Author: Lioness Writing Ltd

James’s Blog: Five Children.

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James’s Blog: Five Children.

Ruth and I have five children, which is about six more than four children. It wasn’t such a big deal in Australia, where immigration was the only thing that offset the negative growth rate, but in the UK a large family makes life complicated. People react to our situation in a variety of ways. There are those who display shock or pity, and those who respond as though we’re breaking some unspoken rule.

It’s possible to view children as a burden; a drain on the resources of the planet. The doctor who helped deliver our fourth took me to one side after the event and suggested that we had enough children now. He told me that our carbon footprint was big enough. He had a point, but the cynical part of me sometimes wonders if what people really mean to say is “If you don’t stop having children I might have to change my habits as a consumer.” There are those who view children as a resource, potential or otherwise. If you follow the news you may be aware that China is softening it’s one child policy as a result of studies predicting that the country will face a workforce shortage in the future. Children, for me, are neither a burden nor a resource. They are an expression of hope.

If Ruth and I do our job well then we’ll contribute five more people to this earth, who will take the best of us and run with it. Hopefully their character and deeds will more than offset their environmental impact. We are now the parents of a teenager and, if my maths is right, we’ll have at least one teenager in the house for about the next fifteen years. Teenagers are, generally speaking, hard work to have around, but some days I look at Calvin and feel fit to burst with pride as I see the man that he is becoming. Here’s to the next fifteen years.

James’s Blog: Growing Old.

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James’s Blog: Growing Old.

“It is the dreadful lie of our culture that you must take the great adventures while you are young. Maybe so in abseiling and Bungee Jumping; but it is not so in the truly dangerous business of the Kingdom.”

Peter Volkofsky

It’s definitely true that our culture lionises youth. Getting old is seen as a backwards step; a decline; a curse rather than a blessing. But if you’re bemoaning your lost youth then you’ve done nothing more than bought into another lie. There’s a Native American saying: “No wise person ever wanted to be younger”. The truth is that if you’re living well, then you’ll be growing in character and wisdom. If you’re giving your relationship with God the attention that it deserves then you are more like Christ today than you were this time last year. If this is the case, then you’re actually more useful to God now than you used to be, and you’ll become even more useful the older that you get. The Bible is full of elderly heroes; men and women who didn’t hit their stride until the years of experience had caught up with them, and the wisdom of suffering had tempered and focused their youthful energy. Jesus himself spent his youth preparing for the tasks of middle-age. Let me add this: if you aren’t nurturing your relationship with God then you’ve got bigger problems than aching muscles, saggy skin and unwanted hair.

Be encouraged. The world may tell you that your glory days are behind you; that your purpose now is to grow old quietly and aim for nothing more than to be a productive member of United Kingdom PLC, but I tell you that God has plans.

James’s Blog: A Preaching Odyssey

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James’s Blog: A Preaching Odyssey

The only thing that I miss from when I was a minister is the preaching. I think it’s because it’s the only part of the role where I ever felt competent. It’s taken me many years to get to the point where I feel comfortable acknowledging that I am a good preacher. My reluctance to do so came from a combination of insecurity and that common Protestant brand of pride – false humility. I know now that if God has made you good at something, pretending that you’re not very good at it is just extremely disrespectful.

I preached my first sermon on Boxing Day 1993. I was just short of my 17th birthday and had been a Christian for about six months. I don’t know many churches that would have given someone like me a chance in the pulpit, and I will always be thankful to Peter Taylor for taking that risk. Every now and then, during my A-Level years, I would turn up at some village chapel to preach. The congregations were always kind, because I was something of a novelty. I don’t think anyone else in my school was investing their youth in that particular way. What it means is that, as I approach my 40th birthday, I have had nearly 25 years of preaching experience. That’s very helpful, because sometimes it can take you that long to figure out what, how and why you should be preaching what you’re preaching.

At some point I will probably share some of my thoughts on the art of preaching, probably on this very blog. Preaching is an art, and a responsibility. Those of us who are doing it should take the development of our skills seriously. I have very high standards for preachers, I’m afraid, but that’s OK. Now that I’ve finally managed to divest myself of false humility it frees me up to start working on developing the real deal.

