The Daniel Fast

2 At that time I, Daniel, mourned for three weeks. 3 I ate no choice food; no meat or wine touched my lips; and I used no lotions at all until the three weeks were over.

Daniel 10.2-3 NIV There are times when even the most devout of believers may feel distant from God. In almost all cases this is because of things going on in the believer's life, and they are lucky if someone points out to them the barriers that have appeared. I was lucky this week, someone made an innocuous remark that left me in no doubt that I had been convicted of the sin of faithlessness. For weeks I have cast around fruitlessly, grumbling and blaming God. What I haven't done is pray more. Why not? Because I am a foolish human who forgets God's grace faster than the Israelites did in the desert. Anyway, I decided that it was time to take action, and the form of action taken was suggested by Ben Patterson in his book Deepening Your Conversation with God. He pointed out a time when he had fasted for forty days along with some of his congregation. He said that the act of fasting focussed his mind in important ways. That was what I wanted. So I chose to fast. To make sure I was doing it properly I decided to do a little research. See how people fast in the manner of Daniel in the Twenty-First Century. I'm not sure if I should be amused of horrified, but within minutes of looking through web pages on the subject I found advertisements for the Daniel Fast Cookbook, nutritional information and a reminder to check the labels on processed food to make sure there are only Daniel Fast friendly ingredients. This all sounds a little too muck like letter of the law vs spirit of the law to me. If I'm wrong no doubt I'll get struck by lightning.

Just, wow

It's been about 10 days since someone broke into my car. It took about 5 days until I realised that my church keys were missing. I couldn't be certain, but I was fairly sure that the keys were in the car. I was lost, and more, I was defeated. Today, I step out of the local service station and a guy is struggling to start his engine. I send up an arrow prayer. "Lord, please let his engine start". And lo and behold, it does. Sat in my own car I'm thinking, God, You are amazing, there's nothing you can't do if people ask. And then boldly I ask: "God, if I could ask for one thing, I'd like my church keys back." As I pulled up outside my house I felt the strongest urge to go two doors down and look in their hedge. There, in the EXACT spot I stood by were my keys. Lord: You are amazing.

Awards

It's that time of year: when the great and the good in the world of entertainment turn out on the red carpets and try to out-glam one another, when the winners try to look surprised and losers try not to look nauseous. Yes it's time for the Grammys, BRITs, Oscars, BAFTAs. It's awards season.

PPI

Welcome to the wonderful 21st Century. One of the most striking things about this brave new world is the adverts: "Have you had an accident that's not your fault?" (by the way, if it's an accident then it happened unintentionally and no-one is the aggressor, yet those adverts usually portray the other party as some kind of evil villain--they aren't evil, even if they are feckless).

The companies behind these adverts tend to present themselves as champions of the people, defending the little man against the big corporations, and yet many of us are able to see through the facade and label them 'ambulance chasers'. But these last couple of weeks have for me really shed some light on the truth behind these kinds of adverts.

I received a telephone call, informing me that I could be entitled to lots of money if I was missold Payment Protection Insurance.

Well, I knew something they didn't. I've never had a credit card, or car loan, and while I have had two mortgages, I claimed the PPI back on one and the other was in joint names with my ex-girlfriend. I was the least likely person to need their help.

"No, no," they assured me, "The banks have put billions aside for these kinds of cases, if you had PPI you could still claim, it's your right".

For whatever reason I went along with the call as they processed my information.

Interesting fact #1: I could be owed over £3,000, and my champions only want 30% for helping me get it.

The call ended, and I felt uneasy, something just wasn't right about it. Yes, I may have been missold insurance, yes I may be owed money that would come in very useful, but I'd benefitted from PPI. Without it, we may have ended up homeless when I lost my job.

I received about a dozen calls over the week, and instead of telling them that I wasn't interested I kept stalling. I admit I was being cowardly, perhaps hoping that they would get bored. Ha Ha.

Anyway, during one of these telephone calls they were doing some important form filling when the crucial question was asked.

"Your first mortgage, was that solely yours?"

It wasn't. I told them that it had been in joint names with my ex-partner. Hope glimmered, perhaps this was my opportunity to bow out gracefully.

There was a pause on the line, followed by: "And do you still get along with your ex-partner?"

I do not, I told them our split was acrimonious and we hadn't spoken for over seven years.

There was a longer pause: "Do you think she'd mind if you claimed."

She would, she most certainly would. I told them so.

"I just need to talk to my supervisor." I was put on hold, occupied by the Girl from Ipanema.

Eventually my representative came back on the line. "My supervisor says there's no problem. If you don't tell your ex then she'll never know."

Now, as I was the one to pay the mortgage over the course of our relationship, it could reasonably be argued that any monies paid over were mine, and it could further be argued that as we are no longer friends I owe her nothing, but even so, to say that there's no problem felt very unpleasant.

