In her youth, Iris was impetuous, idealistic, supremely confident, ready to burst out of her sheltered existence and make her presence felt in this world.
Like an iris bud pushing its way out of its protective cocoon, there was a great deal going on inside.
….Years passed….
As a middle-aged woman, Lady Iris had important roles in her community and was well loved. Her beauty was unrivalled but she was increasingly aware of her limits. She was productive in a measured and steady fashion.
Like her namesake, she was comfortable in her identity, idiosyncrasies not withstanding.
….Years passed….
In her latter years, Grandma Iris exuded wisdom gained from experience and accentuated by distance from the action. Productivity was no longer the point.
Like a wrinkled iris, her charm had past, though a wistful beauty gently emanated from the flower’s lines, swirls and fading colours.
See the emerging bud (lower centre), blooming flower and wrinkled remnant of an earlier flower (lower left).
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Honour her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
I am against slavery, of course. But, oh, how lovely it would be to have somebody at my beck and call. If only I had a maid, my home would always be tidy. If only I had a gardener, my grass would always be neat. Somebody would bring me breakfast in bed every morning. Somebody needs to open the door for the cat right now, in fact. She is meowing plaintively by the back door, even as I draft this blog post.
If only……
Somebody needs to serve the cat. That somebody would be me.
I don’t know why the cat wants to go out. It’s cold out there. I scurry back to bed and turn the electric blanket on.
Limbs as slaves
According to a portion of Romans 6 which I am listening to as I sit on … okay, IN … the bed this morning, I do have a slave. Several, in fact. In a fairly literal translation I’ve never used before, I hear this line:
“… present your limbs as slaves to righteousness to achieve holiness.” (Romans 6:19 – follow the link in the footnote if you want to see where that translation came from – it’s not a standard version.)
My limbs can be slaves? I ponder this concept. My limbs are part of me. How can I present them as slaves? Surely Paul, the original writer, was being rather ‘Greek’ in the way he separated body and soul in this passage.
But then, the Roman recipients of this letter lived in a society heavily impacted by Greek thinking. And slaves were commonplace there. Some of the people Paul wrote to were slaves themselves. In fact, Paul prefaced this explanation with the caveat, “I am speaking in human terms, because of the weakness of your frail humanity.”
I am just as weak, and am glad for the human terms. Too often, Paul’s explanation are so abstract, I find them hard to follow. This, though, I can manage. I wonder whether, if he were writing in our day and age, he would use an analogy involving ‘Hey Siri’ or ‘Okay Google’.
Ridiculous uses for limbs
My lower limbs are being offered for a different purpose as I draft this blog post. The cat didn’t last long outside. It’s cold and drizzling. She is now on the bed with me, curled up against my leg. How can I move my legs? How ridiculous a thought it is to present my limbs as slaves to a cat.
Sometimes I do things even more ridiculous with these limbs of mine. I use my hands to choose chocolate instead of carrots. (Though a little bit of chocolate now and then is okay.) Or I stretch my legs out on the footstool rather than on the cross-trainer. (Again, there is a time and place for relaxing, but generally I need more exercise.) In the words of Paul, when I make these poor choices, I present my limbs ‘as slaves to impurity and lawlessness to achieve iniquity.’
Ugh. That sounds awful. Surely such little things don’t count as ‘impurity and lawlessness’? Surely they don’t lead to ‘iniquity’?
Paul goes on in the next chapter to write at length about his struggle with doing what he doesn’t want to do but not what he does want to do. Being the great missionary and teacher that he was by the time he wrote this letter, I can’t imagine that he did anything too awful on a daily basis. He was likely talking about first century ‘little stuff’ in the same way that my daily battles are over 21st century ‘little stuff’. Sobering……
Hope and despair
Thankfully, at the end of that long saga, Paul concludes with a note of hope even in despair.
“What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.” (Romans 7:24-25 NIV)
Me too. I’m a wretched woman, though I don’t like to admit it. But I am a woman who is saved through Jesus.
A translation tangent
Rather than get out of my nice warm bed when the online devotional finishes, I dig a little deeper into the original words translated ‘limbs’ in the version quoted above. Biblehub.com tells me that the Greek that Paul used was ‘μέλη (melē) ὑμῶν (hymōn)’. It literally mean ‘parts of you’, ‘you’ being singular and not plural. So you and I, we are to present our parts – your parts and my parts – as slaves to righteousness.
I think about the day ahead. When I find my eye drawn to social media at a time when it should be on a work-related task, I will say to it, “Eye, I present you as a slave to righteousness.’ When it is time for morning tea, I shall take my arm, use it to open the fridge door, and, presenting it as a slave to righteousness, I shall make a good choice. When I am ready for a mental break, I shall offer my legs as slaves to righteousness and do some exercise instead of flopping on the couch. And so on through the day. That’s the plan, anyhow.
The first problem, however, is to get my legs off the bed. The cat is so very comfortable here, as am I. I don’t want to present my limbs as slaves to anything. I just want to stay right here.
“… And give my son Solomon an uncluttered and focused heart so that he can obey what you command, live by your directions and counsel, and carry through with building The Temple for which I have provided.” (1 Chronicles 29:19 The Message)
I have been challenged this past week to pray for an uncluttered and focused heart. I even posted that prayer as a Facebook update. In the verse above, King David was praying about a particular role which God had in mind for Solomon. David would have dearly loved to have done it himself. The task was to build an impressive temple for the worship of God. My goals are much less lofty.
Perhaps God is answering my prayer, just the same. ‘De-cluttering’ is a theme which keeps cropping up these past few days.
Order
I admire people who live ordered and disciplined lives. I want to be like them. Until I have to work closely with them, that is. “Give me back a bit of creative chaos,” I mutter to myself when constrained to work on projects one step at a time, “… or I shall go quite, quite mad.”
