of the previous night, but feeling energized to the brim because of a slow evening with good friends and great food.

With this group of friends I learnt that, just like good food and great wine needs patience and time, so do real, life changing friendships.

The next time you have a date with a friend, even if only for a quick coffee over tea break, put off your phone, order a piece of Milk Tart with your cuppachino, stop worrying about work, focus on your friend and just listen. The five minutes you’ll be late for work, won’t be noticed (you’re not THAT important...), but it might change your friendship for good.

Enjoy your tea break.

Day 49

2009-06-23T12:45:00.000+02:00

A few months ago I started my own little worm farm. It is based on one of those systems where the worms turn your plate scrapings into compost. Great stuff, now I don’t throw my food recklessly into the dustbin anymore, instead I give it back to Mother Earth, who in turn gives it back to me through my own little vegetable garden.

Full circle, nice.

But on the other hand I have been confronted with my own gluttony.
Since the worm farm, I came to realise how many food we buy, but never use and how many food we prepare, but never eat.

I have a book on my bookshelf titled Stuffed and Starved, written by Raj Patel. (Check out his blog by clicking on the picture of his book.) One of the main themes the book touches on is the fact that we live in a time where the production of food is the highest than ever before, but sadly so are the number of people dying from hunger. Never before in the history of mankind have there been so many plates of food available, yet so many people dying because of a lack thereof.

In Jesus’ day the big question was what did you eat and with whom did eat. Jesus came and flipped these two questions upside down by directing them towards a way of life that’s Good News to the poor and vulnerable.

I think Jesus is still doing the same thing today.

But this time with the help of a few extra questions concerning the food we eat:

Do you eat just enough?
Do you know where the food you eat come from?
Do you know what’s in the food you eat?
What’s the cost for going cheap?
What’s the price you pay for going bulk?
What oppressive, unbalanced, profit seeking system do you keep intact with the food you buy?
Was it prepared in haste or with love?

In our back yard we have a little vegetable garden. Yesterday we harvested our first little crop of peas. (A hand full to be exact...) There is something holy about preparing and eating your own peas, beans, brinjals and beetroot.
One of the great things about having your own little garden is the power of knowing that you are not entirely depended on the big names to provide you with food.

A friend of mine lives in Mozambique. He is running a programme that helps families struggling with poverty and sickness due to the AIDS pandemic, to start up their own little gardens that can provide them (and their neighbours) with enough healthy food to live a decent and wholesome life.

Another friend of mine is dreaming of garden tunnels that will provide entire neighbourhoods of people living in poverty with nutritious fruits and vegetables.

On the other side of the world Mr and Mrs. Obama are eating out of their own “little” organic White House Vegetable Garden.

And back home while the big ships loaded with vegetables full of chemicals to keep it nice and tight are docking at the harbour, my little patch of Life, not bigger than the size of your average kitchen, is slowly surviving the winter with peas and Broad Beans, but just wait and see till summer comes.

Enjoy your for lunch.

Day 48

2009-06-22T09:48:00.000+02:00

When Jesus ate, he usually broke all the rules of etiquette.

Back in his day eating together was a big thing.

First off, you only ate with your kind of people. Like if you were a Jew, you never shared a meal with a Roman, Greek, Arab, Samaritan or an African.

If you were a religious Jew, you never ate with anyone who had the label “sinner” around his or her neck. The list included drunkards, divorced women, gays, prostitutes, murderers, tax collectors, Romans, Greeks and especially Samaritans.

If you were a religious, educated, high profile Jew, like a Rabbi for instance, you never shared a meal with people from a lower social standard. The list included woman in general, children, fisherman, farm workers, servants, slaves and everyone who will fall under the category of being poor and vulnerable.

What you ate and with whom you ate determent almost everything about you as a religious human being.

But like I said earlier, Jesus was not your everyday religious type.

He loved a good party. All he needed was bread and wine and if he could not find any wine, water would have been just fine.

The guest list usually got him into a lot of trouble with his fellow Rabbis and other co-workers. Once he had a huge party with the local Mafia boss and his friends. Another time he stayed for days in a Samaritan village, called Sigar, having a ball of a time. There is also the story of a woman with dodgy sexual reputation crashing a very boring party Jesus was attending, just to have a dance or two with Big J.

But just when you think that Jesus was just another party animal, you’ll find a golden thread running through every party and every meal Jesus shared with people.

Wherever he ate, the lives of the people who ate with him, changed for good.
The Mafia boss turned his life around with a promise to pay back double, even triple to everyone he ever stole from. After Jesus left Sigar, the whole town became part of the Jesus revolution. And it is told of the party crasher, that she was one of the few people who stayed at foot of the cross until the end.

No wonder Jesus told one of the townspeople of Sigar that if she drank the Living Water he usually brings to a party, she’ll never go thirsty again...

Day 47

2009-06-21T22:34:00.002+02:00

The book on my bedside table is called Eat, Pray, Love. My wife is reading it.

What a title!

Eat

Pray

Love

What more can you add to life? Anything else seems overkill.

Take Jesus for instance and the stories his friends told about him.

He ate. He prayed. He loved.

Then he called his friends to do the same.

The past week we strolled around the theme of prayer, silence and solitude. This week we’ll talk about eating.

I hope all of you are hungry...

Day 46

2009-06-20T08:00:00.001+02:00

I am away for the weekend with a few friends.

Out on a farm, into the wild.

Horse riding, flyfishing, mountain biking and your general weekend lazyness.

Enough beer and wine to keep the spirits high.

Good food, tons of humour, loads of fun.

Life.

It’s waiting outside your closet.

Say your prayers.

Finish your Amens.

Then go out and grab it.

Day 45

2009-06-19T08:07:00.002+02:00

A prayer that stays in the closet dies in the closet. Eventually we have to get up off our knees, come down from the mountain, climb out of the closet and direct our thoughts and prayers towards Life.

Jesus did this all the time.

There’s this great story of Jesus, Peter, John and James taking a break from everyday life and retreating into the solitude of Mount Olive.

While up there, they had a deeply spiritual and mysterious moment with God. It was one of those Life-validating moments we all long for when we pray. God saying out loud that he is especially proud of Jesus.

If I had a closet-connection like that, I’ll convert my closet into a little shrine and God knows I’ll never come out. Peter suggested something similar; he wanted the moment to last for generations to come.

His plan was to build three huts.

What on earth?

I guess it is suppose to be a metaphor for the new religion Peter thought Jesus would begin.

But Jesus did not fall for it, because he wasn’t the religious type.

Religion turns prayer into the end of the journey, a destination of some sort.

Jesus calls us down from the mountain back into life again, because whatever happens in the closet must come to life among the living.

If not, all we’ll have to show for our effort to pray are three empty huts.

Day 44

2009-06-18T12:42:00.002+02:00

A friend gave me the following words on silence. I don’t know who wrote it, but here’s how it goes:

“How is it possible to reach inner silence? Sometimes we are apparently silent and yet we have great discussions within, struggling with imaginary partners or with ourselves. Calming our souls requires a kind of simplicity. Silence means recognising that my worries can’t do much. Silence means leaving to God what is beyond my reach and capacity. A moment of silence, even very short, is like a holy stop, a sabbatical rest, a truce of worries.”

The writer of these words went on to tell the story of Jesus and his friends, out at sea, caught in the middle of a heavy storm. Waves crashing, the boat tipping, water pouring in over the sides, Jesus sleeping and his friends seeing images of life flashing in front of their eyes.

