Consider this/ Einfach zum Nachdenken

Let’s keep it up in the air!

2011-12-04T17:03:00.002Z

Not to be weighed down, encumbered, but travelling light; that is an ideal that some of us aspire to, not only when it comes to having carry-on luggage only, but also in terms of attachments. Commitments, obligations, things or people we have to take care of- all these slow us down, add weight to our backpack and make us less flexible. The options should always remain maximally open, making moving on virtually painless. What I here describe is Ryan Bingham’s philosophy: he is a high-flying executive and actually cherishes being on the road a lot. Wandering the United States, totally self-sufficient and free of commitments, seems a good deal; so much so, that he even gives seminar on the topic, encouraging people to empty their backpack and rid themselves of ballast, including cumbersome relationships.

Alex, his female counterpart, while not quite clocking as many miles as him, is wired similarly. So no surprise that their one-night stand develops into a long-distance relationship, and every so often they meet in some hotel room and make love. When Ryan needs to attend his sister’s wedding, he convinces Alex to come along, and they spend a weekend in the middle of nowhere, in Northern Wisconsin. The wedding is super cheesy and worlds removed from Alex and Ryan’s lifestyle, but somehow more real: messy, not shiny, incomplete, yet human.

Ryan is not the same after that weekend and has to break off a lecture on his backpack philosophy; he gets on a plane to find Alex instead. So far just another romantic chick-flick. But there is a twist in the story which I will refrain from telling you, lest I spoil the plot. But what becomes clear is that suddenly going back to a full back-pack is not as easy as it seems. People have moved on, and what looked so attractive and free is actually very lonely.

To change metaphors, making a sculpture means taking away, getting rid of rock in order for the masterpiece to appear. If I refuse to take the chisel to the block I will always have lots of material, but no shape. Similarly our lives take shape as we sacrifice degrees of freedom, as we nail ourselves down rather than to keep everything up in the air. During the season of Advent I do not travel, because my housemates and I have decided to all be home during that time. How often have I chafed against this decision; yet I love it when I come home in December and we are all there. The fruit of that decision far outweighs the cost!

So next time you want to take something out of your backpack, ask yourself whether some ballast would not do you good and add shape to your life.

I Am Sorry!

2011-08-24T13:17:00.002+01:00

I was recently in a museum displaying Rodin's “The Prodigal”. It is a large bronze sculpture, with a man lifting his arms to heaven in a heart-rending gesture of regret. Sculptures don't speak, yet a comic-strip like bubble seems to hang over this one, containing the words “I am sorry, I was wrong”. While Rembrandts painting of the same Biblical story focuses on the father and his readiness to welcome the son back, Rodin hones in on the son; in fact all other actors are absent from the scene and have to be imagined. Maybe this has to do with the fact that the artist intended it as a study for his monumental work “The Gates of Hell”: in the face of death, at the end of one's life, regret and sorrow will maybe figure prominently.

How powerful a phrase, yet how difficult to utter: “I am sorry”. Even when we know we have messed up, it costs us so much to admit it, and even more to express it publically. The gripping film “Dead Men Walking” shows how long it takes Sean Penn to admit his guilt of murdering a young couple; yet when he does, with the help of Sister Helen Prejean, the weight of the world falls off his shoulders, even though he still has to face the death penalty. “I am sorry, I was wrong”- the magic word, but so rarely spoken.

After the end of apartheid in South Africa, the government decided to replace the witch hunt with a wiser and more subtle institution, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC): people were invited to give testimony about human rights violations and to request amnesty in return for having stepped forward and confessed their crime. Many took up that offer, and many did not. For the time being, it seems easier to hide with one's guilt than to admit it. May this is why we find so few politicians who admit their mistakes, and even fewer who survive their admission. Yet the strength of a man (or woman) lies exactly in their ability to face up to their mistakes and make amends.

The power of the Prodigal's story is that the simple statement of sorrow and regret opens up a new life; while the TRC only granted 859 amnesties and refused 5000 others, God is always ready to pardon. All he is looking for is honest regret. Maybe we should set up copies of Rodin's sculpture in more public places?

Who Is Afraid of Sharks?

2011-08-24T12:43:00.002+01:00

“I don't need easy. I just need possible”. That is the reply of a young girl to her dad who points out that learning to surf is not going to be easy. The girl is thirteen years old, and a year earlier a tiger shark had bitten off her left arm while she was surfing. Now she wants to get back on the board, with only one arm. Her name is Bethany Hamilton, and her (true) story makes good reading in “Soul Surfer”. Bethany has lots of setbacks, but eventually turns pro and wins some major competitions, even though a few months after her near-fatal accident things looked very different. But thanks to a very supportive family, her faith in God, and a lot of grit and determination, she overcame the odds.

As I was pondering Bethany's story on an airplane (where else?) somewhere between Nairobi and Istanbul, above quote struck me deeply. It would have been easy not to try, or to give up, especially after her first futile attempts. But she did not choose the easy route- as long as it was possible, she was going to try. We all have missing limbs: if it is not a left arm which a shark has bitten off, then it's a fear of heights, a hatred of crowed social situations, or a sense of inferiority. Some of those handicaps we were born with, others we developed thanks to wild animals in our environment which attacked us, physically or emotionally. And most of us are crippled by these scars: I have a friend who struggles leaving his home, let alone his town; famous piano player Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli cancelled more concerts than he played, because of an usual case of nerves; and my heart sinks whenever I board an airplane any smaller than a 747 because chances are that I will feel the slightest turbulence and get afraid. In other words we are all handicaps. The question is what we do with them.

Bethany has inspired me. Not so much because she is winning trophies again; more because she did not listen to the little black dog inside her telling her “it will never work”. Instead she was willing to try, to risk, even to risk failure. And the rest is history. What are you risking this summer? As for me, I am going sailing for a week, even though I wonder what the waves will do to my stomach. But hey, I don't need easy: just possible!

K2 und Augustinus

2011-08-23T15:15:00.002+01:00

Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner hat heute den K2 Gipfel (8611 Meter) erreicht und damit alle 14 Achttausender dieser Erde ohne zusätzlichen Sauerstoff erklommen. Wenn immer Menschen sich zu solchen Taten aufschwingen fragen andere, was es wohl sei, das jemanden dazu treibe. „Motivation“ wäre die technische und nüchterne Antwort: jeder von uns hat eine kleine Maschine, die uns antreibt, und diese wird je nach

Person von unterschiedlichen Dingen gespeist. Für manche ist es Abenteuer, für andere Risiko, für den Dritten das Überwinden der eigenen Grenzen. Doch wenn sie zurückkommen dauert es keine Woche, bis sie den nächsten Trip planen. Irgendwie hält das High nicht lange an.

Gerade Bergsteiger haben oft noch eine andere Motivation. Irgendwie fühle ich mich Gott besonders nahe, wenn ich am Gipfel stehe. Das ist keine seltene Aussage, und sowohl ethnologische Studien als auch die vielen Gipfelkreuze zumindest in westlichen Ländern bestätigen dieses Gefühl. Irgendwie sind Berge etwas Heiliges, und im Besteigen macht man sich auf den Weg zu Gott. Moses tat das so, der Prophet Elia, und viele andere in der Bibel. Aber wohnt Gott wirklich auf einem Berg? „Ich war im Weltall, und Gott habe ich nicht gefunden“, das war die Aussage von Yuri Gargarin, nachdem er als erster die Erde in einer Raumkapsel um

kreist hatte. Ähnliches könnte man vermutlich auch über Mont Blanc oder K2 sagen: „Ich war oben, Gott habe ich aber nicht gefunden“ Wie immer wir Gott definieren, gerade seine Nichtgeschöpflichkeit macht ihn zu Gott, per Definition. So darf es uns nicht Wunder nehmen, wenn wir ihn nicht mit geschöpflichen Sinnen wahrzunehmen vermögen. Und dennoch ist es vielleicht doch nicht ganz so einfach? Beim Bergsteigen scheint man sich oft den geschöpflichen Grenzen entziehen zu können, sowohl weil man die eigenen Grenzen zumindest für kurze Zeit überwindet, aber auch weil der Berg irgendwie aus der irdischen Welt in die himmlische hineinzuragen scheint. Daher sind Berge in vielen Religionen Schwellenorte, wo man vom Diesseits ins Jenseits zu schreiten vermag, zumindest für ein paar Augenblicke.

Und noch etwas: was immer wir für ein Motivationstypus sind, wir alle teilen

einen unersättlichen Hunger nach der Ewigkeit. Augustinus, der afrikanische Theologe, umschreibt das folgendermaßen: „Unser Herz ist rastlos oh Herr, und es wird es ruhig wenn es ruht in dir“ Mit anderen Worten sind alle Menschen zutiefst auf das Jenseits ausgerichtet. Jeder Versuch, diesen Hunger mit etwas anderem als Gott selbst zu stillen, muß fehlschlagen. Aber wenn wir diesem Verlangen nachgehen, dann begegnen wir Gott, gerade an Orten, wo wir die natürlichen Grenzen übersteigen: beim Sport, in der Kunst, in der Meditation. So würde es mich nicht überraschen, wenn Gerlinde Kaltenbrunner doch begegnet wäre. Hoffentlich aber nur kurz, und sie schafft es heil wieder den Berg herunter.

News of the World

2011-08-22T11:09:00.005+01:00

Think of the press as a great keyboard on which the government can play.(Joseph Goebbels)

Our Republic and its press will rise or fall together. (Joseph Pulitzer)

If it were not for London riots, the British headlines would still be dealing with Rupert Murdoch and his infamous “News of the World”. Many of us were shocked, while not necessarily surprised, by the depths that some reporters stooped to in trying to get some juicy stories: hacking of phones, paying off police officers in return for exclusives, doing everything to get your hands on classified information. All this has lead to some disillusionment, or at least to the confirmation of the view that the press is dirty, in bed with the government, and whatever they write cannot be trusted.

While I am sympathetic to this view, I would like to offer a slightly different perspective. I have just come back from East Africa, and newspapers there are a joke. They all report about corruption, but you cannot help but feel that most of the articles are carefully vetted so as to only ever accuse the little fish and leave the big crooks to comfortably run the country. Both the scope and quality of the articles remind you more of a school or student paper than of the press of the free country- not a good sign for democracy.

In February of 2002 an American-Jewish journalist was beheaded in Pakistan. Daniel Pearl had been writing for the Wall Street Journal and a week earlier had been abducted while seeking to meet a known Islamic leader. To this day it is unclear why he was targeted, and even though a person was executed for supposedly having killed him, the reasons for Pearl's dea

th are unclear-almost. Whatever the specifics which lead to his kidnapping, he was undoubtedly chosen because he was a journalist. His paper was accused of cooperating with the US government and its intelligence community, so killing him was possibly some kind of act of revenge. But Pearl pursued his passion to get behind the immediate scoops and to unearth background facts, stories, information. And that in itself, even not in league with the CIA, was dangerous and potentially lethal.

Year in, year out, thousands of journalist do the same thing in various countries around the world, and catch hell because of it: Anna Politkovskaya was murdered for her critical views of the Moscow regime, in Latin America and the Middle East alike journalists get jailed, sentenced to death, thrown out of the country for what they seek to publish. Not all of them are simply trying to get a news story out: many are trying to hold the government or big business accountable for what they do, and this costs them dearly (see http://www.internationalpen.org.uk/ ). In other words, while not all journalists are saints, not all of them are devils either, and some of them are heroes. And whether Watergate or “Cash for Honours”, journalists were the ones who managed to have such stories exposed. So next time we bad-mouth the press, let's remember Pham Minh Hoang who is in jail in Vietnam.

Easter: My Big Fat Greek Wedding?

2011-04-23T06:20:00.006+01:00

urely you have seen the film “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”: while it never won an academy award, it was a sleeper hit, which eventually grossed $241 million. Entertaining, unreal, exotic and strange- that’s what this romantic comedy is all about. As people in the UK enjoy their bank holiday weekend, especially given the stunningly warm weather we have been having, the historic occasion for the break is barely remembered: and those who recall that this weekend is Easter mostly think of some legend, similarly unreal, exotic and strange.

Interestingly enough, the term “wedding” could appropriately be used for what Easter is and in fact, some of the Christian prayers of this season use wedding imagery. Heaven is described as a big wedding banquet and many Biblical stories have some sort of wedding symbolism attached to them: bridesmaids waiting for the groom to arrive, somebody being invited to a wedding but showing up without respecting the dress code, seating arrangements at a big banquet, wine running out before the wedding is over.

This has in part to do with the fact that traditional societies did not have the TGIF (Thank God It’s Friday) habit; celebrations always had a purpose, and one of the main occasions to throw a party were weddings. But that can’t be the sole reason for all this pervasive nuptial imagery. Somehow the Bible seems to expect a real wedding to take place, but between whom? Who is the groom and who the bride?

Surprising to many of us, one of the common images used to describe God is a bridegroom, a lover pursuing his bride. He woos her jealously and goes through great lengths to win her affection. When she is unfaithful, he still does not reject her, because he is madly in love with her. If this sounds silly, then because it is: the creator of the universe, supposedly all-powerful and all-knowing, has a crush on somebody. The bride in question is the human race and God, contrary to popular opinion, is not about to force this woman to marry him. Rather he seeks to win her by expressing his love and his affection: if you don’t believe that, read the Biblical book called “The Song of Songs” and you will be stunned by the romantic, not to say sexual imagery, which is used there.

But the story becomes complicated because human beings reject the pathetic advances of this bridegroom and prefer other relationships. It is doubtful how happy the bride is after having had all these other men, but she will not give into the entreaties of this lover. The wedding plans seem to be over. But, and this is where the Easter story comes in, the lover still does not give up. Maybe what he needs to do is become Greek for the woman to accept him, and so the divine lover becomes a man: that is what Christmas is all about, when Christians celebrate the “Incarnation”, the becoming man of God’s own son. The life of this God-man Jesus could be described as a journey to try to win back the love of his life, and that is why the first miracle Jesus works occurs during a wedding, thus signalling to all who have eyes to see what his mission is.

But three years of wooing and no success; in fact people get fed up with him and

decide to rid themselves of him by executing him as a madman, a religious leader with a Messianic complex. And so he dies a shameful death...end of story. Or maybe not? Christians believe that he died, but that came back to life, because he was more than a man, he was a God-man, and so could not remain dead for ever. And even as he rested in the tomb, the bride had second thoughts: what did I do? Did I really say no? Look how he loved me, coming all the way to me, enduring the shame and pain without saying a word! Maybe I was a fool not to believe that he loved me indeed. And thus some people decided to give into his entreaties and start dating him: that is one way to understand what a Christian is.

