New Zealanders are feeling the cold at the moment.  Winter has well and truly begun with a cold southerly wind bringing beautiful clear skies, occasional squalls, and frost – even to our warm, sub-tropical climate.  So I spent a couple of hours in the weekend chopping firewood.  Actually, I got the good end of the stick; my wife spent a couple of hours on the sideline of a soccer field.  At least I was moving vigorously and keeping warm. 

Mind you, there can be a fair bit of vigorous movement on the sidelines, too, as parents and coaches race up and down with their players, bawling encouragement and instructions.  Son no. 2 is in a team which has a fantastic coach; the first time I watched them play, I was blown away by how positive he was towards the kids.  He was constantly telling them, individually and specifically, what they were doing right and how well they were doing it.  Not surprisingly, they continually brought home wins. 

As I was chopping firewood on Saturday morning, I didn’t get to hear the coach; but I did, in fact, get a bit of encouragement all my own.  Our three year-old son wondered out to find me.  “What you doing, Dad?”

“Chopping the fire-wood.” (swing, Grunt, *Thwack*).

“Why?”

“To make it small enough to go in the fireplace.” (swing, *ka-chunk*)

“Wow, Daddy!  You did it!”

“Yeah. (swing)”

“And you did it again!  Yay, Daddy!”

And on he went, for the next five minutes, marvelling at every log split for the fire.  And I reckon I’ve never chopped so much, so effectively, so fast.

An odd thing happened on the way to church last Sunday morning.

Usually, on a Sunday morning, I take a stroll around the waterfront.  It’s prime time; the service is ready to roll, the music team will shortly arrive and we’ll go into our warm-up, the sermon is sitting in my bible on the pulpit.  But nothing’s ready or right until I’ve had that minted moment with the one person it’s all about.  I love that time.  It puts all my anxieties, my preparations, my hopes into an eternal perspective.   

But this Sunday was different.  I felt an odd sense of disconnectedness.  Like I wasn’t quite there, and nor was God.  It took me a couple of minutes to click; could it be because this Sunday I was neither preaching nor leading worship?  I was going to be simply another pew-sitter for a morning, and so my morning – and my relationship with God – felt directionless. 

Gear change.

I had grown so used to meeting God at this time with such a specific focus, that I had let my expectations rob me of expectancy.  Result?  I wasn’t listening.  I wasn’t open to what God wanted because, in my heart and mind, I was expecting something else.  My religious habits, good enough in themselves, are only supports for my relationship with God – they aren’t the substance of that relationship.  It reminds me of a time when, after living away from my home turf for several years, I got a job back there one summer.  On the first day, I drove over the hill and turned the car up the valley towards the old bridge over the river, when I became aware that I had left the main road when I turned.  I stopped, reversed, and discovered that the road now continued straight ahead, over the river on a brand new bridge.  I had been driving according to the maps in my head instead of according to the reality I was in.  And that’s what religion is all about. 

Religion is like a set of road maps for navigating our relationships with the most fundamentally important matters; with God, with the rest of the human race, with nature.  Most importantly, with God.   Having a road map takes a lot of the anxiety out of the journey; we can be reasonably sure of our direction and the steps we need to take to get to our destination.  We can even be reasonably sure of the destination. 

But the map is not the journey.  It isn’t even the terrain we need to cover; it’s just a model of it.  In reality, maps can have errors, become out of date, and they have to leave out a great deal of information.  Especially the personal information that is so important to a good journey.  Where is the map that includes the vital data that at such and such a point number three child will need a toilet break?  Religion is a great support in our relationship with God, but it’s no substitute.  Just like a map is a valuable tool but – even with Google maps roadside imaging – it’s no substitute for the reality of the journey.

And what happens when we depend too heavily upon our maps?  We take the same old turning, and end up in the wrong place.  We get that feeling that somewhere along the way we’ve disconnected from reality.  We feel… lost.  And the temptation (especially for us blokes) is to just keep on the way we’re going and hope it all turns out ok.  We can find it hard to abandon our expectations of what reality should be like (our maps) for reality itself. 

Churches are the same.  I appreciate the value of good management in churches (having encountered some horribly badly managed ones) and the value of a clear vision for the sake of giving some definition to the business of discipleship.  And I also appreciate the limits of that.  Management tools like vision and mission statements are useful, but limited; like all maps.  But they have become our religion; if you read a lot of our literature, you’ll see that they shape our expectations like little else.  I like having good management tools; they help me to simplify the incredibly complex business of pastoral ministry but there will always be that gap between the map and the reality.  And that gap is sometimes so significant that the tool just has to be abandoned.  I have to let go of my expectations.

And what do I get instead?