But then Jesus spoke and silence followed...

Whatever is going on that troubles your soul and keeps you from (re)connecting with the Silent Peaceful One, when Jesus speaks, a great calm follows.

Day 43

2009-06-17T09:48:00.003+02:00

To go into the closet is a lonely activity. There is usually just enough space for one person. You are bound to hear your own breathing, feel the itchiness of your own skin, hear the sounds your stomach makes when all is quiet and still, face yourself, confront your demons and end up with nothing but the emptiness of the God-shaped gap inside your soul.

Most of the time we do our best to avoid situations like this.

Cause loneliness is never nice.

That’s why the radio is on the whole day; the TV entertains even when no one’s around and our lives are filled to the brim with appointments, meetings, tasks, images, ideas, sounds, voices and words.

But deep, honest, life changing prayer needs silence.

To pray is to be utterly quiet and to do that we need to move from our fear of being lonely towards a state of being where we can embrace our lonely selves.

The word is solitude.

The Old Monks understood this; the Ancient Desert Fathers lived it and the Old Prophets like John and Jesus perfected it into an art form.

In the stories told by the friends of Jesus, we encounter a man who’s not afraid of being lonely.

Before or after every big event or task, he retreats into the wilderness. One time he even stayed there for 40 days, confronted by his Shadow, challenged by his Temptations, weakened by his Humanness and in the end cared for by the Angels of the Living One.

In the closet you learn to reserve the God-shaped gap for God, even if it stays empty for a long time. It’s that place in your life where solitude takes the place of loneliness, a sacred space where
Fear can grow into Love.

According to a priest called Henry Nouwen, a storyteller called Matthew and a Prophet called Jesus, this is the first baby step towards a life of prayer:

Learning to love yourself.

So here is the challenge:

Find your closet. Go there often. Become utterly quite. Don’t talk. Don’t pray. Just listen.

Day 42

2009-06-16T09:28:00.003+02:00

Jesus and his friends were having a discussion on prayer.

“The next time you try to pray, go into your closet.” Jesus told the rest.

“Go into your closet” I guess was Jerusalem slang for taking a time out. To go into your closet means to break away from the mundane, to escape your daily routine, to chill out on your own.
Your closet is your safe space, the place (physical or emotional) where you feel completely at ease. It can be anything: A favourite sofa in a sunny corner of the house, the back porch, underneath the big tree next to the compost heap, in the garage, knee deep in a trout river, a coffee spot close to work, the sauna of the gym or even the closet in the guestroom.

Mine is the kitchen. This is where I write, think, create, eat and love. From now on I’ll try to pray here as well.

But if you think of it, if prayer is the soul’s yearning to be in conversation with God, then to do this we need to slow down, we need to stop the craziness of life and retreat to our safe spaces.

There’s this great story of an ancient prophet who felt all the stress of being the voice of God in everyday life. In a cave, close to burn out, God spoke to him. Here's what happened according to an ancient story guru:

“A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains and shattered the rocks before God, but God wasn't to be found in the wind; after the wind an earthquake, but God wasn't in the earthquake; and after the earthquake fire, but God wasn't in the fire; and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper.” 1 Kings 19

When I am honest about my struggle with prayer I need to confess that I’ve been waiting for the winds, earthquakes and fires of life to be the voices of God in my own life. On yesterdays post, Harold made a comment about expectations and prayer. He hit the nail right on the head. I was expecting a voice that can shout over and above the loudness of (my) life.

But then God comes and speaks with a gentle and quite whisper.

No wonder I need to go into the closet.

Day 41

2009-06-15T09:32:00.003+02:00

Let’s talk about prayer.

First a confession:

I don’t pray. (When I write it down like that, it really does not look good.)

But let me explain. I find it very difficult. I feel self-conscious when I pray. My doubts quickly get in the way. Half way in the prayer I start to question the images about God popping up. I think I need a good pop-up blocker the next time I try. When I pray my mind wanders and before I know it, I am busy buying groceries, writing my next post, thinking of the dogs, planting vegetables or planning our next holiday, all the while my brain switched to autopilot prayer mode.

Still there is a longing in me to pray.

This longing is not new. One of the old thinkers in the Christian faith said that our hearts are restless until we find our rest in God. He talked about a God-shaped gap that we drag along in life. God created us in such a way that we can’t help yearning for God.

I am not alone on this journey. I know there are others out there who struggle with prayer, but yearn for God.

That's why I am going to stick around this theme for a while, hoping (praying...) that a restless heart (and mind) will find peace.

Day 40

2009-06-14T21:12:00.001+02:00

It’s been 40 days since this journey started.

40 is such a Biblical number.

Noah spent 40 days feeling seasick.

Moses and friends travelled 40 years on a journey that should have taken them less than a month.

Jesus wandered off into the wild for 40 days, occasionally running into an old acquaintance, the Devil.

40 days.

It started as a desperate cry in search of the Real Makoya, from there I took a detour towards the junkyard, carrying a box religious junk, only to discover (with the help of new found friends like Sparky, Beer, Karen, Keith, AlexS, Simple Soul, Pierre, Elliot and a few others) that I should rather build a compost heap and allow the shit to turn into life giving compost.

So as the year subtly slipped from autumn to winter and the garden of my soul slowly turned to shades of gray, the smell of religion decomposing has already settled underneath the surface of my compost heap.

The next 40 days I plan to take it easy, go slow, rest, dig deep and prepare the soil of my spirituality for the hope of New Life waiting in spring.

Stay tuned.

Day 39

2009-06-13T16:57:00.007+02:00

Just your average Saturday post:

One of the oldest virtues in the Way of Jesus is hospitality. The ancient children of God believed that by treating strangers as old friends, we are welcoming God into our lives.

When we invite the uninvited, Jesus shows up, not as one of the guests, but as the host.

Two friends were walking back to their hometown. They were down and out, they’ve hit rock bottom.

Their Friend was brutally murdered a few days before.

They were upset with themselves for not being there for him, with the rest of the gang for abandoning him, with the religious leaders for missing the point about Life and with the women for saying that their Friend isn’t dead after all.

They talked the whole way, trying to figure out what the hell happened. Suddenly, somewhere between depression and giving up, a Stranger joined them on their journey, asking questions with obvious answers, sounding totally out of touch. This led to heavy theological discussion about the coming Messiah, the stuff the prophets wrote about and the salvation of a nation that’s fed up with the status quo. The Stranger baffled the two with his knowledge of history and theology. They were completely outwitted.

It was almost dark when they reached their hometown, but the Stranger still had a few miles to travel. True to their Ancient Faith, they insisted that he stay the night. He looked reluctant, but the insisted.

At the table they served a modest meal, bread and wine, reminding them of better times. The Stranger did not wait to be served, he took the bread and said the prayer, suddenly they saw, as if for the first time, that the Stranger was their Friend all along.

The great thing about this story is that the “kairos” moment, something the Ancient Greeks understood as a moment in history where the divine meets the ordinary and everything there after will be completely different, happened in the stuff old friends do around a loaf of bread and perhaps a bottle of red.

That is why, through the centuries, the friends of Jesus loved to party. What we know today as Holy Communion, with a piece of bread and a shot of sweet red, would have been very bland, compared to the way the first followers used to remember the good old times with Jesus around a table. The idea was to eat, drink, talk, laugh, joke, dance and have a whole lot of fun, because that’s the best way to celebrate Kingdom Come.

