Archive for category Health and wellness

The Joy of (sub)Creation

I’ve started writing again. Not just here (after a four-year hiatus!) but also I’ve picked up a little fantasy story I wrote some years ago, reread it, and loved it so much I decided to expand it. I want to know more about these people. More about how their relationships developed and the world in which they live. I want to know what happens next!

This has been a great start to 2019. Last year wasn’t actually that great. It certainly had some highlights (mostly family events) but it also had some of the severest challenges I’ve ever faced. But today… well, my kids noticed the difference. Their grumpy and mostly morose dad was outgoing again. I enjoyed myself at a party with friends. When it was time to sit down and write again, I actually had to stand up first and jump up and down with excitement. Literally. Jump. Up. And. Down. Repeatedly.

I’m teasing myself right now, by writing this before I return to my unfolding cast of characters. Oh, the anticipation! Not only do I get to find out more about them, not only do I get to see them responding to new challenges and situations, not only do I see them grow and change and develop in all sorts of ways, but I get to make it all happen!!!!

Besides being an occasional writer, I’m a bit of a computer game player. I like games with a ‘world creation’ aspect to them, or a strong element of story-telling. I can spend hours playing in Minecraft, or journeying in Skyrim. But you know what? I get all those thrills and more when I tell the story myself. When I build the story out of my very own words.

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JRR Tolkien has always fascinated me, because of his talent for world creation, but it wasn’t until a little over a decade ago, when I wrote my masters thesis on his theological thought, that I was able to listen to what he had to say about the business of fantasy writing. He believed firmly that the writing of fantasy stories was a deeply Godly endeavor and that it provided for the human soul in several different ways; read his essay “On Fairy Stories” for all the detail. But one point I want to make here; he believed that we are creators of alternate worlds because we are made in the image of the maker.  We can’t help but want to create worlds since the world-creator made us to be like Himself – and in fact calls us to join with him in the business of creating, sustaining, and redeeming the world in every possible way.

And you know what? Picking up a pen (or opening a word-processor document) might just be one way of doing that.

Good news for the creative soul!

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Holding Hope

(I found this draft post in my files – it’s a year out of date, but I like what Paul and Tracey had to share, so up it goes…)

So, following on from my previous post, in which I described my impressions from my time with Tracy, the Baptist community pastor for Kaiapoi, I spent some time with both her and the senior pastor, Paul over lunch. They invited me to ask them questions, and I focused mostly on what it was like for Paul, my counterpart, to lead the congregation in the aftermath of the Christchurch earthquake.

IMG440Much of what Paul said reinforced what Tracy had already said.  For instance, he talked of the increase in the suicide rate; not so much among the young (who already have a horrendously high rate of suicide) but among older folks who just can’t keep going.  He talked of the feelings of tiredness and exhaustion which come with coping with being in a broken environment for two years now; how early optimism and the “We can fix this” attitude gets slowly eroded simply by the passing of time.  How the initial losses of home and security and (often) jobs, are compounded over time by the losses of friends and familiar landmarks.

A regular theme here is the phrase, “We’re off the map.”  They explained to me how an earthquake is such an unexpected event, and for each place, such a unique event, that there is no real resource for them – no road-map or guide-book for how they should be coping or what they should be expecting.  They are moving into uncharted territory in the ‘here be dragons’ zone.  This, of course, only exacerbates the stress and increases the load of each new day.  I know full well how pastoral work is difficult at the best of times; in the midst of earthquake consequences and recovery it becomes impossible for human strength.  And there’s the key.  Because they are forced to rely upon God’s grace for each day’s needs, they are convinced of his power to help and to heal.  The reasons for despair in their community are, for Paul and his congregation, an opportunity for optimism.  They look forward to the time when “God will wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” (Revelation 21.4)

Because of this basic orientation towards hope; towards a future that is in God’s hands and is good, Paul and co. continue to hold hope for their people.  Paul says that “A ‘woe-is-me’ attitude is not good enough as the default position for Christian ministry.” Hand-wringing and lamentation have their place, but to stay there is to betray the best  part of the Gospel.  Paul looks to the story of Nehemiah leading the people of Jerusalem in rebuilding their city walls, and points out that while Nehemiah lists the various occupations of the wall-rebuilders, there are never any masons or engineers in the lists; it was ordinary people with ordinary occupations who got out there and dealt with the section of the wall that was closest to them.  He also notes that they did actually know what a wall should look like; they had the thing rebuilt within sixty-odd days.  “We don’t know what our future looks like,” says Paul, “But we do know that it belongs to God.”  Thus they have to rebuild in faith, and the first steps might be tentative, but they are foundational, and so essential.

And what are they putting in these foundations?  Paul is awaiting delivery of a strip of red carpet.  “We’re going to ‘roll out the red carpet’ for the Holy Spirit.”  It is God leading his people in their day-day lives that will bring the best expressions of the Kingdom coming.  They’ve recently begun giving away money in their services; with the proviso that the person taking the cash has to ask God how to spend it and it has to be spent on someone else, and they have to come back and tell the story.  The first sum was taken by a forestry worker who returned to tell, with tears in his eyes, how God had lead him to buy blankets for those who were sleeping in their cars still, as a bitter winter rolls around.

There is an emphasis upon fun and laughter – good medicine for the soul.  And “courage grows in company”, says Paul.  Getting people together – for any old reason – helps to build  resilience into people’s lives; helps to remind them that they are still part of a community – albeit a community that is hurting and changing and transforming into something new.

At this point Paul quotes Jesus’ saying about putting new wine into new wine-skins.  The past is gone and the loss hurts and grief is necessary – but the past is gone.  Something new is happening, and the something new demands new ways of doing things, new structures and new systems.  It’s this forward focus that will bring the community of Kaiapoi through these dark days – and it will still be a community because of the efforts of those like Paul and Tracy who are building foundations of hope into people’s lives.

