Hospitals For The Broken: Four Blessings

Phil Lowe

broken heartWhat I have learnt in the past six months is that churches are not filled with shiny, perfect people. They are hospitals for the broken. Recently was a crap Sunday. A culmination of four days that had left my heart and soul fractured. Living on a fault line, as Katy Perry sings in ‘Grace of God’.

So the perfect day to go to church. Yet also the worst. When you are fragile, exposing your fragility publicly is terrifying. Yet I needed the comfort of faith more than I needed my mask of normality, which is what I had plastered over the fault line to get me through the four days prior. My strength tank was dangerously dry. The bowser of the Bible had nurtured me. Yet even though I was comforted by faith, I sought the magnification that regular attendance at church delivers.

My God it was tough. On my own on the drive over, I just cried. Not sure I can do this  today. Not sure I’m going to be anything but a saline snot heap. Not sure I’m ready to crack that fault line. I sat in the car, parked outside church, wiping away tears, slugging back caffeine and praying for the game face that would get me in the door. Knowing it is a safe place to turn up to in a mess is very different to actually doing it.

Deep breath. Dark glasses. Open car door. Then, blessing one. Someone who was leaving after the earlier service, whom I have never met, was parked close by. He buzzed down his car window. Sent me a gentle smile. Introduced himself and hoped I had a good day. Insignificant in content, but significant to me. God’s gentle reminder of the comfort of His community.

I confess it didn’t bolster me so much that I marched in revived. I sort of slunk in, avoiding eye contact, and immediately revolved straight back out before I even made it to the name badge table.

Deep breaths. Back in. To blessing 2 – a jovial older member who has been supportive of me on this road. He stood talking and introduced me to someone whom I had not yet met, who kindly mentioned how lovely he had found my recent testimony. Which had me hiccuping, excusing myself and diving for the nearest ladies room. Where I replaced the prescription lenses in my sunnies for tissues.

Deep breath again. Exit the ladies room. Make it to the reception table. Where, of course, the senior pastor and connections pastor are standing, right in front of my name badge. FFS God, I’m not getting in under the radar here am I?

“Phil, how are you?” they enquired. Don’t know about you, but when I’m on an emotional fault line and someone asks me that question there’s only one result. Saline and snot. Time to be honest, or at best take refuge in flippancy. “Umm, I’m wearing my game face today,” I admitted from behind dark glasses.

Blessing 3, as the connections pastor takes the conversation to more neutral, less emotive territory: the books for sale, what had I read and what he wanted to read – which just happened to be over in a quieter corner. It felt like a kindly boarder collie gently shepherding me along. And there, right there, he picks up a book on a topic that pretty much covers everything I’ve been recently fractured by. Tears turn to somewhat hysterical laughter at God’s prodding. Let it all out, let Me, let My people help.

Well, obviously, I chose the back row at church. Where a fantastic older lady, for whom I have huge respect and admiration, asked if she could join me. I admitted I was slinking in with my game face on. “Me too,” she replied, as we both pulled tissues out our respective bags. She made me laugh as the Children’s Minister stood on stage announcing that there would be a water theme – complete with a water-filled, bursting balloon fight – as they discussed the birth of Jesus. Exploding membranes. Fluid. We caught each other’s eye like children misbehaving at the back of the school bus. “Probabably not the best imagery, water and birth,” she whispered.

Then God’s humour, His way of showing me that I was noticed – that WE were noticed in the back row. Of all the Sunday’s for the big screen church projector to fail. So everyone in the congregation turned around to face the back of the church to sing hymns from the smaller screen that was positioned directly above our heads. Everyone. Facing the back row. Yes, you are seen, yes, you are noticed, yes, you are loved.

And the finale? Over the days prior I had prayed, wished for a mother figure. Someone wise and maternal from whom I could draw wisdom. That, I admit, is my major hole. I did not have a typical maternal relationship with my own mother. Our roles had been reversed since I was quite young. I have always noticed that gap in my emotional responses, typically tending towards a more masculine ‘deal with it’ over feminine compassion. Not that those feelings are gender-dependent. Simply that I have always ‘dealt with it’ and too often forget that others require more support.

Seeking maternal wisdom is different to paternal. Or even using male and female peers as sounding boards. Blessing four: the lady who joined me in the back row delivered me gold. Gentle, wise-woman strategies to help navigate my confusion in a more compassionate, Christian-way. Along with the women’s minster she prayed and cracked open that fault line with sensitivity. Let in light and grace.

I went in broken and weak. When I came out I wasn’t shiny. Or new. But I was comforted, supported and strengthened for the next steps on the path.

I think of you through the watches of the night.
Because you are my help,
I sing in the shadow of your wings.
I cling to you; your right hand upholds me. 

Psalm 63:6-8

It felt like Christmas time…. 2000 miles

It felt like Christmas time…. 2000 miles

Phil Lowe

Sydney to Perth is roughly 2000 miles. From one side of the country to the other. Which is how I feel about my spiritual travels over the past six months. I’m in the same country, but on the total flip side.

Which puts this coming Christmas into a whole new perspective. So far, I’ve had 42 Christmases upon this earth. Yet this will be the first where I get it. Yes, I’d been called to ‘get it’ before  – there was a reason why a practising agnostic would creep into midnight Christmas Eve services and be moved to weep, after all – but 2014? 2014, I suspect, will be very different.