No wonder, when Jesus and his friends were at a wedding, he got a dying party started again with 2400 glasses of award winning wine.

Tonight my wife and I are going to party with some friends. Now the best parties are hard to define, but most of the time it involves music, a table (preferably to dance upon...), good food, perhaps wine and a whole lot of hospitality. The idea is to let people feel at home underneath someone else’s roof.

It’s actually very simple: Safe spaces full of fun and laughter, leads to chemistry and connection, which in turn can lead to strangers becoming good friends.

Ole!

Day 38

2009-06-12T11:41:00.003+02:00

A few months ago I threw out boxes full of books, mostly prescribed religious books I bought while studying. Over time I realised that these books are just gathering dust, their content and the content of my life are miles apart. To read it is to stand on one planet and listen to an alien on the other planet babbling on about the meaning of life on your planet.

It’s funny how quickly the world changes from one generation to the other.

I can imagine my grandkids reading this blog, thinking: “What was grandpa up to going on and on about God, Jesus, seasons, junk, boxes, life and related stuff. No wonder grandma looks so old...”

That’s the tricky thing with an ancient text like the Bible. Things did change. The world is not the same anymore. We’ve evolved, although sometimes I am not sure whether it was for the better. Over time the subtleties, the humour, the meaning, the language, the symbols and the metaphors faded into the massive changes the world made since then.

Between us and the text is a gap, so big, wide and deep that very few find the relevancy for their own lives to really try and cross it.

But still the Text had an original intention. A power behind it that changed and influenced a specific community in a specific time and place.

To discover this first intention(s) of the Text, we need to get on the other side.

Why did Paul write to Timothy? What did Luke hope for in telling the story of Jesus to his friend? What did Mark wished would happen to his friends after they read his version of the life, death and (re)life of Jesus? What was the longing behind the dreams of John on the island Patmos?

Behind these stories lie a prayer, a wish, a longing and a hopeful dream. An idea of the Way life can be, waiting to become a flesh and bone reality.

The idea is to keep on reading, keep on listening and keep on bridging the gap until the intention of the story happens with us.

If this does not take place in the lives of the readers of the Text, then it’s just another old book, gathering dust.

Day 37

2009-06-11T09:22:00.000+02:00

A story has more than one way of telling it. That’s just the nature of a good story. That’s also just the nature of good storytellers. You got to keep on telling it, exploring all the different nuances and subtleties until you stumble upon your own unique interpretation. Take the Big Story of the life, death and (re)life of Jesus.

One life.

One death.

One empty tomb.

Four great storytellers.

Four great stories that shaped the history of the world forever. Each with their own unique understanding and interpretation to the significance and meaning of the extraordinary life and teachings of a good friend called Jesus.

Mark was the first, short, bold and straight to the point. It’s Kingdom Come, no time to waste.

Matthew the Jew, dug deep into the treasures of his Ancient past. While taking the scenic route of mysteries and wonders, prophets and poets, he discovered spiritual connections between Jesus and History that blew him away.

Luke, the dream doctor wrote the story to his friend. Together they hoped for a new world that’s Good News to the poor and the vulnerable. In the Way Jesus lived and died and lived again, Luke saw a glimpse of what this new Way should look like.

Somewhere between the three of them there was an (in)visible voice, a 5th narrator, let’s call her “Q”. An anonymous writer with a profound imagination that influenced these great story gurus to keep on writing until all is said and done.

And then there was John, living on his own little planet. Dreaming up metaphors, making profound links, being deeply spiritual, head in the clouds, feet on the earth. A philosopher, theologian and poet who believed in the power of a love called Agape. In the story of Jesus, John saw this Love shaping into flesh and bone, shining like a shimmering light and flowing like a river in flood.

These stories are not the only stories.

There’s the one my grandma used to tell. One of pancakes, ponies and a good man called Jesus who loves children to bits.

There’s the one my friend in Cape Town tells. A Jesus story of a new life growing out from underneath the rubble of a failed marriage and a spirit struggling with depression.

There’s the one the people of my country always tell. One of a grey old world that faded into the shimmering colours of a New Rainbow called Hope and Change.

Although these stories missed the cut off date to be written into the stories of the Bible, it’s still the same Storyteller Spirit who never stopped writing...

Day 36

2009-06-10T11:07:00.003+02:00

I had a professor who used to say: "We don’t read the Bible, the Bible reads us."

I always wondered what the heck that means.

Let me attempt an explanation:

I think what my old proffie meant was that the stories of the Bible play out in the lives of ordinary people all over the world.

The Spirit inspired truths that carry with them the potential to shape lives, change paths and cultivate good moral characters, need to be lived.

For most of us, that’s like third base.

Modern Religion got stuck at first.

The church I grew up in taught me that a clever Christian is a good Christian. The end in mind of the faith journey is to know everything there is to know about Christianity. The goal is knowledge that we can test, measure and evaluate.

Obviously, it is good to know what the Bible says and to have that knowledge we need to read it again and again and again, because humans tend to forget.

But the “knowledge” found in the Ancient Hebrew Faith that inspired and shaped the theology of Jesus, is way different from our modern understanding of “knowing stuff”.

The Hebrew word for knowledge is called “Yada”. Sometimes they used it to describe the knowledge about some or other subject. Other times they used it to when people really got to know each other, like friends. Most of the times “yada” was used to describe the intimate relationship between God and humans. But then there’s also the odd now and then when they used it to describe sex between two lovers.

Huh?

Sex?

Bet I got your attention now...

Relax.

For the Old Believers to have knowledge of something were always a spiritual and intimate affair. It concerned your brain and your heart, your spirit, body and your soul.

To know the Bible in a modernistic sense will only score big in the eyes of the Sunday school teacher, but to let the stories, told by the ancient prophets, poets, dreamers and writers shape your soul, lift your heart and move your feet in the direction of The Big Story Guru, until your whole life is so enmeshed in his massive story that it becomes difficult to see where the stories of the Bible end and where your story starts, that’s the kind of knowledge “Yada” is all about.

Happy reading.

Day 35

2009-06-09T11:01:00.003+02:00

People look for the truth in the stories of the Bible with the question: “Did it happen?” Take the classic cases of Noah and the Ark; and Jonah and the whale. There are books and websites dedicated to the search for explanations on how this could happen so that the stories can be true. Or take the big debate between Creation and Evolution, behind the struggle of some Christians to embrace the realities behind theories of modern day science lies this way of thinking: If it did not happen like the Bible say it did, then it’s not the Truth anymore.

So we need to find proof of Eden, or the ark, or the virgin birth and especially the empty tomb. We need evidence like Thomas, otherwise Faith will always be wishful thinking.

But the Truth of the Gospel evolved in a different paradigm, a time way before modern man and his endless experiments on the mysteries of Life. Before the written word, before Galileo, before Darwin, before Microsoft and Wikipedia, this Truth grew out of a community of storytellers. On camelback, through desert plains, over rocky mountains, around camp fires, beside Babylon rivers, under Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Roman and Barbaric oppression, underneath the rubble of a destroyed Temple and city walls and among families, friends, lovers and former enemies the Truth became flesh and bone.

The Truth of the Jesus Way is not to be found in checks and balances, in scientific proof and in a modern understanding of facts and figures.

The truthfulness of the stories of Eden, Noah and Jonah lies not with the question whether it happened or not, but rather in the reality that it happens... today.