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Ali is Feeling Good…

Ok; this is a story that I wrote when I got bored with the sermon I was writing on 1 John 4:1-6.  Behind John’s instructions to his little churches in Asia there was a major problem going on with the (pre-)gnostic teachers; their very ‘spiritual’ approach to knowledge, and the consequent detachment of ethics from Jesus.  But just lecturing about all that seemed very dry, so I made the attempt to give those bones a little flesh.  Given the conflation of two distinct (but all too often related!) forms of abuse in the story, several in the congregation found it a very uncomfortable reading.  The question I asked at the end of the story was, “At what point did the pastor clearly leave the path?”  What do you think?

Enjoy!

Ali is feeling good, and tomorrow is going to be even better. She’s moved towns, successfully, shifted into the little sleep-out behind her elderly aunt’s house, started her new job, and got through orientation week without any very embarrassing mistakes, and she’s going to a new church tomorrow.

Sarah, the girl at work who’s been training her, had invited her to come and Ali had leapt at the opportunity; so much better than turning up alone!

Ali is feeling good because she hadn’t been sure she could do it; all her life she’s been plagued by uncertainty; unsure about her own abilities and unable to completely trust people around her.

Perhaps it’s because her dad left when she was little, or maybe it’s just her personality, but trusting other people doesn’t come easily. Nor does Ali trust herself so much. Despite what everyone tells her, she still blames herself for everything; for her parents break-up, for her older brother’s bad behaviour, for her mother’s anxiety and stress…

There’s one person, however, she does trust, and that is Jesus.

Since she encountered him a few years ago, since he’d made himself present to her during that amazing midnight conversation with her best friend, she’s known at the very centre of her being that she is loved, and that she can absolutely trust Christ to stay with her always.  She has learned to pause, to step back from whatever uncertainty she’s facing, to slip within herself and to reach out to him, and simply discovering, again and again, that he is always there for her, that his love is unchanged, that he is still who he claims to be, has helped her to overcome her fears.

She had found herself more able to concentrate on schoolwork; had done well enough to get good marks, and go on the training course, and now, here she is, a new graduate in a new job, in a new town, making new friends.

And all because Jesus loves her.

Ali is feeling good.

And tomorrow, she will find out about this new church.

 

Now it’s tomorrow, and Ali is facing an enormous table, loaded with food; on her left, Mrs Rhees, (“Call me Esme, dear, there’s a love.”) is piling potatoes and corned beef onto her plate, and to her right, Mr Rhees, (“We just call him ‘The Major’, mostly”), is telling her about his years in the territorials, and promising that later, she should see his collection of old medals. Opposite her is their middle-age daughter, Rosie, and her husband, Paul, nodding and smiling as they hear again the stories that are part of the family furniture.  And at the end of the table, Pastor Austeer is spooning white sauce onto his mounded plate.

Ali thought he looked especially hungry; not surprising after all the energy he had put into his preaching that morning. She’s not used to sermons that go for more than fifteen minutes, and this one had taken almost an hour – but she’d barely noticed the time flying past, he was so animated and engaging, and, although she couldn’t remember much of what he’d said, she remembered that it had been very interesting. Not surprising that he is staring at his pile of pink beef almost as though he’s about to dive into it teeth first.

His gaze suddenly lifts from his plate to her face, and she feels slightly scorched by the intensity of his stare, before he flicks his eyes away, and, taking Esme’s hand from beside him, and her daughter’s with his other hand, leads them in a prayer of thanksgiving – shorter than the sermon, thankfully – and they begin eating.

Conversation is general at first – they chat about Rosie and Paul’s children, and about a new business opening up in town, and about Ali’s home and family (“So few couples seem to hold together these days”, sniff Esme. “I’d never know what to do if The Major, here, left me.” “Leave you!” he replies. “And have to eat my own cooking!? Not likely, love!”) and then about her new job.

“How are you finding the work, Ali?” asks the pastor. “Not too strenuous?”

“No, the work isn’t too hard at all – yet, anyway. And Sarah’s a real help while I get used to everything.”

“Yes, lovely girl, isn’t she?”  says Esme. “Such a pity she had to rush away afterwards and couldn’t join us. You know her mother once helped me with that Drama we did…” and the conversation moves on to the drama society politics, and then on to local body politics, and then turns to the sermon from that morning.

“I didn’t quite get it,” the Major is saying. “What was that you were saying about the Spirit?”

“What God teaches,” replies the pastor, “Is that we all have the Spirit, and the Spirit gives us all truth, and so we all have all truth.”

“I find that hard to get my head around,” comes the objection. “If we have all truth, why are so many Christians so blinkin’ wrong!”

“Clearly,” comes the cool, quick answer, “not all who claim to be Christian actually are.”

Across the table Ali notices Paul fidget uncomfortably for a second, and then go still again.

The pastor continues, “and though we can quickly see that some are false Christians simply because they embrace error in their doctrine, others among us merely need to learn how to hear the Spirit’s voice.”

“So you say I’ve already got all truth, but maybe I’m not listening to it?”

“We all have all truth, but not all of us are able to hear every word of the Spirit. It takes … practice … to learn to recognise that still, small voice.”

“How?” Ali is surprised to hear her own voice enter the conversation. “I mean… sorry, I’m new.  How do you practice?”

Pastor Austeer considers her for a second as he dabs sauce from his lips, and then says, “There are various spiritual exercises that help us to ‘tune in’. Would you be interested in learning?”

“Ooh.  Say, ‘yes’, Ali, do!” says Esme. “Rosie and I did this course, and it’s really interesting!”

“What does it involve?”

“Mostly conversation, and some guided meditations,” said the pastor. “Don’t worry, nothing spooky. It’s just a useful way of getting rid of stuff from the past that might be blocking our spiritual ears. I have some space in my schedule at the moment. You’d want after hours time, right?”

“Well, yes, if it wouldn’t be a bother…”

“No bother at all.  It’s what I’m here to do and I’m glad to do it. Would you like to meet on a Thursday?”

