A Reed In The Wind

Jesus and me: to live for the King (3)

2012-01-28T14:02:00.001+01:00

Some people assume, out of ignorance or prejudice, that Christian commit themselves to Christ being somehow swept away by a highly, singularly emotional experience, or that they simply act on impulse or on the overpowering force of parental influence.

In other words, these people seem unable to ascribe a conversion to the ongoing, time-consuming process of actually seeking a higher truth, and that the mind - as much as the heart - is massively involved in it. So, instead of making a leap of blind faith when evidence is pointing to an opposite conclusion, a person may well come to Christ after carefully considering the astounding claims Jesus made about himself, at length arriving at the conviction that he is God.

FOR MORE REASONS THAN ONE

In most cases, perhaps, the reasons people choose to follow Christ are varied, complex and even highly personal. But, as in my case, more often than not, we make the ultimate decision having spent months and years brooding things over, exploring and researching other possible ideas and philosophies before coming full circle to the faith of our ancestors.

From as far back as I can recall I was fascinated by the possibilities of extra terrestrial and ancient, extinct life forms. Dinosaurs, UFOs and galaxies were the staples of my mental diet. In my vivid imagination, which I would habitually feed an installment of Carl Sagan's "Cosmos", or "Star Trek", "Moon base Alpha" or whatever was on the TV set at the time, I would travel back to the plains where T-Rexes swarmed, and I would travel in tandem with my TV heroes to the remotest corners of the Universe. But even if Sagan as his naturalistic cronies would vigorously and with unflagging determination fight the concept of theistic evolution or creation for that matter, very early on in my life signs showed up indicating that the damage seemed to have been done already.

THE 'ALIEN' GERM

The germ that would contaminate my entire being had been sown years previously, chiefly by my maternal grandmother and grandfather. They were the ones who at intervals would bring me to church, they were the ones who would be sitting in their sofa in the afternoons reading portions of Scripture, me being the silent bystander. Funnily enough, at no point did they intrude into the process of my own quest for truth, attempting to bring me to a confession of faith in Jesus. Behind the scenes, as it were, they would interminably interceed on my behalf, that I somehow arrive at the desired conclusion on my own accord.

All these formative years, I never doubted the tenets of evolution. I loved speculating what life must have been like in pre-Cambrian times, and I relished in the images concocted by skilled artists depicting my then still developing human forebears chasing game, exchanging snorts and grunts for want of a fully developed language system. All that, and much more, I believed and clung to as a prized possession. Because, after all, how could scientists lie to me? I believed them as staunchingly and fervently as I believed in the assurances given to me by my mother that I would get a new pair of jeans once summer was through. Because I eventually got my pair of jeans, see?

FAITH - BECAUSE OF REASON

So, how could the germ of faith survive in such a hostile intellectual invironment? I never prayed for God to show up, although I was so hungry inside for something more than the cold, impersonal Cosmos where nothing dwelt except dust, and billions of infinitesmall creatures called humans, a rather attractive byproduct of an haphazard chain of events called steps of evolution. Well, perhaps, that's precisely what swayed me, finally, in the direction of embracing a will higher than my own. I wanted - more than anything else - to come across the satisfaction of knowing that which would add meaning to my life. Because being here by chance, a dismal existence with no direction or purpose, didn't quite appeal to me. Certainly, there must be more, mr. Sagan?

Rationally, the concept of a superior Intellect behind the Universe seemed reasonable enough. Consequently, once a girl of my age came along catching my attention, the scene was set for a transfer from one reality to a far greater one.

More on that soon.

Love come down

2012-01-22T10:55:00.001+01:00

In 1990 a then still very young Jon Gibson released one of his most successful albums to date. Gibson, a one-time mainstream music star-to-be, now spent his time writing music with a markedly spiritual influence. This time around, as always, really, the San Francisco-born American had one thing on his mind: the absolute need for believers to start exhibiting some real, no-nonsense love in a world that is many time either loveless or filled with people who haven't known the love of Christ through one of his 'hands' and 'feet'. Our call is to love, Gibson contends, and love in such a way as to truly be seen in the act. It's got to come down on street level. Nothing else will do.

Prayer for the new year

2012-01-16T20:08:00.000+01:00

Dear Lord,

2012 has dawned upon us, and the world is still very much in need of You.

Right now Europe and the rest of the world is in a deep crisis, Jesus, and as you know politicians and heads of state are rightly worried over what will happen e.g. to the member states of what is known as the EU. Human error and hubris has brought on them a dire financial situation - although problems seem to be unevenly distributed across the continents. Citizens of some of the countries have apparently been acting more in line with your moral precepts and thus avoided the trouble the Greeks have brought upon themselves, but since I am not an expert in the field of economics, I cannot know, Lord whether Germans e.g. will soon find themselves equally beset by unemployment and general discontent.

Whatever the causes of the present situation may be, I pray that those who are working towards solutions - policies and other measures that will resolve the crisis - may be granted success, so that pent-up anger and frustration will not spill over into the streets, and that we may avoid scenes like those we witnessed on the streets of France some years ago where scores of youth vented their volcanic ire by burning cars, looting shops and causing pain and fear to dominate.

Lord, may Your people in Europe and the world be granted grace to set examples that will attract the attention of outsiders. May they lead their lives, facing their crises trusting You, so that eventually the distraught and the alienated will experience a resurgence of hope. May your good news be shared in homes, on the streets and in the workplaces in ways that don't diminish its demands on its listeners, or compromise the provocative power of your cross. You didn't lay down your life, Lord, to merely gain a fanclub. You died in order for new creations, people made new on the inside, to follow your examples as apprentices of your heavenly trade.

Dear Lord. In the midst of all the present turmoil and upheavals that we observe across our globe, may we over and over again discover just who we are in You, and may our eyes be made to see the true magnitude of the resources available for us in You. It's so easy to lose courage, abandoning our youthful passions and vision that energized us. It's easy to grow old in our faith, Lord, so that our prayers become stale and cold, producing nothing but empty echoes around us. Help us regain what we lost whenever we felt to weak to fight, and simply gave in because we were tricked into believing that our enemy was too overpowering for there to be any point in resisting.

Jesus, dear Jesus. May I and those I love embrace your initiatives for us in 2012. May we, with eyes wide open, be made to realize what exactly your perfect will is, and ignite in us the passion to follow you to places, and in ways, we've never experienced before. We feel old mindsets and the urge for comfort closing in on us whenever the pull for the new is expanding inside. Help us, want to break free from past triumphs and defeats. Nostalgia won't stand us in good stead this, or at any other, time. We need the new, and thus we need You.

Lord, help us fall desperately in love with You. For it's love that will take us to wherever and whatever we're destined for. We welcome new learning and fresh insights, but above anything else we need Your love to replenish and bolster our own. Without You we can do nothing at all. And there's no knowing, yet, of what can be accomplished if You perform Your majestic works in and through us.

Lord, You're a caged Lion in us waiting to be released. Be released - and stay unfettered and free. May we thus be audacious and persistent in reclaiming and retrieving each nation that You bought with Your own sacrifice all those many years ago.

Amen.

Consider this

2011-12-30T15:41:00.003+01:00

I haven't watched it through to the end yet, but this video poses some very interesting thoughts and reflections on some of the problems involved in attempting to explain the existence of our universe in terms of a
chance explosion - from nothing. Seems there are problems with the Big Bang.

When will it be enough?

2011-12-29T23:04:00.001+01:00

This December saw me waiting indefinitely for the fluffy, playful snowflakes that usually decorate our surroundings this time of year. But instead we have seen strings of turbulent low pressure fronts producing nothing but storms; violent winds and staggering amounts of downpour.

For more than a week now our coastline and its immediate interior has been battered by at times hurricane force winds only interspersed by shortlived spates of lull. The various live news reports have brought us harrowing images of houses blown to smithereens, or deep gashes in the sloping hillsides where landslides have cut broad paths across fields and orchards. Yesterday, a 66-year old woman was interviewed outside what remained of her home of more than six decades, tearfully explaining why she couldn't contemplate living there anymore. Nothing remained standing of her house. Everything had been shattered to pieces, and in the pile of debris that now remained, the former occupant was frantically looking for a treasured heirloom: earthenware that she had once served hot meals on. But the long hours she spent looking provided nothing in terms of retrieved, intact personal belongings.

2011: blow upon blow across our earth

We're not as a nation alone in having been hit by the apparent whims of nature. This year's earthquake in Japan and the subsequent tsunami washing away entire communities, the deathly drought in the eastern regions of Africa and the needless loss of lives in its wake, the torturing floods of Bangladesh and Pakistan inundating entire cities and ruining vital crops - are all shocking reminders that life is terribly fragile at times. But even worse is the fact that these disasters seem to strike randomly, particularly hitting those who are the least likely to recover financially or mentally from the traumas they have to endure agian and again.

I sometimes wonder why I am spared from having to undergo such full-scale upheavals of my status quo of comfort and predictability. Nothing much has ever happened that can in any way rightfully be compared to what this 66-year old woman now has to envisage: the raw pain that most likely will dog her every effort to rebuild her life in a new location, with many of the physical ties to her past severed by loss of belongings. Losing plates and saucers are perhaps a matter of mere trifles in the bigger scheme of things, but when thes losses - as in this case- are so final and so comprehensive, they may even prove to be too much to bear.

Will it ever happen to me?

I may find myself in this woman's shoes some day. I cannot know in advance whether similar blows will come my way. If they do, then I certainly hope that I'll remember - whilst crying through the prolonged protests of deprivation - that whatever I lose here on earth will be restored or replaced in the second phase of my eternal walk. I do hope that the victims now emotionally numbed by this weeks extreme weather will hold on to the same idea. Scant comfort, perhaps, but comfort all the same.

The star of Bethlehem

2011-12-26T00:23:00.001+01:00

Even the stars testified to the actual birth of Christ. Follow mr. Larson's explanations and musings on this documentary.

Remembering 1989

2011-12-23T13:36:00.003+01:00

Almost a week ago today the enigmatic and isolated state of North Korea lost its so-called Dear Leader. Kim Jong-il, aged 69, apparently suffered a stroke on board his custom-built train, and less than 48 hours later the world knew that yet another despot had gone for good.

The scenes of mass hysteria and the inconceivable, syncronised outpourings of grief evinced on the streets of Pyonyang truly baffled me. But then again I remembered having read somewhere that the citizens of the nation's capital constitute the die-hard faithfuls, the privileged few who truly stand to lose everything if the present regime were to collapse. So perhaps the tears weren't shed because of heart-felt devotion to their demi-god of 17 years; as much as because of the realisation that their source of financial security and relative prosperity was gone. What now?

Experts and pundits seem to be in overwhelming agreement that the quiet revolutions in Eastern Europe in 1989 will not be repeated inside North Korea in the foreseeable future. Due to cultural factors, such as intense deference for and devotion to their senior citizens and leaders - the wisdom of the grey-haired, the Northerners on the divided peninsula will most likely bow their necks to their tyrant overlords, and quietly accept their fates.

They know very little of the outside world, but, certainly, they must know that they aren't truly free?

