OUTRAGEOUS

Was bought the current Paul Simon CD by the three kids for Father's day, (with help from Mum who particularly favoured the final track Father and Daughter) and there in the middle of it all on track 3 sits a grand a statement as you will find anywhere - 'Tell me, who's gonna love you when your looks are gone? .... God will. Like he waters the flowers on your window sill..'

CHILD LIKE FAITH....

Today was a sacred moment for our family. We thanked God amid family and friends for the gift of our daughter. Now two years old some might say we took out time, but the sentiment remains. God gives us our kids as precious gifts. I hope I don't drop and damage them ....

Moment of the day had to be when two year old Daisy looked at the dark full size mournful looking sculpture and embraced the legs as if to bring comfort to this sad figure, (so marvously crafted by Steve Spicer on 'Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted' as part of the Zac's Beatitudes commission).

Many people are a little freaked when they first see the figure, but child like intuition made a quite beautiful connection others much older and wiser miss.....

KALAMAZOO, CHICAGO, BALTIMORE & THE LUGGAGE WENT TO NASHVILLE.....

I had not stepped on American soil since the December of 1975. If I'm honest I haven't particularly wanted to return - I have been grateful to my parents for resisting the temptation to stay there and see me brought up in Virginian southern baptist ways and no doubt rebelled big time in every way shape and form.

Duty called however, 31 years on to return by visiting the mid west, (3 states, 3 cities in 6 days), amid the vast properties and ludicrously wealthy churches, on club duty to see some guys we're seting some stuff up with out there. Going from the extreme basic living and material poverty of the Ukraine to the excesses of Michigan was about as far apart as it gets. (I had a similar experience going from the slums in Bangkok to Sydney some time ago). The raw throaty sound of the gas guzzling V8's was a far cry from the smoky 2 stroke bikes and the tiny apartments would fit twice over in any one of the rooms in many Michigan homes. A swimming pool in the back yard of 3 acres replaced the bucket for washing at the foot of a tree that had shaving mirror wired to it. The home of the 'world series' continues to be another 'world' - at least this bit of it anyway. (The poverty of the of the mountain folk and the urban poor did not feature on this trip unfortunately)......

How good it is though to experience these extremes, how difficult it is to find balance. How encouraging it was to see signs of change with regard to seeing comfortable folk being called to a different way of living. When in an environment that refers from the pulpit to struggles as being defined as ‘not being able to afford that Cadillac’ and a blessing from God is all about personal gain, I do have to wonder which bit of the Gospel of Jesus that refers to. Therefore anyone prepared to start kicking against the grain is to be supported and encouraged - so guys thanks for the hospitlality and welcome - let the revolution begin....... God bless the agents for change.

And remembering, blessing, like love, never asks ‘what am I going to get out of this’.

Next stop . . .Holland (..a wedding) and Germany

ERASING THE BLEMISHES

10% of all plastic surgery in the UK is now taken up by over 60's apparently. Slightly more worrying is the fact that there is also an increase in the number of abortions at 20 weeks+ for minor defects such as a club foot, (now often treatable without surgery), as parents search for that perfect designer baby.

Whilst our so called civilized society is going to more and more extremes to look good and get everything 'just right' are we in danger of getting it all 'wrong'?

Balance this up with any mention of God, sin, guilt, salvation and forgiveness and more often than not you get a hostile response. Why do 'I' need forgiveness? I often wonder if our search for external perfection has something to do with the the turmoil of disconnection of our own hearts.

Changing our face, designing our children, glossing up to erase the imperfections simply serve to paper over the cracks. If I am to believe perfection is found in the heart of God - why are we so often tempted to keep him out of the equation?

Jesus said to his mates 'blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God'.

As I look at my life, those I share it with - as I see my own face in the mirror, I am surrounded by a myriad of imperfections - rebellions, hurts, tragedies, stupidities; but also I see God (and terrible skin of course!).

Amid the disorder, chaos and failure I see signs of hope, restoration, re-connection grace and forgiveness. The fast weathering look of my own face in part tells a story of ups and downs, not least of all that of being a father to three children who take after their parents - imperfect, but utterly loved and adored.

If we really want to erase the imperfection maybe we need to begin with a change of heart; then and only then will we see us and those around us as God sees us - loved and adored, forgiven and accepted.

..... now where did I put the mirror...

UKRAINE

UKRAINE - The first of four overseas visits in the next 6 weeks .... USA, Holland and Germany to go...

I'm standing in 4 inches of water, in the most spectacular electric storm, bump starting a Lada that had up until two minutes previously, been towing a broken down Russian motorcycle.

I'm in the Ukraine, somewhere. Apart from being a couple of hours from Kiev. I have absolutely no idea where I am. Having done battle as a passenger in rush hour traffic, travelled the wrong way down a motorway to negotiate the aftermath of a six truck pile up I am now quite glad to be eight floors up in a very modest apartment - all be it over looking a slowly sinking Lada in boggy wasteground. The next few days would see a further six road accidents within earshot, narrowly miss being wiped out by a drunk driver who did clatter head on into my friend on his bike seriously injuring him.

Ukranian hospitals are as bleak as the housing estates and the toilet in the police station was decidedly below average - no better in fact than the tin bucket the majority of village dwellers still use in their back gardens.

