Hampstead is relatively quiet. From time to time we can hear the joyous screaming of Heath adventure, and the odd bird or two, but unlike most of London, there is this reassuring silence. But usually during the week, paths, alleyways, causeways, walkways and scenic housing routes, are plyed by the push chair, enclosed with either a mummy or a nanny from endless nations. Most smile, others discuss how they've become involved in the origami society at the local primary, and the majority laugh with the sense of wealth, a hearty laugh with suggestion aplenty. Whilst mothers carelessly trek their baby buggies and babies, through the forementioned paths, the nanny's apologetically stroll. They fear upsetting the rich Americans who constantly frequent the crepe stand, or the rich Arab wife who every so often contempously bosses around her driver post-Tesco.
One nanny was plucking blossom from the suburban tree. Beautiful. Pollen floating from it, visible gently through the air. The distraction was great however, that the baby, not her own, started to roll down the path. Treacherous potentially, the deep granite kerb awaiting, pram dropping and a woeful nanny later having to explain how the baby "fell". Fortunately it didn't. Everything was grand. Great in fact, fine, fantastic. I was able to be a hero for 5 minutes, sprinting as the baby was rolling.
There were three in the bed, and the little one said, "Roll over, roll over!", so they all rolled over and the one fell out.......................... you know the rest.
Wednesday, 20 June 2007
Saturday, 16 June 2007
Dear everybody, 
I thought I'd regurgitate my blog from now on. I'm going to try and be more forthcoming with posts. Hopefully I shall live up to that claim. If I don't, then I'm a very bad person.
If Jeffrey Archer, Theresa May MP, and a whole load of Welsh dudes can have a blog, then so can I!.....................
Wednesday, 27 December 2006
"You just like giraffe"
This post is actually taken from a huge email/newsletter I wrote during my gap year in Borneo throughout 2006. I think it comes from Easter time, and I probably wrote many things. Don't worry, it isn't "Joe did this" or "Joe did that", but more, well, you will see.
“You just like giraffe” Joannesarah aged 5
Joe is back, once again. I hear the cries of, “oh no, not another one”, and “what is he going to say this time?” Perhaps even, “how many pages of drivel must we read?” I’m afraid that at this stage, I can’t answer the two questions. I haven’t quite decided on what I’m going to write yet, but the kettle in my mind is certainly boiling over. Similarly, I’m not sure about how many pages - adjust the font size accordingly. A few people mentioned last time that it came back in code. I’m not sure what happens, occasionally it just takes out certain people. If so, just let me know, then I can re-send.
I’m eternally grateful for the emails I’ve received so far. It seemed that my last epistle, sparked some interest, and allowed for many of you to feel able to respond in the way you did. I really appreciate that, and I’m proud that people have challenged me yet further, and prompted me to carry on. This gives immense worth and purpose, not only to what I do, but also how I express it. I may come across as if I’m pursuing a crusade, and from time to time, the things that I write could be deemed controversial, and I understand that people on occasion, will not find peace and tranquility from my words. I hope people will understand the way in which a teenage mind develops when it is placed amidst unfamiliarity, immense difference and challenges of all kinds. Not just those that are experienced by myself, but how people close to you experience them. I don’t deny this air of self confidence oozing from my words, and I’m conscious of it developing into arrogance. It is now the dwindling, final year of being a teenager, and on occasion, I struggle to control myself in many ways. I still write with the naivety and immaturity that characterises the transition into adulthood, the idealism, naïve optimism, and child like state that we never discard (nor should we), but with new and exciting dimensions. We often find ourselves struggling, yet gaining twenty fold in the long run, where we make potentially the most crucial discovery through our experience - the right and duty to speak out, trusting our honesty and judgment in the hands and eyes of others.
Last time, I mentioned and talked about people, and the importance of others in what I do. It struck me, that it has taken until now to realise this, or in the very least, admit it. Particularly in the past year, I’ve come to know, that people, and a life centred on others, are fatally important, both to what I’m doing at the moment, but also in my future. An exceptional friend asked me, after the last newsletter, whether I’d “got used to the humour of laughing at things, not because they are funny, but because it’s how you bond with people, which is the more important thing.” His advice was faultless, and I owe a lot to him recently, for enhancing the way I see numerous things, and encouraging me subconsciously towards this, in ways even he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter that the old lady has no teeth, and strange looking ears, as when the smile is given, the moment is shared. It doesn’t matter either, that the head of the household has offered all four of his daughters for marriage in a language you don’t yet understand. The smile is either the acceptance, or the laughing at of the joke which initially shocked and stunned you. Similarly, when all the giggling, flirting and glancing coffee shop girls, giggle, flirt, and glance at the only white man sipping at his drink, and Mr Bean comes on the TV, and all the people turn around and give you the widest of smirks, it doesn’t matter.
Interaction with people can come from the simplest of things. It always frustrated me, how back home, I could sit on buses and trains, where nobody was talking or smiling. If I did smile, people either thought I wanted a fight or fancied them. I’m relieved it’s different here, where people don’t just sit, head in newspaper, sour faced and dull, and actually make the effort. On many occasions, success is from just sharing a coffee, some noodles, and a conversation that covers Malaysian politics, the Royal family, the gospel and Elton John’s wedding. I think it was in a film, which said that the world is split in two categories; those who can and those who can’t watch sunsets. We should separate, similarly, into those that can sit and drink coffee, either with others, or alone, just watching other people, and those who can’t. I’m proud of the fact, that I can watch sunsets, and sit drinking coffee, with or without people, as long as it focuses on people, and not my own personal depression.