REMEBERING RUMANIA 

In 1989, I remember watching on our television set in utter disbelief the rag-tag revolutionary comittee of Rumania announcing the success of their attempt for seize power from one Kim Jong-ils soulmates, Nicolae Caecescu. No one saw it coming, no one expected such a dramatic development inside a country that, similar to North Korea, seemed to be forever incarcerated within the concrete walls of heavy-handed communism. We had learned of the cries of protest and the single acts of defiance on the part of a bold priest in the western part of the country, one Laszlo Tokes, but resistance had been quelched before with brutal finality. We knew that. We had learned it in school:

Hungary 1956; Czechoslovakia 1968 - both sombre reminders of the willingness on part of the Comrades in power to squash any attempt from ordinary citizens to break free from the overwhelming burdens of uniformity. They all more or less longed to break free in Poland, Hungary and East Germany, and breathe freely. Their proletariat paradises had gone bust, fully insolvent as to all forms of capital reserves, except for the spiritual and moral ones. But what we didn't know was to what lengths they - the ordinary citizens - were willing to go in order to achieve their freedom. The dictators of eastern Europe were rightly fearful of what their subjects might do.

WILL IT EVER HAPPEN IN NORTH KOREA? 

But what about North Korea, this tottering giant in arms, this defiant loudmouth of nations threatening death and havoc on their neighbour across the 38th parallell?  I don't know. But I surely hope that 1989 can indeed be repeated as peacefully now as then. The question is whether the starving and dejected masses can find within themselves the glowing embers of hope for a better future. Because without hope there cannot possibly be change of any noticeable kind, apart from the type of change imposed from the ruling party - the change that in  reality is only intended to preserve things they way they are.

Buit, still, the walls of eastern Europe tuimbled when we least expected them to. Could it be that it will happen again? Let's pray. That's what believers within the former Communist states did.

Scanning the skies (Jesus and me (2))

2011-12-22T12:02:00.002+01:00

Much of my childhood was either spent in tandem with my grandparents or in relative isolation - with my books. I sought, to a certain extent, solitude and found it as often as I wished.

In stark contrast to my brother, the outdoorsman, athlete and music adept, I found home turf in the world that only exists in our imaginations. I seldom would voluntarily venture outside our front yard, most often only when walking to and from school. And apart from our holidays and visits to relatives e.g., on ordinary weeekdays my attention would gravitate towards letters; letters that make up sentences, sentences that make up paragraphs, paragraphs that make up chapters, chapters that make up books, books that make up cosmoses of fact and fiction.

I would feel at home there, as nothing would usually threaten to sever the ties to the imaginary or real, past or prest or future worlds that I could visit at will. In my mind I was the great explorer of ancient cultures, the divulger of untold secrets, the distiller of truths that had hitherto escaped humanity. What I could not, or dared not, attempt in the real, outside world, I was here at total liberty to pursue and attain. And so my daydreams became the drugs that kept me afloat, the escapist highway where I would roam free and unfettered.

THE WORLDS I KNEW

Dinosaurs, the distant galaxies and alien life forms. Those were some of my cherished past-time pet interests. Whenever or wherever I could lay my hands on information, in books or articles, I would soak it all up like the insatiable knowledge-sponge that I was. Too much was never enough, as my curiosity could apparently never be overcharged or overstimulated. Learning something new meant new wood to the fire, which would burn as intensely by day and as by night.

I particularly remember one author, one Erich von Däniken. This Austrian (I believ) has for decades been somewhat of a beacon and source of inspiration, to those - like me back in the 70s - who feel this inexplicable pull towards the mysteries pertaining to the field of extra terrestrial life. It was through his books that I first became familiar with the Hebrew prophet Ezekiel of the Old testament. In von Däniken's opinion, the strange visions Ezekiel had by the Chebar Canal in the year 621 BC, which he later would chronicle in the book that bears his name, were actually recordings of aliens visiting earth.

Von Däniken's speculations were priceless gems to my inquisitive mind, and in a definite way fuelled my search for meaning in a universe that at the time didn't provide much in the way of fulfillment or sense of security. Scanning the skies and progressively learning more about the vast cosmos we inhabit, also drove me towards hours of contemplation: there must be life out there. It's illogical to presume differently.

WORKING BEHIND THE SCENES

My grandmother and grandfather on my mother's side were both Christian, and from them I got a children's Bible before the age of ten. But apart from that, and the brushes with Church that happened trivially and regularly each Christmas, the input from God seemed scarce and haphazard. But each drop of truth, each little glimpse of reality beyond my humdrum existence, was in fact a solid step towards what would transpire later in life, age 16. And behind the scenes all throlugh those years, forces were conspiring to bring about change, as it were, as prayer upon prayer would go up to God on my behalf.

I don't know what my grandparentæs knew about my search for truth, but as they certainly were aware of my loneliness and troubles, they were probably very concerned about their chubby little grandchild. And without behaving intrusively or coercively, they cared for me the best way they knew how: by praying that I would someday come to contentment and faith in Christ.

It took years before their prayers were answered. But in the meantime God would exploit my craze for Star Trek or Star Wars, and push me towards the point where I was ready to respond.

30 years together: Jesus and me (1))

2011-11-30T22:00:00.001+01:00

December 15, 1981, my life was changed - literally forever. Without razzamatazz, even an ounce of drama, I went from being one seeking truth to becoming one found by Truth Himself.

The quiet, fumbling prayer that emanated from deep within while I was walking home from a youth gathering didn't rebound on me with the stunning revelations of heavenly glory, but it revolutionized the direction and meaning of my life. I didn't go from timid introvert to cocksure extrovert, but after a bumpy beginning this spiritual toddler would soon learn to appreciate the New Love that now occupied my inner territory.

ANNIVERSARY!

Soon Jesus and I will be celebrating our thirty years together. Not once throughout these three decades have I seen him with my human eyes, but His impact on my life has been profound and enduring. Today I cannot imagine how I got on without Him for sixteen years. A cliche, for sure, but in 2011 - as in 1981 - a need persists in my life for purpose, meaning, security and well-being. Qualities, realities, that I'm convinced would certainly completely evade me if it weren't for the risen Christ.

Since we're entering the month of December tomorrow, a month in the dead of winter - yet cyclically also heralding new hope and new beginnings through the celebration of Christmas - I will be relaying and exploring old and new glimpses into a relationship that has slowly, gradually turned me into a different man, a better man.

If you want to know more, then pay this site a visit within the next few days.

The Bully Project

2011-11-10T21:21:00.001+01:00

I cried as I was sitting there, eyes glued to the cinema screen. I was watching "The Bully Project" surrounded by my own pupils as well as those of other schools.

We had been specially invited to come and see the screening of this documentary by the American director Lee Hirsch. Hirsch, himself a victim of bullying at school, had for two years been filming the ugly, brutal reality that never seems to go away. Eighteen million kids in America are bullied each year, the "Bully Project" home page claims, and, without any statistics to support my own claims, I will add: and quite possibly numerous thousands here in Norway as well.

What makes this documentary so harrowing, so compelling, is the knowledge that what you're seeing actually has taken place. The evidence is overwhelming. Kids are caught on tape in the very acts of sabotaging other kids' sense of security and well-being. Thugs the age of my own son exhibit unbelievable insensitivity and perversity in pestering, domineering and tyrannising their peers. And the crime scene is the school bus or the school corridor.

Unintentionally or on purpose, school management or staff and busdrivers are characterized as mysteriously ignorant of the bullying or sensationally incompetent in dealing with what clearly goes on in broad daylight. As the threats escalate and one victim's safety is clearly at risk, the filmmaker at one point has to cease filming and instead alert the responsible grown-ups as to what actually transpires in the war zone called a school bus.

Some of the victims portrayed in this documentary are no longer alive. Two teen suicides are reported and parents and family of those who couldn't handle it anymore are allowed to express, and explain, the pain and grief ensuing the tragic deaths of an 11 year old and a 17-year old. Other victims of bullying that we meet in the film eventually fare much better, but in all cases there's a lingering, prevalent sense of uncertainty at the end: how traumatized have these kids really become? Can they truly ever recover from the terrible ordeals they have experienced?

I have known first-hand the destructive potential of kids bullying kids. And that's why "The Bully Project" motivates me to do all I can to stop it from happening at the school where I work. I know now more how much damage a naked fist and a poisonous tongue can cause.

My best read ever!

2011-10-12T14:27:00.003+02:00

Well, you might have guessed already, and if your are a returning reader then it shouldn't be too hard, anyway. Because I have loved this collection of books for thirty years now, and my infatuation in this case never seems to subside.

I own well over thirty of them, and if you count in all the various other Bible parts or New Testaments the tally will exceed fifty or possibly sixty. But why such a craze for just a book, and even one that is largely written off in today's postmodern culture as irrelevant or obsolete at that?

There are possibly hundreds of ways in which I could answer that question, so let me have a go at a brief but satisfactory answer.

NOT A RELIGIOUS CHORE, FOR SURE

First of all, I do not read the Bible almost always on a daily basis simply because I'm required to. It's absolutely no religious obligation that I feel weighing on my mind. I'm not trying to please God by leafing though, or delving deep into, pages that contain words penned two millennia or more ago. It's purely a voluntary thing - a thing of passion, actually.

And this passion, I believe, is produced by God himself. Because along with many other people, I believe (and for good reasons) that the Bible contains the very words of God. It's not merely religious propaganda, and it's certainly not a haphazard collection of simplistic, unscientific myths, either. It's is factually the greatest narrative ever told at various points in time by various people, later to be collected and edited by people equally convinced that what they had written down were the oracles of a living God, a God acvtively involved in human affairs because of an unending love for the human race.

Certainly, the Bible was completed in ancient times, but it's message is still experienced by millions as both relevant and fresh. But how can that be?

EVEN THE OLD CAN BE NEW

I have plowed through the Bible, both the Old and the New Testament, at least a dozen times, and although I by now am fully cognizant with the biographical details of King David's life, I can glean new and enthralling insights from pages that, certainly, relate old news. But at the same time these stories that are so well known, that have been commented on and scrutinized in thousands of volumes of literature, can yet be the source of great personal discoveries - truths that can have a massive effect on my life in the here and now.

Because these words can be made to come alive again, as it were. In a passage authored by the apostle Paul in the letter called Hebrews it says that the word of God is active an living. This means that although the Bible on one level is merely just another book, it has also got certain qualities that makes it vastly different from, and superior to, other kinds of literature that purport to inform and elucidate them human mind and heart.

THE READER IS BEING READ........!

God - it seems - intended for this book not just to be read, but also to have a certain, desired impact on its readers. It is as if I not only am the active, interpreting reader searching for something in the Bible that may comfort, guide or inspire me. Simultaneously, it is as if I am being read as well. The words I study seem to x-ray my motives and thoughts. And thus I am for however long it takes to finish reading a passage of Scripture a much loved object of scrutiny where it seems that God is flooding my inner being with light to check whether his dearly loved son is ok or not.

You see, the Bible is different. The original Scriptures were produced long ago, but their words live on in more ways than one. More to come soon!

Sorry, folks, that I failed again in making this a short entry. There's still hope, though?

The Arabic Spring

2011-10-10T17:32:00.005+02:00

Deep down in my heart I really hope that the series of revolts, uprisings and insurrections taking place in the Arab world will result in genuine, sweeping and profound reform and democracy. But some may never reap the benefits of their defiance and protests.

Throughout Arab countries both established Coptic and new native Christians face the renewed, reinvigorated force of Islamism and its bigoted policies. Yesterday, in Cairo, Egypt, a peaceful protest staged by the countries Coptic minority was met by a heavy-handed and extremely violent response by police forces. More than thirty have reportedly been killed and several more injured.

