Over the last few months, Fi and I have been in the name-hunting business. Twelve weeks out from meeting our little girl, we've got pretty much the same shortlist that we had 6 months ago (we jettisoned some boys names at the 13-week mark), but we've done a bit of clarifying along the way.
Names mean things. Through the passage of time they've either been invested with meaning or derived from words with a particular meaning. And words have power.
It turns out I'm a listener, I'm snub-nosed, and curiously, I'm a little hyena. I fare a litle better with Elliott (close to God, the Lord is my God). Monica, a counsellor at Riverview that I work with, translates 'to warn', 'to guide' and 'to counsel'. Bronwyn, who I work with at The Globe, means fair-breasted one. I remind her often.
Names can reflect the relationship with the 'namer' or the visionary intent of the namer for the namee. Moira (longed-for child) tells you more about the 'namer' perhaps. Verity (truth) might be something you want to talk up in your little girl compared to Jezebel (follower of idols) as much as you might think it has a certain ring to it. Misty (clouded and obscure) might be fine for a swimmer, but maybe you're after a little more clarity. If it's a faithful friend you're after, Kylie (boomerang) could be the way to go. Flynn (son of the red-haired man) could be the deal if you're a wranger although Geraint (old man) mightn't be kind to your infant. Gilbert (bright hostage) is probably not a mandate you want to place on a life and Dwayne (dark little one) could be a difficult one to overcome, although Gideon (powerful warrior) or Lorimer (harness maker) could be more up your alley. Horses for courses I guess.
In the story of the People of God, we see names changed to reflect a change in mission or direction. Sarai has a name change to Sarah and has a bunch of kids. Abram, with a simple 'ha' becomes the father of many nations. Jacob is permitted to assign his misdemeanors to different name and, in his struggle, becomes Israel. Simon has a name change to Peter and becomes the foundation for the church. Perhaps it was all this name-changing shenanigans that prompted Eric to write 'would you know my name, even if it was Kevin'?
When you name something, you both ascribe or invest a particular meaning to it. And you declare 'I know you'. This is relevant in Jacob's story, but not right now.
Got a name?
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Name it. Claim it.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Laying new track
It seems to me that we spend half our lives learning and the other unlearning. Not that it's a sequential thing. Rather, at any one point, there's stuff we're learning and other (already learned) stuff that we're unlearning.
Some of the stuff we learn is solid yet, along the way, it turns ugly. Perhaps it loses its saltiness, but some of our behaviours and ways of thinking turn rancid. It may be experiences and circumstances that re-frame some past learning for us, or perhaps it's a lack of fresh water running through our souls but, sooner or later, we discover that we're holding on to ways of thinking that need to be unpacked.
Jesus knew all about unlearning. He took a whole worldview and turned it upside down. Typically, His unlearning statements began with: You have heard it said.You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth...But I tell you: do not resist an evil person...
and
You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy...But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you
We learn in so many ways: our families, our schools, our churches, our experiences, our economic realities, the people we know, the books we read, the movies we watch, the papers we read, the blogs we consume, the prayers we pray, the degrees we acquire...they're all pathways to learning.
But unlearning is tricky. Discovering that the capital of Libya is Tripoli rather than Kabul is no biggie: I had misinformation, now I know better. Unpacking bad doctrine formed over many years: that's probably going to take a little longer. Grace over legalism; that's going to take a bit of unlearning. Growing up in a family that made you feel worthless and belittled you in front of your brothers and sisters: that's a self-identity that's going to take a lot of unlearning. And, depending on the nature of the unlearning, it may even feel like you're selling yourself a lie to be thinking something different.
Our fears, misinformation and assumptions determine many of our actions. And, if we're going to restore (or create) wholeness, they need to be dealt with.
Our spiritual growth is learning and unlearning too. Like any other kind of learning, we lay railway tracks in our minds—neural pathways fortressed by learned, then practiced behaviour. Unlearning isn't simply pulling up old track, it's laying new track as well. With no new direction to travel, our minds will simply go there again—track or no track. The challenge is not just removing the bad thinking, but discovering correct thinking and laying the track that goes there.
Only an alternate, intentional track will be sufficient to supplant the well-worn, removed one. Even then, it's tough. After all, wherever you've travelled with your dodgy thinking, you have to travel back again before you can start heading in the right direction. Sometimes that requires a skilled counsellor, mentor or spiritual director. In my experience, it invariably requires a team effort with the Holy Spirit.
William Blake said: The man who never alters his opinions is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind. Writing centuries earlier, the Apostle Paul said 'daily transform yourselves by the renewing of your mind'. He knew that without daily transformation of our minds, stagnancy comes along. Luke warmness comes along. Tepid thinking comes along. Self-destruction comes along. After all, we're only left to work with what we're feeding ourselves from the inside.
Ultimately, it is our failure to unlearn irrational fears and misconceptions that keeps us from becoming who God wants us to be. In truth, we'll never see ourselves as He sees us in this passage of eternity (ie. the part of eternity where we still see through a dim fog). I gain clarity though, when I drag my fears into the light and let him illuminate what was dark. God's reality shining on mine is speed-unlearning. A lifetime of flawed thinking can be corrected in the light of his glory and grace. That too, is a lifetime's work.
Making my path to His cross and His throne a well-worn one is the best track I can ever lay. As I walk that track, rusted track is obliterated. If it's well-worn, it is still capable of re-appearing in my neglect of holy track, but by cultivating my holy track, the old self, the old track, doesn't really stand a chance.
Thanks be to God!
Learning can take a moment. Unlearning can last a lifetime.May the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever.
Michael Dunjey: The Journey So Far
Michael Dunjey is on his way to becoming the first WA-born climber to summit Mt Everest. Here's what he had to say when he had some time to kill at Base Camp.