The Easter prayers of some Christian traditions pick up this thought by speaking of Christ as “ho Nymphios”, the bridegroom. In fact there is a striking icon depicting him just before his execution, pain-ridden and in agony, yet with a gaze of love. For in a mysterious way the cross on which Jesus died became “the wedding bed on which he consummated the marriage between God and the human race” (St. Hyppolitus). What looked like rejection became in fact the supreme act of love from God toward the human race, and this act won the affection and the relationship of the bride, in a way no over-powering force could.

So Easter is in fact a wedding: not really Greek, not a comedy, but deeply romantic and with a happy end. Two unlikely lovers eventually get wedded: God and the human race. And every Easter the celebration is there to invite you and me to join in the party. “So you don’t eat meat? That’s ok, I’ll make lamb!”

Vocational Counselling

2011-03-13T15:20:00.001Z

A few weeks ago I was invited to speak to a group of young people on the theme of “vocation”. This seems a very dusty and somewhat religious topic: monks have a vocation, Catholics pray “for vocations”, but what does this have to do with young people who wear chucks and facebook each other? A lot, I would hold. Isn’t the most profound question of any human being, young or old, what they are supposed to do with their lives? When we are young, it is a searching question, full of hope and some anxiety, and we are eager to discover what it is that we are meant for. When we are older, the question looks back at the landscape of our life and inquires whether we have given ourselves to something worthwhile or whether we have spent ourselves on a dream, an illusion, or even worse, whether we never got int

o what we were supposed to do. As Stephen Covey puts it “Nobody says on his deathbed ‘ I’d wish I had spent more time at the office’”

One of the greatest painters of the 20^th century, Pablo Picasso, was regularly haunted by the question whether he was really fulfilling his potential; the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote ten “Letters to a Young Poet” dealing with the question of finding one’s calling, and the coaching industry is booming as people try to find out what they are supposed to do with their lives. You might even say that the only ones who don’t regularly ask the vocation question are those who drown it out with busyness or noise.

But how will we ever find an answer? Life seems so full of choices and possibilities that one can easily get overwhelmed. And is it not a luxury to ask questions of calling, in the face of subprime crises and unemployment: let us just be grateful for having a job! In 1522 a young Spaniard decided to put together a set of readings or meditations to help some of his friends confront squarely the vocation question. In the course of four weeks he helped them deal with their fears, hopes and the so-common mechanisms of self-deception. The result was

eventually the “Ignatian Exercises” which since then thousands of men and women around the world have followed, often with revolutionary results.

Today is the first Sunday of Lent and God’s people across the world have begun a forty day journey toward the feast of Easter. This old tradition is intended to give all, young and old, a chance to take stock and ask afresh the question “how far have I journeyed”. Men and women decide to fast, that is to give up things which would distract them from what is essential in life: it could be food, drink, shopping, television. The space which they clear out is meant to be filled with time for reflection and prayer.

The Jewish philosopher Martin Buber quotes the old rabbi Zusya who says: “In the world to come I shall not be asked: ‘Why were you not Moses?’ I shall be asked: ‘Why were you not Zusya?’” We do not need to be somebody we are not, let alone measure ourselves with people more gifted, more beautiful or more holy. But the point of life is to become who we are meant to be, to become ourselves. Finding that unique contribution, that calling which nobody else can fulfil, brings unique energy and satisfaction; but it can also be a bit scary, for it might mean changing our lives to accommodate what it requires. But then, we are not alone: roughly a billion people are asking the same question for

the next forty days. So take courage and ask!

The Girl with the Star Tattoo

2010-12-25T06:39:00.004Z

The last few months, but especially December, have been marked by me getting engrossed in Steeg Larssons Trilogy “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the Girl Who Played with Fire, The Girl That Kicked the Hornets’ Nest”. During dreary winter days in London it has provided suspense and pleasure- I admit. But something else has made these books fascinating: the main character Lisbeth Salander is a grown-up Pippy Longstocking. She does not have family and hence has learned to fend for herself. She does so thanks to a photographic memory, impeccable computer skills and a violent streak. The latter she has acquired because of her dysfunctional past: abusive father, foster homes, more abuse etc. On the surface she has developed coping mechanisms which have made it possible for her to survive in a world that seems bent on destroying her, but deep inside...?

I found it quite easy to experience sympathy for Lisbeth, and I mean sympathy, not pity. Though she is a bit rough, Larsson depicts her as quite a likeable character. But she is profoundly miserable and unable to receive love: without wanting to spoil the plot, film three ends on a bitter-sweet note when Lisbeth meets Mikael, the one who has helped her overcome great difficulties: she is barely able to thank him, for fear that this might create the wrong kind of

emotional bond, and thus another opportunity to get hurt. And I am not alone in liking these books, which is why they are on the bestseller list here in the UK. People identify with Lisbeth: she is the archetypical wounded human being for whom relationships seem difficult, dangerous, transient. Is this the “condition humaine” that Malraux was speaking about? Aren’t we all cast into this world, vulnerable, needing to somehow find meaning in what seems to be a cruel and meaningless world?

The Christmas feast is of course the time when we remember the God who made himself vulnerable. In many ways the Incarnation is deeply unromantic: a king decides to become a subject, not simply for a day, but with his whole being. In so doing he has embraced all the vulnerability, lowliness and the me

ss we find ourselves in. As the French writer Charles de Foucauld puts it “God became so small that no one has need to be ashamed in his presence”. That is the wonder of this season, that we did not get overpowered by an irresistible force, but that we were wooed by a little child, who turned out to be a king. Which is why another girl did not see the need to run away when this person came into her life: rather than getting on her bike and leaving, this girl simply agreed to receive this king into her life...and the rest is history. Many icons depict her, not with a tattoo, but with a star on her forehead nevertheless. May we all, in this season, discover the gentleness of God’s love, made visible in the poverty of a child. And may people like Lisbeth not feel the urge to turn away, but run toward him who has loved us all enough to become a human being.

Best wishes during this season,

Martin

שاפוחלמ- are you getting me?

2010-12-12T19:06:00.001Z

For the last few weeks, I have begun to dabble with modern Hebrew. The first exercises consist in drawing enormous letters on pre-marked pieces of paper: you don’t have to understand what you are writing, just to draw nice signs. The next step is to identify words, using a list of well-known words such as Tel Aviv, coffee, banana. And there the problem starts: my textbook is small, the signs barely legible at the best of times, and ך and ן ,ו all look the same to me. I had a similar experience during my first time on the Moscow underground: Сокольническая and Кольцевая looked pretty much the same to me, especially with dim light and sweaty brows. So I panicked…my Hebrew studies are done at my desk, so the only reaction I showed was to close the book, frustrated, until the next day.

But it made me think: semantics, the study of meaning, tells us that there is a relationship between a signifier, such as a sign, letter or word and what they stand for. But for this relationship to be meaningful you need to be able to read the sign and to distinguish it from others. If “no parking” and “stop” signs look the same to you, you are pretty much unable to follow normal highway code and your drivers’ license should be removed. If you are unfamiliar with the meaning of a Celtic football shirt in Northern Ireland, you could end up with a broken nose if you wear one and enter the wrong part. “Lost in Translation” is based on the typical dilemma of signs having different meanings in different cultures.

Going further, some signs are not even seen as signs, just scribbles, if you don’t know what you are looking for. In the boy scouts, I learned a dozen signs or so, for example. It means “I accomplished my task and went home”. But the average forest hiker might not even notice the circle, since he is not looking for signs, and even when he stumbles upon them he does not interpret them as such; simply a silly little circle, either found at random or assembled by a playing child, with no meaning whatsoever.

During the four weeks before Christmas Christians traditionally focus on the truth of God’s coming into history. Not only do they think about Christmas (that is for later, beginning with 24^th December), but also about the end of the world, when God is supposedly coming back and wrapping up this world. Christians believe that the return of Christ cannot be calculated via astronomic formulas, but that there will be signs of his coming which should make human beings alert and ready. In fact one of the things that human beings should do, according to the Bible, is to read the signs of the times, in order not to be caught unawares. But, and this is where Advent ties into my Hebrew studies, how can you look for signs if you don’t know what to look for. If ever scribble looks the same, if ever pile of rocks could be a message by your fellow boy scout, if a bow could mean a thousand things, how can you ever be sure. Well, you can’t!

The very fact that we don’t exactly know what we are looking for is supposed to make us more deliberate and attentive. I remember walking through the forest as a twelve year old explorer on some of those exercises and my eyes were wide open: every twig, ever rock, ever leaf was examined in order to make sure I was not missing something. This meant we had to walk more slowly, but also that we were significantly more attentive. As over time, as we grew better at orienteering, w e knew more where to look- so we got better. I think Advent is meant to be such a training period: the pace of life is supposed to slow down enough for us to live life more deliberately. As we do, we might just catch one or the other of the signs of the presence of God in this world. And as we apply to read these signs, we begin to discover a whole new alphabet. One of the books of the Bible says “The heavens declare the glory of God”, in other words for those who know how to read the alphabet creation is full of signs of God’s action. At the beginning it might fell as frustrating as being on the Moscow underground or learning Hebrew: but with a bit of practice, it could get quite exciting. Enjoy the rest of Advent!

Remembrance Day

2010-11-14T10:58:00.001Z

Yesterday was Remembrance Day. At 11 am Greenwich Mean Time the pilot came on via interphone and invited us all to observe a two minute silence; I was on a plane full of Greeks who either did not understand or did not care- anyway, his attempt was futile. But even if they had understood: what or who are we remembering on 11^th November? St. Martin (that would be the Austrian’s first response)? Something to do with the war? Which war then? And why of all things would you want to remember a war?

First the facts: 11^th November is Remembrance Day because at 11 am on that day, the armistice which ended World War I was signed. King George V decreed this day to be when the British at least remember all those killed in that and all subsequent wars, and wear a red poppy.

Remembering is a funny thing: for one thing we all forget things or remember them wrongly. My sister and I regularly disagree about things from our childhood, so at least one of us is mistaken. There are also things we selectively remember or choose not to remember: whether it’s a child that “can’t remember” whether it has any homework or the prison guard who “can’t remember” whether he ever beat an inmate…in both cases recall is less than perfect, human nature plays tricks. Neurologists also tell us that if human beings did not forget many things, their brains would fry from information overload. In other words, not forgetting is important.

We also know of instances, maybe in our own lives, when we see unable to forget something, like a hurt somebody inflicted on us or a trauma we have suffered. And yet, forgetting is often part of the healing, and those who can’t forget never put things to rest but keep opening old wounds. Forgiving and forgetting are cathartic actions which cleanse the heart and the mind. And still we are asked to remember…

The Bible speaks regularly of remembering (some 207 times) and the Jewish people is often rebuked for forgetting rather than remembering. The three main things they are supposed to remember are instructions they have received from God, promises he has given them and events which have marked their lives. Since they are so bad at remembering things, God asks them to establish memorials: piles of rock mark out places where important things happened to them, and particular days are like memorials in time: then they celebrate, fast, offer special sacrifices, built huts- all so they don’t forget. And of course it is not just the Jews who have such days…

One gets the impression that sometimes remembering is important, yet we forget; at other times forgetting would be the right thing, yet we hold on to things. In other words our memory does not always do what’s best for us, so we can’t just blindly rely on it. Rather we need to make conscious decisions what stuff, both individually and corporately, we decide to keep in our mental closet and what we purge when spring cleaning comes along. What we keep in our closets invariably shape us, for good or for ill: I am just spending time in Greece at the moment where the Orthodox church is still the predominant religious group, and for them tradition (or Tradition) is hugely important. While faithfulness to the “good old ways of doing things” has kept them Christians during hundreds of years it makes it hard for some of them to deal with the changes which are sweeping through Europe, be they economic, social or moral. More tradition is not necessarily better.

So maybe November, when we remember the dead, the veterans, the summer holidays, whatever, might be a good time to examine our memories, the things we hold on to and which shape our lives; maybe we could examine what are the good things we learned or experienced which we need to hold on to at all cost because they are precious. And what are the memories which impoverish our lives and hinder us from moving forward; those we might want to write down and put them on a big bonfire- another venerable tradition in parts of Europe. Lest we don’t forget!

We are not open for business

2010-06-25T22:21:00.002+01:00

I am on sabbatical til 30th September- during that time blogs can be found on http://sabbaticalnews.blogspot.com/.

Two hundred Pounds or Random Acts of Kindness?

2010-04-25T08:38:00.006+01:00

Volcanic ash- what a strange substance: it causes airplane engines to stall (so experts believe), and it brings out the best, and sometimes the worst, in people. Like so many others I was stranded last week: nothing tragic, since I was staying with friends in Belgium, frites and nice beer were in rich supply, and I did not have kids who needed to get back to school. Even so, after five days of forced exile I was ready to head home, and eventually managed to do so by ferry. Together with about thirty other foot passengers I tried to cross the channel from Ostende: this required finding people who were ready to take us into their cars, since the Ramsgate ferry does not take foot passengers. We all managed to get on, but not before one lady offered to help, provided we paid £200! The outrage that somebody could have the audacity to make money off other people’s misery was universal, and she was shunned for the rest of the journey.

This also triggered a conversation amongst us which confirmed that the prevalent experience during this disaster was selflessness and kindness: we all had stories to tell of people who somehow remembered their common bond with humanity and agreed to perform generous acts, simply because it was the decent thing to do. Giving lifts, putting people up, offering a helping hand- all that became visible to a more than normal degree all across the world, and my fellow passengers vouched for that. But there were also the cases of people thinking of nobody but themselves: I encountered more than one person demanding unreasonable treatment and favours from airline employees who were doing their best to accommodate thousands of distressed individuals. In other words, this disaster was a test, and some passed it with flying colours, while others failed.

As we were sitting on the boat bound for Merry Old England, a spirit of celebration erupted, especially amongst those who had genuinely suffered anguish and discomfort up to this point. The thought of getting home that night brought relief too their battered souls. I had to think of a quote from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice:

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

These people had experienced mercy, kindness, care- and it refreshed them. But they had also shown mercy to others, and that in turn had a soothing effect upon their spirits.