God has made us all differently. As we work together, each living according to who she was created to be, we are called to ‘bear with one another in love’ (Colossians 4:2). When my super-ordered friends insist on strict structure and stress about uncertainties, I understand exactly what Paul meant by ‘bearing with one another in love.’
Although I am comfortable with a modicum of mayhem in my life, I need to knuckle down and focus these next few weeks. I have a couple of big deadlines looming. Perhaps that is why I have been thinking about clutter this week. Or, more to the point, perhaps that’s why our Lord has brought it to my attention.
Cluttered homes
‘Declutter your home … now.’ The advertisements for an online decluttering course in my social media newsfeed are appealing. The truth is that when I declutter my pantry, fridge, freezer, wardrobe or drawers, I become aware of, value and use what is there.
But I don’t have time to enrol in a programme or accept another challenge just now. My calendar is too cluttered.
Cluttered calendars
Why do I find myself with five commitments in a day? “It’s high priority,” I explain regarding each. But how many ‘high priorities’ can one have? Does ‘busyness’ make me feel needed? Valued? Important? Significant?
What would happen if I declined an invitation to participate in a discussion, complete a translation project, attend a meeting or teach a class? What if I said ‘No’ to opportunities that are good, but which detract my attention from other commitments that are even better?
Cluttered minds
Cluttered minds are surely a symptom of the age of the mobile phone. Always connected to everything and everyone, with dings, bells and whooshes alerting us to this or that, our attention is scattered, to put it mildly.
While working on one project, I turn my attention to a small detail. I look it up on the internet, at which point, something else grabs my attention.Before I know it, I find myself off task, tempted by tantalising tangents.
Modern responses
Mindfulness apps, meditation workshops, measuring brainwaves through semi-medical devices – all these are reasonable responses to this chronic problem of mental clutter.
In Melbourne, at least, Western Buddhists are quick to pick up on this modern malaise and offer suggestions for dealing with it. I wish that we Christians would do better at tapping into this felt need in society, drawing on our rich heritage of Christian meditation.
One of my favourite ‘hacks’ to help me focus is the ‘pomodero technique’ . It’s a fancy name, but simply requires a kitchen timer and enough discipline to focus for 25 minutes at a time.
On my iPad, I have samples of seven intriguing books I want to read on how to knuckle down and focus … but have yet to knuckle down and focus and read them.
An ancient perspective
A cluttered mind is perhaps a more pressing issue for the average modern person than it has ever been in history. Ancient truths about managing our minds are as true as when they were first recorded and perhaps more relevant than ever.
I’ve written before about the topic of meditation and how it is a theme throughout Scripture, usually in the context of meditating on God. I’ve dabbled in the life-giving practice of ‘contemplative prayer’ and blogged about that here too. There is plenty of teaching – explicit and implicit – in the Bible for us to know that we all have different roles in God’s kingdom work. We need not, and should not, attempt to be and do everything for everyone all the time.
Right now, as I find myself in another particularly busy patch of life (despite my resolve not to have a ‘busy’ mindset), I am reminded afresh of the need to commit my days to the Lord and ask for his help.
King David prayed that his son, Solomon, the newly coronated king, would have ‘an uncluttered and focused heart’. The purpose of this prayer was so that Solomon could (a) obey God and live according to his ways, and (b) get on with the particular job that God had given him.
May that be our prayer too. May God give us ‘uncluttered and focused hearts’. The purpose of this prayer is NOT so that we can do or be the impossible. On the contrary, we ask for uncluttered and focused hearts so that we can (a) obey God and live according to his ways, and (b) get on with the job that God has given us.
And so…
Personally, I sense that regular writing projects are one of the tasks which God has given me. Even if nobody else were to read this piece on cluttered minds, the process of thinking and praying through it has been helpful.
A little bit of chaos feels creative. But not clutter. That’s detracting. It would be nice to de-clutter my home and my calendar … after my deadlines have been met, of course. Perhaps, though, the immediate challenge is to de-clutter my mind.
For that, all I need is the Holy Spirit and a little discipline. Everything else will flow out of it.
I wanted to try my hand at storytelling in this week’s blog post. It was to have been based on a tale we studied in BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) this past week. ‘Show, don’t tell,’ is good advice for story tellers. ‘Sights, sounds, textures, tastes, smells – focus on these,’ they say.
But I can’t do it.
It’s too gory. It would be too traumatic to fully enter into the story in my imagination. I was intending to put myself in the position of the main character in tale of 2 Samuel 21:7-14. Her name is Rizpah.
Let me try, even though I won’t do it justice. I’ll weave between telling the story without calling on too many of the senses as well as a bit of commentary. There are no pictures this week … the topic is too heavy.
The story – part 1
Rizpah is an older woman. She is single, like me, but unlike me, she hasn’t always been so. Though neither has she exactly been married. She was once a royal concubine in the palace of King Saul.
Back then, Rizpah had lain on a soft mattress, a newborn son in her arms, a toddler wriggling beside her. Her ears were attuned to every little sound her children made. Now an old woman, she lies on a rough piece of sackcloth spread on a rock. Her ears are ever alert for the sound of birds or wild animals.
Her sons’ bodies hang above her.
A little background
I told you it was a gory tale.
Rizpah’s sons, along with five grandsons of King Saul, had been hung at the order of King David. This was to vindicate the deaths of many Gibeonites, a local people group, at the hand of King Saul some forty years earlier. In fact, some of the Gibeonites had served in God’s temple as wood cutters and water carriers.
King Saul had ordered them slain because they were non-Israelites. Yet their people should have been guaranteed safety according to an old covenant made between Israel and the Gibeonites (see Joshua 9.) This clearly put Saul in the wrong.
As a result, many years later, the land was stricken with famine. King David enquired of the Lord and was told that the cause of the drought was this broken covenant. He asked the remaining Gibeonites what it would take to atone for the evil done to them. The answer? The death of seven of Saul’s descendants.
