Cardboard testimonies

This morning we celebrated Jesus’ resurrection and victory.

God really moved in my heart today. My words fall short of how I felt. There was a great atmosphere for joy in the church but for some reason, I didn’t feel alienated and alone, like I usually do. It felt real. I felt hope and I felt the truth of the gospel shine in all the close spaces between us, brothers and sisters all, singing and dancing and clapping before God (clapping? Cheesy, I know). We had gone through the journey and tried to remember the suffering and hopelessness of Jesus’ death as the nails hung bloody on the cross. And today we were remembering the victory, the life, the hope that Jesus still has for us now. The hope - the knowledge - that he can change the world with his love. He could then and he can now.

I felt privileged to be part of a slot in the service where about a dozen of us shared what difference Jesus’ victory made in our lives. We shared our testimonies on cardboard. On one side, we wrote down what our life was like before Christ. Then we flipped the cardboard over to reveal what our life was like after finding Christ.

I had never heard of cardboard testimonies before. You can find videos of them being done in different churches, and perhaps I’ll be able to share a clip of ours sometime. It is an incredibly simple yet very powerful idea. I felt so honoured and grateful to have been a part of it, standing there with my brothers and sisters and being given the chance to bear witness to God’s grace in such a quiet but public way.

I thought that our cardboard tesimonies would be powerful and moving to the congregation in front of us, but I don’t think I realised what effect it would have on me. Standing there on stage, my life condensed into a few capitals on cardboard, while music played behind me, rejoicing in the love of God - I saw and felt and cried for God’s presence in my story. God’s footsteps on my path.

Testimonies have power not just for the receivers but the givers. They carry strong memories of God’s trace over our lives. And all of us need to be reminded, or we forget. We forget what God has done for us. We forget what our lives were like before God.

Sometimes it takes a few words and a piece of cardboard in your hands to see the truth.

A few people approached me after the service to thank me for being brave and sharing my testimony. I was grateful for their encouragement and love. But what meant the most to me was a lady who thanked me with tears in her eyes. I struggle with it too, she said. But I can’t share it with anyone. I don’t have anyone I can share it with. The person closest to me gets angry. Christians shouldn’t struggle with this, he says.

I think this is the reason why we need to be vulnerable, why we need to be open and unafraid. Even if what we are talking about might be frowned upon or shunned or avoided. Even if we may be mocked or rejected. It doesn’t matter. Because by being weak with each other, we can be strong together. We can lean against each other and get through the storms of life. And there are so many.

There are so many people who dream our dreams and shed our tears and feel our fears. Different people with the same scars and hurts. I wish we would do things like this more often, so that this lady I spoke to would know she is not alone, that she always has a hand to hold. That she is worth the fight.

I am grateful to God because when people told me I was brave, I realised that I didn’t feel it. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to stand in front of a crowd of 400 odd strangers, admitting that I had - and still struggle with - a mental health issue. But this morning, it just felt like the thing to do. I believe in it, I thought to myself.

A few months ago, I signed a pledge for the mental health charity, Time to Change. I promised myself that I would speak out about my mental health problems. That I wouldn’t be afraid anymore to be honest, that I would do everything I could to combat the stigma in people and inside of me. So this morning was just a logical extension of this promise I made to myself. It wasn’t bravery. It was just acting in the truth.

When I reflect on this, I am grateful to God for bringing me from a position of self-stigma and shame to a position of self-acceptance and knowledge that God can heal. Knowledge that all of us are flawed and glorious jars of clay, broken and loved by God. Hope that God is working the every day, and there is nothing to be afraid of. That nothing that anyone says of me can prevail over what is right and true and good.

This Easter, I am grateful for Jesus’ life, death, and victory. I am grateful for what he has done with my life. And I am grateful for everything that is still to come.

(And in case you are interested, this is what was written on my piece of cardboard:
BATTLING DEPRESSION  NO HOPE  NO JOY
ALIVE TO LOVE GOD & OTHERS)

For the Christian part of me

For the Christian part of me by Joel McKerrow

"For the Christian part of me

Not for the Christ but for the Christian

I am sorry

For when I look at the book and look at my life

When I look at the Christ and look at the church

The two are as black and white

So for the way I have silenced you with words I thought were the only true

For every preacher that has yelled at you

Every Bible that’s been quoted at you

Every megaphone that has damned you 

Every friend that has judged you

Every parent that has guilted you

I am sorry

For my brothers who say that God hates fags

Oh how I wish they were not my brothers

Sometimes it is easier to love your enemies than your kin

So to every boy who sliced wrists ‘cause he didn’t fit within

No matter how much he pushed and pulled did not fit in his skin

Was told he was sin

That demons lurked within

I am sorry

You are not broken because you are gay

We are all broken because we are human

Because we treat each other this way

The way we judge by the words that were spoken

By the burkha you were cloaked in

By the crystals you believed in

By the gender you born in

So to every person I did not converse with but tried to convert instead

I’m sorry for the way I couldn’t see past these glasses

Sorry for the way I thought my pastor spoke the absolute truth

Didn’t know he was broken just like the rest of us

Thought he was the best of us

For the arrogance I thought was confidence

When I thought I was right and you were wrong
We were good and you were bad

We were light and you were dark

I took a pen, drew a line before us

Took some bricks, built a wall between us

Stood on a pedestal, crafted a cross into a pulpit and yelled at you from within it

