Learning to Fall - Henry Cavender
"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the
ground and
dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many
seeds." (Jesus) John 12:2 NIV
I have just spent an hour in the sea to clear my head. It is 9 degrees
in the water, warm for the time of year, but still cold enough to
shrink my brain to the size of a walnut, hence the clear head. I am
kept warm by my new wetsuit, made of the latest Yamamoto neoprene, and
also by these little things called endorphins which were in me all the
time but have now been released and are whizzing round my body making
me feel alive.
I work for a pioneering project based right next to the
famous Polzeath beach, in Cornwall, the heart of UK surf culture. God
is wanting to do amazing things in Cornwall, the county is buzzing with
expectancy. The aim of Tubestation, our project, is to take a tired
1930’s Methodist chapel in a cracking location and rescue it,
help bring it to life and use it to bring people to life.
Tubestation
is more than a name; it’s a very simple picture which speaks
to us as surfers. A tube is the ultimate wave, the ultimate ride that
surfers travel the world searching for. The most sought-after, most
coveted surfing experience. Being inside a tubing wave has been
described as a religious experience. When you’re inside the
elusive barrel you’re in an alternate reality, touching the
sublime, as you head for the light. It has been said that there is no
other situation in any sport or creative activity on this earth where
the participant interacts so intimately with the energy of Creation.
It is a modern-day parable: the “ultimate ride”,
life to the full, because there is nothing else to compare with
intimate interaction with our Creator; dangerous, thrilling and
invigorating. It’s about reaching out for our full potential,
searching for the ultimate ride.
The project is a “fresh expression” of church which
seeks both to embrace the culture around it and take a fresh look at
what church is. Radical discontinuity you might say. And one of the key
starting points for us is to take a fresh look at who we, the project
leaders, are.
I love change. I love the thought that everything can
change in an instant. That I can change quickly and suddenly for the
better. For me, reaching my full potential in life is not just about
improving myself. Improving sounds boring, too slow, life is too short.
I need transformation if I’m to reach my goal.
I used to work
with horticulture and the canny Victorians we tried to emulate had
mastered a technique they called “forcing”, where
seeds or plants were forced, using darkness, to undergo a sudden
transformation with the result that exquisite flowers and food could be
brought to the table outside of their natural season, to the wonder and
marvel of all the dinner guests.
Imagine how those poor plants felt; sore and bleary-eyed no doubt, but
fresh and fruitful and beautiful and purposeful and set-apart and
desired. Part of a better plan, their season dictated by one outside of
themselves....... And then they were eaten. Shame.
When we fail to respond to God’s intended season for the seed
of the gospel in our lives, I sometimes imagine him with a huge
terracotta “forcing pot”. I am learning to go with
it whenever I’ve got that forced feeling. “Man,
this is gonna hurt!”. But I know that the alternative, a life
with me enthroned, is a complete waste of time. I was battling with an
issue with God a few years back where I found myself unable to relent,
and repeatedly chose to do things my way. It was a big issue between me
and God, and I knew it. Then God broke the deadlock by way of forcing.
It was a wild and gloomy winter’s day and I went for a lone
surf. There were a few others out back in the line up but the gloom
made it hard to see, and it was soon to be dusk. In the haste of the
day I had skipped lunch and was really looking forward to a hearty
supper later. My energy levels were low. The swell was pushing in and
Harlyn Bay is notorious for strong rip currents at this time of tide,
so I made sure to stay near the rest of the pack.
The surf was good and as it began to get dark I paddled for my last
wave, surfing it right, instead of left, and away from the other
surfers. Then as I paddled for shore the water got really choppy and I
realised that I was paddling against a rip current. A rip is like a
river in the sea. It can be friend or foe, and you don’t
fight it, you use a rip to your advantage or, if it’s going
the wrong way, paddle across it. This was a big wide one and, as I
paddled across it, it was taking me further out. I started to realise
that my efforts were in vain. After a good half an hour paddling I was
a tiny person in a huge ocean, and very aware of my size, as I ditched
my water-filled gloves in a lame effort to paddle quicker.
