 ‘Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.’ (John Keats) Earlier this year, I had the privilege of doing some Action Learning training work in Georgia and, while there, I visited an Orthodox Christian church in Tbilisi. It was a new experience for me. The building inside was beautifully-decorated throughout with brightly-colourful paintings of Jesus and other key figures on the walls and ceilings. There were lit candles in various places too and (strangely, for me) there were no chairs except for a couple of seats near the door. The experience inside felt alien yet familiar and, somehow, deeply inspiring. On return to the UK, I stumbled across some recordings of an Orthodox priest in Georgia, singing with others in Aramaic (the language that Jesus spoke). The mood and tone of the songs felt evocative and mysterious and it prompted me to buy a copy of a short book on Orthodox Christianity to learn more about this expression of my own Christian faith from a very different culture. It struck me again how I’m attracted to difference; intrigued by new people, insights and ideas that lay outside of my existing awareness. It is, at times, the adrenaline rush of a novel experience, a fresh discovery, a revealing realisation, that makes me feel most alive. It’s also the excitement of a creative-dialectical dynamic; that is, a synergy of people, insights and ideas from diverse worlds that – just like in Action Learning – call something new into being.
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 ‘Lord, heal me of this malady of lust…but not yet.’ (Saint Augustine) The Stanford Marshmallow Test was a famous experiment to help understand people’s ability to hold out against temptation. In its original form, it was particularly interested in the notion of delayed gratification and its impacts. For instance, if a person were able effectively to resist short term gratification in pursuit of a longer-term goal, would that improve their chances of success in life? The outcomes are still being studied today. The initial results appeared to show that, yes, a person’s ability to exercise self-control had a correspondingly positive effect in life as a whole. If, for instance, I were able to avoid spending money on trivial items in order to save up for something that’s more important to me, I’m more likely to achieve that goal. I can see it in my own life. I worked hard and saved every penny to buy a motorcycle for my 16th birthday – and I achieved it. In later years, further refined versions of the same Test showed that people are more likely to be disciplined in exercising self-control if (a) they engage with positive distractions from the immediate sources of temptation and (b) they believe their longer-term goal has a realistic chance of success. The latter is particularly significant because it points beyond individual self-control to the critical influence of a wider enabling environment. So, if I have a compelling goal, a hope, an aspiration in mind and believe that, if I am willing to hold out and stay focused on it and do whatever it takes (within my means and, for me, with the help of God) to achieve it, I am more likely to achieve it. If for whatever reason, however, I believe my circumstances dictate that I have little realistic prospect of achieving it, my ability to persist in the face of temptation will be far more difficult. In view of this, in relation to personal agency, ‘The opportunity to make effective personal choices is highly unequal.’ (Robert A. Dahl). If a person is struggling with self-control, it could be they lack sufficiently-motivating vision or values that would make the effort of self-control worthwhile; they don't have effective life distractions or networks of support; or they just can’t believe (perhaps justifiably) their goal is genuinely possible. Are you struggling to achieve your goals? Curious to discover how I can help you? Get in touch!  ‘The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.’ (The Bible) You may have heard it said a picture can paint a thousand words. This image (above), captured by Jasmin’s daughter, Mary, this week, spoke more to me about the authentic meaning of Christmas than any I’ve seen on glitzy, tacky TV ads. Jasmin, Mary, Paul and a small group of inspired students in the Philippines spent their Christmas bringing good news to the poor. Their first venture involved taking gifts and running a fun-filled party for 127 poverty-stricken children and their families who live in a cemetery. It brought hope to people on the margins of society who so often live without hope. The joy on the children’s faces was incredible. That brought joy to Jasmin and her helpers too. True light brings light, and it reflects back too. Today, Christmas day, Jasmin, Mary and Paul ventured out again, this time to take gifts and the message of Divine love to 173 poverty-stricken children and families who live on the streets. The look of surprise and joy on their faces was life-giving too. They could never have imagined being seen, valued and loved like this. The people walking in darkness have seen a great Light.  ‘Give yourself a gift of five minutes of contemplation in awe of everything you see around you.’ (Wayne Dyer) I love spending time under German motorway bridges. I know that may sound a bit dodgy or weird, yet there’s something about the majestic hidden architecture that I find completely awe- inspiring. The tall pillars supporting the structure above have, for me, an evocative, ancient, temple-like appearance. Standing in those places, allowing myself to feel mysteriously lifted outside of myself, has a kind of spiritual quality to it that I struggle to express easily in words. Finding expansive places like this, whether in awesome mountain ranges or standing on a beach gazing out across open skies and sea, is a stark contrast to feeling hemmed in or pressed down by the day-to-day pressures of everyday life. It creates a moment to breathe in deeply, to feel the freedom and joy of space. I find that expansive, interior space in prayer, in God, too. Contemplation is, for me, presence to the awe-striking Presence who is already present with us.  ‘Charisma is the fragrance of soul. Seduce yourself first. Pursuing your passions makes you more interesting, and interesting people are enchanting.’ (Toba Beta, Kamand Kojouri & Guy Kawasaki) I’ve watched and listened to various UK political leaders during the current party conference season and I’ve been struck by marked differences in presence and style. Some have commented that, for instance, Nigel Farage has an inspiring and engaging charisma whereas Keir Starmer talks down to people like a robotic technocrat. That said, both party leaders attract and repel different constituencies of the wider public – which makes me wonder if charisma, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I remember working with an international non-governmental organisation (INGO) that had a very inspiring CEO. At that time, the same organisation was working hard to identify leadership competencies that could be developed or replicated globally. I really struggled with that project. There was something intrinsic to the CEO as a unique individual that had such a compelling influence and impact. Yes, I could well try to emulate some of his skills and techniques – but I still wouldn’t be him. A friend in Germany illustrated a similar principle yesterday by holding up a glass vase. He could drop it on the floor so that it would smash into lots of pieces, yet there’s something about the object as a whole that is more than the sum of those broken shards. Charisma, like the beauty of the vase, is something that can feel mysterious, beyond rational or technical analysis, both in intrinsic quality and its effects on others. In biblical language, it’s a gift from the Spirit – but it can also be a derailer.  ‘It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.’ (Mother Theresa) ‘I don’t own a purse because, with God’s help, I give everything away.’ As this humble Filipina revealed a rare glimpse of this personal dimension of her life of faith, I was struck by how she said it with absolutely no air of virtue-signalling. It was so matter of fact, as if speaking a self-evident truth for all followers of Jesus, everywhere. It challenged me as I glanced at my own wallet on the table. I’ve never met anyone so principled. I mean, it’s one thing to share from the edges of our excess wealth. It’s quite another thing to be very poor and not to cling on hard to the little we have. Yet I’ve seen her live out this faith, day after day and year after year. It’s humbling and inspiring and I’ve never witnessed so many miracles as those I’ve seen God work through her. True faith = love + trust.  ‘What have you set in motion? You are meant to be. Others you do not know depend on the fruit of your actions.’ (Christopher Chapman) I find that quite breathtaking. Like the butterfly effect, ‘the idea that small, seemingly trivial events may ultimately result in something with much larger consequences’ (Nathan Chandler), it suggests that our everyday actions – or our inactions – can have ripple effects that lay far beyond anything we ourselves could have imagined, known or understood: geographically and generationally. I like Christopher Chapman’s framing of this in his book, Doorways to Hope. He proposes that, in God’s mysterious eternal plan, we each play a significant role – whether we can see it or not. The question it points back to us is, ‘How are you willing to live your life?’ I want my being and my every doing to make a positive difference for the poor and most vulnerable people in the world. This makes my every decision an act of faith, imbued with a spiritual-existential dimension. It provides a sense of meaning, of purpose, that counters despair.  ‘Let’s set the world afire.’ (Francis Xavier) If you’re unfamiliar with Ash Wednesday, it’s a Christian ritual that marks the beginning of a season of preparing ourselves spiritually as we approach Easter. In some traditions, it’s marked by receiving a symbol of a cross of ash on the forehead: a sign of our own weakness and our need for God. It’s a time to face up to, in ourselves and in the world, what Francis Spufford calls the ‘human propensity to f*** things up’. Lent, the period that leads from Ash Wednesday to Easter, is an opportunity to do just that. It challenges us to speak truth to ourselves about our part in the mess; to look at God as if in a mirror and to see ourselves and the world through his eyes. It calls us to look beneath our daily distractions to Someone infinitely more important. On this theme, I loved reading Meghan Ashley’s reflections (below). With real honesty and a touch of light-hearted humour, she expresses the spirit of Ash Wednesday beautifully: ‘I STILL get excited to see what type of cross the priest gave me and if he gave me a good one. Last year, I got a really light one that looked like a smudge. I went to work, and a coworker informed me that I had something on my head. MAJOR FACE PALM. Why couldn’t I just get a good cross to match my coordinating outfit?! I was prepped and ready for a good one!! Ughhh. However, I learned a good lesson that day. The lesson totally makes me realize that I’m a little distracted by the facade and should focus on the crazy, mind-blowing meaning… right?! My ashes remind me to grieve my division from God because of my sinning. That is BIG stuff. Grande. We have such beautiful rich traditions and spirituality, that it’s so easy to take it at 'face' value.’ And today, more than ever, I remind myself: ‘In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.’ (George Orwell)  ‘It isn’t death that frightens us. No, what shocks us is life, and the possibility of life. It is life that terrifies us, and life that makes us speechless.’ (James Koester) Three weeks. Three countries. Three birthdays. One funeral for a man I never knew. I’ve walked through a Nazi concentration camp with its dark history still pressing in like a weight. I’ve knelt at the grave of a special woman I did once know, many years ago, who died too young. I’ve prayed with Ukrainian refugees: their voices silent, who spoke only with tears. I’ve watched an assassination attempt unfold live on TV: chaos, history in motion. In the midst, kindness has found me. Close friends have held me. Strangers have welcomed me. Life goes on. I’ve wandered in snow-covered mountains, stared at ice-lit lakes and let nature remind me: beauty and pain coexist. Henri Nouwen’s Prodigal, the story of a return, has been pulling me closer to God. This journey hasn’t just been about crossing borders – it has also been within. Twists, turns, highs, lows. No map, no script. Just the road ahead. And I keep walking. 
‘When we know people whose lives are being destroyed and there seems to be no way of reaching them; when people are in impossible situations and there are no words to help them…hold them at the centre of prayer, where the divine Christ dwells, and expose them to the rays of his love.’ (Iain Matthew) Friedensgebet (‘prayers for peace’) felt even more earnest this evening than last time I was here. As we entered the church, each person lit a candle and placed it on a silver cross before a figure of the crucified Christ. It felt like holding the suffering of the world before one who knows what it is to endure pain. The candle I lit barely flickered at first, as if struggling to spark itself into even the tiniest glimmer of a flame. Hope, too, can sometimes feel like that. Those present reflected on certain parallels in German society today with those that preceded the rise of the Nazis so many years ago now. That was an unspeakably dark period in German history which, at times like this, still surfaces, smoulders and burns in the people’s collective psyche. I could feel their sense of concern and anguish about the forthcoming general election. Would Germany learn from its history, or would it find itself condemned to repeat it? As we prayed, I recalled Iain Matthew’s soulful spiritual wisdom: ‘Feel the way to the wound that is in us, to the place of our need. Go there, take it, name it; hold it before Christ. Feel our way to the wounds of this world, to those people or situations in dire need of healing. Go there, take them, name them; and hold them before him. Go there, not to dictate to Christ what the answer should be or what he should do about it; but to hold the wound before him.’ Yes. |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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