Life Works 006 - Meditations on Superman (Part 3)

Summary

The third in a series about Superman. Where does power really come from?

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Does the World Need Superman? (Part 3)

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a narrative poem that provides some interesting parallels to the Superman theme. Whether the poem is based on some historical figure, I have no idea, but it harks back to ancient times.

The story line of the poem is as follows:

Robert of Sicily, a king of great renown, goes to church. While there he hears the Magnificat, that part of Scripture where she magnifies the LORD after being with child of the Holy Ghost and is bearing the promised Messiah:

He hath put down the mighty from [their] seats, and exalted them of low degree. (Luke 1:52 – New Century Version)

Robert angrily declares under his breath, “No one will put me down from my seat!”

Drowsiness comes over him and he falls asleep.

When he awakes the church is shrouded in darkness. He can’t believe he has slept so long. He leaves the church and makes his way frantically to the Palace, hardly aware he is no longer clothed in his kingly robes. Only when the guards stop him at the Palace gates does he realize he is clothed in the rags of a beggar. He is outraged.

What has happened to him?

Who has robbed him and clothed him in these evil smelling garments?

In a rage he pushes past the guards and arrives in the throne-room, only to discover someone is already seated on the throne. In astonishment he sees that the one seated there is the image of himself.

“I am the king,” he shouts. “You are an impostor.”

All those gathered in the throne-room laugh. How can this stinking beggar imagine he is the king? He must be mentally deranged.

Unknown to Robert the one seated on the throne is an angel. The angel says to Robert. You are a beggar. I am the king.”

In humiliation he is escorted out of the Palace gates and into the cold night. In the days and weeks that follow Robert finds himself in the company of an ape, the usual companion of some beggars in those days. The ape performed tricks to encourage donations from the populace. Wherever he goes he does not fail to declare, “He is an impostor. I am the king.”

Even those who knew him well failed to recognize him, mesmerized by the kingly personage occupying the throne.

At night, Robert huddles with the ape in a barn, coving himself with straw and cast off rags for warmth.

From time to time the angel visits him and asks a searching question: “Robert, who are you?

Time and again Robert answers, “You are an impostor. I am the king!”

The weeks pass into months, and the months into years. At last, burdened down by the humiliation of years he remembers his proud declaration, “No one will put me down from my seat!” Suddenly he is confronted with his arrogance and pride. He sees the rebelliousness of his heart against God, and the humiliation he feels turns to humility.

When the angel once again appears to him, he bows down and keeps his eyes on the ground as he is asked again, “Robert, who are you?”

“With a trembling voice Robert replies, “I am a beggar, you are the king.”

A sudden brightness shines around the angel and fills the barn with heavenly light. In compassion the angels reaches out to Robert and says, “No, Robert. I am an angel. You are the king!”

From that moment Robert is restored to his throne, a humble and good king, recognized for his compassionate and wise rule.

Now what has that to do with Superman?

It has to do with the question the angel asked, “Who are you?

While you and I hold on to the idea that we do not need God’s Superman, Jesus Christ, or at least deny him authority over portions of our lives, we will never be able to exercise the power Heaven grants us. We will go around declaring to ourselves, if not to others, “I can do this on my own,” and deny God’s right to rule over us.

Only when we bow our hearts in humility and declare, “I am full of weakness, and You, Lord, are my only Superman!” will we be raised to reign with Him over the forces of evil, and over our own wayward hearts.

When I Am Weak

(Thursday 19th April, 2007)

“When I am weak, then am I strong,”

Is a word from the holy page:

Wisdom distilled for the wise of heart,

Valued from age to age.

For when I am strong the power from on High

Has no place to call a home:

The strong close their doors to all strength abroad,

Except to the strength that’s its own.

But, when I am weak I open my arms

To a power that proceeds from above.

It’s a power none can have, except those souls,

Who yield to the power of God’s love.

Credits

• The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.

