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.

Of Mixed Parentage

South Africa has just marked “Heritage Day” – a day where we as a nation celebrate our rich diversity of culture and history. And I am part of this diversity:

My Paternal Ancestors came to South Africa from Germany, landing in Mossel Bay in 1870. (I Googled my name and “bingo” I have a namesake in Germany today). They soon moved to Outshoorn and became Afrikaans. One of their children then moved to Cape Town, and rejected learning Hooghollands in favour of English. So on my Father’s side I am German/Afrikaans/English.

My Maternal Ancestors were the English aristocracy of Cape Town. Ralph Henry Aderne had sailed from England on the “Eliza” at the end of 1830. Add to this my Grandfather’s passion for anything Scottish, and a Kilt of the Ancient Frasers inherited through his mother, and I am English/Scottish.

I can chuck in some interesting relatives like Mary Arden, the mother of William Shakespeare; Dr James Arderne, personal chaplain to King Charles II; David Philip of publishing fame; Rev Ernest Lasbrey, rector of St John’s parish for approximately 40 years; ethnomusicologist Andrew Tracey, Captain Hurrell of the Salvation Army began the Mission to Seamen in Simonstown, Ruth Grassow represented South African bowls at the Olympics; and Margaret Lasbrey played Springbok hockey. And then there are some maiden aunts and cousins that we do not mention in polite company – oh yes there is the uncle who faked his own suicide in order to escape his creditors, only to be discovered in a bar in Bulawayo some years later.

What does this really prove? Nothing at all – and everything. I am of a mixed background: German and English in my veins, Scottish and South African to the core. Add to this the fact that I was born in Mthatha in the Transkei; I have lived in a “coloured” township for 10 years of my life; I was part of the South African Military; I joined the UDF and played tennis for SACOS; and I currently live with neighbours who are Muslim, Afrikaans, English, German and Jewish.

I love this country. And I love its diversity. I am not white, or black. I am not English or Afrikaans. I am neither European nor Xhosa.
I am a South African.

God Botherers

Too much of our praying is ineffectual God-bothering. We act as if God is ignorant of our lives and has to be reminded of the God-tasks that need to be done:
“Lord – give me…”
"God – please bless….”
"Lord – bring peace to ….”
As if God is unaware of the human need!

Of course God hears the cry of the broken hearted, and the groan of the oppressed. But these cries for help can never be instructions to a forgetful God. If God is not aware of the things we need, or if God does not know about injustice and pain that need God-like intervention, then this is a distracted and inattentive deity. For God to be God, the Divine Spirit should be aware of everything we need before we speak the words.

Which brings us closer to what prayer should be. Prayer is the moment of our silencing; it is the moment of the intervention of the Divine into our brokenness and need; it is the place of silence where the Spirit engages our spirit. Anything else is God-bothering.

And in our silence is the possibility of hearing the promptings of the Divine. Here is space for the One who fills all space to engage our lives. And here is opportunity for us to respond to the call of the Other. Good prayer is when we get off our knees to offer service to other people.

I have just spent a week in prayer: some of which was my own cry for attention. And then there were those rare moments in the silence where I discovered the Divine whisper. A nudge to become more intentional about my passions. So look to this blogspace to see signs of me shedding my middle-aged disengaged cynicism, and retrieving some of my former radicalism.

Praying

I am off to a Benedictine Monastery for a week of prayer. I am privileged to share this with three caring friends - Kevin, Dion, and Peter. The gracious monks of this place of prayer have allowed us to (briefly) share their life of prayer.

This monastery is perched on a hillside just outside Grahamstown looking down a valley of bushes and trees. The monks ring the bell for communal prayer (5 times a day). In between these times we will be silent. I hope to use this as a time listening to the heartbeat of the Universal Creator of Life. And of reflection.

Pray for me.

I do not want Someone dying for my sins!