DON'T REPORT WHAT YOU SEE

The reason these Copts were on the streets of Cairo was the recent destruction of a church building - a type of edifice that the diehard Islamists loathe above everything else. This act of vandalism was totally unwarranted, producing only grief and rage among those affected by it. Worse still, in this and many other cases, if a Christian should be as audacious as to report the incident to the local law enforcement body, then the response will be total indifference on the part of the police. Why? Christians are second-rate citizens by law. They are dhimmis, relegated to the position of infidels, those who resist the will of Allah in that they choose instead to follow Christ.

And in a religious climate that has very little tolerance for competing views or alternative visions for how society should be run, the not surprising response to dissenters (infidels) is systematic or sporadic persecution and discrimination. In Egypt the longing for freeedom is overwhelmingly present, but will the Egyptians rally to the support of its minorities once a democratically elected government starts advocating a society fully modelled on the Sharia laws?

COOPERATION AND MUTUAL RESPECT OR....?

I am not contending that all Egyptians adopt extremist views. Far from it. Typically, in the recent uprisings throughout the Arab world, Muslims and Christians have joined hands, creating new bonds of fellowhip - and probably learning a great deal about eachother thay may bode well for mutual respect and peaceful coexistence. But the fact remains that the most likely candidates to run for offices both on local and national levels, are those belonging to the Muslim Brotherhood. Passing off as moderates, these former political outcasts are anything but that. Their vision of a future Egypt is a country run according to the Koran and not according to any Western-styled idea.

And in such a country, a dissident and an infidel isn't likely to fare any better than was the case under Hosni Mubarak, the former president. Ask Copts residing in Cairo or anywhere else in Egypt, and you will get poignant stories of what it feels like e.g. virtually being banned from certain positions because of your faith.

ONE FAITH IN ONE STATE

Islamism cannot stomach any other state except that which complies fully with their vision of religious law permeating everything. And in no way can there be full democratic rights for anyone not bowing to Allah and his messenger. If they do not, of course, submit to pressure and depart from their state of infidelity.

Bad weather

2011-10-10T13:05:00.001+02:00

If you voluntarily choose to settle in Western Norway, there are a few things you should know before actually making the decision to move house.

First, this part of the country boasts some of the most magnificent and dramatic phenomenons of nature, such as the fjords and waterfalls - each liable to produce gasps of oohhs and ahhss in the visiting tourists. When flowing serenely in sunsprayed surroundings, they are spectacular to look at whilst simultaneously being liquid reminders of the fact that these insignia of beauty can also be lethal and capricious. Thousands have died merely attempting to eke out a living from these sometimes treacherous and intimidating waters, as many travellers in bygone days could testify, even while the brutal and chilling storms of winter were pounding their small vessels.

Second, if you happen to love a Sunday afternoon joyride in youtr car, the roads of the West Country are solidly not on your side. Having stayed here for a mere month or so, you will eventually have to conclude - in amazement and disbelief - that our authorities and the spectacles of nature have in tandem decided to make the effort as unpleasant as possible: if you want to enjoy your weekend sparetime, then go for a walk in the woods, or, better still, walk your dog. At least the dog will appreciate your outdoor presence. If you choose to ride your car, on the other hand, you should be warned that your moments of genuine enjoyment, will be repeatedly and sadistically cut short by the very vexing apperance (at highly irregular intervals) of tunnels. And know this: there are several hundreds of them

Third, if you should happen to remain be very optimistic about you future existence in the West of Norway, please study reliable weather data from one our providers of weather forecasts. And if your eyesight still serves you well, you will shortly discover why a 14'th century monarch elected to move our capitol from Bergen to Oslo: the rains in the West of Norway are perennial companions to any outdoor fanatic, particularly during summer, spring, autumn and well, yes, winter, too.

If you favour sun and fun, then, you now know what to do: stay where you currently reside, and let us torture ourselves by wrestling with the prospect of yet another Sunday afternoon joyride through tunnels lining the farthest recesses of pur seldom sunlit fjords. And yes: you have to pay toll using the potholed asphalt roads.

Still thinking about moving, are we?

The face of Janus

2011-09-18T21:42:00.000+02:00

The Roman god Janus was depicted as having two faces, one in the front and one behind. Life also often reveals a double face like Janus': opposite realities that affect us - leaving us filled with mixed emotions; both equally present at the same moment in time.

Today we celebrated our youngest daughter's ninth birthday. Although my wife was away at work from 8 a.m. to 5. 45 p.m., we still managed to generate the proper birthday atmosphere from the onset, serving the nine-year old breakfast in bed - an avowed family tradition on days like this. And throughout the remaining waking hours we continued (metaphorically) wearing our party hats, for which no one felt the least guilty.

The celebratory mood could easiily have been dampened slightly by the faint echoes of loss . For on this day, buried three years in the past, I - for one - had trouble rejoicing over my daughter's sixth birthday as I watched my father pass away right before my eyes. My grief is much more subdued now, but even while treasuring the day my third child came into the world, I still don't want to neglect paying my respects - as it were - to the man who fathered me.

I don't idolize him. His life didn't warrant such a post-mortem show of nostalgia or reverence. But still he meant a lot to me. So on this day, September 18, I choose to thank God for the one beside me, very much alive and present, as well as for the one whose face I can only recall in my mind.

I miss you, Dad, and I congratulate you, Silje Kristiane. I carry you both in my heart.

Election Day!

2011-09-15T20:51:00.000+02:00

I wasn't feeling too great, but still I was determined not to miss this opportunity. It was September 12, Election Day. and for the fifteenth time I was about to make use of my right to vote.

It took me less than two minutes to carry out what I consider to be my duty as a citizen as I already had decided which party was going to get my vote. I'm definitely a party faithful, and I tend to stick to my political convictions from one election to the other. But I have, slightly depressingly, come to realize lately that I now belong to a race of people whose presence at the polling station is diminishing ominously.

Every two years elections are held in this country, and for as long as I can remember, the percentage of voters who turn up to cast their ballot into the ballot boxes, has almost imperceptibly been going down. As voter's expectations reach new levels - and politicians clamour to outbid one another in terms of election promises - more and more people choose to refrain from participating in our democratic processes, and instead join the sullen ranks of 'the couch potatoe' voters.

SCARING? YES!

Frankly, it scares me ever so slightly. Why? Because if the present trend continues unchecked and unheeded, our democracy risks in the near future becoming the playground of the few. If people give up on voting, assuming falsely their votes no longer matter, we may become dramatically more vulnerable to the demagoguery of right or left-wing movements that, as in the past, spurn universal suffrage - believing instead in the right of an elite to exercise exclusive power - purportedly for the 'common good'.

Ironically, it was the immature democracy of post-WW1 Germany that brought Hitler to power in 1933. Still I believe that the human invention brought to us by the ancient greeks of Athens, is by far superior to the old order of political clout based on ancestry, old money or perceived superiority (having studied at the right universities or schools)

FAR BETTER THAN TYRANNY

Despite its flaws and shortcomings, democracy has quite a number of redeeming qualities. The finest among them is that it provides a bulwark against tyrannical abuse of avowed, basic human rights: every two years our politicians are basically forced to listen to the voice of the public. Both the plumber and the lawyer, both the affluent and the (relative) pauper, have a say as to what issues in society need to be addressed.

And if they don't deliver, or if they are assessed as having strayed too far from their professed course of action, voters are by law empowered to penalize them by shifting their allegiance from one party to the other. Thus, politicians are forbidden from holding on to power endlessly. They are barred from the possibility of personal aggrandizement or unjust gain. Our electoral system, derived from our democratic heritage, guarantees that power is shared, albeit for a little while.

And in a little less than two minutes my co-voters and I see to it that the power-hungry are kept tightly onto their leashes of accountability. Remember, the ballot seems to say to the politician, that in a few years it's time for a reality check once again.

Ten years on

2011-09-11T18:38:00.000+02:00

Everybody remembers where they were on September 11 2001. I'm no exception. But recollecting where I was on that terrible day pales into absolute insignificance as I watch live the 10 anniversary broadcast from Ground Zero.

What stands out as particularly poignant is hearing the steady, thin voices of children reading the names of their dead parent, appendicing the reading of the name with a heartfelt, heart-rending comment on their loss. One boy, barely ten years old, made use of the occasion to also thank his deceased father for the gift of life. The boy was in his mother's womb as the terrorists dealt their inexplicable blow, robbing him of a father forever.

What a striking contrast. Mohammed Atta and his accomplices could only speak the devil's dialect, death, and only knew how to take a life. But this boy is living proof of life's triumph. His birth and existence are symbolic of the futility of the merciless, cold-blooded terrorist acts of 9/11. Yes, the world is still mired in evil, but in each birth a voice proclaims the full power of God's redemption and provision:

Life is not hostage to the powers of death. We're only witnessing the abject, bitter protests from the Chief Instigator of evil. So whenever tears pour down our cheeks in memory of the dead, we do well to remember that there will be a day in which death finally dies.

In memory of Vegard

2011-09-11T14:16:00.003+02:00

This was certainly a sad first. I've never experienced the death of a former pupil before. That is - not until this week when Vegard Løkhammer, aged 19, died from the fatal injuries he had sustained while on a mission trip to Rumania.

He had travelled to the former Communist state together with a group of other teens from the Sotra-based Tremor Church. Their goal was, I believe, to provide relief and a glimmer of hope to some of the countless orphans in a country still suffering the after-effects of a derelict and mismanaged economy.

One day, while playing soccer on a field, disaster struck. The ball swerved erratically off the uneven pitch, and Vegard rushed to retrieve it. This was, tragically, to be his last conscious effort. Moments after he was brutally crashed to the ground by a car. There is no question that this was a case of reckless, irresponsible driving. Several of his co-travellers witnessed, in shock, what transpired on the country road. But they probably never fully realised until much later that the injuries to Vegard's head would prove fatal.

FROM HOPE TO NO HOPE

Shortly after receiving treatment by some of Bucuresti's best brain surgeons, the young boy was transferred to Haukeland University Hospital in Bergen. There initial hope for speedy recovery was cut short by the discovery that his brain was effectively beyond healing or repair. So all his loved ones and friends at church could do from then on, was to hope for a miraculous intervention from God. Vegard's brain had been prounounced dead, so no one suffered from a delusion that death wasn't a highly likely outcome.

Less than 24 hours before his death on September 7, Vegard was disconnected from the respirator that that aided him for weeks in holding on to life. The former student of Danielsen Lower Secondary School, a committed follower of Jesus, was now fully in the hands of his God and Saviour, who hours later chose to bring Vegard to a place we can only speculate has recieved him warmly.

IT JUST DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE

There are obvious paradoxes involved in this loss of life. It's extremely difficult intellectually to reconcile the concepts of an all-powerful and protective God, and our free will as human beings - the free will to do good or bad. And in this case answers will continue to elude us as we cannot even begin to decipher any meaning whatsoever in this untimely death. Sometimes thing happen that we cannot account for. We all long to life a safe and carefree life, but - realistically - we know that tragedy hits even the best. Not even those in the full bloom of youth are exempt from adversity or the apparent 'whims' involving a freak car crash.

We mourn and remember a fine ambassador of Christ. But it is also important to remind ourselves of this fact: Vegard's life was not in vain. He served his Lord faithfully and fervently, seldom missing an opportunity to care for those around him. He was much loved because of that, and his legacy and reputation are secured in this: he chose to follow Jesus, but never half-heartedly.

The beautiful world of Huawei

2011-08-28T14:07:00.000+02:00

My children can hardly believe it when I tell them how - in the 'old days' - we got on pretty well without cell phones, mp3 players or even pcs. On one level, at least, the world is rapidly progressing. Or is it?