• The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.

• This podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.

Life Works 005 - Meditations on Superman (Part 2)

Summary

The only people who think they do not need a Superman are . . .

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Does the World Need Superman? (Part 2)

The only people who think they do not need a Superman are those who have deluded themselves into thinking they themselves are supermen of some kind, or in some way.
Such a man was Nebuchadnezzar, in the book of Daniel. He had been warned he had to humble himself and change his attitudes. The warning went unheeded:

Twelve months later as he was walking on the roof of his palace in Babylon, he said, “I have built this great Babylon as my royal home. I built it by my power to show my glory and my majesty.”

The words were still in his mouth when a voice from heaven said, “King Nebuchadnezzar, these things will happen to you: Your royal power has been taken away from you. You will be forced away from people. You will live with the wild animals and will be fed grass like an ox. Seven years will pass before you learn this lesson: The Most High God rules over every kingdom on earth and gives those kingdoms to everyone he chooses. (Daniel 4:29-32 –New Century Version)

What the voice from Heaven decreed happened. At the end of seven years Nebuchadnezzar was brought back to his kingdom, and ruled once again. However, he was not the same man. He had learned the most valuable lesson anyone can learn. Indeed, it is the first lesson before any of us can learn anything else worth learning. He learned he was no Superman. Let him tell it in his own words:

At the end of that time, I, Nebuchadnezzar, looked up toward heaven, and I could think normally again! Then I gave praise to the Most High God; I gave honor and glory to him who lives forever.

God’s rule is forever,

And his kingdom continues for all

Time.

People on earth

Are not truly important.

God does what he wants

With the powers of heaven

And the people on earth.

No one can stop his powerful hand

Or question what he does …

Now, I, Nebuchadnezzar, give praise and honor and glory to the King of heaven. Everything he does is right and fair, and he is able to make proud people humble. (Daniel 4:34-35, 37 – New Century Version.

Such is the story of a great king of ancient times, but the story does no end there. Most of us (in modern times) have areas of our own lives where we imagine ourselves to be Superman, or Superwoman. We refuse to give up control of our own destinies, at least with regard to some things. We feel competent enough to deal with these ourselves, without reference to the Almighty God who made us. In that respect we are determined to be the captain of our own destiny and master of our own fate.
If you like we are partial Supermen, willing to let God control some, but not all of our lives.

I Thought I Was a Superman

(Wednesday 18th April – by Christopher Shennan)

I thought I was a Superman:

I chose my own way and then

Thought I was some great boon

To the sons and daughters of men.

I thought I needed no one:

I could make it quite well on my own.

I was willing to do whatever it took,

Or take any path to win.

I tremble to think if it happened

That I continued on the path I chose,

If the Mercy of God hadn’t stopped me

And I’d ended up one of His foes.

How my pride would have merited judgment,

And my arrogance tears of regret.

But now I have learned to bow down

At the feet of the One I have met.

I no longer think I am Superman,

For I know I am frail and weak;

Only Jesus can give me power

While he is the One that I seek.

Credits

• The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.

• The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.

• The podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.

Life Works 004 - Meditations on Superman (Part 1)

Summary

Welcome to the first of four episodes about the spiritual significance of the movie Superman Returns.

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Does the World Need Superman? (Part 1)

Few would disagree that the latest movie, Superman Returns, is the best ever Superman movie. For me, the most important element in the movie was the question posed, “Does the world need Superman?”

Lois Lane, embittered by the sudden departure of Superman, wins the Pulitzer Prize for an article she wrote entitled, Why the World Does Not Need Superman!” Then Superman returns.

In a scene on top of a building, Superman asks Lois, “What do you hear?”

Lois replies, “I don’t hear anything.”

“I hear everything,” Superman says, “I hear cries for help all the time.” With super hearing, the super hero feels the burden of hearing what the ordinary man cannot hear. And in hearing the cries, and possessing the power to do something about it, he feels responsible to act on their behalf.

