the Lord God made them all...

They are children trapped in old people’s bodies.
They are Joan, and Sharon, and Paddy, and oh so many others who live in a home just around the corner from me. Their bodies have lived faster than their minds. So they have inquisitive, playful, irresponsible, naughty, short tempered, kind, easily distracted childlike thoughts. But these thoughts are contained in bodies that have lived for fifty, sixty, seventy – and in once case ninety-three – years.

Life has been difficult for their families, as their parents have had to come to terms with a differently-abled child. And then the worry about providing for the future of a beloved child/adult. And then the heart-sore decision to place them in a home that can care for them in ways that an aging parent cannot. So there has been sadness.

But today was a birthday party. This home from home, Adam’s Farm, was turning ninety years old. I was invited to share cake and tea. I was invited because I have come to know them on Sunday Mornings. They come to church and sit in the pew halfway down on the right hand side of the church. This is “their” pew – and beware anyone who sits here by mistake. They will be told to move up, probably by Paddy. And when it comes to the part in the service when we celebrate special occasions one of them will claim a birthday (I am convinced that they decide in advance whose turn it is). And then Sharon will thank the congregation for praying for her family, and Joan will ask to sing “All things bright and beautiful”.

But they are good for our church. They remind us that God loves “all creatures great and small”. And their presence helps to knock the arrogance out of those of us who believe that our intellectual abilities can bring us closer to discovering God. And their participation is a wonderful reminder that we do not have to be “perfect” in order to be loved by God.

And so I shared in today’s service of thanksgiving. We sang “All things bright and beautiful”, and some prayed short uninhibited prayers about people we did not know but who were clearly loved by the child/adults, and then the happy clatter as we scrambled for the tea. And many pushed and shoved to get their pictures taken.

And I came home grateful for the blessing they brought into my day.

Dying

I am dying.
I think I have known this for some time.
I look in the mirror and see cells that are dying: my hair cells have given up trying to produce colour. My skin cells have slowed their regeneration. My knees ache when I run, my shoulders hurt when I play tennis. And my aging sinuses give me headaches when the weather changes.

I am reminded of dying when my beloved dog dies.
I am reminded of dying when I have one too many funerals for people I have loved.
I am reminded of dying when the Middle-East/Dafur/Iraq explodes once more into death and destruction.
I am reminded of dying when the Church I have worked for, and loved, for nearly 50 years shows (yet again) her capacity to squeeze the life out of me…
And I wonder what lies beyond death.

I choose to believe that the relationships of this life will reconnect after death.
I think that all of life is so sacred that death is not life’s grand destruction.
And so I believe in resurrection…..
….a resurrection of every life that has been lived – human, animal, plant, insect.
And I believe in redemption: that all of life is valuable and that no life is lost.
And that there will be things I still need to learn.
Some may have more to learn than others.
I imagine that Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Robert Mugabe will have much more to learn about valuing life than say Desmond Tutu or Mahatma Gandhi.

This means that there are no harps and clouds, or 1000 virgins for every righteous man, or eternal rest, or thrones and golden crowns, or rewards for good behaviour. These are clearly projections of human longing. And heaven is not “above” and hell “below”. In fact there is no hell. Hell is probably meeting the one you called “enemy” and having to learn to be friends; or discovering that the one you condemned as an unbeliever is compassionately welcoming you to your next life.

I believe that God calls me to follow the way of Jesus as the most helpful way of learning my lessons, and living my life. And I will share the wonder and the passion I have found in the Jesus way of life with other searchers, in the hope that they too may grow in their spirits. And I will honour those who hear God calling them to follow a different spiritual path.

So this life extends beyond death. And the things I learn in this life will become useful in another life after my death. There is never a moment in this life that is wasted – because everything is useful. Both good and bad alike.
So bring it on.

Sheena 1/11/2000 - 19/05/2007

An Irish Setter.
But much more……
A running companion who would hop and skip while waiting for the lead to be clipped to her collar. True to her breed, she had endless energy and loved exercise.
A truly messy dog. She loved to lie in the sand, or rub herself through the bushes, coming into the kitchen with sticks in her feathering, and her long hair messed up like a nutty professor. Her permanently optimistic disposition was never put off by obstacles such as rain or wind. She would stand in the rain, or pant into the wind, until called inside.
A gentle spirit who loved being scratched behind her ears, or stroked on her face. She tried barking, but her “yip” was not enough to frighten anything – not even the tortoise.
An everhopeful spotter of squirrels in the back yard. Her task was to spot the squirrel so that Nugget, our Labrador/Great Dane, could set off after them. Together they prowled the garden keeping the small furry creatures in the tops of the trees.
An inquisitive, intelligent girl, who learned how to snatch a sandwich off the kitchen table, and to sneak down the passage in search of the cat’s food. She managed to look so contrite and bashful when caught, that Granny never thought her to be guilty. She loved fruit such as apples, banana and grapes. And biltong. In fact she loved eating.
Thank you for bringing joy to our lives for a time.

Winter is Coming

The rain is falling against the window pane next to my computer. Rain driven by the North-Westerly wind. The television weather woman has told us about the cold front marching on Cape Town from the South Pole, bringing heavy rain and gale-force winds. She added that there was a good probability of snow on the mountains that ring our city. Winter is coming.

The leaves on the grape vines are changing colour. Golden yellow orange turning to brown. So too are the oak trees. But their leaves are falling to the ground. Great heaps of them. I recently walked through them, kicking my way forward with the exuberance of a young boy. Remembering leaves as a sign that winter is coming.

The tortoise in our garden has slowed up. We fetched him a year ago from a farm near Carnarvon, where he was called Bloukrans. The family have taken to calling him “Tortie-boy”. All summer he ate his way voraciously through lettuce, cabbage, cucumber, and the back lawn. He would make his journey down the long driveway to stand against the back gate with his head through the bars peering across the road while he absorbed the sun. But now he emerges reluctantly from his home in the dog kennel to lie in the sun for a while. After nibbling a bit at his breakfast, he returns to his kennel. Because winter is coming.

And Sheenah, our beloved Irish Setter, is lying on the kitchen floor. Her red coat is matted with sweat and her eyes are exhausted. She has suffered from epileptic seizures over the past 18 months. Which have curtailed her enthusiastic, madly hopeful barking at the squirrels in the garden. But the fits are increasing in severity - 10 seizures in the past 24 hours. And the medication is not helping. I fear that her winter is coming.

And I sit like a rock in the grass, waiting for winter to wash over me.

Seven Secrets

I’ve been tagged by Denise to write seven things no one knows about me. It's blog tag. And I'm IT. And Denise is a wonderful writer (who is really worth visiting for her evocative writing)who has no problem with spilling the beans... Okay, little known facts about me…



One: I wish I was 10 kg lighter. I weigh 90kg, and used to weigh 80kg. That was when I was running 100km per week. But right now I am not running at all. I pretend that I am a runner by reading running magazines. But I am over my running weight and after more than 100 marathons the knees are sore and the spirit is not as disciplined as it used to be.
Two: I love writing. I feel free when words are being shaped, prodded and pushed through then ends of my fingers. I wish that I could take a year off and just write. But the responsibilities of a family, and of putting a roof over our heads and getting bread on the table are ever present. So I snatch at moments in between other things.
Three: I take great delight in initiating my daughters into the ways of men. Because they have no brothers, they need to discover that men burp loudly, that we swagger with style, that we turn up the sound when rugby/cricket/golf/tennis (in fact any sport) in on the television and we turn down the sound when Days of our Lives or Generations comes on. I take great delight in the collective groan when I begin my “manly” act.
Four: There are songs that make me cry: like when Katie Melua sings The Closest Thing to Crazy, and when Eva Cassidy sings Songbird. I cry when Ralph McTell sings Streets of London, and Johnny Cash sings Orphan of the Road.
Five: I sing to myself when I am driving. Often I sing along with the song playing on the CD or the radio. I also curse other drivers. And plead with God to open a space in the traffic for me.
Six: I have bookshelves filled with many, many biographies. I am inspired by reading the lives of other people. My favourites are the lives of Nelson Mandela, and Desmond Tutu: Mr Mandela has autographed his book. Archbishop Tutu has inscribed his book to me and signed it. These are my heroes in life. I absolutely admire their integrity. And their unswerving commitment to justice. And their capacity for forgiveness and grace-filled living.
Seven. I hate it when someone says to me “I support your position” and then they are not willing to be with me when I act on my beliefs. This last weekend I was asked to leave my church’s Synod because of my support for blessing same-sex unions. Some of my friends and colleagues joined me in a public declaration of faith. But then some who kept quiet said privately that “they were with me”. No – you were not with me. I was in the water, and you were on the river bank. (as you can see I am just a bit raw at the moment).

