At the End of It All

At the end of it all, I stand here.

Standing naked as Adam and Eve

On the day they fell to their own greed

And realised all they’d done.

Standing alone as Hagar

On the day she was cast out for her closeness

To the one she was told to love.

Standing defenceless as Elijah

On the day You broke down all his constructed defences

To get him alone before You.

At the end of it all, I stand here,

Watching You break apart the walls I’ve built for my protection

From sorrow and lonelieness and my own wretched company.

You find me alone, naked and defenceless before my God.

My God who is terrible and powerful and gloriously good.

My God who gave it all up become alone and naked and defenceless for me.

At the end of it all,

When my heart is broken and my eyes have run dry,

I stand here.

At the end of it all,

When my selfish will must bend to Your heavenly designs,

I stand here.

At the end of it all,

When I’ve nothing left to give but my praise for Your Name,

I stand here.

Will You come?

I have to admit, I wasn’t ever keen on the kid. From seeing his speech on the evening news, I thought ‘meh’. I know better politicians and although his story
was moving, it was by no means the only one I’ve heard. But that was evidently not the media’s perception of him – he was immediately labelled as te future prime minister and the person to save Labour from years of opposition.

As I said, I’m wasn’t personally that impressed. So it made little difference to me to find out that Rory is the son of a self-made millionaire whose business collapsed two years ago, hence the house repossession. He was educated at a private school until said business collapse, when he qualified to attend a local grammar school in Kent. His parents are now separated and he lives in a semi-detached house, still in Kent, with his mum. One of the articles I read quoted a supportive grandmother who professed no knowledge of her grandson’s interest in politics but was very proud of him all the same.

I would hate to go through a house repossession, parents separating or anything else that Rory has gone through in the past 2 years, and I think he absolutely should speak out about the impact the government’s cuts are having on the welfare system and young people. But, ultimately, he had a great start in life and opportunities from birth that many people will never have. Despite the recent troubles his family have faced, he is still a middle-class white male with an excellent education, a supportive family and a passion for socialism. Which is great for him, but bad for the Labour Party, because that describes most of their male MPs.

Despite all their attempts, the Labour party is still male and public school education dominated. They have been intentional in their search for equality, more so than many other parties, but, as my female friends who attend party conference tell me (with some measure of glee, it must be acknowledged), it’s still a majority male environment. In ten years, Rory Weal will be one of many enthusiastic, left-wing, well educated and well meaning Westminster hopefuls which the middle-class has always turned out.

I think the reason that I was initially unimpressed with Rory Weal was that I know someone who was on the list to speak at conference that morning who, had she had the opportunity to do so, would have far surpassed him, taken his media spot and, as it turns out, done the Labour party conference a lot more good than he has ended up doing. My best friend Amy Mercer-Bailey is the youngest female county councillor in the country and, at 20 years old, is one of the most mature, driven, caring and genuine people I know. If you know me, you’ll know that I talk about her all the time because I find her simply amazing. She is the pride of her local Labour group and impresses everyone she comes into contact with, whether they’re a local resident, a fellow councillor or a Shadow Cabinet minister, with her intelligence, maturity, humility and passion for justice and helping people achieving their potential. Add into that mix that she has a wicked sense of humour, an ability to laugh at herself and an inherent coolness and you begin to see why people respect her so much.

But the thing which sets Amy apart from most other politicians is that she is distinctly not middle-class. Amy grew up in Northwich, which is not the most desirable place to inhabit, and had one of the worst upbringings I’ve ever heard of. By her own admission, she was subjected to 6 of the 7 forms of abuse in the first 16 years of her life, mostly from her own family and household. At the age of 14 her house had become a drug den and she was effectively fending for herself and her three younger siblings. Some people who grow up in those situations pull through, manage to find a job and a mate and live a normal life – others fall into a life of crime, addiction and repeating the mistakes of their parents. But Amy has such extraordinary potential within her that even that upbringing couldn’t knock it out of her.

Amy is the only person I know who has gone through 15 years of hell and come out on the other side unwilling to let it define her, slow her down or squash her passion for serving and helping others. Part of that is due to her faith in a God who redeems and gives second chances, and part of that is due to her uncompromising desire to make the world a better place. She has overcome her family, her background, dyslexia, bullying, stereotyping and the expectations of almost everyone she knew, including her own family, in order to reach her potential, and I do not know one person who has met and spoken to her for more than 3 minutes who doesn’t see that potential and leadership and believe in her ability to change the world.

Rory Weal is probably a fantastic guy with great ideas and a real love for people. I’m not knocking him for any of those things, and I’m sure he’ll do very well in whatever career he goes into. But Amy is a remarkably talented woman with the experience of life that enables her to connect, understand and help a group of people who think politicians have nothing to offer them, and that sets her apart from everyone I’ve ever met. And that’s why I’m probably her biggest fan, but certainly not her only one.

Peace,

AH

P.S. In case you were wondering, Amy isn’t paying me to write this – in fact, she’ll probably want me to censor at least half of what I’ve written as untrue, exaggerated or unimportant. Told you she was humble.

I haven’t mentioned anything about Troy Davis on Twitter because I wanted to understand the situation and circumstances as well as I could before making a comment either way. But this morning I opened a BBC News article on the execution (found here) and a little paragraph at the end caught my eye.