O.K., Superman is a fictional character, but that does not render the question irrelevant, “Does the world need Superman?”

Where can one find the answer?

First, you can find an answer in the media. The newspapers and television news provides us with ample evidence that Mankind is in a pretty sorry state. Human conflict continues despite the efforts and prayers of good people. The United Nations seems powerless to stop or even diminish world conflict. Nation against nation and civil wars within nations seem beyond their efforts. Even within the organization itself, the term “united” seems to be a stretch of the imagination. No, the human race is afflicted with a deeper disease that than mere outward conflict.

From whence come wars and fightings among you? come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members?(James 4:1 - KJV)

The Superman the world needs must not be so in strength alone, but must also have power to treat and cure the moral blight that afflicts it.

Returning to the fictional Superman, consider the plot of the super-hero genre:

There is (i) an arch villain (ii) a nation of weaklings, helpless before the evil deeds and diabolical plans of the villain, and (iii) a Superman who comes to their rescue.

The fiction bears a close resemblance to the facts of human life. Mankind is a race of weaklings: ravaged by sin and an easy mark for the villain, Satan, There is no hope of deliverance by our own efforts. We need a strong Saviour, a Superman capable of utterly defeating the arch Enemy and delivering us from the sin that separates us from God. More than that He must a Superman in the realm of Love, for only a Super Lover will be willing to give up His life to pay for the transgressions of a helpless and unworthy race.

The Supermen of fiction are many. The reason they appear on the pages of literature so frequently in different forms, is because the empty space in every heart longs for a Superman to fill its need. If none appears, then the heart goes about inventing one anyway. But however imaginative the creators of these Supermen of fiction are, they fall short of the requirements that necessary to deliver the human race.

Even if these Supermen were real, they would themselves fall under the blight of sin and require another Superman, or Saviour, to deliver them. That Superman is none other that Jesus Christ. He alone qualifies as the Lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world.

Consider again the question Superman asked Lois Lane, “What do you hear?” When she said she heard nothing, Superman tells her, “I hear everything. I hear cries for help all the time.”

Imagine the real Superman, Jesus, asking you that same question:

What Do You Hear?

(Saturday 14th April 2007 – by Christopher Shennan)

My Lord said, “What do you hear?

“I hear nothing, my Lord.”

“I hear hearts crying,” my Lord replied,

“Dying for a word to give them hope.

“I hear the sighs, the whispers under the breath,

“‘Oh, God, what am I going to do now?’”

“How can I learn to hear, my Lord?”

“By joining your heart with mine,” He said.

By bending your will and seeking my glory

You will learn to hear.

Only then will your ears be opened

And your feet made swift to meet another’s need.

You will hear what I hear,

And smell the fear of those living in the dark.

Your heart will bleed as mine bleeds ---

And the needs around you will feel like your own.”

Credits

• The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.

• The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.

• The podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.

Life Works 003 - Getting On With Our Lives

Summary

Why is it so easy to do nothing about life's most awful tragedies? Christopher Shennan reads a couple of poems about a dream he had regarding this disturbing question.

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Getting On With Our Lives

I had a dream

I dreamed I was on a vast school property. At the edge of the property were some buildings. As I strolled near the buildings I became aware of some activity around a corner. As I approached I saw a young schoolboy being crucified by his mates. I was filled with horror at the sight and stood transfixed, watching the young people enjoying the suffering of the boy.

At last I shook myself. I had to inform someone of what was going on. So I set off across the school grounds toward the main buildings.

When I arrived, I found myself looking for a certain teacher whom I thought was the key person to do something about the horrific deed I had witnessed.

Then the real horror occurred.

In the process of searching for the teacher, and enquiring of others where she might me, I fell into conversation with them about trivial matters. I explained to them how I had got my first and middle names, and after whom I had been named. In the process I forgot all about the boy with wounds in his hands, and feet, and side. The trivial has somehow become more important than the now vague memory of what I had seen.