Only days ago I got my brand new Huawei U9000 via mail. It's presently perched on top of the table to my left, only a few inches away from my pc. This semi-converted gadget guy that I've become simply couldn't resist the temptation when, on my birthday, I suddenly remembered that a long-time acquaintance from Volda had flashed his Huawei toy when visiting, prompting me to rethink the qualities of my then plaything Samsung Spica Galaxy. It wasn't a case of hard sell. I completely succumbed to vanity, ordering the cell phone after a brief and hurried on-line Internet scan.

So now I'm the proud owner of an Android with far more speed and memory than my previous phone. And I've aldready become convinced of its superior performance compared to its predecessor (one year old). Progress, then? In one sense of the word, certainly. But I doubt it'll make my life any better apart from opening up for me even wider the wonderful world of all manner of apps.

1975: Not even a typing machine

It's easy to forget, though, that as kids we had access to none of the gadgets that my progeny nowadays will go to almost any length to get their hands on. As a ten-year old I knew neither of personal computers, the VHS format films, music recorded on CDs, digital cameras or the variegated wonder of small hand-held devices containing entire libraries. We didn't even own a typing machine. On work, my father often made recourse to the telex to stay in touch with out-of-country customers. Who knows about telexes these days?

Do I miss the old days? No, because there's much in new technologies that makes communication much easier and worlds more fun. Sharing things e.g. has taken on an entirely new dimension altogether in that I can travel to the other side of the world and still retain the sensation that I'm not really far away at all. Because in sending multiple snapshots via my cellphone to friends at home, I can feed them with images and information allowing for much-coveted contact both in their absence as well as in their presence. It probably doesn't automatically deepen our sense of belonging and bonding, but it's great anyway just learning of what a dear friend is doing. As simple as that.

2011: welcome to my new....toy?

I may not grow wiser because of the apps that inhabit my cellphone, but to a varying degree they all seem to contribute to e.g. fulfilling my real or imagined needs as a teacher of staying updated on the state of affairs out there - in my town, im my country, in my world. Or am I just trying to justify the purchase of a new toy? Well,..........awkward rhetorical question, that one.

My next big challenge, all the same, is avoiding immersing myself in what my new cell has to offer to the point where those around me are cut off from any meaningful contact. Because whatever the boon of owning a Huawei U9000 may be, it cannot replace the continual practice of conversation skills in close proximity to those that I profess to love.

Sweet Comfort Band encore

2011-08-26T18:58:00.000+02:00

They're probably only continuing a trend among former mainstream Christian groups and artists, but the reappearance of Sweet Comfort Band is a very welcome piece of old news to me.

Hailed by critics and adored by fans, the quartet now reduced to a three-member act is currently in the studio recording new songs for the first time since 1984. Bryan Duncan, Rick Thompson and Randy Thomas probably never envisioned performing together again once the decision to call it quits had been taken. But God, and co-founding member Kevin Thompson, had other ideas.

As the ailing, elder Thompson brother was coming to terms with his imminent death last year, he expressed to the other three musicians of the abandoned SWB his desire that they regroup - to serve and minister to lovers of excellent music.

Because SCB has always been a matter of top-rung musicianship, and throughout their career in the 1970s amd 80s the band always compared well with secular acts in the pop-, rock or r&b genres. Listening to SCB always provided hours of edification and a sense of pride in the fact that these were artists who never compromised on quality. It was excellence or nothing. And for that they were lauded and appreciated by scores of people, including myself.

I'm excited by the prospect of getting follow-ups to evergreens such as "Valerie", "Prodigal's regret" and dozens of other songs that still linger on in my mind. Welcome back, gentlemen. Welcome back.

Which ministry, please?

2011-08-14T15:04:00.003+02:00

I love the British designation for proper, fully-fledged bureaucrats: civil servants. The idea here is that these people are there primarily to serve the interests of the general public, and not to lord it over them, or drown them in red tape or hopelessly intricate tax return forms.

I like to think of Christians also in terms of being just servants, even serving society at large (hence civil servants) - and not just the community of believers. Some of us have quite a mixed record which includes both refusing to interact with the outside world of 'infidels', as well as attempting to strike up meaningful relationships with complete strangers through arranging games involving the whole family.

Lately I have begun reflecting on what it really means to be a 'civil' servant of both Jesus and his world. Sometimes it's easier to conclude what it doesn't implicate than to furnish ground-breaking answers relevant to most believers. Anyway, I have made up my mind not to play along with the super-pious, the secluded party of modern pharisees deeming themselves superior to this world and its ways, never missing an opportunity to display, in rather offensive and sometimes even vulgar fashion, their utter disdain or contempt for whatever doesn't fall in line with their notions of 'holy' activities.

That's why I would never wish to be a civil servant in either of their 'ministries' or 'departments'.

THE MINISTRY OF CONDEMNATION

The Christians belonging to this Ministry never shrink back from condemning people or activities, often on the basis of no or highly insufficient background information. And so the teenage girl becoming pregnant out of wedlock, or the lover of arts are consigned to very hot places on the basis of not living up to the strict demands of these holier-than-thous. The only thing these misguided servants achieve, is further cementing the divide between the communities of believer and unbeliever. Who would want to join this Society of Fire and Brimstone? Not many.

THE MINISTRY OF DEATH

While allegedly possessing the keys to eternal life, sometimes believers fix their attention on and pour all their energies into relentlessly pointing out any and every vice in society. Some even join political parties to be able to continue their tongue-lashing from a position of influence, insisting that atheist and God-fearing alike be forced to actively shun the (terrible) appetites for e.g. good food and drink or literature that even describes carnal activity between man and woman.

Yes, certainly, there are things that are positively vulgar and despicable, but I wouldn't want to sit in my ivory tower providing the authoritative canon of acceptable or unacceptable choices or preferences. There's death in the land, but why spend my waking hours in aiming my verbal gun at people who think differently from me on the subject of which films are bad enough to be censured.

Informed critique is welcomed, but not vitriolic hate-speech. Please take this to heart, those of you who are lesss than enthralled about Harry Potter and his world.

So what kind of Ministry would I want to join? Maybe either, or both, of the following two:

THE MINISTRY OF THE SPIRIT

Jesus was fully aware of the shortcomings of all the people who dared to invite him over for dinner, yet he is never recorded as having spent his time with the various hosts complaining about the state of affairs in the land. He never seemed to be partial, either, to subjecting the owner of the house to the humiliating ordeal of having to listen to all his vices being detailed in sumptuous helpings.

Led by the Spirit at all times, Jesus instead turned his heart and mind to helping the scores of people who always would pester him wherever he went, craving his attention to their variuous needs. He even healed collaborators and salacious sinners without any hesitation or asking for Christian credentials. Maybe this was meant as an example for us to follow? Because, after all, most of our neighbours fall terribly short of reaching up to the demands of the pious.

THE MINISTRY OF RECONCILIATION

In my neighbourhood, there lives people who, despite living in what is presumed to be a Christian country, have very little knowledge of what being a follower of Jesus entails or means. A great deal are probably also ignorant of the fact that God has already taken the first step towards complete reconciliation between them and him.

2 Corinthians states that God has handed over to us the Ministry of Reconciliation. Being a civil servant in that Ministry is meant to be a joyous responsibility of declaring to the Biblically illiterate the incredible favour and love they are actually enjoying as a unique gift from the God they have so long ignored.

Consequently, it remains for all of us to fully recognize and embrace the privileges and duties as full-time civil servants in the Ministry of Reconciliation. We are here to carry Good News to the public squares and marketplaces. It's not our duty to curse society for its failings, but to do our labour of love in order for God to fully restore grace, love and dignity to our families, networks and workplaces.

A tall order. But can I long for less?

Rioters in London

2011-08-10T14:28:00.004+02:00

When we were there July 17th to July 22nd all was calm and quiet, relatively speaking. I cannot imagine the horror and disbelief Londoners are sensing now as disgruntled and disillusioned youths rampage in the streets night after night.

Certainly, they're thugs. Obviously, their actions are indefensible and shocking. There is no way anyone can condone or justify the senseless smashing of shop windows, the indiscriminate looting, or the violence and bloodspill happening on street level. Some of the rioters defensively cough up less than plausible explanations by saying that this is the only way authorities are going to notice them, and (hopefully?) consequently be pressured into doing something about their predicament.

Are you going to get much sympathy through stealing a cell phone or by arsoning the restaurant owned by an immigrant? Will your local MP lend a friendly ear to your complaints after you've been caught throwing Molotov cocktails at police officers desperately trying to stave off the wave of destruction? Or will the general public feel much sympathy for you once you've burned down their neighbourhood? Not very likely.

IT'S NOT BECAUSE THEY'RE THE HAVE-NOTS

Poverty alone cannot explain why people start behaving with such venomous hatred. Certainly, these youngsters are frustrated and disillusioned, and that's not hard to understand. Being a drop-out from secondary school, or having been recently laid off from your low-paid job due to the credit crunch, it's no wonder anger builds up inside you. You're a failure in your own eyes. There's perhaps no sense of purpose left to your life. Of course it's then very tempting for you to join your mates on a reckless looting spree, with little or no risk of being apprehended by police vastly outnumbered by this army of youth.

Still, there's no way society can overlook this kind of pointless destruction or pilfering. Yes, many of the thugs are probably poor, but they're also human beings responsible and accountable for their behaviour. Venting your anger on inncocent shopowners won't help your situation. It's just absurd and highly counter-productive if you're looking for ways to improve it, and it's plain wrong to boot. Prospective employers won't throw a second glance at your application, if you've just earned yourself a criminal record. And politicians won't show much interest for policies that may benefit you if you've previously have shown such contempt for society around you, lashing out in blind rage. The language of violence doesn't precede fruitful dialogue, which clearly is what these youngsters need.

HOPE FOR A BETTER FUTURE

But they need more than people willing to listen. They need hope. They need to be instilled with an inner vision that if they act right - if they can change their behaviour for the better - then they just may witness the kind of improvement they're desperate for. And it seems to me that the most pervasive and enduring kind of hope, is that which has its source in the belief that there is a just and loving God somewhere, wanting to engage with you. Because God can lift you from your loss of self-esteem and remove the toxic self-hatred, and begin a process of recovery where you begin to discover your talents and skills. If you want that to happen, that is.

"Where there's no vision, people throw off restraint". Sad, but true.

The King's speech

2011-08-09T20:49:00.000+02:00

He wasn't a great military leader and possessed no compelling charisma. He was happiest when out in the country fishing and hunting, able to forget for a brief while that he was forever bound to the role of king and sovereign.

The feature film "The King's speech" revolves around Britain's most unwilling monarch, George VI. Perceived as dour and dull, he was thrust to the position he dreaded most by his brother and predecessor Edward VII's infatuation with an American divorcee. After a few month's reign, Edward chose romance over royal duty, and abdicated in favour of his shy and stammering younger brother.

Tormented by his speech impediment since childhood, the unwilling monarch eventually partially overcame his stuttering. Courtesy of an Australian autodidact and speech therapist, he received the help he badly needed. And so it came to be that this highly public figure at last could deliver the hated public speeches successfully, speeches that would lift and inspire a war-weary population.

Having watched the film, I cannot help but admire the king as well as the speech therapist. George VI faced his personal demon and the heavy load of a troubled childhood, and aided by a will of steel he triumphed in that he rose to became a loved and cherished monarch, despite the bad odds and in spite of his introvert and reticent personality. He bore a burden he never wished to shoulder with grace and determination throughout sixteen long years.

Here's to George, a man who longed to be private, but was birthed into a merciless public role. Here's to a man who conquered not continents, but a massive personal obstacle. A brave man, indeed.