I was struck by the different ways that people dealt with what were objectively sometimes trying circumstances. Some kept insisting on how unfair this all was, and that surely somebody had to do something about it, especially considering how important they were. Others took a much more philosophical view: one lady even said to me “it’s probably a good thing this happened; it reminds me of how fragile life is, and that’s not a bad thing”. Indeed those most at peace were the ones who seemed to observe Benjamin Zender’s Rule Number 6 “Don’t take yourself too seriously”. Keeping things in perspective is a quality that Westerners can easily miss: sleeping in a hotel for extra nights is not bad compared to what the average African goes through on an normal day, let alone when disaster or civil war strikes. But this can easily be forgotten…until we realize that nobody missed us at the office and that the world (and our job) continued even in our absence. So thank God for volcanic ash: may it drop from heaven whenever we need another dose of mercy and humility.

Der Karsamstag von Jean Paul Sartre

2010-04-03T10:02:00.005+01:00

Der französische Existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre postuliert in einem seiner Stücke: „L´enfer, c´est les autres“ (die Hölle, das sind die anderen). Sowohl theologisch als auch soziologisch ist diese Aussage nicht haltbar. Wenn wir besonders die westliche Welt ansehen, dann ist fast kein Leiden so weitverbreitet wie die Einsamkeit und ihre Konsequenzen wie Verwahrlosung, Sucht und Selbstmord. Es scheint eher als ob die Abwesenheit anderer, das mangelnde Du, die eigentliche Hölle darstellt.

Im christlichen Glaubensbekenntnis gibt es eine Zeile, die von Jesus als dem spricht, der „hinabgestiegen ist in das Reich des Todes“ (oder in der Übersetzung aus meiner Kindheit) „Hinabgestiegen in die Hölle“. Eine erste Interpretation dieser Worte bezieht sich auf den Tod Jesu. Wie in vielen Ikonen dargestellt starb Jesus und wandelte deshalb dorthin, wo alle Toten waren, nämlich ins Reich der Finsternis. Allein er war der einzige, dem der Tod nichts anhaben konnte, ähnlich einem Feuermann im Asbestanzug während eines Feuers, oder besser noch, ein Immuner inmitten einer Ebolaepidemie. Deshalb wird er in Bildern als einer dargestellt, der aufrecht in die Hölle geht, im Wissen, dass diese über ihn keine Macht hat. Der Todesvirus kann ihn nicht infizieren, im Gegenteil: wen er berührt, der wird ebenfalls immun. Und so zeigen die Ikonen ihn, wie er Adam und Eva aus dem Schlaf des Todes weckt und sie aus der Hölle herausführt, und mit ihnen alle Entschlafenen. Das bedeutet das Geheimnis, welches Christen am Karsamstag feiern, dass Christus in die Hölle hinabgestiegen ist.

Aber es gibt noch eine zweite, verwandte Auslegung. Die Hölle beginnt nämlich nicht erst nicht im Jenseits, es gibt den Tod schon diesseits des Todes, und viele leben in der Hölle der Einsamkeit, Verlassenheit, Krankheit, Armut und Verfolgung hier und jetzt. Aber auch in diese Hölle ist Jesus hinabgestiegen, auch an diesen Orten des Todes ist er zu finden. Ob es das KZ von Ausschwitz ist oder das Waisenheim von Zimpeto, die Leprainsel Molokai oder die „Walled City“ von Hongkong, an all diese Orte sendet er Feuerwehrleute, Menschen, die das Leiden und den Tod sehen, aber in sich ein Leben tragen, welches stärker als der Tod ist. Maximilian Kolbe und Heidi Baker, Damian De Veuster und Jackie Pullinger sind alles Christen, die in sich die Liebe Gottes tragen und dadurch in der Lage sind, Menschen aus der Hölle zu holen. Aus Einsamkeit und Armut, Sucht und Verzweiflung werden Gemeinschaft und Teilen, Freiheit und Hoffnung- dank der Hilfe anderer. Das ist das Ostergeheimnis, welches Christen dieser Tage feiern.

Und Sartres Aussage sollte revidert werden zu „Le ciel, c´est les autres“ (der Himmel, das sind die anderen). Aber vielleicht hat der das in der Zwischenzeit schon herausgefunden.

President Obama’s daughter on death-row?

2010-04-02T10:37:00.006+01:00

Khalil Sheikh Mohammed has recently been apprehended by US authorities- a big catch, considering that he is believed to be the mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks. He has threatened all that is precious and holy to the American people, and it is likely that he will suffer for it, possibly even the death penalty.

But a recent development is still baffling both papers and the courts. Malia Ann, the elder of the US president’s daughters, has volunteered to take Khalid’s place. “If a penalty needs to be paid, and there probably has to be”, she said to the New York Times a few days ago, “then I’d rather pay it myself. That would mean that justice is done, while our relationship with the Middle East nations might become normalized”. The reporter then turned to president Obama to ask whether Malia was serious and- if so- what he made of that. The president was teary-eyed when he responded: “She seems serious, and I fully support her wish”

Fact or fiction? Madness? Monstrosity? There is nothing to believe that the Obama family is going to lose one their daughters soon, and the whole story is fabricated…yet it has a point. It seems absurd that a ruler, when he finally has his enemy pinned to the wall and can at long last mete out justice, would suddenly find himself confronted with the wish of his child to take the place of the guilty. But this is exactly what Christians claim that happened at Easter. A rebellion was underway and a few kingly emissaries had already been killed. The ruler had all reason to send an expeditionary force to beat sense into his disloyal subjects. Instead he sends his own son- well-knowing how previous messengers had been treated. Even so the son volunteers to go, and gets murdered.

What looks like defeat reveals itself as a stroke of genius. The rebels had been guilty of treason, hence deserved capital punishment. The son dies and so the debt gets paid, but the rebels survive. Some of them consider such a step folly, others are overwhelmed by such clemency and become more loyal than they would have ever been before. Peace is established, while justice is done. Analogies always break down somewhere, but the above story shows how unreasonable, not to say monstrous, such a move would be on the part of Obama and his family. He would be sacrificing an innocent person for the sake of somebody who is clearly guilty. Yet that is exactly what God did, thus turning our understanding of justice on its head. After pronouncing us guilty the judge steps into the dock and takes the place of the condemned, thus freeing the guilty one.

We do not advocate such moves as a tool for international relations, and we wish Malia long life and good health- but Easter can only be understood in light of such divine folly.

Ketten und Ringe

2010-03-19T09:21:00.002Z

Ein weissgoldener Ring mit drei Kreuzen, und an der Innenseite die Gravur „10.9.88 Deine Eltern“- seit 22 Jahren trage ich diesen Ring. Er erinnert mich an meine Eltern, die ihn mir damals geschenkt haben und die jetzt nicht mehr leben; aber noch viel mehr erinnert er mich an das Ereignis, zu dessen Anlass sie ihn anfertigen liessen. Nach etwa achtjähriger Prüfung beschloss ich damals aus freien Stücken, mein Leben Gott zu weihen als Eheloser.

Ich komme aus keinem sehr religiösen Elternhaus und mein Kindheitstraum war alles anderes als Priester oder Missionar zu werden; vielmehr plante ich, in die Fußstapfen meines Vaters zu treten und Arzt zu werden. Ich wollte all meinen Klassenkollegen zuvorkommen und die schöne Tina heiraten, ihr ein großes Haus bauen und dort mit ihr, drei Kindern und einem großen Hund leben. Doch irgendwie kam alles anders, sehr zum Leidwesen meiner Eltern. Mit vierzehn traf ich Menschen, die von ihrem Glauben nicht nur überzeugt, sondern auch beseelt und entflammt waren, für die Religion nicht eine Krücke, sondern eine Lebensperspektive darstellte. Gott war für sie eine persönliche Wirklichkeit, die man kennen und lieben konnte. Das stellte vieles in meinem Leben in Frage, beantwortete aber auch anderes. Und irgendwann begann auch ich zu glauben. Doch selbst auf diesen Schritt folgte nicht die für manche scheinbar logische Schlußfolgerung, Priester oder Mönch zu werden. Dazu brauchte es Hermann Hesse.

Mit siebzehn las ich das „Glasperlenspiel“ und war nicht nur von der esoterischen Welt des Magisters Ludi Josef Knecht fasziniert, sondern auch von dem Gedanken, sein Leben einer Sache zu weihen, in diesem Fall der Beherrschung des Glasperlenspiels. Ich wurde den Gedanken nicht los, dass so etwas nicht nur in Büchern und im fiktiven Kastalien, sondern auch in der Wirklichkeit und für die Sache Gottes möglich sein müsste. Und so begann meine sehr intuitive Suche nach einer Lebensform, in der ich mich Gott und seinem Reich weihen konnte. Erst im Nachhinein begann ich zu verstehen, dass dieser Gedanke schon sehr alt ist und in der Kirchengeschichte viele Ausprägungen erfahren hat; für eine 17jährigen Hippie war das neu, aufregend und revolutionär- letzteres übrigends auch für meine Eltern.

Nun lebe ich schon einundreißig Jahre bewußt diese Lebensform: ehelos, der Keuschheit verpflichtet, im Dienst an Gott und den Menschen. Kein kirchliches Amt hat mir das abverlangt, noch hat mir diese Entscheidung Türen für Verantwortung in religiösen Kreisen geöffnet. Es war und ist eine private, freie Entscheidung, die schönste vielleicht, die ich in meinem ganzem Leben getroffen habe, und ich habe sie nie bereut. Gab es Tage, an denen ich mich fragte, ob ich richtig gehandelt habe? Natürlich! Gab es Situationen, in denen ich versucht war, meiner inneren und äusseren Verpflichtung untreu zu werden? Selbstverständlich, aber Gott sei Dank kam es nie dazu. Insofern reihe ich mich ein in die Zahl derer, die ein Eheversprechen abgelegt haben und es auch nach dreissig Jahren noch nicht bereuen, die aber gleichzeitig wissen, dass ihre Entscheidung immer wieder angefochten war. Und wie sie kann ich ohne Zögern davon sprechen, wie schön dieses Leben ist, welches meine Entscheidung ermöglicht hat. Die innere und äussere Freiheit, die es ermöglicht, für viele Menschen dazusein, aber vor allem die größere Verfügbarkeit für Gott, die dadurch entsteht. Mein Leben spricht von einer Wirklichkeit, die das Diesseits übersteigt, und nur wenn es eine Ewigkeit gibt, hat mein Schritt damals einen Sinn gehabt.

Ich bin erfüllt, glücklich und dankbar, nicht verhärmt, frustriert oder neurotisiert durch meine Entsagung. Deshalb finde ich es seltsam, um nicht zu sagen beleidigend, wenn manche behaupten, dass eine Entscheidung zum Zölibat fast zwingend sexuelle Abwegigkeiten bedingt oder fördert. Ich lebe in Großbritannien, und 90 Prozent aller Mißbrauchsfälle hier werden in Familien verübt; dennoch käme es mir nie in den Sinn, das Institut der Ehe dafür verantwortlich zu machen, wenn Menschen sich zu sexuell abwegigen und strafbaren Handlungen hinreissen lassen. Warum also diese verkehrte Logik in Falle des Zölibats? Mein Ring erinnert mich daran, dass ich gebunden bin, doch diese Bindung ist freiwillig; sie ermöglicht mehr, als sie verhindert. Ich habe ein Versprechen an Gott abgelegt aus Dankbarkeit und Liebe. Viele Menschen heutzutage können mit dem Wort „Bindung“ nur Negatives assoziieren, als ob Bindungslosigkeit allein wahre Freiheit darstellen würde. Doch aus der Entwicklungspsychologie wissen wir, dass nur jener Mensch reift, der es vermag, gesunde Bindungen einzugehen. Sowohl Ehe als auch Zölibat können selbstverständlich ungeprüft und unreif eingegangen werden und sich dann als Last, Bürde und falsche Bindung entpuppen. Ein Ring kann ein Glied an einer Kette sein, die uns fesselt, oder ein glänzendes Schmuckstück, das seinem Träger Würde und Schönheit verleiht. Vielleicht ist es Zeit, auch einmal diesen Aspekt der Ehelosigkeit zu beleuchten?

Apollo und die Fastenzeit

2010-03-10T09:40:00.003Z

Am Anfang Rilkes “Neuer Gedichte” steht sein “Archaischer Torso”. Es ist ein Sonnett über eine stark entstellte, aber dennoch sehr aussagekräftige griechische Statue. Daß Rilke zur Bildhauerei und zu Plastiken ein Nahverhältnis hatte, nimmt nicht wunder, war er doch jahrelang der Sekretär Auguste Rodins. Aber er tut mehr, als nur diesen Torso zu beschreiben; die letzte Zeile endet mit „Du musst dein Leben ändern“. Was hat es damit auf sich? Hier das Gedicht:

Wir kannten nicht sein unerhörtes Haupt,
darin die Augenäpfel reiften. Aber
sein Torso glüht noch wie ein Kandelaber,
in dem sein Schauen, nur zurückgeschraubt,

sich hält und glänzt. Sonst könnte nicht der Bug
der Brust dich blenden, und im leisen Drehen
der Lenden könnte nicht ein Lächeln gehen
zu jener Mitte, die die Zeugung trug.

Sonst stünde dieser Stein entstellt und kurz
unter der Schultern durchsichtigem Sturz
und flimmerte nicht so wie Raubtierfelle;

und bräche nicht aus allen seinen Rändern
aus wie ein Stern: denn da ist keine Stelle,
die dich nicht sieht. Du musst dein Leben ändern.

Alles, was von dieser Statue übrig bleibt ist ein Torso: wir wir wissen nicht, wie der Kopf oder die Augen ausgesehen haben mögen, dennoch geht von dieser Figur ein Glühen aus wie von einem Kandelaber. Im Schauen auf diese nackte Figur ist Rilke verblüfft über ihre Scham-losigkeit: trotz Nacktheit verbirgt sie nichts, sondern hält dem Blick des Beobachters stand, ja lächelt sogar zurück. Das Licht, welches von diesem Torso ausgeht, zieht Rilke in seinen Bann, scheint es doch ein geradezu göttliches Licht zu sein, wie von einem Stern ausgehend. Und auf einmal wird der Beobachter zum Beobachteten, und was er zuvor angesehen hat, sieht ihn nun an, mit aller Kraft. Unter diesem Blick leuchtet es dem Dichter ein, daß er sein Leben ändern muß.