It may have ‘felt’ like Christmas those 42 times before. But only to the extent that I recognised it as a a religious festival, happily accepted the public holiday, and, in a silent midnight eve moment, paid quiet attention to the pressing on my soul. That there was more to this day than turkey, brandy butter, wrapping paper and wine. Before pushing that attention into the ‘too hard’ basket and looking away. Telling myself that it was only the carols that called me…nothing more…

No-wonder that God tired of the subtleties. I wonder how many others He sees at Christmas services, all drawn towards the quiet joyfulness (even when they are unaware of what they are drawn to) and decides, “No more gentle prods. You, you, and you. This coming year, you’re all on the Wake-Up To Me Fast Track.”

Yet, we have free will. We can stick our fingers in our ears, ignore, look the other way. God meets us where we are at. Jesus extends a hand. It’s up to us whether we join the dance. But if you have that pressing on your soul? That you want to ignore because it’s too damn scary and who knows what could happen if you opened up that feeling and peeked inside? Or perhaps, like me, or my hubby Big T, you carry such a Christian hangover you could never imagine the ache in your head being less important than the ache in your heart?

May I just say, it’s a fairly awesome dance. Even when you have forgotten the steps or are worrying you are going to tread on someone’s toes. And, for those who know me well, they recognise it is ASTOUNDING that I am about to write an invitation such as this:

If, under the tinsel, the cheer, the busyness, your heart is whispering for more…. then I invite you.

If you are asking, “Is this really it?” as you fight the Christmas shoppers, as you wince at the credit card creaking… then I invite you.

If you feel like you are stumbling into this holiday period with a sense of having just made it by the skin of your teeth…. then I invite you.

Not to throw yourself in the doors of your nearest church (unless you wish to).

Not to join me at a variety of Christmas services (unless you wish to).

Not to do anything except pause. Take a breath. Listen to the quiet whisper in your heart. And then, just pray. Or meditate if it makes you feel less freaked-out about the whole thing.

It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t even have to be ‘right’. But just give it a go. There is a structure to ‘right’ prayer but I don’t think God and Jesus are going to get that bothered; if they’ve not heard from you in a while they’re going to be more excited about the fact you’re ‘phoning home’.

Keep it simple. Hi there. Thanks for everything. Show me.

And, if you really fancy changing up your 2015, you could pray for your own SAP.

Amen.

Really? Ok, you asked for it… Testimony Take 2

Really? Ok, you asked for it… Testimony Take 2

Phil Lowe

image-2It has gob-smacked me, the requests I have received for the copy of my testimony. It’s hugely overwhelming and humbling. So as I stumbled around thinking, “Really? Should I?” I decided to ask my divine writing team for their opinion. Who sent me this:

Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. – Matthew 5:15

Which, if I’m following His gist, is Jesus’ way of saying to me, “I’ve helped you, haven’t I? And hearing your story helps others. So, get over yourself, and post it. NOW.”

Below is what I read out in church the other week, with links to past blog posts peppered throughout in case you fancy more background. If you’ve read the blog posts from earlier this year, then you’ll have the gist already and can go play Candy Crush or something instead… ‘

Testimony, 30/11/14

“So, about 35 years ago, my family had a bit of a bad day. In the morning my Dad announced he was leaving the family home. And in the afternoon my Mum overdosed on sleeping tablets. “I don’t share this for the ‘poor, damaged, child’ angle – Mum pulled through, my Dad remains happily married to the woman who went onto become my step-mum, and I therapied my wounds a LONG time ago.

“I share it because what happened next impacted incredibly on how I viewed God, Jesus and Christianity. “You see, so-called Christian friends turned up with judgement about adultery and the sin of suicide. The dogma obliterated the grace. And that skewed my viewpoint. Not helped by the bloke in the black dress at the front of the school chapel who failed to make Christianity relevant to me. Then, as a cadet journalist in Ireland, I saw too much fear and terror enacted out in the name of God to make it an appealing proposition.

“New age spiritualism and yogic non-attachment called me far more than Jesus did, and pretty much formed my agnostic life for the past 15 years…”

[At this point I unpacked some props – angel cards, crystals, self-development books – that I handed to my glamorous assistant on stage, the SAP – who opted not to wear a gold, shimmery off the shoulder number like most glamorous assistants. I did ask…]

“In New Age, God is there but in a distant, malleable way. An energy you can somehow harness through the power of correct thought. If your life isn’t going the way you hoped, then you’re not thinking the correct thoughts. So pay for another course! New age exhausted me. I was so tired of having to fix myself!

“Yoga and meditation gave peace but felt empty – I was dessicating my soul in my striving to non-attach. I kept forgetting we are relationship driven. We are not built for non-attachment!

“Deep down I wanted a relationship with God. I wanted that still, small voice of calm. But with all my childhood baggage from Church and religion, I couldn’t figure out the right path. I was also petrified of vulnerability. After a parent attempts suicide, there’s a lot you lock-off in self-preservation.

“So I am blessed that God hunted me down, put Jesus squarely in front of me, and made me listen.