Another man was executed on Wednesday night – a white supremacist gang member called Lawrence Brewer from Texas. He was found guilty of the murder of a black man, who was chained to the back of a pick-up truck and driven along the road until he died.

I want to make a couple of things very clear before I go any further – I believe Troy Davis’ execution to be a miscarriage of justice, and I am against execution for any crime, be that rape, murder, genocide or war crimes. The latter is because I serve a God who died to redeem a lost world and who holds no judgement against anyone who comes to Him in humility and recognition of what they’ve done, whether that’s telling a lie or killing a child.

With that in mind, I just began to wonder how many of the people on Twitter who condemned Troy Davis’ execution would have called for the halting of Lawrence Brewer’s execution. I have a feeling that some of those who spoke out against the death penalty in the former case may have had more trouble condemning its use in the latter.

Evidently, this is an unfair parallel. Davis is widely suspected to have been innocent of his crime, whereas there seems to have been little trouble convicting Brewer. Shooting a police officer in the middle of a brawl and driving a truck with a man chained to the back of it are two very different crimes with very different motivations, which people would say deserve different punishments.

Jesus told a story once about a moneylender, who was owed 50 denarii by one of his debtors and 500 denarii by another. That’s about the equivalent of £2,500 from the first debtor and £25,000 from the second. Neither of them could afford to pay back the moneylender what they owed – so he cancelled both of the debts. His point was that the man who had been forgiven more was more grateful to the lender for cancelling the debt. (You’ll find the story in Luke 7:40-43 if you want to look it up)

Jesus didn’t say what the two debtors had used the money for. An investment that went wrong, the treatment of a sick child, gambling, prostitutes – it didn’t matter. The point was that they had been forgiven, both of them equally. Despite their different debts, they were both pardoned.

I fully support those who campaigned against the execution of Troy Davis because he was innocent of the crime for which he was executed, not only because I believe he was innocent but because the death penalty leaves no room for redemption. Because I serve a God who redeems. And that means that I have to also support those who campaigned against the execution of Lawrence Brewer – not because he was innocent, but becaue the death penalty leaves no room for redemption.

I guess my point is, if you’re going to campaign against the death penalty, you can’t pick and choose who to pardon. Jesus sure doesn’t, and I for one am very glad of that.

I fully expect this blog to be condemned and controversied, that’s OK, but if you do leave a comment calling me a bigoted fundamentalist who is completely out of touch with reality, please don’t swear or your comment won’t be approved and your opinion will be lost forever.

Peace,

Anneka Hannah

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/article-2025930/Huge-rise-intensely-sexualised-pictures-women–men.html

When you think about it, it’s a silly comment really. I mean, of course you could do better. Anyone can do better at anything. You say you did your best in that exam, but did you really? No. You could have prepared more, paid more attention in lessons, maximised your learning by not having Facebook open while revising. That report wasn’t the best you could have done – you could have proof-read it twice more and double-checked the objectives in that ten-minute phone call you made explaining why you were going to be late for dinner.

Everyone could do better at any given thing. Provided that they don’t mind doing worse at other things. You can do better at netball if you dedicate your time to netball practice instead of finishing your history project. You can do better in your exam if you dedicate your time to note-taking instead of sleeping. You can do better at work if you choose to stay late at the office rather than picking your kids up from school.

At the start of my final year at university (or college, depending on which side of the ocean you happen to reside), I decided that I wanted to try my best for a 1st, a top mark, one that I could be proud of. But I also wanted to commit time to my college community, building up friendships and being a help to people who were struggling. Then I got a part-time job, which meant I committed to working and earning money. I had to choose where to place my time, where to invest it and where not to invest it.

So really, it comes down to choice. What will you prioritise – work, family, health, relationships, sport, religion, friends? What do you choose to invest in? What will you be happy to leave as a ‘could do better’ in order to focus on another area?

It’s so easy to allow time to pass by without deliberately choosing where to invest it. Do that enough and you’ll reach a point where you look back and realise you could have done everything better without doing anything worse. That’s when you realise you could have lived better.

At the end of my university degree, I came out with a 2:1. I was 2% off the mark I needed for the grade I wanted. But it was my choice to invest time in friends, in work and in worship, as well as in simple things like food and sleep and cleanliness. So although I could have done better in my academic studies, I couldn’t have done so without taking time away from something else in which I chose to invest. And, you know what? I’m quite proud of my last year at college. Because I think that I lived it well.

So, yeah, you could do better, probably at everything. But that’s not important. What’s important is choosing your priorities and investing full energy into the time you allocate to them. That way, even if you ‘could do better’, you will know that you chose to live the way you did, and that you couldn’t have lived better.

Make sense? Yep. Great. He’s with me. Nice and simple. Next line.

No. Read that again.

‘The Lord is with me.’

The Lord, God above and beyond all things, the Lord who needs no introduction other than ‘the’ because He is the only One like Him, is with me.

The Lord is with me right now. Not when I’m in church, not when I need Him around, not when I feel particularly aware of His presence, but now. He is with me.

The Lord is with me, little old me in my little insignificant life. When He looks down to earth, He sees me. When He hears the prayers of the world, He hears my voice and my concerns distinctly. The Lord is with me.

