Getting Old

Last Tuesday night I had a marvelous opportunity to share in a unique birthday celebration. As one might imagine, things here are much older than they are in the states, and with that age comes a more lucid view into the legacies that are left in the wake of our prior generations.

St. Paul’s Church in Oslow Square turned 150 years old last week, and as a part of the Sesquicentennial celebration Holy Trinity Brompton (the church I’ve been attending) threw a celebration to commemorate the legacy of a house of worship that has out-survived a vast span of global military conflicts, has seen the rise and fall of empires, and has seen technological advancement and evolution of modern society that probably dwarfs any other 150 year stretch of history.

From an American history context, St. Paul’s was founded the year BEFORE the civil war started. South Carolina was the first state to secede from the union in 1960.
In the context of all that had happened over the course of the past 150 years, it is no doubt cause for celebration to bear witness to a house of worship standing firm through all the chaos that humanity has made. How comforting to know that despite the vastness of the depravity of man, the steadfastness of God’s provision proves out over time.

As usual, on Tuesday evening I had managed to both be running behind and get lost on the way to the church. I have learned that my timing and timeliness is perpetually thwarted by my overconfidence in my ability to get around London. Even routes that are proving to be quite traditional in my life here are confounded with near perfection. Perhaps there’s wisdom to be gathered from that.

Despite my frustration, I have found a sense of determination here to not let the obstacles of life distract my desire to experience things, especially those that are rich with meaning or are at least new off the beaten path tidbits for both proving lend themselves to interesting days and nights here. Tuesday in particular felt like more of a fight, but I convinced myself that it is impossible rationalize sitting at home to quietly read alone versus going to a celebration, let alone one of the type that I might never see or experience again.

After my round about journey I arrived only a few minutes late, which probably proved to my benefit in a lot of ways. You must realize that St. Paul’s is a small, traditional English church building. It is probably just as you imagine it. On the inside, a small foyer leads to the sanctuary and contains stairwells on both sides leading to the gallery seating above. The sanctuary has been stripped of its pews but the old wood beams and rafters are in their strong, dark original form. And of course behind the alter at the front of the room a large stain glass window. It is a far cry from the new mega-churches that are prevalent in the states, and I must say that the down-sizing has proven quite refreshing. So given the more “traditional” church size, it would turn out that seats, and even standing room were in short supply; the place was full to the brim.

It is amazing to see a body of people visibly hungry to get in on the action…I guess it makes on consider what their appetite is really geared towards.

As I was pointed to the upper gallery seating, it was readily apparent that the old bones of St. Paul’s were full of life. I can’t recall even in the past years if I’ve been to a music event or performance that was quite so full with people reeling just to be able to see and get a taste of the action. This goes without to mention, I’ve never been to a worship service with such fanfare…
The celebratory atmosphere was palpable, and sadly but appropriately different from traditional Sunday worship. Although the mandate to celebrate the living work of God is and was no different, it felt so much easier to do so when snapped out of a weekly routine, I mean, we were celebrating 150 years of worship. After the music concluded and the program had begun, an abbreviated version of the churches history was presented to the congregation with dabs of musical performances and other media pieces to supplement the archived vintage footage of old London.

Despite all the enchantment of the history of the church and the announcement of the attendance of a number of impressive vicars who have served well into their 80’s ensure the church’s survival. My attention span began to duck in and out as I considered the context of this great legacy and what it could mean in my life. To think that a group of people bound together by a common mission 150 years ago created a legacy of love and life change. I’m sure that there were mistakes and blunders along the way, but above all the mission prevailed. You may think and believe what you want about God and church, but it is important to consider the implications of our legacies in this world are given increasing significance with time.

A small change in the course of humanity today, can over the long run create radical change.
Its hard in those moments not to consider where I’m investing, what I’ll leave behind when I go. It’s impossible not to consider if I’m making choices, even the small ones, that could make this world radically different.

It now, for me, is easy to see the significance of investing in both institutions that create the right legacies as well as making decisions, loving people, and living in a way that in the same breath thoughtfully provokes change and is open to change in the hopes that down the line those little course corrections can result in markedly better reality.

As I wandered back home in the crisp evening night, somehow lost again, I couldn’t have been more pleased that I didn’t let my physical disorientation interfere with my spiritual orientation…no matter where it is or where you are, it's the here and now that starts the change.

Yes, I did have to look up sesquicentennial.
CP

Wilderness.

"...make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty."

Letter from Chris McCandless
John Krakauer – Into the Wild.

So for a little more than a week now I’ve begun making London my home. Amidst the searching for homes, meetings, disorientation, and all the other things that naturally are a part of the process of immigrating. I have been enamored by how deep in the throes of this wild city I’ve been thrown. Prior to leaving the states I coincidentally was provided a few tidbits of adventurer’s morale, one of which came from a letter written by Chris McCandless as presented in the book Into the Wild (quoted above). If you know the story you might think following the spirit of such a wayfarer might be misguided, but despite the ultimate detriment of his journey, McCandless had the right heart towards the wild spaces of this life, however poorly they manifested.

If you don’t know the story check it out here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_McCandless

Over the past few days, the wildness of this city has been remarkable to take in. My life in Texas was far from ordinary, and probably to the naked eye spontaneous and uncalculated, but if I have learned much in these first days it is how calculated and tame my life used to be. Over the course of a decade in the south, I had slowly concocted a network of security, comfort, and seamless execution of my life and my desires. And as my comfort and my processes became more refined, the deeper entrenched I became; it is this very type of attachment that inhibits us all too often, it is the comfort the predictability that is hard to let go of. At the end of the day, McCandless’s undoing was not his desire to break free from the soul constraining process of routine, but rather it was his pursuit of liberation through destitution and isolation.