I am sorry

And to the lady who was beaten as I sang songs within my church

To the addict who overdosed as I dined with Christian friends

To the beggar who needs money as my money built church buildings

To the boat person arriving on these shores of hope and hopelessness

To the teenager who is pregnant with abortion as an option

I am sorry we have yelled at you, made you feel so alone

We should have put an arm around you and walked with you home

Whether it was a pram you pushed before you that day or just the will to keep on walking 

So for the wars that were fought in the name of the Christ

And the swords that were swung in the name of his love

The bombs that exploded, the bullets sang hymns

The tanks marched on like good Christian soldiers 

Who prayed every day for their God to be with them

As their brothers they fought and their sisters they shot

Their sons in the flame

Did we not recognise they all prayed the same

For this God to be with them, for this God to protect

Oh how this God must have wept

If only we’d listened to the prayer of the other

If only we’d seen that he was our brother

Whether on his knees with his hands to the East

Whether yarmulka-wearing or burkha-bearing

Whether sitting beneath the bodhi tree or kissing the feet of some saint celebrity

We lifted the rifle to shoot the enemy 

The cross-bearing flag to show our allegiance to be 

We did not hear the sound whispered from the cross that day

Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do

We forgot that the Christ we claim to follow walked the talk of non-violence

Ate the stale bread of silence

Stood up against the systems of military might

Of fear and oppression

Of bigoted aggression

This is my confession

So with every part of me I would keep following this Jesus 

And the life that he lives and the love that he gives

Yet every part of me because of this history would deny that I am a Christian

To put high walls between these brothers and I

But who am I to be bigoted about the bigoted

And who am I to condemn those who condemn 

If I keep the name Christian, perhaps I can speak to them

Remind them of this Jesus of Mother T and Martin King

Of Mandela and Tutu

Of that great man from Assisi

Yes, there is still some pride left in my ancestry

And for all else, I say

I am sorry

I am sorry."

Why do we put up with this? pt. 2

I was hoping I wouldn't have to do a sequel to my last post with this title, at least for a while. But this morning I heard about the launch of the government's campaign against benefits for EU migrants. I guess the attack on the minorities has begun. 

When I speak about this issue, I think I fall into a strange category. I suppose I am an immigrant myself. I didn't grow up here. But I have a British passport. I don't have white skin, or blonde hair, or blue eyes. I wasn't born here. I am Chinese and I identify myself as Chinese. But because my father, born and bred Hong Kong, lived and worked here for 14 years, my brother I have British passports, citizenship and right to abode. 

I suppose this excludes us from UKIP rhetoric. I could exclude myself from this debate, believing myself to be safe. But it's not that simple.

I am trying to be calm and level headed here, because the truth is that I am shaking with anger at this whole thing, its divisiveness, thinly veiled racism and hate-mongering. 

But let's start slowly.

BENEFIT TOURISM

I don't know how many of you have read the PM's article, published in the carefully chosen Sun newspaper. Showing its characteristically gracious and inclusive flair, the article opens, "David Cameron today vows in The Sun to crack down on immigrants sponging off the taxpayer."

From the PM's speech, you would be forgiven in thinking there is a massive problem with immigrants claiming benefits illegitimately. Problems that justify an all-guns-blazing, tough talk crackdown on jobseekers' allowance, social housing and free NHS treatment for EU immigrants.

After all, the PM did reference in a speech in Ipswich "concerns, deeply held, that some people might be able to come and take advantage of our generosity without making a proper contribution to our country."

And if it's true that benefit tourism is a huge problem in the UK, and we are facing unprecedented numbers of immigrants moving into the country and crippling taxpayers by illegitimate benefit scrounging, then we need to put an end to it - right?

Wrong. 

Wrong because we aren't facing this problem. Wrong because once again, the government's anti-migrant rhetoric isn't based on facts but right-leaning ideology.

MYTHS ABOUT EU MIGRANTS

BBC News notes, "No 10 was unable to give any figures on the scale, cost and numbers of so-called benefit tourists, although DWP figures suggest 17% of working-age UK nationals claim a benefit, compared with 7% of working age non-UK nationals."

Okay. How interesting.

Let's have a look at some facts and figures about EU immigration and benefits, provided by the European Commission in the UK. Maybe the facts will shed some light on the issue?

There is no evidence that the UK suffers significantly from benefit tourism. Neither do EU migrants represent a disproportionate number of benefit claimants – rather the reverse. 

As an example, the Department for Work and Pensions’ figures show that of 1.44m people (or very roughly 2.4% of the UK population) claiming Jobseekers Allowance (JSA) in Feb 2011, under 38 000 were from other EU countries. This represents about 2.6% of total JSA claimants, which is broadly in line with the estimated percentage of the UK population – also around 2.6%, or about 1.6 million people – who are nationals of other EU countries. 

However, given that a significantly greater proportion of the EU migrant population is of working age than is the case for the general population, this means that the percentage of working-age EU migrants claiming Jobseekers’ Allowance is lower than the proportion of the general labour force claiming this benefit. The DWP document (see link above) shows that the picture is similar for other benefits.

The comparison is even more marked when looking at EU migrants from Poland and the other seven Member States which joined the EU in 2004. Under 13 000 JSA claimants (0.9% of total claimants) in February 2011 were from those Member States which joined the EU in 2004. These included for instance 6 390 claimants from Poland – or just over 1% of the estimated number of Polish nationals residing in the UK – compared to an overall figure of 2.4% of the UK population claiming JSA. 