And just like that, Ali finds her life taking a new direction.  Her home life is flat and uneventful, as she cooks and cares for herself in her little room, seeing her aunt only as often as she needs to pay her rent. Work was at first challenging and stimulating then became more predictable and even tedious as she quickly masters her tasks. Most of her workmates are older than her, other than Sarah, but Sarah, while friendly, is deep in preparations for her wedding, and lives for the weekends when her fiancé is in town. With no other friends, and certainly no romantic relationships, Ali finds an unending diet of wedding talk grating, and is glad, on Thursdays, to walk home in a different direction, and knock on the frosted glass door of the pastor’s study behind the church.

At their first meetings he’d greet her with a warm handshake, and then seat her on a couch, provide her with a coffee, and take up station behind his desk. Once there he talked at length about ‘doctrine’. He covered all sorts of topics; the responsibility of Christians to tithe and to give, the importance of strong fellowship and regular attendance at worship, the necessity of showing the world how pure their faith was, and the dangers of the world – how the world could distract and confuse young believers, and how the world must be rejected like a rotten apple; good for nothing but compost.

Ali asked an occasional question, or sometimes he asked her something, but mostly she simply let his words wash over and around her, like she was a rock in a stream of words. It was sort of restful and a little bit flattering that he should give her so much individual attention. He talked a lot about obeying the Spirit; he talked of how Saul had been so drenched in the Spirit that he had lain naked and prophesied before Samuel, but also how Saul had disobeyed Samuel, and been rejected by God. He mentioned others, too: Tamar who was moved by the Spirit to dress like a prostitute and so gave Judah the children from whom Jesus was descended, Ruth, who obeyed Naomi and uncovered Boaz’s ‘feet’ (She blushed when he explained that this was a euphemism) and became the grandmother of King David, and Solomon who sought nothing but God’s wisdom and was rewarded with great wealth, many wives, and long-lasting peace as well as world-renowned wisdom, and how God had entered into the temple Solomon had built. “And now YOU,” he declaimed, staring intently at her, “are the temple of the Spirit into whom God has entered!”

He emphasised how God wanted nothing but the best for his children; that was why he gave the Spirit! He was fond of Jesus’ saying about fathers, who were evil, knowing enough to give their children good things, so surely God would give his children good things, too, or, as Luke put it, surely the Father would give the Holy Spirit.

This led them to a discussion about fathers and the first of those guided meditations he had mentioned. He sat beside her on the couch, asked her to close her eyes and relax, and stepped her back, slowly, through her memories of her father. Eventually, painfully, she opened her eyes to find them swimming with tears that slowly trickled down her cheeks, and she quickly looked down so that her hair fell forward to hide them, but he reached out and, very gently, wiped one tear away, then turned to his desk for a box of tissues, and a small pamphlet with a meditation on God’s divine father hood. Then, when she recovered a little, he simply said, “See you next week” and let her out.

She felt that she floated home in a soft mist; slightly cut off from the world around her by the release of that old sorrow, and also strangely touched, intensely aware of the feeling of his fingertip on her cheek.

Their next meeting, he greeted her as warmly as ever, and moved his chair to sit in front of his desk as he spoke about God’s love, and his command that we should love one another, and how love was the greatest gift of the Spirit, but he didn’t mention her tears, and she was grateful for his sensitivity.

Each week she meets more members of the church, and is always impressed by how they all call each other sister, or brother, how they treat each other with obvious affection, and how they could ask each other the most searching questions; “Are you giving as you should be, brother?” “Sister, how are you getting on with disciplining your Jacob, now?” The Major and Esme, however, always make a special point of catching up with Ali, and Esme always asks how the course is going. “Are you hearing the Spirit, yet, dear?” she asks.

“I’m not sure – I mean, Jesus is always with me, I know, and I love to stop and …I don’t know, just be with him, I guess, but…”

“No, no, dear, not Jesus – we’re talking about the Spirit! Have you heard that still small voice, yet?”

Ali blushes and mutters that she’s not sure.

Esme looks at her steadily, and said, quietly, kindly, but very firmly, “You’ll know when you do.” And then she looks around and asks, “Where’s Sarah, today?”

“Oh! She said she was going to go see her fiancé this weekend, and that they were going to go to his church, this time. She’s never been, and he’s been asking her so she said she would.”

Esme looks startled at this, and turns to the Major, behind her. Ali is surprised to see that he is frowning deeply, but he says nothing to her, simply turning and walking away. Esme hesitates a moment, looking as though she might say something, but then just hurries after him herself.

At her next meeting with the Pastor, he greets her with a stiff hug; he’d started to do this each Sunday, and she’d noticed that many people greeted each other with a hug, so thinks nothing of it, and they continue as previously.  This time he starts by asking her if she has anything on her mind?

She hesitates, and he quickly says, “You look troubled…”

“Oh.  Well, it’s nothing really. Just, Esme was asking last Sunday, could I hear the Spirit yet, and, well, I’m not really sure…”

“Would you like to be more sure?”

“Well, yes!”

“Then sit down, here,” and he moves to sit beside her, again, on the couch. “What you need to understand,” he says, in a low, earnest voice, “is that the Spirit is not of this world, and so the voice of the Spirit can seem quite strange. Even odd. And that is why our obedience is of the utmost importance. If we waited until we understood everything then we would never do anything. We need to be ready to obey even before we understand, no matter how odd the Spirit’s command might be. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, yes, that makes sense.”

“And so, when you begin to hear the voice of the Spirit, you must obey without hesitation. You must not quench the Spirit!”

“No.”

“Sometimes, what the Spirit asks might even seem wrong, but that is because we are infested by the lies of the world.”

Ali looks at him.  He seems to be waiting for some response from her.

“I’m …I’m sorry.  What do you mean?”

“Well, consider.  If the Spirit said to you to kiss someone, not a member of your family. To kiss a man. What would your mother say?”

“Well …she’d say it was wrong.  It was … dangerous.”

“I think you said your mother …she’s not a Christian, is she?”

“No,” Ali admits, in a small voice.

“Then she’s from the world, and “you are from God, and have conquered them; for the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world. 5 They are from the world; therefore what they say is from the world, and the world listens to them. 6 We are from God. Whoever knows God listens to us, and whoever is not from God does not listen to us. From this we know the spirit of truth and the spirit of error.[1]””

“That was the apostle John said that, wasn’t it?” Ali asks.