Der Torso stammt von Apollo, dem Gott des Lichts und der Sonne. Sein ganzes Wesen ist Licht, und Licht geht von ihm aus. Aber nicht nur Licht, sondern auch Weisheit und Weisung, war er doch auch der Hüter des Orakels von Delphi. So scheint es, als ob über tausende von Jahre hinweg nicht allein die Form eines Kunstwerks auf Rilke einwirkt, sondern die göttliche Kraft Apollos selbst. Wie eine wortlose Mahnung führt der stumme Blick des Torsos zur Einsicht, daß es gilt, sich zu verändern.

Doch noch ein anderes Element schwingt mit. Es gab eine Zeit, wo Nackheit ohne Scham existierte, und zwar im Paradies. Adam und Eva waren nackt: körperlich, aber auch seelisch- sie trugen keine Masken, was sie in ihrem Herzen dachten, war nach aussen sichtbar. Mit der ersten Lüge begann ein Spiel, das bis heute andauert, in welchem wir uns verbergen, verkleiden und maskieren. Manchmal, nur ganz selten, gelingt es jemandem, durch die Fassade zu dringen in unser Innerstes und uns zu sehen, wie wir wirklich sind, doch zumeist haben wir Angst vor solcher Intimität. Aber gerade ein solcher Blick vermag es oft, in uns Veränderung hervorzubringen.

Die Wochen vor Ostern sind für viele Christen eine Zeit der Erneuerung. Wie der Frühling Neues in der Natur hervorbringt, so sollen Gebet und Reflektion auch bei uns neue Sprossen treiben. Dazu braucht es aber Licht und Sonne, und zwar göttliche. Machen wir es doch Rilke nach, und lassen wir uns anschauen, in all unserer Nacktheit und Unvollkommenheit. Das kann anfänglich schmerzhaft und peinlich sein, denn die Wahrheit tut weh; aber es ist der erste Schritt hin zur Veränderung, zur Umkehr. Vielleicht ist es dann auch uns gewährt, noch einen ganzen Band „Neuer Gedichte“ zu verfassen.

From Russia, with love!

2010-02-21T18:44:00.003Z

Minus 27- I can feel my nostrils freezing as I take my first steps outside. The sky is bright, as are the pale, blue-eyed faces rushing by me on their way to work. Thursday 28^th January and I am back in Moscow.

To visit friends I brave the underground in spite of my lack of Cyrillic reading skills. A few tricks are key for survival: a/ when two lines cross, stop of line A and stop of line B have different names; b/ Gorod means town and thus points to the exit c/ pushing is essential so as not to get run over. An seemingly endless wooden escalator takes you down to the bowels of the city- you could swear Gimli the Dwarf had been at work here- and once you arrive you find yourself in something more resembling the foyer of an opera than the platform of Arbatskaya Station. Marble, chandeliers, friezes, all Stalin-period pieces.

I have to wait for my friend, so I join twenty to thirty people all leaning against the wall on the look-out for their appointment. Three police-men patrol the station, making a Westerner feel safe; as a matter of fact a recent poll of Moscovites showed that in their “hierarchy of fear” policemen took pride of place. I also get a chance during my wait to admire a vast array of headgear: from traditional “Red Baron with earflaps” to Anna Karenina’s fur hat you have absolutely everything, sometimes making you wonder whether birds are nesting in those contraptions.

The city continues to be full of contrasts: old smelly apartment blocks side by side with glitzy high-rises; begging mothers waiting in freezing temperatures while young twenty-somethings shop in the Armani outlet, where you won’t get much change from a $500 bill, whatever you buy. My host lives in a centrally located apartment complex, and his driver gets harassed for only driving a Ford: I counted fifteen Mercedes S-class and two Porsche Cayenne in the parking lot.

Today I went to Tretyakov gallery, seemingly together with half of Moscow. You are required to slip on plastic shoe covers (like in some hospitals) before you are allowed to enter. Russia from 0 to 2000 AD, so the art is a mixed bag like in most national museums. But the collection of icons is the finest in the world, most notably Rublev’s Trinity and Our Lady of Novgorod. Heavenly! I am brought back to earth by the bill in a nearby café: Caesar salad, sparkling water, latte= £30.00. No wonder the average Russian never goes out. This must be my tenth visit to Russia, and I am always puzzled by the mix of culture and beauty, socialist ugliness and poverty, financial disparity and corruption, great resourcefulness of my friends, widespread depression, vibrant faith and violent atheism. Give me another ten years and I will have it figured out!

Of Maternity Wards and the End of the World

2009-12-13T16:24:00.003Z

“Are you ready for the end of your world as you know it?” With this question the obstetrician glanced at my friend before pulling a screaming, healthy boy out of his wife’s womb; and indeed, his world has changed for ever: sleepless nights, no more time for selfish exploits, some tears here and there- but a joy he never imagined one could ever experience. All because of a little helpless bundle of flesh, newly born, crumpled and pink, and the most beautiful child the world (or at least he) has seen to date.

Another friend of mine, a woman this time, is expecting a baby in a month or so. It is number one, so even less certainty when it will arrive. About four weeks ago she packed her bag: all the bits and bobs you need when your water breaks and your stressed-out husband takes you to the maternity ward. So now she is ready, and all she can do is wait; wait for the inevitable, for junior is going to come out. But nobody knows when exactly, and when he comes, you better be ready.

Both of these stories lend themselves to a seasonal analogy: we are in the middle of a season which Christians traditionally call “Advent”, meaning “coming”. Contrary to popular opinion it is not the coming of Christ as a man that believers think about- that happens at Christmas. Rather this season focuses on the second coming at the end of time. The Bible is very clear that this world as we know it is going to end: for each of us when we die, but for the whole world when God decides to wrap up history. The Holy Book also says that both of these endings will surprise many, because they will come suddenly: our own death, and the end of the world, are certain, but we don’t know when they will happen. Consequently we are enjoined to prepare, and this is what Advent is all about.

In the words of our analogy from above: we are meant to pack our bags. We all know that we cannot take anything with us when we die, so it is not a matter of getting things ready in that way; rather it means being prepared and having our affairs in order: no lose ends, no regrets, to relationships which still need mending – simply ready to go when the moment comes, and come it will, but we don’t know when. And for those who are prepared this moment holds no fear; rather it is a moment to look forward to, like to the arrival of junior. It will be different from what we can imagine, but it will be good.

So are you ready for the end of your world as you know it? If not, now is a good time to do some packing.

Kann man ihnen helfen?

2009-10-01T21:18:00.005+01:00

Während seines zweiten Jahres in der Julliardmusikschule entwickelt Nathaniel Ayers Schizophrenie: er muss sein Studium beenden, verliert alle Freunde und landet auf der Strasse. Das einzige, das ihm bleibt, ist eine Violine, der zwei Saiten fehlen. Eines Tages begegnet ihm Steve Lopez, ein Journalist, und dieser beschließt, eine Story über Nathaniel zu schreiben. Doch im Laufe der Recherche regt sich ihn Steve das Mitgefühl und er versucht, dieser gestrandeten Persönlichkeit zu helfen: er kauft ihm ein Cello, organisiert Konzerte, ja er findet Nathaniel sogar eine Wohnung. Doch eines Tages zerbricht alles, anläßlich eines psychotischen Schubes von Ayers. Dieser wird handgreiflich und die Beziehung scheint zu Ende zu sein.

Lopez merkt erst jetzt, daß seine gutgemeinten Taten seinen Freund einengten: dieser wollte weder Behandlung, noch lag ihm daran, von der Strasse wegzukommen. Je mehr Steve ihn drängte, umsomehr fühlte er sich bedrängt. Steve musste feststellen, dass er sehr wohl eine Rolle in Nathaniels Leben spielen konnte, und zwar die des Freundes; aber ihn zu seinem Glück zu zwingen, war weder möglich noch erwünscht. Auch er hatte seine Würde und Freiheit, die es galt, zu respektieren.

Gleichzeitig veränderte sich aber auch etwas in Steve durch die Freundschaft mit Ayers: er selbst, der scheinbar beziehungsunfähig und labil war, begann nun selbst, seine Umstände zu akzeptieren, anstatt sich auf diese auszureden. Die Schlußszene zeigt Steve mit Ayers in einem Konzert, begleitet von Steves Partnerin; letzteres ist deshalb bemerkenswert, weil Steve bisher eben diese Partnerin stehengelassen hatte.

Jean Vanier, der Gründer einer Bewegung, in der Menschen mit geistigen Behinderungen mit anderen zusammenleben, spricht davon, dass ihm erst im Leben mit diesen Menschen klargeworden ist, was seine eigenen Behinderungen sind. Von ihnen hat er gelernt, in Würde und Freiheit trotz der eigenen Schwächen zu leben. Genau das ist auch durch Steves Begegnung mit Nathaniel geschehen. Vielleicht triffst du morgen auch einen Musiker an der Strassenecke?

Good wine takes work

2009-10-01T20:07:00.003+01:00

Last Sunday I went for lunch to a Heuriger, a typical Austrian place where, for about six weeks a year, a winemaker is allowed to sell his own wine and serve cold food. An innocent question about one of their wines brought the junior boss on the scene, which led to a delightful half-hour conversation about this year’s harvest, different grapes etc. Hearing Mr. Reinisch talk about some of his wines reminds you of some moms when they describe their children: each wine is different, with his own personality, characteristics and history.
So what makes good wine good? Is it luck? Is it the soil on which it grows? Is it the climate? Is it the art of the vintner? The answer of course is “yes”, yes to all the above. It is the fruit of a whole range of factors, none completely controllable, some entirely out of one’s control. Sometimes the elements seem positively to conspire against good wine: steep vineyards, inclement weather conditions or adversarial market conditions. Yet winegrowers labour year in year out to make the best out of what nature has dealt them.
As I learned last Sunday, Pinot Noir is one of the toughest grapes to get right: both in the vineyard and in the keg this grape is very temperamental. Even though it does not yield any higher price on the market, Mr. Reinisch takes great pride when he manages to beat the odds- almost like a teacher who likes the challenge of helping a difficult pupil make the grade.
Maybe it is no surprise therefore that the Bible uses the analogy of the vine to describe human and spiritual development. We all have different personalities, histories, abilities, all of which impact how we are going to develop, not just academically, but also as human beings. It is not true, however, that it is all up to nature, and if we do not feel virtuous, generous, metaphysically inclined, well so be it- that’s just the hand that nature has dealt us. There are many examples of sub-average individuals who have scaled the heights of civic service, selfless giving and spiritual depth, simply because they worked hard at it. Spiritually they might have been more Pinot Noir than Cabernet Franc, yet they cooperated with the divine vintner, and suddenly they have turned into a truly unique vintage.
So next time you want to blame it all on bad weather, poor soil or lack of time- think again, and remember how often the same square mile can yield unbelievable plonk or hundred Pound bottles. Which are you going to be?

Is Africa Really the Dark Continent?

2009-07-27T15:20:00.001+01:00

It’s six in the morning and at least a hundred birds decide to give a concert in the tree outside my window. I yield to the invitation for a sunrise service and catch two cranes feeding their young. It is my last day in Uganda, and I decompress in a hotel near the airport. On my veranda ants are busy devouring a cockroach- in an hour there will be no trace left of it.

A little later I go for a walk in the Botanical Gardens: monkeys look at puzzled a the muthungu (white man) who seems in a hurry- not a common feature of the local population. Lillies, vanilla plants, banana trees-the place is overgrown with plants of all types and redolent with tropical smells. The edge of the park borders on Lake Victoria: young men are trying their luck at pulling in some of delicious fish like Tilapia, but in the process are sure to have bilharcia worms crawl into their blood stream.The whole scenery seems very idyllic, if you add to it seemingly endless sunshine and friendly Africans everywhere.

Yet only three hours away from here, in the East of the country, people are literally dying of hunger. Uganda, the most fertile of sub-saharan countries, has lacked favourable weather. Rains have been scarce and unpredictable, thus making planting a gamble: will the crops get watered or not? That, together with the global economic crisis, has driven food prices up by seventy to a hundred percent. For people who struggled before, this has meant going hungry, saving on doctor’s visits and taking children out of school: if you lack the essentials, the “luxuries” must go.

All this could make you think that the population is depressed, hopeless, sad, and indeed there are those who struggle with their fate. But the surprising feature of people in this part of the world is their contageous joy and friendliness, difficult circumstances notwithstanding. Even though feeding yourself physically is a constant concern, people here seem to not have forgotten their need for spiritual food, and they remain spiritually hungry. I was speaking with a man who runs schools for the poorest and brightest of Uganda, to give them a chance of an education. Those who graduate will, in return, run orphanages in four cities in the country, while they go to university. In other words, he sees suffering and need on a daily basis, yet he believes that “Africa is a gift to the world”, and I think he is right. The pressure, suffering and deprivation seem to produce a rare beauty, almost the way diamonds are made.

Depending on how you look at it, this place is either paradise, lush and fertile, yielding its fruit quite easily; or mysterious, dangerous, threatening to harm or even kill you in a million ways. Life is precarious, even cheap, and certainly unpredictable. As a result, Africans take it as a gift, to be lived from day to day, while realizing that the physical is not what counts most: frienship, time, religion- that is what really matters. Not a bad lesson to learn for Muthungus!

What would you like to do when you grow up?

2009-05-06T09:24:00.002+01:00

This question is put to every 8-12 year old by “grown-ups”, and the answers range from cowboy to austronaut and nurse. As grown-up age approaches, this question is asked ever less frequently, even though (or maybe because) its seriousness increases. Two assumptions underlie this question: first that there is something we should put our mind and heart to, a unique contribution we should make to society, and that making this contribution would make us happy. The second is that we have a choice, i.e. that once we discover what it is we are supposed to do we can decide to do it.

Most of us remember career seminars which we took while in high-school, with test results telling us that we should either become prime minister or a ballet dancer. This has made us somewhat suspicious of the notion that we can actually figure out our vocation. At the same time, we have this lingering notion that if we actually did what we were made to do, we would be happy. Maybe the Bible was right in saying “To find enjoyment in one’s work — this is the gift of God.” Is it presumptuous to think that we are special, that we have a mission, possibly even from God? This question is at the heart of Sam Mendes’ recent film “Revolutionary Road”: April is trying to convince Frank that living in suburbia, “buying into the same things as everyone else”, is not what they are supposed to do, because “they are special”.