So who to tag? I have some wonderful people who visit this site from time to time. And would love to discover more about you. Dion is a wonderful scholar and Vesper addict; Wessel has a beautiful wife and family; David lives in the north of Scotland, inspires my dreams of an emergent church – and of birds; Murray writes from England and plays an amazing new guitar; Gus reads books, plays guitar, and loves his wife/dogs; Steve runs a wonderful blogsite to challenge Stupid Church People; and suddenly I realise that this is very male…...so Becky the master’s English scholar, had better come to the party.

McD Christian Churches

Our consumer culture infests the Christian Church.
We who are deeply shaped by the need for instant gratification, want to use our Church as a place to buy instant happiness. I encounter new church members who want to join my church “because of the friendly atmosphere”, or “for the great music”, or “because of the excellent preaching” (I have colleagues who preach very well).
David Fisher writes that

The church is often seen as a place to receive goods and services rather than a body whose purpose it is to serve….Consumers of religion decide church affiliation on the basis of the best services available.
David Fisher in the 21st Century pastor p.77

I long for people who will say to me that they have come to us because Jesus has called them to be here. And that they are called to serve in our street people project, or to visit the retirement homes we care for, or that that they want to participate in our summer Youth Holiday Club.
I pray that we will resist our lust for spiritual orgasm. And instead be willing to commit to a lifestyle of obedience to God’s call.

3:00am

So it is the middle of the night.
And I woke up to see the light on and the computer running – well it hums away to itself. And upon further exploration found my daughter Lisa working on an essay in her room. And I despair of the modern youth. Because she has to submit a University assignment by tomorrow. And so last night (Saturday) she watched a DVD with the family in the lounge and painted. She is working on a trilogy of canvases depicting a girl dancing. And this morning (Sunday) she watched another DVD with her sister Amy. Then she went out to lunch to celebrate the birthday of a friend. They just had to go to Nandos in Camps Bay….in the pouring rain nogal. Then she came home and told the family she is stressed out because she has to submit this Religious Studies Assignment. “And I will be working all night so don’t ask me to do anything else”…like drive to the rental shop to return the DVDs that she had watched!

So now I am awake. And I went through to her room. And I read through her work and helped her make sense of what she is writing. It is an assignment of mysticism within the Muslim tradition. And what do I really know about Sufism anyway? But I tried, because she is my daughter and she is “stressing” and it does not really help to berate her now for socialising her weekend away. Although it is very tempting to say “But why did you not begin this on Friday?” I guess we were all young once. Except that this stuff makes me old. And once I am awake it is harder to get back to sleep than it used to be. So I sit and write

Imagining God

I grew up with a God who was on my side.
God helped me with class tests and conversation with girls. God was this Magical Male in heaven who had blessed me with a stable family, opportunity to study, and a wonderful (White’s only) beach to play on after school. I was dimly aware that things were not well in my country, but thought that if Black people really believed in God then they would stop rioting and knuckle down to gain a good education. And they would discover the joy of serving the Lord.

I have since realised that this was a God of my imagination. I projected my needs onto God – and viola: a God in my own image. Richard Rohr puts this well “God turned into a mirror image and projection of our own self”. (Simplicity: the Freedom of Letting Go New York, Crossroads Publishing 1991 pp21-22) Rohr continues:

In the end we produced what was typically a kind of tribal god. In America God looks like Uncle Sam, or Santa Claus, or in any case a white Anglo-Saxon. In England, God evokes the British Empire. A Swiss God, perhaps, resembles a banker or a psychologist….we find it very, very difficult to let God be God who’s greater than our culture and our projections…..and so we’ve created “God” to go on playing our games: a God who fits our system. A God who stands outside our system and who calls to us is something we can’t endure. Thus, for example, we’ve continually required a God who likes to play war just as much as we do. We’ve required a domineering God, because we ourselves like to dominate.

Once we realise that God is a projection of our own need we have one of two choices: either we reject the notion of “God” and plough our own furrow in life. This allows me to live life as I please, choosing my own beacons for direction. The other option is to seek a Divine Being larger than my personal imaginings. This option asks me to dissolve my personal ego-driven life into the possibility that there is more to life than I will ever understand. This asks me to allow for a God who is beyond my explanation. This asks me to submit my life to a Divine Will that is beyond my manipulation. A God who will take me to places that are alien, that will make me uncomfortable, and even afraid.

I choose to be drawn into life by the Unknown God.
And ask your prayers that I can occasionally glimpse signs of the promptings of the Divine Spirit.

Freedom Day

Today is Freedom Day for South Africa.
We were once a people divided by race, oppressed by hate, and trapped in fear. A miracle of transformation saw those who were once oppressed become the rulers of this land. Desmond Tutu coined the phrase “a rainbow nation” to describe our dream that this land should be a home for all who live here. We have eleven languages, people with roots in many different parts of the world, and a variety of social and political cultures.

But are we free?
The short answer is that we are only free when our neighbours are free too. Our Zimbabwean neighbours are (mis)ruled by a despotic President Robert Mugabe. Slightly further north are the fearful people of Darfur, who are terrorised by other Sudanese citizens intent on driving them off their land. And then there is the Congolese struggle for power between government and rebel forces. So we are not free while their citizens flee to find refuge in our country.

But are we free?
Another answer suggest that we are not free while some South Africans live comfortably with access to education, work, and healthcare, and many others struggle to survive. While people face the ravages of HIV/Aids, TB, hunger, rampant crime, and homelessness, we are not free.

But are we free?
I see the greedy self-interest that drives many of the newly elected Parliamentary representatives and Government officials. I note the lucrative bonus incentives given to the newly appointed board members of large corporate business – the same businesses who pay minimum wages to their workers. I despair at the consumer society that traps our children into thinking that PS3 and Motorola, Disney and MacDonald, Paris Hilton and Beyonce, are the desired objects of their affection. And I am aware of the passion for sport that drives our nation to national despair when our teams lose. We do not live live with joyful freedom.

So what is it to be free?
Richard Rohr observes that true freedom is when we learn to let go. We are free only when we let go of our limited image of God, and discover a God beyond our controlling explanations. We are free when we abandon our self-centred individualism, and embrace the community around us. We are set free when we discover that the rule of God is far bigger than the Christian church. And we are free when we abandon prayer as a spiritual duty and discover the gift of silence. (Richard Rohr Simplicity: The Freedom of Letting Go).

Pray for me that I may be free.
And pray for my land – that we may never abandon the dream to be a Rainbow Nation.