The level of EU migration into the UK is itself also often overestimated. In fact, according to Oxford University, net (arrivals minus departures) migration of non-British EU citizens into the UK in 2011 was 82 000, compared to 204 000 net arrivals from other parts of the world. So EU migration accounted for around 28.7 % of net migration into the UK in 2011.

(Highlights mine) 

I would really recommend reading this article on EU migrant myths. It provides evidence which strongly challenges the recurring myths the government seems so intent on propagandising: that EU law give all EU citizens an unconditional right to reside freely in the UK, that EU law means EU migrants are automatically entitled to claim benefits, and that EU rules encourage so-called benefit tourism.

So hold on. If benefit tourism isn't a problem, and an overwhelming majority of EU immigrants make a greater contribution to this country than they are a burden on the taxpayer, then what is all this about?

COMMODITIES NOT PEOPLE 

I am worried about what this government rhetoric is all about. I am deeply disturbed and angered about the way in which minority groups are increasingly being marginalised and talked about with the language of blame and unwelcome. I sense increasing levels of xenophobia, and I am afraid. I had hoped that this was a trait of fringe groups like UKIP, the BNP and the Sun readership, but not the government.

It begins with dehumanising language. With language that talks about immigrants - all of them as a general and nondescript lump - not as people, individuals with sacred life burning in them, but commodities. 

"We benefit from new countries joining the EU," the PM says. "They'll buy more things from us and jobs will be created. But as a government we have to make sure people come for the right reasons."

I want you to read those sentences again. 

They'll buy more things from us. We have to make sure they come for the right reasons - to buy things from us and create jobs. 

It's insulting.

The way immigrants are spoken about shows how the government sees them. Commodities, not people. Resources, bags of money, not individuals to be valued and cared for in their own right.

"We cannot have a culture of something for nothing," he says. "New migrants should not expect to be given a home on arrival."

And why not? Because they don't deserve to be provided for - no matter what horrific circumstances they may have come from, what hopes and dreams they might have, what struggles they are escaping - unless they give you something in return?

Their money? Their labour? Their investment? 

Would you say that of a British-born citizen? A new born child? A disabled old man? Well, maybe you would say that of a disabled old man.

And on investment, the government is clear in its policies. If you are a wealthy foreign investor, you are an exception. You can have lots of leniency when it comes to immigration and taxes, because the UK wants your money. Doesn't matter if you're corrupt or indulge in questionable practices. As long as you've got the dough.

"We should be clear that what we have is a free National Health Service, not a free International Health Service."

And what we have are racist soundbites from a people-pleasing, right-leaning government. What we have is a free health service - a gem in a world of profiteering and cruelty and illness and death - which you are ripping to shreds because of ignorant fear-mongering. Because of emerging xenophobia.

I have had enough of this.

ALL THIS MATTERS

I say all this not just as a Jesus follower who cares about the justice that my Lord came to bring, but as someone who has been on the receiving end of this rhetoric in personal quarters. I have been told by a then close friend, following a racist incident that I had witnessed, that the reason why people like me, who came to this country as students, can stay in this country is because of the money we have contributed to the economy. It was dehumanising. I have never really recovered from it.

All this rhetoric is a lie that we should be up in arms about. Not only is it not based on fact, and therefore bad practice in any sector, but it is deeply and morally wrong. It cuts to the core of what it means to be human. 

If we are so easily manipulated by lies and hatred of people who we think are different - people who laugh and cry and bleed just as we do, who work and play and sleep and dream just as we can - then what do we have left?

Rally Cry

I don’t want to be another face
Another
Shadow walking
Through the race.
I don’t want the death bed of someone else’s
Dreams, with years replete
And empty of other people’s
Screams.
No
More. I want to be
The girl who etched the signs of
Freedom
On her skin, a soul burst
Like birds soaring
Searing the world with
Tears like blood.
Not a statue or siren
Of generations past,
Not the dark recordings inside of me
Tearing me from me
Telling me there is nothing inside of me.
I want to be free.
I don’t want to glaze my eyes
To choke in the vacuum
Waiting for white men in suits
To tell me what
I already knew
From pulpits glazed and guilded
In churches walled and wilted.
I want to fight
To throw punches and shout
Truth like a rally
Cry.
To set fire to glass houses
To shake and shatter
The whitewashed walls we build
While our brothers and sisters
And their mothers and fathers
Weep and worry and die and fight
I want to fight.
To touch heaven
In the face of a child
Walking down a dirt road
Carrying a big load
Wishing for a hand to hold.
I want to be that face.
I want to be the message and the media
To be words that are not
Drowned by the silence in the emptiness of the
Noise around us
As we burn bridges and build
Burdens for others to bear.
I don’t want more things
And books
And programmes
And more people telling me what it means
To kiss the feet of God Almighty
In the people that he loved
That we love
So little and
Hurt
So
Much. I want not
To be trapped
In the stupor of old dreams
I want their dreams
Their hopes and longings
Burning in my blood
Their prayers to the Saviour
Beating as my battle cry
As I sit in churches
Wondering when the fire went out.
No more seconds ticking
Like a candle in the cold
As the frost of the winter
Eats away at the fire
Inside of me. I want to stand
On life’s cliff and know that
I am alive
To have God’s love burst the world apart in me.
I want to be God’s love in me
Not asleep but awake to the scars
Of the universe in which
Love and hurt collide.
I want to be the explosion.
I want to be me.