Everywhere.

Whenever I pass the buck on to someone else without taking ownership of my own stuff-ups, the story of Adam happens in me.

Whenever I am part of change and hope, the story of Noah happens in me.

Whenever I sulk when Mercy takes the place of Judgment, the story of Jonah happens in me.

And whenever I allow God to let the Kingdom happen in me, the story of a young girl called Mary, happens in me.

Unlike the X-files, the truth of the Bible is not out there waiting to be proven right of wrong.

No, the Truth is a Way waiting to be walked. It is found in the everyday, ordinary lives of human beings living a life of Faith, Hope and Love before the Face of the Ultimate Truthful One.

Day 34

2009-06-08T11:10:00.001+02:00

Last night I asked the question whether we are missing the point when it comes to the role the Bible plays in the lives of (doubtful) believers. Let’s try to unpack this question.

Are we missing the point?

Yes...

Yes we are missing the point when the Bible is seen as the one and only truth about God. That only those who read and believe it can know God. It is as if the Bible becomes God and God becomes the Bible.

Yes we are missing the point when we read it as if the context and paradigm gaps between us and the text don’t apply.

Yes we are missing the point when the Bible is used as a sword in human hands to divide, hurt, offend and separate.

Yes we are missing the point when words written to groups of people for the benefit and growth of a whole community, is turned into a book called: “My Bible” where I, the individual, or we a specific group of people can claim exclusive rights to the Truth(s) we get out of it.

Yes we are missing the point when reading the Bible becomes the goal of our faith journey. When we think that this is the only thing God asks of us: To read a very old book.

Yes we are missing the point when we constantly feel guilty about not reading it.

And of course no...

No we are not missing the point when the Bible is part of an integrated spiritual journey defined by an honest longing to know God. On this journey the Bible is a conversation friend, a space where old stories come to life in the lives of those who are reading it. Together with other voices the Bible can help shape our own story towards the Big Story we call God.

How this “shaping of stories” takes place, I am going to need a few more posts to figure out. Stay tuned...

Day 33

2009-06-07T22:07:00.001+02:00

Jesus once said that we should first seek the kingdom of God and the rest will follow. Through the centuries the friends of Jesus did this by listening intently to the silent whispers of the Spirit of Jesus in the stories of the ancient prophets, poets and writers; in the witnesses of the men and women at the empty tomb; in the way all of creation fits together; in the lives of the dead and the living and in the sacred spaces all over the place.

For the first 5000 thousand years the community of God-seekers did not have a Bible. The stories, prophecies, poems, songs, letters and sermons that most Christians today read as God’s untouchable Word, were back then, also understood as Moses’ sermons, Israel’s history, David’s prayers, Solomon’s wisdom, Jeremiah’s hope, Amos’ convictions and Daniel’s dreams. They believed that these written words helped them to understand themselves and God better. For them the words were dead unless they read it, engaged with it, discussed it, confronted it, believed it and lived it.

A few generations after Jesus, some of them started to see that these ancient texts helped them to see the Truth behind the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. With the help of Paul, Mark, Matthew, Luke, John, Peter and a few others they came to see how this historical event(s) were connected with all of creation, how this ordinary human being was “God-with-us” and how this new understanding changed their lives in this life and the next.

It was only 300 and something years after Jesus that the community of Jesus-followers thought it handy to give more structure to the literature they read as a community. It took another 1200 years before a part of the community felt compelled to make this ancient Library of God-stories available in ordinary, common and easy-to-read language for everyone who wants to take part in the movement of Jesus.

So if the Bible, like we know it today, is only 500 years old, while the movement of Jesus has been around for way longer than that, can it then be that modern Christianity is missing the point when it comes to the Ancient Word(s) of Faith?

Something to the think about as another week in the lives of doubtful believers unfolds.

Day 32

2009-06-06T20:09:00.002+02:00

A woman whose life reached a dead end went to do her shopping. She usually goes when she knows it will be quiet, like Sundays when the town goes to church. Then all the burnt bridges, the broken hearts, the failed friendships and the judgmental bystanders will be occupied for at least an hour or so. In a small town like this she has no other option. In the city it’s so easy to start over, so easy to pick yourself up again. But out here where everyone’s life is everyone’s business, a broken story never seems to heal.

All she can do is hide.

The shop was dead quiet.

Except for a stranger she did not bother to notice.

“Can you please show me where I can find mineral water? I’ve been wandering up and down, this shop is really weird.” the stranger shook her out of her solitude and safety.

“Sorry, but I don’t work here, go and ask in front.”

“If you knew who I am, you would be the asking water from me.”

“Listen pal, you don’t even have a basket. Whatever your intentions are with me, I am done with the men in this town. You’re wasting your time.”

“I can see you’re hurt, your eyes give you away. Let’s have coffee, you’ll talk, I’ll listen.”

She shared her story, where she wanted to hold back, a graceful question here and a word of wisdom there seem to break all the walls between her and the stranger. In the end it took two cuppachinos and a large piece of chocolate cake for him to change her life.

Meanwhile the sermon reached its end; no one knew God had just visited their town. While Sunday slowly drifts into darkness, on Monday morning His footprints will still be visible. The woman who spoke to no one, who lived in shame, who broke almost every heart in town will face her shadows, ask for forgiveness and start to walk the road of healing and reconciliation.

The town won’t know what hit them...

Day 31

2009-06-05T09:34:00.004+02:00

A friend of mine runs a big company. He rescued it from failure and is steering it towards success. He is not even 40 and already he’s got the world beneath his feat. A few weeks ago he and his family (wife and two small kids) went to visit one of the many nearby slums. They stayed with the locals and slept in a shack.

They shared life with the men, women and children the world neglects.

No sleeping bags.

No heaters.

No burglar bars and high tech alarm systems.

No credit cards and extra cash for just in case.

Just poverty and life.

His kids played with the children of the slum. His wife walked, talked, laughed and cried with the women of the slum. He had beer and conversations with the men of the slum.

“Why, for God sakes?” I hear someone asks. “They must be crazy. This is Africa, how irresponsible.”

But then the words of the Counter Cultural Rebel Prophet cuts through the bones of scepticism:

“Good news to the poor, always good news to the poor.”

When the life of a powerful and successful CEO becomes enmeshed in the desperate and vulnerable life of people barely holding on, the Good News of Jesus becomes flesh and bones. When the CEO goes back and rearranges his life in terms of values and lifestyle, the power of the Life Giving Spirit kicks in. When this new way of living becomes the reality of some of the friends of the CEO, then something the ancient followers of Jesus called Church, evolves. And when this new type of community gathers steam and rolls down the hills of stereotypes and prejudices towards the valley of understanding, respect and love, a revolution called the kingdom of God is at hand.

Jesus said something about us doing more than he ever dreamed of doing, something bigger and deeper. Something that’s good for all mankind. I think the stuff my friend, his wife and their two children are up to might just be what Jesus hoped his friends would be doing long after he’s gone.

Day 30

2009-06-04T09:05:00.003+02:00

The world expected a king, but what they got was a humble man riding on a donkey towards his death. As time went by, people began to understand the deeper truth behind this irony. Some even believed it to be Good News.

Kings come to rule and dictate. People are either subjects and servants or slaves. They will hope for a righteous Ruler, but history tells of a different reality.

