Stairway Encounters

 

   
I like to sit on my stairs at home. It has frequently been a spot where I take a few moments out to be in an in-between space, a pause in the up and down, a narrow interlude to be neither here nor there.

Something about that midway ledge brings out the deepest honesty I have to offer God in that moment. I can think of several occasions over the course of the years when I have sat on the stairs with head in hands, heavy with ashen, burdensome thoughts and I’ve told God things like, ‘I can’t’, ‘I don’t see how’ or even ‘I don’t think I really believe that’.

But here’s the thing about a stairway - it’s a place of transition, we don’t stay there for too long. A ledge isn’t a place to be secure or to get very comfortable, the pause doesn’t last and there is an eventual shift back to movement, an interlude is always followed by the next acts of the production.

My most recent stairway experience was a head bowed low moment with thoughts that I would hardly have recognised as prayer. As I sat in the pause, my heart said, “I would really love somone to tell me that it’s all going to be okay, but no-one is going to do that are they, including you God because that’s not what you say’, and I vacated my ledge low in hope and filled with despondency.

A few hours later that evening, my phone pinged with a single message. My frame of mind almost made me miss the words right there in the middle of the text, despite the fact that there were even capital letters used to highlight it. A friend reached out with care and compassion to tell me, ‘it WILL all be okay.’

‘Did God just…?’

‘Have I just been told…?’

‘Did he really hear me say…?’


I’m still blinking in surprise!

But there were the words on the screen. An iMessage from God.

If we think those frank and honest stairway thoughts are hidden from or unknown to God, we are clearly mistaken. The fact that we are whispering them so very quietly in our inner world means that he must be awfully close beside us to hear them.

To quote from the George MacDonald poem, ‘That Holy Thing’

‘My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou mayst answer all my need -
Yea, every bygone prayer.


That text message gave me so much reassurance that evening. The difficulty I was facing had not been removed but the emotional and spiritual heaviness was dispelled. Instead I had joy and delight at the unexpectedness of God’s response. I was given a double measure of presence. Not only did I receive comfort through the kindness of a friend full of empathy but also a remarkable and uplifting affirmation of God’s tender-hearted graciousness and presence.

Maybe next time we find ourselves needing a little while on the stairs, or wherever that may be for you, we will hold on to the knowledge that every thought and feeling, every word spoken or inwardly breathed, is heard by our Father who loves us just as we are.

May our stairway meetings be a holy thing.

The Gift of Fellowship

I was sitting on the edge of the bed gazing at the moon. It was framed perfectly by the window and it felt as if I’d been granted access to a gallery after closing, for a private viewing of an Old Master original. 

This flower moon, so-called as it appears at a time when there is an abundance of flowers, was the last of four super-moon’s to occur this year and it was spectacular. Maybe you saw it too and like me, paused to exhale breath tainted by apprehension and fear.  

I sat long enough for it to move across the darkening canvas, the full, bright disc of reflected light drawing me into gratitude and wondering worship. 

The gift was not only in its ethereal beauty but also companionship in a moment marked by tears, during which a friend’s words arced across my own heart’s nightfall as they lit up my phone screen with care and friendship. 

Events far beyond my control were taking place and I wondered in the moment, about the sadness that can be felt by the human heart, while at the very same time experiencing joyful communion with the Creator. 

I wondered about the mystery of how Jesus ministers to us through the words and acts of his beloved daughters and sons, of how he shines his light on us through the window of another person’s heart, how we can see him more clearly when we are in fellowship with our brothers and sisters, who abide in his love and within whom his Spirit lives. 

This is the gift inherent in Kingdom fellowship. Love’s orbit beams tender light into the shadowed rooms of souls. As we draw alongside one another with compassion and kindness, the transcendent brightness of mirrored love becomes a personal and exclusive celestial event of beauty and blessing.

This is something I have learned - not because I read it in a book, even though I’ve read about it countless times, not because I heard it preached, even though I’ve heard countless sermons, not even because I’ve witnessed it happening around me countless times. I truly learned it because God opened the black out blind, drew back the curtains and radiated love through the framework of friendship into the dim rooms within my own heart. 