Still fairly simple? Thought so. Read it again.

‘The Lord is with me.’

What does it mean for God to be with me?

With me by His Spirit, His all-encompassing presence and power. With me constantly, always present. With me, not against me, supporting my cause of righteousness and fighting for me. With me as my help, my guide, my strength and my protector.

Because the Lord is with me, I am never alone, I am never defenceless and I am always provided for.

Psalm 118:7 – ‘the Lord is with me.’

I am never without my God.

Sounds good, right? The adverts are unrealistic and so can’t be used – a victory for self-image and real beauty. But read the article again – sentences like ‘L’Oreal admitted retouching [the images] but denied that the two adverts were misleading’, and ‘Ms Swinson [Liberal Democrat MP who has been a big voice on this issue] said that while some retouching may be acceptable, the adverts were “particularly bad examples of misleading advertising”.’

It really annoys me that retouching and airbrushing images has to be ‘excessive’ before it becomes an issue. Jo Swinson admits that there’s a ‘big picture’, citing that 50% of 16-21 year old females would consider cosmetic surgery – and yet the ads were banned on the grounds of being ‘misleading’, because they were ‘false advertising’. It pays no regard to the effect that these adverts can have on the self-image of hundreds of women who will see them every day, only to the satisfaction of those who will actually buy the products.

A girl I was at college with recently told me that she wants to lose weight because when she looks at adverts and magazines she ‘feels fat’. She is 5’7″ and weighs less than ten stone, a reasonable amount of which is on her chest, not her hips or stomach. There is no way that she is overweight, and yet the standards of advertising would have her believe that she needs to lose weight because she can feel a slight (and I mean slight) line of flesh above the top of her jeans. Which is so small it’s invisible, by the way.

There is a culture of beauty in our society which insists that being outwardly beautiful is an excellent way to spend your time, money and effort, because it will make you happy. Whether it brings you confidence, love, success or money, it will bring you happiness. Look at those models – they all seem so happy. They can have anything they want – the world is their oyster. Maybe if you looked like that, you could have anything you wanted too.

I wrote earlier about airbrushing and retouching of images to make them look more alluring. No, I don’t agree with it and yes, I think it should be banned entirely. But, to be honest, whether these images have been airbrushed or not is not the major issue. The major issue is the pressure on men and women to look good, pressure which they will never feel like they live up to.

I applaud Dove’s campaign for real beauty, but it’s simply not enough, because it still focuses on being beautiful. As long as beauty is a focal point in this society, there will be abuse and hurt, eating disorders and cosmetic surgery which are unnecessary.

‘What matters is not your outer appearance—the styling of your hair, the jewelry you wear, the cut of your clothes—but your inner disposition.’ 1 Peter 3 (The Message)

I’m currently doing research into the link between self-image and self-worth, looking at how the physical appearance of a person can make them feel etc etc. So expect more blog posts along a similar vein sometime soon, and please comment below! I’d love to have your input – remember, all in the name of research =)

Peace,

Anneka Hannah =)

Peace,

Anneka Hannah =)

Lose yourself in the work you do or lose yourself in play,

Lose yourself in the here and now, lose yourself in yesterday

Lose your own identity and create a new one from scratch

Then lose your clothes and music tastes if the two don’t seem to match.

Lose your dreams and lose your hopes and make new ones to fit the moulds that

You want to fit into so that you can do just what you want to.

‘You’ doesn’t count for anything when you can redefine yourself

So go and get lost and then recreate yourself.

Has it ever crossed your mind that you’re good, just as you are?

Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t have to go this far?

Could you ever believe there is someone who loves you, just as you are,

Even with the mess and the mistakes and the breaks and the hurts and the scars?

Lose yourself in the words you say, lose yourself in the games you play,

Lose yourself in the lies you tell, lose yourself in the things you sell

As truth, even though you can’t remember who you are,

Just carry on, don’t think it through, just go and get lost.

Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t have to go this far?

Could you ever believe there is someone who loves you, just as you are,

Even with the mess and the mistakes and the breaks and the hurts and the scars?

Peace,

Anneka Hannah =)

Cynicism

I think that one of the greatest works of the devil in the church today is cynicism.

Cynics are not happy people. Have you ever seen a joyful cynic? They expect things to go badly, and when things go well they pick out the negatives instead of celebrating, or simply say that it was just luck and couldn’t ever happen again.

Cynics are those who count the crowd at the altar, responding to the gospel message for the first time, coming to God in humility with the hope that He could change their lives, and mutter that half of them are only there because of the emotional high and the other half will give up within 2 weeks because it’s too hard to be a Christian.

Cynicism pollutes faith, destroys hope and breaks down joy, condemning them as naive, fleeting and non-permanent. It expects the worst and often receives it; and on the occasions when it is unjustly rewarded with the best, it is unappreciative and sarcastic.

The alternative is not mindless optimism or blind, false happiness which sees the world in a rose-tinted hue of niceness, but a sure and certain faith which appreciates both the goodness of God and the fallen nature of His creation. It expects the best of the former and prepares for the latter, balancing faith in the Almighty with knowledge of humanity. Its disappointments are met with sorrow, its triumphs with joy, its mediocrities with both appreciation and analysis. The sure and certain faith is trusting but not stupid, wise but not bitter, hopeful but not blind, joyful but not false, realistic but not limited.