But let us suppose for a moment that we are, that we have a vocation, a mission, even though many of us seem to struggle to discover it. Can we just choose it, just like Dan Briggs in Mission Impossible? Or do circumstances dictate whether we ever embark upon our mission? It is true that life is not completely under our control. But Elisabeth Kuebler-Ross was not totally wrong when she confronted a class of students by asking “Who of you enjoys what they are doing, raise your hands! Those of you who have kept your hands down, go change your job tomorrow!” Her premise was that too many of us are dissatisfied with our lives, yet never take the step to change anything about it- a lesson Kuebler-Ross had learned by interviewing countless terminally-ill patients. April and Frank similarly never take the step to go to Paris, even though they had talked and dreamed about it for days. Why is that?

It is easy to dream, but to pay the price for one’s dreams is much harder. It is one thing to complain about the job one is in, another to actually go out and look for another, and thus to risk. As April puts it “It takes backbone to do what you want”. Again, some of us do not really have a choice; their life circumstances dictate that they put bread on the table, and if it means doing something they don’t enjoy, so be it. Many in the developing world never dream of vocation: simply eking out an existence is hard enough. But some of us sell themselves short of what we could, and should do, and the reason is fear. The notion of rising above the daily grind and of aspiring to greatness makes us dizzy, and we prefer to turn on the TV and sink back into our armchair. But to quote April one last time: “No one forgets the truth; they just get better at lying”. In other words, some dissatisfaction with current circumstances is meant to lead us to change; it is God’s way of telling us to embrace our vocation and calling. We can silence that voice by keeping busy or by turning up our I-pod, but the truth won’t go away. The ancient philosophers had a term: pusillanimity- the vice of being timid and cowardly, and thus not living up to one's full potential. Might this describe some of us? So why not accept “Mission Impossible”, why not go to Paris, why not become an austronaut?

Dornenkrone

2009-04-10T21:27:00.002+01:00

Auf meinen Esstisch liegt ein seltsames Gebilde aus alten, braunen Brombeerzweigen: fast wäre es, als hätte ein Kind versucht, eine Krone zu basteln. Diese Krone ist nicht nur armselig und einfach, sie wirkt auch tragisch, denn die Dornen erinnern uns alle an Male, wenn wir uns an eben solchen Sträuchern wundgestochen haben.
In unserem demokratischen Zeitalter finden wir Kronen normalerweise in Museum (oder beim Zahnarzt :)): ausser Miss World und vielleicht noch Eleven beim Opernball trägt fast niemand mehr Kronen. Einst waren sie Zeichen von Autorität, Herrschaft und Glanz- je herrlicher die Krone, desto größer der Träger. So nimmt es wunder, dass seit Jahrhunderten diese Kinderkrone aus Dornen zu einem Symbol für Christen geworden ist. Irgendwie scheinen sie einen König zu feiern, aber anders, als diese Welt es kennt.

Der Hintergrund ist ein Ereignis in der Lebensgeschichte Jesu: während seines Prozesses als Unruhestifter nehmen ihn Soldaten beiseite, und zum Spott setzen sie ihm eine Dornenkrone auf. Als er dann wenig später von den Römern gekreuzigt wird, trägt er noch immer dieses Spottzeichen. Man würde meinen, Christen würden über die Jahrhunderte Wege finden, um diese Demütigung zu vergessen, anstatt dessen Symbol überall anzubringen.

Doch nur wenige Zeichen haben dieselbe Aussagekraft wie dieses:einerseits steht es für den Träger, der ein König war. Christen beanspruchen von sich, dass sich nicht einem Rabbi oder Guru gefolge leisten, sondern einem König. Doch ist sein Reich nicht „von dieser Welt“ und funktioniert deshalb auch nicht nach weltlichen Maßstäben. Es gibt kein Heer, welches diesem Reich zum Durchbruch verhilft, und niemand wird gezwungen, die Gesetze dieses Reiches einzuhalten. Kein Schutzmann vergibt Strafzettel und Rebellen werden nicht ins Arbeitslager verfrachtet.

Dennoch hat dieser König genaue Vorstellungen davon, wie sein Reich auszusehen hat, und eine ganze Bibliothek (die Bibel genannt) ist voll von den göttlichen Denk- und Lebensweisen, die sich Reichsgenossen zu eigen machen sollten. Obgleich scheinbar ziemlich vernünftig, der Goldenen Regel anmutend, wurden diese Vorstellungen doch immer wieder verworfen. Ja es gab sogar einen Putsch,das heisst den Versuch, diesen König umzustürzen. Doch anstatt eine Strafexpedition auszuschicken beschloß der König, selbst mit den Rebellen zu verhandeln und sie zur Raison zu bringen. Und nun komme die Dornen ins Spiel, denn die Verhandlungen gingen blutig aus und der König wurde ermordet. Ein tragisches Ende einer weiteren Monarchie? Scheinbar...

Christen meinen aber, dass dieser tragische Tod mehr war als nur die Ermordung eines guten, wenn auch unpopulären Königs. Da dieser König freiwillig starb und sein Leben für die Rebellen opferte, wurde auf einmal Friede. Was wie das Ende seines Reiches schien, entpuppte sich als der eigentliche Anfang. Nun haben jene, die es wünschen, die Möglichkeit, die göttliche Lebensweise anzunehmen und Genossen dieses göttlichen Reiches zu werden. Der blutige Tod des Königs wurde somit zum Neuanfang, zum Sieg. Deshalb ist die Dornenkrone nicht Symbol der Folter und des Scheiterns, sondern des Sieges, denn der König hat in Liebe und Hingabe seine Untertanen ausgelöst.

Das Fest, welches die Christen dieser Tage feiern (und zwar 50 Tage lang) begeht diese Ereignisse. Vielleicht wäre es wert, einmal eine solche Dornenkrone näher anzusehen und zu fragen, wie es wäre, wenn dieser König tatsächlich existierte?

Moral Courage and Civic Engagement- More Than Just a Hobby

2009-04-05T17:36:00.002+01:00

When I was twenty I had my first conversation about the Third Reich with my father. One of the questions I asked him was how he reacted to the attempt on Hitler’s life on 20^th July. While in no way trying to justify himself, he sought to explain to me the moral qualms of most officers in light of the oath they had sworn.

“I swear by God this sacred oath that I shall render unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the German Reich and people, supreme commander of the armed forces, and that I shall at all times be ready, as a brave soldier, to give my life for this oath.”

It is easy, not to say cheap, to either smile at people who take their word seriously enough to feel themselves bound by an oath or to discredit them morally for having taken it in the first place. We are not in the habit of taking any meaningful oaths anymore; but I remember my own petty promise I made when I became a boy scout and the awe and fear that filled me when I thought that I might not be able to keep it.

In other words if we want to understand the story around the Stauffenberg plot, we need to discard our own post-modern moral framework and seek to enter a mindset which was built on honour, loyalty and patriotism, for good or for ill. (This is where the recent film “Valkyrie” most fails its viewers: the question of a binding oath hardly figures in the plot).

The characters in Valkyrie did not consider themselves supreme moral arbiters, free to choose courses of action as they saw fit, without any framework to refer back to. They understood themselves bound by loyalties and obligations, as laid out by their beliefs, their upbringing and their conscience. Taking an oath was not something they did lightly and and they considered it a moral obligation to keep it at all cost. When I met the last survivor of the 20^th July, Freiherr von Boeselager, about 15 years ago, he still knew this oath by heart: other than allegiance to the flag which some of us have to pledge when we become citizens, this was solemn, serious and potentially deadly.

Only against this background can we begin to glimpse the pangs of conscience of the perpetrators of the 20^th July: it was becoming increasingly clear that the interests of the German people (and indeed of humanity) and loyalty to the Führer were at odds with each another; for some also their supreme allegiance to Christ required the breaking of their oath. That not more people decided to join the conspiracy is due, not simply to lack of vision of what was going on; it was rather the price of moral courage which you were required to pay which caused many to remain “neutral”. In other words once you resolved your moral dilemma you still needed to be ready to face the cost of chosing what seems right to you. In this particular case it meant risking death.

The story of Valkyrie rather leaves me with two fundamental questions, no less relevant today than they were in 1944. The first is whether I would be ready to swear allegiance to anything today, or whether I prefer to be cynical and remain on the sidelines: Robert Redford’s recent movie “Lions for Lambs” very effectively challenges this attitude.

The second question Valkyrie raises for me is how far my moral courage would take me: Boeslager, the man mentioned earlier, risked his own life and that of his family. Others, like Christian believers in the German Democratic Republic, put their professional future on the line when they refused the oath to the flag when they turned fifteen. Neither has been asked of me yet; but what am I prepared to risk in opposing societal pressure to condone abortion, euthanasia and same-sex activity. Where do I draw the line?

It is easy to condemn regimes such as those of Zimbabwe, Myanmar or China, while sitting in our armchairs. But are we ready to take a stand when the outcome of the battle is not yet clear?

Of Angels and Demons

2009-03-01T08:28:00.003Z

The past week or so has seen thousands of people around the world, To a greater or lesser degree, embark on an age-old tradition, that of fasting. Just like our Muslim friends on 21st August or our Jewish ones on 28th September Christians the world over have begun a period where they deny themselves food and drink in different ways. Yet however old this practice and however wide-spread amongst just about all the world religions, the typical Westerner can only shake his head in disbelief: “Why would I voluntarily give up food and do so until it hurts?” Is it a hunger-strike, like the one performed in 1980 by Northern Irish prisoners, in the hope of getting the authorities’ attention, in this case God’s? Are Christians thinking they can somehow impress the creator of the universe by performing acts of self-denial?

A key Biblical text which might shed some light on this season is that of the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness: it is reported in the Gospels of Mark, Luke and Matthew. Jesus, early on in his life, goes out into the desert to be tempted by the devil. The desert is of course a place of danger, emptiness and exposure. By going there and fasting Jesus gave up the protection of city, friends and family and allowed himself to be vulnerable. Suddenly he was alone, facing his weakness and mortality and confronting temptation. Similarly Christians believe that by taking a lengthy period (somewhere around seven weeks) of “fasting” they also get a glimpse of their own mortality and stare their demons in the face. As you try to give up food, drink or other pleasures you realize how dependent you are of them, how much different desires rule you.

But the question remains: “Why would you do this voluntarily? Surely only masochists engage in such practices, like fakirs sleeping on nails? It is one thing to be hungry because of poverty, another to not eat which the fridge is full?” All these objections are true, provided we look at fasting simply as a negative practice, that of “giving something up”. But the Biblical story mentioned earlier goes deeper: the point of the exercise is to understand that “man does not live by bread alone”. In other words, you engage the desert, you forego certain satisfactions, in order to grasp afresh what really feeds you, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Only when you make space in your stomach and in your life do you see what truly matters.

This would explain why Western capitalist societies have all but given up on the idea of fasting, except in the context of dieting in order to improve one’s shape. There almost seems to be a fear that if things quieted down, if space for self-reflection were created, one might stare some ugly demons in the face. Surely most of us do not like all we see when we look inside ourselves; but ignoring it is as foolish and short-sighted as not going up into the attic because of the mess and leaking pipes we would find there. Hence the radical practice of some Christians at the beginning of this fast to put ashes on their forehead; by doing so they take what is darkest and most despicable inside themselves and wear it on their heads, thus saying “Oh boy, do I need this time for some spring cleaning of my soul”.

So why not try it for a year, and see what happens? Maybe angels will feed you as well as they did Jesus?

Advent, Advent, mein Lichtlein brennt! Tut es das?

2008-11-30T19:22:00.002Z

Was würdest du noch gerne tun, bevor du stirbst? Carter Chambers ist krebskrank, und auf seinem Spitalsbett beginnt er eine Liste aufzustellen, was er noch zu tun hat, bevor er „den Löffel abgibt“ (auf Englisch ist das Äquivalent imm Slang „to kick the bucket“, daher der Titel des Films „The Bucket List“). Die Tätigkeiten sind teilweise kindisch: fallschirmspringen, ein Rennauto fahren, die Pyramiden sehen...Aber es gibt auch tiefere Anliegen, wie jemanden glücklich zu machen, ein Lächeln hervorzurufen usw.

Die schwierige Frage ist natürlich, wann dieser Augenblick kommen wird: schwer Kranke beginnen, dem Tod etwas mehr ins Auge zu sehen, während die meisten von uns meinen, er komme noch bald genug. Warum schon planen? Erfahrung, zum Beispiel in der Arbeit mir Kranken, lehrt uns aber, dass die meisten an ihrem Lebensende Dinge bedauern, sowohl was sie getan, als auch, was sie
verabsäumt haben. Warum wohl?

„Seht euch also vor, und bleibt wach! Denn ihr wißt nicht, wann die Zeit da ist.“ So spricht die Bibel dieses Phänomen an, dass wir nie wissen, wieviel Zeit uns noch bleibt, und wir daher versucht sind, die Dinge aufzuschieben, für „nach dem Neuen Jahr, die Ferien, wenn wir die neue Wohnung haben, wenn ich Partner in der Firma bin, wenn ich die Pension erreicht habe“. Nicht nur als Einzelne argumentieren wir so: ganze Gesellschaften, ja unsere Welt beweist immer wieder, dass jetzt nicht der gute Augenblick ist, um gewisse radikale Handlungen zu setzen: die Milleniumsziele zur Armutsbekämpfung oder zur CO2-Emissionsbeschränkung rücken auf einmal in die Ferne, denn wir haben „derzeit wichtigeres zu tun“. Es ist menschlich, allzu menschlich, Dinge aufzuschieben.

Wenn man vom Weltende spricht, läuft man Gefahr, als Schwärmer oder Fanatiker abgestempelt zu werden. „Du glaubst doch nicht wirklich, dass wir das Weltende erleben werden, oder?“ So unwahrscheinlich und ungreifbar das eigene Ende zu sein scheint, so märchenhaft erscheint das Ende dieser Welt: wir haben noch Zeit, jetzt gehen wir mal was trinken! Versaue uns nicht die Weihnachtsstimmung mit deinem Trübsalblasen!