The gift of giving

I’m currently reading a great book on fundraising by Jeff Brooks. I am honestly so grateful to have come across this gem. I would recommend it to anyone who is interested in getting people on board to support a cause. In addition to learning lots of evidence-based techniques, fundraising strategies, and ways that donors think, I am also growing in passion about fundraising and the power it has to change the world.

It has taken me a while to come around to this way of thinking. Often I get frustrated with working in the charity sector and raising money. My doubts and frustrations are mainly centred around human nature and the reasons why we give. The self-centred motivations we all have, and how much we fall short.

But Jeff Brooks writes so passionately about the power of fundraising. He is so proud to be a fundraiser. In reading his words, I think I feel proud to be a fundraiser too. Jeff Brooks makes me believe that fundraising, when channelled correctly and with integrity, can be a real force for good. It can make a difference.

I want to share an excerpt from the last chapter of the book. Reading it made me think hard about the gift of giving. Jeff Brooks writes about the painful deterioration of his mother due to Parkinson’s. He writes about her horrible delusions, physical suffering and death.

“It’s over now. I’m thankful Mom no longer struggles in a ruined body and a darkened mind.

Yet it’s not over. My heart still aches over the torment she suffered. I wish I’d spent more time with her. I regret that I wasn’t with her the night her life finally floated away like a wisp of smoke. 

But there’s a way I can strike back at Parkinson’s disease. I can defy it - give it the finger - take back some of what it stole.

I can give to a nonprofit organisation. They’ll take my money, even a small amount, and fight Parkinson’s disease. They’ll help people who have it now. They’ll fund research into better treatments. And maybe, someday, they’ll find a cure - so Parkinson’s can never take anyone else down that terrible road.

All it takes for me to move from defeat to victory is to give away some money. It’s so easy. […]

Giving can’t bring her back or erase the pain, but it reorients me. I’m less a victim, more in control. Wiser, and less wounded.

My brush with Parkinson’s disease isn’t special or unusual. Everyone faces these things. You’re in the same boat; if it hasn’t happened yet, you or someone else to you will eventually fall under an attack of some kind, swift or slow, fatal or not. You’ll take wounds so deep you’ll wonder if you can survive.

But anyone can embrace the miracle of giving. It can ease your grief, revive your hope, and give you strength to face affliction, wrath, danger and distress.

It’s available whether you’re wise or foolish, educated or ignorant, rich or poor, believer or nonbeliever. Giving is a light in the darkness, a life vest in a storm, a song among tombs.” 

Jeff Brooks is right. Giving is a gift and a miracle. It ignites the soul. It can get us through the darkest of nights. It brings healing to both the giver and the receiver.

Dave and I have been looking into the gift of giving as a married couple. As a couple we want to be generous givers. We want to pour ourselves and what we have out as a balm into the wounds of the world.  We want to bless people and projects with the resources we can offer. We feel blessed to be able to give. And so Jeff Brook’s words really resonate with me. Giving can be “a song among tombs”, a way to cling to the hope that you can make a difference in this crazy world, that you can overcome personal and public tragedies with a small act of kindness. It can be a way to "give the finger" to all the things that are so desperately wrong, that feel out of control and unstoppable. It can be a life vest in the storm of life’s sufferings.

Maybe I am ashamed of giving and asking people to give. But giving is a gift to be celebrated. We are so small and flawed and fragile. But our gifts can accomplish great things. Giving can make the world better.

Thank you, Jeff Brooks, for showing me that.

Why do we put up with this?

So the Chancellor's new budget has come out and it's all the rage. Rage being the key word here for me.

I think I have just about reached the limits of my patience with the government, politicians and politics. Listening to coverage of the budget on the radio and reading the Chancellor's speech, I just want to ask one question:

Why do we put up with this?

I am not an economist. Sadly, numbers and budgets are not my strength. So I won't go into detail on my opinions about specific policies - you might as well go talk to a random passerby, who would probably have a deeper grasp of financial terms than I do!

What I do want to talk about is ideology and rhetoric. Because I think it's about time. I've just about had enough of this rubbish.

STRIVERS VS. SKIVERS

In his speech,  George Osborne talks about the Aspiration Nation. "Mr Deputy Speaker," he opens. "This is a budget for people who aspire to work hard and get on."

He goes on.

"For years people have felt that the whole system was tilted against those who did the right thing: who worked, who saved, who aspired. These are the very people we must support if Britain is to have a prosperous future. This is a budget for those who aspire to own their own home; who aspire to get their first job; or start their own business. A budget for those who want to save for their retirement and provide for their children. It is a budget for our Aspiration Nation."

At this point I started yelling at the radio. Not an altogether healthy or contained response, I know. But this makes me so angry. I find it so insulting, so deeply offensive, and so unjust.

The reason why I hate this rhetoric is because of its underlying, not even subtle ideology. The belief is that the nation is made of two groups of people: the wonderful and blameless strivers, those who "work hard and just want to get on", those hardworking families who are finding it harder to get by, and the evil, benefit-scrounging skivers, who sit on their asses, leech off the government, annoy others by being "nightmare neighbours", and drain masses out of our economy.