The Journey So Far
The trek into Base Camp was amazing––stunningly beautiful. Adventure Consultants had a twenty member team that followed us into Base Camp. As you know, thousands of people hike to Everest BC every year, but very few go on to climb the mountain. The trekkers had a great time but found it very hard going with one of the members needing to be placed in a temporary oxygen chamber––and death may certainly have been possible.
For many of the trekkers making it to Base Camp was the highlight of their physical lives. Once the climbers made it to BC we had four days or so to rest and acclimatise and get ready for our first trip to the Ice Fall. The ice fall is a randomly jumbled block of ice and crevasses that rises 700m into the western cwm. The first time up we only went half way––it was absolutely exhausting for everyone. This was the real dividing line between the climbers and the trekkers––I daresay none of the trekkers could have done it. We are talking the equivalent of a marathon or up and down bluff knoll four times in a row. We were all shattered and disappointed. Apparently this is the norm for all climbers on their first time up.
After that first climb in the ice fall we had two days rest before climbing all the way up to Camp 1. It was easier this time to get to our previous highpoint on the ice fall, but going twice the distance all the way to Camp 1 was still shattering. We crossed about twenty ladders that span the crevasses––very scary at first as the crampons do not stick on the ladder rungs but slide, and the ladders themselves sway in all three directions––but you do get used to them after a while. I learned quickly not to look down (as the crevasses can drop forever) and to concentrate on the rungs and my crampon points. The ice fall moves about four meters per day and so the route up and down constantly changes. There are ice fall doctors who are employed by all the expeditions to keep the ice fall route open––it’s the most dangerous job on the mountain and every year there will be fatalities.
The reward at getting to the top of the ice fall is that you break out into the Western cwm––a massive almost valley that snakes its way up to the Lhotse face––surrounded on all side by either Everest and other mountains, including Nuptse. Edumund Hillary described this as one of the most beautiful sights on earth and most of our climbing team agreed.
The next day we traveled to Camp 2. Once again, from what we had read, this was meant to be an ok day. But now we know that on Everest nothing ever comes easy. Again all the marathoners on the team (ie. Most of the team) agreed that the journey from Camp 1 to Camp 2 was the equivalent of a marathon or more. However, the more we walked and climbed, the more we started to see the upper shores of Mt Everest open up before our eyes before finally, after three long weeks, we actually got to see the summit of the mountain we have all dreamed about climbing.
We stayed at Camp 2 for two nights and then ascended to the base of the Lhotse face. This was an amazing achievement as we arrived at 7000m far earlier than most other teams seeking to climb Everest this season. It was just a day trip for acclimatisation but we were able to see the route to Camp 3. We returned to Camp 2 to sleep before descending to Base Camp in one day. This was, by far, the most exhausting day yet and marked my third vomit of the trip and marked the end of the first third of our time here at Everest.
We’re now resting at Base Camp. On Friday we move back up the mountain with the goal of spending 8 days on the mountain. Our primary goal is to sleep one night at Camp 3 at 7300m. If we can do this then it essentially means we’re ready to go back down to Base Camp to rest for a week before making our summit bid. Many successful Everest climbers have actually said this trip to Camp 3 is the crux of the trip. When you go to Camp 3 for the second time––on the summit bid––you go on to support oxygen straight away. But the first time up you have to prove yourself worthy of the mountain and sleep on your own lungs. I don’t think anyone really sleeps or eats 7300m.
In all honesty, I am scared and nervous about this next trip up as it will be a real test of my acclimatisation and strength. The guides have been extremely diligent and gave us all performance appraisals for our climbing so far. They believe I can summit the mountain, but only if I improve my caloric intake. It’s something I really need to concentrate on. Their goal for me is that whilst I’m climbing I always have something in my mouth––even if it’s just hard candy. The altitude does mess with my appetite. This has probably been the hardest time of my life. It is very easy to get down, agitated, depressed, nervous and home sick. But I always know in the back of my head that there is a job that needs to be done to the best of my ability. In the end, the outcome of this trip is in my Creator’s hands.
Read More
• Michael's website
• Adventure Consultants website
Sunday, April 29, 2007
A hard hat and an orange vest...
Is how I’m choosing to accessorize these days. They match well with my steel capped boots, dirty jeans and hard yakka shirt that just won't die.
The smell of diesel and hydraulic fluid becomes comforting after a while, kind of reminds you of the size of the machine you're in charge of. I tend to find a sense of isolation in personal protective equipment; ear plugs, hard hat, safety glasses seem to soften the world a bit and somehow promote escape to a world of thought and wonder. The noise of the drill rig drifts off into the background and I think of my God, ponder a few verses from 1st Timothy, my thoughts escape to my wife and how much I miss her, one starts wondering about the exchange rate between the American and the Australian dollar, and what will become of the Iraq war and I wonder how many people died from a suicide bomb in a Baghdad market today and is it more or less than will die tomorrow.
The view laid out before me is breathtaking. High Andes Mountains with cloud forest, so named because the cloud lingers in the valleys like some kind of lord of the rings scene. Waterfalls slide over crevices in the rock faces and tumble hundreds if not thousands of metres crashing to the valley floor below, fed by high alpine lakes nestled an equal distance above in the zone where the air is to thin to sustain much vegetation beyond a few isolated clumps of tussock. The sun glints off the corrugated iron roofs of the mud huts across the valley, a firm indication of just how much rain this place gets in the wet season as its not common for a campesino to spend money on things that aren't absolutely necessary.