Strangely, we don’t always want him to do that though. Sometimes our impulse is to snatch the curtains closed again. It can be an uncomfortable experience to have a space within us illuminated, however gentle the light falling on our vulnerability. The trouble with that though, is that we miss out on the gift of a gallery seat and the memorable viewing. 

The moon passed on across the sky that night having wiped my tears, leaving me to sleep soundly. 

I thought of it when I read the words of Philippians 4:14 in The Message a week or so later.

‘It was a beautiful thing that you came alongside me in my troubles.’

It’s true. 

I know this because God gives the gift of fellowship and it is beautiful.

I know this because I saw the moon reflecting the sun’s light right outside my window and it was glorious.

God, The Sea and Me

And just like that, it stopped.

Only five minutes before, I had messaged my sister with the words, ‘It’s lashing!’ followed by a sad face emoji.

The disappointment of driving an hour to the North Coast, and seeing grey sheets of icy rain sweeping across the dunes of White Rocks beach, was enough to make me admit that perhaps it is worth trusting the weather app on my phone in future. 

The weeks leading up to half term had increasingly produced a relentless clamour of anxious thoughts generated by a propensity to react emotionally to everyone and everything without the safeguards of logic or reason. The urge to jump in the car and drive until reaching the end of dry land, strengthened with the passing of every worry strewn day. 

‘I just want to go and walk on a beach. I don’t even need it to be warm!’ was my Whatsapp cry the week previous, but I did definitely prefer it to be dry.

However, in less than the five minutes it took to pull into the car park at Portrush East Strand beach, the sky had cleared. Buffeted by the wind, we pulled on hats and coats, and careened over to the footpath. 

The tide was in and there wasn’t much beach to actually walk on but it didn’t really matter. It was a joy to watch the waves crash, sending water racing all the way up to the sea wall. 

The constant motion and magnitude of untameable power straining on an invisible leash is magnetic and awe inspiring.

Isn’t it just the simple pleasure of feeling the wind on your face and standing before the wide open wilderness of water that opens an inner door to let the agents of chaos out?   

It makes me think of a wonderful sea related quote, from Anthony Doerr’s book, All the Light We Cannot See;

“It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.” 

And then I think that this roaring, pounding, thunderous flood, belongs to God. I think I am as a speck of sand on the world’s shore, yet I belong to him too. And it makes me smile with the knowledge that just for me, he would very kindly stop the rain for a couple of hours, simply so I could enjoy this moment of staring at the sea, forgetting duties and daring to believe that there is someone who is big enough to contain everything that I could ever feel. The awareness of the might of God being exercised for the gentle care of your soul is confounding, humbling and exhilarating all at the same time. 

‘The ocean depths raise their voice O Lord; they raise their voice and roar. The Lord rules supreme in heaven, greater than the roar of the ocean, more powerful than the waves of the sea.’   Psalm 93:3&4 (GNB)

We walked along the promenade and back again, taking pictures of the waves, leaning over the wall to watch the rocks disappearing and reappearing. We gazed as a surfer caught a wave and rode it perfectly all the way in, clapping the achievement enthusiastically despite the surfer being oblivious to the audience. A little dog raced along the edge of the water, while another barked at the crashing waves. We scrambled up the grass to the top of the nearest dune and laughed as the wind tore the breath from our lungs. 

It was worth the journey. It always is. 

And just as we turned to go home, the rain began again, as God gave it permission to fall once more. 

Wonder

Over the Christmas hols I’ve been re-reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It is the same beloved copy I’ve owned since childhood, now yellowed with age and dangerously close to falling apart, but I took the risk of turning the pages again after buying a card at a Narnia themed craft fair. I chose one with a lamp-post on the front and left feeling very satisfied with my purchase. ( I will assume that you know how a lamp-post features in the book). The card then flew its way overseas, dropped eventually through a letterbox amidst Christmas cards, to be read at a very precise, ordained moment in time for a God intended purpose. It now has a quiet, miraculous tale all of its own, as it sits somewhere in my friend’s home far away. 