James’s Blog: I Am Not a Christian.

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James’s Blog: I Am Not a Christian.

They call me a Christian.

I am not a Christian.

They tell me that I am a Christian and that I should not be ashamed to be a Christian.

I ask them what it means to be a Christian.

They tell me that a Christian is one who has, at one point in their life, asked God to forgive his sins; has asked Jesus into his life.

If that is all it means then I am not a Christian.

A single “Yes” may make a Christian, but it cannot make a disciple. A man may be a Christian if he bows his head to Jesus once in his life, but a man can only be a disciple if he bows his head to Jesus every day.

I am not a Christian.

Call me a follower of Christ, one who hopes to walk so closely behind that he is covered in the dust that is thrown up as his master walks.

Call me a slave to righteousness, one who has relinquished all rights to himself but instead allows Jesus to live through him.

Call me a joint-heir with Christ, one who inherits what was not his, and seeks nothing more than to announce his brother’s kingdom to the world.

Call me free indeed, and one for whom it is no hardship to submit that freedom to Him who makes me free.

Call me a New Creation, God’s Workmanship, a Living Stone, a Holy People, a Saint, a Son of the Living God.

But do not call me a Christian.

James’s Blog: For Sale.

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James’s Blog: For Sale.

I’ve written briefly about the concept of Christian horror in my blog on Charles Williams and I’ve also mentioned my dalliance with Microfiction.  The two intersect on a website that I occasionally contributed to – MicroHorror.

MicroHorror is now no longer live, and I hadn’t written anything for it in nearly four years, but buried on there is my one attempt to communicate something meaningful through horror.  It’s a mere 200 words, and it’s called ‘For Sale’.

—

Come… on… MOVE… you… son… of… a…

Muscles bulged but the jar lid remained unrepentant. This was getting embarrassing. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, such a simple idea. Offer to open the new jar for the girl in the kitchen. Impress the girl of his dreams. She didn’t look impressed right now. She looked bored.

I… can’t… believe… this… is… happening…

Still no movement. Not even a fraction of a fraction. The girl had stopped looking bored and was now beginning to look faintly amused. He didn’t know which was worse.

She’s… laughing… at… me… please… open… please… I’ll… do… anything…

Suddenly a hissing, slithering voice whispered in the silence, in the deepest backdrop of his mind.

“Anything?”

***
In the darkness of the under realm, the two demons put the finishing touches to the contract.

“…for the ability to open a jar of sun-dried tomatoes? Really?”

The first demon sounded shocked and a little disgusted. The second demon nodded dolefully.

“There’s no challenge these days. It’s just not fun anymore,” he moaned. The first demon finished the document with a flourish of his pen, and slowly shook his head.

“You know what I reckon? I reckon those humans have stopped taking their souls seriously.”

James’s Blog: Tolstoy’s Greedy Farmer.

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James’s Blog: Tolstoy’s Greedy Farmer.

There’s a story by Leo Tolstoy about a peasant farmer who had done well in life, but wanted more. One day someone made him an offer. For 1000 Roubles the farmer could have as much land as he wanted, provided that he was able to walk around it in a day. The only condition of the deal was that he must be back where he started from by the time that the sun set.

Of course, he set out early the next morning moving as quickly as he could. At midday he decided that he would keep walking, and simply make sure that he moved faster on his return journey. By mid afternoon he had walked a great distance, but he realised that he would lose it all if he didn’t get back and that he hadn’t left himself much time. He retraced his steps, running and running, trying to return to the starting line before the sun went down.

Just as the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon he came within sight of where he had started, so he pushed himself for the final few minutes, despite his complaining body. He staggered across the line, just as the sun set, and then promptly collapsed and died of exhaustion.

His servants dug him a grave, about six feet long by three feet wide. Tolstoy called his story ‘How Much Land Does a Man Need?’

James’s Blog: Mixed Messages.

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James’s Blog: Mixed Messages.