“It started with a failed job interview. One of the job criteria was a practising Christian, active in church. No surprises, then, that I didn’t get the gig. And the interviewer was kind and graceful but pleasantly steadfast in telling me that my faith wasn’t there. And he said something about structure…

“Someone the other week said to me how God presses on us, this insistence that shoves at you. And Jesus and that phrase about structure kept pushing into my brain. I kept telling myself it was because my ego had been pricked.

“But the Easter weekend that followed:

  • The Bible falling off the shelf at my feet at a holiday house communal library – with no one nearby to cause it fall.
  • The yacht at Palm Beach, the sail unfurling, emblazoned with the words ‘Mister Christian’.
  • Awaking with Jennifer Warnes’s ‘Song of Bernadette’ playing over and over in my head around 3am each morning for four days in a row, when I had not heard her music in probably a decade.
  • 3am Conversation with God – sort out your baggage around Christianity. Get rid of your stereotypes about how ‘Christians’ should be.
  • My husband’s comment: Well, Phil, Jesus did have to ask Peter 3 times….

“I thought I’d just do some research. C of E stuck me as similar to Anglican. The kids attend school in the area so I found this church online, spotted that a Christianity Course (CE) was running and picked up the phone. I’d missed a couple of weeks, but I figured I could do some catch up — some solo, distant education.

“Again, God was having none of it. Instead of a quick video download in my own time, I ended up having theological emails with an associate pastor who was honest, and it turned out to be my first ‘adult’ conversation with a Christian who was happy to unpack his faith and really let me rummage around in it – and challenge me intellectually and spiritually.

“He obviously wasn’t going to let this seeking soul just do distant education. I found myself at a 10am service. Then another. Then an 8am. Then a 6pm.

“As my heart whispered to me how astounding this love, the cross, the resurrection was, my head was on the sidelines, arms folded. Could a man really have come back to life? Well, then, I got to do the CE course with others. Which helped my head catch up with my heart.

“I liken my new-age relationship with God before like some faulty light bulb. That flickered on and off. Jesus reached past me and screwed in the bulb.

“As soon as I accepted Jesus, it literally clicked into place. How liberating it was to go: I am more sinful and flawed than I could ever imagine, yet at the very same time I am more loved and accepted in Jesus than I could ever dare dream.

“And after all that new-age work? The ease of this astounds me every day. Just keep accepting the grace. And I pray that God just keeps me – all my flawed ego self – out the way.

“Being loved, NO MATTER WHAT, gives you an incredible blank canvas of trust and grace from which to create. Jesus died for me. How can I do anything BUT humbly accept .…

“That acceptance gave me a new freedom to embrace the joy. After trying to be all yogic, trying to non-attach, to NOT feel, all this… it’s like going from black and white to technicolour. All those numbed nerve endings just fizzed. And even if there are hurts – all that sensitivity I tried to hide, the vulnerability I was so fearful of – what are they compared to the pain Jesus’ took on for me? Vulnerability delivered me joy, faith and more.

“Six months ago I would have laughed at anyone who said I’d have a Bible app on my phone and be writing a blog about my Christian journey.

“Writing this testimony, the SAP asked me to share some examples of how my life has changed since I accepted God and Jesus. But I can’t give examples of incidents, because this isn’t incidental to my life.

“It is like breathing. The edges have been smoothed. I’m sure my husband would agree that the ‘point scoring’ of life has dropped away.

“I find myself in a range of places – the café, getting my back adjusted, a business networking event – and God insistently tells me to share the blog and my experience of returning to church. “God: ‘Tell them!” Me: “Really?” God: “Yes, now” – and so I do and every time, EVERY time, I end up in a conversation with someone who has been wondering about going back to church after having a poor experience…

“So now, whilst I do still question, I trust. And so, even when He’s telling me to step forward and I feel like it’s off a cliff, I trust and honour that He knows what He’s doing. So I step forward and the bridge – or path – appears.

“And getting baptised? You see in 1972 I was christened, so, in a way, I didn’t NEED to do it again. But my Christening was more like ‘pinning the name on the baby’. I didn’t grow up in a Christian household. There was no structure to it, no faith.

“Yet despite that, for the 42 intervening years, I know God and Jesus were always on the look out; they had my back. But I hadn’t got theirs. I needed to reciprocate. Choosing baptism was my testimony to them, saying: “I’m sorry it took me so long. Thanks for chasing me down. Here I am.”

“And finally, although I can stand up here and say God chased me down, and Jesus worked his grace – there is one more important thing to say.

“The past six months have clearly demonstrated that, just as it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a supportive husband, an amazing ministry team AND an engaged congregation to raise a new Christian. So on the days that you wonder what exactly God & Jesus are up to in your life – and I’m pretty sure we all have them – please remember each time over the past six months I saw you here at church – even if we have never spoken – I saw you here. In worship. Treading the path. And it gave me joy and encouragement to keep stepping forward on mine. Thank you.”

Testing, Testing…. testimony

Testing, Testing…. testimony

Phil Lowe

Put me on a stage in front of 200+ business people and tell me to talk communications, PR and how best to boost your business with free publicity and I will rock your world. I will make you laugh, help you learn, and I will happily share my failures, my worst mistakes, my post-GFC business disaster because I know, by being authentic, I can help you take the next step on your business journey.

