First and Last Love

As I ran out of space on my last blog, here is part two, to be read in conjunction with part one…

It was partly Mike Tuffnell and Liz Clark who gave me the idea for this blog. In particular, reading Mike's blog on Job and how he went through such pain and such struggle, I felt something in me stir. Where is the hope in a world of seeming hopelessness?

The acceptance sketch

The sketch is a reworked version of a Monty Python classic. I re-wrote it as a short sketch to perform before a pastorate talk that I was giving on Christian community to show how much we all want to be loved and accepted for who we truly are, to come home in a way, but how in reality, this is often so difficult to achieve outside our family, close friends and Christian community.   

 'Your brother is an armed robber'? These were the first words said to me after I had told someone what had happened to Nick, only minutes after I had heard from Mum down the other end of the phone that Nick was going to prison.

What is heaven? Truly? I ask myself this a lot and play the song by Tim Hughes ‘I Can Only Imagine' (at least his version) on my iPod countless time and it never fails to move me.

Sometimes, I just imagine meeting Jesus and not being able to even look at him, such is my awe of who He is and what He represents. In my sinful, messy, undefined life here on earth, I just would kneel at His feet and ask Him to hold me. Forever.

This weekend, I was again thinking about the subject of art without Christ. Besides facing mortal embarrassment in the Fat Face store (see my story below), on Saturday morning I popped into Hampstead Waterstones and spent a few minutes browsing there. I love bookshops and have done so since a child and could quite happily spend hours in one. The sheer aesthetic of such places always threatens to seduce through the endless possibilities on offer, the multitude of attractive covers that hit one upon entry, screaming ‘LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME'; the new titles wanting to overwhelm one's mind, placed strategically on tables near the front; the increasingly comfy sofas to plonk one's rear into and while time away - they are delightful places. And as Waterstones go, the Hampstead branch is one of the best, books chosen by the erudite for the erudite. The cultural elite. The sophisticates. Books that positively drip with profound meanings, busily occupying space and time. Such importance is without question. The ruling classes. Media folk as my dear old grandfather might say.

This Saturday just gone, I visited the Fat Face store in Hampstead with my friend Jemima. We had just finished a lovely breakfast and popped into the store to browse and kill time. I quickly stumbled across the most exquisite looking leather jacket, hanging on the rails. Wow, I exclaimed, marvelling at the old brown leather look and immediately tried it on. I could not find a label or price on it but was working out whether I would be able to afford it once I knew the price (probably not!). Mimes thought that it looked cool also. It was then that I received a tap on the shoulder and turned round to be confronted by a 6ft 2 guy looking bemused. I said ‘hello' and he said, 'THAT'S MY LEATHER JACKET THAT YOU ARE WEARING. I TOOK IT OFF TO TRY ON A FAT FACE COAT AND NOTICED THAT SOMEONE HAD TAKEN IT.' It was then that I looked inside the coat once again and saw a wallet and mobile phone.