I awoke from my dream, but the dream would not leave me. The thought came to me: We just get on with our lives.

We are inured to violence by the multitude of television images we process every day, and by the news reports we hear from across the world. We are initially horrified by what we see of the pain and anguish of others. Then the trivial comes to distract us, and we simply get on with our lives.

It came to me how we generally act when we hear the story Jesus told of The Good Samaritan. We stand in judgment of the priest and the scribe as they pass by the man robbed and beaten by the side of the road. We imagine ourselves in the role of the good Samaritan. Surely we would never pass by a man in such desperate straits. We would do something about it as the good Samaritan did.

Would we?

In fact, the minor crisis of our own lives, distract us from the major catastrophes in the lives of others. We hold up our hands in horror when the reality of their suffering first comes to us. But then we soothe ourselves with the thought: There's not much I can do. Someone else, In a more strategic position, will no doubt do something about it. Then we just get on with our lives.

I remember Bob Pearce, the founder of World Vision say, over and over, "Just because you can't do everything, don't do nothing."

Now I know the phrase is grammatically incorrect, but don't let that distract you from the impact of the statement. Don't let the vastness of the task paralyze us. We can all do something. As Jesus said regarding the woman who broke the alabaster box, and poured the costly ointment on His feet, "She did what she could."

Now you know why my dream would not leave me. It is still with me --- pricking me, stabbing me, goading me to do something about the images of horror that come to me through the wonders of technology, and through more conventional means of news dissemination.

And may my dream become your dream. Or, will we just get on with our lives?

We Just Got On With Our Lives

My friends and I watched the evening news:
Ten thousand people had died
In a bloody war in an African State;
Their rights and freedoms denied.
For a moment of time we threw up our hands,
And lamented such waste and destruction;
We discussed, at length, the ways and the means
We could offer them sound instruction.
Then what?
We just got on with our lives.

The AIDS epidemic drew our attention:
We threw up our hands in alarm.
We grieved at the needless loss of life,
And how so many are harmed.
The moral climate, we said, had caused
This plague that was stalking the land.
And someone, we said, yes, someone, for sure,
Should be helping them all understand.
Then what?
We just got on with our lives.

Millions are dying, my friends and I said,
They're dying while still in the womb.
Such a scourge, such a shame, such a terrible crime
Will surely be spelling our doom:
Judgment will come, for the innocent die,
And God will not suffer this long.
No question, my friend, you just wait and see;
The act of abortion is wrong?
What then?
We just got on with our lives.

The Gospel message, we said loud and clear,
Must be spread to all creatures on earth.
Glad news it will bring to sinners who come
To Christ and receive the new Birth.
The Church must wake up, before time runs out,
And save the lost from their Fate.
It should never be still, only do God's will ---
Before it will be too late.
Then what?
We just get on with our lives.

Credits

The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.
The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.
The podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.

Life Works 002 - Miscellaneous Musings

Summary

Christopher Shennan shares his poetical pet peeve and reads three poems aloud.