I am still amazed, even awestruck by how people have taken me in. I mentioned before about being treated as a son, brother, uncle, nephew, you name it. It still continues! I was asked whether I’d made real friendships, ones that would last for life. It hasn’t taken me three or so months to realise this, I think it was obvious within a few weeks. In a very strange, but also in a very real sense, Miri feels like home. I returned from my trip to Mulu, which is mentioned later on, and I was thinking to myself – “I’m home now, this is where I live.” I dread to think come August when I have to leave, how I will feel. I just don’t think about it yet – still not close enough. The things that really make me feel at home, is people always feeling concerned for you, worrying about you, whether I’ve eaten, or if I’m lonely, homesick, lovesick, you name it. Sometimes it might feel a bit claustrophobic, but the majority of times, I can’t see it that way, and it only presents itself as kindness. It is common practice to call adult friends auntie and uncle. I remember doing this to close family friends before. Looking back, it now seems a shame that our culture doesn’t maintain this friendly, but respectful tradition. It’s also very useful if you’ve forgotten the person’s name! Nothing can beat feeling wanted, or looked after. A few weeks back it was my birthday, and a fantastic party was arranged for me at someone’s home, and the thought that went into that, about making me feel at home and not lonely, celebrating a special day, away from home, my parents, was incredible. The words people use also, often from experience, with many people having studied in the UK, US, Australia, about knowing how it feels, and that the privilege is also theirs, having in a sense, adopted a big white baby. I didn’t really expect to receive gifts, and cakes, and to make wishes which I won’t reveal, but my new sarong is great. I’d like to think that I’m now a boring and familiar face in my group of young friends, who laugh because I’m white, English, and stupid, who never stop caring. We even went for karaoke. I sung in Malay, you will have to ask how I performed, it’s actually the English cheese I had a problem with.
Many of us will believe, myself included, that what we do as individuals, is the main motivation behind our own personal potential and concern. It is true – everything we do has consequence, but shouldn’t greater importance be placed on the ways and excitement which our lives can impact together with others, on others, for others, and because of others? I’m not free from responsibility. I’m the biggest hypocrite, egocentric, self pitying, manic neurotic and coward when I feel like it. I’m not proud of such qualities, but similarly, I’m not ashamed either. It all comes back to this idea, of fearing our weaknesses and fearing how these appear to others, preferring ourselves more as lethargic mannequins, than the tragic, flawed and substantially honest humans we actually are, and should be grateful for being. A friend told me sometime last year, that I had ‘issues’. I reacted as anyone would, entering into a defensive, stuttering spasm of denial, whereby I defended my case. But the reason it hurt, was that in part she spoke truth. My feelings had obviously seeped out enough, that other’s had noticed, and the realisation of your vulnerability is stark. With hindsight, she had every right to raise concern, although admittedly it could have been phrased more appropriately. Maybe it’s because I’m a bloke, my pride was dented and human reactionary nature overcame me.
People are different (of course), but characters are universal, perhaps you have noticed too. I see in Malaysia and the UK, people with the same intentions, drive, passion, excuses, fundamentalism and doubt free nice guy image. I’ve watched the person that works selflessly with little reward, the family that nobody likes because they are burdensome, a tad strange, and inconvenient – but really, the most fantastic of people, those people that effortlessly come and smile, the people who can’t understand a word you say, either because you mumble, are foreign, or both, but still look at you with gladness and make you feel as if you’re the only person at that time. There are the jokers – who make fools purposely out of themselves for the honourable cause of allowing others to laugh. There are those who always offer an arm to help others to take communion if they struggle to walk or get there quickly. And naturally, there are always those on the other side of the spectrum. Enough said of them the better!
Another thing I’m noticing, and is actually causing me sleepless nights, are the two contrasting views upon one person. The most famous, controversial, thought provoking person, and purpose for my being in Malaysia – Jesus Christ. I’ve just started the Alpha course oddly enough, but that hasn’t prompted my thought, it’s been around for a year or so now, particularly as I was thinking about this adventure, and grilling myself about coming. Some people I have spoken to, not necessarily here, are adamant and feel “secure”, with a Christ who is meek, mild, weak, unassuming. Ok, so the man was kind, compassionate, decent, perfect – I understand, and accept that, but meek, mild, weak, unassuming, wet, and annoyingly nice? I ask questions such as, why do I follow this man, trust in this man, believe in this man, and not see him as a mythical figure, created by do-gooders, that doesn’t really exist. I don’t believe that as it happens, but I can understand why people do, when they hear some of the tripe which excretes from the mouths of “Christians”. Never have I even contemplated Christ and the Geoffrey Howe testimony of “being savaged by a dead sheep”, as one. Christ had balls, but the question is, do we? Naturally, certain biological limitations apply, and apologies for the crude statement, but I think you understand. I make no apologies for witnessing Christ as the table turning man of integrity, the compassionate warrior, heretic, establishment’s nightmare and terrorist for a righteous cause, the man who had the courage and love to touch the unclean, the outcasts, who ironically we demonise today, and the humble donkey riding carpenter. I shall still hold issue with the toffs and horsey girls, who turn their noses up at donkeys, saying “daddy, I’d much rather a pony you know.” If this aids understanding, then surely we should bring it forward, promote, and push such a message. But first, let us stop lashing a society of 2006 with pre-Christ judgment, a superiority pageant of belief, and the stoning which I thought we had ceased. Once again, I hope my non-Christian friends are not feeling uncomfortable. I’m not trying to be like the Pope, or sound like one of these moonie like, softly spoken, insincere wets, who pat you on the back in the middle of Sainsburys, and ask – “how are YOU with God?”