Saul wasn’t the one who suffered for his actions. It was everyone affected by the famine, and particularly the seven who were killed as well as Rizpah whose heart was broken. It wasn’t the first time nor would it be the last that the sin of one person meant the suffering of innocents scattered in time and place.
There is no happy ending to this story, though there is a resolution of sorts.
The story – part 2
A royal convoy approaches Rizpah. Workers respectfully take down the bodies of Rizpah’s sons and the other five bodies as well. They are laid in a covered cart. The decaying bodies are protected now from the rain which has finally come, as well as predators.
Rizpah is finally able to wash. Up until now, a quick squat to do the necessary was all she could manage because of the need to keep the bodies of her precious sons from being desecrated by animals. Her smelly rags are taken away. A royal servant provides Rizpah with clean clothes.
Rizpah accompanies the bodies in the cart. They are taken to the land of Benjamin. Evidently, the decapitated remains of the boys’ father as well as an uncle who died long before have been exhumed and brought here too. A funeral is held at the tomb of the boys’ grandfather. With great fanfare, her sons are laid to rest.
If only
Now you see why I found it so hard to imagine myself in Rizpah’s sandals, let alone write up the story using all the senses. It is easier just to read the story as ancient history, a tale set in an era of violence, taking up only a few verses in the Bible. To think of this woman as one of us, a woman who lost her livelihood, and then, many years later, her only sons, is just unbearable.
If only the former king had feared God and done what was right in God’s eyes regarding that earlier covenant……
It wasn’t Rizpah’s sin that led to her suffering. It wasn’t even her sons’ sin. They were probably not even born at the time of Saul’s foolish act, or if they were, they would have been very young. I base this comment on the fact that they were killed near the end of David’s 40-year-reign, and Saul had the Gibeonites killed some time before that began. Rizpah, their mother, was strong enough to sleep rough and protect their bodies, so she was probably a young woman at the time of the slaughter of Gibeonites.
Prophecy
Substitionary death was a familiar concept to the people of that day. Animals were regularly sacrificed as atonement offerings in worship. The lives of Rizpah’s sons (and five other men) were offered as an atonement sacrifice of sorts too, though it was an offering to the offended party and not to God.
In a sense, the death of these seven men points to Jesus’ atoning death. By their death, the curse against the people was broken, the famine ended. Rizpah’s gut-wrenching grief also points to the pain Jesus’ mother would endure centuries later. Jesus’ atoning death cost those around him dearly too.
Grief-stricken mothers are a motif throughout Scripture. In Jesus’ day, for example, we are told that a prophecy of Jeremiah was fulfilled through the slaughter of innocent baby boys by order of King Herod. The prophecy itself referred to the grief of another bereft mother many generations prior to Rizpah’s lifetime. Matthew’s gospel puts it like this:
“Then was fulfilled what was spoken by Jeremiah the prophet, saying: “A voice was heard in Ramah, Lamentation, weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, Refusing to be comforted, Because they are no more.” (Matthew 2:17-18 NKJV)
I doubt that poor Rizpah had any inkling that her pathos was a prophecy of sorts. It would have been fat comfort for her even if she did.
The conclusion
Sin stinks. God’s mercy is immeasurable, yes, but sin is still like a pervading cancer in society. Sin impacts innocent people as well as, and sometimes even more than, the perpetrators.
As we focus on the incredible grace shown to us through Jesus, let us never ever ever minimise the horrendous heart-wrenching horror of sin.
The golden-wrapped confectionary bar is calling my name……
‘Navigating excellence in the art of living amongst a world of instant gratifcation’ was the subtitle of a book being promoted in the library. I took a closer look. “The authors argue our need to always feel comfortable, if not happy, has robbed us of achieving excellence in our own lives.” The book was written by two secular academics who use an ‘evidence-based approach’. (See footnote 1.)
I was interested to read more, but not today. Right now, I have work to do for a class assignment. That’s why I came to the library. But the book blurb got me thinking.
I swung by the supermarket on the way home for some groceries. I popped a poor excuse for a chocolate bar into my basket as I approached the checkout. At 85c, it was less than half its original price. But did I actually want it? Do I approve of the over packaging? Why did I even get it?
Our society has gone mad. Quite, quite mad.
Instant gratification
As I sat in the late afternoon traffic, the impulse buy called out to me from a bag in the footwell of the passenger seat. I pondered the proposition that our desire for instant gratification is hurting us.
Take me, for example. Why do I allow myself to be sucked into the vortex of unproductive time on social media? (Limited time there is okay, in my humble opinion.) Why do I feed my body sugar and fat in forms that have no nutritional value? I would have have enjoyed blueberries and yoghurt much more than the ridiculous honeycomb bar I just bought. Why do I sit in front of the TV when the exercise machine beckons from the corner?
A spirit of self-discipline
That was yesterday. This morning, in my morning devotion, using an online Ignatian resource called Pray As You Go, I spent time in 2 Timothy 1. A British voice read these words: “… for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7).The word ‘self-discipline’ caught my attention.
Being a bit of a word nerd, I looked up key words in the original Greek on my iPad. After all, I had memorised that verse as a kid, but it was a bit different to this version. I remember ‘… a spirit of fear’ instead of ‘cowardice’, and ‘a sound mind’ instead of ‘self-discipline’. They’re similar concepts but not quite the same.
This is what I learned.
A language lesson
πνεῦμα(pneuma) is translated ‘spirit’ in 2 Timothy 1:7. It has the sense of wind, breath and spirit. I think of the English word ‘pneumonia’ or ‘pneumatic’ which both come from this Greek word.
δειλίας (deilias) is usually translated fear, timidity or cowardice. I think of the English phrase ‘dilly-dally’, which does not come from the Greek as far as I can tell. Just the same, I think it fair to say that we have NOT been given a spirit of dilly-dallying, let alone of fear, timidity or cowardice. I hope that I’m not handling the word of God irresponsibly here.