Well, in my pre-Christian days, what I would have was anxiety and all the actions that go with fear-based thinking.  I would be defensive, arrogant, timid, impulsive, and just generally messy.  Now I have something a little better.  I have a travelling companion.  And while my grasp on reality is still less than ideal, his is perfect.  Journeying with Jesus is the most enjoyable way of being alive I know.  He can make the walk to the letterbox into an adventure!  He is faithful far beyond what I deserve (my wife takes after him on this one); he is fun, perceptive, sympathetic, challenging, and encouraging.

When I’m travelling with Jesus, and discover that my expectations are not being met, I may get that initial moment of disorientation, that confusion and sense of being disconnected that I felt last Sunday, but it is quickly replaced with something far better; with expectancy.  I’m no longer travelling according to my expectations.  Jesus disrupts the comfortable rhythms of my religion, and invites me to take a new road with him.  He has no problem with us using religious maps, whether they be the pattern of our preaching or the clarity of our vision statement, but when we begin to prefer them to the reality of his companionship, then we can expect to find our expectations unmet.  When that happens, don’t bother getting angry and upset – look instead for the God who is completely free to go his own way, and follow him.  With expectancy.

See entry above for introduction

OK.  The Shack.  Firstly, simple impressions;

As a work of literature: 3/5

As a work of theology: 3/5

As a pastoral tool: 5/5

At which point you may say “Huh?!?”

But that’s about where it’s at.

Young is a competent writer – but he’s not brilliant and his prose occasionally gets clunky.  Part of what I reacted to was simply the American tone – but it wasn’t just that.  Grisham also writes novels that are 100% American flavoured, but he does it effortlessly, and I have no trouble believing him.  The American taste in The Shack drew attention to itself too frequently to be native; it was the work of someone who has observed American culture from the outside and deliberately imported those flavours into his work.  It has a tinge of artificiality about it.

Also off-putting was the easy emotionalism.  I lost count of how many times the narrator simply burst into tears, leaned over and kissed somebody, or told someone that he loved them.  Now this is more likely to be a distinctively kiwi reaction to a distinctively American characteristic.  But still, it detracted.  Emotions I can cope with, and often they were presented clearly and powerfully.  Just sometimes they were put in apparently as if the plot required it, rather than their arising naturally from the character.  That was an (occasional) writing problem.

As for the theology, a 3-out-of-five rating from me for a fictional book is actually high praise!!  Young tackles the really hard questions of theodicy and the immanent versus the economic trinity (and yes, those words really are used by theologians in a completely different way to normal people – so I’m delighted Young didn’t use them!), and the nature of death and the resurrection, and justice versus judgement and a whole lot more!  He doesn’t add anything significantly new to theological debates, and he stays (for the most part) well within orthodoxy, but the simple fact that he actually gets to these issues and makes them apply to the real life issues of a person we can relate to is a fantastic achievement.

And that’s the pastoral value of this book.  Young’s brilliance is that he’s given us a person we can relate to, in a story that grips us, and made the heart of Christian faith not just relevant, but essential to the plot.  And he does so in a way that is consistent with what God has done: lovingly, surprisingly, personally, tangibly.  Despite the average writing, and the largely conventional theology, he presents personal interaction with God in a way that gets around our defences and jaded expectations, and is more often than not deeply enjoyable.  It is that imaginative experience of the enjoyment of God that does it; it awakens hope and desire in the rest of us for a similar sort of relationship with all the persons of the Trinity, now and in eternity.  It can’t but strengthen us, and whilst reading it, I found myself wanting to be more like the God shown in these pages.  That’s got to be a good thing. 

Nearly three years ago I started this blog because I was moved by a particular act of mercy and saw in it something special about God (Check out the “In Honour of a Butterfly” entry from the second box on the right for the full story) and a blog seemed an appropriate place to record what I saw.  So I began, and I’ve tried to write at least once a month.  Usually I would get a half-dozen readers each week and that was fine.  Then, last week, I began getting dozens of visitors to my web-site each day because it is on the ‘Window’s Live’ network, and they’ve just launched a new version of their search engine which prioritizes sites on their own network; and so my fairly meagre blog is right in the middle of a new and unexpected flow of interest from throughout cyberspace.  It’s like a small town hot-dog stand just had a main highway built right alongside, and is now selling hundreds instead of dozens of hot-dogs per week. 

Have I done anything different? No.  I just did what I did at the time and tried to make sure that it was worth doing.  The conditions changed and my blog benefits.  Hopefully what’s on it will be helpful and someone else will benefit too.

And the point is?  That despite our best efforts we have very little control over the conditions in which we work.  The winds of economic change blow and our small yachts are easily swamped – or given a burst of exhilarating speed – or frustratingly becalmed.  What matters is not our ‘success’ or ‘failure’ given that most of the time this is dependent on factors far outside our control, but how we respond to the weather we’re given.  And just as that applies to our health, to our finances, and to our sporting successes, it applies also to our spiritual life.  “The wind (Spirit) blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” said Jesus.  He was right.  When things are going well, we need to give thanks to God, rather than claim the credit.  When things are not so good, we need to simply stay faithful to the task at hand, and wait for the wind to come in due course.