But ask me to stand in the front of a church, look each person in the eye, rip open my chest, pluck out my heart and hold it up for all to see? When I realised the fine print in the baptism prospectus, the only rocking I was doing was back and forth in my seat. Foetal-like. writer's block

I think my first response to the SAP was, “Can’t you just put a link to the blog up on screen?” Swiftly followed by, “I can come to the Saturday night church to do it. I know less people there…”

For all this blogging articulation, writing my testimony was the hardest thing I have ever done. Writer’s block descended like a cage. I knew what God and Jesus had delivered me on this journey, but attempting to capture it in order to read it aloud made me feel gauche. Worse, I feared being unable to do it justice. Given the pure joy of newly discovered Christianity has me leaking tears daily, I had horrible images of me standing up there hiccuping into the microphone with saline flooding my face. Testimony by tissues.

Two weeks out, the SAP would send nudging emails, asking how it was going. I would blithely reply that I worked on far tighter deadlines than two weeks – which is true. Then, possibly suspecting my evasive tone, the SAP offered to read the first draft. Ah. A staggered deadline.

The trick to beating writer’s block is to write. Even when the words that vomit from your imagination are leaden, weighing across the page like boulders blocking the path. It’s a bit like ordering that first alcoholic drink when you are hungover. It tastes like nails but the mist begins to lift.

I also had three more on the writing team with me. G, J & the Holy Ghost(writer). “Ok, gang,” I prayed (respectfully). “Show me.”

And then it struck.  I had allowed myself to be sidelined by stereotypes. On the one hand, the SAP was telling me to be myself. On the other, well-intentioned Christians were sharing testimony examples and seriously reminding me that this testimony was about glorifying God and Jesus and ‘What THEY Had Done In My Life.’

Just in case I’d forgotten those two who’d hunted me down and dragged me along this path for the past six months.

Problem was, the testimony examples all used what I term ‘Christian inaccessible language’ and smacked of shiny-suited evangelism. Unreachable, unattainable — all the things that had turned me away from church and contributed to my Christian hangover in the first place. Hadn’t God and Jesus called me just as I was? For me to stand up on stage and adopt a language that was not mine struck me as frankly ridiculous. I sat, stymied at the computer, feeling like I needed to defend my faith journey and style.

“Every hair on your head,” the divine writing team quietly whispered to me.

The hair that is an unnatural five-tone flame red. That is happy to stand up and be counted. That is confident, self-esteemed and humble, for the three are not mutually exclusive. That enjoys wine, martinis, chilli mud crab splatter and more. That drops f-bombs etc. Not for a need to shock, but because I am proud to be gifted by God with the knowledge that language can make a difference; and the right language (even when it is shocking) used well, with talent and timing and wit, creates attention. And with attention comes power. To change. To be heard. To remind. To prompt action. To believe. All of which God deserves a bit more of.

So my testimony offered rust over shine. Wit and irreverence over dulled seriousness.  Because that has been my journey with the Father and Son. They make me laugh at myself each day, whilst having me in tears over the simplicity of grace and in awe at how much more I can be, do and dream when they run my show.

So, do you feel different?

So, do you feel different?

Phil Lowe

This appears to be the main question I’m receiving after my ‘Lipton’ing‘ baptism a couple of days ago.

Surfacing… firm grip, please, SAP!
Surfacing… firm grip, please, SAP!

As the SAP shared during the ceremony about why the Christian faith baptises, being immersed in a river did not do anything ‘magical’ to me. I didn’t emerge out the water like Dr Grey/Phoenix in the X-Men. It’s a symbol. A pretty public one. That I have skin in the Christian game. Jesus, God and I are now teammates. They have my back. I’ve got theirs.

Yet my new-age wanderings put credence in being ‘washed away’. Magic, no. Energetically, I’m feeling a lot more grounded in my Christianity. Perhaps the salt water counteracted all the adrenalin that flooded my system when the SAP said there were 250 sausages ordered for the post-dunking BBQ. 250?! Just how many people were going to be watching?

Welcome to the family

It both terrified and humbled me that so many people, a fairly good proportion of whom I had never met (given this was organised by the Saturday Night Youth Church and I’m an old broiler who goes to another service on Sundays), were on the riverbank cheering all the dunkees on. Unconditional love and support from those who were delighted in the decision we had reached. I was particularly moved by one close friend, a staunch atheist, who whooped and hollered from the riverbank with the rest and settled me with a generous gift of unconditional love herself: ‘Many congratulations, Phil. May your faith sustain you in good times and not so good. Lovely to see you so happy.‘ How generous, open-hearted and gorgeous is that?

Given I have skidded, crashed, cried, skinned knees, skinned heart, danced, dodged and whooped my way through this six month journey at a fairly break-neck speed, the water was a balm. I purposely withdrew from social media and implemented a strict regime on managing work email for three days before. Big T helped too, creating white space in the noise of domesticity on the day. It all allowed me to retreat inward. Settle and pat down the past 30 weeks of spiritual excavation. This was one occasion I had no wish to skid into.

A passage about baptism by Anne Lamott in her book ‘Travelling Mercies‘ struck me during this period:

“It’s about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under…you agree to do something that’s a little sloppy because at the same time it’s also holy….  It’s about surrender, giving in to all those things we can’t control; it’s a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched... The hope, the belief, is that a new day is upon you now.”