The People formerly known as the Congregation

Let me introduce you to Bill Kinnon The People formerly known as The Congregation.
He wrote a comment on the church that has swiftly spread across the bloggosphere:

There are millions of us. We are people - flesh and blood - image bearers of the Creator - eikons, if you will. We are not numbers.
We are the eikons who once sat in the uncomfortable pews or plush theatre seating of your preaching venues. We sat passively while you proof-texted your way through 3, 4, 5 or no point sermons - attempting to tell us how you and your reading of The Bible had a plan for our lives. Perhaps God does have a plan for us - it just doesn't seem to jive with yours.
Money was a great concern. And, for a moment, we believed you when you told us God would reward us for our tithes - or curse us if we didn't. The Law is just so much easier to preach than Grace. My goodness, if you told us that the 1st century church held everything in common - you might be accused of being a socialist - and of course, capitalism is a direct gift from God. Please further note: Malachi 3 is speaking to the priests of Israel. They weren't the cheerful givers God speaks of loving.
We grew weary from your Edifice Complex pathologies - building projects more important than the people in your neighbourhood...or in your pews. It wasn't God telling you to "enlarge the place of your tent" - it was your ego. And, by the way, a multi-million dollar, state of the art building is hardly a tent.
We no longer buy your call to be "fastest growing" church in wherever. That is your need. You want a bigger audience. We won't be part of one.
Our ears are still ringing from the volume, but...Jesus is not our boyfriend - and we will no longer sing your silly love songs that suggest He is. Happy clappy tunes bear no witness to the reality of the world we live in, the powers and principalities we confront, or are worthy of the one we proclaim King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
You offered us a myriad of programs to join - volunteer positions to assuage our desire to be connected. We could be greeters, parking lot attendants, coffee baristas, book store helpers, children's ministry workers, media ministry drones - whatever you needed to fulfill your dreams of corporate glory. Perhaps you've noticed, we aren't there anymore.
We are The People formerly known as The Congregation. We have not stopped loving the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Nor do we avoid "the assembling of the saints." We just don't assemble under your supposed leadership. We meet in coffee shops, around dinner tables, in the parks and on the streets. We connect virtually across space and time - engaged in generative conversations - teaching and being taught.
We live amongst our neighbours, in their homes and they in ours. We laugh and cry and really live - without the need to have you teach us how - by reading your ridiculous books or listening to your supercilious CDs or podcasts.
We don't deny Paul's description of APEPT leadership - Ephesians 4:11. We just see it in the light of Jesus' teaching in Mark 10 and Matthew 20 - servant leadership. We truly long for the release of servant leading men and women into our gifts as apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers. We believe in Peter's words that describe us all as priests. Not just some, not just one gender.
We are The People formerly known as The Congregation. We do not hate you. Though some of us bear the wounds you have inflicted. Many of you are our brothers and our sisters, misguided by the systems you inhabit, intoxicated by the power - yet still members of our family. (Though some are truly wolves in sheep's clothing.)
And, as The People formerly known as The Congregation, we invite you to join us on this great adventure. To boldly go where the Spirit leads us. To marvel at what the Father is doing in the communities where He has placed us. To live the love that Jesus shows us.
http://www.kinnon.tv/2007/03/the_people_form.html

Baptiszo Sum

Christian Baptism – traditionally the sign of welcome into the Church – has become a place of exclusion

I participate in a tradition that practices infant baptism. We baptise babies as a sign that God’s Grace is at work in our lives before we even know that there is a Divine Spirit. I willingly embrace the idea that we do not find God, but rather that it is God who comes in search of us. I believe that infant baptism is a wonderful, symbolic way of expressing this.

Yet at the same time my church’s Laws and Disciplines make it so hard for parents to baptise their children. We ask that at least one of the parents be a “full member in good standing” with our denomination. And we have ways of determining how this requirement is fulfilled. We look for membership promises, regular church attendance, committed financial support for the local church, marriage, community acceptance, and a host of other unwritten values. And this works well for those who are “inside the club”. But this makes access to baptism very hard for those who are on the margins : single parents, people who cannot afford church dues, those in relationships outside of heterosexual marriage – and especially those who have drifted from regular church attendance!

We justify this by saying that for infant baptism to be meaningful, the parents must show evidence of a capacity to keep their promises: “prove that you are able to get over the bar and we will reward you with our religious ritual”. Something that should tell of a Godly encounter, has become a reward for religious success. And we get to be the judge of someone’s spirituality. A ceremony that should speak of welcome, has become a moment of exclusion.

And I am no longer in the same place as my church tradition.
I am awed when someone comes to me and asks to make a public commitment to being a good parent. I am overjoyed when someone wants me to pray God’s blessing over the life of their child. I am humbled that someone should want their child to be welcomed into the Christian Church. And I will no longer set up hoops for you to jump through before you are welcome. I will willingly baptise your child.

Unexpected Grace

Peter is a drunk.
He guards cars in the street outside my office during the day. And then at night he drinks. He has a bedroll, which he unrolls in a dark corner of the church garden. And alcohol gets him through the night. Increasingly he is using alcohol to get him through the day too.

Peter is a qualified boilermaker, who used to work on oil rigs making good money. He has a 12 year old daughter who lives with foster parents, and does not know about him. Last year he hitch-hiked to her home so that he could see her. She was at school when he visited her foster parents. Peter told me about the prizes she had won at school, and how proud he was of her. He stood across the road from her home and watched her return from school – but did not speak to her.

Peter often tells me that he is going to reform his life: “After Christmas”, and then “In the New year”. And more recently “I will be at church on Good Friday, and then I will stop drinking”. Most of the time his only contact with the church is to use our garden as his toilet. Recently in a drunken rage he threw his bedroll into the church garden and damaged a flower bed that a church couple had nurtured to life in memory of their son. And I had to explain to them that this damage was not vindictive, and that street people are loved by God too. But I am finding this hard to believe. And I am exasperated by him.

And yet….
Today I met a young unmarried mother who has been thrown out of her home and who now lives with her grandmother. They survive on a welfare grant, in a tiny city council apartment. She desperately hangs on to life, and admits to crying herself to sleep at night. “So how do you get through the month?” I ask. She replied:
“Well, I met Peter in the road. And he said I should come to you for counselling. He also gives me money from what he makes as a car guard”.
And I learned a lesson about the grace of God that is to be found in every person.

Prayer

Prayer leads you to see new paths and to hear new melodies in the air. Prayer is the breath of your life which gives you freedom to go and stay where you wish and to find the many signs which point out the way to a new land,. Praying is not simply some necessary compartment in the daily schedule of a Christian or a source of support in time of need, nor is it restricted to Sunday morning or a as a frame to surround mealtimes. Praying is living.

- Henri J.M. Nouwen
from “With Open Hands”

Christ is Risen?

Christians are not alone in believing the death and resurrection of a divine being.
Long before Jesus, the Egyptians worshipped Osiris, the Babylonians believed in Tammuz, and Syrians and Greeks worshipped Adonis. All celebrated a cyclical death and resurrection of their particular god. So is this Christian resurrection tradition not built on the already well established traditions of Mesopotamia and classical religious faith? And of course the celebration of resurrection is timed to coincide with Spring, and the return of the sun to the Northern Hemisphere. And it is all too easy to dismiss Jesus as just another in the long history of resurrections narratives.

So why do I believe the resurrection of Jesus…. And ignore the story of Osiris, or Attis, or Mithras?

I believe because of my personal experience of being loved.
The Spirit of God loved me at an Easter youth camp, and changed my life: a small resurrection happened within me. I can trace other moments too – a moment when I was an instructor in a military base and experienced an insistent urge to renounce military violence and work as a pastor; a moment when I was detained by the Apartheid police and felt the deep peaceful presence of God; a moment in college when I knew the love God as I grappled with academic pursuit. (Of course my friend Dion will tell me that these are all electrical impulses in the synapses of the brain).

And yet each of these was a moment of resurrection. Because key to each of these moments was the knowledge that despite my fears, failures, selfish motives, and deeply destructive impulses, I was unconditionally loved by a Power bigger than myself. A Power described by Jesus as my “Father in heaven”. A Power that continues to conquer the many deaths in me with opportunities of renewed life. And therefore a Power able to conquer the death of Jesus.

Christ is risen?
He is risen indeed!

3 April 1982

On that day she was beautiful! (She still is). And I was amazed and delighted that Jenny agreed to marry me. The service was conducted by the Rev Ray Light – one of my life’s mentors. I and my two bestmen had contracted raging pinkeye (conjunctivitis). So we stood at the front of the church wearing dark glasses to help protect our painful eyes. So the stunning princess married the Mafioso!