If I had never started this blog, I would never have been here to catch this particular flow of cyber-interest.  Sometimes we simply need to begin building a boat in the desert and wait for the rain.

I was walking down the road and passed a young couple, she sitting, he standing slightly to one side, facing her, discussing some matter outside a pub.  If I pay attention to other people at all, it’s usually with a particular agenda in mind.  This time, I asked myself “What does God want for them?  How does he want their future to be?”  The question sent me off down some interesting tracks – and took me back to the beginning.

In the beginning God made a world in all its multi-foliate glory.  As the last word of creation he made human beings, male and female.  He placed them together.  He commanded them to rule the earth as his own image in that place.  He told them to have children.  

Too often, if we ask what God wants for us, we conjure up images that are appalling in their banality.  We think in terms of negatives – no sex, no drugs, no violence, no greed, etc. etc.  The negatives are necessary, but leave us with little to rejoice over.  We need a broader view.

Going back to the beginning gives us perspective.  God made everything, and said it was very good.  God gave us dominion over all of this goodness.  We’re meant to enjoy it.  It is wonderful!  In all its complexity and hard-edged reality, the world we have been given is a rich, exciting place.  We are meant to work in the garden; not just slash-and-burn agriculture, but a real engagement with the whole of the creation.  Through working with and within it we come to greater understandings of particular entities (plants, animals, geological features), of ecosystems, of the entire universe from quarks and leptons through to galaxies and the noosphere.  We are meant to reap the fruits of our labours and enjoy them – the bible frequently refers to wine and good food as elements of celebration.  We are meant to care for the creation – to ‘tend’ the garden – exercising our own God-imaging creativity in discovery and invention to bring new things into existence, and to find new ways for ourselves and the creation to be. 

And we are meant to do this together.  Together with each other, and especially in the companionship of sexual relationships – no apologies for the goodness of marriage – and family relationships, broadening out to become relationships between families and tribes and larger groups.  A party with no guests has poor fare, no matter how good the grub.  Ultimately, we are meant to do this in company with God; God who walks with us in the garden.  God who storms through human history as the Yahweh of Israel.  God who enters fully into human life – and death -  in the crucified Christ, and God who comes alongside by his Holy Spirit.  The feast of His Kingdom is a riot of richness.  This creation we enjoy is a foretaste of the new heavens and earth that are to come.

What does God want for us? 

He wants us to be who we are – the free-to-choose creatures he has made, able to image him in the context of his very good creation.  Able to join him and each other in the loving work of re-creation.  Able to go with him on an adventure into eternity of which this is just the first page.  Definitely something to look forward to. 

 "And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Jesus.

I’ve just come back from the annual gathering of our denomination.  There were lots of high-lights, and hours of enjoyment in worship, catching up with old friends, fantastic preaching and teaching, and more(!) but the most compelling moments came out of the ‘open mic’ sessions following the key-note addresses.  The first of these brought together in a powerful way an issue I have been wrestling with personally, in my own leadership of our local church, and at the national level. 

Over the last few months I have been resisting the pressure from within me and without to come up with a ‘vision’ for the church.  I don’t want us to have a smart little phrase or slogan that we think sums up what we are here for.  I can’t stop myself from thinking that to have such a thing comes far too close to idolatry.  So I’ve been preaching that our vision is nothing but Christ our Lord – anything else is too little.  What do we want to be like? Christ.  What do we want to see in five years time? Christ.  What is our highest ideal? Christ.  For those who complain that this isn’t concrete enough, I have to ask what bible you’re reading?  Can there be any historical figure who leaps so vividly from the printed page as Jesus Christ? 

The real question is not “What should we do here and now?” or even “What would Jesus do?” but “What is Jesus Doing?!”  If we are to be at all ‘successful’ in mission and ministry, and, more importantly, if we are to be faithful to our calling, we have to ask ourselves not “what do we want to do?” or “What do others want us to do?” but “What is Jesus doing?” and join in with that.  Answering this question requires some very simple things of us.

The first is that we get to know he who we follow.  We need to spend time each day in his presence.  We need to learn to listen for his voice.  We need to check our ‘subjective’ impressions against the witness of the scriptures, the stories of those who have gone before us, and the living community of saints of which we are part.

This openness to what God is doing here and now by his Spirit is the only means by which we can be effective followers of Jesus. 

So what has this to do with our national gathering? 

The weekend prior I had sat with some of our congregation in prayer and planning, and as part of the preparation for the planning part, had asked them to write down – and then bin - their plans, dreams, visions, hopes for the church.  The point being simply that we cannot afford to keep anything back, to hold onto any particular plan when we elect to follow Christ.  We can only receive from his hand.  And we must be prepared to give up anything if that is his will.  Unsurprisingly this didn’t go down too well. 

