Friday 31 December 2010

Sadness and Laughter

The first time my grandmother took me to a circus was in Leeuwdoringstad, a small country town in the Western Transvaal, near Klerksdorp and Makwassie. She told me how much I would enjoy it.
The two of us went into the tent, and the smell of the animals and the dust made me wonder if I should be there at all. I was only 4 years old.
Then the circus master announced the first event and the band played out loud with trumpets and drum rolls and smashing cymbals as the lions came into the cage. The whip cracked and it frightened me.
The people woed and aahd and applauded and I sat rivetted next to my grandma. Then it was the horses with plumes on their heads like ladies in the Pentecostal church choirs that I was used to on Sundays.
And then they sent in the clowns to keep our attention as they changed the scenery and the set.
They had painted faces that looked sad. Their mouths were too large and sagging and their eyes drooped downwards. Their hats were too small and their trousers and boots were too big. Both of them had large red leather gloves on. Inside the gloves were crackers. When they slapped each other through the face the crackers went off. It shocked me and scared me and I started crying. It was too much for a little boy.
'Let's go home Ouma,' I pleaded, 'I don't like all this fighting!'
Ouma oblidged. It was the last time she ever asked me to go to the circus.
I thought about this moment and thought about watching Cirque du Soleil in Disneyland with my friend Brian and his wife.
The absolute artistry and agility of the performers astounded me and the timing of every moment to the music was mind boggling. The trampoline act took my breath away. I hurt my back on a trampoline when I was 14 and suffered back trouble for many years until the Lord healed me completely. I tried to do a backward somersault without any coaching. Dangerous.
But today I thought of that first visit to the circus and today is the last day of the year. Tomorrow will be the start of another year, a new year, a brand new year.
And I thought of the sad looking clowns.
Clowns make people laught, don't they? Why are their faces always sad?
Charlie Chaplin,Peter Sellers and all the other comedy stars, Gene Wilder, they all have a note of sadness to their lives. It is almost an integral part of a clown's armoury: his own sadness.
There is sadness in most lives, but the antedote is comedy and laughter. Thank God for someone who can make you laugh. Laughter is like good medicine. A merry heart has a continual feast.
Patch Adams made the terminally ill patients laugh in the hospital and got banned as a medical practitioner, but he did more good than the medical profession realised.
I once prayed for a lady called Priscilla who suffered from asthma attacks since she was a little girl. When I finished blowing into her mouth she was at first upset and then realised that she normally pumps air into her mouth with the asthma pump and then she started laughing until we all laughed with her. Dr. Sachs, a doctor in our church in Milnerton, came forward and explained how laughter is used for chronic asthmatic patients to bring relief.
So at the end of the year, let us lay aside the weight of sadness we might have experienced and let us remember the moments of sunshine and laughter. Let our spirits be revived and perked up again, because the Joy of the Lord is our strength, after all.

Friday 24 December 2010

Walking on Water

While Jesus was busy praying in the fourth watch, early in the morning He saw the disciples in the storm and went to them walking on water. It is not humanly possible to walk on water. I once met a man on a plane who was an engineer that designed film stunts for his son who was a Hollywood stunt man. He was drawing a picture of a car bursting through the glass of a third storey in a building. The car travelled at a certain speed and carried on going horizontally to the ground for a while before nose diving. When I showed interest he explained to me that the speed of the vehicle breaks the force of gravity just like an aeroplane takes off, but when the car looses speed it begins to go down. So he positioned the cushions to catch the falling car quite a distance from the edge of the building. Then I realised that Jesus must have walked very fast to get to the disciples in the storm. The lake is 12 miles long and they were in the middle, which means they were about 6 miles from Jesus. He came to them suddenly. They thought it was a ghost and did not recognise Him. The solutions to our problems often come in a form we do not recognise because we are so full of fear. When we break our fears, we can believe! Then the very things that want to swallow us up and destroy us, have to serve us to get to the other side to reach our destination!
When the disciples willingly received Him into the boat they were at the other side of the lake, immediately! This miracle of transportation is often overlooked when we read the Bible. It was a supernatural event. The same speed and force with which Jesus approached them in the boat transported them to the other side.
Isaiah 1:19: if you are willing and obedient you will eat the good of the land. How long does it take to become willing? It only takes a moment. How long does it take to become obedient? It only takes another moment. Our stubbornness and disobedience is like idolatry and witchcraft that prevents us from ‘eating the good of the land’. Why don’t we repent of it and become willing and obedient to do the will of the Father in Heaven?

Friday 10 December 2010

It is December

It is December. December in Cape Town is quite unlike December in any other place. It is summer and sometimes you have hot, sultry summer days, but mostly you have the Cape Doctor, the South Easter, sandblasting your legs and face with the coarse sea sand making it quite uncomfortable to stay on the beach for too long. Even the dainty little shelter canvasses they sell at all the out-and-about stores cannot withstand one gust of the South Easter. Beach umbrellas are the first to go rolling like tumble weed in the desert of Arizona.
But kitewurfers and windsurfers from Italy and France love the wind, of course. They cavort effortlessly above the waves and do stints in the air above the wreck at Dolphin Beach. When they hit a surfer or body boarder they refer to it as a blimp in the road. I've been hit by a windsurfer, once, on my back. The fin gaffed into my back and left a painful afterglow which lasted for weeks.
But today is one of those other kind of days...yesterday too, it started off with mist rolling in from the icy Atlantic on shore and it covers Milnerton first. The mist sneaks into the house like an old house friend and you smell the sea in your lounge. That is one reason why I live here: I love that smell, and I love the mists. Normally it turns out to be a warm day, a windless day if there is early morning mist. But you never can tell with Cape weather: like Sting sings: four seasons in a day!
And then of course one hears the blast of the fog horns from the ships lingering in the bay. Their souns is particularly eerie at night, of course. Like a foreign language being spoken by some prehistoric monsters calling out to each other without knowning where the other one is located.
A fog horn says so many things: hey, I'm over here! Hey, where are you? Mind you don't bump into me unnecessarily! Give me a wide berth! Let's play! Do you like my sound? Is anyone else out there?
Imagine a mist horn symphony!
But it also says, I'm alone out here...it has an attractive, lonesome, scary sound to it, and yet it is merely a mechanical device used to warn other ships of one's whereabouts.
But I love the sound of the fog horn...I lay awake at night to listen to it. It is so different from the hooter of a train or a car. It has depth to it. It is deep calling unto deep. Somewhere deep inside we respond to it without words and reply, i am here, it is ok.
The voice of God deep inside us is often like the old fog horn. It is comforting yet alarming; unexpected and yet desired; vitally necessary and still surprising; deep and yet so clear. It speaks to us when we most need it. It warns when temptation comes. It encourages when energy is low. It heals when there is hurt. It inspires when life overwhelms us.
Ah, the voice of God in the mists of the spirit realm! How we need it! How we long for it! How we ache without it.
May this December not merely be a time to remember, but may we hear the fog horn of the voice of God speaking to us in so many ways that we will enter the New Year with renewed energy, faith and hope. And the greatest of all is love...agape divine love, unconditional love, love so great that pen and poet cannot describe it. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have ever lasting life. Hear that fog horn sound in your own spirit and pass it on to someone else in the mists of time.
It is December...