There we go, ladies and gentlemen. Are you a striver or a skiver? You're either one or the other.

Apparently, if you're a striver, you have dreams. You aspire and work hard towards your goals. Britain wants you and only you, and you're the key to our prosperity.

If you're not though, if you're a skiver, you have no dreams. No aspirations. You don't just want to get on. You have no desires in life to buy a house and protect your children, to have stability and retire in safety and comfort. No, you don't have these desires,  because you're some kind of evil underling underclass who cares about nothing but leeching and taking drugs and mindlessly wasting good taxpayer money.

I hope you read that and saw it as the absurd farce that it is. If not, I'd recommend reading this post, "Lies we tell ourselves", which exposes the myths that we have about poverty and the poor in this country - including this view of skivers. There is no proof for this ideology- in fact, evidence often points the other way. So not only is it insulting and unjust, it's also a lie.

I hate - and for me hate is not too strong a word - this rhetoric and ideology that the government shovels to us day after day. By using ridiculous self-fulfilling phrases like "For years people have felt" or "We have all known for some time", they would have us believe, like soulless automatons, patently untrue and unverified/unverifiable crap of epic proportions.

What got me when I heard George Osborne's words is that everyone has aspirations and dreams. Everyone wants to have a livelihood, to be safe and stable and be able to provide for their children. Everyone wants to have that happy life. But for some people, living in poverty amidst violence, abuse, and generational cultural problems, those aspirations and dreams are knocked out of them very early on. Poverty is an accident of birth - you don't choose to be born into a poor deprived area, where everything will be stacked against your chances of living free of drugs, gangs or poverty. Who chooses that?

But no, let's not look deeper into the reasons why people are claiming benefits or living in poverty. Let's just demonise them in one fell swoop and take away everything that gives them a chance at long term survival. Let's lump them all into an insanely tasteless and baseless group and proceed to heap public scorn and mistrust on them.

That's what your role as a government is, right?

THE WORST PARTS OF US

I can't explain to you how disappointed I am by politics and politicians. Every day I wonder whether there'll be someone and something new, something that will show politics can have a heart, can be righteous, can be defending the poor and vulnerable and perpetuating justice instead of injustice. That politics can have integrity. 

I am sad and angry when I look at our politics. Britain is one of the world's most developed democracies but this is still happening. It's devastating. What I see is a government that lacks moral responsibility. A government that lacks a deeper interest in truth and justice beyond what garners positive public opinion and election points. What would politics be like without elections I wonder? Would politicians still act amorally? Probably. People only want power and forget the poor.

I hate the way that politics and politicians seem to appeal so much to the worst parts of us. The parts of us that look down on others and judge.  The parts that need someone to blame for our problems. Labour for our financial situation. Foreigners for taking jobs. Skivers for draining our taxes. The list goes on. But no one wants to say: it's our fault for allowing this system to go on. Or: it's no one's fault. It's just the way life is.

Instead, the government and opposition pander to public opinion. No one will say things that are true but won't win an election. Even Ed Milliband has to appeal to the right, cracking down on immigrants and welfare. No one wants to tell the truth if it means votes will be lost. This seems to me to be a really dangerous place for us to be.

So the Tories pander to the rich, slashing welfare costs that further cripple the disabled but allow millionaires to get tax cuts. They help home buyers to put down mortgages but don't invest in social housing. They take 1p off every pint of beer while binge drinking and alcoholism reach alarming rates.

Insulting, isn't it?

WHY DO WE PUT UP WITH THIS?

Why do we let this rhetoric and ideology go unquestioned?

All over the media, people are questioning and nitpicking new government policies. But we let the rhetoric and ideology slide. Rarely do people challenge these assumptions. Why?

We need to challenge the injustice and untruth politicians are trying to spread in an attempt to justify their policies and secure votes. We need to denounce these stereotypes. They are not true. They set up false distinctions between people which ultimately won't achieve anything good.

We need not to put up with any of this anymore.

Life, comedy and tragedy

One of the most moving and realistic depictions of life that I've found is a TV show called 'Derek'. The setting is a residential care home for the elderly. The protagonist is the most loving, caring and genuine person it's possible to imagine. Surrounding him is a crew of imperfect saints. The community in 'Derek' is my idea of church as it should be. If you haven't already seen it, I highly recommend it. 

This show has made me laugh hard and cry hard. It is seamless in the way it shows the ups and downs of life. Dave told me that apparently Ricky Gervais, the creator of the show, was asked by a fan whether he would class 'Derek' as a comedy or drama. Ricky Gervais responded that those categories were fairly arbitrary. If depends on your point of view, he said. If you see life as funny, 'Derek' is a comedy. If you see life as sad, 'Derek' is a drama.

I've been thinking about comedy and tragedy, and how closely linked they can be. I remember seeing some interviews with famous British comedians on this topic a few years back. Many of them expressed that for them there was a fine line between hilarity and depression, humour and sadness. Many of them said that they saw the sadness and tragedy of life, and they generated their comedy by using humour and satire to view and critique the world. You see this interweaving of comedy and tragedy all over the British comedy. Think Bill Bailey. Think the angry irony of Jack Dee and Charlie Brooker. And obviously, there's Ricky Gervais with 'Extras' and 'The Office'. Comedy and tragedy can be two sides of the same coin.