I have made many mistakes in my life.
- Sometimes I was curious. And having tried something out of curiosity, I discovered that it was not good for me. And I learned from this, and grew in another direction.
- Sometimes I was selfish, and believed that my own needs should take precedence over others. And I have discovered in the pain of hurting those I love, a motivation to change my ways.
- Sometimes I chose to do nothing, and experienced a moment of cowardice, or a moment of selfish reluctance to assist someone. And I learned from this to be more participative in life.
- And then there were moments when I knew something to be wrong, but I did it anyway. I did it because I was angry, or I was frustrated, or I was just bloody minded. And I have lived to regret my actions. And learned to think more carefully before I just moer on with my own course of action.

Each of these moments was an opportunity to learn more about living life, and a moment of spiritual maturing.

And so I continue to learn about life – mostly through my mistakes and my selfish impulses. But these are my moments. I own them. And I find it preposterous that I should be punished by God for them! How else do I learn about life? I find it even more preposterous to think that God would both love me, yet need to klap me for my mistakes.

One Church Father tried to explain that God is both perfectly loving, yet perfectly just. Therefore, because God’s justice needed to punish someone, God’s love chose to kill Jesus instead of me. So how is justice enhanced by the death of a person? There is no opportunity for people to learn from their mistakes. One strike and you’re out! And anyway, killing the one person who was sinless is a travesty of justice, not a triumph of good.

This belief has nothing to do with God. It is a belief born within a culture of avenging crimes. If God is a loving Parent, then surely God would understand when I make a mistake? Surely God would encourage me to learn from it. I often imagine God saying to me “Ja, you stuffed up. Now try again”.

So I do not need someone to die for my sins. I am willing to take my chances with God for my mistakes. And more than willing to answer for my own actions.

An Act of Penance

The Sunday Argus reported that Adrian Vlok, the former minister of police during the days of Apartheid, visited Frank Chikane and asked his forgiveness for the past. He then took some water and washed Chikane’s feet as an act of penance.

What I found intriguing is that the newspaper chose to describe this as a “bizarre act of penance”. Which part was bizarre: washing feet, or saying sorry? I suspect that what this reporter found strange was the idea of saying sorry when there was no incentive to do so. It is too late for the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, and too late to avoid prosecution is the State chooses to do so. I suspect that the TRC has conditioned us to the idea that confession is rewarded. I suspect that we have also become used to the idea that confession is a prerequisite for forgiveness.

I came across the following quote by Robert Farrar Capon in the blogspot of Dave Lynch (http://gardenofrenown.blogspot.com) that makes sense of this for me:

In respect to the parable of the Prodigal Son...

The fascinating thing also is that when the father embraces the boy who has come home from wasting his life, the boy never gets his confession out of his mouth until after the kiss, until after the embrace. What this says to you and me who have to live with the business of trying to confess our sins is that confession is not a pre-condition of forgiveness. It’s something that you do after you know you have been forgiven. Confession is not something you do in order to get forgiveness. It’s something you do in order to celebrate the forgiveness you got for nothing. Nobody can earn forgiveness. The Prodigal knows he's a dead son. He can't come home as a son, and yet in his father's arms he rises from the dead and then he is able to come to his father's side.

Peter Woods would say that this is a perfect example of the unconditional love of God. Perhaps we should be learning more about forgiveness before confession!

The Mission Field Too

To continue from my last blog:
You know – the one about the ordination service?

Well the venue was too small for the event. The pushing, the shoving, and the downright duplicity displayed by people grabbing at seats was reminiscent of the soccer hooligans that get arrested by the police. This was not done by people of another faith. This was the red, black and white uniformed members of the church. The seats were reserved, and tickets were issued. These faithful, but unticketed, members shoved their way in and plonked their bums on the reserved seats. When a plea was made for those without tickets to leave their seats, no one stirred. And people with tickets were shut outside.

Over the exit of this church is a sign informing us that on leaving we are “now entering the mission field”. This sign is profoundly wrong. The mission field is sitting in the pews of the church.

Go and read...

Tony Yengeni - Gus says it well so go check him out: www.gruntle.co.za

What an individual can do about making a difference - Jan is doing it: www.heart2heart.blogspot.com