Then comes Jesus and instead of being the king the world was hoping for, he chose a different route, one of serving, giving and loving. A Way of Life where significance is measured, not in terms of fame, status, family tree, sex, wealth of power, but rather by the value of one’s identity as a Human Being (re)created in the image of the Great Creator. He did come to make people subjects or slaves, instead he called them to be friends on a journey towards a different way of being human.

In the end this truth was too much to ask of the people of his day. It’s easier to be a subject of a king, even a bad king, because all you got to do is follow orders. You don’t have to love, you just have to obey.

Through centuries people choose to keep on living under the rule of Power, instead of following a friend beyond the boundaries of the powerful status quo towards a new Way where Love is the great criteria for life. The world saw it in France under the rule of Napoleon, in Germany under the rule of Hitler, in the USA under the rule of Bush, in South-Africa under the rule of Verwoerd and we see it in Zimbabwe under the current rule of Mugabe.

We also see it in religious systems where God is portrayed as an all Powerful King and where the leadership, popes, bishops, priests, clergy, preachers and pastors act as if they have special privileges that the rest of his subjects and slaves don’t have.

But still people choose to stay in this reality, because it is so much easier to obey than to think, act and take responsibility.

The Good News call of Jesus is sometimes just too subversive to bear.

The call to be friends with a humble man on a donkey towards certain death versus a life of obedience under a Rich and Powerful Ruler...

You make the choice.

Day 29

2009-06-03T09:19:00.005+02:00

A few months ago a tree was declared dead outside our house. They cut it off, took it out and left it on the pile of rubbish. Later during the day a friend showed me the tree. The people who took it out forgot to check its pulse. There was still life hidden inside the tree. A fresh shoot was growing out of the decaying, dying tree. There was still some energy, some life source and some potential left deep inside its roots. With a little bit of nurturing, a handful of bone meal and compost and a whole lot of grace from Mother Nature, the tree might survive the winter. So I took the tree and planted it in my back garden.

The little bugger is still growing.

More than two millennia’s ago a rebel prophet spoke of the coming kingdom of God as a new shoot growing out of a dead tree trunk. Just when you thought hope was lost, faith a waste of time and God declared dead by the woes of the world, something fresh and new springs to life.
A few centuries later the friends of Jesus thought of him as this new form of Hope. They called him “God Incarnated”.

There is an irony to this. Humans through the ages spoke of God as being big, powerful, strong and steady. This is hopefully all true. But then the friends of Jesus, in the light of the old prophet embraced a new way of thinking about God. The new sprig can easily brake. The death of the tree is a moment away. The hope they had was vulnerable and fragile. It was easy to miss and quick to disappear. It had to be nurtured, cared for and loved. It needed time to heal before it could grow.

And here we are, the modern versions of the friends of Jesus, living in a society (secular and religious) obsessed with money, sex and power. Everything needs to be fast, strong, big and over the top and before we know it, the same applies to our God. So we build our churches either like castles or shopping malls. We plan our faith future with big budgets and measure the success and failure of our religious outcomes in terms of power, status, wealth and monetary growth.

But still the counter cultural images of the old prophets and the friends of Jesus echo in time, cut like a sword and scream like a woman in labour:

Faith takes time
Hope is fragile
Love is vulnerable

and God is somewhere in all of the above.

Day 28

2009-06-02T11:07:00.001+02:00

The year has tipped into second half.

In the silence of a cold first winter night, I am reminded how fragile life is. Winter is God’s way of keeping earth humble. Frost, ice, wind and rain leave everything battered and bruised. Life becomes vulnerable.

While the world outside our house slowly turns into shades of lifeless grey, the gas heater next to me is fighting hard to keep winter out.

We do this with our souls to.

It’s hard to embrace brokenness. It’s not easy to let life take you on a journey to be vulnerable. Everything in me, kick and scream against it. Cowboys don’t cry, boys don’t show their pain and
real men can take the punch.

But Jesus showed something else about the way of Life.

He cried at the grave of a friend, in the loneliness of Gethsemane and on the cross while dying.
Jesus embraced the loneliness of winter, because it’s the only way to prepare for the resurrection in spring.

Day 27

2009-06-01T15:32:00.002+02:00

I sat in traffic the whole day. Road works, accidents, taxis and general Joburg chaos. On Sunday someone said that it's easy to be a Christian, especially in South-Africa.

I disagree.

After a day like today the Jesus Way is even more difficult than I thought.

Sure it’s easy when Christianity is about going to church and reading the Bible. When faith is a cultural discipline that happens on a Sunday, it’s a walk in the park.

But to be patient during rush hour when you are already half an hour late, is tricky.

To hope, when a young man my age drags his blind sister through the endless rows of cars hoping someone will show them mercy, is tricky.

To keep your temper under control, when a taxi suddenly stops so that the driver can have a casual chat with someone walking by, is tricky.

To live with peaceful simplicity, when society runs like crazy towards a finish line that does not exist, is tricky.

To have faith in God’s goodness, when the whole world looks a mess, is tricky.

To walk the Jesus Way during 07:00 and 19:00 while trying to make an honest living without losing your sanity seems impossible on a day like today.

Day 24

2009-05-29T14:00:00.002+02:00

Early in the morning while the rich are still asleep, the poor starts walking. They walk to the taxi ranks, to the train stations and to the corners of the main roads where the busses are waiting. They walk on the sidewalks like shadows in the mist. They are the ghosts just before daybreak, the invisible people the world ignore.

Until they stop.

Then the cheap labour and the high profit margins come to a sudden stand still. The houses of the rich turn into mansions of dust and dirt. The gardens and roads of the cities and the towns become a place for all the things the world throws out. When the poor stops walking, the world slows down.

Two millennia’s ago a Prophet spoke of a Way of Life that is good news to the poor.

In the meantime we built a society that exploits the poor, keep them invisible, and overwhelms them with systems to big to change so that in the end the poor will always die in poverty and despair.

Still the words of the Prophet echoes in eternity: If it’s not Good News for the poor, it’s not the Kingdom of God.

Day 23

2009-05-28T13:40:00.001+02:00

Through my window I can see a young black artist busy painting.

Then, for a moment I thought I saw God:

A middle-aged white woman walked by, noticed his talent and offered some advice. She grew up in the apartheid years; he’s a child of the Rainbow Dream. They speak as if District Six never happened. As if no one died at Sharpeville, Nyanga and Langa. As if no barbwires ever separated black and white. As if we have forgiven the past and embraced the present. As if we have peace. As if we have love. As if we are one.

Jesus called this Kingdom Come. The ancient Christian writer Paul would have called this “church”. The people of Africa call this Ubuntu. I have no idea what to call it, but it leaves me with a feeling that everything is going to be all right.

Day 22

2009-05-27T10:37:00.002+02:00

God is a black woman in labour.

God is a gardener planting herbs and aloes.

God is a tea lady cleaning up.

God is a child who’s lost.

God is a beggar standing in the traffic.

God is a maid who drinks out of a chipped coffee cup.

God is the man with the red flag on the side of the construction site.

God is a raped girl crying.

God is a HIV fetes.

God is the mother who carries the sick child inside of her.

God is a father who lost his firstborn.

God is the child soldier who holds the gun.

God is the prostitute who smells of cheap sex and cigarettes.

God is a prisoner waiting.

God is an old man dying.

God is a teenager in love.

God is a couple trying.

God is a community surviving.

God is a country growing.

God is Hope believing.

God is Love going on and on and on...