Since then we have certainly had our ups and downs. I remember a very difficult time after the birth of Jessica, our second daughter. Jenny was struggling with post-partum depression, and we were struggling with a very fractious child . It took us 9 months to discover that Jessica had an inner ear infection, and longer to find medication to restore Jenny’s hormonal balance. And more recently we have been in counselling to understand each other as we face mid-life changes.

Do I believe that everyone should get married? No I do not! Marriage is a calling given to some. A calling that demands a lifetime of 100% commitment to a partner. Some people are not called to this, and have my unqualified support as they celebrate life without marriage. Do I regret getting married? No, never. I owe so much of my personal growth to being married to Jenny. I have enormous joy in my friendship with her. And I could not imagine living life without her.

So here’s to the next 25 years!

Foolishness

It feels a bit like an April Fool’s joke: The idea of a “Crucified Christ” is absurd. How can the death of one man in ancient history have any bearing on my life today? Christianity asks us to believe that a man called Jesus was killed by a minor Roman governor, and this shapes my relationship with God 2000 years later. Assuming of course that this man ever actually lived, and is not just an image borrowed from Egyptian religious narratives, or from Greek mythology.

St Paul wryly admits that “we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Corinthians 1 vs 23). And articulate bloggers like Eddie (F) at Edge of Faith candidly and very effectively point out the absurdity of the notion of Jesus leading us to God.

And yet….?
And yet I have discovered that the quirky foolishness of God is far more satisfying than the post-modern logic of a modern cynic. I am attracted to the idea of a God who chooses to seek me out. I am comforted by the belief that I am unconditionally loved by a Creative Being who is beyond my knowing. And I am inspired by the knowledge that this Godly foolishness is available to all people – irrespective of their wisdom or lack therof: inspired mainly because I am a deeply flawed, fragile, insecure, and often mistaken individual who finds comfort is a God who understands my foolishness.

I have no need of a God who perfectly executes the plans of life. Give me a God who indulges in the foolishness of loving broken people, and I am able to join this project. Out of my experience of being foolishly loved by God, I find the courage to love other foolish people too.

Tiger

I meet once a month with a group of bikers who reflect on our lives so that we can live with a greater sense of adventure. This morning we reminded each other of our desire to be better men. I desire personal authenticity; to be less afraid of stepping into the unknown. And this circle of men gives me courage to do so.

I also wanted to be at the meeting because yesterday I got a new bike. And it is awesome. It is a 2002 Triumph Tiger. This is an upgrade on my previous Tiger, which now has 95 000km on the clock. The new bike has 2700km (yes: two thousand seven hundren km) on the clock. And I have spent the past two days riding. For all those Vespa scooter peddlers who are reading this, come to Cape Town and you can ride over Ou Kaapse Weg, Chapman's Peak, Hout bay, Llandudno, Camps Bay. But of course you will need decent wheels.

And for those without a Tiger, I went onto the internet and found a Tiger that might interest you

Top Ten Signs You're a Fundamentalist Christian

10 - You vigorously deny the existence of thousands of gods claimed by other religions, but feel outraged when someone denies the existence of yours.

9 - You feel insulted and "dehumanized" when scientists say that people evolved from other life forms, but you have no problem with the Biblical claim that we were created from dirt.

8 - You laugh at polytheists, but you have no problem believing in a Triune God.

7 - Your face turns purple when you hear of the "atrocities" attributed to Allah, but you don't even flinch when hearing about how God/Jehovah slaughtered all the babies of Egypt in "Exodus" and ordered the elimination of entire ethnic groups in "Joshua" including women, children, and trees!

6 - You laugh at Hindu beliefs that deify humans, and Greek claims about gods sleeping with women, but you have no problem believing that the Holy Spirit impregnated Mary, who then gave birth to a man-god who got killed, came back to life and then ascended into the sky.

5 - You are willing to spend your life looking for little loopholes in the scientifically established age of Earth (few billion years), but you find nothing wrong with believing dates recorded by Bronze Age tribesmen sitting in their tents and guessing that Earth is a few generations old.

4 - You believe that the entire population of this planet with the exception of those who share your beliefs -- though excluding those in all rival sects - will spend Eternity in an infinite Hell of Suffering. And yet consider your religion the most "tolerant" and "loving."

3 - While modern science, history, geology, biology, and physics have failed to convince you otherwise, some idiot rolling around on the floor speaking in "tongues" may be all the evidence you need to "prove" Christianity.

2 - You define 0.01% as a "high success rate" when it comes to answered prayers. You consider that to be evidence that prayer works. And you think that the remaining 99.99% FAILURE was simply the will of God.

1 - You actually know a lot less than many atheists and agnostics do about the Bible, Christianity, and church history - but still call yourself a Christian.

found at www.evilbible.com/Top_Ten_List.htm

Charity

When shall we have the courage to outgrow the charity mentality and see that at the bottom of all relations between rich and poor there is a problem of justice?
- Dom Helder Camara

Amazing Grace

Jesus tells a story (Luke 15) about a young man who insults his father, destroys the family’s inheritance, lives among foreigners, and loses his faith. In desperation he finally decides to go back home. And is warmly and lovingly welcomed home by his father. But instead of celebrating the love of his father for his brother, his older brother jealously rejects him. He correctly points out that this younger brother has done nothing to deserve his father’s love.

And I recognise the older brother every time we Christian people evaluate the lives of those who seek the Love of the Eternal Father. We are the older brother whenever an unmarried mother seeking the baptism of her child is judged unworthy by Christian people; or when a gay couple is refused God’s blessing in a Christian church because we believe that they do not deserve their union; or when a person of another faith is not welcome to pray with the Christian community because they have not learned to do it ‘our’ way. We are so convinced that people must earn the right to be loved by God. And so bewildered by the concept of God’s unconditional Grace.

“Please Lord – unmake our hardened hearts. And convince us Christians that your Grace is best revealed in the way we show mercy to the outcast.”

"The Great Moral Issues of Our Time"

Last week, James Dobson and a number of other Religious Right leaders wrote a letter to the National Association of Evangelicals, claiming that work on climate change was a distraction from "the great moral issues of our time”.
The letter reads:
"More importantly, we have observed that Cizik and others are using the global warming controversy to shift the emphasis away from the great moral issues of our time, notably the sanctity of human life, the integrity of marriage and the teaching of sexual abstinence and morality to our children."

Dear Dr Dobson.
I live in South Africa. We are a country that faces poverty, the ravages of Hiv/Aids, violent crime, gangsterism and drugs in our townships, and corrupt public officials. And the drought caused by global warming has ravaged the maize crops, and people are going to starve. But you want to tell us that abortion, gay marriages, and sexual abstinence are “the great moral issues of our time”? While these are indeed important issues, they are not the ‘great moral issues’. Our country needs the followers of Jesus to teach honesty and integrity, to encourage compassion for the sick, to stir a nation’s conscience to dismantling poverty, and to reclaim our sense of stewardship of the earth for God. Might I suggest that it is only the well fed, the healthy, the employed, and the physically safe who have the luxury of choosing human sexuality as the great debate of our time. The rest of us live with real issues of life and death!

But then, we are told, there was a time in history when the religious leaders debated “How many angels can dance on the point of a very fine needle, without jostling one another?..." (Isaac D'Israeli, "Curiosities of Literature", 1791) – this at a time when the general populace lived lives of quiet desperation.

Mr Dobson, Sir, please join us as debate the real moral issues of our day!

She's a Lady

I met her at the Crematorium where I was teaching my students about death, undertakers and cremations. I was alive and well. She was not. Encased in the unfinished pressed board of a pauper’s coffin, she lay on a trolly awaiting cremation. Her name, scrawled in felt-tipped pen on the top of the coffin, read “Christina Niemand”. And the sadness of this overwhelmed me. Because the Afrikaans second name “Niemand” when translated into English becomes “Nobody”. Here lies ‘Nobody’, about to be cremated by the state as a pauper, because nobody has claimed her.

