Some ask why I stay here...

There is a man who comes to the café from time to time. He is very hard work. He rambles and talks about many things, he speaks about bible codes and Hinduism, the gospel of Thomas etc... You will rarely get a word in edgeways. He speaks of being reborn and having a relationship with God. He will visit for several hours and I know that wherever he is, he is rejected, because of the scruffy appearance, the bad social skills, the loud voice, the overbearing conversations. I have known him for about 6 years. He seems to flip from church to church, largely I believe because beside the above, he outstays his welcome. I have also learned from him about his childhood and his family life. He tells me that he was unable to graduate from school as he was unable to understand written questions. He says that when he was little he was allowed to stay up late watching b&w movies on television on his fathers lap (I suspect this was the only time he was quiet). His whole family has rejected him. He has a 'woman' and child and they will not see him. He tells me he is in love with some other woman and is very joyful, but I fear he is mistaken by her smiles to him.
He told me that he went to drop some pumpkins off at his mum a week ago (she must be in her 90's) as he is at least 70. He said that she kicked him out of the house. And then he shows me a little envelope, with a little card inside, that was sent to him. In it, on the card, on one side is some sweet sentimental poem, and on the other is the words written in pen, 'My Dear ...., I love you, always, Mum.'. He asks me what do I make of that? He says how can he be kicked out and then the next day she sends a card. You can read what you want into this, but knowing the man I am sure he was a very difficult child, as he is very difficult today. He is not horrible, just very unusual, peculiar; and he doesn't 'fit in'. I am sure his mothers heart is wrenched every time she sees him, and I am sure she hates sending him away and I try to convey this to him, but he doesn't understand. I always try to make time for him, he is really loveable and gentle, full of little jokes. I know that if I was in any other work I would probably not be able to accommodate him. I am so glad he feels able to visit us. Eventually, at the end of the day that he is visiting he invariably is the last person to leave. For the last number of hours I have had very little chance to speak, and now he must leave. I have to admit, over 6 years I am now getting to say more; he is getting better, but slowly, and I have had to be very direct. It is difficult to force him out, and I, like his mother, feel pain, but it is tinged with joy.

Forever artists

Over the past 7 years I have been able to observe the works of the Café Forever workers in action. In the beginning there were many difficulties; clashes of personality as we embraced the challenge of knowing each other. These clashes are quite common among people with a similar passion - and the amazing thing is, while passion tends to create the clashes, it is that same passion that helps overcome the different natures and methods of work. Having recently read the Book of Acts in the Bible, and in the past, the Voice of The Martyrs, it seems right to give an account of the works of the workers. Both books would express how the Spirit of God moved the people to unconditional and unselfish sacrificial love and I hope that this brief note would do the same.

Carol getting resourced!

It seems to me that missionaries are artists - relationship artists. I notice how they are truly creative in their methods of addressing human problems. An artist will think about what it is they are going to create, look at what materials they have, and then carefully paint their emotion,their soul, their being into the canvas. Some artists' canvasses are blank white sheets and then they can do what they want. Others use recycled materials or dirty old walls - take Banksy as an example! I think a child is a bit like a blank white sheet, and the further on in life he goes, the more distressed the canvas becomes. No child is entirely blank however, because no matter what perfection your birth no child has a perfect upbringing - as a parent I admit it. As a child grows so the influences outside grow - some for the better and some for the worse.

So if each person that is met by the missionary is a canvas - some more distressed than others, it is the missionary (artists) pleasure to see that canvas transformed. Each one has their own specific methods and techniques. They are often meeting together to discuss the intricacies of their canvasses. Their subject matter is always the same, it's how to get that imprinted on the canvas that is the challenge. And each of these artists spend considerable hours researching the Master and talking with Him, to see and understand how He goes about transforming. In the process of working with the canvas it is almost as if artist and canvas intertwine into one - the artist becomes the canvas and the canvas becomes the artist. At other times they go to him when their own distress has caught up with them and their creativity is spent. Together it is hoped that the collected works will become part of the most beautiful gallery ever. How wonderful it is to see distressed recycled materials transformed into a work of beauty.

But what techniques! Personal time with canvasses take their toll - some of these artists will never marry, they will never own a nice little place by the sea, and the days when they are no longer able to lift a brush, they may be comforted in the knowledge that they have a small room on a noisy council estate. Part of that personal time has been shopping - purchasing special paint to apply to the canvas - a gift to each canvas that it would especially appreciate. 'Gifts open the door to the giver' and the correct paint has a wonderful affect on a canvas and it seems almost standard among these artists. Sometimes small amounts of the paint is applied over several canvasses all at once! Tired and lifeless they become interesting and exciting and other artists want to find out what is going on - sometimes they come near and then back off because they fear the colour! But oh what a joy to be covered in paint!

I see these artists listening to the canvas, understanding the canvas, and working the canvas. Their subject matter drives them forward, they are passionate about the work and stay up late at night, eiether coaxing the paint into the canvas or preparing some or other form of fresh guache to add to the next days work. Sometimes they are sculptors and have to cut away unnecessary growths, or dance instructors encouraging dance - whatever they are, they are Masters in the order of Rembrandt and Paul. Rembrandt had a special technique called chiaroscuro - letting light draw the eye into the picture. Paul called it sharing the gospel.

Carol carefully crafts a gift. Marlene makes her home available. Tom paints the playground. Together they work to total transformation. These may seem like trifles - I assure it is not all that they do, but these are some small ways in which a Great Artist makes a boring canvas beautiful.

Abject poverty

Don't be fooled

I regularly go into Canary Wharf as part of my work. One of the things that has struck me today is a small children's 'nursery'. I put it into inverted commas because I don't know what we are thinking these days. A nursery is supposed to be a place where something small can develop safely with all the required nourishments. The place I am thinking about is at the bottom of a massive tower, in the heart of Canary Wharf. Now I am sure that the staff are all very good and friendly to the children and that they have lots of lovely books to read and songs to sing - it amazes me how resourceful we can be. But what ABJECT POVERTY! There is a grass green synthetic mat laid out on the ground along with about 4 small green plastic bushes. The space has a small number of toys and gadgets for the children to play with. I feel like crying. Why is it that we think we can live without nature? It is so sad! God has made such beautiful things, so soft and safe and gentle, and we think that by building a city of concrete and glass we are making good! Sure, there is order, just like in the garden of eden - BUT there is no garden! We have ripped up the good, God made earth and created an awful eyesore. As the natural green spaces disappear I am sure we will evolve mentally and spiritually. I am concerned about the welfare of London! Oh for a little African dirt. Africa, your poor cities, in your poverty, are many ways far wealthier than London. Please pray for us.