God takes a piece of creatively folded paper, sends it across multiple time zones and connects lives with words and the Narnian lamp-post to create wonder…sheer wonder at the potential for all things ordinary to become extraordinary in the hands of God. 

Whether we are stepping into 2020 hesitantly or enthusiastically, with optimism or melancholy, full of hope or dread, or a mixture of all of it, life will be full of ordinary things and ordinary moments charged with possibility. 

‘Open my eyes so I can see what you show me of your miracle-wonders.’ Psalm 119:18 (MSG)

There are miracle-wonders to be awed by if we have the willingness to be prayerfully attentive to the flow of the Holy Spirit, who shows up with impeccable timing to colour the prosaic with new layers of meaning and beauty that didn’t exist before. 

That walk in the park turns into invigorating worship, those radio song lyrics are suddenly prophetic, that actor’s line makes your breath hang suspended in your throat without warning. A text message, a conversation, a meal, a kiss on the cheek, a book, clouds, sunlight, rain, the list is endless! Christmas is God showing up in the ordinary and changing everything and it’s not just a seasonal event. 

C S Lewis chose a plain wardrobe for his story. He chose an empty room with dead bluebottles on the window sill and a wardrobe. 

‘…they looked into a room that was quite empty except for one big wardrobe. “Nothing there,” said Peter and they all trooped out again - all except Lucy.’  (The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe) 

Lucy hesitated, simply having an urge to try the wardrobe door. She followed her curiosity that ordinary morning, only to discover a miracle and experience an adventure like no other. 

Holy curiosity quickens to wonder. 

May this year be full of curiosity and wonder. Wonder at the sheer glory of God who walks closely with us in our normal rhythms and abides deeply with us in our unexpected dissonance. 

May we be like the blind men of Matthew 20 who on crying out to Jesus were asked by him, ‘What do you want from me?’ and they said, ‘Master, we want our eyes opened. We want to see!’ 

 And on seeing we will let everyone know that God is blazingly alive among us. (Matthew 15:31 MSG) 

Word Wall: Christ-centred.

As I sat in the empty stillness of the church welcome area, I turned and looked left over the sofa cushions, my eye caught by a sudden glare of light. The sun had reached the back of the building as it travelled its native path towards the west. Rays were streaming through windows behind the closed door of the prayer room. 

The reason I know this is because the prayer room door has clouded glass panels that form the shape of a cross, granting access to the eager sunlight which stretched further into the seating area. For a short space of time, while the earth rotated on its axis, the sun aligned with that glass cross and blazed vivedly, directly through the place of prayer and out into the place of welcome beyond. 

The photo may not capture it very well but it was a moment -  a moment of wonder and delight at being given this sight of a blazing cross, an all too fleeting sight of sun and cross conjoined. A picture of light flowing from its source, streaming through a place of prayer to permeate a space of community and welcome. 

And there, just to the left of the door was the wall of words with ‘Christ-centred’ in the midst, the words that were already next on the list of potential blog posts. The sight of the light and the cross with the sense of encounter and wonder, readily became the connective substance between word, thought and meaning. 

To be a Christ-centred people is to be the place where God’s light floods through the cross and out into the world. The Light flowing from the Father, through the divine/human meeting place and suffusing the ordinary spaces of life where people gather to be together in his name. The prayers of God’s family align with his heart and become an artery for love and life to flow into the places beyond. 

When we are given a glimpse of cross shaped radiance, we are filled with reverence, awe and a deep sense of gratitude. None of the other words on the wall will have any true value or meaning to us or to the world if they do not flow directly from this enounter. Jesus is at the heart of every word. He is the reason for all of them, each one a blessing and a gift. He is the connection at the centre.

My attention was held captive for the time it took for the light to shift from left to right and soon it was time to go.