Interesting fact #2: my champions apply the rule that ignorance is bliss.

I ended the call with an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I think it was bile.

Transformation

Essentially 2011 was an awful year, yes there were some positives, but on a scale of one to ten 2011 was crap. I can help but feel that it happened for a reason though.

It really all started with my desperate desire to play the lead part in the local operatic society's production, I even prayed: let me get the part of Tevye, I NEED that part.

I got the part and my world started falling apart.

Now as I look back, I realise several things. Firstly, I survived everything that went badly; secondly the thing I had prayed for offered me no comfort when things did go wrong, and it lost its shine; thirdly, I am a stronger person than I had previously thought; and finally, adversity didn't change who I am, it helped me see who I really am and realise that potential.

As St. Paul said:

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.
[Romans 12.2]

It's happened. I have been transformed.

And to paraphrase David Warner in Mad Dogs, happiness isn't about gaining new things, it's about seeing what's already there. I was trying for years to achieve something, without knowing what it was--and that's foolish--when what I should have done was look inside and see what goodness already existed and help it to grow.

Spare Time

Let's consider the idea of spare time for a moment. It's one of those concepts that's so ingrained in our culture that we rarely stop and think about what it actually means.

Spare time: time which is leftover, extra, surplus, time which is unfilled with necessary things.

This is a notion that I'm struggling to make sense of, the idea that there are a number of things that we have to do and the rest of our time can be spent on leisure activities. Who came up with the distinction? Who decided what's a necessary activity and what's leisure?

There are 168 hours in a week, in this modern age many, if not most, people work full time, that's usually between 36 and 40 hours a week. Let's for argument's sake take an average of 38 hours, leaving 130 hours. We're encouraged to sleep for eight hours every night, (56 per week), which leaves 74 hours. How much of those 74 hours is filled with necessary jobs, and how much is leisure?

I would like to propose a suggestion: that dividing our time into' work' and 'leisure' is a human deceit, that we have somehow convinced ourselves that work is something we have to do in order to afford our leisure activities.

Now, I have four jobs, three children, a cat, a dog and a ridiculous amount of house work, we don't have much money so I tend to bake a lot of cakes and biscuits for packed lunches and snacks, we have a wood burning stove to heat our home, it's economical, but the wood needs collecting and chopping: spare time is a rare commodity for me.

Leisure is not rare however, because I enjoy most of what I do. For many years I had the mindset of the rest of the world: "what do I need to do today, what do I need to get over and done with, before I can enjoy myself". Now I see things differently: "What is there to enjoy, in what I'm doing now?"

That would be my fatherly advice to one and all: that there is no such thing as spare time, because it is our duty to make the most of what time we have, and to prevent our lives from becoming one long string of chores and misery, we should look for the positives in everything we do.

Annus Horribilis pt 3

Shock is like a migraine or the flu.

You know what it's like, everybody claims to have had a migraine at some point, everybody claims to have had the flu. I've had both and I can safely say that a migraine is not like a bad headache, and the flu is not like a really bad cold. I was in bed for days with the flu, I was delirious, and it was only because I had someone with me taking care of me that I didn't end up in hospital. With the migraine I didn't know what it was for several days, again I was in bed, this time for 24 hours, I was nauseous, photosensitive and in extreme pain. It was only when I explained these symptoms to a friend that I discovered that's what a real migraine is like.

Shock falls into the same category: everyone claims to have been 'in shock' at one time or another, I've done it myself, but in reality I've only ever been in shock once, and that was Wednesday 10th August 2011. The day my mum came to tell me my dad had died.

I've been surprised before, I've been speechless, stunned, amazed, but to actually be 'in shock' is like being in another world. It is an experience far beyond the everyday surprises. The reference points that have always anchored you to the Earth are no longer in the right place, as the brain tries simultaneously to deny the present reality and to accept the awful truth. As a hundred thoughts all struggle to the surface vying for attention

Being 'in shock' precludes being 'in' so many other things: in our right mind, in a good place, in control. While my physical location hadn't changed, everything else had, and it was terrifying. Much more unnerving than the rollercoaster effect of mania and depression, because then sufferer is largely unaware of what's going on, it's the friends and family who suffer, no with this I was totally aware of what was going on but powerless to stop it.

Conversations were being held around me, plans were made: Charlie cancelled her shift at work; but I wasn't party to any of that, I was in my own little world, in shock. Life would never be the same again.

Jeremiah 29.11

There's a worship song that has great significance for someone I know, to spare their blushes I will call this someone "Wensleydale". Whenever I hear it I think about their testimony, about the way in which this particular worship song led them to a life-changing decision. Today as I listened to it I thought about that life-changing decision and how it has led to a life that is frequently crap.