Does the grin say it all?
Does the grin say it all?

So here I am, dunked, drenched, refreshed, and ready to rock the new day. Only two burning questions remain, and both have plagued my irreverent mind since the ceremony:

1) Has the SAP ever had a lipton-ing moment when, at the point he needs to start drawing the dunkee up and back out of the water, one hand firmly gripping their right shoulder, the other at the top of their left forearm, he thinks, “Uh-oh, I’ve not got the leverage here. This one’s going to hit the bottom…” 2) Do they offer ‘practice sessions’ at bible college?

Hugs from my biggest supporter. Thanks Big T!
Hugs from my biggest supporter. Thanks Big T!
The SAP Gets A Name Change For A Day

The SAP Gets A Name Change For A Day

Phil Lowe
Unknown
The SAP turned into a poker-face Larry Emdur. But kept his shirt on. Thank God.

I had to upgrade the SAP to a TBP the other week.  He did something that sent me veering straight back into limbic lunacy, the same day I’d shared my decision to be ‘Lipton’d’. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

You know those targets they use in fundraising? Large themometer-type displays that tally the amount of cash people have donated? Well, I wonder if churches have similar for souls saved. And if there’s a percentage conversion rate that they reverse-engineer a target out of, gauging how many they need in the soul-saving funnel (SSF) at any one time.

It’s obviously not quite as clinical as that. Love, empathy, compassion, the SAP patiently persists in reminding me, are all important strengths one has to display in the soul-saving business way of life. As my approach to compassion is quite often from the school of swallow some concrete and harden up, I’m amazed the SAP is not yet sick of sounding like a broken record. I’d have smacked me round the back of my head by now. Yet, I do notice some softening in my compassion bone. I receive small reminders to breathe into it: You who have received the Spirit should restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness. Galatians 6:1.

Anyway, back to the SSF.  All the souls in it have to accept Jesus freely. No matter how much support and guidance you get on your way through the funnel, at some point you have to make a personal, final call.

Which is why, as soon as river baptism appeared on my horizon, the SAP went all Switzerland on me. Mr Neutral. If it were a game show, with the ultimate prize all stacked behind the one door, the SAP was a poker-face Larry Emdur. Getting to know the SAP as you have through these blogs (and perhaps social media if you are SA detectives), poker face and Switzerland are not qualities one would ascribe to this (scarily) forthright man of faith.

First, my flight reflex went: “Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t get baptised. He’s possibly being too polite to say how soooo not ready my soul is for this.” Swiftly followed by: “The SAP, polite? Heaven forbid.” Then comprehension: at this point before a baptism, it must be like getting ready for a public float (boom-tish) on the heavenly stock exchange. No insider-trading. Having read the prospectus and gained advice from your spiritual advisor to talk to God, any decision you then make must be of your own accord.

Once I’d reached my decision, the SAP returned to form. Switzerland was ditched in favour of a far more celebratory nation. Facebook Messenger crashed with all the emoticons of smiley faces, party poppers and those blasted things that unfurl when you blow into them.

“Absolutely fantastic,” he said. “It’ll be flippin’ awesome,” he added. “I just need your testimony, the before and after bit about how you got to here with Jesus and God. Then I’ll get you up on stage at church and you can share it. Ten minutes or so should do it.”

Hang on. What did he just say? On stage? Ten minutes?

So, just for a day, the SAP up-levelled to TBP. Had I spotted live, on-stage testimony required in the baptism prospectus it would have muddied my decision-making around being Lipton’d. Which had to be reached freely, without positive or negative influence.

Tricky bastard. But I have to hand it to him. Still smart.

Deciding to get ‘Lipton’d’

Phil Lowe

It struck me recently that God speaks to me at His strongest when I am in fear, flight and fight. When every sense of my reptilian brain is shrieking at me, it is those moments when His hand presses on me and firmly orders, “Observe.”

Not to do anything. Simply to observe. To watch, listen and see what unfolds. Trouble is, when I’m in ‘limbic lunacy’ that’s the last thing I want to do. Instead I long to operate at warp speed to push through what confronts me, or download (mainline) every article, book, and research paper I possibly can to seduce my rational frontal-lobe into taking over. I don’t have any objections to discovering a few remaining band-aids on my soul. It’s just that, done my way, I’d rip ’em off and move on. God’s way is more gentle. Requires my patience.  10117b9d-d35e-424f-8aba-89d57234ee71-vision

The SAP observed recently that my personality throws me into everything I do at a million miles an hour. He earns his SA stripes well, that pastor. As the Big T often reminds me, faith is not slam it down espresso.

No surprise then, that after my limbic lunacy around the SAP’s public proclaimation of an upcoming river baptism, I became sick. Temperature. Aches that pinned me to the bed. Eyeballs that refused to focus. Symptoms that made it very hard to operate at warp speed and read rational research.

So (possibly with a fair amount of eye-rolling at God) I observed. Watched, listened, stayed present. Prayed. Floated on the idea of river submersion. Faced up to the reality that, without it, I would always be able to say I was ‘Christian-ish.’ And the ‘-ish’ suffix would give me a huge amount of latitude. Wriggle-room.

Wriggle-room is seductive. Just enough to shimmy around those tight spots that pinch at me.