Light is not something we can take in our hands to capture and possess, neither are encounters such as this. We are simply to enjoy being present and blessed, knowing that we are greatly loved and drawn continuously back to the cross of Christ, our centre. 

‘Everything comes from him;

Everything happens through him;

Everything ends up in him.

Always glory! Always praise!

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Romans 11:36 (Msg)  

Word Wall: Welcome

It was easy to choose the first word from the word wall to begin the series. I think it is entirely appropriate to focus on the word,

Welcoming

In fact, one of the first things that you cannot fail to notice as you enter the building is the word welcome.

These seven letters emblazoned across the wall are my favourite feature in our whole church building. They greet you on a Sunday morning to the welcome area where you will most likely be greeted by a member of the welcome team.

We use the word welcome a lot!

It’s a word that signifies greeting, communicating gladness on a person’s arrival. A door is held open for you, you are greeted with a warm smile and heartfelt handshake. 

I love that a huge visible welcome is quite literally extended to one and all. No matter who walks through the doors, there is always an outsized welcome, filling the potential gaps of missed handshakes or overlooked introductions that can easily happen.  

This is surely the very core of the gospel. The good news is that we are welcomed! We are invited in! We are graciously and joyously received in love into God’s family through belief in Jesus.

There is no story in the Bible that I can think of this moment that shows more how God welcomes us, than the prodigal son. The Father doesn’t just stand in the porch, holding the door open, waiting with reserve. No, he opens the door wide and runs towards his beloved child. He welcomes him home with so much more than a handshake. I imagine him embracing his son with tears in his eyes. He puts his arm around his child’s shoulders and walks him back through the door and into the place where he belongs. 

‘We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.’ Luke 15:24

If this is how we personally experience welcome then this is what we will want others to experience too - a welcome that ushers them home with feasting and celebration.

If you are part of your church welcome team, then be encouraged because I think that what you do is hugely symbolic, speaking volumes. To welcome people into a church on a Sunday morning is to welcome them into the presence of God to worship him, thank him, celebrate him in vibrant community with those who know what it is to live welcomed. What a wonderful job!

Please do note, I can appreciate all this while not actually being on the welcome team myself. My  social anxiety levels are far too high in a large busy foyer to be of much use in that area of service but I think all you official greeters and welcomers are marvellous.

This does not, however, mean that us introverts are either exempt or incapable of extending a welcoming hand to others. Jesus extends his welcome not just from the doors of our churches but from the doors of our lives, the places where his Spirit lives. In every act of love, there is an invitation, with every word of truth, the door is held open, every morsel of kindness, grace and forgiveness is a taste of the banquet that is offered.  

To be welcoming encompasses who we are and everything we aspire to be - to have the open, expansive heart of God who welcomes radically and counter-culturally. 

To embrace the meaning of the word welcome is to embrace everyone Jesus is ushering over the threshold of his Kingdom open house. 

Introduction To The Word Wall

Sometimes things just pop into my head, usually inspired by something I've noticed, something I've seen or heard during the course of the day or week. It takes me through a little mental gate, down a path, one stepping stone thought to the next until it takes the form of a shareable blog post. It's not necessarily a bad approach, in fact it has its advantages, but I would like to try and incorporate a more structured or planned element to writing, at least for a while and see how that pans out. While there are writable worthy moments in life that simply happen and can in no way be anticipated or predicted, it might not be a bad thing for me to knuckle down and attempt to be more organised, more disciplined, think about things in advance, not just write and post. 

In other words, I’m experimenting. I hope you’re happy to bear with me? 

So, things to write about then. Hmm. Jump in any time with suggestions, that would be marvellous. I did however, come up with one idea.

For When You Feel Fragile

I was at New Horizon in Coleraine last Saturday night, primarily to hear Rosaria Butterfield speaking, but what I actually walked away with, was a single line from a very old and familiar hymn.

The band led us in singing Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven and the tent was filled with voices lifted in worship. It's always a powerful and uplifting sound that makes your heart swell. 

We got to the third verse and these words,   

'well our feeble frame he knows.'

I had to pause to take a breath as my throat tightened.