Jesus was not a cynic. He knew the goodness of God and the fallen nature of humanity better than any other; but He did not allow Himself to be cynical, for cynicism is the opposite of hopefulness. And hope endures beyond all things (1 Corinthians 13:13).

The girl worked her way through the city. She had no idea how many tiers were left – every time she managed to get to the next tier, she thought ‘this must be the last one!’ But she quickly discovered that there was more to this city than she could have dreamed, and that she was at least another tier from the top, if not many. Sometimes the girl misread the map and got lost. Sometimes she ignored the friend and went the wrong way on purpose. Sometimes she got distracted and wandered off. But she always managed to find her way back to the route she was supposed to follow.

Then one day the girl came to a brick wall, 12 feet high and as wide as the street. On the other side of the wall was the entrance to the next tier. There was no way around the wall, and she certainly couldn’t scale it. She checked the map – had she gone the wrong way again? No, she was in the right place, she was sure of it. This was definitely where she was supposed to be. But the wall was in the way. She turned to her friend, but as soon as she began to ask for his help with the wall his eyes glazed over and he seemed to stop listening. He would talk to her about everything, anything but the wall.

For a moment, the girl almost considered turning back and finding her own way, but she had climbed enough tiers to know that would never work. The city was more complex and dangerous than she understood – she needed to stick to the map her father had drawn. So, instead, she tried everything else she could think of. She tried to climb the wall, but couldn’t get more than halfway before falling down. She studied the map carefully, making sure she hadn’t taken a wrong turning earlier on. She focused her mind on the problem, removing all distractions. She studied the wall, trying to see a weak point where she could begin to take it apart. She asked, ‘what would my father do in this situation?’ She asked her friend for help time and again. When all of that failed, she beat against the wall and screamed in frustration until her voice cracked and her hands bled. But it was no use. The wall was still there, as big and daunting and immovable as ever.  She was stuck in a dead end.

What should she do? What would you do?

I don’t know the end of this story yet. The girl is still sitting with her back against the wall, stuck in a dead end with no way out and no way back. I wish I could tell you how she will get over the wall, but I don’t know.

One thing I do know is that her father loves her too much to let her sit there forever.

‘I will lift my eyes to the Maker
of the mountains I can’t climb
I will lift my eyes to the Calmer
of the oceans raging wild
I will lift my eyes to the Healer
of the hurt I hold inside
I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You’

I Will Lift My Eyes – Bebo Norman

Suggestions welcome. Peace out.

AH

*I said I wouldn’t do this again, I said I’d put more effort in.

This day wasn’t supposed to be like the one before,  and now I see my promises in pieces on the floor.

*I said I’d try to put You first, I said I’d live to show Your worth.

I said I’d be for You alone, but my words don’t match with the life I’ve shown.

*I say I’m tired of living life this way and then nothing changes, it’s the same today

As it was yesterday. Is there another way to make something out of me that’s more than OK?

*I said I’d do what You tell me to, I said I’d live a life that pleases You.

I said this time I really would be true  to the promises I’d made; well, look what that gave me.

*I say I’m tired of living life this way and then nothing changes, it’s the same today

As it was yesterday. Is there another way to make something out of me that’s more than OK?

*I say I’m sorry, I take it back; is there something that I am lacking?

Because to everyone else around me  it seems to come so easy. Is there anyone like me?

Anyone who’s tired of repeating the same apologies while their lives get eaten away, day by day.

*I say I’m tired of living life this way and then nothing changes, it’s the same today

As it was yesterday. Is there another way to make something out of me that’s more than OK?

I have taken inspiration from Alice, and written my own list of six impossible things to believe before breakfast. It reminds me of who I am and why I am alive, and encourages me to think on those six things throughout the day. Maybe you’ll think I’m crazy, maybe it will encourage you to think of your own. I hope that it will at least make you think.

1) There is a God in heaven, the God of the Bible.

2) This God is objectively perfect in every way.

3) This God loves me more than I can comprehend.

4) This God came to earth to live a perfect life and die perfectly to save me.

5) This God has placed His all-powerful Spirit within me.

6) This God will take me to heaven and will keep me there with Him beyond the end of time.

Peace out,

AH

This week, we looked at being hungry and thirsty for righteousness (Matthew 5:6). We talked about cravings, and what it’s like to want or feel like you need something so desperately, and what it might look like to have a desire (or a hunger & thirst) for God, that was that intense. Then we talked about how these desires begin, and how we can transform bad cravings into good ones, e.g. stopping negative gossip about people and gossiping positively instead. We agreed that, as well as praying and asking God to transform our desires, sometimes we have to ‘fast’ from the cravings we indulge in that aren’t good for us and try to replace them with the things that are good for us. So at the end of the session, we all chose things that we would fast from for the following week, and things we would replace them with. The things ranged from ‘being nice instead of nasty to my sister’ to ‘replacing junk food with healthy food’ to ‘seeking God’s approval instead of people’s approval’.