Afterwards, when writing up the session I found a quote: “He who loves his dream of a community more than the Christian community itself becomes a destroyer of the latter.”  It was from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book Life Together, and was so relevant to what I had been thinking and saying that I looked it up.  It was relevant, but what came next was utterly gobsmacking!

God hates visionary dreaming; it makes the dreamer proud and pretentious.  The man who fashions a visionary ideal of community demands that it be realized by God, by others, and by himself.  He enters the community of Christians with his demands, sets up his own law, and judges the brethren and God himself accordingly.  He stands adamant, a living reproach to all others in the circle of the brethren.  He acts as if he is the creator of the Christian community, as if his dream binds men together.  When things do not go his way, he calls the effort a failure.  When his ideal picture is destroyed, he sees the community going to smash.  So he becomes first an accuser of his brethren, then an accuser of God, and finally the despairing accuser of himself. (pg. 16, SCM Press, London, 1965) 

I felt as though Bonhoeffer had been eavesdropping on my own dreams and thinking for the past decade, and certainly on that of our denominational meetings, with the huge emphasis we have had on becoming leaders of ‘vision’ and ‘vision-casting’.  He named my sin and its cure. 

Bonhoeffer’s situation was different to ours.  His theology is harshly dialectical, and perhaps unnecessarily so.  But here I felt he nailed it, and so when a friend stood in the assembly and suggested that we may need to repent then I was impelled out of my seat to share this prophetic word.  I had arrived at the assembly determined to speak out, then found that so many people were saying the same thing, that I decided I didn’t need to do so.  But God had other plans, and I found myself on my feet. 

This assembly with its open sharing and the frequent urging for people to heed the work of the Spirit has been, I believe, a turning point back to health.  Health is not the vision; it’s just a precondition.  Growth is not the vision; it’s just a description of what happens when God goes to work and takes us with him.  Church is definitely not the vision, an inward focus inevitably unbalances us.  Christ is the vision and the goal, our purpose and our path.  He is the vision we can all face together, and work for together, and enjoy together, without fear of stifling differences – all of which are insignificant compared to the unity we share in the one who has called us. 

When Christ is our vision it can be argued that we are unable to aim because we are aiming too high!  Therefore we never achieve our goal!  I reject this for two reasons.  firstly, we usually fail in our goal even when we have ‘SMART’ (specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-framed) goals.  Usually because the life of the church is so dynamic that the only ‘goals’ likely to be achieved are so banal that it doesn’t matter if they were achieved or not.   A goal worth having is almost bound to be undershot – but the higher the goal the greater the achievement, and I don’t know of any goal I’d rather fail at than Christ.

The second reason is that when we do give God our best shot but don’t determine of ourselves what the outcome should be, then we leave room for the grace of God to be found and celebrated in our lives. 

Obviously any aim is going to lead to practical actions; but if I decide the vision, then I decide the actions, and God doesn’t get a look in.  When God gives us the vision, then God gives us our directions too.  I’m looking forward to what happens next.

Tucked into the monthly NZ Baptist newspaper there is often advertising material of some form.  This month, the insert was from the Family First organization, showing how individual MPs voted on a number of issues that Family First have identified as significant.  Normally I ignore the advertising – it’s just a way for our editors to pay for the paper.  This time we removed the inserts from each paper and they are now sitting in a pile with the other Christian promotional materials on the table by the door.  Why?  Because we hand out the NZ Baptist newspapers at the door, actively promoting them.  But I will not promote a particular political viewpoint as ‘The Baptist’ viewpoint in the church.  The information supplied is interesting and relevant – but it is only one point of view.  There are others.  I don’t mind making this point of view available, but it doesn’t get a privileged position. 

So does that mean that the church is ‘neutral’ in its politics?  Does that mean that we don’t have anything to say about specific policies and the parties that promote them?  No!  We are called to be salt and light.  We are meant to make a difference, and there is no part of human life that is off limits to the Kingdom of God.  Not family life, not business, not politics.  But nor are we allowed to identify ourselves too closely with any particular political party.  Individual Christians can, do, and should, become involved with political parties across the spectrum to work for the kingdom, but this church will not align itself to any particular party, nor will we pretend that any issue can be reduced to a simple ‘good’ or ‘bad’ response.  We want to encourage everyone to consider the issues carefully, and then to act according to your conscience before God.  Let’s take our political responsibilities seriously, prayerfully, and respectfully.

I love it when I get a chance to make someone's day a little bit brighter.  And when that opportunity comes in the middle of their darkest hours, when they are torn up by relationship problems or grief and loss or wrestling with illness and injury, then I can find myself awed and humbled and deeply grateful that I get to walk alongside them at such a significant moment.  And make a difference. 

There are lots of ways of making a difference, from the slickest, smart-alec social-worker techniques, to the very simple (and frequently far more effective) confession that I'm stuck too, and maybe we could pray together about it.  Pastoral care, at its most effective, is the humble sharing in people's pain and a persistent pointing to Christ. Silence and prayer keep us grounded in the hopeful reality of the kingdom.

