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ALTER-EGO ALTAR-EGOHave you read The Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, winner of the Man Booker Prize 2002? You cannot skim-read this novel. To read it quickly would be to miss the sheer beauty of the prose. The phrases flow along like a well-composed piece of music, rising and falling, changing pace, playing to the emotions of the reader.Pi, a sixteen-year-old boy of Indian origin and zoo keeper's son, is emigrating to Canada with his family on board a cargo vessel. Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, the ship meets with some unexplained disaster and sinks. Pi finds himself on a lifeboat in the company of a zebra with a broken leg, a ravenous hyena, an orang-utan and most worryingly, a fully-grown Bengal tiger. As the story unfolds the occupants of the boat are reduced to two, the boy and the tiger, each with a surging instinct for survival. With the vast ocean stretching endlessly around them, they drift through months of tortured gamesmanship, pitching wit against wit, marking territories and working out a curious relationship of inter dependence and mutual respect. Pi had studied animals at close quarters; their habits, their needs, their instincts. He had observed the role of fear, and what constituted appropriate behaviour in the gaining of mastery over an opponent whose natural urges were simply to devour all available prey. Prey and prayer became one and the same. By the end of the novel, the reader, having encountered its final resolution, may wonder if in fact, the tiger represents the boy’s alter-ego. Then comes a disturbing, although unwritten question. Does there lurk, within the recesses of each human being, a wild untamed creature? In the dank jungle of dire circumstance, where fear and anxiety choke civility, or perhaps where the dark loam of corrupting power germinates the towering plants of deceit and pride, would we concede to base nature just as others have done? Is compassion redundant when an opponent threatens survival? Motherhood certainly carries with it a tiger instinct for defending the young. It is an instinct as strong as the urge to produce offspring in the first place. A tiger mother is magnificent in courage. The ugly side of our wild inner beast however, is the one that creates civil wars, from the cold-blooded, calculated extinction of life, to the hotheaded rage that surges against the alien. Even as we read this page, there are human beings rising up in anger to attack a perceived enemy and still more plotting to do the same. Is there any hope for humankind? Yes there is, but firstly, the beast within has to be recognized. The Apostle Paul, reflecting on the persecution of Christians and the martyrdom of Stephen, which he had once sanctioned, acknowledged that within him “dwelt no good thing”. He then observes in his letter to the church at Rome, “Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace”. Again, speaking to the Galatians he warns, “Love your neighbour as yourself. If you keep on biting and devouring each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other”. God, because of his great love for us, has offered us a new nature.” It is by grace that we are saved”. (Ephesians chapter 2) What we need is an altar-ego, that is, one that has been placed in complete submission to the will of God, to bring us into love in place of hatred, peace instead of strife, order instead of chaos. “But we never can prove
the delights of His love until all on the altar we lay”. Herein lies the way forward. It is God’s way. November is upon us. Let us celebrate bonfire night with dazzling fireworks, but without the habitual burning of Guy Fawkes. Iris Niven (November 2008) READY AND WILLINGAutumn has taken a stipple brush and daubed the work-weary landscape with a rewarding cover of gold where harvest fields have yielded a goodly crop. Flying into Stansted, one has an eagle’s view of the patchwork of shades across the flat stretches of our terrain. There are only three colours at this time of year; the lush green of well-watered pasture, the stubble gold of harvest and the rich earthy brown of the land already tilled to begin again the cycle of fertility. It is time to recall God’s promise that seedtime and harvest would not fail and we have been blessed with barns well filled and orchards plentifully stocked.The honeybees are still gathering supplies from dawn until the rising of the harvest moon. It is a reminder of Keats vividly descriptive Ode to Autumn and his observation that the last flush of summer warmth had set the late flowers blooming so that the bees “think warm days will never cease, for summer has o’erbrimmed their clammy cells”. We have a poor record of such generous late sunshine, but Lilias Trotter, artist and missionary experienced true Indian summers during her residence in that vast land. As she sat in the small patch of cultivated garden that she had coaxed from the unpromising ground, she watched the honeybees flitting from plant to plant, pausing briefly, then moving quickly on. Lilias had been feeling the enormous burden of the endless need that she saw amongst destitute and disabled people. The sense of despair felt like an inner ache as she realized that her powers of assistance were so limited when balanced against the great tide of social deprivation. As she mused on the flight of the bees, however, she felt that God was giving a message of reassurance. The bees touched each open flower with a gentle, fleeting visit, yet in doing so, they deposited the essential pollen that would provide seeds for the rhythm of new life. Lilias began to