On many occasions we look upon various parts of the world, namely the Global South (Africa/SE Asia), as if they are unable to empathise with and promote such compassionate ideas, as if they still are insensitive enough to believe all sinners need a good old stoning, “for everyone who curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death.” The problem lies, not with those who are led by it, but by the doctrine that force feeds and chains them. Are we fearful of God, or the “dark satanic mill”? Why is it that we all insist on making a clear separation between British, Malaysian, Ugandan, Indian and Swahili Christians? Even in mission, races are petted, patronised, and spoon fed. Imagine the scenario, where all we do is fuss about the cleanliness of the water, the food that doesn’t suit the stomach, too much rain, too much heat, and calling everybody dear, because they look oh so quaint in their traditional dress. It is very sad that culture and heritage becomes a mission petting zoo for peering Christians and their huge cameras! With either, people like me, or their ‘own kind’, in telling people what to believe and how to believe, we kill personal, cultural and unique relationships with God, but also with our history and each other. These are the differences which I applaud and encourage, but when it comes to moral foundations, being Britsh, Western, European or whatever, isn’t a reminder that I know best or my belief is superior. Why am I any different? The other argument is why are non-Christian societies any different either? Moral foundations aren’t solely Christian. We often preach and cultivate ideas that other faiths are backward, without order, justice, peace and kindness. What is stopping my Muslim, Sikh, Buddhist and Jewish contemporaries, holding the same views as myself? I received some uncomfortable advice before I left, from this woman who I didn’t know from Adam. She told me: “Young man, what we need to do is sort those pesky Muslims out. That’s what Christians ought to do, and seeing as you’re going to Malaysia – you can do it.” I’m awfully sorry, but I haven’t fulfilled her desire on two counts. Morally – because I don’t believe in force feeding a message of conversion, and about how great the Church is, and legally, because in preaching to Malay’s, there is potential in me being investigated and arrested.
One of our common discussions always concerns the phrase ‘a personal relationship with God.’ Maybe it isn’t healthy, and people may pick up on this, that a few months into a mission based trip, I’m questioning if I have one. What I mean here is, however, that sometimes we need to question, and even with the best will in the world and soundest of personalities, the question crops up somehow and in some form. In truth before I left, I was angry with God. There were times when I was inclined more to punching him than praising him. There were questions I was asking him; the usual, why do you take people away, why are you sending me away, why am I placed in situations where independently I struggle with the conflicts of mind, heart and soul, why the disagreements, the misinterpretations, misunderstandings, the bad exam results, university rejections, and friendships that fell to the vultures? Why, why, why, why, why? Prayer felt more of a battlefield, or a queenie argument, as if God and I were this old married couple where one was nagging endlessly, and the other was gauging the hearing aid selectively, but also an unusually honest display of faith and feeling. I wonder if any of your faces have dropped at hearing this, but doesn’t it make it more exciting? In many ways, and I know I’m never the only one who has felt like this, I felt let down. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, but unfortunately I did, and it took some overcoming. I had to stop thinking and acting selfishly. Being here, allows perspective to creep in amazingly, and there comes a point where something strikes you, and tells you to stop whinging, worrying and wetting yourself over all this – it’s really all very pathetic. There are more important things to worry about, people in far worse situations, and enduring more than I ever could, or am likely to. Worries are stripped off automatically when things are placed into perspective, in context and in realism. It’s unfortunate that drastic things sometimes have to change the way we see things, but when they do, they are a welcome blessing in hindsight.
Some of the most detrimental things we can do, when it comes to situations like these, let’s say the feeling of losing faith, helplessness, what’s our worth, is to use comparison with others to define our faith and ourselves. There are times, amongst various situations, where we believe ourselves to be inadequate against others. I asked the question, “does being a Christian, mean I have to endlessly hand clap and raise my arms, close my eyes, head tilted, to ‘Thine Be The Glory’? The answer was quite obviously no, but watching everyone else, I was asking – “why am I unable to do this, am I third rate?” When people are muttering things in prayer, which I would define as garbage, whilst I stand there bemused and frowning, am I going about it the right way? But of course, the biggest dilemma which I face, is a Christianity of two contrasting faces, where one (to me) is smug, patronising, sinister and botoxed, and the other is underrated, scarred by honour, wrinkled by perseverance, yet still smiling. When I see these two faces, face to face, in one church, one diocese, one country, one communion, I find it unbearable. Where the language of fear, dictation, and routine, encompasses and hoodwinks who we are and what we believe, we have a problem, and similarly where this language alienates, extradites and cripples the lives of genuinely good people, whose only vice is one where we simply don’t agree, the problem is ours. I don’t know about you, but when churches become God as opposed to Godly, believing they have a right to dictate the lives of their people under the guidance of Orwellian holiness, where “all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others,” I believe there is no future. Whether we are Martin Luther, Henry VIII, Adolf Hitler, Cliff Richard or Joe Willits, we all twist and manipulate a faith to minister to our desires and motives. I understand this, and it is wonderful to see great variation in faith, but the difference is that sometimes our causes are great and noble, and sometimes they merely stimulate our egos, allowing bad thought and backward futures to enter in. Does everybody always go to church to worship God, or to gloat, judge and control, as the church is the only place that will accept such grace killers? The truth is that thankfully this isn’t the whole story. This isn’t the situation in Miri, Penkridge, or plenty of other places; this isn’t always what happens on a daily basis. Perhaps I’m moaning unnecessarily, and this monthly newsletter is going straight to my head, but if I do consider myself on any kind of crusade, it won’t be about evangelism, conversion, and ramming scripture down the throats of those damned sinners, but a crusade which is centred more on allowing the freedom of people when it comes to living, loving and believing. We must remember that we are dealing with people, not cattle, theories, books or inflatable dolls, and the consequence of word and action, continues to grow. Do we allow it to stagnate or flourish?