Which made me a coward. And, boy, that conclusion riled me. Well, f*&k that, God and Jesus. You want me to own this, do you? Well, let me just show you how I can step up and own this.

Ah. That’s the problem with a Lord who knows what’s in my heart before I unravel it. The steps He takes to guide me to an outcome are, well, smart-alecky. A clever prod at pride to switch off fight and flight.

Which means, in less than a week, I will be at the river. Getting Lipton’d.

How New Age Helped Me Grasp New Testament Quicker

Phil Lowe

It struck me the other day just how lucky I have been to have read runes, aligned chakras, meditated, theta-healed and visited psychics. I was certainly seeking something to put my faith in, but the biggest surprise has been how all my new age investigation prepared me perfectly for Jesus and the New Testament.

Crystal Crosses - Because every good SAP needs one.
Crystal Crosses – Because every good SAP needs one.

1) I was tired of it being all about me

I’ve blogged before about how exhausting new age ‘thought creates’ ended up being. I could repeat ‘I create with ease’ mantras until I was blue in the face, but it struck me as particularly hit and miss. Some days it would flow, other days ‘ease’ seemed as remote as the moon. I’d be stuck asking, ‘If God (Spirit/Universe) created us as such magnificent, perfect beings (for one thing New Age teaches, is we are all perfect) how come I’m not finding this a little easier?’ And then, just to confuse things, despite me being perfect just as I am, paying for another chakra clearing, or past-life regression, would help me be just that little bit more perfect.

I found aspiring to the new age ‘everything is awesome’ thought-creates vision tiring. Plus I’ve never been that good at naval-gazing for extended periods. I was sick of all this ‘self’ I was supposed to aspire to.

New Testament is fabulous because it’s not about me being anything other than flawed. How amazing. I get to happily hang out with all my failings and bless them. Jesus gets to be the sinless, perfect one. I get to be the lost soul who merely says, “Hey, here I am. I trust you to fix me up.” And He does. I’m still figuring out the nuts and bolts of the how (see justification and sanctification) but grace works in mysterious ways, I’ve decided. You just need to keep your eyes open for it. Which leads me to:

2) New age is all about signs. Which today makes my conversations with God & Jesus highly translatable

Read a pack of Angel cards, and one instruction tells you that if you spot a feather on the floor, that’s because your angels are nearby working their magic. Other New Age/ gnostic writings refer to three as a sacred number – so if you see/read/hear something three times, that’s God (Spirit/Universe) trying to get a message through. The SAP may only sneeze over spotting a feather, but there are plenty of other ‘God moments’ – as he calls them – that come through signs, dreams and repetition.

So new-age has prepared me for a very personable, relatable conversation with God and Jesus. I figure it’s meant to be personal or else that temple curtain wouldn’t have ripped during the crucifixion. The three of us go running each morning. I pay attention to what pops up after I’ve been praying for guidance. The answers come, without fail. The difference now, compared to my sign-seeking, new-age self, is both infinite and infinitesimal. Now I trust the answers, whilst before I wanted to, but my own self (doubt, ego) kept getting in the way.

3) Non-attachment helps with the right attachment

Prior to curing my Christian hangover, the closest I came to flow and true presence was on the yoga mat. I am lucky: I naturally do not tend towards a mind that is, as a monk once described to me, like ‘a mad monkey stung by a scorpion’. Yoga poses and striving towards non-attachment help keep that mad monkey sedated. Trouble is, we are born relational beings. We love, laugh, dance, dramatise, wound, weep and worry. A non-attached life gets a little devoid of colour. There’s a balance between non-attached emptiness, living in glorious Technicolour and not allowing yourself to be buffeted by any small scorpion sting.

Non-attachment does help quieten the ego. Which gave me a fairly good place to start from when it came to meeting Jesus and God again. Becoming humble is a sign of inner strength, not – as we are quick to mistake in our self-led life – weakness. Bowing my head to accept, quite humbly, that I am less, makes me more. It takes some serious strength to pack away your self and admit, “I am so utterly flawed, but, but, YOU, God, think I’m worth saving – and there’s nothing I can do to make myself worthy of that.” Yoga’s path of non-attachment helped me move more easily towards the empty-handed humbleness required of a relationship with God.

4) State of Grace

Christianity is the only religion that offers the ‘reward’ upfront. Grace. No boxes to tick, diets to follow, or self to flagellate. Jesus did all the hard yards. Our job is to get on with living gracefully. Yoga gave me glimpses of what I thought was ‘grace’ – the silenced mad monkey, a shining peacefulness – until a forthright Christian woman asked what I meant by glimpses. “But you’ve got it already,” she reminded me. There are no mere glimpses of grace on this Christian journey. It surrounds and astounds — you just need to keep accepting it. And one thing yoga is especially good at teaching is acceptance.

5) Comparative ease

Finally, at the risk of offending UHT Christians (those who have been working at this for a long, longer life than I), new age prepared me well because, once I got past hangovers and stereotypes, Christianity is far less difficult than new age. A bit like my slogan around Apple, ‘it just works.’  No gimmicks. No need to book in for a past-life regression and multiple ongoing appointments. Just accept you are more flawed than you can imagine, more loved than you can imagine, and get on with the business of grace. Plug and Play.

So if it’s so easy, how come it’s got such a poor reputation?