What is this spirit like, then, that God has given us? It is one of power δυνάμεως (dynameōs), from which we get the English word ‘dynamite’. It is a spirit of love ἀγάπης (agapēs) – a real deep love. And it involves σωφρονισμοῦ (sōphronismou) – self-discipline. It is this last attribute, self-discipline, into which I want to dig a little deeper.
A sound mind
According to BibleHub (an online resource for Bible study), that rather cool-sounding word, σωφρονισμοῦ (sōphronismou), generally translated ‘a sound mind’ or ‘self-discipline’, is actually a complex word made up of two root words and three grammar markers.
The main word is ‘sophron’, pronounced ‘so’-frone’. ’Sophron’ is made up of (1) ’soos’, meaning ’safe’ and ‘sound’, and (2) ‘phren’ meaning ‘an inner outlook which regulates outward behaviour’. Now I understand why it is sometimes translated ‘a sound mind’ and other times translated as ‘self-discipline’ or ‘self-control’. The compound word has the sense that our actions come from a centre where we are ‘safe and sound’. To use more modern parlance, we are ‘centred’ in God.
Women then and now
So where does all this leave me, a modern Christian women who has a tempting golden-wrapped treat in her home? Interestingly, my situation is not too different to that of older or middle-aged Christian women of Timothy’s era.
We live in very different societies and eras, but consider the way Paul used the word ‘sophron’ in another context when advising young Pastor Titus on how to pastor a network of churches on the island of Crete. Incidentally, the Cretans had a reputation, by the admission of one of their own prophets, of being ‘liars’, ‘evil beasts’ and ‘lazy gluttons’ (Titus 1:12). Yikes – what an insult. But then, when I look at the rubbish I just bought and will consume, perhaps we are not so different today … not in the gluttony aspect, anyhow.
Paul wrote, “Older women, likewise, are to be reverent in their behaviour, not slanderers or addicted to much wine, but teachers of good. 4In this way they can train the young women to love their husbands and children, 5to be self-controlled, pure, managers of their households, kind, and subject to their own husbands, so that the word of God will not be discredited.” (Titus 2:3-5 NIV)
You might have noticed the word ‘self-controlled’ (verse 5) in the passage above. Paul uses the word σώφρονας (sōphronas) – yes, it comes from the same root word as sōphronismou, used in 2 Timothy 1:7. But that’s not the only place the ‘sophron’ word appears in the passage above.
In verse 4, the older women are told ‘to train’ the young women. The Greek word translated ‘to train’ is actually σωφρονίζωσιν (sōphronizōsin). Do you see it? There is that root word ‘sophron’ again.
Paul’s instructions are that older women should live in such a self-controlled way that their example serves to train younger women who are perhaps, er, let us say ‘exploring their boundaries’. The very presence of the older women in their lives will serve to draw the young ones back into a centre of stability, soundness, safety and balance that comes with being God’s people. The older women are to train the younger women by their self-controlled lives.
As a middle-aged Christian woman living in an era of instant gratification, I am challenged by these words. Do I live in such a way that those who watch are ‘trained’ because of my ‘sophron’ self-controlled lifestyle?
Where to now?
On the one hand, God has given us a spirit of power, love and a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). But on the other hand, we have a responsibility to live with self-control (Titus 2:4).
So where do I start? The following points will help me, I hope.
1. Identify unhealthy habits of instant gratification, including overusing social media, mindless snacking and dilly-dallying.
2. When tempted to indulge, wait five minutes and ask for divine help. It’s hard to intentionally do the wrong thing when you’re praying about it. That’s what is meant by the injunction to ’Walk in the light’ (1 John 1:7). If, however, I fail to withstand the temptation, I then need to confess my sin … yes, sin … as soon as possible afterwards (1 John 1:8-10).
3. Be reasonable. Chocolate and chips are okay occasionally … and very dark chocolate is almost a health food, so I am told.
4. Community is important. We aren’t expected to live the Christian life without support (Hebrews 10:24-25). Blogging about it here is helpful too.
Ask for the grace….
It’s easy enough to write about it. It’s harder to do it day by day, moment by moment. This afternoon, as I write, I have successfully resisted temptation twice – once with chocolate and once with social media. However, there is still the evening to get through. When I am tired, I am more likely to give in to temptation, whether it be in the form of unhealthy food or too much social media or gossip or something else entirely.
Having succumbed in the supermarket, the enticing treat is now in the freezer where I will forget about it for a while. Ironically, it is tucked behind frozen vegetables proudly displaying their five star health rating. One day, I shall pull it out and enjoy the treat – it will be a choice made with a sound mind.
Two millennia ago, the apostle Paul encouraged those under his watch to live self-disciplined lives. In the 21st century, an age of instant gratification, the need to heed these words is perhaps greater than ever.
My online devotional this morning finished with the following words (see footnote 3), and so I leave them with you too:
“What would I want to ask God to rekindle in me at this present time? Ask for the grace to rely more on the power of God and the help of the Holy Spirit.”
Footnotes and references
You can read about the book I browsed but did not read here if you’re interested: https://www.australianacademicpress.com.au/books/details/316/The_Freedom_of_Virtue_Navigating_excellence_in_the_art_of_living_amongst_a_world_of_instant_gratification
All the Greek information comes from various pages on a tool I use regularly – www.biblehub.com
It’s time for a new mop head. I remove the wrinkled grubby piece of sponge and attach a brand new yellow one. I dip the mop into the bucket of warm soapy water, pull it back and squeeze.
The mop goes lopsided, forming a foam ‘L’. Half the plastic supporting structure has come adrift. I squeeze it by hand and press it against the floor, at which point half the supporting structure completely separates from the all but the sponge.
What should I do? It’s a brand new mop head. I hate to waste it. But it is not easy to use without the blue plastic squeeze bits attached.