And then there's chocolate.  Never underestimate the power of chocolate to put a smile on some-one's face.  On its own, it doesn't mean much, but after an hour of sharing someone's pain with them, a bar of chocolate is the cherry on the cake!

Of course, I have theological backing for this!  My very first lecture in theology is indelibly printed on my mind.  I had enrolled in Bible College as an independent student, doing one paper per semester, to try to regain my love and appreciation for the scriptures in the midst of all the questions and doubts that I was having.  The scripture paper was in the second semester, so in the first I enrolled in the 'introduction to theology' paper, taught by the venerable principal of the college.  This was my first encounter with this very highly esteemed man.  He began by talking about 'world-views', how we all had one (or more) and how they could be seen as arising out of different and mutually incompatible philosophical bases.  "For instance", he said, "there is the scientistic world view, that believes the only valid reality is that which can be physically measured, and that everything can be explained in terms of its material components.  If you ask them to explain 'love' they say that 'love' is a chemical reaction in the brain - there's even a name for this chemical - phenylethylamine.  And where do you find this substance?  In chocolate!  Which is why," he said, "I give my wife a piece of chocolate each night when we go to bed.  And some nights I give her two."  The next year I enrolled as a full-time denominational student.  This man spoke to me.

Going back even further, I remember the very first sermon of an elderly Presbyterian minister who arrived about the time I started getting interested in spiritual things (and therefore attended church occasionally with my mother).  He began by introducing himself, and said there were two things he felt we needed to know about him.  I can't remember the first (this was nearly thirty years ago now) but the second was "..and I like chocolate biscuits."  And it was true.  Over the years that followed, as he became a friend and a mentor to me, had me around to tea and argued theology, comforted me when my father died, tempered my enthusiasms with wisdom, and encouraged me when I was down, there was always a plate of chocolate biscuits at hand.  He made a difference.

Thank God for Chocolate.

This entry is part of a series; to get the full picture, read the previous three entries...

This day was composed of three distinct parts; a morning meditation, a walk shortly before noon, and another in the early afternoon.  My journal entries reflect the ongoing journey, starting from that point of emptiness that was the last impression of the previous day.

Morning: My Poverty and God's Riches.  I sat outside and watched the sunlight sweep across the firth, creep down the pohutukawa, and light up the rocks.  After a while, thinking about my emptiness and poverty before God, I realised that I didn't like the idea.  I resented it.  I want to be rich and full.  Why should I be empty?  The answer was immediate: so that I can enjoy God's riches.  Those things that I take to myself of my own accord and for myself become barriers between me and God.  Those things which I receive with thanksgiving from his hand are truly his gifts; good for me and good for the building up of the kingdom - and most importantly they do not come between us.

Because they come to me from God, his gifts do not create any anxiety in me; I need not fear that he will see me with something I oughtn't to have and take it off me.  When I take something for myself without owning it as his gift, I become defensive of it, and afraid of losing it.  Thanksgiving to God makes me more able to be generous and prevents me from becoming an anxious hoarder of gifts that were made to be enjoyed and shared.  If I cannot give thanks for it, then it is probably not something I ought to have!

So my emptiness is God's opportunity to fill me.  Glory to God!

Noon: Hope and Despair.  I walked again to the end of the second beach.  Since yesterday my calves have been sore and inelastic.  I took my time today, dawdling rather than striding as usual, but even so my pace was further reduced by the time I returned.  I wasn't hobbling - but I wasn't far from. 

The following poem describes the experiences of this walk:

At the end of the beach

is a long spit beside the stream

against the bank I came across the carcase of a cow

beginning to bloat, bones showing

where it's been beaten on rocks

by the river that rolled it into the sea

and by the sea that stranded it in the sand.

Turning towards the retreating tide

I saw how on each side of the spit

the sea stretched out to elusive horizons

hidden by mizzling rain and morning mists.

This is our state, stuck

between death and the indistinct division

of earth and heaven.

"Come, Lord Jesus" I called out to Christ our King

over and again

to he who is our hope.

The first version of the poem, written shortly after my return from the beach, actually had the final lines,

"I called out, Come, Lord Christ,

and the blank blue sky, deaf and blind,

rolled over my head"

Of the two versions, the second one I wrote (the first one in this entry) is more correct; truer to my experience at the time and to the reality.  It is also true that, at the time, the heavens seemed blind and blank to me, but it is more true that in calling out to Christ I was reminded that our present deathly, confused state is not permanent.  He will come and make an end to this.  And he comes to us now with signs of the kingdom.  I went home and wrote both the despair and the hope, but hope is the last word. 

Afternoon: Triumph.  Having written the poems, I felt restless.  I had recovered from my walk and now prowled my cell seeking distraction.  I picked up a candle, thinking to light it and meditate a while on the flame - but felt (God saying) that I was just distracting myself by playing with fire.  Apt that.  I prowled again.  In fact, I began to pace.  Thinking about the fact that the four days of fasting was nearly over I wondered if it should have been more like Christ's experience (of forty days) in which he was tempted by the devil...

