The Jewish Museum

A canny eighty five year old gentleman showed a couple of ladies and I around the Sydney Jewish Museum. As we passed a photograph of men building a wall to divide a Polish city into Jewish and non-Jewish parts, he mentioned that he had seen it under construction. Another photo showed precise lines of Nazi soldiers marching into Poland: he had seen that too. I asked about his family and he said they'd been gassed. At the children's memorial our guide seemed to have as much difficulty as I grasping that people had killed these little children. (Later I remembered that even in peace the killings go on.) He had escaped from a concentration camp, one of only a handful to do so. I stupidly asked him if in his subsequent employment, he had to pretend to be a Christian . . . I wanted to say sorry to him on behalf of all the Christians who did nothing to stop the genocide of his people.

I went around again later and looked at newspaper accounts of the situation in Germany and the Second World War. Before the outbreak of war there was some quite detailed reporting of violence against Jewish people. After the war began, the newspaper accounts were all about Hitler's demands and the progress of the war. I didn't notice anything about concentration camps or what was happening to the Jews. The style of writing, the layout and the mixture of grave world events and both serious and sensational local news was pretty similar to today's broadsheets. I could imagine myself back then reading the Australian papers, concerned for the Jews, then turning the page and forgetting them. As the war began, I doubt I would even remember they had been mixed up in its beginning. I'd just want the allies to win.

In the section on the Jewish faith there were exhibits about the Hebrew Bible. I was so grateful that on the foundation of these people's faith, salvation came to a Gentile like myself. I felt like saying yes, I agree with all this – this is the true and glorious record of the one God. But then I read of their Zionist hopes and looking for a Messiah. A computer was set up with answers to frequently asked questions on its screen. I clicked on, “Why don't Jews believe that Jesus is the Messiah?”. The answer given was that the Messiah will establish the nation of Israel and bring peace and prosperity to earth. It grieved me to see the mistake and sin of their fathers being repeated 5000 years on. I felt like crying out, “The Messiah has come! There is good news! What you hope for has happened and more gloriously than you ever imagined!”. But they were closing early for Sabbath and I didn't even get to write in the Visitor's Book.

My Christian Brothers

I grew up with a little brother. I think he's wonderful and I love him very much. I feel very lucky to have him.

These days I've also got lots of other brothers. They're my Christian brothers and I love them too. I know that relationships between men and women can be complicated and fraught, so that makes me all the more grateful for these guys.

Let me describe what these relationships are like. I don't usually end up having close friendships with my Christian brothers unless they're single or I know their wives. But either way, it's still caring and respectful. Chrsitian brothers of mine have told me I look lovely today, fixed my bike, insisted they drive me home when it's dark, chatted with me, asked me to pray for them, reassured me when I've got a bad mark. Stuff like that. The other day we had a seminar at college about how to care for people addicted to porn. We were asked to talk to the person next to us about how we like people to respond when we tell them something we're going through. Sitting next to me was a Christian brother I'd not met before. We acknowledged that it was a bit wierd to talk about such personal stuff when we didn't know each other, but then we just talked about it and it was fine. We respected and trusted each other.

You know, a lot of the time when I walk down the street or in town or wherever I can tell that men are checking me out. I don't like it - it feels kind of predatory and sleazy and a bit scary. But I never get that feeling around Christian men. I feel respected, and honoured I guess.

I love my Christian brothers. I think it's especially nice to have them around when you're single. They help me not to feel unlikeable or unattractive or unworthy. They help me feel valued and honoured and cared for. I have so much respect and affection for these guys.

I thank Jesus for breaking down the walls that divide men and women, and for enabling us to relate in healthy, respectful, affirming and pure ways.

An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman walk into a bar . . .

We should only use the word "Australian" when we intend to refer to everyone who lives here, including newer migrants, who have equal right to the title, and Aboriginal Australians, who have more. We have other words to indicate a person's race or country of origin - Chinese, Asian, African, Latin American (latino?) . . . and Anglo. Fellow Anglos, let's avoid implying that we are the only Australians.