My thoughts go first to replacing the mop … consumerism … and then straight to a class on that very topic I took last week. Clearly, my mind is not on housekeeping. That’s okay, so long as the floor gets cleaned. I get down on my hands and knees and mop the old fashioned way, although with a new yellow squeeze mop head rather than a rag.
Socio-Cultural Analysis and a Mop
It is just possible that I am overthinking the situation. I dip the detached mop head into the bucket with my bare hands and wring it out. In the minor inconvenience of a broken mop, I sense that God has an important lesson to teach me … as important as what I learnt in class. Perhaps even more so, because I’m learning this lesson at heart level.
Bear with me … I’ll get to the ‘take-home’ message soon enough … as soon as I’m finished mopping the bathroom, laundry and kitchen floors. First, let me indulge in some class review as it relates to my mop saga. We were taught to ask four questions as we analyse particular issues in society.
Question 1: What is going on?
I wish I could say that I’d worn the mop out through rigorous use, but the truth is that the plastic has simply decayed. That’s the short answer.
The bigger issue is that we live in a throw-away society here in Australian suburbia. The plastic was never going to last long. It is cheap to produce, though. In fact, I can replace this style of mop next time I go to the supermarket if I choose, making only a small dent on my grocery budget.
Question 2: Why is this happening?
It was cheaply made. Plain and simple. In class, we were taught to consider the history, sociology, culture, economy, politics and religion behind a particular issue. A lot could be written on how these apply to my poor old mop. I will limit my pondering in this blog post to just one area … culture.
My cheap almost-disposable mop symbolises consumerism.
Books could be written on that topic, and have been. As for the mop, I want something with which to clean my floors. I want the gadget to be cheap. I want the process of cleaning my floors to be quick. I don’t want to invest anymore money, time or energy than is necessary. I have better things to do than mop my floor … or so I think.
Question 3: What’s it like?
Looking beyond the mop now, I ask myself, ‘What’s it like to live in a throw-away society?’
It’s clean. It’s hygienic. It’s convenient. But our garbage tips are overflowing. Neighbouring nations are becoming pickier about receiving our recycling. Our lives are supposedly simpler and yet we try to cram an awful lot into them. We want possessions, experiences, opportunities or connections and so we think that we should have them. Our physical and mental health is suffering. Junk food soothes our frazzled souls but not our guts. (Okay … perhaps you don’t succumb to the lure of chocolate and chips when life feels like it is spinning out of control, but I just might……)
I’ve strayed from the mop. But you get the picture.
Question 4: How good (or just) is this?
Well, it’s rather annoying that my mop broke. But it’s not the end of the world.
As for the impact that consumerism is having, however, in terms of the environment, justice for those who produce our cheap commodities, and the physical and mental health of our residents, that is another matter.
Is consumerism all bad? No, of course not. Simply by living, we consume … we all need water, air and food to live. It’s the way we go about it that is the problem. We neglect truth and justice, as one of God’s prophets put it. (See Zechariah 8:16-17. The whole chapter is about an ideal society. It’s fabulous and I’m enjoying spending time in it this week).
Lessons from the Backyard
I take my poor old mop to the backyard to try and break it in half. It won’t fit in the bin as it is. I fail. It will have to languish in a corner until the next hard waste collection in my area.
The overgrown garden reminds me of how, in creation, we don’t usually get what we want instantly. Not good things, anyhow. Plants take time and the right conditions to grow. Who am I to think that I should be able to have what I want when I want it and with minimal expense or bother? Coffee … particular music … success in my work … dinner … connection with friends … the list goes on.
Limits
I sit down on the porch, defeated by the mop. The cat meows at my feet. She is expecting a treat. I often sit on the porch with a cuppa and a treat for the cat and myself both.
I try to explain to Her Feline Highness that we need to abide by healthy limits. We are creatures, not the Creator. We’re not like God in that we speak and something comes into existence. In fact, I remind her, as her carer, I am responsible to care for her … and that doesn’t mean giving her endless snacks.
Living within our limits, taking a stand against the excesses of consumerism, is easier said than done. Both for the carer and the cat. The kitty rubs against my legs, meowing plaintively, gazing up at me with those big green eyes. How can I resist?
As for the mop, I will replace it but will spend a little more money next time and buy something more durable, hence more environmentally responsible. I’m not going to the extent of mopping my floor on my hands and knees every time, though, even though I daresay that would be best for the environment.
The Main Lesson
As for that lesson I sense the LORD would have me learn, it is this:
Accept limits.
Our resources aren’t limitless – not the world’s natural resources nor our resources of money, time and energy. We’re not God. We’re creatures, albeit created in the image of God and given the responsibility of caring for creation.
Personally, this applies not only to my mop but also to how I use my time. One significant stress in my life is the inability to balance many good and desirable roles. I want to be a good writer, a good student, a good teacher, a good translator, a frequent traveller, a filial family member, a hospitable host, have a lovely home and garden and exercise every day. While I’m not about to drop anything right now, I am challenged to reassess my goals for each day. I can’t do everything every day. And that’s okay. Just because I want these things doesn’t mean that I should have them all right now.
The broken mop, as it turned out, started a whole train of thought, integrating what we’ve been learning in class and other matters that have been on my mind lately.
Consumerism in its extreme, wanton consumption, flies in the face of our God-given mandate as God’s image bearers. Let’s take a stand against it, aware that this aspect of our culture is flawed. Let’s steward our resources well and live responsibly, not striving to have everything we want nor to be everything to everybody every minute of every day.
That came a long way from the frustration of a broken mop.
Light. This was a theme for my recent trip to Asia. I sensed that this was of God, and wrote about that the start of my current adventure. That is recorded in a blog post called ‘Daughters of Light’.
And now, at the end of the trip, God has brought this theme to mind again.
As I draft this post, I’m on a plane bound for Australia. Again. In my mind, I look back over the many people and places that have filled my days these last few weeks. It’s a privileged life I lead, and one which I don’t take for granted. I hope and pray that I have been an encouragement to my friends as well as to others I met along the way. I sincerely hope that I have scattered light wherever I travelled.
