The mountain

There are weeks when everything seems overwhelming. When just getting out of bed requires a huge amount of effort, like climbing a mountain.


But these are the weeks when I also wish I was actually climbing mountains. Maybe it is the desire to get away from it all. Or maybe it is more about the view and getting a new perspective on things.


This week is one of those weeks. And I have found myself thinking a lot about Elijah when he fled up the mountain (1 Kings 19). On a roller coaster of emotion, Elijah seems both hopelessly depressed and self-righteously angry at God. And missing the point.


Sometimes mountains aren't for climbing. They are for moving.




When the weight of what is
overwhelms the vision of what could be,
you will find me up the mountain.
Fearful and exhausted
here I lie curled fetal-like waiting to die.
Angry and rejected
here I cower in the cracks waiting for a sign.
Invisible and alone
here I weep,
and wait.
Until the whisper of what is
overcomes the roar of what should not be,
and I find you moving the mountain
with the mustard seed I grasp.

I am

A recent change in our house is that I am now trying to make my own bread. I don't find this easy; I like my baking to be quick and I am not very good at waiting for dough to rise.

Yesterday found myself reflecting of the idea of Jesus being our bread. Not just the obvious picture of Jesus breaking the bread, a symbol of his body, to share with his friends before facing death. But the whole process of bringing together different elements and then patiently waiting for the yeast to work and the dough to rise before it is exposed to the heat: In Jesus we find aspects of God and mankind blended together as a whole. And his work on earth wasn't simply a stepping down to earth for a few days to fix things, he experienced the whole slow growing process from a baby to adulthood, and then waited again as he taught his disciples and they slowly got the drift of what he was about. Ony after this process did Jesus face the intense challenge of the cross, completing his work in earth, and bringing us life.

Last year a few of the Presence Project Creatives gathered together to make a Chapter in a Day. Together we reflected on the "I am" saying of Jesus. I am the bread of life (John ch 6 vs 35) was one of aspects I chose to weave into the poem I wrote on that day.


I am
  sufficient to nourish and sustain
  satisfying the aching hunger in your soul
  the fundamental element in your daily diet,
your first meal of the day
  and your last bite at night.
I am the bread.

I am
  the narrow path cut clearly through the undergrowth
  providing a faithful compass when you are lost
  here walking the winding road with you,
holding your hand from first tentative steps
  until you’ve run the final race.
I am the way.

I am
  the revelation of indisputable fact
  defining black and white in a misty sea of grey
  turning faith into its rainbow kaleidoscope of authenticity
the first word spoken
  and final note left hanging in the air.
I am the truth.

I am
  vital to your very being
  the blood rushing through your veins
  energising breath of pure air as you emerge from the oppressive smog,
from the first unfurling shoot of spring
  to final leaf fall.
I am the life.

I am
  outside of time yet present now
  before anything was and into the unforeseen forever
  the crucial cord woven through the narrative of all that is,
alpha and omega
  beginning and end.
I am who I am.
And I am with you always, to the very end of the age.