Families pass each other on the roads on the way to and from the village at the base of the valley where they load their donkeys high with supplies of beans, rice, potato and corn, perhaps a few beers as a treat after a hard day tilling the fields in the rain behind the ox. Each group of people carry a large antiquated AM radio to listen to the local notices broadcast from the small township about two valleys over, as that is the nearest place with a power supply. This is the only means of communication for the people at this end of the valley who live in the primitive collection of mud huts perched on the slopes. The radios remind me of the kind that grandpa used to have in the shed where the mellow sounds of the national program would drift out while he did something as meaningful as tinkering with an old rotary hoe or tapping the lead out of lead head nails to take to the scrap metal dealer. Today is a festival in the village at the bottom of the valley and many of the men have a rooster under their arm to compete in the cock-fight later this afternoon. The union between man and poultry is not easily broken. Many of the men will drink too much and fall asleep on the horse on the way home, or perhaps not make it home at all and stop by the track near the river for a spell while the rooster, tethered to the mans leg by a red rope, pecks at the bugs oozing out of the wet soil. The nightly rainfall may wake him up in time to find shelter, or he may be woken from the mud the next morning by a large bulldozer thundering past.
The valleys are a patchwork of green and more green; the crops springing up in the fields on the distant slopes offer the appearance of the world’s most difficult golf course. The rivers are swollen from the end of the wet season rains and the tranquility of the valley makes you wonder why all that water is in such a rush to get somewhere. In actual fact it is headed swiftly to the Rio Chotano, which will eventually meet with the Rio Amazon, make its way past Columbia across the border to Brazil and emerge on the other side of the continent where after about 200km of travel into the Southern Atlantic Ocean that same bit of water will for the first time meet with some salt and become part of the liquid blue that surround our humble home. I sit down by the river while waiting for my equipment to equilibrate in the cold murky water, write a prayer on a rock and launch it into the torrent. The splash is swept away in a millisecond. In the distance I hear the reversing alarm of some earthmoving equipment which has been replaced by a device that plays the first line of the Lambada tune every time the driver shifts into reverse, instantly reminding me of where I am and the work I need to continue doing. In a few days, God willing, a helicopter will land and take me back to the traffic and heat of Chiclayo, followed by the craziness of Lima and the warm embrace of a wife.
Friday, April 27, 2007
You're Tops:
Dean Karnazes (Running Banshee)
Dean 'Karno' Karnazes is not a normal person.
Dean, based in San Francisco, left a successful marketing career to go for a bit of a run. It's been a few years now, and he's still running. Plenty. And I'm not talking about your 45 minute gasp around the suburbs. He's done a bunch of crazy runs including the Western States 100 Miler, the Badwater Ultramarathon and last year he ran 50 marathons in 50 days in 50 states. He published a book about some of his shenanigans called Ultramarathon Man. It serves to chronicle the fact that he is certifiable. One anecdote from the book pretty much sums him up.
There are a few team-based relay runs out there. Dean entered one, but instead of completing it with all the blokes from the Sales Department, or the golf club, or the myriad of ways running teams are formed, Dean was running by himself: Team Karno. In order to fuel the furnace that drives this running machine he had a pizza company deliver some pizzas to him at an obscure intersection late at night so he could eat them as he ran. Which he did. And if memory serves me right he washed them down with a thermos of coffee...
Most recently, Dean has been nominated as one of Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People. You can vote for Dean to be included within the final 100 here. I'm into people who are into their thing––be that spelling, obscenely long runs or geo-politics. There's something about the obsessive and relentless pursuit of mastery and enjoyment in a field that's inspiring. Karno makes me want to have a go, to push things a bit, to turn what can be the suburban-treading-water posture to which I can so easily entropy into an adventure. And he's done it with a pair of shoes and a healthy disregard for self-applied boundaries. Go Karno, go!
Boomers for the Big Guy
Like Kathy Lette and Damir Dokic, Bernard Salt—Australia’s Favourite Demographer and Numerate Woman’s Crumpet—is generally good for a quote. He happens to be the only reason I go near The Australian’s weekend business section. Last week, he made a connection between two pieces of information that most of us already know, and gave us the heads-up on where revival in Australia might just be coming from. I think he’d be as surprised as the rest of us at his new title: Bernard Salt, Instrument of God…
First piece of information: the church skews old. Bernard says this is because people are more likely to worry about what God thinks of them as it gets more likely that they’re going to have to answer to Him.
Second piece of information: Australia’s population is ageing, or more precisely, old people make up an increasingly large proportion of the Australian population.
In this case, one plus two makes a really good marketing opportunity for the church. All those Baby Boomers have finally been convinced they need to think about superannuation; it can only be a matter of time before some of them concede that they may eventually die. And at that point, we’ve got ‘em!
So, all you evangelists out there, here’s what I suggest:
1) Enough with the hipster relevant-ism. You’re not going to win 55 year olds with in-depth knowledge of skater culture. Try brushing up on cholesterol medications and time-share investments in Queensland.
2) You might want to see if someone can re-write the lyrics to ‘Emotional Rescue’ to something a little more worship-friendly. Lots of your target market didn’t actually grow up in the church, and the last time they engaged in crowd karaoke was the last time the Stones toured, so it should make them feel right at home.
3) Can somebody go check that we’ve got hearing aid loops in the auditorium and hand rails in all the loos? And stop putting the bible reading up as orange text on a white background – I can’t read that, and my vision’s 20-20.
Bernard even had a suggestion as to how we could smooth out the age-spread in the church. He thinks God should apply some sort of discount rate on the basis of age – so the prayer of a 25 year old is worth two or three from a 75 year old. Now wouldn’t that make for some great stories? ‘I remember, when I was a lad, you could get a Porsche with two sentences tossed off during an ad break - and I didn’t get stopped by a red light until I was 32! But these days, honestly, I had to pray for a month just to get my tinea cleared up – and don’t even get me started on the parking spots…’
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Cacophony Review: Chasing Lions
What Lion is God calling you to chase? It's the question In a Pit with a Lion on a Snowy Day heads towards from its first page. Based on memorable titles alone, the book has kicked truly. The author, Mark Batterson, whose blog we feature on Cacophony, and who pastors National Community Church in Washington DC, begins with a seemingly random verse from 2 Samuel 23:Benaiah son of Jehoiada was a valiant fighter from Kabzeel, who performed great exploits. He struck down two of Moab's best men. He also went down into a pit on a snowy day and killed a lion.