I am not allowed my cabin bag for half an hour or so because I am seated in an emergency exit row. Mindlessly, I pull the China Southern magazine from the seat pocket in front of me and flip it open it. The first article my eyes light upon is a lovely poem.
My heart stirs. I think of the way that ‘light’ has been the main theme this whole trip long. I sense God’s touch in the fact that I am finishing the trip with this poem on the same topic … and now incorporating flowers too.
The Poem Translated
“Who opens the windows of heaven, scattering holy light below?
“Who lays out the firmament of the heavens, white breaking waves billowing at his word?
“Who directs dreams, crashing through floating clouds?
“Whose words ring in my ears, truth warming my heart?
——
“Cotton flower, you reflect the sun’s rays, dancing on the clouds,
“Cotton flower, you adorn this home in the sky, bursting into bloom in the ocean of spirits.
——
“Who sings into being the destiny of the sky?
“Who carries the dreams of our lives?
“Whose smile makes us intoxicated?
“Who carries us along towards revival?”
(A translation of a Chinese poem by Chen Cheng, published in the China Southern inflight magazine, September 2019.)
The Meaning
The poem was written by a poet who loves his country. He writes of a flower called ‘kapok’. It is the city flower of Guangzhou, the city in which this airline hubs. It is commonly referred to as ‘the cotton tree’. Actually, the flower is bright red and bursts into bloom in spring, filling the city with colour and beauty. At first, I reason that the author is particularly thinking of the everyday name of this flower, ‘the cotton flower’, and likening it to the white fluffy clouds beneath our plane which really do resemble cotton balls. Then, as the sun sets and the clouds turn red, I can see that the brilliant red flower image works too.
The poem, however, could well point to the author of light, creator of flowers, and inspirer of dreams. I pray it in Chinese, because that is more beautiful that the English translation provided in the magazine. I have suggested an alternative translation above because, translation snob that I am, I wasn’t satisfied with the official version.
This photo was taken from a high speed train.
Questions and Answers
Who opens the windows of heaven, scattering holy light below? The poet expects the answer to be the city flower of Guangzhou, but I suggest that there is one far greater.
Jesus called himself ‘The Light of the World’ (John 8:12). He calls us, his people, to reflect his light, drawing attention to him in the world in which we live (Matthew 5:16). I am reminded of a song called 将天敞开，你的荣耀降下来 (May the Heavens Open and Your Glory Descend), which Chinese Christians sing. Look it up online if you’re interested – it is sung by the group 赞美之泉 Streams of Praise.
Who directs dreams? Throughout Scripture, we read of God directing and his servants interpreting literal dreams. Most of us have experienced him directing our figurative dreams too.
Whose truths, whispered in our ears, warms our hearts? Who carries directs our destinies? Whose smile intoxicates us in a far more profound way than mere alcohol? Who refreshes and renews us?
This photo was also taken from a high speed train.
Back to ‘normal’
My trip is almost over. I am looking forward to life getting ‘back to normal’ – a routine which is fulfilling and meaningful and is in no way just ‘filling in time’ before my next travel abroad. And yet there is always something special about the time I spend as an outsider in this part of the world. I also sense something special about the way that the theme of light bookended this trip. I’m not quite sure what to make of it just yet. For now, it is enough that the theme of light is noticed and, by blogging about it, reinforced.
Thank goodness … thank God … that our value is not dependent on our own worth or competency.
Here, in a land far from ‘home’, I started the day reading about an ancient crippled man named Mephibosheth. King David, at the zenith of his power, specifically searched him out, determined to show him kindness for the sake of his father. The king gave Mephibosheth and his family a permanent home in the palace, as well as restoring his ancestral property. The BSF (Bible Study Fellowship) questions I was using for this study then took me to the New Testament, where I focused on how God does the same with us. The King lifts us out of obscurity though through no inherent value of our own, adopts us into his family, and gives us an inheritance.
Then I walked out the door, ready to take on the day.
In a rush
I slowly descended several flights of stairs and meandered down the street, stopping to admire a fluffy white dog leaving a vet’s surgery. Clothing shops displayed their colourful wares … or should that be ‘wears’? I didn’t walk quickly because the humidity level was high and I wanted to remain fresh and dry. Hardly anyone walks fast here for the same reason.
But then it struck me … I had to go back and quickly. Without going into details, let me state that I suffer from an irritable bowel. There is medication that helps but I had only taken it just before leaving. It hadn’t yet had time to work.
Hurry, hurry, hurry. No time to admire the brown and black dog leaving the vet’s with a cone around his head. Up one fight of stairs, one and a half, two, two and a half, three … finally in the door and … ah … blessed relief.
I call the IBS my ‘thorn in the flesh’. It keeps me humble. It’s something I’ve asked many times to have taken away. Although dietary changes have helped, at this point, it is still a challenge to be managed day to day.
Once again, I walk out the door, now dripping with sweat from my quick trip back.
At the post office
After wiping the perspiration from my face with a small yellow towel, I present a nicely wrapped birthday gift to the helpful post office lady. It is going to a friend in another part of this great country … but first it has to be inspected. I unwrap the gift, careful not to tear the pretty paper.
The post office clerk inspects the book, card and packets of seasonings I brought from Australia, There is no air flow in this stuffy room. All the forms in here feel damp.
She is satisfied that everything is in order. The young woman who came in after me, wanting to send a bottle of perfume to her mother in a far distant province, is not so fortunate. Liquids cannot be mailed.
I rewrap the present under the watch of the post office clerk. But it needs more tape. In the end, what had once been a tastefully wrapped gift is encircled with thick, wide, sturdy China Post tape. It’s not quite the look I was after.
Next comes the form. “Can you write in Chinese?” The kind lady looks at this dripping foreigner with some doubt. Of course I can. Well … I can copy an address, anyhow. Only it turns out that I don’t have the address … I had been so sure that it was in my phone.