The challenge applied to leaders as well as youth – so I decided that I would fast from Facebook this week, and spend the time I would normally spend on that on Bible study instead. I’ve done 24 hours thus far, and it’s actually quite hard. I go to type in the URl and have to check myself and go to a different site instead. It’s also a challenge to just take my Bible and sit down and read it, because I know that once I get into it I could be busy for an hour if God wants to speak to me through a passage. But it’s going OK. I’ll update this site as I go and let you know how the Facebook fast is going.

Peace out,

AH

The second girl was brought up in the same way to believe the same things, but she was more obstinate and headstrong than the first girl, less willing to give up her dreams, maybe a little more naive. She retained her belief that she could change things, that she was significant enough to make a difference. But that belief mixed with conceit and independence, creating a condescension, an inflated ego and a belief that she was the only one who could save the world. She worked too hard and saw too little impact, was diagnosed with depression, gave up her dreams and retreated into her own imagination for the rest of her life. An existence that ended as it had begun. Nothing remarkable.

There’s a song by Kendall Payne called ‘Scratch‘. I heard it for the first time about 5 years ago and over the last few months I’ve found myself agreeing more and more with the words. My favourite line is ‘I used to think I was special and only I have proved me wrong’.

I was never in danger of becoming the first girl. I’m far too stubborn to give up on something I truly believe in. But until recently, I was basically the second girl. If you’d asked me, my answer would have included God, but that would have been more like lip service than anything else. The last few months, however, have changed me, I believe for the better.

Probably a month or two after I arrived in America, I started helping out at an elementary (primary) school age after-school club in a deprived area of downtown Baltimore. As I was helping Monique, one of the girls there, with her homework, she turned to me and said ‘where are you from, because you sound like Peter Pan’. Naturally, I told her I was from Neverland, not thinking that she would believe me. I learnt an important lesson that day, never underestimate the gullibility of a 6 year old. For the next two months she told everyone who came through the door that I was from Neverland, despite my protestations to the contrary. And now I think about it, there’s something of Neverland that has always appealed to me. The blank refusal to ever grow up and get boring, staying childlike for the rest of my life.

This year, I have realised that I am not Peter Pan, nor do I come from Neverland. I am 21, whether or not I want to be, and will continue to age, and my mind and understanding have to age with me.

Almost every kid thinks they can change the world. Almost every adult thinks that nothing they do will change anything in any significant way. This year, I have also realised that I am not meant to be one of those adults.

I am an ordinary woman. I am not particularly strong, nor am I more talented, more intelligent or more exceptional than anybody else. But I serve an extraordinary god, who is able to do more than I can ask or imagine through His power at work within me (if you don’t believe me, check out Ephesians 3:20). And that means that I can change the world by doing what He asks me to.

The third girl was brought up to believe that she could change the world, and continued to believe it through her teenage years. This belief made her naive, and many people still viewed her as a child, even as she entered her twenties. Then God put her in a place where she began to understand who she was and what she was capable of. She came to realise that not every event she organised would succeed, that not every person she befriended would come to know Jesus, that not every sermon she wrote would change people’s lives. She came to realise that she was human – in fact, she was nothing more than average. And then God showed her just how extraordinary He was and just how much He could do with a life surrendered to Him. He showed her that her ordinary life could be used in extraordinary ways by Him, if she would just listen and obey.

I don’t know how this woman’s story ends. But I believe that when that woman, as she comes to the end of her life on earth, looks back over her years, she will not see an unremarkable life, nor will she see a world that looks the same as it did when she entered it. I believe she will see the work of an extraordinary God as He worked through her hands and feet and heart and voice. And I believe that she will see how the only extraordinary thing she ever did was say ‘I’m yours’.

Dear God, I’m yours. Amen.

My dad is a bit of a petrol head, unashamedly so, and I think I inherited some of that from him. Add that to me being under 25 and a new driver and you can probably guess that I didn’t exactly keep to the speed limits all the time. By the grace of God, I was never pulled over or caught speeding.

Recently, it’s been a little different. For a couple of weeks whenever I’ve been speeding I’ve felt God nudging at me, telling me to slow down. This week has been particularly bad- I’ve challenged myself to really slow down and drive at the speed limit. It’s been frustrating for me (and probably frustrating for the people behind me) but I’m getting there. I’m not perfect yet- there are certain parts of certain roads that I continue to speed on, and it’s difficult to drive at 55mph on the Interstate highways when the people behind you are attempting to drive at 70mph. But as a whole, I’m much better than I was.

A couple of interesting things I’ve noted- there are some roads on which everyone obeys the speed limit, and some on which most people don’t. It normally depends on the regularity of the police presence on that particular road. The most marked evidence of this was on a road with a very steep hill, on which I drive pretty much every day. As soon as I reached a long stretch of road without side roads, everyone around me sped up by 10mph. The other thing is that most people only speed a bit. 5mph over the speed limited is the accepted norm- drive much faster than that and you’re being anti-social, but a little over is fine.

Being a Theology student, a Christian and a bit weird, I’m blessed (or cursed, depending on your perspective) with being able to see parallels between my experiences this week and my general experience of people and their ‘law-breaking’. God’s law, that is, not the national or state law.