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Miscellaneous Musings

Hi, Folks, this is Christopher Shennan with the first in a series of pod-casts featuring musings and meanderings, with regular helpings of poetry to spice up the regular fair.
I think I owe it to my readers and listeners to explain my approach to poetry, and to share a pet peeve in that regard.
Let me illustrate my frustration with the teaching and intellectual community by describing an incident that took place several years ago:
The daughter of a friend came to me and asked if I would help her with a report or essay for her English class. She had to give her interpretation of the work of a poet or poets of her choice from a list presented to her. I can’t remember who the poet she chose was, but examples of the teacher’s expectations were given. You know the kind I mean:
“I think the poet must have meant this…”
“No, I’m sure that could not have been the poet’s intent…”
“Well, if you consider the kind of experiences he had in his early life…”
“I have no doubt the poet must have been referring to his mother or perhaps his sister…”
All these “experts” had their own take on what the poet had intended, regardless of the most basic meaning of the words they were reading. Most of what they were saying was utter rubbish, and this fine young woman was utterly confused, as well she should have been. I told her to pick out a few lines that made sense to her and write her report on that.
Now, in defence of those I have so far vilified, the poets referred to often wrote in a manner that was difficult to understand. It was as if the more obscure the language, the more they felt they were achieving a higher art form. So the intellectuals and teachers of today can be forgiven for their painstaking attempts to interpret their work.
I have said all this to make a point: you may not like my poems because I have a very simple approach. I find something that has meaning, and try to communicate that meaning to my readers in the way that will capture their imagination. I want my readers to be uplifted, challenged, and motivated by what I have written. And I believe they can only do that if they understand what I am trying to say. Now if that is not artsy enough for you; if my work is too simple or too plain to qualify as ‘poetry,’ I make no apologies. I intend you to ‘get the point,’ regardless of whether it fits your definition of ‘art.” I will be gratified if someone understands what I am saying, and is edified or challenge by what has impacted my own life.
If my work ever gets to be read in a hundred years or more, I don’t want the school children of that day tortured. I don’t want them to have to squeeze meaning from phrases that need super intelligence to interpret.
So here goes: a poem or two from an old fashioned guy who still believes his readers and listeners have a right to understand what he is saying. You get my drift?

By the Touch of His Hand

By Christopher Shennan
(Wednesday 21st February 2007)

He moves through this world
Where the hurting ones dwell,
And the sin-ravaged people
On the pathway to hell.
Yet He moves with compassion,
And the Healer's fine art:
By the touch of His hand,
And the warmth of His heart.

There are sinners still bound
By the chains of their sin,
That He heals with a word
And welcomes them in.
He lifts them right up
And gives a new start:
By the touch of His hand
And the warmth of his heart.

My Master still moves
Through the world night and day,
Still ready to rescue
Each one gone astray.
His arms are outstretched
To heal and impart:
By the touch of His hand
And the warmth of His heart.

My Master now calls me
To follow His lead
And reach out in mercy
To all those in need.
He wants pure devotion,
In whole, not in part:
By the touch of my hand
And the warmth of my heart.

Going Back

(Friday 23rd March 2007)

Going back to Simplicity
Time saving devices
Technological wonders
Multiplied possessions
Artificially created needs
Increased pressure to succeed
Unlimited access to entertainment
Frenzied pursuit of satisfaction
None of these contribute to rest.
The best is not found in the multiplicity
Of things
Or in constant activity
It is found in a narrowing down;
A return to simplicity;
A focussing on the one thing needful;
Be heedful of the call to essential things.

What I Want

(Begun, Wednesday 13th October 2004 – Completed, Wednesday 1st August 2007 - By Christopher Shennan)

I want my heart to sing
The songs of praise I find;
The kind that come unbidden
From truth of heart and mind.
I never want a false note
To rise to Heaven’s Throne,
And every pure and selfless thought,
I want to be my own.

I want my heart to sing
In perfect harmony
With every purpose of my God ---
For all Eternity.
I never want a sour note
To mar my sweetest praise;
I want to see my Saviour’s smile
As on His face I gaze.

I want my heart to sing
The songs that saints of old
Have sung with pure intent,
Much more than purest gold.
I never want the faintest
Impurity entering in;
I only want His glad embrace
As He bids my heart to sing.

Credits

The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.
The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.
The podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.

Multiple Files in the Feed

Hey, folks! Shane here. I'm Christopher's son, as well as the editor and producer of this podcast.

If you use iTunes or another podcatcher to get Life Works episodes automatically, you will probably see more than one copy of episode 001 in your episode list. I didn't realize anybody had subscribed yet, so I was fooling around with the files. If you want to make the episode list in your podcatcher look all neat and pretty again, simply delete the whole podcast and resubscribe.