“Yes. Well recognized. From his first letter. Do you read the Bible much?”

“Yes. Well, most nights.”

“So you know that Paul said that we are “ministers of a new covenant, not of letter but of spirit; for the letter kills, but the Spirit gives life.[2]”?

“What did he mean?”

“Simply that we shouldn’t let the scriptures bind us, my dear. It is the Spirit that gives life, not dead letters.”

“But, surely the Bible…”

“Oh, yes! The Bible is a voice of the Sprit, too – it is the Bible, after all, that tells us to greet one another with a holy kiss, despite what your worldly mother may think – but it isn’t the only voice of the Spirit, nor even the most important. The most important, is right… here.” and he lays a long finger on her chest, above her suddenly thudding heart. He lets it rest there a moment, as he gazes at her, then returns his hand to his lap, turns slightly away from her, and looks into the distance. “Shall we practice listening to the voice of the spirit, today, then?”

Ali becomes aware that she is barely breathing, and says, in a whisper, “Yes,” without taking her eyes from him.

“And if you hear the Spirit speaking, are you willing to obey him? Are you willing to put aside the distractions of the world, to reject the advice of the world and obey only the Spirit?”

She nods, and he turns back to her, and smiles. “Then relax, and close your eyes, and wait.”

Ali waits, and hears nothing except her heart beating and her breathing slowly returning to normal, and when she opens her eyes again, after perhaps five minutes, it is to see Pastor Austeer smiling at her.

“Don’t be disappointed if you heard nothing. The voice of the Spirit comes as it wills and no-one knows where it comes from. Keep listening throughout the week, and remember, Obey! Even if it seems an odd thing – especially if it seems odd! Even if just a little thing. Don’t ask to understand; just obey.”

“Yes. Ok.”

He smiles again, and sees her to the door.

 

Throughout that week, Ali tries her hardest to listen for the voice of the Spirit. She starts to notice lots of little thoughts running through her mind. “Kick the cat,” is one, when a cat crosses the road in front of her. She’s fairly sure that isn’t the voice of the Spirit. When she is brushing her teeth one time, she thinks “Upside down.” as she gazes at her toothpaste. It isn’t upside down, but she practices obedience anyway, and turns it upside down. Going home from work one day, she is waiting at the crossing, and thinks “Go,” though there is a car coming. She closes her eyes, gulps, and doesn’t go. The car roars across in front of her and she walks home in confusion. If she had stepped in its path, would it have stopped? Or is she meant to have been injured and hospitalised, and maybe killed? Is that God’s plan for her life?

What with her wondering, and her listening, and her confusion, she is not as focused on her job as usual, but she’s startled out of a fugue at her workstation on Wednesday, by Sarah saying, “Ali. Ali! ALI!”

“Oh. Sorry, Sarah.  I was… daydreaming.”

Sarah grinned.  “You’ve got up to the bit about listening for the Spirit, haven’t you?”

“Yes! Is it obvious?”

“A little bit.  You should have seen Rosie when she did it. It was a few years ago, now, and I was just a junior in the Youth Group, but I remember her wandering around in a total daze!”

“Have you done the course?”

“No. I don’t know that it’s for me, you know? I’ve talked to a few people who’ve done it, and they say that he just talks to them a lot. Well we get that on Sunday! I’d rather do something in a group. Like a Bible study. Hey! Why don’t we start one?  You and me?”

“Ah, maybe.   I don’t think, right now, though – I mean, I’d like to finish this course, first…”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Alright, whatever.”

Ali feels herself flush. It sounds like Sarah doesn’t like hearing Pastor Austeer talking! “I just want to see if I can hear the voice of the Spirit.”

“Well, I guess if you hear the Spirit all the time, like the pastor seems to, then you wouldn’t really need to study anything, would you? The Spirit gives life and the letter killeth, right?”

Ali’s jaw drops open. “How did you know that he…”

“Did he say that to you? Well, he does say it a bit. Usually when someone else is quoting the Bible.” Sarah grins.  “Anyway.  I still think a group is a cool idea. I think I’ll talk about it to Esme and the Major. They’ve invited me around this evening.” And off Sarah goes, leaving Ali more confused than ever.

As she walks home that evening, she strains her ears for the voice of the Spirit and eventually, throwing open the door to her little room she slumps onto her bed in disappointment, and flops backwards onto the pillows. “Oh, Jesus, help me.” She says to the presence in the quiet behind her eyes, and suddenly, she feels completely at peace. Without knowing how she knows, she knows that it is ok. Jesus is still there for her, despite her inability to hear this voice that the pastor talks about, and Jesus will never leave her.  She turns her face to the pillow and sobs, and the next day feels much better.

That afternoon, as she sits on the pastor’s couch once more, she tells him about the cat and she tells him about the car, and she tells him about the toothpaste, and she tells him about her prayer and the immediate relief she had felt in Jesus’ presence. She doesn’t tell him about Sarah, however; she just doesn’t know how to say what she feels.

He is interested in everything she does say, and most of all in the tooth-paste! “That was excellent, Ali, excellent! That was wonderful obedience!  Well done!”

“But the car…”

“Maybe that, too, was the voice of the Spirit. Who knows what may have happened! Certainly it was a test of your faith, Ali, wasn’t it?”

He looks at her so intently, she feels her breathing hitch again, and whispers a “yes”.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he pulls his seat up and sits directly in front of her as she perches on the edge of the couch. “Let’s try to hear the Spirit again, now, together. No – keep your eyes open this time. Listen – and obey.”

Ali listens, and finds her mind beginning to fill with the many words spoken here, washing around her; “Love one another…” “What they say is from the world…” “A holy kiss..” “The letter kills…”

And then, blazing to the forefront of her mind, the words, “Kiss Him!”

Her eyes drop from his to the thin lips beneath, and then up again as she replays those words in her mind and hears again their insistence, and so she obeys, leaning into his kiss as he reaches out for her and takes her into his arms.