understand that although she could not solve every problem and change every circumstance, her earnest little efforts and constant sympathies formed a vital part of the ministry of compassion to which her Lord had called her. So it is with us too. We may feel powerless in the face of resource-sapping need, but our small contribution willingly donated in finance or in effort is pleasing to God and essential to the network of aid that He prompts in his followers. In the days before the birth of the N.H.S, a doctor sat wearily hoping for some rest after a busy day. Onto his doorstep however, there rushed an anxious mother declaring that her little son was very ill and in desperate need of medication. The doctor knew that this particular parent had no means of paying a fee for his services. Finally he was prevailed upon to render the necessary help, and set out to trudge five miles in a downpour of rain to reach the child. The boy whose life was saved that night was David Lloyd George. In later years the good doctor reflected on the time when he unknowingly ministered to the future Prime Minister of Britain. We do not know in advance what may be the far-reaching impact of even our brief encounters. There are seasons when we tirelessly toil on some project to bring blessing and comfort to others, and there are times when we can only fleetingly touch some life in passing. Sometimes we function as reapers in the harvest and at other times we simply sow the seeds. God calls us to be available people, adaptable and diligent, and then He will make sure that Heaven’s barns are full. Iris Niven (October 2008) IN THE MIND’S EYE“What do you see, Mary?”“Flowers, lots of flowers.” “Which colours do you see?” “Pink, purple and white.” “And the shape of the flowers?” “Like bells opening out, I think.” “Ah, Petunias probably.” Mary, four years old, was sitting on a stool beside Jane, a blind lady who lived next door. Whilst her mother worked in a small village store nearby, Mary often spent time with the two kindly ladies who always welcomed her. It was through these meetings that Mary learned to hold pictures in the mind with such clarity that they could be recalled in vivid detail for the rest of her life. Mary taught her brother to mentally build pictures and he later maintained that it was this ability to “see” the beauty of his homeland that sustained him in the mire and bleak horror of war trenches. Mary is also registered blind now, but she lives a confident and fulfilling life, having mapped the village landmarks, paced between significant points, and by recalling those vital pictures of her now faded world. Back in time, we encounter another Mary. “What did you see, Mary?” “Shepherds kneeling beside my new-born child.” “And later?” “Men of stature and knowledge, from foreign lands, bringing gifts for my little son. Then came the day when I found him, surrounded by the men of wisdom in the Temple, astonishing them with his mature understanding.” “These memories are precious to you Mary?” “Of course, I kept them like treasures in the mind’s eye and pondered them in my heart. I still do, all these years later.” There came into the life of the disciples, a girl from Magdala. “What did you see, Mary?” “I saw the Holy One of Israel, dying on a cross, perfect, blameless, the final sacrifice for the sins of his people. My ransom. My salvation.” “And later?” “I could scarcely see at all for the veil of tears that covered my eyes. There was such a great well of grief within me as I walked in the Garden of Tombs. Somewhere nearby, a man stood quietly, I assumed he worked there. My heart was aching. I needed someone to blame, someone to feel the awful desolation of finding an empty tomb and the body of our beloved Lord gone. I lashed out with angry questions.” “What happened next?” “Ah! He spoke my name! Instantly I knew the voice. Through the blur of tears I began to see clearly again. It was a heart-pounding, breath-stopping moment. Jesus was alive, and he was standing beside me!” In the passing of years, as the two Marys met with the other followers of Jesus for the Communion meal of bread and wine, the pictures that had been hot-sealed so vividly into the memory, and recalled with such fervour and conviction, provided essential eye-witness accounts for those who recorded the life of Jesus. These were living experiences that became part of God’s living Word. As we look back on life, it is not the flat screen images fading into cyberspace that form the significant landmarks of memory. It is the events that we lived through, took part in, and learned from, that remain with lasting effect. When the Apostle Paul urged the Philippian Christians to “work out” their salvation, he did not suggest obtaining it by deeds and actions. Indeed, only faith in the finished work of Christ and not through our inadequate efforts, could gain righteousness before God. He did mean, however that ours should not be a merely theoretical religion. “Faith, without works is dead.” James 2v26. It is through the working outwards, the putting into practice, the seeking and following of divine guidance and the joy of obedience, that we gain a treasure trove of memories to sustain us in testing times. The recent visual delights of the Olympic Games, stunning and awesome as they were, will eventually merge with the fading images of other such events. For those who took part however, the pain, the elation, the anxiety and the triumph will remain as vivid, living memories for life. Amy Carmichael, poetess, said, “We dwell perpetually in the presence of far more than we can see.” Yet we can always say, Lord be THOU my vision.” Iris Niven (September 