I don’t want a reputation of all talk, so when I return – test, interrogate, challenge and work my little bottom off. The truth is, I haven’t been that active at home, I could have done more, contributed more, but I remained relatively unwilling and frightened. This is one of the reasons I talk so much and confirm so little, but another is that I don’t know the Bible that well. I can’t fire scripture at you like Dot Cotton, or the crazy Wolverhampton preacher man. How many animals? Adam and …..? What virgin? Is David and Goliath based upon Jack and the Beanstalk?
On a slightly more serious note, I mentioned hand, foot, mouth disease last time (HFM), unrelated to the cattle one (sorry), the kindergartens, and some year groups at primary schools, youth groups, have been closed until today. It has been quite serious, hitting the whole region, like I said, and it is always made more difficult, seeing as it is young children being affected, either by the disease or such interruption. Thankfully, it has more or less been sorted out now, apart from in some rural areas, but it has been quite tough for the area, not only dealing with it, but witnessing it also.
Often music has been at the centre of what I’m doing, as I’ve said many times. It never gets boring, and if it did, I think we should all just pack up and go home. Without it, I would probably become a cabbage. There were some visitors in Miri, from the theological college in Singapore, who combined mission and music perfectly. How appropriate don’t you think? They performed a praise and worship concert, here at St. Colomba’s, which was a combination of songs from across the world, of excitement, hardship, slavery, and hope. What we have to do is equip and encourage people to be fearless and passionate, particularly about music. The two ladies who came, discovered that I was a violinist, and asked if I would play alongside them; a harp, piano and voices. Initially it was quite a daunting challenge, but I went along with it, and discovered that I really loved it, and my sight reading and ear work, ain’t all that bad! It was encouraging to have some great reports about my playing afterwards, and even an invitation to go to Singapore.
I’ve found another new friend out here, is lives with me in my house – this 2 inch gecko. He would be 3 inches, were it not for the fact he only has one third of a tail, but growing back. It’s difficult trying to think of a name for him, and I keep trying and trying. Names escape me. I don’t think I can even remember what my friends are called, let alone how they sound! I see my new friend everywhere at the moment, all over the place. When I’m showering he jumps around, avoiding the flowing water and soap suds, and all the geckos make this continuing clicking sound which feels quite homely. I considered catching him, but then had a rethink, and thought, no, he should run free! So as we speak, he’s doing just that. There are even moments when I talk to him – he really does know everything!
I spent one of the weekends at Mulu national park. Some of you may have seen David Attenborough, where his documentary consists of bats, guano and caves. I went with John, my fellow white man in Borneo, and his dad who is the coordinator of my programme. It was great to not only catch up, but take yourself out of the situation for a time, where you think nobody will know you, and that you can just blend in with the rest of the traveling type and sun burnt tourists. It so happened, that I was being spied on, in a friendly way, and my every move was being sent via text from the jungle. “Joe smiled” – a somewhat rare occurrence, or perhaps “Joe laughed” – even rarer. The caves are nothing short of amazing, and I was able to rekindle my love for the jungle, rediscovering the moment of my childhood, where I wanted to be David Attenborough, or David Bellamy, or at least write to Jim’ll Fixit, ask to meet them, get the stunning bling, and have a puff on that cigar! Others can back me up on this, but my wide eyes were doing overdrive, watching the butterflies, funny, hairy caterpillars, and all the other creeping things. Even the cicadas fascinated me. Their intense whining, similar to that of a piglet being taken from the sow, (remember Babe?) was hurting my ears, but I wanted to stand there, allow the things to screech and hit me. Like a moth to the flame, I think they are attracted to the whites of your eyes. Joe just stands by the river and takes it; it even feels quite sharp when they fly into you. Possibly like someone grabbing the ball of a mouse, and pounding it at your shoulder. It’s great to walk through the caves, gaze at the rock formation, whilst all the tourists moan and tut about the smell of bat droppings, like we do when the farmers have been muck spreading. In one of the caves, they encourage you to just get your hands right in, and pick up these worms from the bat droppings, and if you squeeze them a little, they start to glow. Magic! Very few people will do this though, some even complain about the rain, in the rainforest for God’s sake. How inconsiderate that it is raining! I don’t think I’m a typical example, but I’d actually quite like to sacrifice the clothes, and allow nature’s shower to allow me to become free and unashamed. Just a thought, not a hobby.