I pay for the box in which my clunky gift is now securely nestled, and explain that I am disorganised and unable to mail it after all.
A bus
After buying a sports drink to replenish the electrolytes I have lost over the past hour, I jump on a bus which I expect will take me to the next place I want to visit today. Bus 59 – I used to take it quite regularly. At least in this simplest of tasks, I know what I am doing.
I make my way down the back and count my blessings as I find a seat next to an open window. (Many of the windows don’t open because of the bus having dubious air-conditioning.) I watch the world go by – bicycles, buses, three wheelers and more. Then, to my surprise, the bus turns a corner.
It turns out that the bus route has changed due to roadworks. Oh no. I wait until we have crossed a major road I know, then get off, a full kilometre or two from where I want to go. I start walking. The humidity has intensified. Rain is imminent. My little yellow sweat-towel is saturated.
Mephibosheth and me
As I walk and drip, I reflect on Mephibosheth again. Our lives are very different. I can walk. He couldn’t. I am an ordinary Australian woman. He was the grandson of a Middle-Eastern king, a monarch whose power and popularity was just a memory, but a king, nonetheless. Neither of us were terribly productive (not based on my morning’s efforts, anyhow). And yet through no virtue of our own, both of us were shown favour by a king and welcomed into his home.
In a world that craves control and capability, I act like a klutz and a cultural ignoramus. Yet in the kingdom of upside values, I am shown honour and worth.
And now, I sit in an air-conditioned cafe drafting this blog post. I have sought solace in my ‘comfort zone’ and an iced Americano. But it is time to head out again, into ‘the real world’.
Incompetent and klutzy … the kingdom of God is made up of people just like me. And that’s reassuring. Especially on days like today.
(PS: This post was drafted after one frustrating morning last week. The day got better, and overall, my trip went very well, despite my cultural klutziness.)
‘Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, a chasing after the wind,’ wrote the philosopher. We can read his observations and interpretations in the book of Ecclesiastes. He concluded that life is meaningless and the best that we can do is enjoy each day as it comes and honour God, our Judge, throughout the days allotted to us.
I am no philosopher, but as I travel, I am observing lives quite different to my own. I see people making the best of life, striving for meaning in the midst of it. Without God, yes, all is meaningless … but life can still be quite rich along the way.
The following descriptions are of people I have met recently. No identifying details have been shared. Apart from the respect I have for their privacy, they also live in a part of the world where breaches of privacy are potentially more serious than in my own country.
We might as well enjoy life, with Cookie Monster shoes and a bubble gun.
The Nun
We caught the same bus up into the mountains. She sat tall, self-confident and very much alone. Her hair was shaved, her head shaped like those of people in the north where I lived for a time, a place where people used to put weights either side of their newborns’ heads so that the babies’ heads developed flat backs and rounded tops. What hopes did her parents cherish for their baby girl back then?
Now she wears the robes of a Tibetan nun, though she is not Tibetan. Her speech suggests that she is well educated and from the north. Her maroon robes, yellow undershirt and the cloth bag which tucks under her arm appear not even slightly faded or wrinkled. She snaps photos all the way up on her IPhone, like a tourist. Unlike an outsider, she pays for snacks at the rest stop with her phone too, rather than cash.
What factors led her to take on a faith that is not part of her ethnic background? What caused her, presumably, to forsake wealth and career for a future with a people not her own?
Like me, ‘The Nun’ was snapping photos along the way
The Driver
He sat on the side of the road, calling for passengers. I was the first, and, as it turned out, his only passenger. After waiting a while, being an impatient and extravagant tourist, I just paid for all four seats in his car so that my journey could get underway.
We soon established that I was just a few months older than him. “How many children do you have? What – none – why?! What – you’ve never married – why?! You must have a baby and very soon – your time is running out – I will find you a husband. No, it’s not impossible, but you might need a little medical help. What about it?!”
So far, our conversation wasn’t too different from that of many other drivers I have used. But his own story was unique – at least compared to parts of the world where I have lived.
‘The Driver’ shares a wife with his younger brother. That’s not uncommon in this area, There are three adults in his family and two children. The boy has been given to a monastery – he will never marry nor have children. The daughter was about to take an entrance exam to get into Teachers’ College. My offer to pray for God’s blessing on her exam was well received.
Then his home rings. Talking on a phone while driving is not a problem here. But the content of the phone call poses a big problem. His forehead crinkles, his eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know where he could be but I will try to find out,” he says. Many more phone calls follow in a language I don’t follow.
It turns out that ‘The Driver’ has an important role in his community. It is a role that brings some honour but also significant trouble to him. His people are required to register with the authorities every year. One of those under his watch has gone missing.
‘The Driver’ has a good life most of the time. He enjoys driving through the scenic countryside he calls ‘home’ and especially enjoys being a tour guide to visitors who book him for days at a time. He is proud of the children he shares with his brother and his wife. He is making a difference in his local community. What more could a man ask for?
It is a pleasure to drive through such scenic areas.
The Bride
She left her parents and became one with her husband 15 years ago. But earlier that same year, a family member from her husband’s side had died and so it was not appropriate for the young couple to celebrate the marriage.
The years passed. They had a child and established a business. Now life is stable and there have been no deaths in either family for some time. It is time to throw a big wedding party. But what should she wear on her special day?
‘The Bride’ and her groom have already had the official wedding photos taken, though the three day ceremony will not take place until later in the autumn. She has posed for photographs in a cream and brown wool cape, typical of her her home area. She has also had photographs taken in the colourful outfit of a neighbouring area – their clothes are prettier. Which should she wear for the actual wedding, she wonders?
‘The Bride’ has a good life. I catch her gazing adoringly at her handsome husband and he is clearly besotted with her, even after all these years. Their son is intelligent, witty and doing well at school. Their business is thriving. And now they are about to celebrate their marriage, surrounded by their family and friends.