So begins a book about opportunity in adversity, about facing the music rather than running for cover and about recognising the defining moments in life.
In many ways Chasing Lions is about risk, opportunity cost and sins of ommission. And while undoubtedly recognising the power and character-refining work of the Holy Spirit in this process, Batterson communicates in a style that is joyfully (largely) devoid of penti-speak.
Chasing Lions unpacks the obstacles to chasing the lions in our lives. Defying odds, facing fears, reframing problems, embracing uncertainty, taking risks, seizing opportunities and looking foolish are among them.
Make no mistake, this book isn't about selling all you have and putting it all on Jesse's Boy on the 5th at Doomben. It's about the God-ordained-Ephesians 2:10 type opportunities that we resist for the fear of failure. And, in some ways, it's about failing too. A question I've asked myself in the wake of Chasing Lions is 'how often am I failing'? Not spiritual, moral or character failure, but how many risks am I taking in work, in building relational intimacy, and in exposing myself to God-sized opportunities. The answer is: a bit but not enough.
Batterson casts our safe, adult, strategic lives against the unplanned mayhem of Pentecost at one point:Here's a novel thought: What if we actually did what they did in the bible? What if we fasted and prayed for ten days? What if we sought God with some ancient intensity instead of spending all our energy trying to eliminate His surprises? Maybe then we'd experience some ancient miracles.
The revealing thought is that the more of an agenda we throw at God, the more we determine the prevalence of self and the more we cut our selves off from God-sized opportunities (which are often more daring, more engaging and more defining than anything we can come up with). Ultimately, we discover that playing it safe with God is risky. And opening up to God is for the crash-helmet wearing thrillseeker.
Batterson and I share at least one thing in common: a belief in the importance of looking foolish. To be childlike (though not necessarily immature) is to allow ourselves to see the world through different eyes, from a different angle. Batterson introduced me to a new word: neoteny. Neoteny is the retention of youthful qualities by adults. He quotes someone quite famous who said: I tell you the truth, unless you change to become like little children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
As we see life through the eyes of a child, some of our fears and precautions are given their appropriate valence against the opportunities that stand up and bite us.
Batterson reckons that we all have a primal longing to do something crazy for God. I'm with him. We mightn't be waiting for a lion on a snowy day...neither was Benaiah. Yet he was obviously preparing for a big challenge and seized it when it came.
There's a whole lot of books lining the shelves of Christian bookstores that are high on fluff and low on content. While this won't go down as a long (182pgs), heavy-weight or intellectual tome by any stretch, there is a good balance between a call to live a life that exposes us to opportunity and a life that engages our minds at the same time.
Consider Chasing Lions a Berocca for the journey as a follower of Christ. If I was rating it out of 10 for genre, I'd go 7.5
Chased any lions lately?
PS. By the way, since he wrote the book, he's written a Lion Chasers' Manifesto which you may want to read over.
The Occasional Ensemblee Series:
Revelation by the banks of St. Lawrence River
Cacophony's first occasional ensemblee steps aboard from the northern half of the earth. Ladies and Gentleman, please give a warm Cacophony welcome to Mr Gavin Eva.
Today, I needed to escape the daily hustle and bustle of the centre downtown Montreal streets, so I walked about 5 kms to the quiet banks of the St Lawrence River, and sat for a few hours. I read Psalm 86 which tells of God's ever present help whenever we need him—all we need to do is ask. Whatever situation we find ourselves in, God's love is there in the troubled storms of life and the unforgivable mistakes we make along the diverse paths we travel along (He snatched me from the brink of disaster). The last verse says it all for me;As You, God, gently and powerfully put me back on my feet.
This made me think about all the unanswered questions in life that I have faced over the past couple of days.
(The Message)
1. Why is it that I take the common approach in life; and begin to rationalize my decisions dependant on what others are doing? I find that my mind will find any reason to find what is right/wrong, and if everybody else is doing it or not then it is not that bad. I believe the easiest way to answer this conundrum in life is my interpretation of the bait, and learning to steer clear of those moments (and what comes out of my mouth) through constantly renewing my mind. All I ask God is that he grants me the attitude of integrity; to have courage in the face of adversity, for there is never a wrong time to do the right thing.
2. Why is it that I sometimes choose to take the easier path, rather than seizing the God-given opportunities placed before me? I know through my journey of life that God is more interested in my character than my comfort.
I figure God would not have allowed me this awesome opportunity to travel if I was not being greatly challenged to grow. Problems in life lead to perspective, perseverance, and perfection ('P' words); and the difference with successful people is not that they have less problems; they just handle those problems differently. I know that problems that bubble through to the surface for me cause me such frustration, heart ache and angst, yet I need to learn that is part of the growing process (pain is what makes me more human). The potential possibility for growth is inside us all, and yet sometimes I fail to discover my real destiny. Why did I miss the
opportunity and avoid speaking to the lady (the one with 'chicken bum' lips) at the hotel today who just wanted to tell me about what was happening in her life. Why didn't I give her my listening ear even for a few minutes? Why did I only start writing down my trials, struggles and elation after leaving everything behind in Perth. Why did I leave so many missed moments uncaptured?
3. Why does God only speak to us when we are ready to receive? As I lie in the lush green grass, see the magnificence that was created, soak up the sun, look down on the wide cobblestone road below, the century old market place buildings on my left, and the tremendous amount of water flowing in front of me; I start to feel some of God's presence. Why is it that in my vain efforts to achieve anything, be someone notable, and be recognized or
status driven; I forget about the simple fact that all God wants is for us to take time out and be still. I have discovered that worry and worship do not mix at all, and that all that really matters in life is God and relationships with people. I must keep reminding myself to take time away from what needs to be achieved daily, and spend more time in God's quiet presence.
