Skip navigation

Category Archives: parable

delusional parasitosis

 

“look at me, …follow me, …vote for me!”… said the delusional,

…who could see only the over inflated memory of himself on the back of his own closed eyelids…

“yes, we will!”  said the deluded,

…who could see nothing other than the memory of their own forgotten selves,

dimly reflected on the closed outer eyelids of the aforementioned delusional…

 

Advertisements

there’s this idea that if we will not honor the creator of all things in the way and the timing of the Lord of the universes, the rocks would cry out…

maybe the deafening rumble we seem not to hear is the avalanche saying something?

For some reason ants seem to get into the kettle.  Perhaps they are in search of moisture?  It has been unusually hot here over the last while so perhaps it makes sense.

As with many households in the western world every morning our kettle is switched on for morning tea and of late I have begun to notice that there are more often than not a few small, dead ants that get poured into the pot or tea cup along with the boiled water from the kettle.  Our electric kettle is mostly black and in reality it is difficult to see them inside and mostly I usually don’t even think that they will have crawled in overnight in search of water… why would I think that?

This morning I removed four little ants from my cup who had suffered a terrible fate.  I suddenly thought what must it have been like to unexpectedly feel the temperature rise rapidly around them and then, before anything could be done to avoid disaster a searing heat overcomes everything?  It was probably totally confusing for the poor ant and clearly any attempt to get out of the trouble had at least 50% chance of getting the ant into more hot water.

The ants were neither good nor bad.  They meant no harm.  They were just being ants and were, I can only presume, doing what they needed to do.  Doing what ants do.

The only wrong they committed was that they never seemed to know of or understand the context they were in.  They clearly had no knowledge that the place they were seeking moisture and relief from was an electrical appliance that was used to boil water and an impending threat of death to them… and yet at the same time a comforting convenience for humans upon waking each morning.

My mind suddenly meandered to the historical account of the devastation of Pompeii when Mount Vesuvius erupted and less than a decade ago to the boxing day Tsunami in Indonesia which caused so much loss of life.  I also thought of the trouble as a result of the recent earthquakes in Japan.

The earth wasn’t being evil.  It was just being itself.  It was doing what it had been doing since the very beginning.

And then I also thought about all of those people who happened to be born to Iraqi or Afghan parents and suddenly seeing American bombs raining down on them from the sky.  I thought of the two World Wars and all the ethnic violence that has filled our senses through the media over recent decades.  I also thought of those in many nations simply who happen to have been born to parents who were well below the breadline with little chance of ever changing their status because of the circumstances they were in economically, politically, culturally, geographically.

All these people, neither good nor bad.  The only wrong they committed was that they never seemed to know of or understand the context they were in.  They too were just being human, doing what humans do.

I suddenly felt strangely like God in my kitchen and the power both destructive and constructive I could unleash by simply flicking a switch.

I became alarmed at that which I was potentially a part of even without my knowledge or intent this way or that.   I was not being evil was I?  I was just making some tea.

And then I thought about my thoughts regarding all of this and the feelings that cascaded through my mind when I saw these four ants floating lifelessly in my boiling water.

I then began to wonder what God feels like in his kitchen?

 

 

_______________________

it wasn’t the ANC, nor the international boycotts, nor organized political pressure, nor a change of heart, nor repentance, nor was it economics or socio-political strategy that brought down the beast of national racism …

…the callous, corrupt, cancerous heart of apartheid rotted silently and steadily from the inside and the beast crumbled inevitably like a dead man walking…

…and now, could it be that the self-proclaimed victors too are not roaring, but weeping? –

cry the beloved country, cry

There was a great man who in the full stretch of his official journey and right in the middle of his immense and frantic schedule stopped everything he was doing and sat down with a scruffy little child on his lap.

He had seen his personal assistants harassing the excited young children who were scurrying around, playing amongst the feet of those pressing in.  They were pressing in in an attempt to be near the great man and hear his wisdom, possibly even get to touch him in the hope that they might be noticed and healed in some way.

The little children were just being children and this was a nuisance and a distraction to everyone, even the great mans personal assistants.

With a scruffy little child on his knee he had stopped all activity and suddenly the whole massive group had become silent.

First he turned to his assistants and scolded them for their handling of the children in this way and while he spoke he turned to address the multitudes as well.

“Don’t chase these little ones away” he said.

“Don’t hurt them by preventing them from being children at my feet whilst I am doing my work,”  he went on to say.

Continuing to scan the people around him he continued…  “In fact people, unless you become like one of these little children you will never understand about my kingdom and neither will you be able to enter in to it.”

There was a chilling silence at that point and he turned his gaze to the little ones who had been scurrying around, disrupting the proceeding by bumping into the legs of those following the great man and picked them up, one by one, touched them individually and blessed them.

Nevertheless now we have launched specific children’s ministries and specialised focus groups – at great cost of course, but it is worth it because we are important and cannot be distracted from what we feel blesses us directly.  And the leaders amongst us do not get bothered by the pitter-patter of little feet as scruffy little children be themselves.  Their servants do this dirty deed, removing this tiresome inconvenience from their very important agendas.

In desiring to press in to our heavenly father we have forgotten how to allow children to press in even to their earthly fathers and rather send them away so that they will not disturb us as we pursue our own priorities.

And the personal assistants still hear our calls of desperation and clear the temple of the apple of our heavenly father’s eye.

And strangely we all continue to do this as an act of sincere worship.