I've landed on the chance square and the card tells me to go straight to Pall Mall. I must admit my pall mall is the slightly less pronounceable Vojvodina.. the northern bit of Serbia for those of you scratching your head. In some ways I'm jumping up and down for joy, I've a web site to devour (ehons.org) and details to cling to but in other ways I'm so aware of the details i leave behind. it's as if the wind has changed here, the world has become more real and imposing. the place i worked today, and will return to tomorrow, has just seen it's manager resign with immediate effect. the atmosphere is haunting and somber and even the laughter of the children seems muted. the church is also in mourning, but for a much graver reason, the sudden and sad death of Jonathan had much of the congregation in tears during the Sunday morning service. Even though his face has not been present in our congregation for some time his exuberance for life had left a clear impression in this place. My prayers, like many around the country go to his parents, brother, sister and the many friends he made in his 24 years. I'm realising more and more about this dispersed community i cling to and the people i see and lose and find and lose again. That sometimes holes are ripped in the delicate fabric and we are left swaying in the wind. I now read up on the ripped communities of Serbia, events which hammer at the doors prejudice closed so firmly by grief. the way that this huge fabric I've traveled is but a corner of the bigger web that holds us together, but it's only in the proximity to the rip that we are effected. the risk in this trip comes when i face the possibility that i may remove myself so far as to not feel the gash.
0 Comments
Some doors open to green fields and soft guitar strums others open to the faces of the weak and the poor, some bring smiles and reasurrance others haunt with their images that you try at once to scrub from your eyes. the old view of mission is that the doors it opens are to the starving 'black' babies and the famine, drought and baking heat of the less developed world but really mission opens doors that lead to many places. to devout christians who don't recognise their exclusivity or to young christians who have so few tools. mission in the traditional sense, where one leaves your homeland for long swathes of time, has never been an attractive idea with me but somehow i got led through one door and another and the door i now face has this flag on the outside. standing around me are people willing to hand me the key to walk though it, to go and find out what will be on the other side. I must admit i would not know if i had nt been told what this place is, but as the large bundle of keys is sorted from london offices and methodist prayers and conversations fly with arrangements i start wondering how i will find my half year that i will spend being Serbian? |
The other siteWho is GfeefGfeef is the name that my writings have been under for some years. As far as I know it's unique to me. Originally from the UK, I now live in Serbia but continue to have a passion for childrens and youth ministry. Archives
October 2014
|