No one deserves to be a Nobody. Everyone begins life with a father and a mother. There are connections with family and friends. And yet here is someone who has lost them. So I said a prayer for Christina Niemand. Because I know that in God’s sight she is a Somebody.

Cressida City

My friend Ernest has just lost his car. He had nursed it through 200 000km. He had serviced it regularly, polished it lovingly, and treasured its spacious interior. His family had spent many happy hours being transported to school/church/sport/sight-seeing trips. And then some thieving opportunist claimed it for his/her own. And he is heartbroken. Well Ernest, I know where it is. It is in Cressida City.

Because Gugulethu, just opposite the Cape Town Airport, is home to the Toyota Cressida. There are hundreds of them. They come in every colour and in varying states of disrepair.. They populate the car wash entrepreneurs, idle alongside the roads, and park in every conceivable driveway and open space. Their drivers create their own set of road rules. They crawl the curbs, climb the sidewalks, speed through red traffic lights, and stop without warning.

I was in Gugulethu today, and found myself out of my depth. Because I stopped for a red traffic light, and discovered cars (Cressidas) hooting at me to move along. I indicated a turn and had to avoid cars (Cressidas) overtaking me on the inside lane. I politely waited for the vehicle ahead of me to move forward in the queue, and was overtaken by a car (ok C…) who thought it quicker to cross the barrier line and both myself and the cars ahead of me and push in further ahead.

So I have had an epiphany. To get ahead I need a Toyota Cressida!
Now my father has one locked in his garage in Silvermine Village. Perhaps….

I lift up my eyes to the hills

Psalm 121 tells of the futility of looking for help in the hills. Well the Psalmist is right – because I was in the hills this past weekend and I had to help myself.
.
The family left Cape Town on Saturday morning for Greyton, a small village at the foot of the Riviersonderend Mountains. We planned to walk the 14km Boesmanskloof trail to McGregor on the opposite side of the mountain range. The trail is the only direct connection between these two villages. The other alternative is a 200km road trip. (A friend of mine suggested that this was a more logical alternative to the one we proposed).

We set off on the steep 400m climb to breakfast rock, where we were rewarded by a panoramic view of the village below. At this stage only Jenny and I appreciated the view. My daughters were seriously reconsidering their commitment to the walk. I lied to them that the worst was over, and they cheered up. After two hours of trailing through the high mountain valley we were rewarded by a series of pools and waterfalls known as Oakes falls. A very relaxing hour in and around the water gave us the courage to finish the day’s walk. The girls found out my lie as we toiled up the steep ascent to the gate at the trail’s end. A phone call to Fanie of Whipstock farm, and we were transported to our night’s accommodation. A hot shower, Amanda’s farm food, and a comfortable bed were the just reward for the day’s walking.

The walk back to Greyton on Sunday was brightened by Jenny skinny-dipping in the waterfall, and pancakes under the cool oak trees in Greyton.

Oh yes – the bit about looking to the hills for help?
Well, there is no help going uphill. But the view from the top is great.
And two days spent in the mountains is a great way to remember that “my help comes from the Lord who has made heaven and earth”.

a funny god

It's funny hey, how there is a god who will stop the rain for a church fete or Sunday School outing, yet will do nothing to stop a mudslide down a hill in the Phillipines killing whole villages.

It's also funny that this god will heal a believers bad back, yet sit by and watch 500,000 children die of aids each year in Africa.

It's funny as well, how he turns a blind eye to jealousy, envy, greed and selfishness, yet becomes all smiteful when dealing with homosexuals and cohabitees.

It's funny how he tells people to love one another, yet still blesses those who kick the crap out of their enemies.

It's funny how for one day of the year he is peace and goodwill to all men, yet for the other 364 is all wrath and judgment.

I'm glad that the world and religion have this dualistic god, a god who seems to randomly bless and curse on a whim; I'm glad because it reminds just how different Jesus is, that he is none of the above.
Yet I am sad; I am sad because most religious people, especially church people seem to serve a Bruce Almighty; I'm sad because they miss so much, and I am sad because they misrepresent Jesus.
"These are the days of Elijah" or so the song goes. Maybe now's the time to take a few false prophets down to the brook and behead them. That's my prayer for today. That those who would misrepresent Jesus would have their heads chopped off (metaphorically of course.

I am indebted to Dave Lynch who lives in Dingwall (Scotland) and posted this on his blog on Wednesday, December 06, 2006.

Please

I hate church leaders. I have just returned from a Circuit Quarterly Meeting. (Four times a year the leaders from five local churches from my denomination get together to discuss common needs and interests). Tonight these leaders debated whether they would allow people of the same gender to marry in our Circuit’s churches. “They are welcome to worship with us” was hastily added on to the condemnatory comments of each speaker. The devious dishonesty of this “welcome” was neatly summarised when one speaker noted that they need to come and worship with us "so that they can be convicted of their sin".

Shit – who says that gay people even want to be blessed in church! We have made it abundantly clear that they are sinners, and will not be blessed by us. Gay people understand the message: “In the name of the God of love – be gone!”

This has nothing to do with Grace, and God, and the things of Jesus, and everything to do with judgement, and self-righteousness, and spiritual pride. Gluttons, and bigots, and all manner of other sinners can come and be blessed - just not gay people.
I do not fit into this organization
Pray for me.

"Everyone is Doing It"

It was lying in little packets strewn across the road. The truck had taken the corner too sharply and shifted its load. And the driver stood forlornly looking at the pile of packets in the road.

But not for long. I was on top of the bridge looking down on the scene. And from my vantage could see people converging on the scene. Not to help the driver – but to help themselves! Like ants they scurried off the pavement into the road, before running away haphazardly through the traffic clutching white packets of sugar. One man climbed out of his car and grabbed at the packets, then climbed back into the car and drove off. Another piled his partner’s arms high with packets before they scurried off. And the hapless driver tried in vain to prevent his stock from disappearing. Within minutes the road was empty of sugar packets.

And I wondered at how ‘normal’ everyday people could turn into avaricious looters. How was it possible for people to hurry over to claim something that never was theirs to take. These were not tattood gangsters; neither were they involved in an elaborate criminal plot. They were random shoppers/business people/house wives/taxi drivers. The same people who deplore the crime in our country; people who call for the police to do something about the criminals; people who long for a crime-free society. And they thought nothing of stealing the property of another. A crowd of thieves.

Probably this is the key: “Everyone is doing it”. When everyone does it then it feels better. It is this that allows space for mob justice in township streets. It is this that allows company directors to award themselves obscene financial benefits at company expense. It is this that allows people like me – and you – to pick up a few bags of sugar in the road. And it is this that creates the criminal culture in our society.

Our culture changes when I refuse to enrich myself at the expense of another person….in fact our culture changes only when I learn to live with what I have without lusting for the possessions of another.

Now will someone please pass the sugar……

Chill Dude

She is beautiful. I spent the morning with her and fell in love. She is somewhere in her mid-thirties, but has aged well. She still moves with grace and poise, responding joyfully to my touch. She lies well on her side, and offers full bellied response to my every whim. And I am grateful to my friend and mentor Peter Storey for allowing me to play with his boat.

We were sailing in False Bay. It was a very hot Cape Town day, and we initially feared that there was not enough wind to make the day worth while. But once we had cleared the harbour we found a Westerly wind that carried us away from the diesel smells of the Naval ships. Past the light house, with its backdrop of mountains and houses scattered along its side. The water-cooled air was a welcome contrast to the sweltering summer’s sun overhead.

As the water hissed against the gunwales I was glad to be alive.
And was reminded that I play too little. I allow the cares and responsibilities of life to become the meaning of my living. And forget the words of the Master who spoke about allowing the worries of tomorrow to take care of themselves.