At that my pacing got a little agitated as light began to dawn on me.  After a couple more turns I threw on my boots and jacket again and went back to the beach - this time walking in the other direction for the first time.  I was exultant!  My bounce was back and phooey on my inelastic calves!  On my very first morning of fasting, God had shown me that I was tempted by Satan.  In that case by the desires of the flesh.  The second day I found myself in a high place, putting God to the test.  The third day... didn't I seek to find divinity where it does not reside?  Didn't I learn that God cannot be made present by my art, but is free and alone worthy of worship? 

In realising the reality of the life of Jesus recapitulated in me i was overjoyed.  I practically danced all the way down the rocky coast-line, skipping from rock to rock, and roaring out the 'Lorica' of St Patrick over the crashing waves; a sort of battle song to place Satan on notice.  Fasting is feasting.

This is part of a series; to get the whole picture, read the previous two entries and the next one.

One of the Key elements of every retreat has been the sharpening of my desire for God’s presence in a setting which emphasises his absence.  This year was no exception.  The following quotes from my journal illustrate this:

Retreat 2008: Day 2  (Morning) The weather is blustery and there is a good deal of rain.  I attempted a walk in the late morning but turned back when I got to the river.  I don’t feel weak, but easily tired and a little depressed.  Very mild hunger.  I want warmth more than food.  I dislike the sluggishness and torpor I feel and I dislike being trapped by the weather.  Where is the clarity that is supposed to come with cleansing?  Where is the room in which to stretch my legs and enjoy Christ’s presence – his horizons and heavens, and not this dull little room?  I feel imprisoned.

(Later) Sitting, making a desultory attempt to meditate, I became impatient and said, “I know you are here!” – meaning “Why don’t you show yourself?!”  A shaft of sunshine caught my eye.  I could finally go outside.  But where?  The tide is up and the waves are beating across the road.  Up the trail I hacked last year through the bush to the old Pa site.  Off I went, through mud and tangles to the top.  Carefully; the track was slippery, the stream was roaring beside me, and I was alone.

Finally to the top; what is there?  Sky and horizon.  Trees obscure my vision in every direction.  Mud.  Where is God?  Where is his Word?  In nature, in the scriptures, in the gurgling of my guts I can, by faith, pick out God’s voice.  But what I want is the immediate presence, the un-interpreted voice of God.

I know, theoretically, that this is foolish.  I could not stand in his unmediated presence; his splendour, his Holiness.  Also, I know in my head that he has chosen incarnate revelation, coming to us as bodily presence; discernable by faith – and rejectable by unbelief.

It is my unbelief, my doubt that desires the completely clear, unequivocal experience of God.

And yet, there is in it also that good hunger for God that has brought me here in the first place.  Yes, I want the benefits of Sabbath rest and obedience; but more than all, I just want more of God in my life!

Retreat 2008: Day 3  (Morning) The sun is out.  I walked to the far end of the second beach, heading into a strong wind, and re-consecrated myself to Christ, in his death and resurrection.  Came back with sun and wind behind me.  I am tired, as though I have worked very strenuously, and my limbs ache.

Before I went walking I read Zechariah.  Why have I never noticed before how much of Christ is in there?!!  I asked for him to reveal himself.  He has shown me my need for repentance (this, last night before sleeping), shown me himself in the scriptures, and come to me today in wind and sunshine.  If there is no more of Christ, this is already a feast.

(Later) The power went off for about an hour.  The sun is gone and the light is going.  Tide’s in, wind’s up, may be rain later.  I ache a little and have occasional very mild stomach cramps, but can’t really call myself uncomfortable. I feel bright enough, if not exactly bouncy.

(Early Evening) There is a big mirror over the bench where I keep my bible and paper.  I was looking around for something to draw when I caught sight of my own face.  Ok then; self-portrait.  As I sat and studied the face in front of me, I became aware that I had been avoiding that mirror up till now. Why?  Dislike for narcissism?  Or I don’t want to face myself?  If I can find Christ everywhere else, is he to be found in my face too?

(Night) Fell asleep very quickly, then woke again around 11.00 p.m.  After some hours lying awake I thought to write a letter to God. Got no further than the date and “Dear God” before I stopped.  Felt that it would be merely another layer of conceit and deceit on my part, when I know he is here, even though I do not see him.  For a similar reason much of my praying has been silent, so that I am not distracted to merely admire my own voice. 

God, I am empty and alone.  I need you.  That is the whole truth.

This is part of a series; to get the whole picture read the previous entry and the next two.

Going out with Joy / Returning with Temptation.