I recently discovered a hilarious, despairingly nihilistic American comedian called Doug Stanhope. I love this guy. I think he really hits the nail on the head, exposing the facile superficiality of our cuilture and the moral bankruptcy of our media. Granted, he is deeply nihilistic and vitriolic on almost every front, including faith - and obviously I don't agree with him that there is no purpose or meaning behind anything. He is also pretty rude and offensive about almost everything and everyone, which is unfortunate. But I think Stanhope is brilliant at showing us the stark, awful logical end point of our vacuous modern world. (This is one of my favourite Doug Stanhope rants; if you don't like swearing though, please avoid.) 

In one of his slots, Doug Stanhope ends an angry, vitriolic rant on the emptiness of talk shows and news coverage on an almost desperate note. "No one ever does anything anymore," he says in despair. He pauses, then laughs. Elsewhere he loudly proclaims that the only way we can ever make it out of this dire and pointless mess we call life is by being able to see it for what it really is and laugh in its face. And that he does.

It is hard to explain how deeply I feel this link between comedy and tragedy sometimes. My husband will be the first to call me out on my tendency to swing to extreme despair at the corrupt selfishness of human nature and bleakness of the world we live in, crippled by mistrust and cynicism. Maybe this is why Doug Stanhope's words resonate with me so much. And why depression sits so naturally in my personality.

At the same time, I find so many things in this world hilarious and wonderful. "You laugh more than anyone I know," a close friend told me the other day. This is possibly true. I laugh hard and I cry hard. I feel things deeply. And without humour and bursts of childlike wonder, I don't think I would survive this life.

Maybe the reason why comedy and tragedy are so intertwined is this. The world is full of tragedy. It's overflowing with it. Left alone with it, we would be overwhelmed, consumed by it. We use comedy and humour to fight. To be able to survive the tragedy and move onto the next day. We use comedy as a weapon against the tragic and awful elements of people and the world. And the more we hone this comedic skill, this ability to laugh and see the humour in any situation, the more we can get through in life.

We do what we can, anyway.

"No worse than any man"

I remember that in one of Rob Bell’s books, he tells the story of an American soldier who is about to execute a Iraqi prisoner. I don’t remember all the details, but I recall that at the last minute, the Iraqi prisoner receives a phone call. He is allowed to take it, and it turns out it is his father, who he's been out of touch and on bad terms with for years. Rob Bell talks about how the soldier has a moment when he realises he and this man, ‘the enemy’, are the same. The soldier is struck because he has a strained relationship with his father as well. He watches and listening to this man crying and apologising to his father on the phone, and it hits home. He realises that they are standing on different sides of the war but they have the same hurts and fears and hopes. The enemy suddenly becomes a friend.

A few months back, I was listening to the news on the radio. There were reports of another politician being held to account and another public inquiry being called for another wrongdoing. It struck me how obsessed our culture has become with assigning blame and demonising wrongdoers. Yet, when I look around me, I see a world full of individuals who constantly fall short and frankly leave a lot to be desired. The judgementalism of the public mood and the inevitable failures of human nature strike a strange tension.

There is a human nature that lies beneath all the differences we see in each other. Underneath, we all share the same flawed humanity. We are brothers and sisters, underneath it all. When you look at another person, really look and see, you can see that they are just like you, no more and no less. It is humbling. Words of judgement then stick in the throat.

I love 'Les Miserables'. I think every Christian needs to see it to enhance their understanding of God, grace and the gospel. In ‘Les Miserables’, Valjean says to Javere, who insists that Valjean will undoubtedly kill him for revenge:

You are wrong, and always have been wrong
I’m a man, no worse than any man
You are free, and there are no conditions
No bargains or petitions
There’s nothing that I blame you for
You’ve done your duty, nothing more.

I am a huge Les Mis fan but no matter how many times I hear these words, they are still powerful. They are powerful to me because I really struggle to see people in this way. I struggle to see past the things I disagree with, that I think are offensive and wrong and unjust. I struggle to forgive them, accepting that I am just as sinful and wretched. And so I struggle with anger, unforgiveness, judgementalism. This is even more true of Christians and churches - people who I should identify as my wider family. I feel the anger more deeply because they are claiming to act in the truths that I root my life in, which I find hard to forgive.

I recently posted a poem by Joel McKerrow. In it he says: "To my brothers who say that God hates fags - Oh how I wish they were not my brothers. Sometimes it is easier to love your enemies than your kin." These words really strike me to the core. I really struggle to affiliate with those people who do awful things in the name of the Lord I worship. I struggle to really act out the sentiment behind Joel Mckerrow's questions: "Who am I to be bigoted about the bigoted? Who am I to condemn those who condemn?"

I wish I had more grace, more patience, more forgiveness inside of me.

A colleague said to me today, "I don't really know how you feel about church other than that you have angst about church." It was said as a joke and we laughed about it a lot - but it really gave me a mirror on myself. What my colleague said was true.  Virtually everything I say about church to other people, the things I am loudest about, are negative. All this comes from a place of disappointment, anger and passion for justice and the poor. But that is the way people hear it. No positives, just negatives. A damning reflection.

In that moment I realised that if I were to die tomorrow, that would be part of my legacy. "Has angst about church" might be one of the biggest things many remember about me, including this colleague.

This made me sad.

