Outside the guest house where I stay in North Wales there is a large model yacht pond. Few but enthusiasts seem to use it for sailing model boats, but I have long itched to own a remote controlled one and sail it on this expanse of water. Being able to direct it from the shore, I would be safe in the knowledge that it couldn’t be becalmed in the middle, unable to be retrieved!
I had little idea, though, what it would be like to be at the controls of such a craft. One day recently on a visit to the Channel Islands I spotted my chance to find out. You could hire a model boat and its controls for a minimum of 15 minutes and sail it on a pleasure lake in one of the local gardens.
It came as a surprise how stressful the experience was. The man whose boat it was warned me not to sail it too close to the edge of the lake or anywhere near any overhanging branches where it could become entangled. Even with a small craft like that, backing out of trouble took several agonising seconds as the propellers cancelled their forward momentum and went into reverse. During that quarter of an hour of achieved ambition the danger of getting the boat snagged up in some obstacle was a constant worry. Staying well clear of all the pitfalls, there was little room for manoeuvre! The whole experience became a grim battle to both keep the boat safe and yet live out at least something of a spirit of adventure. Fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity.
As a result I will be much less inclined to rush out and buy a remote-controlled model boat when my next visit to North Wales approaches. There is a strong sense of “been there, done that” … and been left underwhelmed by the experience. What a disappointment! My long-nursed sense of ambition has fallen totally flat.
How should I react to this? Perhaps I should take a lesson from good old King Solomon in the Bible book of Ecclesiastes. He had a bash at everything that he thought might give him a sense of fulfilment - pleasure through acquiring wisdom; pleasure through wine, women and building projects; pleasure through a little bit of foolishness. His conclusion was the same for all of them:
So I hated life, because what is done under the sun was grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving after wind. I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to the man who will come after me, and who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master of all for which I toiled and used my wisdom under the sun. This also is vanity (Ecclesiastes 2:17-19, ESV).
Solomon could respond in a number of different ways. He could abandon himself to despair and cynicism. On a quick reading of Ecclesiastes it may seem he has done just that. Yet his way is to take a new and more constructive approach. Right at the end of the book, he sees that everything has significance because it comes under the judging eye of God. It is therefore worth living in a way that God judges to be worthy.
“His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master’” (Luke 17:10).
Monday 26 September 2016
Sunday 11 September 2016
Returning Home
I am preparing to pay a visit to my home island of Guernsey, Channel Islands, this week. The event brings into play a strange set of feelings.
On the one hand, Guernsey is special because it is my birthplace and the place where I grew up. My parents and I left there in 1971 when I was 18. Like many people I have become more patriotic since my move than when I was a resident! I still cheerfully stick up for Guernsey - especially when the traditional rivalry between Guernsey and Jersey comes into play.
On the other hand, the act of moving on is two-sided. I have moved on, but so has the island. Of course, much of the landscape will be familiar and so will many of the buildings - give or take the successive coats of paint each will have received in the past 45 years. Even among the people I knew, a fair few are still around.
I value lasting friendships, especially with island Christians. It was on the island that I came to know Jesus as my Saviour, with their help. During the Spring before I left, I went to a conference for workers with young people. An awkward so-and-so at the time, I let it be known that I thought prayer and conversion were childish ideas. A minister rounded on me - it was the first time anyone had ever really challenged me - and pointed out that my thinking was just like any old Western philosophy; I did not think the way God’s word, the Bible, did. I felt humbled, indeed crushed.
Down-to-earth believers in the Deaf Christian Fellowship that my mother attended had already been breaking down my resistance for some time. Their homespun truths were filling in some of the tragic gaps there were in my understanding. Their simple remedy for unbelief was to trust in the shed blood of Jesus Christ and accept Him as your Lord and Saviour. I knew I would have no peace until I did just that. It was a turning point. As well as being born there, I was now born again there!
Thus I indirectly owe to Guernsey my place in heaven. I’ve been glad to go back from time to time and celebrate that with believing friends. Yet in other respects my status now is that of just another visitor from the Mainland. No doubt one can spend a very happy retirement in Guernsey, but it would be quite impracticable now for me to consider putting down roots there once more. Home is elsewhere.
A Psalm speaks of the specialness of Zion to God’s people:
On the holy mount stands the city he founded;
the LORD loves the gates of Zion
more than all the dwelling places of Jacob.
Glorious things of you are spoken, O city of God.
Among those who know me I mention Rahab and Babylon;
behold, Philistia and Tyre, with Cush —
“This one was born there,” they say.
And of Zion it shall be said,
“This one and that one were born in her”;
for the Most High himself will establish her.
The LORD records as he registers the peoples,
“This one was born there.”
Singers and dancers alike say,
“All my springs are in you.”
Psalm 87 ESV
It is easier to settle in some places on earth than in others. But in the end the Christian’s home and identity are with his or her Saviour in heaven.
On the one hand, Guernsey is special because it is my birthplace and the place where I grew up. My parents and I left there in 1971 when I was 18. Like many people I have become more patriotic since my move than when I was a resident! I still cheerfully stick up for Guernsey - especially when the traditional rivalry between Guernsey and Jersey comes into play.
On the other hand, the act of moving on is two-sided. I have moved on, but so has the island. Of course, much of the landscape will be familiar and so will many of the buildings - give or take the successive coats of paint each will have received in the past 45 years. Even among the people I knew, a fair few are still around.
I value lasting friendships, especially with island Christians. It was on the island that I came to know Jesus as my Saviour, with their help. During the Spring before I left, I went to a conference for workers with young people. An awkward so-and-so at the time, I let it be known that I thought prayer and conversion were childish ideas. A minister rounded on me - it was the first time anyone had ever really challenged me - and pointed out that my thinking was just like any old Western philosophy; I did not think the way God’s word, the Bible, did. I felt humbled, indeed crushed.
Down-to-earth believers in the Deaf Christian Fellowship that my mother attended had already been breaking down my resistance for some time. Their homespun truths were filling in some of the tragic gaps there were in my understanding. Their simple remedy for unbelief was to trust in the shed blood of Jesus Christ and accept Him as your Lord and Saviour. I knew I would have no peace until I did just that. It was a turning point. As well as being born there, I was now born again there!
Thus I indirectly owe to Guernsey my place in heaven. I’ve been glad to go back from time to time and celebrate that with believing friends. Yet in other respects my status now is that of just another visitor from the Mainland. No doubt one can spend a very happy retirement in Guernsey, but it would be quite impracticable now for me to consider putting down roots there once more. Home is elsewhere.
A Psalm speaks of the specialness of Zion to God’s people:
On the holy mount stands the city he founded;
the LORD loves the gates of Zion
more than all the dwelling places of Jacob.
Glorious things of you are spoken, O city of God.
Among those who know me I mention Rahab and Babylon;
behold, Philistia and Tyre, with Cush —
“This one was born there,” they say.
And of Zion it shall be said,
“This one and that one were born in her”;
for the Most High himself will establish her.
The LORD records as he registers the peoples,
“This one was born there.”
Singers and dancers alike say,
“All my springs are in you.”
Psalm 87 ESV
It is easier to settle in some places on earth than in others. But in the end the Christian’s home and identity are with his or her Saviour in heaven.
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