46 today

2011-08-08T12:37:00.000+02:00

Becoming older isn't as bad as I imagined it would be when I was in my teens. Crossing the threshold into 30 was quite unspectacular, and turning 40 was more a matter of getting used to a different number in front oif a zero.

Four years away from 50 and I still think that, apart from some minor facial changes (wrinkles), I'm as young inside as I have always been. Some would take that to mean 'childish', others would appreciate the description as referring to an increased measure of wisdom, without loss of the ability to cherish some innocent 'fooling around'.

Having my family nearby on such days as this increases my sense of gratefulness for being alive. I certainly haven't earned my fame as an inventor of epoch-making technology, or as a super-achiever in the field of sports. Today that's no drawback at all. I'm in the lucky position of being a father of three healthy children aged 13, 11 and 8. And I also have a spouse who loyally and relentlessly loves me for who I am. That's not bad at all. Not bad at all.

Remembering Grimstad

2011-08-07T23:38:00.001+02:00

As summer is waning, it's time to look back on what it brought us. As always, weather was unstable, but the various destinations we visited didn't at all let us down. And first on the list of places to go was Grimstad, in the deep South of Norway.

The South Country is a geographical term that stands for the coastal rim facing the often unruly, perilous strait between Norway and Denmark. Dotted with small, charming towns, the South Country boasts an inviting climate, astounding scenic beauty as well as an almost confusing array of options in terms of marine, outdoor activities. So, instead of languishing under the dark rainclouds of Bergen, we instead chose this year to go hunting for sun and fun in this touristic hot spot.

HOW I WAS WON (OVER)

My wife practically spent all of her childhood summers on various camping grounds in Scandinavia. It was cheap, you could move from place to place at a leisurely pace of your own choosing, and only bringing a tent meant you also travelled light - never worrying whether your vehicle would break down from the heavy load.

So when we married in 1996, my sweetheart argued persuasively in favour of this low-budget form of holidaymaking, and swiftly won me over despite my initial misgivings and reservations about 'mingling' with countless strangers. I had no previous experience to bolster my rapidly melting resistance. I had simply inherited a downright prejudiced view of anyone willingly spending their precious time off in this way.

But not anymore. I am a fan, albeit experience has taught me that sleep is an elusive companion during these times of family and bonding.

GRIMSTAD

Oddly, Grimstad may very well mean 'Ugly town' (Old Norse). But this picturesque town is anything but ugly. On the contrary, it's cosy, compact and ideal for a unit of five (as we were) in periodical need of food, drink and inexpensive entertainment. Yes, I know the price level in Norway is prohibiting, according to foreign holidaymakers, but if you're not given to high-brow habits and tastes, there are tactile delights awaiting you even as you casually stroll the cobbled narrow streets and public squares.

Moysanden Camping, a mere four kilometres outside the town centre, is reputedly the only five-star camping facility in the country. For ten consecutive days, it was our temporary holiday 'home' offering the weather we'd come looking for, as well as a decidedly laidback holiday atmosphere fortified by the encircling presence of travellers dead set on avoiding the usual Norwegian affinity for introversion and isolation.

ROW, ROW THE BOAT

The long, bright Scandinavian summer nights are legendary among those who are not commonly blessed by them. To us natives as well they're a rare treat of extra sun and a cherished opportunity to stay up and outdoors longer than usual. And when the relative hustle and bustle of campsite chores has died down, it's time to indulge the pull of the calm bay waters.

My son early on expressed his desire to hire a rowing boat, and learn the surprisingly difficult skill of handling such a technologically simple vehicle. And for the meagre sum of 30 kroner, he was granted his wish. Less than two hours before midnight in mid-July, unbridled laughter rippled across the watery surface as we were grappling with a pair of oars that proved difficult to synchronize. We doggedly stayed close to the rocky shore, not certain that our muscular strength would allow for an aquatic adventure beyond the neighbouring islets. We certainly earned a pair of huge blisters from our date with the salty liquid, but it was worth it in very possible way.

For the remainder of our stay, we preferred terrestrial activities such as sightseeing new and unfamiliar places - like the priceless pearl of Lillesand, and familiarizing ourselves with the dubious benefits of overcrowded shopping malls in Arendal. All in all, the stretch of soil called the South Country lived up to the myths that surround it. And that's not bad. On the contrary, it makes it higly plausible that we'll one day return for another tete-a-tete with the friendly folk down there.

Come Judgement Day!

2011-08-05T01:38:00.001+02:00

So many crimes have been committed throughout time, and so many culprits seem to have escaped justice.

The cruellest torturers of WW2 died before they could stand trial; the vilest tyrants died peacefully after ordering the deaths of countless subjects; and the fathers who raped their daughters exited this life without anyone outside the family having learned of their betrayal.

And so the atheists and victims raise their fist in angry protest against a god who apparently willingly turns a blind eye. And so fuel is brought to the fire of bitter protest: God, if you're as powerful as you claim to be, why did you allow this to happen? Why wasn't so and so brought to justice? Why have so many thugs successfully outsmarted both law enforcement officers and forensic experts? Why, God, why?

No escape for the guilty

There is no easy, comprehensive answer to the dilemmas and paradoxes involving the story of criminals who got away with their misdeeds. But the Bible has quite a few revealing (and to some: disturbing) leaks to bring to the fore as to how God intends to redress the problem of 'justice evasion'. And I for one, quite frankly, find God's anti-justice evasion programme to be very satisfactory and very encouraging.

It may sound horrific, and, truly, some have lost their sleep over endless speculation as to what God's day of judgment will entail for their part, but on the whole this event, this Grand Court Session of all Eons, will ensure that all unrepentant offenders will get their just deserts. There'll be no accused persons missing from the rostrum, and no act of crime against the little ones will remain unaddressed until all sentences have been passed and executed. But how can this be?

"..it's appointed for men to die once - and after this, judgement" (Hebrews, the New Testament, chapter 9, verse 27)

1. Death separates man and wife, and victim and offender, but even across this final border there is no escape or God-proof hideaway. Ignoring God and the victims pleas for mercy was easy enough then for the e.g. serial killer, but now there will be no pardon, no clemency, no leniency. The powerful, heavenly Secret Service agents who will facilitate the arrests are commonly referred to as 'angels'. They may sound innocent enough, but there'll be no hesitation, or escape hatch, when these giants spring into action. Their awesome strength is attested to several times throughout Scripture.

And so the Pol Pots will finally have to answer for their catalogues of vices and cruelties. Adolf Hitler will have to appear before the court in total humiliation, as well as the petty thieves, the abortion doctors, the tyrants who mismanaged their countries, as well as the poachers and destroyers of the environment.

"God now commands all people everywhere to repent, because He has set a day in which he is going to judge the world...by the Man he has appointed" (Acts, the New Testament, chapter 17, verses 30-31)

2. The Supreme Judge that day will be Jesus Christ. Not only will he be supremely just in his verdicts. He is also supremely qualified for the job, in that he is fully cognizant of what it means to be human, having spent 33 years on earth acquanting himself with all facets of human existence. He is intimately aware of the dangers that rid our race, and he, as many others before and after, has experienced immense pain and the total deprivation of justice. He was sentenced to death over nothing. He hadn't committed a single crime, and yet the death sentence was carried through to completion.

The resurrected Christ is still a human being also, but on Judgment Day he will fully exhibit the prerogatives of Godhead. He is named Creator of all life forms, and holding both the patented right to human life as well as animal and plant life, he is extremely passionate about what he rightfully regards as his own. Thus he is uniquely qualified to avenge all kinds of destruction or annihilation of that which he at one time brought into being.

Christ cares for that which is His

He doesn't treat any offense lightly, particularly not those which in some way or other affected those created, above their fellow creatures, in the likeness of God. He will pay back in like measure to those who callously abused, molested, terrorised or brutalized the young and the old, the Gypsy and the Jew, the mentally handicapped and those to weak to resist their attackers.

"For while we were still helpless, at the appointed moment, Christ died for the ungodly" (Romans, the New Testament, chapter 5, verse 6)

3. At the heart of this Great Event lies the consummation of justice. As God's enemy, man was 2000 years ago restored to friendship with its Creator again through Jesus' reconciling and atoning death on the Cross. And while some resisted the ensuing offer of grace and peace with God, others fully accepted it with all its implications: in this astounding exchange, and reversal of roles, God was seen as just by punishing the crime, but, amazingly, instead of crushing the guilty party, he allowed the Jewel of Innocence to accept full responsibility for our crimes. And so on the Cross we were in actual fact acquitted, not convicted.

On Judgement Day those who spurned their Maker, their Saviour and their fellow men will have to fully embrace the implications of their actions. And while dodging prison the first time around, they will now forever be banned from all things that can possibly be described as good.

The crimes committed will be avenged once and for all, and justice will be doled out in full measure on all men.

Terror in Norway

2011-07-25T22:23:00.000+02:00

I soon learned that something horrible had happened when my uncle came to pick us up at the local airport outside the town of my birth, Moss. "A bomb has exploded in Oslo", was the scant information he could provide just then. Only later would the true scale of the attack, and the carnage, be disclosed.

As I am writing, the number of deaths has been pinpointed at 76 in all, 68 being massacred at Utøya, and a further eight losing their lives in the bomb blast in downtown Oslo. The perpetrator is a young Norwegian self-styled nationalist, claiming to be on a mission aiming at ridding Norway of "cultural marxists and the (thret of a) Muslim take-over". Some mission. Some crusader.

I have never been able to comprehend the machinations of warped minds. I only hope that is because I don't possess such a mind myself. Thus I cannot bring myself to unravel the enigmas surrounding not only the inception, but also the cold-blooded execution of a massacre on civilians. How can an individual justify the meaningless taking of so many lives? How can he fall prey to such delusional thinking, imagining himself to be both judge and jury and executioner? What utter madness. What hellish preposterousness.

This fool took it upon himself to cut short so many young lives, simply because he wanted a racially 'pure' Europe - in which the so-called infection from other faiths, other ethnic groups cannot be found. In his complete blindness, armed with death and the total absence of empathy, he wanted to upend the social order, and intimidate us into embracing his vision of a properly working society.

The massive throngs gathering in the public squares around cities and towns in Norway tonight is massive testimony that people aren't going to be swayed so easily. Mr. Anders Breivik, 32, has produced a prevalence of grief and anger around the country, but he will never produce the downfall of compassion, tolerance, and justice. Because those things are dear to us. As dear as they are to God who made the young ones missing from their local communities across Norway.

And please remember: God changes societies, and people, through the persuasive power of love, not the cowering weight of violence.

Looking for....what?

2011-06-30T15:38:00.000+02:00

For those of you who have been reading my about my reflections on what church should, and should not, be, you probably will remember that two days ago I wrote about some of the reasons why Christianity these days is so severely criticized.

No, I'm not talking about the atheist ramblings and ranting of Mr. Dawkins, but the more subdued complaints: church isn't what it should be.

I've visited many, and been part of a few, so I suffer under no illusion that churches always consist of people exhibiting a much higher moral standard than what is considered average in society. It's a sad thing to have to concede that even born-agains at times evince little proof of just that, being born again. Outsiders somehow expect more from the 'morally enlightened' than from Mr. and Mrs. Jones. And they should, because if Jesus is the truth, and if Jesus truly can change people's lives for the better, then a consistently high moral standard should easily be seen in our business dealings, our relationships and our marriages e.g.

But is that all I'm looking for? The pursuit of high moral standards? No, not at all. What I'm truly looking for, and praying for, is a kind of fellowship among believers that mirrors not only the character of Jesus, but also his personality, his actions.