Day 21

2009-05-26T15:42:00.003+02:00

My soul is like my garden. The weeds of stereotypes are all over the place. How easy I judge. Just when I thought I’ve pulled out racism with roots and all, it just grows back again. Life is tricky when you try to keep it organic.

Humphrey works in our garden. My first impression of him was not good. All the stuff my culture (wrongly) taught me about poor black South-Africans came to the surface the first time I saw him.

Then he got to work.

And all the labels disappeared.

And his true character broke through my prejudice.

Humphrey has green fingers. He is intelligent. He has a humble soul, but a proud posture. He is kind to my wife and good with our dogs. He is eager to work and up for any challenge relating to plants, compost, bone meal and big rocks.

I bet when it comes to everyday life, Humphrey and I, are brothers from different mothers. We have the same needs, longings and big picture prayers. Like the common weeds in my beddings,
the difference is only skin deep.

All I got to do is keep pulling the bastards out.

Day 20

2009-05-25T08:57:00.002+02:00

I find myself going back to the compost heap every odd now and then. Digging in the pile of shit, looking for something, God knows what. Hoping that if I work it through, turning it inside out, I will speed up the decomposing process.

But that’s not how manure turns into compost. You have to let it be. Let Father Time and Mamma Nature do the work. You have to release control and rest in God’s good intent.

That’s the great thing about this time of year, the big lesson Life teaches us as the season changes. It reminds us that we have to slow down. Take it easy.

Relax.

Rest...

In a society where power and competence equals success and success equals money, our way of life quickly becomes our Way of Faith. Suddenly there is no room for error when it comes to God. No time to waste. No space for grace. If you want to get rid of something you chuck it out. If you want fertilizer, you buy it. You don’t waste your time waiting.

You "just do it".

But as the leafs rot and the smell of old forest floor settles underneath the compost heap in our back garden, I am encourage to the leave behind the fast lane of a success driven religiosity and travel the tricky road in search of a deeper understanding of Life.

Day 19

2009-05-24T20:40:00.002+02:00

Spend the whole day trying to wrap my head around life.

Now I hope that Life will wrap itself around me.

Day 18

2009-05-23T20:06:00.003+02:00

The story of the kingdom of God starts with God in a garden. First chaos, then creativity. First darkness, then light. First the raw material, then the artwork called Earth. First atoms, molecules and microbes, then life in all its abundant splendour. In the end God, The Green Fingers Master Artist looked at the garden and said: “Wow!”

But something’s missing: Humour, Laughter, Passion, Dreams, Emotions, Hope, Faith and Love.

Then God made us.

What a great story. I love how it’s told. It reads like a play, feels like a song and smells like the ground after the first summer rain. Some theologians believe that it was first told by a farmer.

I think they are right.

I spent the first half of my Saturday morning in the garden. Instead of fighting against the end of summer, I’m embracing the splendour of autumn. I am starting off with a new canvas. I am busy planning the artwork. I have a picture in my mind and autumn is the time to draw the almost invisible pencil lines. The depth will come in winter, the colours in spring and the joy of a finished piece of art will be the highlight of summer.

I’m moving on from the “box of junk” metaphor. I found it’s not helping.

All around the house were dead leafs. Usually we throw them away, but not this winter. I learnt a while ago that if you use them as mulch or leave them to rot into compost, your garden will bloom like Eden itself.

We have to let go. We have to let die. We have to let rot.

But it’s not junk, it’s just shit waiting to decompose into life giving compost.

Day 17

2009-05-22T09:13:00.003+02:00

So far I threw out guilt, hell, fundamentalism and the need to have a handle on God. Today I am wrapping up the “race” as religious metaphor. In the Christian story, a writer named Paul used it to describe his spirituality and ever since Christians have been in competition with one another. (It is probably more complex than that, but for argument’s sake, let us keep it like that.)

“Who will be first?”

“Who will be last?”

“What will the prizes be?”

“Am I fast enough?”

“Fit enough?”

“I hope the others struggle or fall or trail behind.”

“God I hope I win.”

Is that really a healthy way of looking at spirituality? I can imagine that in Paul’s context it was revolutionary or at least helpful. But in a society where everything is about winning and no one ever sits still, because you might just get left behind, the race as metaphor is like fuel on the fire.

Eventually you end up with the “not good enough feeling”, because in life there is always someone faster, stronger, bigger and better. Your fall is detrimental. You can’t always win.

But religion doesn’t tell you this. Loosing is just not on. You have to win; otherwise you’ll get kicked out of the team. It’s as simple as that.

Then I look at the life and teachings of Jesus and somehow the race metaphor does not fit. When Jesus called people to follow him, he chose the losers of his day to be part of a countercultural movement where people found healing and restoration in the belief that they are loved by God “as is” and not as “supposed to be”. One day a few of his friends got into an argument of who is in the lead towards the finish. Jesus, overhearing the conversation, rebuked them and sent them back to the end of the line to learn about the art of unselfishness.

The kingdom of God, as Jesus spoke of it, is a journey where the way is just as important as the destination. Jesus came to give us life, not tire us out. Faith is not an effort to grab pole position towards the finish line.

We are called to walk together, carry each other and share life together.

Day 16

2009-05-21T09:51:00.004+02:00

What if I end up with nothing? What if, after I’ve scraped through all the layers of religious bullshit I discover that the whole thing we call God is made up of layers and layers of collective longings that something greater than ourselves exist?

See the trouble I am in for letting God out?

While God is in your pocket, doubt is easy to handle, ‘cause every odd now and then you can feel God moves (probably trying to get out...), or make God move, it’s your decision.
But the moment you let God be God, the mystery kicks in, faith steps up and doubt changes into a whole different ball game.

Or maybe that's the real discovery. Underneath the layers there is indeed nothing. God is not waiting behind the curtains of religion.

Like Elvis, God has left the building, for good.

God moved on a long time ago.

The early followers of Jesus believed that the Big Curtain ripped in half the day Jesus died. A sign that religion could not keep God in. God does not live in houses and temples made by man.

Why then did we feel the need for more curtains between us and God if God is not going to wait behind them?

I’m starting to think that the journey is not taking out the junk. That’s just the preparation for a bigger adventure. After the trash is taken out, the real search begins.

Day 15

2009-05-20T08:49:00.003+02:00

I have a need to box God. To give God a pronoun: Him or Her? To turn God into something tangible, describable, understandable. I have a need to know God as if God is a subject/object to be dissected and studied.

The ancient Hebrews had the same problem. While Moses was up on the mountain, they started to wander off. They needed something they can call God, something real that they can control. Something made in their image. So they made a Cow. (who says the Bible has no sense of humour?) . At least it was a fancy Cow, solid gold.

They worshiped it. They were ready to give their lives for it.

Meanwhile Moses is having a great time with God. Towards the end of the conversation, Moses communicates the same need as his friends down at the foot. He also wants to see God. Like we all do.

But then God shows him nothing but God’s backside. Some old Jews translated it to the “fresh footprints of God”.

That’s all he got, footprints.

We can’t take God home. We can’t carry God around. In the words of Rob Bell, “God is heavy”.

All that we can do is follow the direction in which the footprints are heading.

I have been dragging a Fat Cow around hoping it was God. No wonder I struggle. No wonder I am tired of religion. No wonder I feel disconnected with my True Self.

So today I am letting God out, but the Cow is heading straight for the box.