So if you are reading this – please pause and take a deep breath, and breathe out the stresses of your day.
Say after me: “Eish – môre is nog ‘n dag” (for those who do not live in South Africa you can translate this as “chill dude”)

Peace

Our Intolerance of "Other"

I am deeply saddened by the refusal of many African Anglican clergy to meet with the leadership of the American Episcopal Church. This because of a woman Presiding Bishop, and the Episcopal Church's acceptance of gay clergy. I found a quote that says it all:

The only purpose of the gospel is to reconcile people to God and to each other. A gospel that doesn't reconcile is not a Christian gospel at all....
(But) We don't really believe that the proof of our discipleship is that we love one another (see John 13:35). No, we think the proof is in numbers ... Even if our "converts" continue to hate each other, even if they will not worship with their brothers and sisters in Christ, we point to their "conversion" as evidence of the gospel's success. We have substituted a gospel of church growth for a gospel of reconciliation.
- John Perkins
from "With Justice for All"

Pray for us to increase our capacity for tolerance - and lose out hate for people who are gay, transgendered, or created to see life in another way.

Things I love....

The last post was about some of the things I really love: no, not naked men, but motorcycles and laughing. I have found another picture that combines some more loves: I love Jesus, and I love the female form! This cannot be blasphemy!

A Joyfull Moment

My friend Digital Dion suggests that we seek out the joy in life (go read his blog - see my link). My other friend Gus has often corrupted the name of my blog. See also the Anonymous comment to my last posting.
So here is a joyfull moment for you to laugh aloud!

A Day in a Life....

Today the office reopened after two week’s recess over Christmas-New Year.
And I thought I would get in early to clear my desk and tidy up the admin.
So I opened the door to the smell of fermenting homemade ginger beer….oh yes, the bottle had exploded in my hands on the day before Christmas and I had just closed the door on it. Bad idea. For a not inconsiderable donation, Pauline, the college caretaker, agreed to sort out the smell, and the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, and the residue on the photocopy machine.

Then there was Joe. Who had lived on the premises over Christmas with his friend G-Boy. They were there to prevent opportunists from stealing the copper plumbing pipes while the property was quiet. They are both recovering alcoholics. And I had regularly checked on them in the past two weeks, and praised them for their courage at sticking to their sobriety over Christmas and New Year Celebrations. Until this morning: when they both celebrated their Successfully Sober Holidays by getting drunk. And now I had to deal not only with them, but with irate church members who wanted to know what they were doing on the premises (the college is on church property). Joe is a quiet apologetic drunk. G-Boy gets aggressive and promises to kill the whole world (literally “Fok hulle op”). I prevented Joe from selling his radio for wine, and walked him to his place of work. He thanked me profusely for saving his job by getting him to work, shook my hand many times, and began to unpack his tools. I chased G-Boy off to moer people elsewhere.

OK: here was my desk. Piled with sermons and orders of worship and music from Carol Service/Christmas/Old Year’s Eve/ and First Sunday in the New Year. OK – now to tidy up. Oh shit, there is someone at the door. She has two toddlers with her. Boys. And as I invite her into my office they make straight for my fish tank. I try to listen to their mother. Who begins the long story about financial difficulties, homelessness, joblessness …. I grab the boys just as they are trying to fish my goldfish out of the tank …and how she needs a prayer to change her luck …and I grab the boys as they swing around on my office chair...and about her husband and her sisters and his parents: at which point I firmly grab her boys and head for the church to pray with the family. “Thank you God for giving us this opportunity to trust your mercy”.

Now for my desk. And the church busy body arrives who wants to kiss everybody Happy New Year. “I hope you had a lovely holiday” she tells me. I reply that I have worked fairly hard over the past two weeks. She looks at me blankly, and says “Oh, but the office was closed”. I reply firmly that I had taken all the services during the time that she was away on holiday. “Oh, but you weren’t here on Sunday” she exclaimed triumphantly. I replied that I was in the neighbouring church in the morning, at an old-age home in the afternoon, and at the evening service in my own church. “Oh, well I did not see you.”

And then my first student for 2007 arrived. And expected me to have accommodation and food ready for him. And I felt really good in being able to show him his room and a box of groceries – organized before Christmas in anticipation of just this happening. For good measure I showed him the kitchen, the lounge with the TV, and the computer room. He looked around and asked: “But where is the iron and ironing board”. Sheesh!

My desk…. And then the phone rings. It is Joe’s employer to ask me where Joe is. My secretary was the one who arranged Joe’s job as caretaker at the block of flats, and they know that he is staying at the church. I am dumbstruck. I am told “Joe is not here and his store room is locked”. Bloody hell. I have no answers.

In fact I have had no answers all day!
I had no answer for Joe and G-Boy this morning. I had no answer for the woman and her toddlers. I had no answer for the church busybody. And no answer for my student.
Which goes against my grain, because I have been trained to provide answers. I am a baby boomer after all. Boomer pastors give answers. And if we do not have one immediately we buy books that promise answers: Four Spiritual Laws, 7 Habits, Twelve Keys, 40 Days of Purpose. And I have just had a day without answers.
All I did was spend time with some people.
Perhaps there are moments when this is enough.

Pursuing Perfection

I grew up knowing that I was not yet good enough. I was a child who would one day grow into an adult. I was a young Christian, who would become a mature believer. The Spirit of God within me was perfecting me, but I was not perfect. And so each New Year provided opportunity to dream anew of that which could be improved – usually expressed in the form of New Year’s Resolutions.

This has impacted my life in many ways: many of them negatively:
• I never feel that I am good enough…. because the belief system tells me that that I can be better. Which leaves me with a deep seated drive to do enough to prove my worth. But I have discovered that I will never do enough to satisfy this longing – because I can be better!
• I cannot celebrate my life’s achievements…. Because they are temporary stopping places in the quest to improve. And so I avoid thinking of that which I have done, because these achievements are not yet good enough.

In the past few days I have been deeply challenged.
Challenged first by a good friend who read my last posting and disagreed with my desire to be a better husband. He insisted that this desire was crippling my capacity to recognise that I am already a good husband.
I also had a conversation with sports scientist, Prof Tim Noakes. I described my desire to improve my running, but my inability to get past injuries and general lethargy. His comment was that I need to learn to accept that my best running is behind me. I have exhausted my store of marathons, and that I need to plan to “get old injury free”.

So is my life perfect?
I guess this depends how ready I am to get beyond my formative puritan evangelical culture. Of course there is much I still need to learn and do. I believe that I have capacity to grow and mature and deepen in my life’s journey. But perhaps this has nothing to do with Christian Perfection. It is time to celebrate that which God has already done in my life. And in this celebration to come to an acceptance that I have lived a full life, with many adventures…a life that is perfectly appropriate for me.

She is Gone!

My daughter is gone. Gone to be a teaching assistant at a boy’s primary school in Cheshire, England. And it is hard. Because despite the fact that I have tried to parent Jessie in a way that grows her independence, and nurtures her own thinking, it is still hard to see her take flight (literally).

So the new (Gregorian calendar) year brings its own experience of loss. But at the same time I want to see this as providing opportunities for growth. I want to discover myself as a better husband to my wife Jenny. And as a father who encourages all three of my daughters to continue to grow their own lives: I know that I will discover much as I watch Jessie grow under the tutelage of others. I already see her sister Lisa growing as she experiences University life. And Amy is no longer the ‘little sister’ as she discovers the joy of the interest of two male admirers.

My wish for all who read this site is that we can be challenged by the wise words of reknowned Buddhist teacher and writer Thich Nhat Hanh:
Listen deeply, nourish compassion, let go of anger, speak lovingly - and thus bring about transformation.

Sex, Christmas and Virginity

Christians have inherited a fear of sex from our church fathers (always the men!) who repented of their sexually profligate lives and chose celibacy. Augustine of Hippo formulated this into a theology that equated the absence of sex with goodness. He suggested that those who abstain from sexual activity are pure, and are therefore closer to God.

Which is why Mary the young women was transformed by the church into Mary the Virgin. Because, the theory says, the mother of God could not possibly have engaged in the defilement of sexual activity. Some even suggest that she never ever knew what sex was, and went to heaven in this “pure” state.