I accept that 'crap' is a relative term, I further accept that the alternate choice may have been crapper (or should that be crappier?), but in any case I know that Wensleydale would agree that their life hasn't been great since that life changing decision was made.

Old Arrogant Atheist commented on this earlier:
"You've got that little fridge magnet of Jeremiah 29.11. It says God has plans to prosper you and not harm you. How has Wensleydale been prospered?"

I floundered, I hadn't got a clue, that passage and the riches that are implied within have always been a sticking point for me: I can think of so many people who have been harmed by life, so many who have done everything possible in the vain hope of prospering. God never seems to answer their prayers, and his plans for them involve council estate accommodation, no income and life threatening addictions.

Then something clicked, and it made sense.

I could have sidestepped the attack by pointing out that Jeremiah was talking to the Israelites kept captive in Babylon. But I knew that wouldn't hold much water. After all, how can I argue that the Bible applies to us today, if I then avoid answering tough questions.

No, this tough question demanded a tough answer. The answer was 'Look at Jesse'.

Jesse's son would grow up to be the second king of Israel and turn the Israelites into a dominant race, his grandson would be so wise as to write the books of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and the Song of Solomon (probably). His descendants would become a dynasty, and yet Jesse himself missed out on greatness by a generation.

Perhaps my friend Wensleydale made that particular choice not to prosper now, but to prosper in the next generation or, like Jesse's father Obed, in two generation's time. Perhaps the decision made was not to improve Wensleydale's crappy life, but to lay the foundations for his childrens' or grandchildrens' lives.

If Jesus was prepared to die to give humanity a better future, perhaps God's plans aren't so brilliant now, but perhaps they lead to the best future imaginable. God plays the long game, He is the Lord of all, and especially of deferred gratification

So if we're going to read Jeremiah 29.11, and take comfort from it, let's do it in its entirety:

11　For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Daily offices

Reading the Bible daily is actually something of a tall order: my hours are already filled, and so are my minutes. That means that something has to be given up.

For most of the past couple of weeks I have managed to find the required time in some form or other, but over the past couple of days I have been remiss. Tonight is a prime example, I was going to sit down with my Bible reading but Sky 1 was airing the third episode of Stella, and the second one was quite funny.

Had things gone the way I had wanted I would've watched Stella until 10pm, then pottered about doing some necessary jobs before being far too tired and going to bed. But my plans were thwarted: Sky 1 was experiencing a technical fault and there was no sound. So Charlie changed the channel, and I plonked myself down at the pooter (*computer).

From the other room I could hear that Charlie was watching a programme on Lee Mead and his rise to fame playing the lead in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and now imagine my surprise when I look to see that tonight I am to read Genesis 40-42. Now, bear in mind that I had already missed a couple of days so I had some catching up to do, I didn't know just exactly where I was up to, though some might say I should've been able to work it out (shame on me).

"Ah", says Arrogant Atheist, "It's another of those coincidences."

I pity him, I really do.

The Burden of Proof

BBC1 aired Big Questions this morning. The topic was just one question: Is there any evidence for God? It was the usual bunfight and, as I so often note in situations like this, the believers weren't doing very well.

I noted with some distaste the rather catty remarks made by a few arrogant atheists. It was upsetting particularly because in their need to show how clever they were being they came across as rather desperate, and I knew in my heart that I had been exactly like that in the past. Smug and desperate.

The programme finished with no firm conclusions made, and of course no conclusion could be made. But certainly the impression was 'No'.

There is no evidence that God exists.
I was rather sad: it seems that believers must defend their position at all costs, and if evidence is required they will fail.

All of this has got my mind whirring. What happens when we turn the situation around, ask the opposing question: Is there any evidence for the non-existence of God?

I believe that the answer to this question too is 'No'.

There is no evidence that God does not exist.

The theist/atheist debate is never won by arguing whose position is correct, it's more about who is given the burden of proof. Certainly it can reasonably be argued that Creationism is unscientific; that the Bible contains some seeming inconsistencies; that all religions claim absolute truth while disagreeing over details. Yet none of these reasonable arguments go anywhere towards proving that God does not exist. Just that most, if not all, humans have got it wrong (either in part or wholly).

So let's try to approach this logically:

If there is no evidence that God exists and there is no evidence that God does not exist then the argument is rather pointless.

With this in mind the most logical position is that of the agnostic - the world of I don't know. If an agnostic then has some kind of supernatural encounter they may choose to take this as evidence of a supreme being and become a believer, or they may regard it as a dream or hallucination and continue to be an agnostic. Either of these positions could be seen as pretty logical.

At no point is it logical to take the atheist perspective because unless we know everything about everywhere, we cannot know for certain that there is no God.

To all atheists out there: sorry about that.

Big loud voice

This is what happened the first time God spoke to me.