Mechanised farming remains non existent despite the thousands of square miles of arable land and grazing pasture. In the city the air is thick with diesel and petrol fumes as ancient Russian and Ukrainian made vehicles defy all odds and keep propelling forwards, probably without brakes.

Reminders of the Soviet state are everywhere balanced by the struggle of the young to reach out and embrace the West. McDonalds has arrived and so have American TV Evangelist channels for those priviledged enough to own a working TV - neither a step in the right direction in my opinion. The dark memory of Chernobyl is evident in the scarred skin conditions of many twenty years on as is the anger that the rest of the world and their government has tried to forget it.

How bleak it can sound - allowing the tragedy, discomforts, misfortunes and time gap of maybe 40 years, to crowd out vital signs of life. Within an hour of stepping out of the airport, Pasha, my contact man in Ukraine took me to meet some friends as we happened to be passing. The interest is motorcycles, as a 42 year old family heir loom was wheeled out of the shed. I am welcomed into the family home and greeted by a grubby two year old and his mother shows me some family photos on the wall. Ten teenage children no less, as I discover I am sittting in an orphanage for teenagers.

The journey continues to Pasha's home - a very small dwelling of two rooms where he, his young wife and their baby son live. Amid an obvious struggle to make ends meet, I am treated to a agenerous meal of chicken soup and potatoes. This tale of generosity would continue at sparse home in tower blocks and in basic dirt poor simple lifestyle homes in out lying villages.

As I consider putting my head to rest, in a third home of the day, (that of another couple who work in an orphanage), after nearly 24 hours of travel, I am reminded of the definition of someone who is poor in spirit - is that you know who they are just that because when you have been in their company, you say to yourself, 'my life has been enriched by the experience of being in their company'.

Sounds not too far off the mark from what the papers were saying this week about a better off society has got very little to do with how much money the economy gives us and more to do with whats going on inside.

MILESTONES

What a weekend! Having been leading a ragged bunch of radicals here in the UK Chapter of God's Squad for best part of the last 15 years it was time to step aside for other capable hands to take the reigns. True, there's more foundations to be set down for me - Europe becomes the focus of Squad leadership, but none the less it's a milestone. An occasion to put a marker down - remember God's grace and salute a bond of brotherhood that others can only dream of.

Then would you believe it. After 135 years in the lower divisions of English football, my home team, Reading gains promotion to the Premiership for the first time in their history. Not what you call world changing in the big picture, but am gutted to be missing out on the celebrations and am right pleased for the lads and my home town. Now at this stage in the game, I reckon those of us who made up the lowest ever home gate of 1,713 v Preston North End in 1982 deserve a complimentary season ticket!!! Reading in the Premiership - that's a milestone!

Then to complete the weekend of milestones - as I put my 22 month old daughter to bed she looks me in the eye and works hard to string the three words together and says, 'I-love-you' for the very first time. No other words necessary.

Amid the bond of brothers, the feverpitch enthusiasm of dreams and the child connecting with 'abba' don't let the milestones passover.

EASTER REFLECTIONS

Chocolate eggs, fluffy chicks, Easter bunnies and a reminder of Roman execution. Its difficult to see how it all fits together. Another one of the great mysteries of western consumerism perhaps?

Jesus Christ had his own questions about Easter, for very different reasons though. As he waited in a secluded place to be arrested, talking with his Father in heaven, he struggled to face what was to come. The weight of responsibility was almost over whelming; - take this cup from me - yet not my will but yours be done. Is this a road I have to go down? Is this a price that has to be paid by me? Maybe there is another way, maybe this last temptation is not such a bad idea.

The road to the eventual torture and execution, at an out of town rubbish dump littered with human remains, was by no means an easy one for Jesus to take. Neither do I believe it was one forced upon him. After all, it was a journey of pain and suffering. But amid all the pain what hurt the most?

Was it the nails that shattered his bones that stapled him to a tree? Was it the thorns that were pushed into his head or the lumps that were ripped out of his back by scourges and whips? Or was it more than physical. What about the psychological pain of seeing the same crowds that cried hosanna just days before call for your execution, watching your closest mates disappear with shame into the shadows or being stripped naked and watch men gamble for your only possessions whilst you die an innocent man between two criminals?

Or are we still only touching the surface? Much of this pain will have been experienced by any of the many crucified by the Roman authorities. Has anyone else had to wrestle with the burden of torment that was to fall on the shoulders of Jesus Christ that first Easter? To stand as one who is the accused, found guilty of and take the rap all that is rebellious toward God is a huge pain to bear. To stand in the gap and pay the price for all the evils of humanity, even in our lifetime is incomprehensible. Yet this was a pain that Christ endured and took on himself and in doing so was severed from his Father in Heaven - My God - why have you forsaken me?. Maybe we can excuse the cries of Jesus when he said, take this cup from me, when he knew what lie ahead. But possibly more amazing are the words he spoke from the jaws of death as he cried, Father forgive them, they do not know what they are doing. Amid his pain, there is hope. There is the hope of forgiveness in the heart of God towards each man and woman because the price has been paid by another. The cry of - it is finished - and an empty grave signals a new beginning.

Many have laid down their life for what is just and true. But at a place called the skull, at the foot of a Roman execution, is where truth and justice meet and embrace a broken world and that, cannot and need not be replicated. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me....

Cheers and God Bless, Sean