2008) RESTORED TO JOYMy mother frequently mislays things nowadays. Despite the orderly appearance of the house, it is surprisingly easy to lose a necessary item and be required to launch an anxious search until it is found. The bonus side of these minor upheavals is that other forgotten treasures are rediscovered and restored to use amidst great delight and relief. The lost item acquires increased value and is appreciated afresh. So it can be with people too. Thomas Erskine noted, “There is nothing irretrievable with God”. Jesus gave several beautiful illustrations of the joy that resounds both on earth and in heaven over the lost being found. (Luke ch.15) He used situations that were familiar territory for his audience to highlight great divine truths and to bring deeper understanding of the nature of God, and his desire to restore an eternal relationship with his people, the objects of his love. A shepherd realizes that one of his sheep has gone missing. He secures the flock, then sets out on a journey fraught with danger, to locate the stray sheep, and having rescued it, returns with great rejoicing, carrying it on his shoulders. A woman has lost a coin from her precious dowry headdress, given by her father on her wedding day. It was her means of financial security, not to be used even to bale out her husbands losses, but kept as insurance for her safety in personally dire circumstances. She searches diligently by the light of a candle until the coin is found. So great is her relief that she shares her happiness with her neighbours who celebrate with her. A father sorrows that his erring son has left the family estate to squander his inheritance in foreign lands. With breaking heart, he returns each night, always hoping that on the morrow some miracle will take place and his lost son will return. When finally the destitute and humbled boy is seen making his way home, the father runs to greet him, unstinting in forgiveness and abundant in love. In each story, the emphasis is on the joy that restoration brings to all who have experienced the agony of loss. “The Lord says, if you repent, I will restore you, that you may serve me”. Jeremiah 15v19. Within each soul there are possibilities yet undestroyed, visible to the divine eye, and within Gods’ power to establish for greater use through faith in Christ Jesus as Redeemer. When Cyclone Nargis brought its full destructive force to the Irrawaddy Delta of Burma, it hurtled into the lives of the Karen people, amongst whom are many Christians. Their story of faith began back in the distant mists of time when their folklore held that there was one Creator God named Y’we. According to oral tradition, the Karen people believed that they had lost a Golden Book containing the essential truths of life, including the story of the Garden of Eden, as recorded in Genesis. They cherished the prophecy that a young white man would one day restore the Book to them. In 1813, the first missionary to Burma, Adonirum Judson was welcomed with astonishing warmth by the Karen people, who readily heard and received his message of divine grace. Their faith has remained firm, despite brutal persecution, relocation and forced labour. Now, as thousands are denied essential aid, the love of God is finding a channel of provision through the Barnabus Fund, which had established links and contacts with the Karen tribes. Based in Rangoon, the Barnabus Fund was able to distribute food and water whilst the United Nations waited helplessly on the borders, lacking permission to enter the country. God is restoring his little flock in Burma. He has heard the cries of his people. “When you call, I will answer”. Therefore, “Pray without ceasing”, and share in the joy. Iris Niven (August 2008) DANCING IN THE DARKJohn Simpson, the renowned journalist and broadcaster met a translator who felt confident enough in the changing political attitudes of China, to confide a secret. During the long years of the Cultural Revolution, when everyone was forced into drab uniformity, this lady and her husband, on the anniversary of their wedding each year, would check that their children were peacefully asleep, then in the quietness of night, they would remove a few floorboards and retrieve a hidden box containing pre-revolutionary evening clothes. Quickly donning their finery, they would then waltz around the room a few times, just to remind themselves of the days when beauty and individuality were not savagely beaten out of the population. They performed this little ritual despite the danger of discovery with the dire consequences of imprisonment for such an act of insurrection. The human spirit craves liberty and the right to celebrate the uniqueness of each individual personality. We harbour the notion that democracy will always honour freedom, encourage creativity, and listen to diverse opinions. Yet many of us now have a nagging sense of despair, a feeling that liberty is being bartered for fragile security and bureaucratic rules are inexorably penning us into a fold without gates. We are liable to find ourselves accused of breaking new laws beyond our knowledge and being overtaken by moral codes foreign to our understanding. When power and authority rule by suppression, the people rise up like a restless sea, searching for a champion who will deliver them from oppression. Jesus saw in the eyes of his kinsmen, a surging resentment against the iron grip of an invading army, but he was also aware of the grief and dismay of those who had become the outcasts of society when physical ailments barred them from Temple worship. In healing the sick, Jesus restored dignity and status. He gave honour to