In the end, I know that God sees and understands the reasons why I struggle with church, many Christians, and forgiveness. But I don't want this to be my legacy.

As the years go by, I am beginning to understand more and more why ordinary radicals like Shane Claiborne are so gracious in the way they speak about systems they believe are wrong and the people in it. Everything Shane says is infused with a sense of the sacredness of humanity, not of attack and judgement. Every impassioned plea carries with it respect of everyone, no matter what their point of view or theological position. I understand more now why Christians pursue holiness of character. If you are trying to live and serve radically, you can't waste your time on judgement and unforgiveness. It's exhausting and counterproductive. And it's not gospel.

I want something different from the bitterness and anger I hold inside me. I want a real, life-shattering understanding that the enemy is my brother and sister. I want real love, grace and forgiveness alongside a spirit which pours itself out for the poor.

I want that to be my legacy.

God's promises

Today at staff prayers we reflected on God's promises. We thought and prayed about what promises we had felt God had given to us and kept, and what promises we were still waiting on.

Reflecting on all this made me realise that I don't think God has ever made any specific personal promises to me. Like "you will have a child", "this guy is the one", or "you will have this job". In honesty, I felt a bit weird confessing that to my colleagues. The presupposition was that we would have promises that God had made to us about our lives. And I didn't have this kind of personal promise. Awkward.

Maybe God has made personal promises to me and I just never realised because I'm sceptical, cautious, and constantly miss God's still small voice. I suppose when I have heard him speak softly to me in the noise of life, it has generally been in words and promises from Scripture. "I will never leave you or forsake you". "Your body is the temple of the living God." Many words of comfort and challenge. When it comes to promises God has made to me, those are what I think of.

What really struck me is that God has kept all those promises to me. He has done what he said he would. He has never left and will never leave me defenceless with more than I can bear. He has taken care of me through amazing people around me. He has given me hope and a life full of purpose. He loves me. Those scriptural, communal and deeply personal promises have all been fulfilled. I realise this looking back on my life and my journey, even though I haven't been able to see this in the moment. Life can only be understood backwards, Kierkegaard said. It's very true. I always felt that God had abandoned me during times of great illness and pain. But he got me through in the end. I'm still here, and so is he. I am a little bruised and battered, and so is my faith. But we're still here.

Sometimes it takes a little hindsight and reflection to be grateful and to see God's love and faithfulness. Not in loud lightning bolts, grand gestures and staggering miracles. But in small movements, increasing steps towards recovery, stability, and wholeness. That is how I feel when I think of God and look at my life. When I think of all the tears and screams that God has worked with me through, the scars that remain. The things I feel now which I thought would be impossible when I was a teenager, alone and suffering. It was hard to understand God's ways then. It's still hard.

I suppose I feel a sense of awe and silence about God that I didn't used to feel so much. A sense of his magnitude and mystery.  Of his gentle touch. We ask for God to do things for us, to act in violent and dismissive ways sometimes. To fix and patch up things that we can't help but break. I throw my questions at him like bullets.

I think we yearn for significance. We want to know that we matter, and often God doesn't seem enough to fill that need. We want to feel important, to know God's plan for us individually, to know we have a stake in it. We want signs and healing and miracles, we want personal prophecies and clearly proclaimed words. We want to feel that we stand out as special individuals for God.

But maybe for some of us, God is just there. Like the wind. He is just the everlasting presence, always faithful, always waiting. Always constant.

Maybe we don't need to ask for more than that.

I am grateful for God's promises, even if he has never promised me anything specifically. It is enough for me that he says our lives have purpose, they are redeemed, and we have a job to do. It is enough that he says he will never give up on us. Maybe I haven't experienced true intimacy with God. Maybe the core of me still needs to be opened up and moved, so that I can hear him in the way so many others seem to.

For now though, in this moment, this is enough for me.

Sunday service

I find church services boring.

There. I've said it.

I struggle to engage with our normative church experience- the Sunday service. I find it hard to engage or even to stay awake often. This is as much my fault and my health issue than it is an inherent problem with the service format. It doesn't matter how great the sermon or music is for me. I still struggle with the university lecture style format, where we all attend church as though it is an event, we sit and listen to someone talking to us, we sing songs led from the front, and then we leave- only to return for the same next week.

Church services don't often engage or excite me. Which is a problem because it is the main expression of church and Christianity that seems to be prevalent. I don't find the event to be a passion strirring thing. More often that not, I find them formulaic and can't shake the feeling of being a consumer, going to attend an event once a week that has little impact on my life.

This may be an appropriate time to insert a disclaimer. This is just my opinion and experience. Many people find church services extremely emotive and helpful. Many people don't. These are just my thoughts and honest feelings. And in truth, often I feel like this is what we've got, and this is what I need to work with. I need to mould myself and try and engage. That's my usual mindset every week - and it is not to say that I don't ever hear truth or experience any inspiration from a sermon or a song.

But if I am honest, I really crave something different- something exciting and engaging and inspiring, something that is radical and life-changing, where we really come together to laugh and cry and serve as a community. Not an auditorium where we hear a lecture and sing some songs and have some coffee and then go about our everyday business. I want my soul to be alive and awake to God and my neighbour.

Then truth is, the church in UK is haemorrhaging men, young people, and Christians. If you look at the bigger picture, it is in decline. So I think services are worth looking at if they are clearly not drawing people in to a God who we believe should be inherently attractive to people.