“Please God send me a big set!”, I prayed, wishing
to be washed in by a freak wave or two. But waves don’t break
in a rip, even the big ones just kind of pass underneath you like
pathetic lumps. I scanned the cliffs, hoping to attract the attention
of a rambler or a tea-time dog walker, but the cliffs were bare, not a
single silhouette against the sky to raise my hopes, and the other
surfers were now out of sight in the gloom.
As I prayed for my life, the “issue” loomed! Big
issue, sir? Er, no thanks. Bit busy.
It’s amazing what
conversations you can have with your maker when your life is
at stake.
As I wrestled both in my body and my spirit, a-la
Jacob, two grey seals
bobbed their heads up to see what was going on, and just sort
of
watched me. I had to laugh! “You guys
don’t know
what this is like, I’m dying here! Go
away!”. They
were clearly amused that this man-shaped seal, covered
head-to-foot in
black as I was, should even be bothering to swim
around up there on the
surface.
God won, after the best part of an hour I relented on the issue. As I
did, the paddle got easier and my shaking arms took me closer to the
rocks on the headland. “Lord, I’m spent, just dump
me here on the rocks!”, I puffed. And He did. With a whoosh a
big wave burst through the rip, picked me up and launched me forward
onto the oily black rocks below. Land! Boomf.
Elated I sat on the sand
in a steep cove I never knew existed, and cried with thanks! Then who
should arrive, but my inquisitive friends the seals! To my surprise one
of them lolloped up onto the beach towards me and sat there, smiling.
Amazed, I shuffled towards it slowly, and before long we were right
next to each other, me staring into its whiskery dog-like face and big
black knowing eyes.
You know, what a privilege it is to be shaped by the master shaper. Now
when I recognise him wanting to shape me, I have learnt to give in more
quickly. Like the ocean, he is really big, and really not to be trifled
with. Good news though: he is also patient and gentle, and because he
cares for each one of us so much he will use a brilliant range of means
to get through to us. He knows how much we can handle, and what we
respond to best.
Being a shy person, I once was struggling with the need for me to be
baptised in public. Look God, it’s only a symbolic act, I
reckoned, you know my heart, I know my heart, let’s be cool,
we don’t need to make a fuss! Then one night I lay asleep and
dreamed a vivid dream of arriving at a scorching hot tropical beach. I
ignored the hotel check-in which beckoned me on my arrival in the
dream, and elected to go straight to the beach with my bags instead and
chill out under a shady canopy. It was paradise! As we chilled, I gazed
lazily at the ocean and watched the waves as they mysteriously,
disturbingly began to take on a really unusual and fearsome shape, like
waves from a Japanese painting, walling up vertically and patrolling in
slow motion, like giant black swans, to the left and the right. The
mood changed to fear.
Next the sky turned red and stormy and we knew something was badly
wrong. Horror.
Then came the sulphur. Raining and shrieking and ripping down through
the canopy as we grabbed our bags and tore for the safety of the hotel
check-in. A hot coal hit my right thigh and I woke up, gasping for
breath. I got baptised that Saturday.
There is an amazing plan, a route
for each one of us. The problem is, left to our own devices we stumble
in the dark. I really hope I’m a quick learner because I know
there’s a full-potential version of me somewhere out there in
the distance, and I intend to arrive there with minimum possible scars.
I wonder whether this Super-Me is really so far in the distance though.
It certainly seems a very long way off. What if I eventually get there
and realise that, like the endorphins, it was inside me all the time
just waiting to be brought to life? That makes so much sense to me.
Like the dormant cells inside a kernel of wheat, locked up potential,
treasures just waiting for me to surrender, to fall to the floor and
begin a life more fruitful.
I gladly fall.