That evening, as she prepares for bed, and all the next day, she feels like she is in a Rosie-like daze, as she replays in her mind those few, fervent moments. The pastor had confirmed that he, too had heard that command, and that though it didn’t matter what the world thought – they were free in their obedience to the Spirit – it was best to avoid all appearance of evil, and not put any stumbling blocks in the way of weaker brethren, so not to mention it to anyone else just now. Rather, wait, and see what the Spirit might command next time they met.

They see each other at church on Sunday, of course, and Ali blushes slightly as he gives her a warm embrace, and places a chaste peck upon her cheek. He says nothing, but she sees anticipation in his eyes and spends most of the sermon wondering what, exactly the Spirit might say when next they meet.

Afterwards, however, as she talks with the Rheeses, her thoughts are turned in quite a different direction. After asking about Rose, who is pregnant again, Ali remembers that Sarah had been going to see them last week; “How did your evening with Sarah go? Did she tell you her idea about a Bible study?”

The major’s pleasant face turns thunderous again, and he turns away, leaving Esme to answer; “Well, yes, dear, she did, but we don’t think it’s right. You see, she doesn’t hear the Spirit. Her Bible study would be quite wrong. And besides; we can’t meet with someone who’s been dis-fellowshipped.”

“Dis… what?  Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure she’ll come around. Pastor will explain it to you later this week.” And that was all she would say on the subject.

Sarah wasn’t at church that day, and throughout the following week, Ali gets the impression that she is avoiding her at work. Finally she finds her seated at her workstation, doing data entry. “ ‘Scuse me, Sarah.  Where does this account belong?”

Sarah takes a quick look at the file in Ali’s hand, mutters “Give it to Fiona,” and turns back to her work.

“Sarah,” Ali tries again, “Is there something wrong?”

The previously bouncy bride-to-be glances up at Ali, opens her mouth as though to say something, then snaps it shut again. With her lips pressed together in a thin line, she turns back to her screen once more, and shakes her head mutely.

Ali stands for a second, then, with a shrug, returns to her own work. There is a message waiting for her, there. “Pastor Austeer says half an hour later this Thursday”. She reads it, wonders, and then crumples it up. No doubt he will explain when they meet. But that meeting is starting to look very unlike the one she had anticipated.

As she walks up to the frosted glass door on Thursday,  it bursts open and an obviously unhappy Sarah steps out, sees her, and swings around to walk back to the road across the neighbours’ lawn rather than come past her. As Ali stands gaping, she sees tears on her friend’s cheeks, her complexion burning brightly beneath them, as though she is deeply embarrassed – or overwhelmingly angry.

As she turns back to the door, she sees the pastor there, spots of colour on his cheeks, too. He reaches out to embrace her, but then drops his arms as she stiffens, and simply stands aside and says, “Come in.” Ali means to ask him about Sarah, and what ‘dis-fellowshipped’ means, but he raises the subject himself; “Ali, does your work require you to talk much with Miss Massingham?”

“No. In fact, she won’t talk to me at all, now, if she can avoid me.”

“Ah. It would be best if you left her alone as much as you could, now. Can you do that?”

“Well… yes, but why? What’s she done? Is this what ‘disfellowshipped’ means? Is this because of her Bible study idea?”

“No, Not because of the Bible study idea – though that was obviously inappropriate – but because she has chosen to walk, once again, in the ways of the world.”

“What’s she done?”

“She is pledged to keep fellowship with us, here, but she has been attending meetings of false Christians where they teach error and confusion. She must not be double-minded, and she will not commit to stay away from them in the future. She is antichrist: “19 They went out from us, but they did not belong to us; for if they had belonged to us, they would have remained with us. But by going out they made it plain that none of them belongs to us.” If I can quote John, again. She has been avoiding you because she was hoping to weasel her way back into our fellowship by not breaking the rules of disfellowshipping. And I suppose she may have been trying to protect you from any taint. Has she succeeded, I wonder? Are you ready and willing to obey the Spirit in this, Ali?”

Ali sags onto the couch, and squeezes her eyes shut, feeling tears pricking behind her eyelids. What is the Spirit saying?

As though reading her mind, the Pastor immediately quotes from Revelation;  “15 ‘ “I wish that you were either cold or hot. 16 So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spit you out of my mouth. … You do not realize that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked… 21 To the one who conquers I will give a place with me on my throne, just as I myself conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne.’ 22 Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying …” Ali, you can conquer this, you don’t have to be poor and blind, you can sit on the throne with God!  With me! Let me lead you. Are you willing to obey, Ali? Are you?”

She feels him, kneeling in front of her, just inches away; his hands upon her shoulders tremble slightly. She’s terrified that if she opens her eyes, she will see again the mouth that she kissed just a week ago. In the dark privacy of her mind, she calls out as she had before, “Oh, Jesus help me.” And immediately opens her eyes to look directly into the face before her.

“I… I’m not sure what the Spirit is saying to me, but… but I wonder – I don’t know – where is Jesus in this?”

“Jesus?”

“Well, yes.  He was always so kind when people came to him. I… this… it just doesn’t feel like something he would do.”

“ Jesus! Jesus was just a man. He died, abandoned by God. It is the Spirit of Christ which matters.”

“Jesus doesn’t matter?”

“No. The Nazareth carpenter was just a disguise God used; a suit of clothing that he no longer has any use for. It is the Spirit not the flesh, that we must obey. Will you listen to the Spirit, Ali?”

“But the Bible says…”

“Don’t get hung up on the dead letter! It is the Spirit that counts.”

Ali reaches into her purse and draws out her little Bible, opening it at the marked page with trembling fingers. “I was reading what we were talking about a couple of weeks ago. Just before he says that we are from God and they are from the world, he says this: “Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God; for many false prophets have gone out into the world. 2 By this you know the Spirit of God: every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, 3 and every spirit that does not confess Jesus is not from God.””

“But the deadly letter…”

Ali stands up.  “I don’t know what Paul meant by the letter, but I do know that the Spirit he’s talking about is totally different to the one you’re serving! I’ll stick with the spirit of Jesus if that’s ok.”