It’s easier to break the law when you’re less likely to get caught. Underage drinkers don’t sit on police station walls and swig their alcopops; burglars don’t steal from a fully alarmed and well protected house; men don’t bring prostitutes home if their wives and children are there; church members don’t swear in Sunday services or in the pastor’s presence. They’re clever- they do those things in the dark, in secret places, away from the gaze of those to whom they would have to answer for their wrongdoings. Problem is, of course, that the One to whom we are all accountable doesn’t miss a thing. He can see straight into the homes, workplaces, cars and lives of every person on the planet. Which makes all our paltry efforts to keep our sin hidden fairly pointless.

Then we justify it. But I’m not really doing anything wrong- it’s only 5 miles an hour over the limit, it’s no big deal. One white lie won’t hurt our relationship; I’ll only get a little tipsy, not really drunk; it’s not a hard drug, just a bit of fun; abusing my body doesn’t count as a sin. When all else fails, we fall to comparing what we’re doing with the person next to us- they’re driving at 90mph on the interstate so people should be happy that I’m keeping my speed to 65. Yes, I watch pornography, but at least I’m not as promiscuous as her; well I might curse occasionally but my mouth is a great deal cleaner than his; I work too hard, agreed, but have you seen his overtime schedule?

The Bible reminds us in Romans 3:23 that no one can live up to God’s standard. Just because someone else is doing worse things than you doesn’t mean that God lets you get away with the things you’re doing. He doesn’t have a shifting scoreboard that necessitates a certain number of people above average and a certain number below. His standard is perfection and no one lives up to it. I don’t, and I am aware of it every day. That’s the whole reason that Jesus came and died for the wrongdoings of the world, then rose from the dead to defeat both sin and death in one weekend. My eternity is safe in His hands when I trust Him with it. So why, if Jesus died so that I am no longer measured against God’s standard, do I still try to live up to it? Why do I still do the things He asks of me when I don’t need to in order to go to heaven?

The Bible says that Christians should be imitators of Christ- living up to God’s standard not because they have to but because it makes Him happy, and after He’s saved their lives their natural response is gratitude and thankfulness. Not only that, but most of the things God asks of me actually make sense. Kind of like the rules of the road- sometimes they seem like a bit of a drag, but there’s a reason I’m not allowed to drive down residential roads at 40mph.

So driving with God isn’t easy. But it’s becoming more natural every day and I know that it’s safer for me and everyone else on the road. Living with God isn’t easy either. But as I go through life with Him, I get closer to living the way I’m supposed to live. And that’s the most exciting drive I could imagine.

Peace out,

AHM

Having just looked over the group, there’re some pretty good ideas.  They range from the passionately charismatic to the humorous (my personal favourite is ‘now then Satan, put this in your pipe and smoke it!’), but most of them revolve around the concepts of new life and forgiveness. This year I’m trying to focus the cosmic impact of that weekend’s events rather than what I personally get out of it – coming from this angle, Easter seems to me like the biggest paradox in history, the most unexpected twist that you couldn’t have seen coming. Certainly none of the disciples, religious leaders, faithful Jews, intrigued Gentiles or Roman authorities saw it coming.

Sometimes I wonder if Satan saw it coming. Did he realise, somewhere between his leading Judas to betray Jesus and the final cry of pain, exhaustion and triumph on the cross, that he had assisted in orchestrating his own downfall? Or was it on that Sunday morning, when the earth shook as the sun rose and the indomitable spirit of Christus Victor sledgehammered the lock on hell’s gates and paved the way to freedom, that Satan screamed in anger and frustration as he realised that he’d been outdone for the last time?

So Easter is about turning the world and its expectations upside down. It’s about an almighty God humble enough to die like a human criminal, a love strong enough to sustain a man through torturous pain, a Father gracious enough to forgive the child who screamed ‘I hate you!’ in His face, a life vibrant enough to overcome death and an invitation broad enough to apply to every race, gender, age and personality type on the planet.

Although the whole story of God’s involvement with humanity is paradoxical. Humanity has nothing to offer God, and yet God is the one who constantly pursues and forgives and blesses when we run and hurt and curse. And when we’ve gone as far from Him as we possibly can, He comes and bridges the gap Himself. I think God likes turning the world upside down.

What do you think Easter is all about? What does it mean to you? Add it to Easter(LIVE) or just comment on the blog.

Peace out,

AHM

I Dare You

I dare you to get up and start moving.
I dare you to get out of you little box and take a look around at the world that needs to see
Him in you.
I dare you to think bigger than you can see.
I dare you to imagine things you could never do
On your own.
I dare you to stand up for something you believe in.
I dare you to make some noise for those who can’t.
I dare you to call out for those who are relying on you to tell their stories.
I dare you to look beyond your petty tomorrows and look at how you can live
Today in all its fullness.
I dare you to look around you.
I dare you to open your heart and feel their joy and their pain.
I dare you to see people through the skin.
I dare you to do something outrageous to draw people’s attention to an outrage in front of them
That they can’t see.
I dare you too look beyond yourself and out to a world that needs a touch from above.
I dare you to see the man on the street corner asking for change.
I dare you to feel the news, not just watch it.

But most of all,
I dare you to make a difference.

I dare you to see the potential that’s blistering away inside you, longing to get out.
I dare you to remember the things you see and to act on the things you remember.
I dare you to live outside the box.
I dare you to be radical.
I dare you to live on the edge.
I dare you to live like you mean it.
I dare you to become who He made you to be.
He didn’t make you with limits and concerns and worries.
He didn’t make you to do a 9-5 shift and then think you’ve done your bit for the world.
He made you to change the world.
I dare you to do what you were made to do.
I dare you to change the way you live and change the world for His glory.