I’m cognisant that church and religion has sent many fleeing to the new-age hills. Been there, done that, bought the crystals myself. While pastors, vicars, minsters and priests play a key role in creating positive church experiences, I’ve reached the conclusion that it’s even simpler than that.

Christians need to create positive Christian experiences. Put away the sin and grace barometers. Be flawed. Be real. Live and breathe grace every day, not just Sunday within some ‘hallowed walls’. God shoved me to a church that suited me, gave me a SAP on the end of a phone, and surrounded me with plenty of ‘real’ Christians. He knew I’d never have listened any other way. Amazing grace, indeed.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water

Phil Lowe

So the SAP nailed a proclamation to the church doors today. Known in the trade as The Great Commission, it read: Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I will be with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matthew 28:19-20)

Actually, no. This is 21st Century evangelism after all. No nails on wood here (well, unless, you know, we’re talking about those nails). It was more of a digital nail. Driven through a Facebook Group Post. The gist being: ‘Summer’s here. Daylight saving. And if you fancy the other sort of saving, get yourself to the Wonie River because the water’s warm and I’m going to host an outdoor baptism in a few weeks. Bit of preaching. BBQ. Music. BYO swimmers and sunscreen.’ 

I have to admit, it stopped me in my tracks. All important, deadline-driven work fled my mind. I think I pushed back my wheelie-chair so fast from the desk I burnt rubber on the carpet. And not in the rush to grab my swimmers and towel.

I always loved hearing about John the Baptist at school. Struck me as a cool job, hanging out in the water all day. Eating honey and locusts not as much. Yet something about submersion always fascinated me as a child, and not through any push from my parents. My father is a non-swimmer and my mum hated getting her face wet, even in the shower. So perhaps it was John in RE who sparked my gaining a BSAC Dive Leader qualification?

Yet today? Adult immersion baptism is a long way from the vicar dribbling water on my head during my May 1972 Christening. It had little relevance to me then because I can’t remember a thing about it, or even what it meant. Adult immersion means a conscious-choice. Matthew records the words above as the final explicit instructions of Jesus before he ascended to heaven. It’s part of the SAP’s ultimate job description:

  • Teach the gospel
  • Introduce people to Jesus (make disciples)
  • Baptise them
  • Help and teach them to follow the words of Jesus

So, if I look at this a bit like a sales funnel (sorry, SAP, old habits), then I’ve been introduced, taught some, and helped. One more step needed. Into a river.

Honestly, my limbic brain has been in fight and flight overdrive all afternoon. Prayers for guidance consisted of mainly, “Really?” and then, “Really, really?” as my brain and heart stuttered. One kind friend gently told me that the water would still be warm in six months, and this was not a race. Very true. But having been chased by the hound of heaven, there is an air of impatience when God talks to me. A strong sense of: He chased me down long enough, He loves me dearly, but there’s work to be done so, please hurry up and get with the program.

God still has a massive sense of humour though. Only yesterday I mentioned that perhaps inspiration was a bit dry when it came to these blog posts. Be careful what you wish for, Phil!

As has been the pattern on this journey, the Big T delivered his usual brand of evangelism. After reading the Facebook post I thrust at him, his initial response was, ‘Holy F*#^, Phil’. Then he commented I was wearing socks.

Socks? I’m asking for supportive husband advice and he refers to my socks? Then the light dawns. When we first met, I wore Reeboks. It became our relationship metaphor for my fear of emotional dependence. Fight or flight. Run away fast. Survival.

“This is your decision alone,” he tells me. “But you’ve thrown out those Reeboks. And I know this step for you is a big as the one you took when you chose to marry me. I think you know you’ll do it, deep down. Doesn’t matter how much research you do to figure it out. But, you being you, will need some time for it to settle in your heart.”

My Mom always described Big T as the perfect man for me. Tonight he gave another example of how perfect.

So too did God. In the middle of limbic lunacy, I sat on the bed, grabbed my Bible, closed my eyes and repeated that eloquent prayer: “Really? Really really?” And flung open the pages.

To Acts 22:16. The first seven words leapt out as if printed superbold and underlined: And now what are you waiting for? Get up, be baptized and wash your sins away, calling on his name.

Of all the pages, of all the books in the world…. where are those runes and angel cards, eh?!

At least I could use one of the best songs by The Boss in illustration.

 

 

Hall Pass from the SAP?

Phil Lowe
KevinMcCloud_0
The thinking lady’s crumpet, Kevin McCloud.

Chill, I’m not referring to a sexual hall pass (before the SAP chokes on his chai and starts spluttering about the sixth commandment). Following a discussion with hubby Big T about thinking lady’s crumpet (TLC) Kevin McCloud, it started me thinking about boundaries.

Faced with a Star Wars movie night with the kids, and the realisation that the TLC was in town, I did ponder on Facebook about whether I should stay home or go into the city to find Mr. McCloud. I used the hashtag ‘hall pass’. After some funny comments from my thinking lady friends, there was a short comment from the Big T: “No Hall Pass”

Which is the husbandly equivalent of ‘don’t push your luck.’ Whilst feminists may get upset about Biblical references to ‘obeying husbands’, I find great delight (as a somewhat feisty woman) in a husband who gives me immense amounts of lassitude but, on rare and specific occasions, says, “Nope. You, woman, are mine!” That’s when my ‘thinking lady crumpet’ side gets all overcome and fluttery and swoons in a far more ‘Georgette Heyer-type’ way.