That one line caught me by surprise. I was struck by the truth that God does indeed know how feeble we really are.

Our physical frames break down despite their phenomenal capacity for resilience. Our bodies let us down. The framework of our mind becomes overwhelmed by worry and anxiety. Our hearts ache with sadness. We are battered by the circumstances of life and strength of emotions. 

We are known and loved personally by one who also endured the physical and mental battles of life. It is reassuring to remember that the vulnerability of being made of flesh and bone is known by God. 

We are all struggling. We are fragile creatures. It is wonderful to know that our fragility is not treated with disdain or antipathy by the one who made us. As the hymn says, he treats us with Fatherly compassion and love. He gently bears us in his hands.

'Father-like he tends and spares us... in his hand he gently bears us, rescues us from all our foes.' 

The words were still with me when I woke the next morning. I picked up one of the books that I had bought the night before at the bookshop in the New Horizon tent and read the introduction.

'Before going any further in this book,' the author said, 'take a moment to read through Psalm 103, and ask the Lord to help you hold tight to the perspective presented there.'

The text of the Psalm was printed in the pages that followed, so on I read. To my surprise, I realised that it is from this very Psalm that the lyrics of Praise my Soul are derived.

        As a father has compassion on his children,

        so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

 for he knows how we are formed,

        he remembers that we are dust.

It's a reminder that whatever we are facing, in whatever ways we are finding life difficult, we belong to God who cares for us with gentleness and kindness. He knows and understands how we are formed, that we are frail. 

Let the words of the hymn and Psalm be in your mind today, especially if you are feeling down, upset, worried, ill, tired, afraid...

We are rescued and protected from our foes. Being held in God's hands is our safe place. Rest there today in peace. 

'So tell us a bit about yourself.' Argh!!

There's a section on a facebook page and blog site that I dread being faced with. I find it the hardest

thing to write. I could write a hundred versions and not be satisfied with it. It's the 'about' blurb. Tell your readers about yourself, what are you about, what's your deal?

I enjoyed the view...still climbing.

Last Sunday actually felt as summer holidays should - carefree and easy going under a sunny blue sky.

We spent the afternoon with family at a holiday cottage outside Dundrum and it was rather glorious. Sounds of kids playing in the garden and the men's tennis final in the living room, we ate barbecued burgers and messy marshmallows. A couple of us wandered up a lane next to the house leading into the fields overlooking the Murlough area. The Mourne mountains were visible through the trees and it was all pretty blissful in fact.

And then we took the kids, big and small, to the park, followed by Brennans ice cream in the village where we all decided to take a look up another lane, this time one signposted to the castle. I've lived my whole life in NI and I don't think I have once visited Dundrum Castle!

We swung the cars into the carpark, everyone spilling out with their drippy ice creams and every single one of us, right down to the six year old, exclaimed, 'wow!' when we saw the view.

The whole bay lies before you, the estuarine bends of the water, the curve of the land leading out to sea and the heavy, dark foot of the Mourne mountains over to the right, it is a sight to stun.

Climbing up into the castle ruins, the kids ran like wild rabbits about the grass, disappearing here and there, popping up in overgrown nooks and crannies. The views were even better if you had the courage to clamber up the narrow stone steps to the top of the wall. It made you glad to be alive.

All it takes is a change of perspective to open up a landscape, a movement from here to there. It's movement that starts with curiosity, a desire to see something you haven’t seen before. You notice a lane or a signpost, it leads you in an upwards direction and so you decide to follow it. 

From a height, our perspective changes, it broadens out to take in a vista that we couldn't see before. We are suddenly afforded the opportunity to enjoy beauty that was already there but we were unable to appreciate the extent of it. 

And it made me wonder about what steps could help us see the beauty of God in new expansive ways. Scripture talks often about God drawing people to his mountain. It's an important theme. God draws us upwards so that we can see the beauty of holiness, to a place where the intake of our breath is itself worship. 