I'll let Henry David Thoreau finish up for me:A single rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten on the influx of better thoughts.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Kansas, or, The Medina of Nowhere
Mum’s tame bank manager thinks I should buy a home. The government is so convinced I should get into property that it’s offering cash incentives. I haven’t checked with the local cabbies, but I’m sure if I asked, they’d point out that houses have always been a solid investment. Paul Clitheroe says buying v renting is too close to call, but he’s only made a living out of financial advice, so what would he know? Anyway, apparently we’re all agreed; mortgages are the new black.
I really like the place I live at the moment, and I could buy it, if I wanted to. I call it the Bessel Vessel, which is a name as a vision statement, because I want it to overflow with good things. It has a north facing window – which I love - that looks out over flowering plums, and two bedrooms, and a bathroom with space for a washing machine. I love that there is always something going on in my complex; sitting in my apartment feels like sitting in your dorm room on a church camp – you just have to open the door to see something interesting. I love that there is a bus stop right outside my door with a bus that runs every half hour – even on Sundays – that can get me into the city in 12 minutes. I don’t love that my since my neighbour broke up with her boyfriend, she’s taken to drunkenly stumbling past my bedroom window at 4am most Saturday and Sundays. But given what I used to hear of their fights, his suffering was greater than mine.
I went looking for alternatives, and found a place which I’ve presumptively named Casa Kansas (as in, we’re not in…). It’s near a station on the new Southern Suburbs Rail Line, way down south – 35 minutes from the city at midnight on a public holiday. It’s a 2 bedroom brick and tile, probably 40 years old. It has hideous carpet and a terrifying kitchen, and the roof maybe sags on one corner, but there’s LAND. Hundreds of square metres – 728 of them, to be precise. I could see myself staking them out and counting each square metre off, just to wallow in the abundance. There’s space to plant trees, and space to build a shed, and those spaces aren’t the same space – I could do both! I’d love a shed. If I decided to hire a bobcat just so I could dig holes, I could do that, too. Digging holes would be almost as cool as a shed. I could have heaps of people over, and we could play music really loud, and I wouldn’t have to worry about waking up the crazy lady who lives underneath me – because there wouldn’t BE anyone underneath me!
Pastor T was talking about Lot, nephew of Abraham, on Sunday. (Oh, hey, this is off topic, but: imagine a pretty standard Sunday night CofC 'youf' service. Now go read the passage we were working from, Genesis 19:30-38. As observed, there was no flannelgraph version of that incident in Sunday School, but I pity the fool who would think it beyond the capacity of a Good Preacher to deal with the material. So, snaps to you Pastor T. Your GP status is ever more solidly established. Love your work.). Anyway, the connection was made between Lot’s enculturation into Sodom and his eventual (icky) downfall. I guess I shrugged – in-the-world-but-not-of-the-world, whatever, whatever, talk to me when you’ve got something I don’t know already… Which just proves that if you turn up the heat slowly, frogs like me won’t even fight.
The Bessel Vessel, and the wider triangle (work-church-uni) I live in is frankly well off, and I’m not talking about a naff ‘compared to the Third World’ kind of assessment. People are healthy – they have clear skin and good teeth and glossy hair. They make eye contact with strangers. Waitresses mostly smile back if you smile at them, and lots of them can calculate your change in their head. The roads are good, people spend money on their gardens, coffee shops litter the landscape.
In the shopping centre nearest Casa Kansas, every third store sells $2 tchotckes of doubtful provenance. There is a thriving pawnbroker but no franchised cafes. A Code of Conduct sits where my local shopping centre advertises wedding registries. The best maintained store in the place sells alcohol; the second best hires videos. There are kids everywhere, and not in decorous singles or pairs. They come in raucous multiples, four or five at a time, all sharing in the same genetic fortunes or misfortunes. Once school is out for the day, teens cluster like drifts of shed leaves over the carpark; I guess the local Maccas can’t employ them all.
I’d forgotten how nice my life is. I could call it privileged or blessed or fortunate, but they’re all comparatives, and the point is that I often don’t compare. I just mindlessly luxuriate in the deep pleasantness of the place and the way I live.
So do I buy in Pleasantville? I’d like to. My friends are here, it’s near uni, there are almost unlimited ways of distracting myself close at hand. I have a great church overflowing with talented, committed people, who use language like I do and have similar experiences of education and work. And I have 9CC, which is, well, my beloved 9CC.
Oz has its attractions too. A real house on real land is never going to be a possibility for me near the city. There are less places to go, so I might pay more attention to the place I am. I could be part of a small church, like the churches I grew up in. But the commute between Casa Kansas and work is likely to be an hour or more, and that’s the real prickle in the sock. In a world where discretionary time is more valuable than discretionary income, why would I voluntarily give up a sixth of my waking day?
And here’s where things get really pointy; what if God were to ask me to spend 10 hours a week on buses and trains and move somewhere my friends would never visit and go to a church full of people who aren’t like me? What if that’s the plan?
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Top 5: Brands
Ok, so this Top 5 could be misinterpreted as an advocation of materialism, but hear me out.
While I'm not a fan of labels, I love brands. I've spent a fair chunk of my life reading about them and designing and creating, then building them. At their worst, a brand can create an attractive and alluring, though false, perception of a company. At their best, the brand embodies the company and paints a picture of accuracy that is one you want to climb aboard.
A brand is a set of assets (or liabilities) linked to a brand's name and symbol that adds to (or subtracts from) the value provided by a product or service. It's not just the 'logo' but a whole host of visual and non-visual elements that create a perception of who and what a company is. Some of these are intentional, many more are incidental.