On the first day of my retreat, I enjoyed the freedom of the Sabbath rest; I slept until I woke (about 10.00!!), then (after 'breakfasting' on Psalm One and prayers of praise) lay in bed reading, not getting up till I'd finished the book and it was time for a 'lunch' of another Psalm.  Somewhere between the previous evening and this morning I decided that I would fast, and, for the rest of the retreat, replaced meals with Psalms. 

The early part of the afternoon I went for my first walk, north along the rocky coast-line.  These walks are alternately rock-hopping and strolling along the beach.  At one point I have to leave the beach, follow a river upstream to the road bridge to cross, and then I can come back down onto a second beach.  AS I walked I had a delightful sense of holiday in its original sense: 'Holy Day'.  This, despite the rain, that only intensified as I walked until I took shelter beneath a huge old Pohutukawa.  When I emerged a little later and returned to the beach, I came across a stone, shining in the sand.  It was flushed with deep red veins and striations, and along the back of it was a shimmering blue-white seam of quartz.  If it hadn't been wet as it was, it would have looked very ordinary.  As it was it took my breath away. 

My mind immediately leapt to the analogy of our being washed by Christ in Baptism; that when he cleanses us he doesn't just wash away the muck, he also brings out the beauty that God has made to exist in us.  I was filled with a deep gratitude, and burst into praise as I continued to walk. 

It was a good beginning to the fast.  I thought that if it was all going to be like this, then I have been wary of fasting for no reason.  It was a very 'light' discipline.  Perhaps I found it to be so because I felt under absolutely no compulsion to fast; it was very much a free offering, rather than a tax or tribute paid to a tyrant.  Even my own 'internal' tyrant was silent about the need to fast.  I was still free to fast or not as I chose throughout the retreat.  The food was there if I wanted or needed it.  I just didn't want it.

It was as if, in my sabbath rest, I was resting also from food; as though I was trusting God with responsibility for my nutrition as I trusted him with all the other responsibilities that I had laid down to come on this sabbath retreat.  There was a real joy and a feeling of release rather than any sense of burden.  For this too I praised God.

Then, as I made my way back with the wind behind me, I found my thoughts drifting to old temptations, and had to consciously wrench my mind back on track.  Before I could resent or even begin to despair the intrusion of 'the old man' into this holy-day, my attention was caught by a pair of black sea-birds flying past me from behind and on down the beach, one pursuing the other, squawking, dodging, diving and harassing it out of sight.  It was a perfect visual illustration of my experience in which the Joy of God was so swiftly followed by the temptations of the flesh. No sooner do I spread my spiritual wings and soar into praise and the delight of God, than I am pursued and hassled by evil.

Taking it as such, however, raised a problem.  The two black birds were the same species.  Does this mean that the joy I celebrate is as fleshly as the temptation I struggle with?  It wasn't until I came to write about it that I saw the other possibility: It is true that, like temptation, my joy is a fleshly thing in that it exists in me bodily; but it is also true that the Joy has a spiritual source and a spiritual end and works to make me spiritual.  Just so the temptation I struggle with is as spiritual as the Joy I celebrate - certainly in its ultimate effects, probably in its origin and currently in its working in me. 

How easily I discount the spiritual nature of evil!  I prefer to think of it as being entirely under my control, beginning (and potentially ending) with me.  I prefer not to involve myself in the embarrassing possibility of a 'Satan' figure, with its comic-book or 'B' grade movie connotations.  I want to disassociate myself from Christian charlatans and showmen who use superficial and silly talk of spiritual warfare to attract and use the anxious, the confused, and the violent. And yet, those con-men and fools are dragging down to their own level a reality that existed before they did.  At the deepest level of revelation there are the stories of our Lord and God confronting the evil one.  Who am I to put myself above scripture?

The result of this realisation was two-fold; one, I was able to reaffirm and celebrate the inseparably bodily and spiritual nature of the Joy of the Lord.  It was a relief to remember that the human experience is not discounted merely because it is completely human.  That is part of the meaning of the incarnation.  But also I found tremendous relief in realising fully, for the first time, that my experiences of temptation were not simply because I was a sinner.  I found myself emerging from a sub-conscious self-condemnation... self-condemnation?  Isn't that Satan's job?  Maybe I actually emerged from a cleverly disguised satanic condemnation?!  But certainly, I felt freer and more comfortable with both myself and my God because of the clearer picture I had been given.  I don't conceive of myself as any less responsible in my dealing with temptation, rather, I feel far more like dealing with it.  It no longer feels like a hopeless process of beating myself up.  I can instead engage in the biblical process of "submit yourself to God, resist the Devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4.7)

Not a bad start to the retreat.  What would happen next?

Well, I've just returned from this year's retreat, and am still in recovery!  What a mind-blowing experience!  My journal from the four days covers fifteen pages, so I'll post snippets from it here over the next week or so, as I can snatch a few minutes from my other tasks.  This first post is just an outline of how I prepared for the retreat, to provide some context for what follows:

There were two primary motivations for the retreat.  They aren't really completely separate, and I found it hard to keep them distinct from each other in my mind as they feed into each other.  The first motivation was simply to be with God; to renew my relationship with him and allow him to speak into my life.  The second motivation was to enjoy a Sabbath; a time of obedience, of focus on God, of celebrating his gifts, of rest and renewal, of trusting that He can care for me and my responsibilities even if I don't do anything about them for a week. 