It may be time for me to wrap up this month’s edition. I’d just like to let everyone know that I’m missing you all. Despite what the critics say, this is sincere. Occasionally, I miss the soothing and comforting tones of the Midland accent, the familiarity, owamya’s and self mocking. Wolverhampton, Stafford, Walsall and Birmingham may appear as tedious, grunting old biddies compared to Borneo and a host of other ‘more interesting places’, but whatever is said, and whatever I’ve said, their humility, lack of pretence and resilient Englishness is in the blood and we remain tied to them wherever we are and whatever we become, defending them, and taking pride in them. I really hope that people shall once again let me know what they think, and respond to this however they wish. Let me know of all the news, and whatever is going on, remember that you are all in my thoughts.
Stay safe!
Joe
“You just like giraffe” Joannesarah aged 5
Joe is back, once again. I hear the cries of, “oh no, not another one”, and “what is he going to say this time?” Perhaps even, “how many pages of drivel must we read?” I’m afraid that at this stage, I can’t answer the two questions. I haven’t quite decided on what I’m going to write yet, but the kettle in my mind is certainly boiling over. Similarly, I’m not sure about how many pages - adjust the font size accordingly. A few people mentioned last time that it came back in code. I’m not sure what happens, occasionally it just takes out certain people. If so, just let me know, then I can re-send.
I’m eternally grateful for the emails I’ve received so far. It seemed that my last epistle, sparked some interest, and allowed for many of you to feel able to respond in the way you did. I really appreciate that, and I’m proud that people have challenged me yet further, and prompted me to carry on. This gives immense worth and purpose, not only to what I do, but also how I express it. I may come across as if I’m pursuing a crusade, and from time to time, the things that I write could be deemed controversial, and I understand that people on occasion, will not find peace and tranquility from my words. I hope people will understand the way in which a teenage mind develops when it is placed amidst unfamiliarity, immense difference and challenges of all kinds. Not just those that are experienced by myself, but how people close to you experience them. I don’t deny this air of self confidence oozing from my words, and I’m conscious of it developing into arrogance. It is now the dwindling, final year of being a teenager, and on occasion, I struggle to control myself in many ways. I still write with the naivety and immaturity that characterises the transition into adulthood, the idealism, naïve optimism, and child like state that we never discard (nor should we), but with new and exciting dimensions. We often find ourselves struggling, yet gaining twenty fold in the long run, where we make potentially the most crucial discovery through our experience - the right and duty to speak out, trusting our honesty and judgment in the hands and eyes of others.
Last time, I mentioned and talked about people, and the importance of others in what I do. It struck me, that it has taken until now to realise this, or in the very least, admit it. Particularly in the past year, I’ve come to know, that people, and a life centred on others, are fatally important, both to what I’m doing at the moment, but also in my future. An exceptional friend asked me, after the last newsletter, whether I’d “got used to the humour of laughing at things, not because they are funny, but because it’s how you bond with people, which is the more important thing.” His advice was faultless, and I owe a lot to him recently, for enhancing the way I see numerous things, and encouraging me subconsciously towards this, in ways even he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter that the old lady has no teeth, and strange looking ears, as when the smile is given, the moment is shared. It doesn’t matter either, that the head of the household has offered all four of his daughters for marriage in a language you don’t yet understand. The smile is either the acceptance, or the laughing at of the joke which initially shocked and stunned you. Similarly, when all the giggling, flirting and glancing coffee shop girls, giggle, flirt, and glance at the only white man sipping at his drink, and Mr Bean comes on the TV, and all the people turn around and give you the widest of smirks, it doesn’t matter.
Interaction with people can come from the simplest of things. It always frustrated me, how back home, I could sit on buses and trains, where nobody was talking or smiling. If I did smile, people either thought I wanted a fight or fancied them. I’m relieved it’s different here, where people don’t just sit, head in newspaper, sour faced and dull, and actually make the effort. On many occasions, success is from just sharing a coffee, some noodles, and a conversation that covers Malaysian politics, the Royal family, the gospel and Elton John’s wedding. I think it was in a film, which said that the world is split in two categories; those who can and those who can’t watch sunsets. We should separate, similarly, into those that can sit and drink coffee, either with others, or alone, just watching other people, and those who can’t. I’m proud of the fact, that I can watch sunsets, and sit drinking coffee, with or without people, as long as it focuses on people, and not my own personal depression.