(Resubscribe by going to http://feeds.feedburner.com/thelifeworkspodcast and clicking on the subscribe button.)

On the positive side, there are two of you subscribed! Yay you!

Shane Shennan
Editor, Producer, and Chief Cat Herder

Life Works 001 - The Benevolent Disease

Summary

Christopher Shennan talks about the benevolent disease called . . . writing! This is a mini biography explaining how his interest in writing has been intertwined with his faith journey.

Listen

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Text

The thing about diseases, the incurable ones I mean, is that early detection is the key to any hope of being able to stop its advancement, before it is too late. Early prediction is even better. If there is a history of the disease among family members past and present, precautions can be taken that may prevent the disease from developing at all. Even then, the prospects are uncertain.

The point of all this is to that I have such a disease, and I am pretty sure I have passed it on to my children. Looking back to previous generations there is no evidence it existed in the family before my own. Perhaps I am the first and primary carrier, except that my sister has had symptoms that closely resemble the onset of the disease.

Now I am not telling you this to play on your sympathies. Far from it. The mark of this disease is that the ‘sufferer’ will flee from anyone who even suggests the possibility of a cure. I call it “a benevolent disease.” It is one that overtakes all true writers. It is the writers’ disease.

It is not my purpose to chronicle the different stages of the disease from its onset to its conclusion, except that it starts with a mild case of, “I think I would like to be a writer,” and ends in near obsession. The characteristics of a writer so closely resemble the development of an incurable disease I do not blush at making the comparison.

With me the writers’ disease began with some pitiful attempts at poetry in my tender years, including a story or two that fluttered away in my mind and never found its way onto paper. In my late teens and early twenties I wrote a poem or two that showed some promise, since lost to posterity by the carelessness of youth, and the doubts that afflict the aspiring writer. I either lost them, or lobbed them into the trash.

After my conversion to Christ the disease found focus. I wanted to write so I could share with the world the Grace and Love the Almighty had bestowed upon me. But still, nothing concrete emerged. That happened when, as the co-founder of Children for Christ, I was training my workers in child evangelism. By that time I had written some poems that showed some promise, but was too uncertain about my gifts to attempt stories, at least in written form. As an evangelist I had lamented the lack of available stories that could communicate sound biblical doctrine in a way that children could understand. So I made up my own. They were so effective in the camps and evangelistic campaigns that friends and colleagues began to urge me to write them down. I resisted, I’m not sure why. And then the moment arrived.

I had been training a team to launch a series of outreaches among children in one of the poorer suburbs of Johannesburg. I told my workers that they were on their own, this time. I would be present for moral support, but they would have to conduct the campaign themselves. There were two workers who were particularly nervous about the undertaking. They had a passion for communicating the Gospel, but felt they did not know the stories well enough to get the message across to the children.

Please write them down, Uncle Chris!”

“You have heard me tell these stories hundreds of times,” I responded. “You should know them by now.”

“Please write them down. It will really help us,” they answered.

So I complied. In so doing the writers’ disease passed from the early stages into the critical. No cure was possible from that time on. Writing had moved from an occasional pastime into a passion. I no longer cared whether I was good or bad at it. I just had to write.

One more experience demonstrates how deeply imbedded the disease became, and how my style of writing developed. You may chuckle at this and say my fertile imagination was leading me astray, but you cannot deny, once you have heard it, the influence it had upon my motivation and approach to writing.

I was having a conversation with God. It may not have been a conversation conducted in the realm of voice and sound waves, but was a time of mutual communication nevertheless.

God said, “Christopher, do you want to become a great writer?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Why?”

“Why I want to become a great writer? Because if I am a great writer people will listen to me when I try to proclaim Your goodness, and Your death and resurrection for the sins of the world.”

“Your motives are good,” replied my Lord, “but you don’t have to be a great writer to declare my Truth.”

