Shooting through

Dear readers, I am now the proud owner of a plane ticket to Santiago! I'm heading out from Hobart on the 23rd February next year. I thank God for everyone's interest, concern, prayers and generosity. I feel I am heading off with a mass of support and very much in partnership with a whole bunch of people, which is a huge blessing and help.

Please pray that God will count me worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may fulfill every good purpose of mine and every act prompted by my faith, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in me . . . And that I will make the most of my final weeks in Tassie, my commissioning service will be a blessing to my church family and any of my non-Christian friends who decide to attend, and finally that I will have a good attitude during my first few weeks in Chile.

Better than busy

People keep asking, "I guess this is a busy time of year for you?" (ie because I work for a church). My response was less than inspired - "Not really" I'd say (ever the great conversationalist). But not any more! Now what I say is, "It's not actually particularly busy, but it is an important time for me".

Self esteem

As we spoke about worldviews at house-church on Sunday, it became increasingly obvious that Australians tend to think that, a) people are fundamentally good and can make the world a better place [ie people are responsible for good], and b) sometimes people stuff-up, perhaps as the result of a troubled upbringing, being under a lot of stress or a personality disorder, but whatever the root cause, that's not who they are [ie people are not responsible for bad].

This sort of thinking makes life a nicer place because you always have reason to feel good about yourself and never to feel bad. That's pleasant and endurable. But it's also dishonouring and dehumanising, as it make us out to be less capable and less mature than we are.

We are not victims tossed around by our circumstances; we are adults who actively make the choices we want to make. When we do wrong, it's not because we suddenly forget ourselves and lose our personhood; we make our choices out of who we are. They are real choices. I'm not saying that our circumstances have zero effect - their effect is significant, yet that does not change the fact that we could always chose differently. We are making that decision, not our circumstances. (Obviously I'm not thinking of something terrible like a hostage situation here, which is terrible in large part because it does strip away all our dignity and volition.)

Taking responsibility for our actions, whether good or bad, hands us back our human dignity because it says that we have the capacity and power to think and act. Indeed we are so noble that we even have the capacity to do this in the face of awful circumstances.

Of course, with responsibility comes the burden of failure. But hope is found in Jesus, who didn't patronise us but took our wrongs so seriously he chose to die in our place, and who now holds out forgiveness to a people so full of dignity and potential, yet so shot through with perversity and self-centredness.

Reach for the stars. No, cancel that.

Watching the wonderful So You Think You Can Dance on Friday night the American narrative was blindingly clear: We celebrate battling through adversity to achieve your dreams. Then, at the Saturday night showing of Sydney's Carols by Candlelight, the Australian version came through loud and clear: We celebrate battling through adversity with your loved ones by your side. No dream-realisation for us: we've too much gritty realism and humility/tall poppy syndrome.

I wonder what other nations esteem?

Better than Aragorn

Here in Australia, we know what it is to be 'saved' or 'rescued' - we have secular narratives that celebrate these events (the Bondi lifesavers, nurses and doctors, giving blood, Search and Rescue). But I don't think we're familiar with the concept of following a 'lord' or 'king'. I can't think of anything that depicts such a relationship - well aside from Lord of the Rings. Because of this, I have found it difficult to feel emotional resonance with Jesus as my King. It leaves me, not so much cold, as unaffected. It doesn't mean anything to me.

Yet when I think about it, I do consider him the one authority over my life. I attempt to do as he says in everything and bring him only honour by my actions. I do entrust my very life to him and feel confident that he is good, just, tender-hearted and powerful. I think of him as I would a perfect king.

Maybe this means that when we speak of Jesus' kingship, we need to spend a little time talking about what that relationship looks like or about the sort of Person and Leader he is. If we stop at the word alone, we may leave people feeling... nothing.

Sprachgefuhl

Speaking of the Hebrew language, here's a fascinating article about how writers rose up out of the mass of "functionally illiterate" Jewish boys at the outset of the modern Israeli state.

Eire and Yisra'el

The land of Ireland and the language of Hebrew warm my heart. I don't know why, out of the many things in this world, it should be these two, but it is. I lived in Ireland for nine months and my heart broke a little to say goodbye. I hated the winter, my relationship with my fiancé was horrible, and I never really connected with the Irish people, but still it stole my heart. It was the language as much as anything - so whimsical, formal and archaic, like stepping into a fairytale.

And again, I hated learning Hebrew and was rather hopeless at it, but fell in love with its sweet plainness and the poetry of its repeated forms. I only have to see its letters to feel a rush of affection. It's an achingly sweet, minimalist language, one that conveys great profundity with the slightest twist of a word.

It's the words isn't it.

Introverted round-up

Those who follow this blog will know that I've been struggling with introversion - and I mean, while I definitely am introverted (case in point: my two favourite days of the week are devoid of people), I'm not even that extreme. So I hate to think how hard some people find it to navigate the world. Here are three things that have been a massive help:

1. Crafting my week. For me this means two days of downtime and recuperation - Saturday and Monday. Saturday is my rest day, when I retreat from the world and especially from my responsibilities. This is particularly important given how people-intense and weighty my ministry job is. Saturday is a day for rest, for creativity, for living simply and in the moment. Then comes Sunday with its many people. Monday is my thinking and writing day. I sit in my bedroom or lounge room all day long and don't talk to anyone. I think through complex things, I give expression to my thoughts, and sometimes I read articles or books. I'd go crazy if I didn't have these two days in my week. I do realise that not everyone is free to structure their week as they please - it's one of the blessings of doing fulltime ministy, but maybe you could still tweek it a little.
2. Cutting myself slack afterhours. In the past I have felt guilty and complicated when I passed on an evening or weekend social event and when I never initiated such. But then I realised that I'm working with people all the time in my job, giving myself to them and (hopefully) being a blessing to them. This counts. And if I don't have the emotional energy left to spend lots of social time with acquaintances and even with friends, that's okay.
3. Enjoy people. My recent ephiphany really has worked!