All this to say, London for me is as untamed and wild, a place which over the course of no more than 7 days time has managed to disrupt a decade of patterns and predictability. It has been amazing to see what such a short stretch of time can do to see the world as a vastly different place.

As I’ve begun to process these thoughts, I was sitting in the UK immigration office, and fittingly this place couldn’t be riper with God’s great creation. Though frustrating as it may be, the scents of this diverse place, and the sounds of crying (read, screaming) children, this is nature, wild and untamed. Amidst the cold and sterile rows of the blue painted metal benches, sit dozens of warm bodies blooming with life, wild, and of themselves wilderness. The irony is that this simple ballet of lifeless processes, forms, stamps, and fees has for itself generated quite a remarkable collection of life.

I’m very quickly learning that the illusion of control in my life has been quickly dispelled by life here in London, for there is no amount of planning, calculation, will, effort, or resources that can prevent the circumstances of this city from having their way with you. Much of the unpredictability and I love about the natural wilderness I am learning to love about the urban wilderness to which I have been thrust. The sheer size of this city is beyond the grasps of my control, and so I’m learning to surrender all the more each day, and with this has come a sense of appreciation and enjoyment that I might not be able to possess. Each day an infinitely new adventure…

As I’ve been thumbing the pages of the Krakauer chronicle of McCandless’s story I’ve come to understand Alexander “Supertramp” (Chris McCandlesses’s self adopted moniker) as a kindered spirit in some respects, and in the bit’s and pieces that were gathered in his wake, I’ve been left to consider the wilderness I am in, and the wilderness I am invited to explore as I begin this chapter of my life.

I do believe that nature, and isolation can radically change our perspective on the modern world, yet only to the extent that we allow our the perspective that the natural wild provides to drive us to engage the civilized wilderness in which we must live. Being alone in the natural spaces of creation does a great wonder of right sizing our perspective on where we fit, but that perspective is useless if it does implore us to engage humanity on Christ’s behalf. Chris McCandless’s plight was not a pursuit of wilderness, but the confusion of wilderness and solitude with isolation and desolation.

Christ in fact began his ministry in natural wilderness for 40 days, and then from there, he went to engage the wilderness of humanity. He did it through wild love, untamed, unbridled…and it is just about the only thing that could rescue and redeem the wild and deep depravity that the modern heart/mind might find. And thus the true wilderness is humanity, and to go into the wild we mustn’t withdraw carelessly into the barren caverns of isolation, but we must dive further still into the human heart, into the wild places of our souls that long so deeply to be loved and to know love as true in this dangerous world.

I am now more than ever convinced that the world will only be changed by wild radical love. It is how Christ loves us, it was not without cost, it was not safe. But it was the only thing that could in a single breath bind us to something great and set us free, to make us wild as we were intended to be.

I do so deeply hope that this place, this great wilderness, will not let my heart grow bitter or cold in the slightest. It seems that the interferences of this wild place, the inconveniences, the natural elements of humanity in proximity to itself, and the disruption and interference on our daily course could pose as daunting for me, but yet I’m learning to surrender my clock work agenda to be able to deal with the incalculable disturbances to my “plans”. If you’ve ever swum in a flowing river, you most certainly found that the easiest and safest way to navigate a river’s rapids is not to fight against the current, but rather to use the river’s strength as your own and to go with the flow. But rather I hope I find instead of bitterness and frustration, opportunities each day to love and live wildly and radically.

I’m learning much, to embrace this uncalculated wilderness as my home. I’m learning to trust that my daily will be provided. To patiently, yet tactfully engage with the chaos that each day may bring.

I leave you with a few lines from one of my favorite poems by Robert Service; who wrote much about the Alaskan Wilderness that did McCandless in. Service, a banker by trade, became one of the many men captivated by the great white northern wilderness of the Yukon territory…I love his presentation of the two wildernesses…both cold, both hard, both dangerous…but only one needs redeeming.

“I'm scared of it all, God's truth! so I am;
It's too big and brutal for me.
My nerve's on the raw and I don't give a damn
For all the "hoorah" that I see.
I'm pinned between subway and overhead train,
Where automobillies swoop down:
Oh, I want to go back to the timber again --
I'm scared of the terrible town.

I want to go back to my lean, ashen plains;
My rivers that flash into foam;
My ultimate valleys where solitude reigns;
My trail from Fort Churchill to Nome.
My forests packed full of mysterious gloom,
My ice-fields agrind and aglare:
The city is deadfalled with danger and doom --
I know that I'm safer up there.

I watch the wan faces that flash in the street;
All kinds and all classes I see.
Yet never a one in the million I meet,
Has the smile of a comrade for me.
Just jaded and panting like dogs in a pack;
Just tensed and intent on the goal:
O God! but I'm lonesome -- I wish I was back,
Up there in the land of the Pole. “

- Robert Service; I’m Scared of it all – Full version here Here

Its also to important to note, that after nearly 100 days alone in the wild, McCandless ventured to leave his wilderness home and go back to life in human civiliazation realizing, that "happiness isn't real unless its shared"

Getting Wild,
CP
http://chrispanoff.blogspot.com