A question for the philosopher
What would the philosopher make of these stories? Surely life isn’t too different in this part of the world in this age than it was in ancient Israel.
‘Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, a chasing after the wind,’ he may conclude. ‘Life is meaningless and the best that we can do is enjoy each day as it comes and honour God, our Judge, throughout,’ he may add.
But the people described above – ‘The Nun’, ‘The Driver’ and ‘The Bride’ – are not in ancient Israel. Indeed, if they could hear the words of the philosopher, they may well respond with this question:
It’s another grey day here in this massive metropolis. This part of the world has between 250 and 300 foggy, cloudy or rainy days a year according to chinahighlights.com. Because of that, however, this city is verdant with trees, vines, moss and … er … mould. It’s wonderful to be back.
In this context, it seems that God is teaching me about light. At least, that has been the theme for the weekend.
The face of God shining on us
At the start of each month, I usually take a half day mini-retreat. Yesterday, the theme that emerged was a prayer that God would shine his face on the people and places I’m visiting just now. (See Psalm 67.) Indeed, I felt God’s special favour – his face shining on me – right there and then as I luxuriated in splendid solitude in an ancient courtyard of what is now a modern coffee shop. I had the space all to myself.
After leaving the cafe, I prayer walked this neighbourhood where I once lived. ‘May God shine his face on this person and that one, and the communities each represents,’ I prayed. I spotted a woman with blue and pink coloured cotton thread in her hair and prayed extra enthusiastically for her, for her hair adornments tells me that she comes from a part of the mountains especially dear to my heart.
Children of Light
Today I attended a service in a local church and was both surprised and yet not to find that the sermon topic dovetailed very nicely with my theme of praying for God to shine his face on people. The topic was ‘Being children of light’. The text was Ephesians 5:8-10. My heart bounces and my face smiles unbidden when our Lord teaches me in ways that unmistakably have his handprint on them.
Pastor Zhu stood at the lectern robed in black with a red stole, white high collared shirt and a brilliant jade bracelet which flashed when her hand movements were vigorous. “Live as children of the light,” she urged us. “Live transparent lives. We have nothing to hide. Live good lives. Ordered lives. Build others up. Don’t envy others for that is as bad as idolatry.” Envy and idolatry … that’s a sobering thought.
Fruit of the light
‘Fruit of the Spirit’ is a concept I am familiar with but ‘fruit of the light’? Yet there it is, plain as day in any language, Chinese, English or Greek, in Ephesians 5:9: “… for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth…”.
I am reminded afresh that all I am called to be or do during my current travels is to live as a daughter of the light, exhibiting the fruit that comes from who I am in Jesus.
A friend asked me the other day about my ‘objectives for this trip.’ I told her that I have three objectives: to encourage (give courage to) friends here, to make headway on some study deadlines and to prayer walk wherever I visit. All that is entirely appropriate for a tourist. But somehow my explanation seemed a little lacking for somebody who is obsessed with everything she says and does being significant.
Goodness, righteousness and truth … there aren’t any laws against such things. May I be exceptionally fruitful in terms of producing ‘fruit of the light’. That befits a daughter of the light, wherever in the world she may be. That is significant enough.
Order and light
Pastor Zhu made a link between order and light that had never before occurred to me. In Genesis 1, we read that the earth was formless, empty and DARK. It wasn’t just dim, but it was pitch black. Day in and day out … only there weren’t any days.
Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. That was the beginning of the order of night and day. Later, celestial lights were introduced to mark seasons, days and years. They bring order to our lives, both as individuals and as communities.
As children of light, our lives are ordered. That is something I shall endeavour to remember next time I am tempted to slack off during a work day, or feel that I have to work on a rest day or late into the night. Especially as my study deadlines draw closer.
Local policies
The country I am visiting has two policies related to light and which are of particular interest to me right now … policies that pastor Zhu did not touch on, possibly because they’re sensitive. The first is ‘Leave no dark corner,’ and the second urges citizens to ‘Sweep away the blackness’. They aim for transparency in society and ridding it of harmful elements.
As children of the light, we, more than anybody else, ought to live transparent lives. We have nothing to hide, though of course there is a place for wisdom in all we do and say. Yes, it’s complex. We want society to be swept clean of destructive philosophies and activities. We want to BLESS our communities.
As a tourist in a part of the world I love deeply, I can only ‘be’. In some other parts of the world, there are all sorts of activities that I could be involved along the way. But not here. Not at this point in history. This weekend, I sensed God’s encouragement that just ‘being’ is enough. As I travel, I radiate light. At least, that is my hope and prayer.
On the road again
As I write this blog post, I am coming to the end of part one of this trip. It’s almost time to pack my bags again and leave this verdant city for the crisp autumn air of the mountains. I am excited and a little nervous, for there have been a lot of changes up there since I last visited.
And yet what do I have to fear?I am a child of the light. I don’t know what the next week will bring, but I intend to encourage friends, work on my study and prayer walk in each place I visit. I am looking forward to the literal sunlight and to enjoying good and perfect gifts given by the ‘Father of Lights’ (James 1:17).
The one who said “Let there be light” at the beginning of time (Genesis 1:3), the one who sent his Son into the world as “the true light that gives light to every man” (John 1:9) at the point that divides the calendar for many of us, is himself the light of the city of God to which we already belong (Revelation 21:23). On a grey weekend in a bustling city in Asia, he has encouraged and enlightened his daughter … a daughter of light … one of many children of light here. I am grateful.
May God be glorified as his people radiate light wherever they are scattered. May his light spread in intensity and breadth.
At the start of each month, I usually take a half day mini-retreat. Yesterday, the theme that emerged was a prayer that God would shine his face on the people and places I’m visiting just now. (See Psalm 67.) Indeed, I felt God’s special favour – his face shining on me – right there and then as I luxuriated in splendid solitude in an ancient courtyard of what is now a modern coffee shop. I had the space all to myself.