Toddlers need boundaries. Me too. But I do have a hall pass. The best bit is, I’m married to him.

So, anyway, back to hall passes and the SAP. In regards to my getting rid of Christian and religious hangovers, he doesn’t give them out either.  Believe me, I tried. Certain teachings I have serious issues with. Tough. Deal. Grow. No hall passes.

Like the Kingdom of Heaven. 1 Corinthians 15: 51-53: But let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will not all die, but we will all be transformed! It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed. For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies.

Thing is, this immortal glory only comes if you’ve chosen Jesus and God. Bit of a slap on the face on this journey when your Mother has died and you know she certainly hadn’t made that choice whilst living.  So she is, umm, where? 4 letters. Rhymes with bell?

Really? In my utter teenage rebellion I may have told her to go there. Yet if you believe you choose the life you live (as I do), then my Mum chose a hard road. She may not have embraced the J-man, but, God, she did the best she could with the tools at her disposal. If you are never told the path you can choose, how can you be ‘punished’ for not choosing it? Where were those Christian evangelists as, alone and heart-broken, she reached for the Temazepam?

Keller writes that hell is the freely chosen, eternal skid row of the universe. If you read my earlier blogs, you will perhaps understand the eternal skid row my Mum had chosen in life. Denial. Marriage and relationship breakdowns that ‘came out the blue’ because confronting how you really felt (or feared) was not the ‘done thing’ back then. Today I wonder if my Mum had a SAP, would life have been different? I suspect so.

But you play the hands you are dealt. Whether she brought up a resilient child intentionally or as an accident of circumstance, who knows? But denial is how I see my Mum’s hell. And my mind warred with what she did not know. How could I dream of her resurrection body if denial was her modus operandi?

The SAP will teach that without acceptance of Jesus, then there is no resurrection in our lives. However, he allows it comes down to awareness: “An Afghani goat herder who’s never seen a Bible or heard about Jesus will be judged differently though – the way I understand it is that God judges people based on what they know.”

I know denial was my Mum’s crutch in life. Not necessarily healthy, but if you are never taught differently then you work with what you know.  As I grappled with the teachings of Jesus, of that image of my Mum on the eternal skid row of denial, I was visited by yet another lucid dream:

A cafeteria. Sitting opposite my Mum, surrounded by others drinking tea, eating scones and taking about everything but nothing. Empty conversation that has always frustrated the f–k out of me. ‘Please, please,’ I implore silently. ‘Say something that means something.’

I realised I sat in my Mum’s version of hell. Denial. The same banality over and over and over.

And in this lucid dream my heart wept a little because my past five months have shown what more there can be. That there is beauty beyond the eternal skid row we create.

I was reminded of Robin Williams in ‘What Dreams May Come‘, who descends into hell to rescue his wife. Unpacking Jesus in my life, I have prayed that the dead and dying who do not yet know Him may have some of my grace, freely given. My own version of a hall pass. If I have been wrapped in grace from accepting Jesus, then can I ‘pay it forward’ so less fortunate can take some of the same love and protection?

In this lucid dream, as I looked at my Mum across the table, the SAP appeared behind her. Given Mum died almost two years before I ever picked up the phone, this was out of kilter. What was the SAP doing here? “Why don’t we pray?” he asked. I remember looking at him, somewhat baffled. “Get up,” he urged me. “Come round here and put your hands on her shoulders.”

Wide awake I’ve been a bit bemused by the ‘laying hands on’ stuff – blame the British stiff upper lip. Laying on of hands is used in Christianity as both a symbolic and formal method of invoking the Holy Spirit. And now I was dreaming it. Lucidly.

Okaaay. So there, in this dream, up I get and wander around the long trestle table, in what can only be described as a retirement home cafeteria. Mum looks up. “Hello, Philly,” she says quite complacently. “I’m just having a cup of tea.” Then in this bizarre lucid dream I introduce her to the SAP. I place one hand upon my Mother’s shoulder. Now what?

I hear the SAP praying, but for the life of me I cannot recall the words now. His hand rises to touch my shoulder. And in that split-second before final contact I know. During the lucid dream, I remember tensing every fibre in my body.

Then the circuit connects. Have you ever seen the opening seconds of the X-Men movie credits, when the ‘mutation’ flies through an organ’s vessels, all its energy snapping and synapses firing? That. Firing through my body, out my hand and into the next circuit connection. Hi Mom.

Then the bit that astounds me. As the SAP prays in this lucid dream, as my hands touch my Mom’s shoulder, precisely in that moment of the SAP’s hand connecting with my shoulder, and the synapses firing, I fly awake. G-force shocked, my eyes fly open. Jolted, pushed, shaken and stirred out of lucid dreaming into the now. Present. A gift, even.

Hi Mom. There you are. Enjoy that resurrection body. I’m glad you made it off skid row.

This possibly doesn’t gel with the SAPs biblical teachings. But you know what? On this one, I’m grabbing the hall pass. With both hands. Because you seriously cannot dream this stuff up.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Hamlet (1.5.167-8), Hamlet to Horatio