She turns in the doorway; “Please say goodbye to Esme and the Major for me.  They were kind.” and then she leaves.

 

Ali is feeling good, and tomorrow is going to be even better. She’s moved towns, successfully, she’s doing well in her new job, and she’s going to a new church tomorrow. Sarah, the girl at work who trained her, has asked her to be her bridesmaid at the wedding, and Ali is glad for the opportunity.

[1]1 John 4, NRSV, (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers) 1989.

[2]2 Cor. 3:6

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The Human Cost of Consumerism

This video impacted on me – like a rotten egg on my Sunday morning face. I’ve lived in these cities, and met and enjoyed time with people like those featured here. I’ve seen the industrial waste dumped into the local farmer’s fish-ponds, and I’ve seen farmers turned off the land their families have been working for generations to make way for giant industrial complexes; leaving them with no option but to take new jobs for abominable wages in dangerous conditions. And, yes, I have a cell phone in my pocket.
What’s the answer? Well what about we start asking questions of the current round of ‘free’ trade talks. Because it seems to me that the ‘free’ market means the freedom of richer people to become even wealthier at the expense of poorer people.
How about we start insisting on fair trade, instead? How about we begin the long journey of changing our trade agreements, one commercial sector at a time, so that we only trade with those who offer their employees the same protections we insist upon for our own workforce?
How about we re-establish industries in NZ that have been outsourced (at great cost) to ‘cheaper’ (read ‘more easily exploited’) labour forces, and work to supply our own needs for things like electronics, and shoes, and fruit? What would it be like, if we all went back to eating food seasonally, instead of expecting to have everything available, all the time?
How about we offer favourable tariffs to enterprises that provide worker protections and benefits over and above the minimum standards (often non-existent) of their own legal setting?
Pipe dreams? Perhaps, but what are the alternatives? More of the same? More industrial deaths? More exploitation? Unceasing market ‘growth’ requiring increasing consumption of diminishing resources? More, More MORE?!
Perhaps we need to make a start on a new path. The one we’re on leads inevitably to a terrible cliff, and too many are falling by the wayside as we rush head-long to that drop. Perhaps we need to forget the ‘free’ market. We might end up with fewer consumer choices – but more real freedom. Until all are free, none are.

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I Wanna Be SUPER-CHRISTIAN! (Sermon for Advent, 4)

I wanna be Super-Christian!

I want to get up before dawn every morning without fail

and spend three hours in prayer and meditation!

I want to fast twice a week

without thinking once about my waist-line.

I want to be able to perform miracles of healing

and cast out demons,

and diagnose short legs and roots of bitterness

with a single glance of my compassionate eyes,

and then, with a mere gesture or a whispered word,

set people free from whatever it is that binds them.

I want to be so filled with faith that I never have a single doubt

and I never have to work again,

because all my needs are meet by God.

I want to be so free from materialism that I own nothing,

but can still give away hundreds of thousands of dollars a year.

I want people to immediately think of me

when they’re asked what a great Christian looks like.

And I want to be so immensely humble

that I’m never aware of this mass adulation.

I want to be so good at evangelism

that I just have to walk into a room for everyone to be instantly converted.

I want to be able to read and remember a book of the Bible a day

and actually understand everything I read.

And everything I write

(or at least, everything my researchers write in my name)

becomes an instant best-seller.

And not just in Christian bookshops either.

I want this direct line to God,

so that I always know exactly what He wants me to do

and he always knows exactly what I want Him to do.

And he does it.

Because I’m such a fantastic Christian.

I wanna be Super Christian.

What a pity I’m just me.

And the Bible says this:

1 If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels,

but do not have love,

I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

2 And if I have prophetic powers,

and understand all mysteries and all knowledge,

and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains,

but do not have love,

I am nothing.

3 If I give away all my possessions,

and if I hand over my body so that I may boast,

but do not have love,

I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient;

love is kind;

love is not envious or boastful or arrogant5 or rude.

It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;

6 it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.

7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things,

endures all things.

8 Love never ends.

But as for prophecies, they will come to an end;

as for tongues, they will cease;

as for knowledge, it will come to an end.

9 For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part;

10 but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end.

11 When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child,

I reasoned like a child;

when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.

12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly,

but then we will see face to face.

Now I know only in part;

then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.

13 And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three;

and the greatest of these is love. [1]

According to the Bible, nothing else really matters apart from love.

Only love is eternal.

Hope and faith are right up there,

but hope is all about the future

and one day that future will arrive and we will need hope no more.

And faith is our trust in the one who we do not now see,

but one day we will see him face to face

and our faith will be taken up into adoration.

Faith and hope will one day be redundant,

but love…

love is eternal.

When Paul wrote those words to the Corinthians,

he was writing to a church where people saw themselves as super-Christians.

Earlier in this letter he said he was writing to them,

“so that none of you will be puffed up in favor of one against another.

7 For who sees anything different in you?

What do you have that you did not receive?

And if you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?

8 Already you have all you want! Already you have become rich!

Quite apart from us you have become kings!

Indeed, I wish that you had become kings,

so that we might be kings with you![2]

Paul can be really sarcastic when he wants to be.

To this church full of puffed-up people

who thought that the goal of Christianity is to become super-spiritual

he prescribes a radical change of direction.

It’s not about you, he writes, it’s about other people.

It doesn’t matter if you can speak in tongues or prophecy or move mountains;

what matters is how much you love.

It’s important to anchor Sunday morning sermon thoughts in reality,

so having your own personal examples of what Godly love looks like

is far better than having a few vague words from the pulpit.

So can we just pause for a few minutes

and talk amongst yourselves at your tables.

Ask each other this question:

“Who do I know

or what have I seen

that has shown me what real love is?

1 Corinthians 13 type love?”

Anybody want to share the example of Love they thought of?

Of course, Jesus is the greatest single example of love that we know of.

Paul points us towards him when he wrote to the Philippians:

2 If then there is any encouragement in Christ,

any consolation from love,

any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy,

2 make my joy complete:

be of the same mind, having the same love,

being in full accord and of one mind.