Which is fine as a quaint and interesting notion.
However, this becomes the foundation for far graver implications.
1. From this we live with the idea that for priests of God to be pure they need to be celibate. And this suppression of a natural God given human function has led to the distortion of sexual expression with choir boys and other vulnerable people.
2. The idea that abstinence from sex equates with purity has left many young people feeling defiled and guilty for their early sexual awakenings. No matter how hard they pray – they still think of sex, and therefore are defiled.

So please, this Christmas, let’s decide to ignore the dirty old men of our Christian history, and cease to call Mary a virgin. Surely a greater miracle would be for God to take the seed in her womb and create Jesus from it. This certainly gives me hope for the power of God to transform my life into something good.

Oh yes - lets celebrate sex as a good gift from God.

O Come All Ye Faithless

O come, all ye faithless,
Beat up, and defeated
Come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem
Come and behold him,
born the Friend of Sinners
O come, let us adore him O come, let us adore him
O come, let us adore him, Christ, the Lord

Sing, choirs of vagrants, sing for inspiration
Sing, all ye citizens on earth below,
Glory to God, giving us new courage
O come, let us adore him O come, let us adore him
O come, let us adore him, Christ, the Lord

Yea Lord, we greet Thee
born to bring us joy
Jesus, to Thee be all glory given
Hope for the Hopeless, now in flesh appearing
O come, let us adore him
O come, let us adore him O come, let us adore him, Christ, the Lord

- adapted by J. Barrett Lee, and revised by P. Grassow

See how we love one another!

Happy Holidays

The Americans are right! (Well you will not hear me say this too often, because I am highly allergic to the Bush led desire to crush anyone who dares to threaten American access to oil). But the Americanism “Happy Holidays” is a very helpful greeting.

Because where I live the people all say “Happy Christmas” instead. This essentially Christian greeting is said to everyone and anyone – irrespective of whether there is Christian or any other form of faith behind the greeting. I was greeted this afternoon by a very drunk man, who sought to excuse his public drunkenness by telling me that “it is Krismis afterall”. Christmas became his excuse for inebriation.

Just like Christmas becomes the excuse for overeating; and Xmas becomes the excuse for shops to invite us to max out the credit cards; and Kersmis becomes the excuse for nookie with the secretary at the office party; and Krrissmass becomes the reason for drunkenness and violence. And what we really mean is “Holiday”. These activities are really holiday induced. A mass for Christ will not invite people into gluttony, and debt, and debauchery. But holiday fever can.

So for those who want to break free of socially accepted restraints – please blame the holidays. Perhaps some of us can wish people a happy Christ-mass.

Fifty

Fifty is an amazing number. It is a goal, a lure, an idiosyncrasy, a notable record, and a marker. Cricket lovers applaud 50 runs, Paul Simon sang of Fifty ways to leave your lover, and the US of A discovered a way to collect a country into 50 pieces. Interesting trivia is published under titles such as Fifty ways to freak your friends; Fifty years of Stock Car Racing; Fifty roads to Town; Love songs of the last fifty years

In Latin it is symbolised as ‘L’. Other languages have their own appellations; Chinese: 五十 (wǔ shí), Korean: 쉰 (swin), Russian: пятьдесят, Greek: πενήντα, Hebrew: חֲמִשִּׁים (khamishím) and the language of heaven hanner cant vigesimal (Welsh)

So where does all this take us?
Well this is my 50th blog. And I have just entered my 50th year on planet earth. And, to use the cricketing term, I am “not out”. Thank you to all who stop off in this space. The thing I enjoy about this is that I write what I like. And if you do not like it, you are not compelled to return.

50 mark questionnaire (2 marks per question)
I got this from e-mail. Try it with your friends.
Things you may not have known about me...(and probably don't want to know!)

My Name?
Rock in the Grass, which is a play on my name. It also speaks of the capacity to stub the toe of the passer by. And I hope that those who read this blog are sometimes stumbled into wakefulness.

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Bicycle shop assistant
2. Military Physical Training Instructor
3. Flange machine operator.
4. Teacher

Four places I have lived:
1 Cape Town
2 Mthatha, Transkei.
3 Pietermaritzburg
4 Standerton

Four Books I am glad I read:
1. James Michener – The Novel
2. Eric Lomax – The Railway Man
3. Pamela Stephensen - Billy
4. Arthur Ashe – Days of Grace

Four places I have been on vacation:
1. Livingstonia, Malawi.
2. Ugab River, Namibia
3. Murchison Falls, Uganda
4. Zanzibar

Four of My Favourite foods:
1. Pasta anything
2. Butternut Soup
3. Cappuchino Muffins
4. Bobotie

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Having coffee with my wife Jenny
2. Walking the Camino de Santiago
3. Camping with friends
4. Standing on Table Mountain.

Please have some fun today!

Explaining God

Today I participated in a “collaring service”. This is a service for someone who begins their journey as a student minister. Her name is Pam, and she takes up an appointment in Uitenhague in 2007. This is the beginning of a 5 year journey, where she will learn pastoral skills, and complete an academic degree.

And I was reminded that becoming a pastor is not about gaining the “right” academic knowledge; or learning the “correct” church doctrines; or in knowing the “best” religious explanation of God. Richard Dawkins in The God Delusion very eloquently demolishes these God theories. As Dawkins shows, it is simply impossible to explain God. For Dawkins, this proves that there is no God.

While I agree that the God explanations are inadequate and often illogical, I draw a different conclusion. The truth is that most of what we believe is only an approximation of the truth anyway. We are attempting to put the unknowable into words. The only place from which we can speak is personal experience. We have a human experience of the unexplainable – and then we try to explain it. We experience a touch of the divine, and attempt to put this into words. Of course our words will fail us. Because we are attempting to explain the inexplicable. What Dawkins calls the self-delusion generated by chemistry in the brain, I choose to call epiphany: the unexpected touch of the Divine.

I pray that Pam will never get to a place where she thinks that she can explain God.

Porn

The Shorter Oxford Dictionary (3rd edition) defines Pornography as “the description of the life and manners of prostitutes and their patrons.” And a 1593 definition of prostitution is “the act of selling something of value for base gain”. So where am I going with all this?

Here it is:
There are many people who sell their bodies for money – I have seen them on the web. I have unearthed such manner of activities as paedophilia, incest, fisting (you do not want to know!) bestiality and asphyxiation. It is all weird, and degrades the beauty of human sexuality. The sale is also presumably lucrative, otherwise the beautiful people in the photographs would not be there!
I am both curious at why people do it, and saddened that something that is so beautiful can become an object of commercial transaction.

But while I am shocked by what I saw, I realise that I have the propensity to absorb shock, and come back for more. What is it in me that is both repelled, yet attracted by shock? This is the same thing that makes us human beings slow down to look at a car accident victim, or causes us to scream at the WWE Smackdown TV show. We actually love it when people sell themselves for cold cash….whatever is for sale, we watch!

Perhaps the saddest moment was when people stopped at a cross 2000 years ago to be shocked by a crucified man, and they still found energy to mock him. Or is it sadder today when people look at the suffering people of Dafur, or watch the bombing of Lebanon, or watch refugees stuffed on a train back to Zimbabwe – and don’t even blink!

We are the patrons of porn.

Grace Denied

I have just been taken to task by the Executive Secretary of my church for praying for God’s blessing on a same sex couple. In fact he was so disturbed that he copied his letter to my Bishop and to the chair of our church’s doctrine committee! What distresses me is that we have forgotten the place of the Grace of God.

I am convinced that every person on earth needs to hear words of God’s Grace spoken over them. There is no one excluded from God’s Grace. If P W Botha can be buried with words of Grace spoken at his funeral, then a same-sex couple asking to hear God’s Grace spoken aloud should be allowed the same dignity.

Of course I have no control over the blessing of God: this is God’s to give. But I can verbalise the desire of the heart into words of Grace and Love. I hereby give notice that anyone who wants to hear God’s blessing spoken aloud can come to me.