Brands end up taking a life of their own. Strangely, they can have a soul of sorts. Illegitimate in a spiritual sense, yet resonating with some of the characteristics of soul we might ascribe.
Sure, there are some things we see and just 'want one. That's probably not what I'm on about. A brand is usually built by degrees. A whole bunch of factors that accumulate to tell a consistent story. And you have a growing affinity for the brand because you like the story.
A few years back, Kevin Roberts of Saatchis created the notion of 'lovemarks'. Essentially, these are brands that people have fallen in love with—not because they give status or credibility to the owner (although sometimes that might be true), but because they're attracted to what the brand communicates and how effectively it tells its story.
Strangely, thumbing through these Lovemarks, you'll find people. Princess Diana is in there. This isn't cynical. People aren't loathing or bemoaning, they're recognising. Some would hope effortlessly and incidentally, Princess Diana came to represent a bunch of different values—a persona that people could wrap their heads around and form an opinion about.
Once more with feeling, brands shouldn't be viewed as status symbols (though some clearly are). Whether you're a fan of Coke or Pepsi, they're still cola beverages—it doesn't make you morally or materially superior to have an opinion. You just might have an opinion formed by the way these two companies have built their brands.
And they don't mean you necessarily want one for yourself either. You may love the way Harley Davidson have marketed themselves for generations yet have no desire to wake the neighbours each morning with nasty noise pollution. You may never wish to enter a Starbucks yet respect the way they've gone about building a worldwide brand.
I've made one of these lists once before (in 1988). For the sake of posterity, here's two:
1988
1. Nike
2. Esprit
3. Apple
4. Honda
5. Clinique
6. Remo General Store
7. Pepsi
2007
1. Apple
2. Nike
3. Moleskine
4. Remo General Store
5. San Pellegrino
6. Krispy Kreme
7. Birkenstock
So, how 'bout you?
Monday, April 23, 2007
Carpe Diem
William Shakespeare writes about opportunity in Julius Caesar. Brutus is urging his comrades to seize a fleeting opportunity in an armed conflict and is given these lines:There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and miseries.
On such a full sea as we are now afloat;
And we must not take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
Lest We Forget
Today is ANZAC day. For those cacophonists not familiar with this Australian holiday, every 25th of April since 1916 has been set aside as a public holiday to commemorate the landing of Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (hence, ANZAC) at Gallipoli. Dawn services at war memorials are a standard act of remembrance, as are parades throughout the day.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
We love our narratives, they permeate our literature, films, dinner parties and phone conversations. The more I step back and consider my life, the more I want to be a part of a story, not only in areas of faith but family, country and history. More and more I am coming to see my life less as a series of events, or a timeline, or a list, or a ticking clock, but as a character. This character isn’t a persona I adopt, like some bug-eyed hack with translucent skin and a poor self image in a simulation computer game - rather I’m discovering who I really am and how I fit into this saga.
As I consider the meta-narrative of our faith, I begin to realise that there is a dissociation between our collective past and present. We spend so long contemplating our future and how it affects our ‘now’ that, often, we do not know our own history. I’m beginning to see that we need a healthy pull between past and future to understand our present and actually live it well.
When it comes to Christian faith the story that we remember, live and proclaim is fantastical. I caught myself on Good Friday thinking “oh right, wow, this is what I believe is more real than what I see. Well, that changes everything and makes me slightly odd.” The cool thing about the Christian story is that we are caught up into the plot. This is no fairy tale, but deep Reality and instead of me forming my view on what my beliefs are, I allow the story to shape me. I let the story tell itself through me, rather than imposing my own creative ‘genius’ on the plot line.
Remembering has become an important part of my life, this week holds one of my favourite days of the year as I wake early (some sort of miracle) to stand among the crowds at the ANZAC day dawn service . A increasing sense of importance hangs around April 25th as we realise that those who lived the remarkable story of Gallipoli are gone. What a daunting prospect it is to realise that if the ANZAC story is to be told in the decades to come, we must take it upon ourselves and tell it as if it were our own. Imagine how the second generation of disciples felt - “oh no, John’s just died, how do we keep it going now?”
Do we realise the amount of people who have gone before us, that have lived, died and decomposed in the ground? Here’s a thought that keeps me up at night, am I eating atoms that comprised someone else’s body millennia ago? Is the thing that is sustaining me now, actually someone else from long gone? I’ll just let that freak you our for a moment before proceeding.
......
Irrespective of whether we acknowledge it or not; we stand on a mound of war, love, bodies and stories that all contribute to who we are. I want remembrance to become a part of my life, not only when I eat the cracker and drink the juice at church, but as I interact with my society and contemporary culture.
Back to our faith (as I find that everything else bleeds from this beating heart) the truth remains that if you believe the Christian story you’re already part of the plot. The story of Israel, says Fee and Stuart, is our story. Idolatry, religion without heart – doesn’t it sound familiar? What a great source of comfort it is to read Hosea after you have let your current addiction/fetish/laziness master you and you’re seeking restoration. Colossians 3 tells us that we have died and been resurrected with Christ – his story is now our own (or perhaps our stories are now given up for his). Again, there is much to be learnt from the early church, and from the middle ages and from the Protestants. There are many, many smaller stories that are making up this metanarrative and we’re all in this together, our stories are connected.
As someone who forgets what happened two days ago, it is a stretch to scrabble in the past trying to find a sense of place and history. I want to join what’s already going on and contribute to the story in my own peculiar, distinct way. I need to. I don’t want to fight my way through life trying to establish a new identity, or a new purpose, or joining a new cause. I already have one, I already have all of those things because I’ve been written into the Story. I look to the past, to the stories of those who have gone before to understand who I am and where I’ve come from. This holy saga is not individualistic, but it’s unique. It’s not based on capitalism or materialism, but it’s rich. I aim to live with the story soaking everything I do, every part of who I am. Because when I understand who I have been, who I am and who I will be, life becomes a great adventure.