It’s hard to be a consistent parent, but you’d think we’d at least give ourselves a fighting chance.

I once saw a mother laying down the law to her little boy, her tone of voice suggesting that disobedience would have serious consequences. She had clearly had this type of conversation before. As she delivered some very specific instructions on behaviour, backed up by the existential threat of ‘grounding’, I couldn’t help but notice her tee-shirt. It was plain, except for the big pink letters on it that read ‘BREAK THE RULES’.

Hmmmmmm…

James’s Blog: The Discipline of Smiling

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James’s Blog: The Discipline of Smiling

I don’t want them. My spirits are not lifted to see them; my heart is hard and cold.  The visitor at the door is an intruder, wanting to take from me.

So what do I do? What I want to do is communicate to them, in a non-verbal way, that they are not welcome. A scowl. Closed body posture. An irritated tone. All these say “Go Away!” without me actually having to speak the words out loud. It’s not a sin that way, right?

And why not? I am busy. I am in the middle of something, and there’s a fifty percent chance it could be something quite important. I don’t have much time in the day. I don’t have much of myself to spread around. Besides, I’m an introvert. All the blessings that being an introvert bring come at a price to somebody else, and really, I think that they should consider themselves honoured to pay that price.

Weary and unbending, I want them to go away.

But that is not an option. I can’t do that. I know this. I have a Bible. I know all the things that Paul says about loving one another and bearing each other’s burdens and all that, but those aren’t the words that break me. What does it is that wonderful, horrible story in Matthew 14 where Jesus withdraws to grieve over the death of John the Baptist. He just wants a moment to himself. A moment to be with his Father and his thoughts. You understand that, surely. I understand it. I live it.

But the stupid, selfish crowd can’t see beyond their ugly sense of entitlement and their greed and they follow him. They won’t leave him alone, not even for a second. Like everyone, they want a piece of him. They want to be made whole, but their stupid, selfish vision won’t allow them to see what it costs Jesus. They can’t see beyond themselves. Self-centred. Self-focused. Stupid, selfish crowd.

But then…Jesus gets off the boat and sees them. What happens to the God-man? What stirs in his soul? Anger? Pain? Bitterness?  No.  I’ll tell you what it says.

“…he had compassion on them, and healed their sick.”

Give me a pair of scissors and I will cut that verse from my Bible and yours. I would expunge all record of that moment of compassion from history. Do you not see? Do you not understand? Those words will not leave me alone. I cannot sleep. I cannot get peace.  He had compassion while I was angry. He breaks the power of darkness while I send away. So, now you understand why I cannot allow the same thing that drove the crowd to drive me. Now you know why I cannot send them away.

So I submit myself to the discipline of smiling. When they come, I will smile. I may not feel compassion, but I can smile. I may not heal their sickness, but I can smile. I can deny the anger, the resentment and the bile that stirs in my soul and I can smile. I know enough to know that this is how it begins. The smile is the start. I know that one day, if I live this discipline enough, I will look up and see the face at my door and the smile will already be there before I even have to think about it. And I know that another day will come, a day when I will see the face at my door and I will feel like smiling, no matter what urgent task consumes me. I will become my smile.

I can hear the voice now. Liar! No Integrity! No Authenticity! By smiling when you resent you are denying the truth.

And I know where that voice comes from.  I know well, and I rebuke it. He is the liar. His is the call to no authenticity and no integrity.

Listen. John says it best – “How marvelous is the love that the Father extends to us. Just look at it – we are called children of God. And that is what we really are.”

And that is what we really are! So, if that is who I really am, then which action is the one that lacks integrity? The smile or the frown? If who I really am is a child of God, then it’s the anger and the resentment that doesn’t belong. It’s that which is at odds with who I really am. The feelings are the lie.  The smile is the truth breaking through.  The smile is just me being who God has made me. The rest of me just hasn’t quite caught up yet.

So, If you appear at my door and I do not seem pleased to see you, do tell me. I am trying to follow the discipline of smiling.

James’s Blog: Origin Story.

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James’s Blog: Origin Story.