Seit Hunderten von Jahren haben Christen aber gerade dies getan: die vier Wochen vor Weihnachten heissen „Advent“, Ankunft, Wiederkunft, und das erste Kommen Jesu als Mensch ist nur in zweiter Linie der Fokus. Zuerst geht es um die Wiederkunft Jesu am Ende der Zeiten: nicht um uns Angst zu machen, sondern um einmal im Jahr die Frage zu stellen, ob wir wohl vorbereitet sind. Wir wissen nicht, wann es soweit ist, aber die Schrift sagt, dass er überraschend sein wird. Ob das Ende der ganzen Welt, oder nur das Ende unserer eigenen, die Bibel rät uns, vorbereitet zu sein: „Bleibt wach!“ Mit anderen Worten, wir sollten nicht bis zum Sterbebett warten, bis wir unsere „Bucketliste“ zusammenstellen; dieser Advent ist die Zeit. Was ist es, was wir noch nicht getan haben, aber was wirklich Not tut: eine Versöhnung, eine gute Tat, eine Veränderung im Beruf?

Letzten März hatte ich das Privileg, am Begräbnis einer erstaunlichen Frau teilzunehmen. Sie war 88, als sie starb, und sie hatte ihr ganzes Leben dem Aufbau einer christlichen Bewegung gewidmet. Als der Sarg in die Kirche getragen wurde, ertönte spontan Applaus, um irgendwie auszudrücken, dass dieser Mensch ein wertvolles Leben gelebt hatte. Es ist uns nicht allen beschert, ein Leben mit solcher Breitenwirkung zu leben. Wohl aber besteht für jeden von uns die Möglichkeit, an unserem Lebensende den himmlischen Applaus sowie die Worte des Vaters zu hören, der da sagt „Sehr gut, du tüchtiger und treuer Diener.“ Doch damit uns dies widerfährt, sollten wir bereit sein, wenn dieser Tag kommt. Die nächsten vier Wochen wären eine gute Zeit, das einzuüben!

Adam, where are you?

2008-11-30T18:31:00.003Z

In his book “The Art of Possibility” the conductor Benjamin Zender describes an incident when, during a live performance, one of the violonists, rather than waiting for six bars, jumped in at bar three and forced Zender to start all over. At the end of the concert somebody from the orchestra went up to him and asked: “Do you want to know who the culprit was?” Zender replied: “I know, thanks. It was me!” His point was that, being the conductor, it was ultimately his responsibility to make sure the orchestra played in synch, and any mistake was ultimately his; so rather than looking for a scapegoat, he better take responsibility for his mistake, end of story.

Yet it seems to terribly difficult to admit that we made a mistake, and if there is a way to cover up for our wrongs, we do it. The current banking crisis is a good example of it: firms claim that somebody else, the environment, clients, whoever, is to blame, and unless evidence is produced, hardly any CEO will stand up and admit: “We were wrong, I made a mistake, I am to blame”. In fact, this problem is as old as the world: the Bible describes a scene in the creation account of Genesis, when man and woman live in paradise. In spite of clear injunctions not to eat from the tree of knowledge, they do so anyway. When asked what happened (as if God did not know!) Adam blames Eve, and Eve the serpent. So the natural instinct seems to be to avoid taking responsibility, and to shift blame onto somebody else.

This is where Martin Buber, the Jewish philosopher, starts his reflection, when he meditates on the first question God asks Adam just after his disobedience: “Adam, where are you?” Buber, and many rabbis before him, is puzzled by this question. If God is God, then he is all-knowing and hence does not need to ask where Adam is: he knows. The more likely reason for asking the question then would be that by doing so, God would help Adam to realize that he is hiding. Where are you, what are you doing, where do you stand?- all those are questions man needs to ask himself, according to Buber, in order to begin a journey of self-knowledge and change. As long as man does not take responsibility, but rather blames others, circumstances, fate or whatever, he will remain a victim, unable to change. On the other hand, as soon as man acknowledges that he is responsible for his own actions and that in this area or that he has failed, he becomes truly human. And at that moment God can extend forgiveness to him, not before.

Christians the world over are today beginning the season of Advent, a time to prepare for Christmas. In the process they take stock of their lives and seek to reform their conduct where that is needed. May we allow this question to probe deeply: Martin, where are you? And may we find the courage to admit where we have failed, both to God, but also to our fellow men. If we were able to encourage such a culture of taking responsibility for our actions, maybe some mistakes would never be made, because we would spend less time hiding them before ourselves and others.

Mensch werde wesentlich

2008-10-10T20:35:00.003+01:00

Jüngst las ich wieder einmal den „Cherubinischen Wandersmann“ von Angelus Silesius: jeder Mittelschüler musste ein paar Verse von ihm auswendig lernen, ohne aber oft seine Tiefgründigkeit zu bemerken. So schreibt er unter anderem: "Mensch, werde wesentlich; denn wann die Welt vergeht, So fällt der Zufall weg, das Wesen, das besteht.“ Diese Zeilen sind immer gut zu lesen, aber angesichts der derzeitigen Weltlage nehmen sie für mich eine neue Aktualität an.

Niemand weiss so recht, wie sich die Bankenkrise auf die weitere Weltwirtschaft auswirken wird und irgendwie hoffen wir alle, mit einem blauen Auge davonzukommen. Vielleicht meinen wir sogar, dass die Regierungen, die ja nun versprochen haben, unsere Bankeinlagen zu garantieren, doch wieder alles kitten werden können, ähnlich der Eltern, die scheinbar magisch zerbrochenes Spielzeug wieder zu reparieren vermögen. Aber ein näherer Blick macht doch sehr schnell klar, dass wir so billig nicht davonkommen werden: rund 20% der meisten Pensionsfonds sind dahingeschmolzen und es ist fraglich, wie schnell diese sich wieder erholen werden; Garantien des Staates beruhen letztlich nur auf deren Fähigkeit, Steuern einzutreiben und Geldscheine zu drucken, sprich uns dieses Geld aus der Tasche zu nehmen oder aber den Wert jener Summe in unserer Hosentasche zu schmälern. Ob wir wirklich dort landen werden, wo mein Nachbar uns sieht, wenn er von der „Great Depression“ spricht und Bilder von Steinbecks Früchte des Zorns heraufbeschwört?

Eigentlich ist es egal, wie ernst die Wirtschaftskrise wird, die sich zusammenbraut, denn vorhersagen können wir sie sowieso nicht. Viel bedeutsamer ist die Frage, welche Reaktionen das Wissen um bevorstehenden Wertverlusts unseres Portefeuilles bei uns auslöst: ist es Angst, Panik, Ärger, Verzweiflung? Versuchen wir noch schnell, unsere Investionen zu retten und irgendwie die Statistik auszutricksen? Führt die Ungewissheit zum Horten, Geizen und Raffen? Oder merken wir auf einmal, wie solidarisch die ganze Welt geworden ist, sodass ein Husten in den USA schwere Grippe in Asien und Österreich auslöst? Denken wir nur an uns selbst, oder gehen unsere Gedanken zu jenen, die bedeutend ärmer sind und die aufgrund der Krise vielleicht selbst das wenige (oft in Form von Hilfsgütern) nicht mehr bekommen? Führt die Krise zu verstärkter Großzügigkeit, oder zum Verschließen unserer Hand.

In gewisser Weise können wir an unserer Reaktion messen, wie sehr Geld zu unserer Sicherheit geworden ist. Was wird nicht alles in Geld gemessen: der Wert von Häusern, Arbeitsleistungen, Positionen...als ob dies ein verlässlicher Maßstab wäre! Meine Tante erinnert sich noch an die Zeit, als man zweimal täglich seinen Lohn ausbezahlt bekam und eigentlich der Wäschekorb, in dem man die Scheine wegtrug, mehr wert war als der Inhalt. Ein Gleichnis der Bibel spricht in diese Situation: „Auf den Feldern eines reichen Mannes stand eine gute Ernte. Da überlegte er hin und her: Was soll ich tun? Ich weiß nicht, wo ich meine Ernte unterbringen soll. Schließlich sagte er: So will ich es machen: Ich werde meine Scheunen abreißen und größere bauen; dort werde ich mein ganzes Getreide und meine Vorräte unterbringen. Dann kann ich zu mir selber sagen: Nun hast du einen großen Vorrat, der für viele Jahre reicht. Ruh dich aus, iß und trink, und freu dich des Lebens!“ Der reiche Mann meint also, dass Geld dazu da ist, es zu horten und es sich gutgehen zu lassen. Die Antwort Gottes wirkt hart: „Du Narr! Noch in dieser Nacht wird man dein Leben von dir zurückfordern. Wem wird dann all das gehören, was du angehäuft hast?“ Mit anderen Worten kann man Reichtum nicht lagern, denn er ist vergänglich: entweder Bankenkrisen essen ihn auf, oder aber wir müssen ihn zurücklassen, wenn wir sterben. In beiden Fällen schien das Horten eine schlechte Investition: anstatt diesen Reichtum gleich Donald Duck aufzuheben und sich darin sicher fühlen, hätte man andere damit reich - oder zumindest weniger arm- machen können.

Das klingt revolutionär, kommunistisch, unverantwortlich, und in gewisser Weise ist es das auch. Aber letztendlich ist es nichts anderes als vernünftig: wenn wir den wahren Wert von Reichtum begreifen, dann wissen wir, wie flüchtig, zufällig und unverdient er im Grunde ist. Wenn wir „wesentlich werden“ wollen, dann ist eine gewissen Freiheit von Besitz unumgänglich, ob wir Mönch sind oder Familienvater. Könnte es sein, dass die gegenwärtige Krise sich als Chance entpuppt? Silesius würde diese Frage bejahen.

Wie war der Sommer?

2008-09-08T09:40:00.001+01:00

Eine der Fragen, die man in diesen Tagen oft hört, lautet „Wie war dein Sommer?“. Die meisten von uns waren irgendwo, vermutlich exotisch, und der Fragende hofft natürlich auch auf die Gegenfrage, um selbst schildern zu können, wo er oder sie seinen Urlaub verbracht hat. Manchmal verursacht die Frage aber auch Frust, denn die Reise ins Paradies schien von Unwegsamkeiten begleitet: das Hotel war abgetakelt, das Service uaufmerksam, die Reisegruppe langweilig, das Wetter (ja besonders das Wetter heuer) schlecht- kurz der Urlaub war eine Enttäuschung.

Das Griechische hat ein wunderschönes Wort für Sommer: Kalokairi (καλοκαίρι) was so viel heisst wie „schöne Zeit“ und wir verstehen alle, warum. Seit unserer Kindheit hat der Sommer etwas Magisches an sich, mit seinen ewig dauernden 2 Monate ohne Schule, warmen Tagen und Erinnerungen an kindliche Seligkeit. Aber Kalokairi beinhaltet das Wort „Kairos“ für Zeit, und nicht „Chronos“: letzteres bezeichnet die mechanische Zeit, die unaufhaltsam abläuft, und der Gott, der sie darstellt, ist ein alter Mann. Kairos hingegen ist die rechte Zeit, der Augenblick, und sie wird mythologisch von einem jungen Schelm verkörpert. Damit wird etwas deutlich von der Flüchtigkeit dieser Jahreszeit und ihrer Unfassbarkeit. Gerade die besten Erinnerungen, die sogennanten „Memory Makers“ vergangener Sommer sind so oft Momente, die nicht planbar waren, sondern die sich ergaben. So auch für mich im heurigen Jahr: eine Laienaufführung von T.S. Eliots „Murder in the Cathedral“, ein spannender Kriminalroman an einem Regentag, ein köstliches Stück Haggis und ein Glas Sauvignon Blanc bei Ausblick auf das irische Meer. Diese Dinge sind nicht machbar, doch wenn sie sich ergeben, dann wissen wir, dass wir Kalokairi berührt haben, die schöne Zeit.

Enttäuscht werden sind wir zumeist dann, wenn wir gewisse Erwartungen an die Ferien hatten und vielleicht auch meinten, dass wir solche Augenblicke genauso schaffen können wie vieles andere in unserem Arbeitsleben. Damit schlüpfen wir aber in Chronos und nicht Kairos- wo wir pushen, machen und planen, anstatt abzuschalten und uns überraschen zu lassen.

Insofern hat die Frage, ob wir einen guten Sommer hatten, vielleicht weniger damit zu tun, wie exotisch unsere Destination war und mehr damit, ob wir in der Lage waren, von Hetzen auf Gleiten umzuschalten und von Planbarkeit auf Kontemplation. Dann kann Kalokairi uns in Belfast genauso gut überraschen wie auf den Malediven.

Ich hoffe, euer Sommer war gut!?

I will sing of your steadfast love, O Lord, for ever!

2008-08-31T20:14:00.002+01:00

I was recently asked to speak at the wedding of a friend of mine, and many people asked me for the text, so here it is.

At weddings like these it is quite easy to actually miss the readings: did you hear them? Have you heard what was said in them? Paul and N

oemi would not want us to miss them, because they picked them for a reason. So let’s have a look at them.

I will sing of your steadfast love, O Lord, for ever! (Psalm 89,1) This word “steadfast love” is a key word in the Bible; it could also be translated f

aithful love, covenant love. It is one of the most profound characteristics of the God of Israel, the fact that he is faithful, reliable, solid, and that he keeps his promises. The one who says this of God is a man called David: he was one of the kings of Israel, a good-looking, gifted and ambitious man, a man with a good heart. But he was also a great sinner, who committed adultery and murder; and still, even in those moments of tragedy and failure he experienced God as one who loved him, forgave him, a God who remained faithful to his choice.

This brings us to the first reading: Because you

are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you, I give men in return for you, peoples in exchange for your life (Is 43,4) . This is God speaking to Israel and he says that they are precious and loved, that He holds them in great esteem. But what was so special about this little Middle-Eastern nation? It was not their military strength, their great culture, but the fact that God had chosen them. Sometimes when we hear of God choosing a people, we think of him as capricious, unjust, who on a whim decides to choose one people or individual and not others. But that is not what this is about: in choosing Israel and by calling them his own he shows what his steadfast love can do. In spite of their failings, their rebellion, their stubborness, God makes a covenant with them, a solemn promise to love them forever. And the rest of the Old Testament is the story of what happens to people who allow themselves to be touched by this covenant love: cowards become heroes, perverts become saints, barren women conceive. This love of God is not soft, romantic, weak, but full of power. And as Israel gets touched and changed by the power of God, they in turn are supposed to become a blessing to the nations around them: You are my witnesses," says the LORD, "and my servant whom I have chosen, that you may know and believe me and understand that I am He. (Is 43,10)

But the steadfast love does not simply remain a concept, a characteristic of God: God is so keen on communicating this love to us that it eventually becomes a person, Jesus Christ. In him people recognized the love of God, by the way he spoke, the way he touched people, by the healing he brought: And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing every disease and every infirmity( Mt 9,35). The blind men in today’s Gospel and many others have an encounter with Jesus which does not leave them unchanged. It says that their eyes were opened. This is a symbol, an image of what happens with human beings when they truly encounter Jesus Christ: suddenly they see, they perceive that God loves them, even in their poverty, even in their sin like David, and that God has a plan for their lives. As a result, many of them decide to join their lives to God, to become his disciples, his followers. And what to they do? They become witnesses of that same steadfast love to others.