Lest we forget, hey?
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Psalm Despatch #3: Continuum
The prayer book of the Bible, Psalms, shows us plenty about how we respond to God in worship, in joy, in sadness, in darkness and in victory. It does more though. It models healthy living.
Amongst the 150 Psalms that made their way into the Canon, there's a diversity of intent, perspective and orientation. Down the track, we've allocated Psalms into genres—not dissimilar to how we might dissect other forms of literature. That's useful, it reveals the heart-cry of the writers.
Across the Psalms is an integration and wholeness modeled beyond these specific prayers. As we zoom out, we see a pattern behind the prayer—a connectedness to embrace.
Integration (or Strenuous Wholeness) is about allowing God to form us in Christ through the stuff of life and our experience of God within and beyond that stuff.
Our childhood, our parents, our education, our success, our failure, our work, our play, our relationships and our spiritual heritage all form part of our journey. There's a tendency and temptation to, as one songwriter put it, place them in a box until a quieter time, lights down, you up and die. And yet, Psalms teach us over and over that, amongst the pain and regret of the past, there's fuel and hope for the future. Cast the ugly bits aside and we deny them the opportunity to inform our future (or even be a part of our story).
Take a look at the labels on Cacophony, and you'll notice that 'Strenuous Wholeness' is a thread running through many posts. There's no greater place to see it in an action, than in the Psalms.
Why? The Psalms are the prayers of people not unlike you and me who, in their triumph, victory, brokenness and shame, took their gear to God.
Within Hymnic Psalms, writers give God His worth for His timeless and steadfast love throughout generations. They're not so much 'now' Psalms as they are an outright declaration of praise for God's faithfulness through history—in creation, to His chosen people, Israel, and to the writers. An affirmation of who God has shown Himself to be. They're the truth written about God written in the poetic so we don't go forgetting.
In Laments, the plight and desperation of the writer is blurted out before God—no filters, no niceties—raw, unadulterated and unplugged. Sometimes in full fury, sometimes in complaint, sometimes in repentance. In all these though, they retreat to God. So often, there's a 'yet God' or 'but God' that becomes the pivots from looking inward to looking God-ward. Recognising God within a situation, the orientation changes from doing it solo to inviting God into the circumstance.
Thanksgiving Psalms are some of the most inspirational, heart-stretching, vibrant, worship-provoking Psalms in the corpus yet, incredibly, they are dominantly rooted in Lament. While the Lament is written from plight and desperation, Thanksgiving Psalms praise God for what He has done. Thanksgiving Psalms are the beautiful babies of the Lament. The offspring of pain. 'In my distress I called out to God...and He heard me'. They praise God for what He as done (quite specifically) and who He has been. Within a particular situation God has acted or, more commonly, God has revealed and demonstrated His character in a manner that changed the complexion of a circumstance. The tone is gratitude and joy.
The transition from Lament to Thanksgiving is not one of please-thankyou, but petition-praise. I called, you answered, and you came to my rescue. In a way, it's misleading to call them Psalms of Thanksgiving because we simply hear 'thanks' as we understand it. It's broader than that. Within our lives, within our continuum, we can rely on God's character to prevail within our worlds and, out of that revelation, we praise Him. Within the heart of the lament is the seed of thanksgiving.
This isn't an exhaustive review of Psalms, it's a vigorous biblically-informed model of integration. Strenuous wholeness is the product of a life connected. Our continued formation in Christ comes from paying attention to what He's up to in us and in our worlds. Psalms show us that God journeys with us as we invite him into the specific punctuation marks of our continuum; as we allow Him to demonstrate His power, healing, grace, mercy, forgiveness, redemption, restoration and compassion in and through us.
Our acknowledgement of Him at work through all eternity writes his character on our hearts. Running to Him in the ugliness of life allows Him to wrap his arms around us and to be present with us. And bringing Him into that ugliness allows him to turn us around and look up. Within that ugliness we discover that grace makes beauty out of ugly things—and we discover a catalyst for thanksgiving.
Integration isn't always the easy thing, but it's the God thing. And our wholeness in Christ comes from bringing all our stuff to the foot of the cross to discover that only He can join the dots of our continuum.
Friday, April 20, 2007
This Beautiful Mess
Stalwart cacophonists may be interested to know that for half a day this blog was called 'This Beautiful Mess'. It failed to stand the test because, while the notion behind the title was brilliant, it wasn't original. And that just wouldn't do. I think I'd just heard Rick McKinley talking about his new book by the same name and it stopped me in my tracks. In many ways it paints a picture of what Cacophony's about.
My recurring thought is that beneath the beautiful mess is a holy intent.
I'm yet to open the book, but it's about the Church, Christ's Bride. Stumbling around in a tattered dress. Stained by milleniums of unfaithfulness, forgetfulness, emasculation, legalism, violence and judgement and yet still, though the ashes, radiating with the beauty of that Holy intent. The radiance sometimes only seeps through the cracks, yet it's there. Every time someone reaches beyond themselves, cheers someone on, sees context over method, seeks justice with grace, speaks words of life...in short, whenever someone points towards the Bridegroom. Every time a bunch of Jesus-followers grow up a little more and shine God-colours into their worlds or add saltiness to their patch of influence. In fact, any time we pull on our pants and go to work with an eternal agenda, we allow that holy intent to seep out. And we allow the beautiful mess to reverberate. In those moments it becomes more beauty than mess.
Pull back the curtains on churches everywhere and you'll find people: broken, healing, doubting, affirming, downcast, believing, wrestling, comforted, hopeful, encouraged, lamenting, praising, arguing and reconciling but, ultimately, redeemed and restored. This beautiful mess is the melting pot of God's holy intent.