What stirring of spiritual curiosity might make us aware of signposts that point us to new revelations of God. Where are the hidden lanes, the narrow paths, the burning bushes even? Will we join with the people of Isaiah 2:3 and say,

 'Come, lets climb God's mountain.' 

If we are climbing the heights of God, our perspective will change. We will be no less aware of the world's atrocities, injustices and inequalities but we will be more aware of how beauty still exists in all its being-redeemed and still-to-be-fully-redeemed glory, for 

'Zion is the source of revelation.' 

It is the place where we will be taught and transformed. 

'He'll show us the way he works so we can live the way we're made.'

It is the place where God reveals himself, the essence of beauty.  

I don't like dusting and being brave is hard.

Blowing the dust off the blog! There is quite a lot of dust in this little corner of the blogosphere but today I am forcing myself to roll up my writing sleeves and get to work. 

My mum once shared a top cleaning tip with me that she had learned from an older friend when she was younger. If a room has become so messy that it puts you off from even starting, the thing to do is set a timer for twenty minutes and work for just that small amount of time. Then walk away from the mess. After another while, go back into the room and you should find that the task is not quite as overwhelming as before, your twenty minutes of work has made a difference. 

So this is my intention today. One small blog post. You need to start somewhere, right? 

Just An Ordinary Nativity?

‘Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb’ 

John Donne, ‘Nativity’, (1610)

Last week, I saw tinsel haloed angels preening in the front row, swinging their net skirts back and forth as they listened for the words they knew so they could join the singing with angelic gusto. I saw shepherds use their crooks to mischievously prod at fellow actors and Bethlehem villagers emotionally overcome, not by the miraculous birth but because they missed their mum. I clapped brave little soloists and tried not to be too distracted by deafening microphone feedback and an absurd height disparity between narrators.

How To Wait

And so the wait begins. P7 transfer tests are over. They’ve enjoyed their free hot chocolate and buns, kicking off the Christmas season by gleefully dumping all those practice papers in the recycling bin. For now, we’ll forget about it but bless their little pre-teen hearts, it’s not over. Waiting for results day, waiting for the postman, waiting for a letter from their new school, it’s all waiting and more waiting. In the meantime, it’s ‘I can’t wait for Christmas!’

We are all waiting.

Waiting for something to begin.

Waiting for something to end.

Waiting for arrival.

Waiting for change.

The beginning of Advent is a time to pause and consider what we are waiting for because no matter what it is, we are dependent on something or someone to bring an end to our waiting. Things are out of our hands, beyond our control and all we can do is wait.

But we are not good at it. We don’t want to rely on anything or anyone else, we would rather have the power to control timelines, to manage time frames.

Waiting impatiently.

Waiting reluctantly.

Waiting fearfully.

Waiting reminds us that we are not the authors of our own story and outcomes are not guaranteed but there is a promise to hold on to in the waiting and it can change everything.

‘He has sent us a mighty Saviour from the royal line of his servant David, just as he promised through his holy prophets long ago.’ Luke 1:69-70 (NLT)

Waiting is part of God’s plan for his people. When it feels like we are in a void between moments, the promise of Jesus changes how we wait. It transforms our impatience into trust, our reluctance to hope and our fear into gladness.

In the words of a poem written by a friend, the imagined voice of Simeon (Luke 2:25-35) says,

‘I’ve been waiting

With expectant joy

For the promised one.’

‘I’ve been longing

With expectant hope

For the promised one.’

Simeon, after faithful, eager waiting, met Jesus and was able to say,

‘Today I am rejoicing

With indescribable gladness

He has come.’

The promised one came and now is with us in our waiting before he comes again to reveal the complete glory of all that we wait for.

The void between moments becomes the space where our waiting is expectantly hopeful and our longing is glittered with joy.

God is the author of our stories, the controller of time frames and the fulfiller of promises.

May Advent be for us a time of prayerful waiting, trusting that just like Simeon, the Holy Spirit will lead us to Jesus and we will bless God with joyous praise and worship.

(‘Simeon’ from A Three 16 Christmas by Shelley Spiers)