I was sitting in the armchair, about to go to bed, and I was looking at the usual detritus of life, the abandoned clutter that had accumulated on our coffee table: spare glasses, remote controls, hair clips, used mugs. I wasn't really looking at it, I was looking through it as we all so often do. I'm sure if inanimate objects had their own mythology on an afterlife, coffee tables would be purgatory.

In those days I would spend a considerable period of time looking through things. I was self-obsessed to an unhealthy level: everything that happened around me had to be analysed and relived, as I searched for purpose and relevance.

I sat--mulling--and then I felt someone or something standing behind me, which was odd as the only thing behind me was the brick wall. I knew exactly what it was, but my brain struggled to accept the Truth. It was undeniable though, the power of the thing behind was so great I could feel it pushing me forward and down, pushing harder and harder until I was bent double with my head on my knees.

I sensed that I would die if I tried to look at the presence behind me, its power was so great that my mind would be unable to comprehend seeing as well as feeling. Terminal sensory overload. So I asked what it wanted, in my mind -- I prayed.
No words were spoken, in fact my ears felt numb. A little like they do when there's water in them, after a bath or whatever. But even though I heard nothing I sensed that I understood.
In front of me, in amongst the rest of the clutter, there was a book -- Meditations by Marcus Aurelius -- in that book there was a message that I was supposed to read and understand.
I picked the book up.

I opened it randomly and read the words on the page.

"Take up your watch and let all your actions be led by goodness."

This may seem like a fairly unimportant phrase, but for me it had real resonance, it had power to it.

You see I had inherited a watch from my grandfather and had chosen to get it repaired, put a new strap on it and start wearing it.  This was a recent decision, and as I read the words on the page, I could see the watch, on the table, right in front of me.

When I related this story to some people at church they pointed out that the word watch in the phrase meant something else.  It was talking about being vigilant, not carrying a timepiece around.  I tried to explain that I knew that, but that this message was given to me by God and so could be relevant on two levels: on the one hand it did indeed mean 'be vigilant' and on the other it meant, every time you look at your watch to see what time it is, remember what you've been told to do.

Anyway, I carried on with life, telling this story to anyone who would listen, but when I went back to the book to find the passage I'd read I couldn't find it.  I tried searching the internet for the phrase, but it never showed up. I started to wonder whether I was looking in the right book, or whether it had happened as I remembered it right at all.

I'd been carrying that phrase around with me like a life lesson for a year or so, but was it actually true?

Well, one day I happened upon the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius again, and there, on page 31 was the phrase that I had been seeking for so long, or something like:

"Keep up your watch, then, as you have begun, and let goodness accompany every action -- goodness, that is, in the proper sense of the word."

Had I remembered it wrong for those intervening years? Maybe.

Did God use it as an opportunity to encourage me, to tell me that I had started out on the right path, had taken up my watch as I was supposed to and now needed to carry on?  Definitely.

You see, for many people a coincidence is simply two things happening together that have some mutual significance, while for me a coincidence is something more: it's one of the ways in which God can show us his Lordship over all things, that he is the master-engineer, in charge of everything, and able (should he so choose) to turn all things to his will.

I frequently fall down in my attempts to follow this instruction I was given several years ago, but I'll never forget the message, or its importance.   

Still small voice

God spoke to me three days ago.


Okay, I may be mistaken there: He may not actually have spoken, but I'm pretty sure that he did.

For many of the arrogant atheist troop this admission that I may be wrong could seem like evidence for the prosecution. I can assure you that it isn't, because God has definitely spoken to me before.

When God sent an angel to speak to Zechariah, we're told that Zechariah was gripped by fear (Lk 1.12), the reason for this fear probably being that God hadn't had any direct contact with people for 400 or so years. Zechariah didn't know where to put himself. I felt the same the first time God spoke to me: I was gripped by fear, and I felt a certainty that if I looked up at God I would die, right then and there. So I rather sensibly stared at the floor.

This time, there was no sense of an all-powerful force, which is what leaves me feeling a bit uncertain.

By chance I started reading Listening to the Voice of God by Roger Barrier. I wasn't looking for another book, I'm still only part way through Chavs and They **** You Up, but it caught my attention and I ploughed through it. As a result I realised that I had been longing for God to speak to me again, even if it meant scaring the cr*p out of me, but that I wasn't really listening. So for a while now I've been attempting to really properly listen, and that's when I heard something.

A very quiet something, but a something which felt right. This thing I heard (I can't call it a voice, it didn't come via the ears for a start) seemed to be pointing out that my bedroom was a mess and that I needed to tidy it.

How prosaic is that? Tidy your bedroom. Was it God, or just my Gran?

Anyhow, because I can't be sure whether it really was the Big Man or just my own guilty conscience I've decided to test out the instruction, for forty days. Jesus had the wilderness, I've got a three-bedroomed terrace. At least I can get to the fridge.