the poor and found value in the despised ones. He said, “I am come that they might have life and have it to the full”. John 10v10. Yet far beyond the joy of physical restoration was the sense of revelation and freedom of spirit experienced by each soul who found faith in Christ. Still today, the quickening to life of the eternal soul brings a liberty of spirit that cannot be imprisoned by walls or exchanged for riches. In the southern States of America, where slaves toiled in sweat and tears on cotton plantations far from their ancestral roots, their unbroken spirits still cherished the hope of freedom beyond the burning sun and the lash of the whip. When I get to heaven, I’m gonna put on my shoes and walk all over God’s heaven”. Abraham Lincoln, the President who emancipated the slaves, was shot whilst seated in an opera house. A young lady tried to bring comfort by resting his head against her. Later, as she viewed her bloodstained white dress, she made a decision. She cut a square of silk and sent it to the city fathers of Springfield, Illinois, where it was displayed under the inscription “To the man who liberated the slaves”. Such blood was infinitely precious. To the Church at Rome, the Apostle Paul wrote, “You did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship”. Romans ch.8 Those who experience liberation in the Spirit may yet live in times of moral darkness, yet inwardly, they dance to the music of heaven. Iris Niven (July 2008) THE LIVING LIBRARYAt Swiss Cottage, London, a new library is in operation. The visitor however, will be surprised to find an absence of books inside the building. Instead, groups and pairs of people will be sitting around drinking coffee and engaging in conversation, for the books in this library are living books, real characters with a story to tell.A catalogue invites the “reader” to select a name from the available list, which also gives brief details of each participant. Elijah, for example, is described as a bully, and a gang leader amongst other notorious vices, and he is amused to find that he is one of the most favoured choices. Actually, he has turned from crime to serving the community, and in particular, to advising young people of similar background how to set up small profit-making businesses and to live within the law. The idea of living libraries apparently began in Denmark,, aiming in principle to bring together for constructive discussion those who may be entrenched in prejudicial viewpoints and to break down barriers in communities. Those who volunteer for inclusion in the scheme may be experts in their field, or simply people whose experiences in life may intrigue, advise, inform or reassure the seeking reader. It is a form of communication that is growing in popularity. One of our local heroes, Len Baynes managed during four years in Japanese P.O.W camps, to keep a secret diary that has been published under the title, “Kept- The Other Side of Tenko”. He writes without rancour or bitterness, and by the grace of God has been enabled to feel the life-flow of forgiveness. His experiences give amazing insights into the durability of the human spirit sustained by faith in God. Len is, in many senses, a living book. Within the ancient splendour of Edinburgh Castle there stands an unusual memorial. Upon an altar of green marble, a steel casket contains a special book inscribed with the name of every Scotsman who gave his life in the Great War (1914-18). Each of these names represents a once living “book” whose story was cut short by conflict but whose honour endures through each generation, never to be deleted from national history. Therein lies the limitation, for all things earthly come to an end eventually. Yet there is a book, invisible to our mortal eyes and still in the process of composition. It is called, “The Lamb’s Book of Life” (Luke 10v20, Revelation 21v27) Each inscription denotes a child of God, adopted by faith into His family and recorded for all eternity in an indestructible book. Whilst walking by the seashore, the poet F. Cowell paused to write his name on the firm deep sand. As he watched, the incoming tide gently but surely lapped over his handiwork till the whole script had been obliterated. It inspired his poem that includes these final verses. Upon the
spotless Book of Life
God wrote my name one day. Eternal years can never take That God-penned name away. My name is there for ever Through all Gods’ endless day For He who died to write it there Has put it there to stay. We spend our days as living books, open letters read by many (2 Corinthians ch.3) God holds the catalogue. Against each name lies a wonderful description, “Forgiven, redeemed and loved always”. Iris Niven (June 2008) DEO VOLENTEIn my home city, we once had neighbours who owned a half share in a restaurant located fortuitously in the historical centre, near the B.B.C headquarters and the original university complex. The clients therefore were the creative script writers of broadcasting, and the trendy young Dons who had been part of the 60’s revolutionary guard, now spreading influence by tutoring the next generation of academic movers and shakers.We would hear daily boastings of the chic, the famous, and the soon to be discovered artists who set the place buzzing with a frenetic exchange of evolutionary ideas and innovative opinions. Part of the restaurant was housed in an antique conservatory with an interesting roofline contrasting scudding clouds and sunlight with dramatic leafy plants, or candlelight with the black velvet and diamonds of the night sky. It had all the virtues and advantages of trend setting vitality. Then, one day, a veritable