My Driving Forces: Approval, Understanding and Love

I crave understanding, approval (actually acclaim) and love. Perhaps the biggest sin I fall into is to seek these things from people before God. This leads me to think too highly or too little of myself; to sometimes feel elated and proud, and sometimes crushed and unconfident. I'm trying to learn to find all this in God. Every day I battle to be humble and satisfied in him.

This is pretty crazy and only goes to show how stupid and sinful I am, because I have a God who is far above me in every way, who gave me my every talent and who is abundantly satisfying. He knit me together in my Mum's womb and created every facet of my personality. He is pleased to say "well done" when I have done well. He defined love by sending his Son to die for me. So, with his help, I trust I'll get better at these things day by day.

My Driving Forces: Denial and Honesty

Life didn't used to make sense. When something was hard or when I screwed up, I didn't have any answers, so the way I dealt with stuff was to not even make the attempt. I used to stop myself thinking about anything confronting, challenging or confusing. I got very good at this, which obviously didn't solve or advance anything. So that was one problem.

The other problem was that it lead to deceit. It meant that if I was having trouble with something and needed help, I would never ask, and if I screwed up, I would never tell. What I would do is pretend it was all okay and hope that the problem would fix itself or go away. This was a dangerous road and not one I'd recommend.

So now I am deliberately, actively honest and - where appropriate - open about everything. This is how I make sure I don't slip back into my old way of dealing with stuff. I am enormously grateful that I am always sure of forgiveness and help from my Father and my brothers and sisters.

My Driving Forces: Hypocrisy and Integrity

I detest hypocrisy because I've seen its destructiveness. It says it is one, good thing and it promises you much, then it dishes out evil. It presents itself to the world and gains friendship and respect, but it was always a self-serving lie. I never want to be like that. I am, however, sort of happy to have experienced it because it drives me to integrity.

I'm convinced that there's no point believing or subscribing to or championing anything if I don't do my damnedest to live it out - when no-one (except God!) is watching; in the hard times; in the unsatisfying, unfulfilling and seemingly life-denying times; in the small things; in my thoughts and motivations. If this stuff means anything, then it has to play out in everything.

I didn't used to hold to this, but that was because I believed in small things and my belief was uncertain. But now that I believe in big, overarching, undergirding things, it is important to me to practise what I preach. If I say there is a loving, just God then I must trust him and obey him or else it's all a sham.

Reading Respectfully

Good writers only come into their own in the hands of a good reader. But very often, writers remain insulated from their readers. They send their piece into the world, never knowing where it will end up or if it will be understood once it gets there. That has changed for those writers who've taken on blogs. The opportunity to post comments makes plain the ability of writers and readers, and problems are exposed that never used to come to light.



If you're reading a blog and you think the writer is good, remember that they have carefully chosen their words. So read slowly and before you make a comment, read their post again. Look for things like qualifying statements or places where they might've been blunt, but chose instead to use softer words.

Let me give you an example. In my last post, 'Evangelical and Pentecostal Churches,' I had a couple of explicit qualifying statements - "I have more experience with evangelicalism than pentecostalism, so please forgive me if I get it wrong" and "This is not to say that either group rejects or fails to practice any of what I have written for the other one, just that it’s not their primary emphasis". My first paragraph also served as an implicit qualifying statement. My aim was to dispel any assumptions that I was out to attack.



I also chose my words carefully. For example, the second dot point I made for evangelicals was that they desired to "know God better", and for pentecostals that they desired to "experience a closer personal relationship with God". In a way, I was saying the same thing, but I wanted to emphasise that for the evangelicals, it's about knowledge, personal knowledge, like the way you get to know a friend or your wife over time. For the pentecostals, I wanted to emphasise that it's the felt experience of a closer relationship that matters. What this will look like is less specified than it is for the evangelicals.



So what can writers do to reduce misunderstanding? Get better! Aim to explain things clearly enough for all your readers to understand. But also accept that not everyone will understand. Cut your readers some slack - reading well is perhaps as difficult a skill as writing well.