Now you might wonder why such readings were chosen for a wedding (and not some beautiful readings about beautiful brides, eyes like doves and so on). The reason is simple: what we are witnessing today is the making of a covenant, of a solemn promise between two people. But Noemi and Paul can only do this for one reason: because they have had a personal encounter with this man Jesus Christ. They have experienced this God loving each of them with steadfast love, in the midst of their limitations, weaknesses and sins they have experienced this God as one who has a plan for their lives, who has as a future for each of them and who will be faithful to them in that future. As a result they are full of hope. And therefore they can make covenant with each other, in hope.

Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?( Romans 8,24) You could think them foolish to get married today, because they don’t know hat the future holds, and you are right. Humanly speaking getting married, promising to be faithful for the rest of your life is foolish, in fact it is more than foolish, it is impossible. You can only take such a step if you know that there is a God who is steadfast and who will give you grace to be steadfast yourself.

I don’t know whether you brought a gift for Paul and Noemi: maybe you didn’t, but on your way here you wished you had. I have a suggestion for you of a gift for the two of them (in fact even for those of you who already bought a gift): there is nothing that would bring as much pleasure to the two of them than to know that their wedding today brought you closer to God. So open yourself to this God of steadfast love, this God of covenant: as you watch the two of them exchange the vows and then the rings, don’t get distracted by beautiful dresses and kilts. Realize that this is a sign that God gives you of what he wants to do with YOU: he wants to become your bridegroom. He loves you with steadfast and eternal love; he wants to embrace you and open your eyes to his love; and he wants to reveal his plan for your life, for he has a future for you, a future full of hope. Allow this ceremony to touch you. Paul and Noemi want their wedding today, and their marriage after that, to be a witness to the love made man, a witness to Jesus Christ. I pray that you would meet him today, maybe for the first time, maybe just more deeply, so that you also can sing of the steadfast love of the Lord forever (Psalm 89,1)..

Zur Freiheit verdammt- durch Sühne befreit?

2008-07-05T18:05:00.002+01:00

Es ist sicherlich schon 14 Jahre her, in meiner Zeit als Studentenseelsorger in London, und dennoch bleibt mir dieser Abend noch immer lebhaft in Erinnerung: wir waren etwa 40 junge Menschen, und ich hatte einen Vortrag zu halten, und aus einem mir bis heute unbegreiflichen Grund machte ich einen Witz, der eine jungen Studentin verletzte. Als ich mich nach ihr umsah, um das Malheur zu beheben, war sie schon weg- und ward nie mehr gesehen. Was gäbe ich noch heute dafür, mich bei ihr entschuldigen zu können. Seither ist dieser Ereignis in mein Gedächtnis eingeätzt als „the most embarrassing moment of my life“, wie es in einem englischen Gesellschaftsspiel heisst.

Sicherlich haben wir alle solche Momente, wo wir etwas „verbocken“ und wünschten, es wiedergutmachen zu können. Doch seit wir zu groß geworden sind, um auf Mutters Schoß zu sitzen hat auch unser Vater seine scheinbare Allmacht verloren und kann diese Dinge nicht einfach „wieder gut machen“; wir sind vielmehr damit konfrontiert, dass unsere Taten negative Konsequenzen hinterlassen, die wir nicht mehr ausbessern können. Je schlimmer die Tat, umso grausamer die Gewissensbisse, um nicht zu sagen das Trauma, und viele von uns schleppen solche Dinge noch lange mit uns.

Genau das ist das Thema des Romans „Abbitte“ von Ian McEwan, der letztes Jahr mit Keira Knightley verfilmt wurde: ein dreizehnjähriges Mädchen beschuldigt, teils aus Eifersucht, teils aus Ignoranz, den Freund ihrer Schwester eines sexuellen Vergehens an ihr. Dieser muss ins Gefängnis und danach an die Front; damit nehmen das Leben ihrer Schwester Cecilia und jenes von Robbie eine andere, sehr tragische Wende. Doch als Briony, die Dreizehnjährige, sich ihres Vergehens bewusst wird, ist es zu spät, und sie muss den Rest ihres Lebens mit ihrer Schuld leben. Nicht einmal das Verarbeiten in Form eines Romans vermag ihr Linderung zu verschaffen.

Im Englischen lautet der Titel dieses Buchs „Atonement“, wörtlich mit Sühne oder Buße zu übersetzen; dies sind beides Worte mit religiösen Obertönen, und das nicht zufällig. Denn im Kern des Romans steht die Frage, wie man Schuld sühnen und schweres Vergehen wiedergutmachen kann. Es wird schnell klar, dass die Bitte um Verzeihung Vergangenes nicht ungeschehen machen kann; selbst eine Gerichtsurteil, welches Briony dazu verdonnern würde, ein paar Jahre in Gefängnis zu verbringen, würde das Glück des Paares nicht widerherstellen.

Gibt es also nichts, ja auch gar nichts, das Schuld sühnen könnte? Wenn dem so ist, dann hat Sartre recht, wenn er sagt, dass wir zur Freiheit verdammt sind, und dass niemand uns helfen kann. McEwan lässt aber eine andere Möglichkeit durchleuchten: vielleicht sind wir nicht zu Freiheit verdammt, sondern erst dadurch wirklich frei, dass jemand anderer unsere Schuld sühnt. Das ist die Botschaft der Bibel, dass nämlich der Sohn Gottes Sühne geleistet hat. In seinem Tod am Kreuz hat Jesus für die Schuld von Briony, aber auch für meine, deine und die Schuld der ganzen Welt gesühnt: sie ist vergeben, und daher sind wir frei.

Wenn wir das glauben, dann leben wir nicht mehr mit der Last vergangener Fehler, sondern im Berwußtstein, dass es jemanden gibt, der mich liebt und den Preis bezahlt hat. Es gibt also doch einen allmächtigen Vater, der die Dinge wieder zu reparieren vermag. Sartre würde dazu natürlich meinen, dass dies nur als Krücke erfunden wurde, um die Last der menschlichen Existenz zu lindern. Ich kann ihm diese Meinung nicht nehmen; aber wie die Italiener sagen würden „Si non e vero, e ben trovato“ (wenn es nicht stimmt, so ist doch gut erfunden), und der Glaube an einen Erlöser befreit wirklich, nicht nur scheinbar. Und bis ich die junge Frau wiedertreffe, die ich damals verletzt habe, will ich auch sie der Sühne Gottes anbefehlen.

For Barbara and Britain: the Remarkable Journey of the Agent Called the “White Rabbit”

2008-07-03T15:18:00.004+01:00

When commander Yeo-Thomas finally was finally welcomed by American troops on 26^th April 1945, he had spent the previous thirteen months in quite an eventful way: in March 44 he was betrayed to the Gestapo, underwent then four months of torture and interrogation in Fresnes prison, three of them in solitary confinement. After a stint in another prison, he ended up in the concentration camp of Buchenwald, where he and 36 of his fellow prisoners were supposed to get executed. Just before that happens, he and two other prisoners swap identity with dead prisoners, and so escape execution. He then spends time on a work commando, from which he escapes. He gets captured as a POW. He escapes again, gets separated from his mates, goes three days without food, and is eventually recaptured. Together with ten other French POWs he organizes a final escape and makes it to the American lines. When asked what got him going through all these atrocious ordeals, beset by disentery, kidney stones and blood poisoning, Yeo-Thomas answered: “Barbara and Britain, both of whom I loved so much”

The bravery of this man is of course quite remarkable, and earned him a George Cross, the highest of all civil decorations in the UK. But even more remarkable is that love for his wife and country were the main motives that spurned him on. Conjugal love and fidelity are currently under attack, to be replaced by what is called “Lebensabschnittspartner” (partners for a season in life) in German. Why would you wait for me or I wait for you when the going gets tough? And yet, it is this kind of love that allows human beings to go through even lesser trials successfully.

Even less intelligible for post-modern Europeans is the notion of love for one’s home country: at football games perhaps, but surely not in times of conflict. Patriotism has yielded to cynicism and those who still profess identification with a commonwealth are deemed unenlightened and slightly dangerous. At the same time, we deplore the lack of civic responsibility in most of our European societies: who has a sense that it is worth sacrificing for the common good? We cannot recreate the extraordinary circumstances of the 1940s which brought out such extraordinary courage and generosity of men such as Yeo-Thomas. But we can seek to imitate their example when it comes to fighting for the right and protecting our vulnerable fellow men. Let’s just hope we have a Barbara and a Britain to love…

Where have you been all my life?

2008-07-03T14:33:00.000+01:00

The regular readers will have noticed that no new blogs have been forthcoming since 3^rd March. The main culprit is the German government which decided to call up my faithful assistant Michael to do his alternative service. As a result I suddenly lost ten to fifteen hours a week, and I have been chasing them ever since. Apologies to all the faithful ones logging in.

Rote oder blaue Pille?

2008-03-03T15:59:00.001Z

Vor rund 2500 Jahren unterhält sich Glaucon mit seinem Freund, einem Philosophen. Dieser stellt die Frage, ob das, was wir sehen, der Wirklichkeit entspricht. Er meint vielmehr, dass wir zumeinst nur Schatten sehen, als ob wir in einer Höhle sässen und im dumpfen Licht Abbildungen davon wahrnähmen, was sich ausserhalb der Höhle zuträgt. Daher ist es nur naheliegend, dass früher oder später jemand versucht, aus der Höhle zu klettern, dem Sonnenlicht entgegen. Wem das gelingt, der merkt auf einmal, wie „unwirklich seine Höhlenwirklichkeit“ war. Wenn er sich einmal an das grelle Sonnenlicht gewöhnt hat, ist es gar keine Frage mehr, wo er lieber sein will, denn hier sieht er die Dinge so, wie sie wirklich sind. Doch der Wunsch, seine Mitgefangenen in der Höhle aufzuklären, treibt ihn dazu, den beschwerlichen Rückweg anzutreten. Da macht er eine bittere und überraschende Erfahrung: erstens tut er sich schwer, sich wieder an die Dunkelheit zu gewöhnen; zweitens glauben ihm die Höhlengenossen kein Wort, vielmehr wollen sie ihn um jeden Preis loswerden. Er ist ein unangenehmer Zeitgenosse geworden.

Dieses Höhlengleichnis Platos hat die Philosophie für Jahrtausende beschäftigt. Jüngste Erkenntnistheorie hat gefragt, wie hilfreich eine solche Darstellung ist. Dennoch, bis in die zeitgenössische Filmkunst hinein wirft der Mensch immer wieder die Frage auf, ob das, was er sieht, wahr ist, oder ob es eine tiefere, versteckte Wirklichkeit gibt. Im Film „Die Matrix“ hat Neo die Wahl, entweder die blaue Pille zu nehmen und so weiterhin der Schattenwelt glauben zu schenken; oder aber, er nimmt die rote und steigt aus der Höhle auf. Der Rest des Films zeigt aber auch, dass der Matrix, der Scheinwelt zu entfliehen, weder einfach noch ungefährlich ist. Auf einmal halten alte Antworten nicht mehr, und Freunde empfinden uns als unbequem und den Frieden störend.

Seit fast so vielen Jahren, wie es das Höhlengleichnis gibt, begehen Christen um diese Jahreszeit den Brauch des Fastens. Für rund sieben Wochen beschließen sie, auf vielfältige Weise normale Lebensvollzüge zu verändern: weniger zu essen, nicht fernzusehen, keine Zeitungen zu lesen, keinen Sex zu haben. Was als hart und der menschlichen Natur widerstrebend scheint, bewirkt aber einen seltsamen und ganz anderen Effekt: was als lebensnotwendig und unverzichtbar galt, nimmt auf einmal an Wichtigkeit ab und eine andere Wirklichkeit gewinnt Gestalt und Farbe. Auf einmal sieht man sich selbst, seine Mitmenschen und die ganze Welt ein Stück mehr, wie sie „wirklich“ sind; es ist, als ob man aus der Höhle gestiegen sei. So wird dann das Wort aus der Bibel auf einmal verständlich „Nicht vom Brot allein lebt der Mensch, sondern von jedem Wort, das aus dem Mund Gottes kommt“.
Daraus entstehen oft Initiativen, den Armen zu helfen, sein Geld zu teilen, einfacher zu leben, vielleicht auch seinen Job zu wechseln. Es wird Licht und die Schatten weichen.

Was immer unsere philosophische Position zur Erkenntnistheorie ist: einmal im Jahr die rote Pille nehmen, kann auf keinen Fall schaden.

You forgot your bucket, Miss!

2008-02-24T21:35:00.003Z

It was almost noon when Nushtar stepped out of her home, bucket in hand. She was going out to fetch water. The sun was beating down and the white-washed homes of Sychar were bathed in bright sun light: no place to hide, and making it hard to see. The streets were empty, bar a few goats which were trying to find a little shade under the olive trees, and a few young boys who were more interested in playing than in looking after their goats. Most other villagers were staying inside, taking shelter from the sweltering heat.

But Nushtar headed off, in the heat of the day. She had long stopped caring about the whispers of the neighbours, the critical looks, the comments just loud enough for her to hear them. But facing the women at the well was too much for her; so she had taken to fetching water when nobody else would, in the middle of the day. Morning and evening she stayed well away from that place of meeting and gossip.

As she approached the well, she seemed to make out a figure, leaning against the parapet, his white garment glisteing in the midday sun. A man? At this hour? Alone? What was he doing near the well? This was not a daily sight, but Nushtar was not afraid: she knew how to handle men! Coming closer she noticed that this man was clearly a Jew: his facial features, the way his hair was groomed. And he looked tired, exhausted, thirsty. “Give me a drink,woman!” he said. Those words startled Nushtar: a man, speaking to her? Even more, a Jew speaking to a Samaritan? Surely something was up.