The real guy - the accessible God

Jesus was far from the Oxford professor type, aloof and far removed from the gutters and the ghettos. He infuriated the better-than-thous by regularly mingling with the downtrodden, the fifth columnists, the traitors, the outcasts, in short: those who knew they were in deep trouble, and who didn't try to put up a facade hiding their shortcomings and flaws. They observed his impeccable lifestyle, and listened attentively to his sermons on lofty moral ideals, and yet he didn't seem to scare them off. Still people, prositute and pickpocket, almost queued up in order to invite Jesus home for a meal.

They loved him. They adored him. They weren't feigning spirituality or a virtuous exterior, as they knew it was a hopeless effort: Jesus semed to see through people's pretentions and smooth talk. He cut straight to the bone, and exposed hypocrisy. So the people inviting Jesus knew their needs, and sensed no impulse to want to show off. They acknowledged their guilt, their sins, but here, in the company of the Holy One, still they experienced no condemnation.

But is it realistic to aspire to try and live a life, let alone a communal life - a shared life among believers, that qualifies for the description 'christlike'? When we've failed so utterly and miserably in the past, can we still hope for a time, or a church, where believers really live up to the seemingly impossible ideals we preach?

Need som extra energy, God!

Not on our own. Not because we attempt to achieve it in our own power. Christians, those that really follow Jesus, know that only grace and the continued forgivenesss from God, can keep us within God's approval. at all times. We need to change for people to see the change God can bring about in a person's life. And it had better be appreciated as genuine and enduring. If not, not many willl want to hear about the gospel story that we hold has the power to transform societies across the globe. If we stay the same, our world will also.

This world is tired of words, mere promises dished out a dime a dozen. Dear God, help us rise above our past, and embrace the changes needed for you to be able to look down upon our fellowhips and still be able to see the reflection of your own Son.

A curch like that, meaning people - not buildings, may just live to see the growth all saints always hope for.

Servants and witnesses?

2011-06-29T14:44:00.001+02:00

Probably the greatest catastrophe the Christian church has experienced down through the ages, is the one that occurred in AD 323.

In being publicly recognized as belonging to the official, favoured religion, believers were not only gradually relieved of their status as outcasts and enemies of society. They soon found themselves having to handle what churches have never been very good at handling: power.

Relief - for a while

It must have been a terrific relief no longer having to fear being hounded like dogs, or risk being thrown to the lions. What a colossal blessing it must have felt like being offered not the choice between massive torture or renouncing your faith, but instead being offered key positions in society - the unlikely prospect of modelling society in light of Christ's teachings. A fantastic opportunity that shouldn't be missed, right?

In some ways it was a good decision, but in most ways it turned out to be highly detrimental to these vibrant organisms that many churches had been. Faced with new and confusing freedoms, the sense of utter dependency on their Lord for survival and growth seemed to wane. Faith in Christ became vogue now, and the company of the formerly despised was now highly prized. And lured by this new popularity, it appears that laders and saints alike were beginning to think that pomp and glory now should be associated with this imperial religion. They had, after all, moved up in society?

The power that corrupts

The more modest basilicas, the very first and more rudimentary church buildings, eventually were replaced by towering cathedrals, and the simple, unstructured communal life began almost imperceptibly to move towards a rigid, hierarchic society run by professional clergy. And, sure enough, all the trappings of established religion were soon in place. Bishops and priests were soon the talk of town, being paid the respect their high standing called for. And being appropriately attired they would lead their worship services in a langue only they would understand: Latin.

Whatver happened to the gospel? Whatever happened to Jesus? The simple servants and witnesses, the untrained but highly spiritually competent, who had seen the likes of Lazarus being miraculously resurrected from the dead, all the while being relentlessly opposed by the religious establishment, soon found themselves in markedly different roles. As church and state slowly blended into one, the sword no longer was aimed at the believer, but at the infidels: all who refused to play the part they were assigned by the church. And because of their opposition to the One True Church, their fates were cruelly sealed.

From truth to terror

Certainly, there has always been communities where the servants and witnesses have been busy simply doing to others what they would want others do to them, but the reputation of the Christian church has been forever tarnished by unimagineable outpourings of terror, by the merciless bloodshed in the wake of the unholy Crusades, or by the pointless persecution and murder of perceived or real heretics and dissidents.

The Medieval Church was peopled by some of the worst sheep the fold has ever seen, reaching the high point of its partially sinister reign in the attempt to blot out any sign of the truly christlike communities well within its vast reach:

It was no longer the Emperor of Rome who tyrannised society. It was the popes, cardinals and bishops.

The hedonist had been replaced by the fanatically pious.

What God intended - the beginning

2011-06-27T14:32:00.003+02:00

In Europe all religions, particularly Christianity, have for some time been under heavy fire - for several reasons. Some view religion as an impediment to social progress, others decry it for presenting a worldview that's obsolete, mythical, out of tune with what modern man wants and aspires for.

It will, perhaps, come as a surprise that I support, or even welcome, some of these criticisms. Why? To understand my position on this, I need to take you along for a brief walk through history from about AD 30 to the present day. Ready?

Fully God, fully human

When Jesus allowed himself to be incarnated as a true human being while simultanesouly retaining his godhead, all the qualities that make him God, it wasn't for the purpose of establishing a new world religion. The Bible expressly states that he came in order to fulfill prophecy, and not primarily the speculative kind of prophecy. The prophetic expectations in Judea at the time revolved around a superhero from God, bent on and ready to expel all foreign influence and religious infiltration.

Some of the most zealous of his contemporaries were bristling with pent-up energy and zeal, dead set on overthrowing the existing order: the reign of the Roman overlords. But Jesus consistently refused to align himself with their mindset and modes of operation; he repeatedly refused to take up arms, and be crowned as a military king - the lustrious leader of a bloody campaign against an overpowering enemy.

Weapons of love, not war

Instead, Jesus often spoke about a revolutionary, mind-boggling concept of love for your enemy, homegrown or alien. And he acted in accordance with his appparently impossible ideals by on a number of occasions e.g. healing representatives of the foreign occupants or members of their households. He thus deliberately defied both friend and foe in that he acted in ways no one had foreseen or could find tolerable.

He, a male, adressed a woman Samaritan at a well, knowing the she most likely was a prostitute, an outcast for moral reasons. He often dined with members of high society of dubious repute, knowing that even the slightest association with collaborators and opportunists would make him unpopular with the masses, the very ones that normally flocked around him.

In sum, Jesus often spoke the strangest things and did the most unlikely things that would startle or unsettle even his closest associates. His disciples found themselves on more than one occasion on the receiving end of his verbal 'abuse' as he lambasted them for playing along with the religious hyprocrisy so prevalent in society. Jesus positively hated all religious externalism; the showing off of religious fervour while at the same time trying to hide your deeply roted vices of e.g. greed and sexual abuse.

A king of a different kind

Jesus was the shepherd-king who came to revive humanity. He came to establish his kingdom of justice. He never came to make us into Bible-bashers, spitting out our fears and phobias in a society that is illiterate in the things of God. He taught us a lifestyle of uncompromised love for truth and fellow man. His every action was model behaviour for us to emulate. And to secure the success of such a gargantuan undertaking, he provided us with divine power and sustenance to be able to mirror the same qualities of life, once he had returned to his heavenly throne.

Of course he counted on temporary setbacks. Obviouly he made provisions for the onslaught of opposing forces and persecution. He knew how the empire builders of his day would respond to the explosive growth that occurred in the centuries that followed his ascension. But he must hva been deeply grieved by what ensued this era of uninhibited expansion.

Here was a 'religion' in which the slave owner and his slave would unite in brotherhood that required neither elevated status or a sizeable purse in order to be considered for membership. Here was a group of people who met regularly - not to carry out intricate rituals or mutter voluminous incantations, but they were simnple folk with little education who simply were learning to live life in its everyday ordinariness, in respect of God and practical, humdrum love for neighbour.

Forget your books on rituals and rites!

Christianity didn't introduce another set of tiresome regulations or external rules. Its beginning signalled a veritable declaration of war on all kinds of injustice and abuse. The Jesus I know never intended his followers to side with unjust power-grabbers and autocrats. He wanted a quiet revolution of love to sweep oppression and deprivation off of the face of his own earth.

Don't go away. More to come. Tomorrow, perhaps.

Still haven't found what I'm looking for

2011-06-26T13:46:00.001+02:00

This year marked a quiet and very private revolution in my life. Perhaps the change I'm thinking about doesn't really deserve the appellation 'revolution', but it still felt like a radical step to do what I did - with my family in tow.

For 25 years I had been part of a splendid company of people called Kristent Fellesskap, or Christian Fellowship, in Bergen, Norway. This church, with roots in the so-called house church-movement, had been my spiritual home, fostering great leaders, providing great friends - in many ways living up to the ideas I have had about what really constitutes a church that God and people can value and affirm as genuine: an agent of change in society at large.

I was introduced to this group of believers at the tender age of 20. I had only just moved away from my childhood home, looking eagerly forward to becoming independent, more mature, but also to finding ordinary Norewgians truly on fire for Jesus. Inwardly I was yearning to be a part of something that was truly a church, and not just a place where you happened to worship regularly.

And I believe to this day that God supernaturally did lead me to getting in touch with people sharing my faith. But I found more than that at the time. I also found people who weren't overly christianese in their behaviour or conversations. In other words, what I discovered was people who quite naturally could spontaneously worship Jesus in private homes when gathered for a night of fun and friendship, but who also could watch a film together on a Friday evening - and still not lose their authenticity or sanctity.

They were genuine when worshipping, and they were genuine when shopping. All of life seemed imbued with a quality that both impressed me and attracted my attention. These were people who certainly didn't compartmentalize their lives. They saw all of life as important and worthwhile, and they didn't distinguish between Sundays and Mondays. All of life was worth sharing and enjoying, and the Jesus they believed in was a Jesus who wanted to be as equally involved in the purchase of a house as in the worship service on Sunday morning..

And so we were taught to believe in and live an everyday existence where Jesus was alive to you all seven days of the week. We prayed together just about everywhere, we shared a laugh together, we went joyriding together, and we embraced the bitterer facts of life as when attending a funeral of a nine month old baby.

Twenty-five years down the road much had changed, of course. The church I had known then had mulitplied in number, but still my perception was now that much also had been lost in the process. I was no longer as involved in church life as I had been. I'm too much of the shy and introvert person to want to make my presence felt in a sanctuary housing 900 people. I have always felt much more comfortable and at home in small-scale cell group settings, or in the campfire atmosphere where love and experience are shared easily and naturally at a pace of your own preference.

I had also by now got myself a family with my wife and three children as our own miniature church. And judged by personality and the nature of our common and individual pursuits, we no longer found a two-hour worship service, partially in English, the natural gravitational centre of our spiritual life. For some years we had gradually been feeling this increasing, irresistible pull towards a kind of fellowship where relationships matter prominently, and where even the quiet in the land can be seen and heard.

I am still very much aware that church, and the fellowship believers share, is a matter of knowing and expressing Jesus. Period. It's also very obvious that church is not a society consistsing of people only sharing the same interests. Church is the people Jesus has called to be his very own, exclusively, who are devoted to spreading the gospel, constantly pushing the borders of his Kingdom influence. Church is still to me much more than figures, or cosy after service-coffee. Church is meant to be an expression of the Jesus who is very much alive.