I am still amazed, even awestruck by how people have taken me in. I mentioned before about being treated as a son, brother, uncle, nephew, you name it. It still continues! I was asked whether I’d made real friendships, ones that would last for life. It hasn’t taken me three or so months to realise this, I think it was obvious within a few weeks. In a very strange, but also in a very real sense, Miri feels like home. I returned from my trip to Mulu, which is mentioned later on, and I was thinking to myself – “I’m home now, this is where I live.” I dread to think come August when I have to leave, how I will feel. I just don’t think about it yet – still not close enough. The things that really make me feel at home, is people always feeling concerned for you, worrying about you, whether I’ve eaten, or if I’m lonely, homesick, lovesick, you name it. Sometimes it might feel a bit claustrophobic, but the majority of times, I can’t see it that way, and it only presents itself as kindness. It is common practice to call adult friends auntie and uncle. I remember doing this to close family friends before. Looking back, it now seems a shame that our culture doesn’t maintain this friendly, but respectful tradition. It’s also very useful if you’ve forgotten the person’s name! Nothing can beat feeling wanted, or looked after. A few weeks back it was my birthday, and a fantastic party was arranged for me at someone’s home, and the thought that went into that, about making me feel at home and not lonely, celebrating a special day, away from home, my parents, was incredible. The words people use also, often from experience, with many people having studied in the UK, US, Australia, about knowing how it feels, and that the privilege is also theirs, having in a sense, adopted a big white baby. I didn’t really expect to receive gifts, and cakes, and to make wishes which I won’t reveal, but my new sarong is great. I’d like to think that I’m now a boring and familiar face in my group of young friends, who laugh because I’m white, English, and stupid, who never stop caring. We even went for karaoke. I sung in Malay, you will have to ask how I performed, it’s actually the English cheese I had a problem with.
Many of us will believe, myself included, that what we do as individuals, is the main motivation behind our own personal potential and concern. It is true – everything we do has consequence, but shouldn’t greater importance be placed on the ways and excitement which our lives can impact together with others, on others, for others, and because of others? I’m not free from responsibility. I’m the biggest hypocrite, egocentric, self pitying, manic neurotic and coward when I feel like it. I’m not proud of such qualities, but similarly, I’m not ashamed either. It all comes back to this idea, of fearing our weaknesses and fearing how these appear to others, preferring ourselves more as lethargic mannequins, than the tragic, flawed and substantially honest humans we actually are, and should be grateful for being. A friend told me sometime last year, that I had ‘issues’. I reacted as anyone would, entering into a defensive, stuttering spasm of denial, whereby I defended my case. But the reason it hurt, was that in part she spoke truth. My feelings had obviously seeped out enough, that other’s had noticed, and the realisation of your vulnerability is stark. With hindsight, she had every right to raise concern, although admittedly it could have been phrased more appropriately. Maybe it’s because I’m a bloke, my pride was dented and human reactionary nature overcame me.
People are different (of course), but characters are universal, perhaps you have noticed too. I see in Malaysia and the UK, people with the same intentions, drive, passion, excuses, fundamentalism and doubt free nice guy image. I’ve watched the person that works selflessly with little reward, the family that nobody likes because they are burdensome, a tad strange, and inconvenient – but really, the most fantastic of people, those people that effortlessly come and smile, the people who can’t understand a word you say, either because you mumble, are foreign, or both, but still look at you with gladness and make you feel as if you’re the only person at that time. There are the jokers – who make fools purposely out of themselves for the honourable cause of allowing others to laugh. There are those who always offer an arm to help others to take communion if they struggle to walk or get there quickly. And naturally, there are always those on the other side of the spectrum. Enough said of them the better!
Another thing I’m noticing, and is actually causing me sleepless nights, are the two contrasting views upon one person. The most famous, controversial, thought provoking person, and purpose for my being in Malaysia – Jesus Christ. I’ve just started the Alpha course oddly enough, but that hasn’t prompted my thought, it’s been around for a year or so now, particularly as I was thinking about this adventure, and grilling myself about coming. Some people I have spoken to, not necessarily here, are adamant and feel “secure”, with a Christ who is meek, mild, weak, unassuming. Ok, so the man was kind, compassionate, decent, perfect – I understand, and accept that, but meek, mild, weak, unassuming, wet, and annoyingly nice? I ask questions such as, why do I follow this man, trust in this man, believe in this man, and not see him as a mythical figure, created by do-gooders, that doesn’t really exist. I don’t believe that as it happens, but I can understand why people do, when they hear some of the tripe which excretes from the mouths of “Christians”. Never have I even contemplated Christ and the Geoffrey Howe testimony of “being savaged by a dead sheep”, as one. Christ had balls, but the question is, do we? Naturally, certain biological limitations apply, and apologies for the crude statement, but I think you understand. I make no apologies for witnessing Christ as the table turning man of integrity, the compassionate warrior, heretic, establishment’s nightmare and terrorist for a righteous cause, the man who had the courage and love to touch the unclean, the outcasts, who ironically we demonise today, and the humble donkey riding carpenter. I shall still hold issue with the toffs and horsey girls, who turn their noses up at donkeys, saying “daddy, I’d much rather a pony you know.” If this aids understanding, then surely we should bring it forward, promote, and push such a message. But first, let us stop lashing a society of 2006 with pre-Christ judgment, a superiority pageant of belief, and the stoning which I thought we had ceased. Once again, I hope my non-Christian friends are not feeling uncomfortable. I’m not trying to be like the Pope, or sound like one of these moonie like, softly spoken, insincere wets, who pat you on the back in the middle of Sainsburys, and ask – “how are YOU with God?”