Before Christmas was a cultural event

Last night my Dad was singing in the massed Carols by the Bay Choir so me and Mum went along to watch. I felt like I was in Sydney, it was such a glitsy, polished affair. I also felt like I was in America, with all those modern carols about Santa, wint'ry streets and huddling by the fire with family and friends.

Christmas as a cultural event is so ingrained in me that I find it difficult to appreciate as a Christian - its predetermined expression somehow strips it of authenticity. But last night was different. I sang through the Christmas story in The First Noel surrounded by unbelievers ("The first noel, the angels did say, was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay . . . noel, noel, noel, noel, born is the King of Israel! They looked up and saw a star shining in the east beyond them far . . .  noel, noel, noel, noel, born is the King of Israel! . . . Then entered in those wise men three full reverently upon their knee, and offered there in his presence their gold and myrrh and frankincense" etc), and I thought, I actually believe these words, this is exactly what I think happened in that place all those years ago. I don't just love it as a heartwarming tradition; I love it because that sweet, prosaic, magnificent story changed everything. This wasn't a simple, beneficent act of God; it was God himself getting dirty on this planet, born onto a muddy floor amidst all the blood and gunk. This story is as gritty and confounding as it is beautiful.

Besties

People come to church expecting to make friends. But you can't plan for friendship. And it's not what the church promises to be. The Bible speaks of church as a holy temple, a purified bride, a flock of sheep, a family of adopted children . . . but never a group of friends. It's been said that Christians are likely to leave new churches within six months if they haven't made seven friends.1 We should work hard to provide environments conducive to making friends, but perhaps we also need to alter people's expectations. Our society offers friendships; we offer family. And the thing about family is that, it's family. You don't have to wait to see if you connect with seven people; you're one of us from the very beginning, bound together by Jesus' blood. We need to work hard at conveying this to people and living as if it is so.


1 E Stetzer, Planting Missional Churches, 290.

21st century conservatism

I often find myself feeling anxious before I hang out with my non-Christian friends. Even if they are old and dear friends, we have opposite views and it's like I'm stepping into their territory, a place where I am expected to play by predetermined rules. The eyes of my society bear down on me, watching to see I keep to the permissible. In a conversation about tragedy, someone concludes, "I just try to do my best, to live the best life I can". They have done well; that is what should be said. To point to a better life beyond this one or a God of compassion and justice would be to go heedlessly against the rules. So I smile politely, and the conversation shifts.

It's not always this way. The trick is to remember that every place is his. He reigns over every inglorious situation and I am always his child. My society writes its expectations in ignorance and blindness. But my allegiance is to my King, to his rules, rules of truth and goodness, of right and wrong. His rules trump my society's for they are anchored in truth and they ever will be.

Equilibrium

We ask God to help us live a balanced life, but is that what he wants for us? When we speak of balance we have in mind such things as church-work-chores-family-errands-friends-fun. But such a list betrays a twofold problem - they all look like tasks and they all seem to be of equal importance.

Here's my take on the Bible's better vision:

The first thing this better picture does is draw the eye away from your own life (balanced or otherwise) and upward to God. [Well, maybe not this specific 'better picture' ;)] The key is to live for God, whatever the details of your life. It also speaks of identity before task. As a Christian, you (and your husband or wife) are part of the church. That's who you are as you go about life in the world.

First of all, this means that the question to ask is not 'Is my life balanced?', but rather 'Is my life glorifying to God?'. Secondly, a married person will always think of themselves as a married person, and, because of this identity, they will care for their husband and wife, spend time with them and help them out with stuff. In the same way, as a Christian you should always think of yourself as part of the church, and, because of this, you should care for your brothers and sisters, spend time with them and help them out. And for those who are married, you will find your marriage strengthened as together you do this work of service.

Homebrand //2

A few posts back I began exploring the ethics of homebrand. A friend very kindly directed me to some more articles on the topic (see here, here, and here), which helped me to develop my thinking a little further. But not too much. I have three reflections:

1. I do care if a product that I love is no longer stocked (as in John Birmingham's La Gina tomato problem). It's important for me to be careful with my money (I don't have much of it and I want to continue being able to not only look after and spoil myself but also give a little away), but if a product is awesome I will happily pay more (take Carmen's muesli bars as an example). If there are enough of us (middle class) people around to purchase great muesli bars, then my guess is that Carmen's will stay, even though there is a homebrand alternative. (Is my thinking right here?) And if I'm only one of a handful who appreciate this product and it disappears, then I'll suck it up.
2. But now I'm sounding callous, like I don't care if companies shut down and people's livelihood and life's work goes down the drain. I do care - it's a horrible reality. But I get so overwhelmed by the complexity of systems like food production that I need to assess coldly so I can actually reach an ethical decision. And I believe that the people who supply the homebrand label are equally deserving of a wage.
3. I've realised one major problem though - when the massive supermarket chains subsidise products so much that the consumer ends up paying below cost. This makes it impossible for alternative brands to be both competitive and break even. I've heard that the $2 two-litre milk falls into this category, so I'm going to stop buying it.

I'd love to hear your thoughts!