It’s nearly a year ago that Lioness Publishing first agreed to take on The Listening Book, but it’s been in the pipeline for a lot longer, obviously. The oldest story in the collection (Death) was written over fifteen years ago, while even the most recent stories only exist because those past fifteen years gave me something worth writing about.

A couple of posts ago I shared a watershed moment, the one where I was challenged to actually do something with the gift that God had given me. This was way back in 2007, and I responded by resuming an Interactive Fiction project that I had shelved. A Fine Day for Reaping went on to win the XYZZY Award for Best Story in 2007. That sentence will make no sense to most of you.

Around the same time, however, I also began playing with parables. I was working for ‘The Mat Exchange’, which was a small business that Cornerstone ran. We rented door mats to shops, and my job was to drive around, exchange the dirty mats for clean ones and then go and wash them. There was a reasonable amount of time to think in this job and, one day, I was reflecting on the idea of faith, and how often I met people with an ‘inherited’ creed, beliefs that they’d just copied from others, without thinking through the consequences or really owning them themselves. I had previously read about the idea of how photocopying a photocopy decreased the quality of the image, and that had stuck with me over the years. As I drove along the mean streets of Dubbo, New South Wales, Australia, The Soul Painting was born, and by the time I had finished my shift that day I was able to sit down and write the story. Over the next few months I wrote a couple more, including Knock and the Door Shall be Opened, and By the Riverbank but I didn’t really do anything with them.

Fast forward to 2013. Now I was dean of the Cornerstone campus at Canowindra. No more mat washing for me!  Instead I got to do farm and vineyard work.  There can be some thinking time there too, at least when you’re not being shouted at.  One day, while picking watermelons, I thought that it would do me good to set myself a challenge. The challenge would be to start a blog, and post a short story every week. At first this worked fine, as I was finally able to use the stories that I had accumulated over the years. The real goal, however, was to force myself to come up with new material, and that’s what I did. Watermelon time was occasionally fruitful (pun intended). I remember concocting The Boy who Held God during one beautiful sunny day while picking watermelons (to be fair, it was almost always a beautiful sunny day during watermelon season). I soon found that one a week was an unrealistic pace, so I knocked it back to one every two weeks and just got on with it. When you write under pressure like that what you produce could charitably be called ‘a mixed bag’. Some of the stuff that I put up was fairly horrible, but all of the material that ended up in The Listening Book first appeared on my blog: ‘Storycatcher’ (“Don’t look for it; it’s not there anymore” Marty DiBergi).

The feedback was encouraging, so in the months before we returned to the UK, I put together the first draft of The Listening Book and sent it off to a publisher, who promptly rejected it. Well, not promptly.  It took him ages.  And then that was that, until we returned home and a random conversation between Elsa the Publisher and my wife started the ball rolling.  I like to think of it as a large, heavy glittery ball – something nice to look at, but with some weight to it.  Perhaps a disco ball that’s been made out of concrete?

And the rest is, as they say, history.

James’s Blog – Seeing is Believing.

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James’s Blog – Seeing is Believing.

Sometimes seeing isn’t believing. There will be people that look successful and content, but aren’t. There will be marriages that look happy, but aren’t. There will be people who look as though they are faithful and enjoying a close relationship with God, but aren’t. Your eyes can deceive you.

At times, though, we deceive ourselves, and maybe what other people see is the truth. I’m thinking primarily about how faithful or not we imagine God to have been to us. Sometimes we wonder if He is keeping His end of the bargain; if He’s providing for us or if He is with us in our troubles. Does He even care for us at all?

So here’s my challenge. We know how it looks to us and how we feel about it, but how does it look to other people? Take a step outside of yourself for a moment. When other people look at you and your life, will they say that God is providing and caring for you just fine? God does do His part, and other people can sometimes see that better than we see it ourselves. I suspect that much of our uncertainty is because what we’re really thinking is, “God isn’t doing things the way that I want Him to do them.” It’s like that old truism – most people are very happy to serve God, but only in an advisory capacity. So, being objective for a second, stop thinking about how it feels to you and ask yourself what it looks like to other people?