On many occasions we look upon various parts of the world, namely the Global South (Africa/SE Asia), as if they are unable to empathise with and promote such compassionate ideas, as if they still are insensitive enough to believe all sinners need a good old stoning, “for everyone who curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death.” The problem lies, not with those who are led by it, but by the doctrine that force feeds and chains them. Are we fearful of God, or the “dark satanic mill”? Why is it that we all insist on making a clear separation between British, Malaysian, Ugandan, Indian and Swahili Christians? Even in mission, races are petted, patronised, and spoon fed. Imagine the scenario, where all we do is fuss about the cleanliness of the water, the food that doesn’t suit the stomach, too much rain, too much heat, and calling everybody dear, because they look oh so quaint in their traditional dress. It is very sad that culture and heritage becomes a mission petting zoo for peering Christians and their huge cameras! With either, people like me, or their ‘own kind’, in telling people what to believe and how to believe, we kill personal, cultural and unique relationships with God, but also with our history and each other. These are the differences which I applaud and encourage, but when it comes to moral foundations, being Britsh, Western, European or whatever, isn’t a reminder that I know best or my belief is superior. Why am I any different? The other argument is why are non-Christian societies any different either? Moral foundations aren’t solely Christian. We often preach and cultivate ideas that other faiths are backward, without order, justice, peace and kindness. What is stopping my Muslim, Sikh, Buddhist and Jewish contemporaries, holding the same views as myself? I received some uncomfortable advice before I left, from this woman who I didn’t know from Adam. She told me: “Young man, what we need to do is sort those pesky Muslims out. That’s what Christians ought to do, and seeing as you’re going to Malaysia – you can do it.” I’m awfully sorry, but I haven’t fulfilled her desire on two counts. Morally – because I don’t believe in force feeding a message of conversion, and about how great the Church is, and legally, because in preaching to Malay’s, there is potential in me being investigated and arrested.
One of our common discussions always concerns the phrase ‘a personal relationship with God.’ Maybe it isn’t healthy, and people may pick up on this, that a few months into a mission based trip, I’m questioning if I have one. What I mean here is, however, that sometimes we need to question, and even with the best will in the world and soundest of personalities, the question crops up somehow and in some form. In truth before I left, I was angry with God. There were times when I was inclined more to punching him than praising him. There were questions I was asking him; the usual, why do you take people away, why are you sending me away, why am I placed in situations where independently I struggle with the conflicts of mind, heart and soul, why the disagreements, the misinterpretations, misunderstandings, the bad exam results, university rejections, and friendships that fell to the vultures? Why, why, why, why, why? Prayer felt more of a battlefield, or a queenie argument, as if God and I were this old married couple where one was nagging endlessly, and the other was gauging the hearing aid selectively, but also an unusually honest display of faith and feeling. I wonder if any of your faces have dropped at hearing this, but doesn’t it make it more exciting? In many ways, and I know I’m never the only one who has felt like this, I felt let down. I knew I shouldn’t feel this way, but unfortunately I did, and it took some overcoming. I had to stop thinking and acting selfishly. Being here, allows perspective to creep in amazingly, and there comes a point where something strikes you, and tells you to stop whinging, worrying and wetting yourself over all this – it’s really all very pathetic. There are more important things to worry about, people in far worse situations, and enduring more than I ever could, or am likely to. Worries are stripped off automatically when things are placed into perspective, in context and in realism. It’s unfortunate that drastic things sometimes have to change the way we see things, but when they do, they are a welcome blessing in hindsight.
Some of the most detrimental things we can do, when it comes to situations like these, let’s say the feeling of losing faith, helplessness, what’s our worth, is to use comparison with others to define our faith and ourselves. There are times, amongst various situations, where we believe ourselves to be inadequate against others. I asked the question, “does being a Christian, mean I have to endlessly hand clap and raise my arms, close my eyes, head tilted, to ‘Thine Be The Glory’? The answer was quite obviously no, but watching everyone else, I was asking – “why am I unable to do this, am I third rate?” When people are muttering things in prayer, which I would define as garbage, whilst I stand there bemused and frowning, am I going about it the right way? But of course, the biggest dilemma which I face, is a Christianity of two contrasting faces, where one (to me) is smug, patronising, sinister and botoxed, and the other is underrated, scarred by honour, wrinkled by perseverance, yet still smiling. When I see these two faces, face to face, in one church, one diocese, one country, one communion, I find it unbearable. Where the language of fear, dictation, and routine, encompasses and hoodwinks who we are and what we believe, we have a problem, and similarly where this language alienates, extradites and cripples the lives of genuinely good people, whose only vice is one where we simply don’t agree, the problem is ours. I don’t know about you, but when churches become God as opposed to Godly, believing they have a right to dictate the lives of their people under the guidance of Orwellian holiness, where “all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others,” I believe there is no future. Whether we are Martin Luther, Henry VIII, Adolf Hitler, Cliff Richard or Joe Willits, we all twist and manipulate a faith to minister to our desires and motives. I understand this, and it is wonderful to see great variation in faith, but the difference is that sometimes our causes are great and noble, and sometimes they merely stimulate our egos, allowing bad thought and backward futures to enter in. Does everybody always go to church to worship God, or to gloat, judge and control, as the church is the only place that will accept such grace killers? The truth is that thankfully this isn’t the whole story. This isn’t the situation in Miri, Penkridge, or plenty of other places; this isn’t always what happens on a daily basis. Perhaps I’m moaning unnecessarily, and this monthly newsletter is going straight to my head, but if I do consider myself on any kind of crusade, it won’t be about evangelism, conversion, and ramming scripture down the throats of those damned sinners, but a crusade which is centred more on allowing the freedom of people when it comes to living, loving and believing. We must remember that we are dealing with people, not cattle, theories, books or inflatable dolls, and the consequence of word and action, continues to grow. Do we allow it to stagnate or flourish?