I was out at a party, a friend’s 21st birthday with a disco & lots of dancing. One of my friends at college hates clubbing and rave music, saying that it’s wrong and that Christians shouldn’t do it. When he said this, I told him that I worship and praise God through dancing to clubbing music, which is true.

Is that right? Should Christians worship God through clubbing and dancing around or should they make themselves separate from the world? After all, they’re called to be different, right?

But I don’t think that means not going to certain places- I think it just means not doing things normally. Like worshipping on the dancefloor- why not? Because I believe that when people worship Jesus, He reaches down and sends His Spirit to where they are. And if that’s the way to welcome the Holy Spirit into nightclubs, I’m all for it.

The following morning, I heard a sermon on salt and light from Matthew 5. It was about being different to the way the world lives. That doesn’t mean not going to the places where people are, it just means acting differently to the people in those places. That’s what Jesus did, and I’m happy to follow His example.

We preach Christ crucified…
Unashamedly and truthfully? Or are we adding too much water?

There’s a line between reforming the church
And reforming the beliefs.
Between changing ourselves
And changing God.
Trying to fit Him into such a
Safe, comfortable box that we lose the
Edges of our faith.

Because God isn’t cosy and comfortable.
Jesus isn’t an Anglo-Saxon with a pretty smile.
The Spirit isn’t a calm, sweet force accompanied by classical music.

The cross has sharp edges and nails, rough sides and a heavy beam.

You have three options:
You can dress it up with coloured paper and glitter,
Put a bow on top and make it look nice.
But sooner or later the paper will rip and the nails will start to show.
You can plane the edges, pull out the nails,
Sand the sides and lessen the weight.
You can make it more appealing- but not without changing it.
Or you can take it as it is-
Ugly, rough, bloodstained and dirty.
Lifelike, undiluted, real.
The emblem of our faith, the saving, redeeming cross.

We preach Christ crucified.
And we are not ashamed to do so.

I AM

Who am I?

I am the light bulb that switches on when you start to think,
The water that quenches when you start to drink,
The paper, the hand, the pen and the ink

I am the Force, the good, the conscience, the life,
The newborn baby that cries in the night,
The red-gold firework bringing the brightest flare
The mother who couldn’t be there

I am the silence at 3am when you can’t sleep
The salty taste when you start to weep
The tramp who lives alone in the rubbish heap
The prostitute working on the corner of the street
The waterfall crashing into the deep

I am the lightening strike on the horizon that leaves you never the same,
The doped-up kid driving in the fast lane,
The clear, cool, refreshing summer rain,
The silent scream of pain

I am the ear that listens as you moan
The friendly hand reassuring you you’re not alone
The microwaves flying while you’re on the phone
The marrow, the life force inside your bones

I am the hand that catches you as you slip
The friend who stays with you on your e-trip
The blood that shines when you bite your lip too hard
The ace of hearts in a pack of cards

I am the kid who never says a word,
The morning chorus of singing birds,
The eyes and ears that saw and heard that thing you thought you’d gotten away with

I am loving life and living love,
The gentlest push, the hardest shove,
The branch that holds the nest of the dove,
The one that you’ve been dreaming of all your days
The sunset upon which you gaze

I am colour, shade, dark and white,
The shortest day and the longest night,
The one who didn’t put up a fight
Because he knew he was right
And that he could bring light

I am your soul and strength,
The width and depth and height and length,
The letter you never sent
That said I’m sorry

I am the music that soars to the sky
The truth that cannot lie
The single pip in the apple pie
The twinkle in his eye that makes you smile
The one they couldn’t defile

I am the buzzing of the bee
The purest gold you’ll ever see
The one who gave you the free sweet
And winked and said it was a treat

I am all you are, all that you have been
All that you will ever be, want, do and see
I am power, I am gain
I am weakness, I am pain
I am the pride, I am the shame
I am the runner and the lame

I am more than you could ever imagine
More than the drawings you could fashion
The laughter, the tears, the smile, the frown
The green of grass, the earthy brown
The blood that fell to the ground for you

I am wind and fire, smoke and flame,
The wildest sea that can’t be tamed,
The innocent child who came when you called,
The mountain that stands tall,
The tree that falls

I am the last glimpse of sunlight in the evening,
The story behind the book you’re reading,
The author of the life you’re weaving day by day,
The truth that won’t go away however hard you try not to look

I Am All That I Am
And All That I Will Ever Be
I Am Me

I’ve got a new devotional book (well, it’s not new- it was given to my parents as an engagement present & my mum gave it to me a couple of weeks ago) written by Charles Hatton Spurgeon, it’s called ‘Morning and Evening’, and it’s absolutely brilliant. Really challenging & inspiring stuff- he was a pretty cool dude. The morning one for today (which is September 11th by the way) was taken from 2 Corinthians 6:17- be seperate from the world. It’s where the whole ‘in the world but not of the world’ idea comes from- the principle that we are Christ’s ambassadors, living in this world but not being part of it. As ambassadors live and work in foreign countries without ever forgetting that they are nationals of another country, Christians are called to live and work in this world without forgetting that their real home is very different to this one.

