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.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
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".
Monday, December 19, 2011
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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