When I was in Bristol, I was part of a pioneering house church type movement. In my opinion we didn't do a great job and it didn't really work in the end. There was too much bitterness and hurt in the leadership, and not enough resources and energy to keep us afloat while we were trying to pour ourselves out for the poor. But if I am honest with myself I often wish I was back there doing something new about church. Daring to envision and dream and engage in a different way, trying to reach out from the subculture that we are so stuck and numbed by, and which is so alienating for many.

Every Sunday we tried to do something called "Sunday Service". It was a little polemically named but the main idea was that we would gather together every Sunday to corporately serve someone in need - offering our cleaning and painting services to a struggling family, for instance. I loved this idea but I wished at the time that we had had some spiritual care and input as well, to keep us going. But I still love the idea. I think it could work alongside the many elements of church that it was missing.  We could change ourselves and change the world.

Psychologists have talked for a while about people's tendency to stick with the status quo and not to go for change.  (Of course there's some evidence to the contrary as well which suggests that people like change rather than the status quo - so maybe no one really has a clue!) I think the truth is that change in the church will never come from the people inside it who are perfectly happy and comfortable with the way things are. Why change something if you're happy with it?

But there are so many people for whom it is not enough. People inside and outside the church who believe that there are different ways for us to come together as a community to worship God.

I guess the  challenge is to believe that our voices will be heard.

Sinai kidnap gangs

A few days ago when I was driving to work I heard a report about an atrocity that has been overlooked by the international community. The kidnapping and ransom industry in Sinai is booming. Refugees are being taken in the hundreds, tortured and killed if their families are unable to pay financially crippling amounts of money to the kidnap gangs. The interviewer spoke to many victims of this awful trade, detailing obscene methods of torture, including burning and electrocution. I was left in tears and absolute horror.

The worse part was that the report ended with a man crying out. "Help us," he said. "Please help us. Listen to our voices. Please help us."

When I got to work I couldn't shake what I had heard. I walked past glossy posters and shiny computer laden desks on the way to my seat and I just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that right now, right this minute, people were being taken, tortured and killed - helpless, resigned to their fate. Some people say that this atrocity is being overlooked by the international community because it is not wealthy foreigners who are being kidnapped but poor refugees and locals. I couldn't shake the injustice that a problem of this scale was not being fought for internationally, and the horrible impact this indifference is having on people's lives.

I spent a while looking on the internet for ways to help. I couldn't find anything. All I could find was that Christian Solidarity Worldwide and Amnesty International were working in the area, but I couldn't find anything on how the average person could get involved to help. No campaign to the international community. No way to contribute directly to this effort, even. I felt desperate.

I just couldn't get the man's voice out of my head. I want to help you, I kept thinking, I want to help you but I don't know how. How can I help you? Please tell me how I can help you. We have to do something.

Eventually I emailed Amnesty International to ask them how I could help. I got a holding reply and still haven't heard from them. And I went on with my day, guilty and sad that this is what we do - we go on with our lives when our neighbours are suffering,  and it is so easy to switch ourselves off and throw ourselves into the comfortable helplessness that we are unable to do anything to solve huge problems.

Sometimes we can throw money at the problem, believing that we have done our part and helped, and we move on with our days, forgetting. Forgetting the real suffering. Forgetting the struggles and the wars that are so far from being won.

I know that we have to forget to be able to survive. To be able to function in our own lives. Otherwise we would be bowled over by all the suffering in the world. I know the danger of this, I've been there.

But I think really feeling the suffering can drive us to action.

I still want to know how I can help, but I don't know how. If anyone knows, please tell me. For now, I want people to hear these people's cries. Maybe the more people who truly hear, the more people will call on their leaders to do something.

All of this has made me reflect on charities and what we do. About how the average person who really wants to  help suffering people or change a situation feels when they come to us. 

As a charity we must be meeting needs. And we must be able to tell people and show them how they are meeting that need by giving to us. But for me, money isn't the be all and end all. I wish that charities would help to change people so that their lives are shaped by that need. So that they become more ready to stand up against injustice, more willing to help others in need.

I recently read an article entitled "How to Transport Your Donor into the World's Suffering". I have had my struggles with charity and fundraising culture but this article made me feel a sense of real mission about fundraising. To end this post, I'd like to share some of it with you.

"Need is need.  If you are a normal human being you will experience a great deal of emotion when you come face to face with a hurt and broken human being, an abused child, a sick animal, or a forest that has been destroyed.  It is just not pleasant to be around need... 

Why do we try to turn need into something it isn’t?  I think fundraisers who dress need up are afraid of their own emotions – they are afraid of the pain they experience when they encounter need.  So they first dress it up and package it for themselves in a tidy little emotionless package, which avoids the pain, and then they pass it on to their donors.All of this dressing up and packaging to contain the need and pain is a useless activity.  We should be doing the opposite. Rather than protecting our donors from all the reality of the need we should be using every media, picture, choice of words and stories to literally take the donor right into the action – right to the scene.  This, in my opinion, is effective communication that has integrity... 

Much of our world and its people and places are broken.  That’s the reality.  And it hurts.  It really hurts.  As you are being a vessel for good, don’t be afraid to let your donor experience the journey as well."

The need is great and the truth is we all have to do something. As I mentioned before, if any of you know about how we can help to stop the kidnap gangs in Sinai, please let me know.