plague of whitefly erupted from the greenery and invaded everything. The clients fled in dismay to other eateries. Our neighbours moved to France. How small a thing it takes to disrupt grand ambition. How short is the time between success and disaster. In my father’s generation, it was normal practice, when detailing ones plans and intentions, to end the summary with two significant little letters, D.V., Deo Volente, meaning, “God willing”. It was not to be taken for granted that ones own decisions constituted the highest authority on the matter. Luke ch.12 records a parable told by Jesus when someone asked him to arbitrate in an inheritance dispute. Jesus turned the focus on a value system that elevates material gain as the main goal in life and leaves the Sovereign Lord out of the equation. A farmer achieved great personal wealth as a result of good crop yields. He decided to demolish his old barns and rebuild bigger ones. His self-indulgent ambition then aspired to a life of ease and pleasure with no consideration for the welfare of his eternal soul. Ultimately however, it was God who would decide the farmer’s earthly span. Jesus was not being critical of success. He was waning against “one who stores things up himself but is not rich towards God”. (v.21) This is not even a matter of charitable donations or the pursuit of laudable good works. Jesus is here speaking of an on-going relationship with the living God who sees our daily progress and who knows the time of our departure. It is a supremely loving relationship that happily submits all plans to the willing endorsement of a Father who knows what is wise, what is possible, and what is for our highest good. A hymn, written 200 years ago by W.F Lloyd includes two verses of great reassurance. “Our
times are in Thy hand
Why should we doubt or fear? A Father’s hand will never cause His child a needless tear. Our times are in Thy hand We’d always trust in Thee Till we have left this weary land And all Thy glory see”. May our diaries not simply bear D.V. as a postscript, but as a heading on the page. Iris Niven (May 2008) MOUNTAINS AND MIRACLESSometimes when you have struggled to climb to the top of an emotional mountain, you feel that you will surely be the only one standing there. After all the tears and pain, fear and sheer gritty determination, you somehow kept going to the top of that cragged path. There you stand, with friends having accompanied you as far as they could on your uphill slog, but they had been forced to drop back, because finally, only you could conquer this monstrous landform.It had loomed suddenly into sight, blacking out the sun and the horizon beyond, and it had abducted all your freshly created plans into a nightmare of uncertainties. Standing still had not been an option. You had to tackle this climb. It was your mountain, your challenge. You remembered other arduous treks in support of friends in the grip of anxiety or grief, and you realized that at a certain point, you had dropped back too. The last part of the journey was an individual experience, unique to each soul. You had lit the candle of prayer and waited, keeping vigil till you saw the beacon of flame that burst towards the sky. The height had been scaled. Then, one day, it was your turn. You had no alternative route. Those spiky rocks had to be surmounted through a howling gale of inconsolable furies. You got there. And were you alone? Of course not. You had never been abandoned. Jesus was there. Is he not the Shepherd who knows all about mountains? From the heights, he wept over Jerusalem. In the mountains he prayed and gained new strength. On a summit he was transfigured. And did he not finally make that agonizing climb to a place called Golgotha to be nailed to a cross? The final summit of his own mountain of suffering had been too terrible for description. The disciples had fallen back. Only John and the little coterie of women had clung on through the deep shroud of darkness that hid the final, divine transaction. Mountaintops are still places for transfiguration, transformation and transactions. When Jesus becomes transfigured, the vision is so overwhelming that the soul yearns to capture it in its entirety. The realities of life however, make the vibrancy fade, but what remains is the assurance that this awesome glimpse is just a foretaste of things to come. The effect is one of transformation. Beyond the harsh mountaintop, lie new horizons, places of promise and pasture. Suddenly there are new colours, sounds, priorities and directions, all transformed by Gods’ love. The pain of experience becomes soothed by a precious substance called “the oil of gladness”, specially formulated for the mourning. And the transaction? You know when it has been signed and sealed because the Holy Spirit gives a deep inner assurance for now and always. As we have marked Easter once again our T.V screens have been full of noisy crowds surging around the character of Jesus. There are times in our care and concern for a friend in need, that we imagine ourselves as part of that crowd, thrusting our friend into the path of Jesus with a request for a special healing touch. But the jostling multitude may not be the right place. The friend may need to walk in solitude with Christ through a whole gamut of emotions and revelations. When this happens, simply light the candle, circumnavigate the mountain at your own level, and then wait with open arms when you see them descending the mountainside, with shining face and a resurrection spring in their step. Then you will know that miracles still happen. Iris Niven (April 2008)
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