When choosing, then, to be a part of a new fellowship, and not (officially) of Christian Fellowhsip, I didn't do so because I had finally grown tired of the same, old faces. I still love and appreciate the host of people who have chosen differently: to stay and work for the progress of the gospel in that church. But for myself and my family, I must honestly say that I still haven't really found (the full extent) of what I've been looking for. And I believe with all my heart that the best way forward, is to relinquish some of the old ways and ideas - and pursue in congress with some old and new acqaintances answers to this question:

Howe do we best live out the gospel life in urban Norway in 2011? I still haven't found what I'm looking for, but I do hope I, and we, will.

Spring-time travelogue - part two (the final one)

2011-06-25T20:15:00.000+02:00

Well, yes, I'm cognizant of the fact that it's supposedly summer by now, but, honestly, jugding by the outdoor tenmperature that's climbed up to a meagre 11 degrees Celsius, it's more like barren March to me than throbbing June.

Bad weather affects me, certainly, although I've yet to suffer a depression triggered by multiple low pressure weather systems.

So what do you do when downpour engulfs you, blocking even the tiniest, most resilient patch of blue sky from sight? You dream on for the unlikely prospect of a July that will lavishly spray it's vast pent-up reservoir of those hot summer days on you; those days you more ore less think belong to ancient history and not to the near future. Because hope is the last thing a man will abandon. It survives even a close-up, in-depth study of all the accessible weather data usually called a weather forecast. In us is the perennial tendency to want to think that those college nerds, the meteorologists, finally have got it all wrong. No more rain until you want it to pour down again. Only sun for as long as you want!

Or you can always resort to the comforting memories of yesteryear. Because, funnily enough, all past summers - at least after some time - seem to morph into ethereal creatures that whisper encouragingly in your ears when all you can observe is mile upon mile of overcast sky. These unseen helpers somehow make it into your brekfast-table small-talk and prevents the general mood from taking a dangerous downturn.

These past months have seen too much moisture, though,. originating from the greyish titans that constantly hover over our houses and gardens. They hamper free movement, interfering with any impulse to stay outdoors for more than half an hour. And so the only travel I've done recently is in this blissful domain called my mind. I've allowed myself to retrieve from narrow alleys hiding past thrills those glimpses of what summer can really be like. Take our family tour of the USA two years ago e.g. There's no way you can possibly beat that experience. Our vacation among Tolos in Washington and Connecticut somehow always resurface in our conversations.

We never tire of talking about the past, at least for as long as this past represents the zenit of our aspirations (as to what a perfect summer should be). Come on, God, bring on some more fine weather, please? There's plenty of time for rain to come in, say, a month's time or two?

Spring-time travelogue - part one

2011-05-15T14:24:00.002+02:00

Much has happened since last I penned a few lines on "No more Downs in Denmark", but courtesy of the fact that I abhor short articles and earn my living as a teacher, I ended up with precious little time on my hands; much too little to merit sitting down and pamper my own particular past-time pet idea: writing blog entries.

But, to gratify the curiosity of anyone who may care to read whatever I write; I will venture to update you briefly on my recent whereabouts and experiences. Let's start off with something decidedly fun and inspiring

Barcelona

The Catalan capital was the destination of this years study trip. I am privileged to work at a school where the majority of employees and heads of administration all think that travelling together as a group to see new places is a fabulous thing. So, for the tenth consecutive time, all full-time members of staff packed a fraction of their clothing and articles of bodycare, and stampeded expectantly to the airport and beyond.

Vienna, Kairo, Riga and Istanbul all live on vividly and vigorously in my mental memory bank, and Barcelona will, too. Three action-packed days of delicious food and drink, and the exquisite boon of late-night conversation and comradeship, made this yeat another personal success story. Albeit we didn't stray too far from the beaten touristic paths, our Norwegian-speaking, Barcelona-residing guide took us to locations that we're definitely livened up by his story-telling ability.

We were treated to verbal thrills covering every extreme of both timelines and moral spectrums: tales of tregady (persecution of Christians in the 2nd century) to tales of the sweeping changes implemented along the Barcelona waterfront prior to the 1992 Summer Olympics. We obviously saw the edifices that no one is allowed to miss: the rivetingly intricate La Sagrada Familia as well as the Park Guell, both brainchildren of the fascinating genius Antoni Gaudi. And we obediently trailed behind our guide as he expertly led the pack through the cobweb of cobbled alleys and narrow passages in what is known as the Old City.

Pickpockets and visual delights were evenly distributed along our route, but the former must have cursed their bad luck as our vigilant eyes restlessly scanned the crowds for suspicious-looking faces. In the end we were left to count our memorable moments, blissfully ignorant of what it must be like to manage without both credit card and hard-earned cash.

And, oh yes, we also saw another kind of cathedral, the focal point of those who faithfully worship their leather-ball kicking idols every now and then, and who vent their nationalistic ire whenever players from the royal club of Madrid slink onto the pitch they hallow. FC Barcelona is the world's most successfull football club at the moment, and Camp Nou is their sacred home turf. Sadly, there was no fixture to be enjoyed as was the case in Istanbul last year, but it was, as expected, both a thing of novelty and excitement to set foot where so many feted soccer battles have taken place.

We were winners, then, in the end, as we packed our bags preparing for the return trip home. And I could confidently look forward to another rerun of the annual family occasion loosely termed "Daddy comes home carrying with him a fair amount of surprises for his wife and kids". Always a laugh, that one.

No more Downs in Denmark!

2011-03-13T13:29:00.002+01:00

The Danish professor Ann Tabor rejoices at the success authorities in the country are witnessing: the number of babies born with Down's syndrome is expected to continue dropping significantly in the near future.

This, a newspaper article asserts, will be due to the increasingly more common practice of offering fetal scannning early in the first trimester to expecting mothers. On the basis of the results of the scan, the mother can decide whether to keep the baby or not. And Mrs. Tabor sees no moral dilemma in the fact that women are nowadays more likely to opt for an abortion if the scan reveals she is carrying a baby that has the dreaded Down,s syndrome.

Mrs. Tabor is exultant, it seems, because less babies with Down,s means one giant benefit to the state: less costs. No need to care for unwanted citizens that may live on to see their 55th birthday. No more need to fund the existence of the deviants who trouble us all because they will forever remain a threat to our budgetary health.

In her candid remark, the professor reveals a horrifying cynicism about the value of human life. If you're not perfect, she alleges, you're not fit to live. Raising you will be too costly for the state, as the state can expect nothing in return for its money. You cannot become a productive member of society, thus you should be removed before birth, dumped in some bloodstained bucket, forever kept out of sight and out of memory.

I wonder if the professor thinks that the same policy should be adopted towards those in danger of growing up as mentally retarded or chronically ill? Because, after all, why should anyone waste money on members of society that are a 100% liability? If human beings are to be valued purely according to their potential contribution to the greater good, to the fiscal soundness of the State, then many of us will sooner or later find ourselves in the danger zone.

Because I may wind up in a wheelchair, unable to move and barely able to speak. Who will care for me, who will provide for my needs, when I can no longer pay my taxes or render to Ceasar the other things he will be claiming? Should I then be allowed to live, professor? Would you like to remove me the way you would like to see my brothers with Down's syndrome disappear?

Well, cheer up, Danes, in your quest to move higher up the scale of happiness. You may soon spot no more Downs.

ET - 29 years on

2011-03-12T21:25:00.000+01:00

For years I have harboured a particular liking for films, especially those that tell stories out of the ordinary. One such is the blockbuster "ET", directed by Steven-You-Know-Who. I resented the film when it was originally released in 1982 - partially for reasons that I can no longer recall.

But I suspect that this resentment to some extent must have stemmed from my then supersensitive religious conscience; this fire and brimstone inner voice that forbade me from acquainting myself with possible occult-oriented speculation about extre-terrestrial life forms.

Yes, there were - and perhaps still are - people of variuous persuasions - that debunked "ET" simply because of its massive appeal. The general filmloving public were crazy about the tiny, odd-looking extre-terrestrial, and some who think films were inherently bad anyway, concluded that anything that drew your attention away from Jesus must be avoided at all costs. I was one of them. Without even having seen it, I lashed out against Mr. Speilberg's dreamscape solely because it must be a complete waste of time. It didn't proclaim the gospel, right?

THE GOSPEL OF ET?

No, there is no gospel proclamation in "ET", but it is a moving film about e.g. deep hurts and the resilient longing for healing to come from somewhere, or something, out 'there'. Despite it's sci-fi motif, it's not really a sci-fi film at all, and - equally - despite the presence of otherwordly beings, there's not a milligramme of occult influence in it, either.

Watching the film today, 29 years on, I am struck by Mr. Spielberg's idiosyncratic vision of alien life forms. Far from the nasty, bloodthirsty, appallingly sinister monsters of 1950s B-movies, the central character of "ET" is an innocent-looking, benign, and peace-loving horticulturist with several exceptional qualities. Among many mysterious faculties, this alien e.g. can instantly heal physical wounds. And this much-coveted ability certainly comes in handy at various points in the narrative.

But "ET" also brings a certain level of emotional healing to a family struggling with the aftereffects of a massive emotional trauma; the recent collapse of a marriage, and the subsequent loss of a husband and father. Into this family unit in dire inner straits, a funny, but far from stupid figure of unkown origin stumbles unintentionally, and over a short period of time, his presence provides not only a much-wanted distraction. Deciphering quickly that ET has been stranded, phsysically and metophorically, in his own state of estrangement and loss, the family members and the alien develop a kind of symbiotic relationship that paves way for some kind of inner healing.

ET - THE HEALER

They are both, the family group and the alien, essential to eachother's eventual recovery. United in pain and purpose - which is to bring ET into contact with the crew on board the space ship, and then - ultimately - safely back to his planet, both parties find in eachother not only a sympathetic helper in a time of need, but also the closeness and solace that have been woefully absent of late.

And thus, in the character of ET, Mr, Spielberg unites the healer and the saviour. Although they unwillingly succeed in aiding ET back to his ship, this second separation doesn't break the family even further apart, it most likely fuels the process that will some time in the future bring them together: to restoration, to a state of equilibrium they all crave desperately.

"ET" is far from a threat to anyone's spiritual health. It's an excellently made and touching cultural product that probably only mirrors the cry in our communities for healing on many different planes. And if it still has a compelling voice, that voice is probably whispering that YES, there is help to be had out there. But it won't come from ET. It can, if you desire it, come from another legal alien - one whose hands were and are famous for their healing touch on individuals, families, communities and nations.

Revisiting my past

2011-03-02T23:47:00.002+01:00

Five years down the road and I will be turning fifty. I'm not ruing the day, neither am I rushing it - hardly possible anyway. I'm just trying to appreciate the fact that I can teach about truly historic events while reminding myself that I was alive at the time they happened, watching live TV coverage while e.g. the Rumanians in 1989 were throwing off the fetters that had tied them to Communist ideology.

Still, if sometimes bugged by ageing, there's a slight comfort in the knowledge that my peers from the past are ageing just as rapidly, or slowly, as I am. And, please remember: age is a phenomenon that primarily concerns my skin, and not my brain, or my propensity for doing things some would regard as belonging to the domain of adolescence.

FEBRUARY 11, 2011, 9 P.M.

So, my only true concern on Friday afternoon, February 11, was whether I would recognize the other ex-youths of my then church, all convocating for a reunion arranged by three former youth leaders, all now into their late 50s or early 60s. Funnily enough, the invitation for this get-together in Evangeliekirken, Moss (The Gospel Church) came my way via Facebook. Thank God for that innovation, as the event would hardly have come about without it, the chief reason being that neither of the three youth leaders possessed any other means of ascertaining our whereabouts, except in a few cases.