(and here’s where he really begins to warm up…)

3 Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit,

but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.

4 Let each of you look not to your own interests,

but to the interests of others.

5 Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

6 who, though he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God

as something to be exploited,

7 but emptied himself,

taking the form of a slave,

being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form,

8               he humbled himself

and became obedient to the point of death—

even death on a cross.

This passage is one of the most important Christmas passages in the Bible,

because it talks about Jesus’ birth in the same breath as Jesus’ death,

and it shows us that the birth, no less than the death,

was an act of humility and obedience and love on Jesus’ part.

By entering into creation with us;

by becoming one with the world he made

Jesus healed the division between creator and creation.

In his body He is the bridge between heaven and earth.

And in his embrace of creation,

his holding and enfolding of sinful humanity into the inner life of the Trinity,

he didn’t stop at the manger

but continued to the cross and the grave.

Manger scenes tend to be prettily painted and very sweet.

I’ve done that myself.

The danger is that we miss the amazing indecency of what actually happened!

There was the out-of-wedlock conception,

There was the long journey in the final days of pregnancy,

There was the inability to find a decent room,

and the agony of birth – amongst animals!

There was the use of a feed-trough as a cradle.

There was a frightened and jealous king

who slaughtered an entire village of baby boys,

and there was a frantic flight by night from the danger zone

and being a refugee in a foreign land.

Jesus birth wasn’t especially pretty or lovely.

It wasn’t even a standard first century birth;

It was awful.

It was a pointer to the death that was to follow.

When God chose to close the gap between us,

he didn’t just come to the good things and the good people;

he came to the lowest of the low – shepherds and tax-gatherers.

Foreign astrologers and village no-bodies.

And in becoming human, Jesus embraced sin, and pain, and sickness

– and death.

Even death on a cross.

It is because God has entered into the very worst of human evil

and has destroyed it from the inside

that we have hope today.

Jesus has kicked down the doors of death

and thrown open the gates of the grave.

9 Therefore God also highly exalted him

and gave him the name

that is above every name,

10 so that at the name of Jesus

every knee should bend,

in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

11 and every tongue should confess

that Jesus Christ is Lord,

to the glory of God the Father.

Christmas is the beginning of Easter

and Easter is the completion of Christmas.

The two holidays cannot be understood apart from one another.

This has obvious implications for us:

This means that Christmas is not all about getting stuff

but is all about giving to people.

Giving hope and forgiveness.

Giving respect, and care and attention and compassion;

those things that mean so much more than stocking-fillers

and make such an amazing difference in the lives of lost individuals.

Please turn again to those around you, or simply sit and ponder,

and  ask yourselves:

“what can I do this Christmas that will make a difference for someone else?”

(Close in prayer)


[1]The New Revised Standard Version, (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers) 1989.

[2]NRSV, 1 Cor 4:6-8

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On Being Sensory and why I don’t ‘hug’ online.

So I was walking home for lunch, and had to slow my stride to a dawdle in order to take in the luminous magenta paintwork on a car, standing out from all the whites and greys and dark greens around it like a red rose in a blue sky.  And as I drifted closer to this intense colour experience, the Roast Station in the food-court called out to me with all the richness of it’s many-flavoured meaty menus.  I paused to drink it in.  Then on I went around the corner where a fresh, sharp wind slapped my office-heating-flushed face alive and made me blink away tears.  It was a concatenation of arresting experiences, one after the other.

I love being alive to these unsophisticated, everyday pleasures.  I love the thrill such simple things give me.  They aren’t particularly meaningful, but they are immediate, unexpected, delights.

But when I was trying to write the title to this post, I struggled for words.  ‘Sensuous’?  ‘Sensual’?  Both words mean what I want to say, but they have become entangled – mostly, I think, due to advertising – with the erotic.  And there’s nothing wrong with eros.  The sensory pleasure of an erotic moment is right up there with the whiff of Richie’s Roasts.  But there’s so much more to being sensuous than sex.  Sex must, inevitably, have some societal sanctions attached to it.  Those sanctions, in our changing society, have become a battleground for competing world-views, and so much truth about sex is forgotten as we wage our ‘culture wars’ that other concepts, like sensuousness, are dragged down with it.  Now it seems like sex is the only sort of sensuous pleasure we still talk about.  And maybe chocolate.

What a pity.

Sensory pleasures, like the ones I described above, are so rich, so free, so easy to access and share, that they should be celebrated much more often.  But we lack the language.  Not just the words, but the very concept.  We need to relearn how to immerse ourselves into the goodness of creation around us.  We need to come alive again to the value of what we hear away from the jangle and clatter of industrial life, and what we feel beyond our protective fabrics, and what we smell and see and taste.  We are bodily beings and that’s something to celebrate!

And that’s why I refuse to ‘hug’ over the internet.  Internet interactions are great for the cerebral, but pathetic for what is fully human.   This morning on social media one of my acquaintance reposted a banner that said she needed a hug, and I could ‘hug’ her by reposting the banner.  I get that she’s lonely.  I get that being single she’s not getting anywhere near the physical affirmation I enjoy myself, immersed as I am in an affectionate family.  But I also get that reposting that banner will do practically nothing about that.  The initial author of the banner might be gratified by multitudinous repostings, and my acquaintance might (did) get some positive written responses, but did she get hugged?  No.  A hug is wonderful.  When my son or daughter wraps their arms around me and squeezes and holds me, I know I’m being loved.  It’s a bodily thing.

I don’t want us to stop expressing our regard for one another in non-physical forums, but nor do I want us to delude ourselves into thinking we can be human if we cut ourselves off from our bodily experiences.  In an increasingly touch-phobic/techno-centred society (see http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/oct/20/young-people-japan-stopped-having-sex) we need more touching, not less.  We need to be more sensory, not less.  And we need to listen to and understand what our own senses tell us about what is good, what is enough, what is too much, and what is not enough.