Day 14

2009-05-19T09:52:00.004+02:00

I am confronted by my need to be right. It’s been part of my faith experience for so long. One of the first things that I was taught was that we are right and they are wrong. The world may have lots of questions, but we have in our possession the only right answer. That theology kick started a way of thinking for me. I did not want to engage with people different from me. I did want to hear about the arguments for a new way of thinking, because it might just confuse me.

I know it’s not just me. It’s part of the collective identity of so many religious people. I see it many times. We need to be right. That is how religion works.

It’s like a fortress: sturdy, solid and steadfast. It can’t be bent, move or give in without breaking. If you remove one brick, it weakens. If you remove a few others, the walls might come tumbling down. A fortress needs to be defended, protected, guarded and maintained. The idea is to keep foreign objects out. It is always tense, most of the times hostile and more often than not highly threatened. In a fortress mercy is weakness and power is safety. It is always looking for the best vantage point from where it can stand over and against things that are different. It cannot compromise, relax, flex, appreciate, accommodate, stretch or drop its guard at all. The moment it does that, it seizes to be a good fortress any longer.

That kind of faith just does not work for me anymore. (I hope there is still some space left in the box labelled “Junk”.)

This journey hopes to find better metaphors for faith, because life bends and God moves.

Like a Jumping Castle as a symbol for faith.

When faith moves from religion to relationship it tends to be more like a JC. If you watch children play in it you sometimes get the feeling that the castle is going to brake, but that’s when the jumping is at its best. The walls, corners and pillars are supposed to give in, they are made that way. If they don’t, then you are not jumping wild enough!

Jumping alone is fine for a while, but the best times are when the castle is bursting with kids going crazy.

There is also no competition, no technique, and no prize for the best jumper and no awards for the most back-flips in one jump.

It’s not about the castle, the ticket sales or whether you get the jumping part right or not.

It’s really just about getting your hair messy and your clothes wrinkled, in other words having a bag full of fun.

In the end the JC way of faith is guided only by two rules:

1. You always have to take of your shoes.
2. Don’t hurt the other kids.

Day 13

2009-05-18T08:13:00.002+02:00

OK, let’s elaborate. Jesus came to bring life, before and after death. The revolution started with his friends claiming that, although they saw him die, he’s not dead after all. He broke the chains and set life free.

Never, not once did Jesus call us to believe in hell. The point is LIFE.

Hell is not about life; no it’s death all the way and God doesn’t do death.

Then why is there a need for Faith?

‘Cause this life is hell enough. People, from all walks of life go through it every day.

The kingdom of God is about the restoration and healing of this life as sign of hope that even in death, life will go on. The story of God as told in the Bible ends with heaven coming here.

So it is hell in some poverty stricken place, in some AIDS ridden family, in some corruption driven government, in some fear filled refugee camp, in some depressive, abusive relationship and in some painful story where death made its home. Why then bother with a theology of hell, when, what we really need is a theology of hope?

Day 12

2009-05-17T23:57:00.004+02:00

I don’t believe in Hell. There, I said it. It’s off my chest and out of my system. Wrapped up and ready to meet its friend “Guilt” who’s already inside the box of junk.

This is a big confession.

For so long I believed that to follow Jesus means to believe in hell as place where the lost, the wretched and the damned go. That, so I thought is the starting place of faith. To believe in Jesus is to admit that you are lost and in dire need of some form of saving. If your time runs out before you came to this realization, well, then the Devil and the rest of gang will be waiting for you on the other side. Needless to say, it left me scared shitless.

But fear does not lead to faith. It only leads to superstition and forced religiosity.

Tonight, while grinding coffee beans, it came to me. I don’t believe in hell, because that’s not where I’m heading. It’s not part of my reality. My faith does not depend on the belief in the Devil or the Hell as place where sinners go when they die.

No, I choose life before death. The abundant kind Jesus spoke about. That is where I am going to start looking for God.

What a way to end the week. The box is getting heavy, I must admit. For a moment I thought of taking it out and putting it back, but then I thought: “To hell with it, I am throwing it out!”

Day 11

2009-05-16T22:44:00.002+02:00

Still busy with the “throwing out” theme. Where do I start? What will the label on the first box of Christian kitsch be? How about “Guilt”?

Through the centuries the church perfected the art to turn guilt into faith, service, prayer and tithes. I used to feel guilty about almost every “do” and don’t” that I learnt in church. I should pray more, confess more, listen more, believe more and especially tithe more. I should sin less, doubt less and enjoy less.

Usually to great effect, guilt got me to do all those things.

Except love.

Love and guilt don’t sit around the same table. You cannot love out of a feeling of ought to or ought not to.

Out of guilt we can build houses, move mountains, feed thousands and pray like angels, but still it will amount to nothing.

Because love and guilt just don’t gel.

So I am wrapping up everything I have ever done, because I thought that that is what God expects from me. The list is long. It includes some big names such as The Bible, Prayer, Faith, Charity and Church.

No obligation, no expectation, just pure, honest, broken, vulnerable love.

“A box full of guilt”, sounds like something I should’ve chucked out a long time ago.

But here goes nothing...

Day 10

2009-05-15T10:06:00.002+02:00

There is something sacred about autumn. Yesterday I took the dogs to a park. Hard to believe I was standing in the middle of Joburg city, patterns of red, yellow and orange all around. Here and there the first fingerprints of winter were visible.

Nature is shedding like a sheep dog, throwing off the stuff it gathered on her journey through spring and summer.

To throw stuff out is sometimes good. We need to travel light. Same applies to faith. During our walk with God we tend to gather junk. Before we know it we hold on to sentimental Christian kitsch that holds very little worth and meaning in the bigger scheme of things. In the end it drags us down, holds us back and makes our faith look tasteless, out of date and ugly as hell.

I can feel it in my bones, my soul is heading towards winter. To throw out, shake off, to rest, to gather new strength, go back to the roots, to allow my spirit to dig deep, to find an undercurrent of the Big Stream, to drink, to be revived, to wake up and start believing again.

Day 9

2009-05-14T18:43:00.006+02:00

It is 20:05 and my wife is in the kitchen helping Angelica with her homework.

Like me, she also struggles with faith. Sometimes it feels as if we are walking the same path. The rest of the time we fight our own battle with religion. But right now, as she is teaching Angelica to speak Afrikaans and to understand Maths, I feel that something of God’s kingdom that Jesus used to speak of is real and alive in our home.

Angelica is not our child, neither a close nor distant relative.

Her mom cleans our house.

I know it sounds patronizing, but the effort she puts in and the passion that accompanies it, is the closest I can get to a picture of “kingdom come”. She doesn’t need to do it, but if she doesn’t then Angelica will not see her dream of becoming a doctor come true.

And this is where her struggle with religion ends and her journey with Jesus starts. Where religion survives by telling people they are bad unless God saves them , the Way of Jesus calls people from humble identities to take a walk in the direction of mercy, hope, justice and love.

You don’t need a Bible to do this. You don’t need a big church for this journey. You don’t need the next big preacher to show you the Way. The first followers had nothing of this, but their impact on the world as we know it is still echoing through the corridors of history. They grew from 12 to 20 million in 300 years. People got hooked on the countercultural way of living an everyday ordinary life of Love.

If you have a little bit of hope, if you made a small change towards giving, if you've decided to give forgiveness a chance, if you are feeling a slight discomfort with the state the earth is in and if you are pondering to live a life of substance and meaning, chances are you’re already walking it.