“How then, Lord?”

“By using every device at your disposal to communicate My Truth clearly you will be in partnership with greatness. You don’t need to be profound. My Word is already great. All you need to do is to express it in statement and metaphor in a way that makes it clear to your readers. The greatness of what you are writing about will make you into a great writer. The profound wisdom you discover in prayer and meditation of my Word will make you profound. The greatness and profundity does not begin with you, but in the Grace I give you to make the Truth plain to others. Choose noble themes, and you will be a noble writer. Set your heart upon expressing greatness instead of being great.”

Was this communicated to me in one brief conversation with God? I think not. It was more like a growing conviction that freed me of the burden of seeking greatness.

My benevolent disease has imbued me with a passion, or obsession, to proclaim the only things worthy of proclamation. I will use any means at my disposal to accomplish my goal, and I will shun any offer of a cure presented to me. I am a writer with a benevolent disease, and I hold it close to my breast. I will not permit anyone to wrest it from my grasp.

Credits

The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.
The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.
The podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.

Life Works 000 -Hello, I'm Christopher Shennan.

Summary

Christopher Shennan introduces himself and talks about the term "Life Works."

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Text

My name is Christopher Shennan, the host of Life Works Pod-cast. I have two goals in this intro: to introduce myself, and to explain the concept of the pod-cast title.

What is the first thing you notice when you are introduced to someone you have never met before? Why, you first notice the face. You are also told the persons name, but you will need to remember the face in order to recognize the person to whom the face belongs. So I am going to try to give to a word picture of my face, so you can carry in your imagination a clear image of what I look like.

When I worked at a certain company my white hair and goatee beard made me immediately recognizable to everyone. They thought I looked so much like Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame, that they began calling me, "The Colonel."

Time passed I let my hair grow longer and grew a full, white beard. I suddenly became Kris Kringle to my new acquaintances at work. I was told I could put on a red suit and get a job as Santa Claus at a shopping mall, without having to don a false beard.

Now if you take away Santa's fat cheeks, and meld his face to that of Colonel Sanders, you may come up with a clear idea of what I look like. You could "see" me in your imagination, attach the name Christopher Shennan to that image, and you will have effectively 'met' me for the first time. At that point you will not 'know' me yet. To get to know who I am and what I stand for you will have to listen to this pod-cast on a regular basis.

Now, about the name "Life Works." It first came to me as something to describe the work I had done most of my life. You know? "The Life Works of Christopher Shennan," kind of thing. I wasn't aware at the time that it was also a pun, and could convey more than one meaning. My son pointed out it could also come across as a declaration: "Life Works!" Or it could be taken to mean, "Life Works," as in living things matter more than possessions. You could most likely think of others yourself. The truth is these secondary meanings fit as well as the primary one. This pod-cast is meant to embrace all of life and how I have perceived it over the past sixty-five years or more.

You may be exposed to my first faltering attempts at poetry, near-death experiences in Africa, culture-shock in India, brushes with witchcraft in Haiti, and be introduced to life-long friends who have impacted my life in various ways. You may meet the "Black Angel" of Zimbabwe, the sterling example of my parents, or Colin Wylie, the 'bosom buddy' of my early ministry.

If you follow this pod-cast you will no doubt find links to readings of my fictional works: The Toymaker's Dream, Joshua Benson and the Kids of Winston Falls, Wounded Soldier, Skip Jordan and the Veil of deception, and a number of others for both children and adults. I have never been able to stick to the writing of a journal, but you will find that my poetry, if followed from first to last, functions as a journal, expressing the lows and highs, the successes and failures of a life lived on several continents. All in all, I feel satisfied with the title, "Life Works." I trust you will, too.

Credits

The intro is by Steve "Snowball" Saylor.
The theme music is Wagner's The Flying Dutchman (Overture), courtesy of the Rumblefish Music Licensing Store.
The podcast is produced by Shane Shennan.