'Far Away' XKCD comic by Randal Munroe

This isn’t saying that we should be dominated or controlled by our senses.  We can – and sometimes must – consciously endure sensory unpleasantness for greater goals; I need to defer my sexual desires out of respect for others.  I need to pass by the sweet-smelling fruit on the grocers stall and not just help myself.  I need to suffer the physical pain of a needle prick in order to give blood.  These are not pleasant sensations – but they are easily bearable given the vast range of pleasant sensory experiences I enjoy elsewhere.  Yes, we are far more than sensory, but we are certainly no less than, and enjoying sensory experiences in no way means that we lose control of our actions.  Let’s not expect ourselves, or those around us, to live in a state of sensory deprivation.  Let’s touch one another, and shower sensory blessings upon each other; give gifts of fragrant flowers, soft cloths, rich foods, and luminous colour.

Maybe then, when we acknowledge and enjoy the full range of positive sensory experience that is available to us every day, we will be less overwhelmed by the porn/violence/gluttony industries.

Go on, be a world-changer.  Really hug someone you love today.

 

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From Kaiapoi

I’m sitting in the office of Tracy, the community worker for Kaiapoi Baptist, and just trying to get my head around all I’ve seen and heard in the last hour or so.

Firstly, Tracy is a dynamo of passion and commitment to this community.  As we cruised around the streets of Kaiapoi and the nearby beach suburbs she poured forth an intimate insiders’ view of what has happened, what is happening, and why.  We talked about the fact that for many in Kaiapoi, the September earthquake was the major event, rather than the February one.  Much media attention is focused on February’s quake, which killed people – largely because it occurred during the day – but Tracy tells me that the nightmare really began in September.

“What was the impact of the February Quake, then?” I ask.

“Brokenness upon brokenness,” she replies.

In Kaiapoi, 20% of the homes are red-zoned.  One in every five!  We drove around through neighbourhoods that were utterly deserted.  Here and there a lone resident hanging on in a miraculously livable house – or just a stubborn person refusing to move.  For many such neighbourhoods, however, the council is having to cut off their services, and then all but the most obstinate will be forced to go, whether their home has been damaged or not.

Worse than the red-zoning of houses, however, are the land assessments; many areas have been assessed as TC3, meaning that rebuilding on that land will require stringent earthquake resistance measures.  Insurance usually only covers like for like, and so a great many can’t afford to rebuild on their own property. Again, they have to leave.  A large number of residents were retired or near retirement.  They’ve now had to use their retirement savings, or obtain new mortgages, in order to build in a new part of town.  Rents have skyrocketed, land prices in the new subdivisions have increased in value, and building materials are at a premium as demand drives prices higher and higher.  Additional price pressure comes from Christchurch residents, looking for somewhere new to live, and moving into this outlying community. With all these pressures, everybody can name friends, family and neighbours who have simply left the area, leaving social voids that echo the empty spaces along so many streets, where homes once stood and now weeds grow amongst graffiti-ed rubble.

We also drove around the new suburbs, sites of busyness as new homes pour like wet concrete over flat farmland.  Houses here have to be built to certain specifications – three-level rooflines and the like – and again the standard is often a higher one than that of the homes that the insurance companies are replacing.  So again, people are facing new mortgages at a time when they thought that they were freehold, or much larger mortgages than they thought they would ever have to endure.  People who had retired or stayed home to care for children are returning to the workforce.  People with one job are looking for a second – or third – job to make ends meet and make repayments.  Families are seeing less of each other as financial burdens increase.  Communities and neighbourhoods that were settled and pleasant places are disbanding and scattering and there is no choice in the matter.  This is a refugee situation in a first world nation.

These physical and financial impacts are merely the surface of the emotional and social impacts.  Domestic violence increased 30% following the September quake, so DV services from Rangiora relocated to Kaiapoi.  After the September quake, councils and insurance companies made plans and laid out a road-map for recovery, and things were under way when the February quake happened, and everything changed again.  People no longer feel that their life is under control, and men, especially, are reacting to this.  Nothing is stable, nothing is reliable.  Who can you trust?  How can you plan when the rules keep changing?  And post-trauma stress is real.  Tracy remembers the screams from the church child-care centre when the February quake hit children who were beginning to recover from the life-shattering event of the previous September, and the looks on the faces of parents who ran from everywhere to be with their children.  She talks about what it’s like to be a quake survivor feeling the thud and crash of demolitions going on nextIMG435 door, when every sudden noise brings back vertiginous memories of floors swaying and ground dropping and bucking and ceilings cracking, sagging, showering you with plaster, and the earth at your feet gaping open and gushing forth liquefaction like some primeval wound.  I stood amidst the mess of the aftermath, and the sheer brokenness of the homes around me was a tearing ache in my spirit.  Imagine what it must have been like in the terror of the moment.

And then, she says, you finally have a nice new home, and life seems to be going back to normal, and yet you still feel completely abnormal; filled with grief and anger and pain and anxiety, and what do you do with these feelings now?  Now that the crisis is ‘over’?  People feel guilty, she said, for still feeling bad when their neighbours might still be wrestling with insurance company intransigence, or changing council requirements, or serious injury.  So feelings get stuffed, and emerge in other ways.

And yet there is also hope.  As I type, I have in front of me a black wooden block with a big red heart painted on it, and the single word, ‘hope’.  These were gifts from the ‘Ark’ childcare centre to their community.  Psalm 23.4 (look it up) is on the back.  Tracy is filled with passion and enthusiasm for her community, not just as the response of a warm and generous heart to the pain of her friends and neighbours, but also because she has seen so much of what God can and is doing for this place – especially through his people here.  Though the church, too, has suffered, it has become a centre of healing.  Unlike so many agencies that were established and funded to provide help in the days after the quake, and have since closed their doors, Kaiapoi Baptist isn’t going anywhere.  It belongs here and will continue to make a difference.  Its dinners, its film evenings for seniors (Kaiapoi has lost its movie theatre), its children’s groups and activities, its networking amongst the agencies and councils make it a strategic player for recovery.  The connections of the church to the community are personal, prophetic, and powerful.  They don’t just speak hope, they are that hope in the lives of so many.

How does that work?  That’s for the next post…

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