Perhaps the moment you put more than one person in a room, you plant the seeds of disharmony; of messiness. And, as the number grows, you also plant the seeds of legalism. After all, if we're going to be lights to the world, we better have our lives together and be singing from the same hymn book. At the very least, our veneer should communicate this. The problem is, we can portray perfection through a vivid fascade—a charade we think is pretty convincing. But rather than attracting, it repels—inside and out. The reality is a struggle: a wrestle that reasonates. But if the church finds reality too confronting we can be lured into peddling a romantic comedy rather than a real life drama. We underrate the average punter's ability to spot a fake. It's not that hard when the veneer is such a poor imitation of authenticity.
As one band put it, we are a beautiful letdown; painfully uncool, the church of the dropouts, the losers, the sinners, the failures, the fools. That's so unattractive isn't it? We want to be so much more. And it's true, in Christ we become so much more. Yet we need be continually reminded of the mud we were rescued out of. And to remember that it is because the bridegroom has said 'come' that we get a chance to eat at this celestial bridal table.
For some reading along, this beautiful mess is thoroughly confusing. Your context is so beautiful (glamorous even) and the dew of unity runs continually down Aaron's beard. If this is true of your context (and it's beyond superficial thin-slicing) that's brilliant. I don't doubt the presence of such communities. Although I once heard someone say that if you find the perfect church then leave, you'll only ruin it! Don't construe my sentiment as negativity or resignation. I believe in God's intent for His Bride with all I am.
But beauty is more than skin deep. And we're porous. We leak. Who we are seeps through our skin. As we mature as a community of Jesus-followers we can certainly seep beauty, but I believe that comes through a steady formation of our spiritual character. Through the rough and tumble of relationship. We weep with those who weep, we rejoice with those who rejoice. This is life. This is the church.
As a lecturer I had last year said: 'I know so much more than I live. I don't live nearly as well as I talk'. We know how we see ourselves and how others see us and, often, it's not that great. Our mandate is not to air our dirty laundry; I'm not advocating that. Our mandate is to usher in the Kingdom of God and be agents for Jesus' restoration of the world. Much of our journey of discipleship and formation together becomes a journey of seeing ourselves through the new reality that we have in Christ. We've been brought up in a graveyard yet we've been given this new life and we're not used to it. Grace is a different world altogether. As so we need a new vocabulary—everything re-imagined through the lens of grace. As another song says, 'grace makes beauty out of ugly things'.
And that's the church: this beautiful mess. The church is not the utopic place for figuring out this new life of grace, but it's the best place. It obviously wasn't God's intent that the church be perfect—He's taken the weak and the poor to build His Kingdom. He uses people like us. Is it any wonder that it gets messy?! The truth is that the beauty is the God-colours shining through the cracks in our brokenness to reveal his Holy intent.
We needn't to throw our hands up in despair either. This sometimes limping, sometimes bumbling, gradually mended, strident and purposeful church that we are a part of is God's plan to reconcile the world to Him. This scares and excites me. In the wake of Jesus, God has a bold one-point plan to restore man to God: the church empowered by the Holy Spirit. Whether or not you believe the church is effective or ineffective, potent or impotent, it's God's idea. He says to us as He says to Peter: 'the gates of hell will not prevail against it'.
Many facets of our journey in Christ comes back to a gradual discovery—or a wrestle to reveal this holy intent. Never let the mess blind you to the beauty (or vice versa) but search for the Holy intent that God continues to hanker after for His Bride—you and me—the Church.
Grateful acknowledgement to Eugene Peterson, Rick McKinley, Jon Foreman and Bono for their influences on this post. Some of these words are from their lips.
Dick & Rick Hoyt
I stumbled over this while looking for something else earlier today...Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we'd better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we're in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he's there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!
Hebrews 12: 1-3 (MSG)
Not feeling 100%?
Forget Rob DeCastella and some multi-vitamin, here's the guy you want to go see.
If only the sign was a little longer so he could expand further on the 'etc..' I'm sure people get the idea though...those conditions are all in roughly the same ballpark.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Armbars ain't armbars
I've half written a theological reflection on ultimate fighting post in my head but there comes a time when the sheer joy of well-executed flying armbar requires it be shared immediately.
Amen.
Church with crash helmets
Annie Dillard, from Teaching a Stone to Talk:On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning.
It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.
Thoughts?
Not me, but sometimes I've come close
A case of "coffee rage" is among a string of incidents that have landed a Nelson (NZ) man in prison. This from the Nelson Mail.
Ryan Alen Hobbs, 31, appeared in Nelson District Court for sentencing on Monday. His lawyer told the court the disorderly behaviour charge was laid after Hobbs suffered a case of "coffee rage" at Nelson's Yaza Cafe. Hobbs considered himself a coffee connoisseur, and was adamant he was being served coffee with curdled milk. Hobbs spat outside the cafe, but said this was to get the taste of the curdled milk out of his mouth, Mr Dollimore said. Judge Peter McAloon said as well as the new charges Hobbs was facing, he was also to be re- sentenced on previous crimes for which he had not completed his community work. The judge sentenced Hobbs to a total of six months in prison, and denied him leave to apply for home detention
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
A Convenient Religion?
You'll find a whole lot to sigh deeply about in this article but there's a notion that's interesting to ponder at the same time: our search for meaning and our desire for a cause. Is there truth within the diatribe? Where do followers of Jesus fit within the dialogue? And what does it reveal about human-kind, circa 2007?"Environmentalism has largely superseded Christianity as the religion of the upper classes in Europe and to a lesser extent in the United States. It is a form of religious belief which fosters a sense of moral superiority in the believer, but which places no importance on telling the truth."
- Ray Evans, Author of Nine Facts About Climate Change