But it’s not just remembering that we aren’t here forever- there’s another side to it. Ambassadors aren’t part of the country they live in because they are tied to their roots at home- they keep the same customs and behaviour, communicate daily with their own country and pass on messages from one to the other. They do their work not because they want the country they are in to succeed, but because they want their own nation to succeed, and for that reason they work to different agendas and have different priorities.

In the Bible, Christians are told that we are citizens of heaven but live on the earth as ambassadors from our real home. That means that we have to pass on the message that He gives us to everyone we know and that we have to act in the way that shows we are citizens of heaven. Most importantly, everything that we do has to be done for the Kingdom of God to grow on earth and for God’s name to be praised and glorified- this means that, like ambassadors, we will have different priorities and agendas to other people, which will set us apart from the people we know.

So living in the world but not acting as citizens of the world is hard work. We’ve all slipped up before, and we almost certainly will again. We’re learning on the job, and there are bound to be mistakes. But because Jesus loves us and died for us, every time we muck up God picks us up, dusts us off, sets us back on our feet and points us in the right direction. He guides us all the way, and any time we need to we can get back in touch with our real home and ask what the best way is to be an ambassador in the places we live. And remember- practice makes perfect! Keep trying and although the world won’t get easier to live in, it will start to feel more natural for you to work to God’s laws, priorities and to share His message of love and grace with the world.

So keep going- ambassadors get rewards at home, and God’s promised more reward than we could ever comprehend for those people who stay true to Him.

‘Work for God- it doesn’t pay much now, but the retirement plan is out of this world!’

Perfection unrecognised
Beauty unseen
Through the red streams of life
Anointing his head

Power ignored
Influence destroyed
By the jeering disbelief
Of the ex-loyal

Life expiring
Heartbeat slowing
As they taunt and shout
From the base of the tree

The homeless wept
The blind laughed
As the highest price was paid

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

From the mouths of the children
The lips of the young
Comes the truth

From the hearts of the young ones
The mouths of the infants
Comes light

The light in the darkness
The meaning of truth
From the children
The minors.
The generation given up on
Shows the way
To life

On the corners
In the bars
(Can you hear it?)
From the murmurs on the streets
(Can you hear it?)
To the shouts in the playground
(Can you hear it?)
In the hearts and the minds
Of the ones we decide
To cast off
As useless
Comes the truth.

And the truth will set you free.

Can you hear it?
The whispers, the shouts,
The cries, the moans,
The groans, the screams
All point to
Him.

The truth will set you free.

Can you hear it?

I used to think that you couldn’t see hate. I was wrong. I see it in the eyes of my father, my uncles, my older brothers. I see it in the cold glares of the Rabbis, in the twisted smiles of the guards. But I don’t see it in him.

He staggers and stumbles, each step making him stoop further towards the dirty road leading out of the city. He is half-dead already. But still they want more of this sorry creature; this frail body must be destroyed before they will rest.

He stops, ready to fall, and a brave man darts from the crowd as the huge beam on his shoulders threatens to squash him. The guards lift the plank, dropping it on to the shoulders of the other man, and the procession starts again. They lead out of the city, up Golgotha, the Hill of the Skull. The crowd follows, surging as a huge tidal wave, threatening to drown this lone swimmer who can barely move for the weight of his own body.

The bright cross pattern of lacerations covers his entire back, seeping and running through his loincloth and down his legs, which are no better. His arms are red raw, and his feet are a mass of congealed blood and perspiration. It is a wonder he can walk at all.

Then we are there, at the summit of the Hill of Death. As the guards take the great plank from the brave man, almost knocking him right over, the condemned man stops, turns suddenly, and looks at me. Not at the screaming, shouting multitude behind me, but in to my eyes directly. My heart stops; my mouth is dry; my eyes fill. Then the guards seize him, and I turn and run.

I don’t know where I’m going; I don’t care. I run, colliding with bodies, treading on feet, blindly stumbling down the hill, away from the clearing in the forest of people. Then I am clear, and I slip and slide over stones, falling in to a dip in the hillside that hurts my leg, and I sit there, breathing hard.

He loved me. I saw it in his eyes, in those seconds, I saw so much- sorrow, despair, pain. But as he saw me, they were taken over by love. Love for me.

Not the love my parents have for each other, or the love my sister has for her friends. It was something else, something different. It was a deep, pure love, which saw all I’d ever done and still loved me. He was a stranger, had never met me and would never meet me- but he knew me. Inside and out, back to front. How, I don’t understand, but one thing I do know- he loved me. More than that, he was dying for me. Up on that hill, he was dying for me. Because he loved me.

“Are you alright?” asks a woman, stopping with a worried look on her face. “Do you want any help?”

“No”, I say. “But could you tell me the name of the man who is…” I run out of words, gesturing behind me. “His name’s Jesus”, says the woman. “Jesus of Nazareth. Thinks he’s some kind of prophet or something.” She walks off, muttering something about phoney messiahs, leaving me sat on the hill, deep in thought.

Jesus of Nazareth. I hold that name. It means something- something indefinable. Jesus. I know now, that however hard I try, that look- that love- that man Jesus will be with me for the rest of my life. I can never forget that man. Jesus.