I don’t want a reputation of all talk, so when I return – test, interrogate, challenge and work my little bottom off. The truth is, I haven’t been that active at home, I could have done more, contributed more, but I remained relatively unwilling and frightened. This is one of the reasons I talk so much and confirm so little, but another is that I don’t know the Bible that well. I can’t fire scripture at you like Dot Cotton, or the crazy Wolverhampton preacher man. How many animals? Adam and …..? What virgin? Is David and Goliath based upon Jack and the Beanstalk?
On a slightly more serious note, I mentioned hand, foot, mouth disease last time (HFM), unrelated to the cattle one (sorry), the kindergartens, and some year groups at primary schools, youth groups, have been closed until today. It has been quite serious, hitting the whole region, like I said, and it is always made more difficult, seeing as it is young children being affected, either by the disease or such interruption. Thankfully, it has more or less been sorted out now, apart from in some rural areas, but it has been quite tough for the area, not only dealing with it, but witnessing it also.
Often music has been at the centre of what I’m doing, as I’ve said many times. It never gets boring, and if it did, I think we should all just pack up and go home. Without it, I would probably become a cabbage. There were some visitors in Miri, from the theological college in Singapore, who combined mission and music perfectly. How appropriate don’t you think? They performed a praise and worship concert, here at St. Colomba’s, which was a combination of songs from across the world, of excitement, hardship, slavery, and hope. What we have to do is equip and encourage people to be fearless and passionate, particularly about music. The two ladies who came, discovered that I was a violinist, and asked if I would play alongside them; a harp, piano and voices. Initially it was quite a daunting challenge, but I went along with it, and discovered that I really loved it, and my sight reading and ear work, ain’t all that bad! It was encouraging to have some great reports about my playing afterwards, and even an invitation to go to Singapore.
I’ve found another new friend out here, is lives with me in my house – this 2 inch gecko. He would be 3 inches, were it not for the fact he only has one third of a tail, but growing back. It’s difficult trying to think of a name for him, and I keep trying and trying. Names escape me. I don’t think I can even remember what my friends are called, let alone how they sound! I see my new friend everywhere at the moment, all over the place. When I’m showering he jumps around, avoiding the flowing water and soap suds, and all the geckos make this continuing clicking sound which feels quite homely. I considered catching him, but then had a rethink, and thought, no, he should run free! So as we speak, he’s doing just that. There are even moments when I talk to him – he really does know everything!
I spent one of the weekends at Mulu national park. Some of you may have seen David Attenborough, where his documentary consists of bats, guano and caves. I went with John, my fellow white man in Borneo, and his dad who is the coordinator of my programme. It was great to not only catch up, but take yourself out of the situation for a time, where you think nobody will know you, and that you can just blend in with the rest of the traveling type and sun burnt tourists. It so happened, that I was being spied on, in a friendly way, and my every move was being sent via text from the jungle. “Joe smiled” – a somewhat rare occurrence, or perhaps “Joe laughed” – even rarer. The caves are nothing short of amazing, and I was able to rekindle my love for the jungle, rediscovering the moment of my childhood, where I wanted to be David Attenborough, or David Bellamy, or at least write to Jim’ll Fixit, ask to meet them, get the stunning bling, and have a puff on that cigar! Others can back me up on this, but my wide eyes were doing overdrive, watching the butterflies, funny, hairy caterpillars, and all the other creeping things. Even the cicadas fascinated me. Their intense whining, similar to that of a piglet being taken from the sow, (remember Babe?) was hurting my ears, but I wanted to stand there, allow the things to screech and hit me. Like a moth to the flame, I think they are attracted to the whites of your eyes. Joe just stands by the river and takes it; it even feels quite sharp when they fly into you. Possibly like someone grabbing the ball of a mouse, and pounding it at your shoulder. It’s great to walk through the caves, gaze at the rock formation, whilst all the tourists moan and tut about the smell of bat droppings, like we do when the farmers have been muck spreading. In one of the caves, they encourage you to just get your hands right in, and pick up these worms from the bat droppings, and if you squeeze them a little, they start to glow. Magic! Very few people will do this though, some even complain about the rain, in the rainforest for God’s sake. How inconsiderate that it is raining! I don’t think I’m a typical example, but I’d actually quite like to sacrifice the clothes, and allow nature’s shower to allow me to become free and unashamed. Just a thought, not a hobby.
It may be time for me to wrap up this month’s edition. I’d just like to let everyone know that I’m missing you all. Despite what the critics say, this is sincere. Occasionally, I miss the soothing and comforting tones of the Midland accent, the familiarity, owamya’s and self mocking. Wolverhampton, Stafford, Walsall and Birmingham may appear as tedious, grunting old biddies compared to Borneo and a host of other ‘more interesting places’, but whatever is said, and whatever I’ve said, their humility, lack of pretence and resilient Englishness is in the blood and we remain tied to them wherever we are and whatever we become, defending them, and taking pride in them. I really hope that people shall once again let me know what they think, and respond to this however they wish. Let me know of all the news, and whatever is going on, remember that you are all in my thoughts.
Stay safe!
Joe
Friday, 22 December 2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
