Fellow blogger Dave Phipson this week posted a most provocative piece entitled "no time for inspiration". In it, he bemoans a problem I suspect many, if not all of us experience - the critical shortage of hours in a day. He writes:
"For millennia 24 hours have been enough for the human race (including the necessary time for rest), but life in the 21st century demands more of the day that it is able to deliver. We have run into a bit of a problem with the physical laws that govern the Universe, and it wouldn't surprise me if there are people working in lab coats in some top secret location somewhere underground, trying to slow time, attempting to change the Universe to suit our needs"
I'd go a step further than Dave - more than a "bit of a problem", it would seem the Universe is actually thumbing it's nose at us, belittling us for our short-sightedness yet at the same time, almost challenging us to put things right.
The problem however is that our days have become thoroughly strip-mined by a seemingly innocuous yet apparently indispensible invention of the Industrial Age. (And it's not Facebook). We emerge from our slumber to feed it. We rise early to confront it. We mainline on caffeine just to cope with the pressures it exerts on us.
It is, of course, the humble "to-do" list.
When, some distant day in the future, the full and unabridged history of mankind is eventually compiled and catalogued, its pages will no doubt speak of the great evils and travesties committed by mankind - genocides, wars, pogroms and the like. To some degree, these will be countervailed by tales of great inventors, courageous humanitarians and wise leaders.
But perhaps the most tragic of its installments will attest to stuff that was actually meant to happen but which never did because well resourced and capable men and women fell slave to the most tyrannical of sceptres ever known - the to-do list. Indeed, will the record reflect a greater despot?
"When your outputs exceed your inputs your upkeep becomes your downfall"
I gave up drinking tea last week Thursday. I had learnt from a few different sources that caffeine (in the long run) can be pretty harmful to your brain and, not wishing to compromise any remnants of wit and wisdom, decided to make a clean sweep of it.
Well, at least just for Lent anyway...
All went well until Saturday when the first of many throbbing headaches descended...only to be joined by muscle aches and general ill-temper on Monday.
In all, I had anticipated two or three days of "withdrawals". Yet it was not until Saturday (yesterday) that I could truly say I was back to my cheerful self - a full 9 days after I'd begun my fast.
I wish I could say that I bore this burden with magnanimity. I wish I could say it had some spiritual spinoff. Yet it wasn't until today that I experienced some sort of illumination. It came after reading the great Christian thinker C.S. Lewis' thoughts on temptation:
"No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not be lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after 5 minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness - they have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight: and Christ, because he was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is the only man who knows to the full what temptation means - the only complete realist"
About the only thing I can say of my caffeine fast (so far) is that I have truly discovered - and in fact am continuing to discover - the hold which caffeine had over my life. I'd like to say therefore that in this particular area of temptation, I, (like Christ) have become a complete realist. But that would be taking it too far.
When all's said and done however, it has got me thinking about the presence of other toxins in my life. The secret, hidden toxins. The type which snype cunningly at dreams and nibble silently at the corners of destiny. Stuff I've so willingly acquiesced to that their presence is going almost un-noticed.
"The heart is deceitful above all things and incurable. Who can understand it"
Mercifully I have a savioiur who can do just that!
My wife and I - more my wife than I - have been dealing with the sobering reality that her parents are getting old and will soon need special care. The past few weeks have been filled with visits to old age homes and medical specialists, facing inconvenient facts and assessing a staggering variety of different care scenarios. It's really got me thinking about life and the fact that even the best of us have to get old.
When I was 18, I went to Switzerland to pay a final visit to my grandfather. I'd never gotten to know my maternal grandparents as well as my paternal ones and to this day think it a pity. Having suffered from Parkinson's Disease for much of his life as a senior he was now in the frail care unit of a local old age home.
Maybe I was young and naive - but I can still remember the incredible shock of being surrounded by all those frail people, many tortured by dementia; many not quite alive but not quite dead either.
What lingers was the memory of an old metal locker which held every earthly belonging that remained in my Grandfather's name. This was a man who had been a prominent and influential builder and as such, a respected member of his community. He and my grandmother had owned a lovely home in the beautiful Bernese Oberland, citizens of one of the world's most affluent societies. And while all this had at least given him decent care in his old age (something not many ageing people get in this country), all he had to show for it now was an old metal locker.
Now please don't hear what I'm not saying. The seeming pathos of his final days was in no way a reflection of the way he'd lived his life. Hans Stettler was a loving father and a loyal husband. A man of substance and integrity. Not only is he fondly remembered but his descendants are living in the legacy of a life well lived.
What I am saying is this: How differently would I live my life if I was less fixated on the so-called prime of my existence - and was instead, perhaps only just occasionally, haunted slightly by the sobering and countervailing reality of an impending twilight too? Was the writer of Ecclesiastes similarly troubled?
"Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, 'I find no pleasure in them'"
In, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button", F.Scott Fitzgerald depicts a character who is born as a wizened old man but who gradually gets younger as his life progresses. It's an intriguing concept and somewhat resonant with the message which scripture has for us who believe:
"Though outwardly we are wasting away, Inwardly we are being renewed day by day"
So sobering as old age can be, I find it amazing that in right relationship with God I can embrace my temporality, knowing that with every day closer to the grave, (and as such closer to eternity), I am actually getting younger and not older.
(Of course, when Hollywood got its hands on the Benjamin Button story it missed the point entirely. Instead of getting wiser as he "grew younger", our hero exhibits all the characteristics you'd expect from a callow and oversexed youth). How much more impact would the story have had if instead he'd grown in maturity and integrity as he approached his "birth"?
Still, the story is useful at many levels. Soren Kierkegaard said:
"Life can only be understood backwards - but should be lived forwards"
Check out this amusing advertisement for a gaming console - it is pretty light-hearted but still manages to support the point (though I don't agree with the final call to action!!)
As my wife and I begin to contend with the so-called "burden" of ageing and ailing parents I find myself more and more chastened by the reality that my own time on this planet is "but a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes". As the Psalmist wrote (Psalm 103)
"As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more"
But mercifully he does not stop there (and upon this we hang our hope)
"But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children - with those who keep his covenant and remember to obey his precepts"
When last were you intercepted by a piece of true artistic genius? I don't mean one which you deliberately sought out yourself - like a visit to an art gallery or an evening at the proms. I mean one which truly caught you off guard - ambushed you. Stopped you in your tracks.
It happened to me yesterday. What's slightly embarrassing is that it happened when I should have been somewhere else - at a wedding in fact - (don't point fingers at me, there were no formal invitations and it was only ever intended to be an under the radar affair).
More's the reason why it took me by surprise. I'd wondered down to the local market to buy Indian food for my wife (who went to the wedding) - a round trip of little more than 30 minutes. It's a nice little jaunt for a Saturday morning - a market with all the trimmings and trappings you'd expect out here in the country. Organic food. Fresh snacks. Hand made crafts. Buskers and Musicians.
*
Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" is not a song you hear regularly on the local radio station. In fact it's not a song you ever hear on local radio. The band, at least in these parts, is generally regarded as way too heavy. But that doesn't change the fact that the song is one of the greatest metal ballads ever recorded. Nor does it change the fact that the song's haunting acoustical intro is the work of one of Rock Music's top 10 guitarists - Kirk Hammet. In a world of cheap imitations, it's not a song you'd expect from a "paid by the hour" cover version artist. (What is it about cover versioners anyway? And why do their repertoires ALWAYS contain "Walk of Life" by Dire Straits and "Cocaine" by Eric Clapton?)
Yet here in this unassuming little corner of the North Coast, was a musician who's not only broken this mould but who has smashed it to smithereens. For those of you who've seen the movie "August Rush" you'll remember that mesmerising sequence when the young hero discovers a steel six stringer in an attic and, totally unschooled in classical method, attacks it as though it's a combination of a drum kit, a double base and a guitar.
Well it seems Ballito has its own August Rush. So enchanted was I by his unique sound and technique that my brief samoosa and roti incursion turned into a hour of spellbound musical rapture. In between songs I would show my appreciation, interact a bit and at one point, even filmed some of his work on my telephone.
But then, towards the end of my stay, I asked something I instantly regretted.
Can you play "Nothing Else Matters?"
In light of what I've written about this song, it was hardly your classic "Does a bear sh*t in the woods" question.
In fact, it was an episode of howling insanity! The careless work of a moment. I've never met a guitarist who could play this song, much less do justice to that hauntingly beautiful intro. So in asking, surely I was setting him up for almost certain failure?
"50/50" he replied, before striking a few speculative chords.
And then he started. If I'd closed my eyes I might well have been front row at any one of Metallica's live acts. He didn't just sound like Kirk Hammet. Kirk Hammet sounds like him! And this was his so-called "50/50" version!
(By the way, in the process, I defined a new genre of music myself. In recent years we've witnessed the rise of the air guitarist. In fact, there are global "air guitar" festivals (admittedly held in silly out of the way countries like Sweden and Finland). But if you'd been at the Litchi Orchard this Saturday, you'd have seen early signs of a new breed of muso - the air drummer)
Yet in the full hour I sat there - not a single person seemed to notice Phil. No-one took a photo. No-one threw loose change. No-one even seemed to comment. If ever there was a case of "pearls before pigs" this was it.
It reminded me of a verse from Ecclesiastes:
"I have seen slaves on horseback while princes go on foot like slaves"