Day 8

2009-05-13T11:10:00.001+02:00

Still busy with sin and hell. Back in school I was that kid that irritated the living daylights out of people with my overzealous efforts to preach the “turn of burn” gospel. My brother was different. He hated Sunday morning church. He never read his Bible. He partied, smoke and drank. He was the anti-Christian type.

Every odd now and then I would let him know what I thought of his way of life.

No wonder we weren’t close.

Mean while I started to see through the system. I got hooked on the Way of Jesus. I was ready to love my brother without trying to change him.

Then he died, suddenly.

Accident at work.

At his funeral, one of his housemates (with the same lifestyle as my brother) gave a testimony.

“Pieter was the closest to Jesus than anyone I ever knew.” was his words.

It left me cold.

My religiosity blinded me. While I thought I knew God through a so called holy lifestyle, obeying
all the rules, God was right there all along in the life of my brother, waiting for me to acknowledge this simple truth.

His friends, who never went to church, who did all the stuff that church taught me not to do and who never did the other stuff I thought I was supposed to do when it come to the stuff of God, saw God in my brother.

And I did not.

Damn irony.

Day 7

2009-05-12T22:25:00.004+02:00

The whole day I have been thinking about a conversation I had last night. Why do we believe that we are bad and sinful? Why do we keep telling ourselves that our true nature is to rebel against God? I have been hearing this from the start of my faith story. It’s been around for ages, this theology of humans being up to no good.

I just don’t buy it anymore.

What if the first words you heard as a kid about your relationship with God were positive, hopeful and validating? What if you never heard of hell, sin, the Law and punishment? What if your first understanding of your identity as a human being was that you were created by God, almost like God, loaded with godly possibilities and that this identity will never change?

Sounds like Good News to me.

Day 6

2009-05-11T10:00:00.002+02:00

I have a friend in Cape Town that likes to speak about God as a "moving target". Sounds funny, I know. But there is something to it. God being on the move. You can't pin God down.

Just like the Lion in Narnia, wild and free. Always coming and going.

Or like traffic, but without the stress. It’s weird to think of God in that way. Somehow it just doesn't fit. Usually God is stationed somewhere, like in a church, on a mountain or up in heaven.

But maybe not, maybe God is right there where you are, a step or two in front, but still close enough to see the fresh footprints in the sand.

Day 5

2009-05-10T22:53:00.001+02:00

Late Sunday night. I‘m still chewing on the words of the Wandering Rabbi: “Sell everything and follow me. Let go of all the stuff, lighten your load and come take a walk.”

How far removed from the spirituality of the Real Jesus do we find ourselves? The story of the Good News Journalists that travel the Known World telling stories of Faith, Hope and Love quickly evolved into an institute that crusades around in search of power and wealth. Somewhere else it became a club of elite members constantly judging people to be in or out. Somewhere it started as a great Idea, but got dragged behind by hidden agendas and selfish ideals.

I can go on like this for quite a while.

But somewhere someone sold her stuff and followed. Somewhere someone broke the chains and started to run. Somewhere someone lost his religion and found God. Somewhere someone is still on that journey.

What I would give to be that someone...

Day 4

2009-05-10T11:04:00.002+02:00

Weekend blues and family dinners. Spend a day in the Cape travelling between parents. Instead of taking it easy to enjoy an awesome day in one of the most beautiful places in the world, we felt rushed and agitated. How easy it is to miss out on life. You run around trying to please everyone. You fall back into old patterns. You quickly become someone you’re not. Or are? Or were? I’m not sure, but man, I hate that guy.

Life beckons.

Love calls.

But something suffocates the goodness out of me and I end up grumpy and irritated.

I have been here before. I have felt like this more than once. I know how to get out of this itching skin.

I choose.

It takes a heap full of energy, a whole lot of soul and bag full of character. But in the end I pull through.

So in my search for God, maybe God is in that conscious decision to change my attitude. When I fight back the shadow and let the Light in; when I take a long shower, a deep breath and a cold glass of water; when I force that smile until it comes from a place of honesty and when I start loving through the irritation, God shows up, or showed up. I’m not sure...

Day 3

2009-05-08T13:50:00.002+02:00

06h43, Johannesburg, OR Tambo Airport. Planes all around, ours delayed, fog on the runway. Airports are one of my favourite places to be. The expectancy of an adventure, the life on the move, the privilege of being a pilgrim, it’s all part of the energy between departures and arrivals.
My wife and I took our dogs, the Land Rover and a few essentials on a journey to the Drakensberg Mountains. On our way to our destination we took the fastest possible route. Tar roads all the way, a smooth ride filled with convenience, safety and all things familiar. On our way back we changed the settings of the GPS to dirt roads and detours. We took the road less travelled, the routes on the map marked as “not recommended” and “slippery when wet”. The ride was bumpy, dusty and dirty. The roads were empty and scary. But what an adventure! It took us along the flow of the rivers of the mountain; it showed where the autumn gets its colours from and where the winter gathers the cold. We drove through villages that do not exist and over bridges that still have to be built. The first road was big and wide and easy to drive. The latter was steep and narrow and tough to drive. The one was a no brainer, just a means to an end. The other, a journey that shapes your soul, prepares your heart and bids you fair well with the gift of awe and wonder.

Somewhere someone wrote that being a believer is to be a pilgrim, a stranger on a journey. Jesus’ invitation to his friend was not to commit, subscribe, join or belong, but to follow. It’s a call to take the scenic route, to travel off the beaten track, to get going.

To follow Jesus is to see faith as fluid, hope as change and love as the detour in to the mysteries of life.

Day 2

2009-05-07T16:12:00.003+02:00

Outside the thunder is rolling, the winds are picking up speed and the clouds have turned everything gray. On days like this in ancient times, people believed that the gods are angry. Today we know better. Today we know that this is part of nature, no one is angry. It is just life going through growing pains.

But still we pray as if God is angry. Our prayers are filled with words of penitence, “I am so sorry” “Have mercy” “Please God forgive my sins”. Day in and day out, we plead and moan and cry. We go to church, synagogue, temple and mosque. We tithe and fast, confess and commit. We hope that we are wrong and fear that we are right, because somewhere deep in our souls the wounds of ancient superstitions are still sore, still oozing with toxic religiosity.

Somewhere in my struggle to submit to the demands of my religion I have lost Life. That’s what religion does, it sucks life out you. Instead of standing in awe of the thunder and the lightning, we run into our temples and pray to the gods for mercy.

The words from R.E.M’s “Losing my Religion” have been in my head the whole day. I got to let go of the fear. I got to let go of the superstition. To much guilt, I need a breath of Fresh Air.

It’s time to open the shutters.

It’s time to show religion the door.

It’s time to let Life in.

Day 1

2009-05-06T15:07:00.005+02:00

Faith doesn't come easy, not to me anyway. Spend a whole day trying to pray the other day, got stuck. Spend the rest of the week ignoring God, or is it the other way around?

Someone gave me great advice, he said my problem lies with the god in my head. That god never existed. Just something I created to feel good about myself. Or something I inherited from my parents and they from theirs. Generations down the line and we sing and pray and hope and believe in something that does not exist, or that is just a crumb of the Big Loaf of bread we call God.

So now the journey starts. Away with all the baggage, with all the stuff that I used to think of as God. Away with all the cheap answers from people claiming to know everything there is to know about this amazing Mystery. Away with the commercial gospel that photo shops life and all its complexities.

I am looking for the Real Makoya, the Big Loaf.

Are You out there?