Blasphemy

Someone asked me today if blasphemy is an unforgivable sin.
And I wondered “What is blasphemy?” I remembered a moment as a 7 year old when I heard a boy in my class use a word with such emotional expression that I immediately wanted to say it to. It was in Afrikaans and sounded like “Gghhortt”. I have since heard “God” said with many other inflections. But never as guttural and expressive as then. But when I tried it on my teacher she let rip at me. Something in the Ten Commandments about ‘taking the name of the Lord in vain”. And I have carried this vague guilt about saying God’s name ever since. And have tried my best not to insult God again. But was this ‘blasphemy?’

So I looked up the meaning of the word. Blasphemy : it is a combination of two Greek words: blaptein, "to injure", and pheme, "reputation". And it is mostly used in connection with that which is holy. So blasphemy is to injure the reputation of God.

I do not believe that the Creator is in any way perturbed when someone uses the word “God” or “Jesus Christ” as an expletive. While this certainly shows lazy linguistic skill, it cannot dent the ego of God. It can, of course, be offensive to someone who respects God.

Similarly I do not believe that the Creator needs us to defend God’s honour. God is perfectly capable of self-defence. So when Salman Rashdie, or Dan Brown, offer ideas that are uncomfortable, they make people unhappy. But God is not perturbed by human opinions.

But I do see blasphemy:

* I see blasphemy in those who go to Church on Sunday, and then on Monday seek access to the world’s oil reserves through bullying, threats, and war.
* I see blasphemy in those who pray for God’s blessing before unleashing bombs that kill innocent people.
* I see blasphemy in people who use the name of Jesus to insult and denigrate those who are lesbian or homosexual.

And these are sins that will be hard to forgive. Because they claim to be done in the name of God. And as such they injure the reputation of God.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia

Fear of Friday the 13th is a pervasive superstition..This is the day that intersects both the unlucky number 13, and the unlucky day of Friday – a double whammy.

Some tell of 13 being the number who sat down for the last (unhappy) supper with Jesus. But there are also much older stories of people being unable to count beyond 12 (ten fingers and two feet). Any number beyond this was the fearful unknown number full of vague and unimaginable possibilities - and therefore a number to be avoided by any peace-loving person.

As for Friday: Scandinavian mythology marks this as the day of Freyja, and as such was associated with the worship of Love. Fish was offered to this goddess, and love was made on Freyja day. As with many other customs "adopted" by Christians missionaries, ‘Freyja day’ is no different. Fish was accepted as the correct Friday diet. But the worship of Love on the Friday of each week was frowned on by the Church, who believed that mourning was the only appropriate response to the crucifiction day of Jesus. So what began as a celebration of love became an unhappy day instead. 'And on a Friday fil al this meschaunce,' wrote Chaucer in 'The Nun's Priest's Tale'.

Which is all bullshit as far as I am concerned. Because today is my birthday. I was born on October the 13th, and so far in my life I have experienced eight Friday 13th birthday celebrations. And they have all been very happy events. Today has been no exception. I had a very contended breakfast with my wife Jenny. I had an amicable lunch with my good friend Alex. I have had many, many happy SMS greetings and phone calls from friends. And I had a great supper at home with my family.

Of unlucky Friday 13th? Dicken’s Scrooge would have said “Bah. Humbug.”

Not a Church-goer

Yesterday I buried a good man. He had lived for 80 years, and died very suddenly of leukaemia. Here was someone who had started his own company and provided employment for many people in the garment-knitting industry. Someone who participated in Rotary for 35 years, organising major fund-raising events for scholarships for deserving children – for which he received the Paul Harris Award. Here is someone who gained his pilot’s licence so that he could volunteer to fly mercy missions for Red Cross. A man who is remembered by his children as one who paid attention to their lives and encouraged their dreams. His granddaughter spoke at the funeral of a Grandfather who taught her fishing, and gave advice on boyfriends and other important 12 year-old issues.

He walked on the mountains every Sunday morning. Sometimes instead of the mountains he would go to sea in his boat, or go into rough terrain in his 4X4 Pajero. This was a real man’s man, who gathered other men around him and inspired them to live life more fully. There were many, many men in church, attesting to this fact.

This man did not go to church. His wife did. And she asked if I would be willing to lead the funeral service. And I heard her apologetic tone that he had “not been a churchgoer.” As if not going to church was some shameful thing!

So here’s the thing: going to church does not qualify a person for anything. We are not better for being a church-goer; we are not wiser, or happier, or more loved by God. In fact I have met some of the most bigoted, spiteful, hateful, pompous people in church. And I know some of the most gentle, generous, compassionate people who have nothing to do with any church.

You see – I believe that God does not keep a register of “Sunday’s absent” from church. There is no heavenly reward for the number of hours given to church. Church is a human invention that meets a human need. And if it meets your need – then fine. But please do not feel guilty for not being a “church-goer”. What really counts is whether we have led lives that are Christ-like: Are we compassionate? Do we strive for justice? And do we show mercy?

Personally I believe that by collecting Christ-followers around me I will find courage when I am weak, and a place of accountability when I am arrogant. But the bureaucracy of organised religion, and the strutting of peacocks in clerical garb, and the blatant manipulation of people’s fears in order to keep bums on seats have nothing to do with Jesus. This is about the human attempt at control. And I want nothing to do with it.

So please bring the unchurched to be buried – and to be married, and encouraged, and to be blessed. I do not care if you are a member of a church or not.

The Bible as Sacred Myth

I believe the Bible to be myth… sacred myth. Before you get the wrong idea, read the following extract from Karen Armstrong’s “A Short History of Myth" (Edinburgh; Canongate Books 2005)

Today the word ‘myth’ is often used to describe something that is simply not true. A politician accused of a peccadillo will say that it is a myth, that it never happened. When we hear of gods walking the earth, of dead men striding out of tombs, or of seas miraculously parting to let a favoured people escape from their enemies, we dismiss these stories as incredible and demonstrably untrue. Since the eighteenth century, we have developed a scientific view of history; we are concerned above all with what actually happened. But in the pre-modern world, when people wrote about the past they were more concerned with what an event had meant. A myth was an event which, in some sense, had happened once, but which also happened all the time…mythology is an art form which points beyond history to what is timeless in human existence….a myth, therefore is true because it is effective, not because it gives us factual information….if it forces us to change our minds and hearts, gives us new hope, and compels us to live more fully, it is a valid myth.

I am totally frustrated with people who want to reduce the Bible to factual information. And then they try to ‘prove’ selected texts as historical fact. Much of the Bible was never written as fact. It was written as myth. It was intended to transform the lives of those who encountered its stories. I absolutely believe the Bible – as the sacred myths that guide my life. And in choosing to believe, I have found challenge, transformation, and new hope.

Francesco di Bernardone 1182 - 1228

He is one of the heroes of my faith. A man who voluntarily chose to challenge the prevailing culture of the day, and has left an indelible mark on history. Today is the feast day of Francis of Assisi, who was instrumental in founding the monastic Orders of the Poor Clares and the Friars Minor.

He gathered a group of people around him who were committed to a life of apostolic poverty. This meant letting go of the need for possessions, choosing to share the gospel of Jesus from the perspective of the poor, and emphasising the love of God for all of creation. Everyone was a brother/sister, and all of creation was to be treasured. Francis challenged his culture’s obsession with clothing as a sign of status, and possessions as a sign of achievement. And Francis brought a compassion for the poor, the forgotten and the ignored.

Francis had his blindnesses: he was anti-Muslim and pro-Crusades. In 1219 he helped the Crusaders capture Muslim-held Damietta in the Holy land. The man who created the great prayer for peace was unable to see his part in creating violence! What makes him my hero is this blend of both greatness and fallibility. Greatness is not about being perfect. Greatness is the ability to keep the vision alive – despite the personal flaws.

A man like Francis gives me hope that I might be able to hold to a Godly vision despite my personal flaws. Please pray for me.