The distance between Bergen and Moss, my adopted hometown and the town of my childhood respectively, is forbidding. Yet I made it a priority in the back of my mind to try my utmost to be able to mingle with the old-timers the moment the reunion was brought to my attention. I've maintained a very limited number of friendships, some close - some peripheral, over the years, which meant that I was really welcoming a chance to see people who to larger or lesser extents had all contributed to a period of my youth that now stands out as very formative and rewarding.

My old friend Halvard, 45 years old that is, picked me up at the airport, and with less than an hour to spare, we were soon speeding along the highway, aiming for a quick change of clothes at his home before heading for the premises of this Gospel Church. Entertaining ourselves with flashbacks, anecdotes, brief memories of past flirts etc. along the way wasn't hard at all. It's second nature to both of us, as geography deprives us most of our days from really getting to do new things together.

FAMILIAR FACES

Seven o'clock saw us parading through the front door to the sanctuary itself, warmly greeted by Trygve, his face as friendly as ever, his belly protruding slightly more now compared to 25 years ago. I had already spotted some very familiar faces while walking down from the parking lot, so I was increasingly warming up to the imminent prospect of the staple reunion game: "See who remembers who first". In the suffocatingly small hall I shed my excess clothing and started meandering through the relative throng of bodies lining the walls, settees, tables and goodness knows what. And suddenly, one after the ather, smiles of recognition began bursting, and names I hadn't called in years gratifyingly and comfortingly sprang to mind more or less instantaneously.

So I was back. Back in the Pentecostal church that welcomed me lovingly on a Wednesday afternoon in November of 1982, and that had constituted my spiritual home for almost four years, inviting me in on some of the most unforgettable moments of my life. I was back among people who I later would arrogantly, and erroneously, write off as being stuck in old-fashioned, irrelevant and spiritually empty ways. I was back among people who were still faithfully trudging along in their walk with the Lord, much less charismatic and self-conscious than other people I have come to know. But as the night wore on, I soon had to admit that 25 years on, and suddenløy I could not decide that easily who was the more on fire for Jesus.

REMEMBERING TO BE GRATEFUL

Nostalgia didn't carry the day, albeit literally hundreds of old photos flashed onto the white screen, some from as far back as 1968. What was firmly etched onto my conciousness that night was plain gratitude. Certainly we munched pizza until we really had had overfill, and, yes, we downed, ravenously, liberal amounts of hot, black coffee. And when nutrition facts should have talked us out of it, we chose instead to gulp down massive slices of cream-inundated cakes. And yet: I will remember this night as a time when I was alerted anew to the fact that I may have come quite a long way, but still I owe a debt of gratitude to countless brothers and sisters, most of whom I am now physically far removed from.

Camp nights, choir practices, Friday night youth group in homes, meals and hilarious practical jokes. They were all made possible by quite a few of these less conspicuous saints, the ones that never get media coverage, who seldom receive rounds of applause for their efforts, but who still faithfully carry out whatever business they sense the Lord has called them to. And for that I laud them. For that I thanked them afresh as feeding frenzy was overlapped by testimony night. For that I will remember them.

Thank you Øyvind, Trygve, Magnus. I now stand mildly reprieved for allowing my mind to temporarily relinquish moments when your quiet obedience paved way for new lessons in practical discipleship.

The EU imbecils

2011-01-03T19:35:00.001+01:00

The bright minds of the EU commission appear, well, less than just that these days. Its latest whim is publishing a cultural calendar for kids sanitized of any refence to Christian public holidays. Thus a new level of revisionist imbecility has been reached.

Maybe I should congratulate them at this impertinence, as it requires no small measure of determination and dogged denial of historical facts to achieve this. Just imagine attempting to blot out - by a single symbolic act - our collective cultural experience of a millennium and a half (barbaric Scandinavia excluded).. Tall order, if you ask me.

In the name of political correctness, Eid and Hanukkah made it onto the EU Commission's list of days worth noting, and perhaps, clandestinely celebrating in EU headquarters? I commend the members of the Commission, as I trust this is a democratic majority decision, for practicing tolerance towards the minorities of Europe. And I raise my verbal whip against this act of folly, the outright and scandalous discrimination, carried out against a (nominal) majority, Catholics and Protestant Christians.

Why can't the political and cultural elitists of Europe, behave decently and fairly towards the followers of a faith that spawned Europe's universities, hospitals and courts of law? The EU Commission must either practice tolerance towards all, or openly acknowledge its bias towards its apparent secular, atheist ideals.

As it is, the Comission risks being made a laughingstock for its imbecility and pathetic revisionism. Sadly, they just may succeed in rewriting history - to their own eternal shame.

The anniversary that never was

2010-12-31T18:02:00.001+01:00

Today, had my father been alive, he and my mother would have been able to celebrate their 50'th wedding anniversary. But that opportunity was cut short well over two years ago.

Still, on the last day of 2010 I want to thank you, daddy, for what you meant to me. Despite your shortcoming and failures, I have come to appreciate that you enriched my life more than subtracting from it. And the hurt and pain - in sum - was overshadowed by your perhaps feeble, but concrete, expressions of love.

I do hope that I will be seeing you again. There is much fellowship to be enjoyed yet, many a moment of conversation to be spent in surroundings far better than these.

Happy new year, Lord

2010-12-31T17:53:00.000+01:00

To the extent that you identify with believers belonging to your church, your earthly, visible body, 2010 must have been a bad year for you, Lord, at least as far as publicity goes. It must, in particular, have hurt you that muckrakers have unearthed scandal upon scandal involving sexual abuse of children, the perpetrators being professional clergy.

I know that much goes on that escapes the eyes of the journalists bent on securing headlines that sell more newspapers, but still: every time a saint, or a wolf in sheep's clothing, misrepresents you, Lord, giving you a bad reputation, the light from the gospel is dimmed, sometimes even totally shut out because of our hypocrisy, our blatant sins that we try desperately to cover up, but which somehow always resurface despite our panicky efforts.

I am sorry Lord, even though I cannot 'boast' any conspicuous sin during the past 364 days. That doesn't mean I can fully exonerate myself, though. I didn't abuse a child, granted. I didn't murder, pillage or evade paying taxes, but the record will show that I missed out on a lot of opportunities to do good. I particularly remember pretending I wasn't noticing the beggars lining the cobbled path to the downtown shopping mall last summer. I felt you tugging my heart, I sensed your voice reminding me to give to the ones in need, but I had an excuse up my sleeve, Lord, remember?

I kept silent, too, Lord, about what you have done for me. Like most believers in Europe and America, I was too preoccupied with my own business to engage in your royal business. Certainly, I was faithful in attending and contributing to our cell group gatherings, but I cannot remember bringing a new one along. And most of my neighbours still are unaware what plans you have for them and us. They still suspect that your agenda is pushing religion, whereas you are hard at work alerting your followers to the fact that your chief objective is restoring justice and godliness in every walk of life, in every sphere of human existence.

Forgive me, Lord. I can write volumes regarding my good intentions, but when it comes to finished work, there isn't really much worth putting down on paper. Am I being too hard on myself? Possibly. But the missions field outside my door is vast, and the nation that I belong to has walked away from heeding your voice, pursuing instead the dance around that golden calf: our oil revenues, our vast collective savings.

There is only one way I am going to perform better in 2011: lifted by your grace, I may very well reach the dreams that have lingered on inside of me for years. If I learn to live my days intently listening to your still small voice, I may witness your power unleashed at work, when mixing with friends and neighbours, or else just being busy being human.

I hope and pray you will enjoy a resounding comeback in Europe in 2011, Lord. Europe's sprawling urban megacommunities need you desperately. There is too much pent-up anger there, too many people whiling their days away in despondency and apathy. They really need you, Lord.

Happy new year.

2011 - a wish list

2010-12-28T21:49:00.000+01:00

My world in 2011 will hopefully show quite a few signs of improvement. Albeit omens readers and political pundits have lots of things to worry about, I continually remind myself that this world, the universe even, is subject to the will of the One who set this 'train' of creation in motion.

No, not all will be bright and promising. I expect more trouble, more earthquakes, more financial meltdowns and upheavals, more political scandals, more religiously motivated terror and violence. And yet:

1. I wish that the major economies of Europe will get back on track, and that the debacles of this and previous years will, somehow, be sorted out. Due to its abortion policies, many European countries are facing grave problems in terms of labour force shortages - both in the short and the long term. But although the governments and politicians in question will have to be held accountable to both God and the various electorates for their sinfulness and crimes against the unborn, I sincerely hope that businesses will boom, and not bust, in 2011.

For all their shortcomings and vanities, the perpetrators of and contributors to the grand social project called the European Union, have secured peace for an hitherto unprecendented period of time. With the exception of the Balkan war in the late 1990s, Europe has not witnessed any major armed conflict on the continent proper since the end of World War 2. That has allowed for stunning growth rates in exceptionally diverse fields of human activity, which in turn e.g. has allowed fo many of the social benefits enjoyed in the present welfare systems around Europe.

EU may yet be facing its worst crises, but I hope and pray that countries, or even the relative tranquility and amicability among former enemies, will not suffer lethal blows in the year to come. Social or military tensions have caused untold misery before when triggered beyond remedy . We should not want any of that to make an exploding comeback.

2. I wish that agencies, both human and non-human(!), will increasingly be able to successfully forestall and thwart acts of terrorism in the name of Allah or any other god. The carnage and bloodshed in Madrid and London a few years back, present worst case scenarios that, in many ways, are still chillingly plausible as outcomes of the strenuous, perverted efforts of the fanatic few. I can never fully grasp why seemingly well-educated men, and precious few women, will ever want to achieve fame or renown through something as heinous as a suicide attack on innocent bystanders and casual passers-by, but then, again, I have to confess next to total ignorance as to the ideas and forces that motivate them and fuel their hatred.

The growing Muslim populations in Europe and the ever more apparent failure to integrate them into their various communities, constitute very real challenges. The poisoning suspicion that already lingers in the minds of e.g. ethnic Norwegians and Belgians as to where the loyalties of their Muslim neighbours lie, will hardly be remedied by more bombs being blown up in city centres by people named Hassan or Abdullah.

It is my conviction, until proven wrong, that the vast majority of Muslims are both politically and religously moderates, and since their presence must be expected to remain indefinitely, it is to be hoped that we can learn to coexist even more smoothly without mutual ignorance and bigotry being erected as insurmountable Berlin walls between us.

3. I wish that the present minority in Europe known as evangelical, or Bible-believing Christians, may learn to both meaningfully interpret, respectfully critique, creatively engage in and persistently contribute towards remedying, the popular cultures around us. For too long have we been hatefully pointing fingers, for too long have we nonsensically rejected works of art that we have not even bothered to understand or acquaint ourselves with. For much too long have we been erecting walls between the things of God and the things of this world, horrifyingly failing to recognise that even the creative arts are both legitimate expressions and logical extensions of the cultural mandate God gave humans.

We were lovingly made in the image of God to subcreate, in the paraphrased words of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. We possess immense poential and skill to bring into existence wonderful, breath-taking artefacts and artistic expressions. And even if these were not brought into being in the name of God, or with direct, overt references to Jesus, they may still have tremendous value in being able to lift the grieving soul, rejuvenate the lifeless and stagnant heart, and - somehow - bring a certain level of unity into societies burdened with social discord or ethnic antagonism.

Art is not such a bad thing. So why don't we start by taking a closer look in 2011?