“Why are you talking to me, man?” she asked. But the man seemed to ignore the reproach; instead he mentioned that he had water to give, even though he clearly had no bucket to draw with.

While Nushtar still pondered the puzzle, the man said “Go, get your husband!” Evidently this man had no idea who he was talking to, for Nushtar lived with a man who was not her husband, but she was not about to tell this complete stranger about that. “I have no husband”, she said simply. “I know”, replied this Jew, “you have had five husbands, not counting the man you are living with now”. Suddenly time semed to stop: did this man just say that he knew all about Nushtar’s private life? Was he a prophet? But not only that he seemed to know more than he was letting on, his look was deeply unsettling. This stranger had eyes, oh man, deep, kind and true eyes, and now he was looking at her in a way Nushtar had never known. When men looked at her it was either to check out her body, or to express disdain; but these eyes were different, full of compassion, even though they seemed to know her past.

Nushtar made one last attempt to change to subject, getting the stranger to talk about about differences between Samaritans and Jews, but it was to no avail. In fact the more they talked the clearer it was becoming that this was a holy man. As they discussed theology, Nushtar remembered what she had learned long ago about a Messiah who was supposed to come and save them; she was no expert in such matters, but she always thought such a person would be glorious, powerful and with no time for little people like her. But a guy like him, who looked into your heart, yet was not shocked by what he saw, and who communicated love, compassion, acceptance…now that would be a Messiah. “I am he”, said the stranger, “and what you are witnessing is the age of Messiah, when your thirst will be quenched. I have come to bring forgiveness and restoration to people like you, Nushtar”.

He could not finish his sentence, Nushtar was off already, leaving her bucket behind. She was running, running, while tears were rolling down her cheeks: could it be true? Could it be that God existed? That he had sent a messenger, a human being? That he loved people like her? Could it be? She was confused, but happy the way she had not been for years. It was as if all her wants, desires, hurts, all was washed away and stilled…Yes, he did say that he had water to offer, and somehow he was right: she felt as if she had taken a deep drink of fresh, clean pure water…She was running, stumbling, shouting, as she entered Sychar: “I have met a man who told me everything I ever did! Come and see! Could that be the Messiah?”

And Nushtar is still running, and not looking back, because Nushtar is everybody who has had the same encounter with this stranger at Jacob’s well. Men and women from all walks of life have met him, and he looked into their eyes, telling them all they ever did, yet not condemning them, but rather refreshing them with his looks and words. And so men and women through the ages have left their bucket at the well: they left behind their old life, to go and tell others about the man they met. Could he be the Christ?

Do you believe in Santa Claus?

2008-01-15T23:07:00.000Z

It had been a good Christmas season. Good weather in Belfast (even 30cm of snow- though in my absence), success in baking my first Stollen, and a few lovely gifts. All through the season I had one recurring question to answer: does Santa exist? Fritz, my friend and assistant, is still quite young, so this was his first Christmas during which he was conscious of what was going on. He regularly put the question to me, and like an enlightened parent I explained that Santa did not exist. Fritz believed me.

Then last week a problem occurred, unexpected, out of the blue: Fritz met a reindeer. Not just any reindeer, but a Christmas reindeer: for all to see, for him to touch, there it was! Fritz did not say much, because he is a well-educated gracious lion, but it was clear that his world was in upheaval. If Santa did not exist, nor did his helpers, but if his helpers made appearances on colleagues’ desks, then Santa could not be far!

This put me into a quandary. What could I say? How would I adress the issue, for adressing it needed, and squarely so, unless I wanted to lose my friend’s trust. I pondered my options. There was the “pedagogical” approach: “Listen Fritz, you are too old for such silliness. This reindeer was not for real. Yes, my friend Steffi has it sitting on her desk, but that is because she is a young woman, easily influenced by media and peers”. Well, that did not work, after all Steffi is older than Fritz and a PhD student of social science.

Then there was the culture approach: “Fritz, you come from Africa, so you know of course about the deep-seated beliefs in their culture: the mountain taking vengeance on the tribe if they do not sacrifice a goat, ghosts who cause illness, and the man who lives on the moon”. Apart from feeling culturally quite patronizing by displaying such a sense of cultural superiority, it was hard to argue since ghosts and mountain spirits are invisible, while this reindeer was unmistakeably real.

What about mythology? I could have argued that in ancient times peoples held firm beliefs about the gods, about the origins of their own nations, why wars and disasters occurred: Zeus was angry, Mars was thundering, Poseidon was jealous. But now that scientific progress had come on the scene, we of course knew better. Fritz was unimpressed. The problem was that this encounter had not happened in a toy store or in a child’s bedroom, but on holy, academic ground, right in the department for Non Profit Management. If I was going to convince my friend, it had to be on academic terms.

So I pulled out my (somewhat dusty) knowledge of contructivism. “Fritz, I said, we do not really know things as they are, but as we perceive them. Reality, including your reindeer, is socially constructed, in order to develop plausibility structures which create a mental and social order. So call it a reindeer if you will, but this was not really a reindeer, let alone Santa’s, and inductively concluding that Santa cannot be far, is erroneous and methodologically unsound”. Secretly I was fearing that Fritz might break out into tears at any moment.

Well, I was wrong. He liked me dearly, he said, but what I had to say was stupid. Of course he did not have a PhD, so he could not compete in discussions about the deerness of reindeers or social constructions of animal identity. But he had met a deer “in the flesh” (or in the fur, to be precise), and if that deer was not real, then neither was he (ouch, that stung!). And just because scientific methods (whatever that meant) could not prove that this deer was Santa’s-even though it was wearing his hat -that did not mean it was not. Lots of things could not be proven, certainly not scientifically, and yet they existed: love, friendship, sweet memories- all these were more than blips on an EEG. So who said that a stuffed reindeer or lion had less reality to them than a stupid human being? We all remembered the Little Prince’s fox (did we?): just because we only met him in a book, drawn by St. Exupery, did not mean his words were not profound, or the fox not real. In fact, he Fritz, considered the fox his friend.

At that point it was I who was in danger of bursting into tears, because Fritz was mad! Maybe he was right; maybe there was more to reality than supposed science postulated. Maybe my method was faulty, and I was in danger of disparaging what was valuable, by calling it myths, fairy tales, unscientific? The more I thought, the more I had to agree that Fritz was right: art, beauty, dreams, God- none of them would hold up to scientific inquiry, yet they are more than just a figment of my imagination. And Fritz too, was real, and I knew that!

So next time you try to convince sommebody that Santa does not exist, look out. You might be into more trouble than you were bargaining for. Yes, it has been a good Christmas!

It is not good for man to be alone, not only at Christmas Time

2007-12-17T18:02:00.001Z

Early in September 1992, moosehunters found a decomposing body in the wilderness of Alaska. It was the corpse of Christopher McCandless, a twenty-two year old university graduate from the East Coast of the

. Two years earlier, just after graduation, McCandless had set off on a hitchhiking trip across the

, but not before giving all his savings of $24000 to Oxfam, abandoning his car in a flood plain and burning all the money he had on him. His journey takes him across a good part of the Eastern United States, jobbing here and there, hooking up with hippies and tramps, yet always on the move with the aim of reaching Alaska. McCandless is deeply inspired by the writings of Tolstoy, Thoreau and others and his journey is a pursuit of Rousseau’s ideal of innocence, freedom and independence. But he is also driven by the profound hurt and resentment inflicted on him by a dysfunctional family: money, reputation, success were things his parents pursued, even if it meant living a sham, always fighting and almost getting a divorce. This confirms for him that happiness is not found in civilization, capitalist pursuit and bourgeois living, but in “new experiences” and finding oneself.

So McCandless drives on, making friendships, but then abandoning them again in his quest for solitude and self-fulfilment. He meets Ronald Franz, an old widower and becomes good friends with him (so much so that the latter wants to adopt him). At some point Franz points out to him that he needs to learn to forgive, whatever his parents have done to him; Franz should know, since he lost both his wife and son in a car crash with a drunk driver. Eventually McCandless, who by now calls himself “Alexander Supertramp”, makes it Alaska and lives for more than three months in the wild, living on rice, small game that he shoots, and wild berries. It is likely those berries were the cause of his death, since he probably mistook poisonous for edible ones.

Supertramp kept a diary, which is the basis for the current film version of the story (Into the Wild). One entry is both profound and tragic: “Happiness is only real when shared”. It seems that he tried to make it back to civilization, but the river he had forded on the way in was now too high to cross; so he stayed and died. Watching the film I was reminded of a verse in the first book of the Bible: “It is not good for man to be alone”. Contrary to Walden and Jack London, escaping civilization and returning to the primeval state of hunter and gatherer is not the path to happiness. Society in the original sense of the word, companionship, friends, this is the place where human beings become themselves. Or as the Jewish philosopher Martin Buber puts it: “Through the Thou a person becomes I” Supertramp would of course argue that his most intense experience of companionship, namely his family life, has left him deeply jaded and sceptical. And he is right: enemies will hurt you, and so will friends, and everybody in between. Human relationships will at times lead to pain, hurt and disappointment.

Only forgiveness allows us to continue to be friends, to continue to be human. But running away is not an option; Jean Paul Sartre claims that “hell is the others”; but in fact evil is in each of our hearts, and we will meet it even in the wilds of Alaska. And when we discover beauty, joy and contentment there, as we inevitably will too, they will be imperfect if we cannot speak to others about them. So who are you sharing this Christmas’ happiness with? We hope it is not just a reindeer.

Ich habe Verwandte in Afrika- du auch?

2007-11-06T15:09:00.000Z

Irgendwie ist Afrika derzeit fast allgegenwärtig in meinem Leben: Nachrichten, die jede Woche auf meinem Bildschirm landen, Schulpartnerschaften, die eine Bekannte zwischen ihrer Volksschule in Glasgow und einer anderen in Malawi einrichten will, mein Stofflöwe Fritz, der mich auf alle meine Reisen begleitet, ein Telefonat mit einer Ärztin, die soeben drei Monate in einem Buschspital in Uganda verbringt. Ganz abgesehen von Bananen, Tee, Kaffee, Zucker, Kakao, die zumindest hier in Großbritannien alle aus Afrika kommen. Und natürlich die viele gute Musik, die ich wöchtentlich horche: Goma von Hubert von Goisern, Tiken Joh Fakoly, Youssou D´Nour, Souad Massi usw.

Irgendwie sind wir regelmäßig mit Afrika konfrontiert, ohne aber deswegen zu reflektieren, was das für uns bedeutet. Letzte Woche besuchte ich das „Musee de l´Afrique Centrale“ in Tervuren, Belgien. Es existiert seit den Tagen, als König Leopold beschloss, sein Glück in Afrika zu suchen und er Investoren brauchte, die in das schwarze Gold Gummi zu investieren bereit waren. Deshalb baute er ein Prachtgebäude, welches dann Sammlungen mit verschiedenen „Mitbringseln“ aus dem Kongo beherbergen sollte. Seit damals hat sich nicht viel geändert: jeder Raum ist einem anderen Thema gewidmet, sei es Fauna, Flora, Bergbau usw., und fast wie in einem Märchenland wird beschrieben, was sich dort tut und was alles zu finden ist. Nirgendwo im eigentlichen Museum findet sich ein Stück geschichtlicher Selbstreflektion: einzig in einem ganz kleinen und neuen Teil wird die Geschichte der Entlassung Kongos in die Unabhängigkeit abgehandelt, und selbst da liegt das Schwergewicht darauf, dass radikale Bewegungen die weitere Existenz Kongos als belgische Kolonie unmöglich machten. All das ist umso erstaunlicher angesichts der Tatsache, dass Belgien voll ist von Einwanderern aus Kongo und anderen Teilen des französischsprachigen Afrikas, für die ein solches Museum geradezu skandalöst anmuten muss, fast so wie wenn in Österreich oder Deutschland ein Museum Osteuropas stünde mit all den Artefakten, die die Wehrmacht entdeckte in ihrem Drang nach Osten.

Woher kommt es, dass eine Welt, die so maßgeblich die unsere beeinflusst, sei es wirtschaftlich, kulturell oder geopolitisch, so wenig reflektiert wird? Manches hat sicherlich mit Ignoranz zu tun: bis vor ein paar Jahren hätte ich Mühe gehabt, auf eine leeren Karte Afrikas die einzelnen Länder einzuzeichnen. Manches hat auch mit der Fremdartigkeit dieses Kontinents zu tun, sodass wir nicht wissen, wie wir mit diesen Menschen und ihrer Kultur umgehen sollen. Und vielleicht fühlen wir uns auch manchmal von diesem Weltteil mit seinen Kriegen, Hungersnöten und Fluchtlingen bedroht, oder zumindest hilflos. Was können meine kleine Spende oder selbst der Aktivismus eines Bono wirklich ausrichten im Sudan, in Ruanda, in Nigerien?

Was wäre aber, wenn wir Afrika weder als exotisches Museumsstück noch als Bedrohung ansähen, sondern als langvermisste Verwandte? Ich hatte das Privileg, mit achtzehn in die USA zu reisen und dort erstmals einen weitschichtigen Onkel kennzulernen (fast klischeehaft, oder nicht?). Allein an seiner Nase war zu erkennen, dass seine Mutter eine Krauland war. Doch er konnte keine Wort Deutsch, fuhr einen riesigen amerikanischen Straßenkreuzer und trug weisse Lackschuhe. Vieles, wenn nicht sogar alles an seiner Verhaltensweise mutete fremd an, manches sogar anstößig. Aber ich erinnere mich noch gut, wieviel mir daran lag, ihn kennzulernen, ihn zu verstehen und ihn zu mögen, denn er war mein Onkel. Seither ist eine Freundschaft entstanden, die für beide Seiten sehr bereichernd ist.

Ähnliches könnte auch mit unseren afrikanischen „Verwandten“ geschehen, würden wir uns nur auf sie einlassen. Beim nächsten Kaffee mit Milch bitte daran denken, dass er von einem Verwandten gepflückt und verpackt wurde. Und wenn du genau hinsiehst kann es sogar sein, dass der Mann hinter der Theke, der ihn zubereitet hat, nicht aus Linz oder Lindau, sondern aus Lilongwe stammt.