To achieve these aims I took myself to a cabin on a rocky coast, without contact with anyone else from Monday evening to Saturday morning (I did have a brief conversation Friday evening with my hostess, who came to offer me a ride back into town the next morning).  The central idea is to eliminate as far as possible all the distractions of activity and leave me open (vulnerable?) to the presence of God - and my own self.  This is never, however, a simple denial of material reality, as though we can't experience both God and the concrete world of creation together.  Biblical faith has always strongly affirmed the goodness of the material world and God's self expression in and through it.  So I wasn't trying to reject 'life' in order to find something 'spiritual' but rather I needed to simplify things as far as possible, to slow down and quiet myself, and to reduce the number of elements available to me as defences against myself and God. 

So I took my bible, some reading material, some drawing materials, enough warm clothes(!) and bedding, and some food.  The food was debatable.  I try to go into these times open to what God wants, so try to prepare for a number of eventualities.  On the one hand, I had become very aware during last year's retreat (and on previous retreats) how, in the great gaps of emptiness created by the lack of activities and tasks, I had tended to use food for its comfort value; a means of giving myself pleasant feelings, stimulating and distracting me.  Also I had used the food to provide structure to the day - I'd hang out for midday and tea-time.  I'd find myself thinking forward to the next meal, beginning to plan it and anticipate it, and so lose my focus on the present, and the openness to God that I was trying to cultivate.  Food, and the enjoyment of it, is an important part of our life with God - He invites us to the feast of his kingdom, calls us to communion with him through bread and wine, and we are to be thankful for the goodness of food.  Nevertheless, I decided that I would probably fast for this retreat; partly to deal with the problem of distraction that had emerged on previous retreats, and partly as an experiment.  I'd never previously fasted for more than a couple of days.  I wondered what four days would be like?  Because I was unsure if this was the right thing to do, I also took along enough food for three simple meals a day, meals that could be prepared and eaten without undue thought; simple, plain, repetitive.  Thus I could fast or I could eat as I chose.

The reading and drawing materials were also debatable, but both had proved themselves very valuable in previous retreats.  The books were all of some value in providing and provoking spiritual reflection.  They filled the place of a 'spiritual director' such as one might meet with on such a retreat - only I could close these books at will and choose to ignore them should I wish.  The drawing materials last year had provided a means by which God had focused me on his voice in creation; teaching me to 'see'.  The danger of these, of course, was that they were potentially more potent distractions than food could ever be.  I could only eat so much a day, but I could read forever.  I had to be disciplined in my use of them.

The bible, God's revelation to me, was absolutely necessary as the compliment to creation.  In the one I felt the hand of God, in the other I heard His voice.

On previous retreats I had planned some tasks; some physical labour to do and some study to complete.  This time I deliberately planned neither.  I was fasting from work in order to be open to God.  It was a sabbath.  It was God's time.  I wondered what he would do with it?  I wondered if he would show up?  I wondered if I would recognise him if he did, and I wondered how I would cope with the emptiness until then?

This address was presented to the church at a meeting last week as a way of acknowledging where we had been and looking forward to what s to come... 

Dear Friends

Nearly a year ago Gordon finished here and moved to M. to steer the church there through a vacancy.  For the last 12 months I’ve been leading this church; initially in an interim position while the search committee examined the needs of the church and the qualifications of various possible pastors, then as your appointed minister.  It’s been a real privilege. 

But it hasn’t been easy.  Let’s just review where we’ve been:

Twelve months ago, the economy was flush, the housing boom was at its height, and we felt prosperous.  Now oil prices are spiralling out of control, and taking food prices along for the ride, houses aren’t selling, interest rates are high, and the purchasing power of fixed incomes is shrinking at a frightening rate.

Twelve months ago we had a staff of three; we were paying for less than two full-time positions, but we had three people in those positions, and they were doing the work of three people.  Now you have just one, and alongside his pastoral duties he has family responsibilities and ongoing study.

Twelve months ago we appointed a new manager to Community Ministries, hoping that he would get things back on track after a financial crisis forced a review.  The finances are now in good shape, but the manager has now left, and that process has been very draining.

Twelve months ago we suffered the death of Ron.  Since then we’ve also lost May, Edie, Wayne, Norm, Don, and Stuart. 

When I look back on the last twelve months, it feels like winter.  Winter is the dying season; it’s hard and cold and not a lot of fun.  But if you look at a tree like the Douglas Fir, it has winter seasons and summer spring seasons marked by light and dark bands in the wood.  The lighter wood is produced by the rapid growth of spring and summer; the darker, denser wood, by the slow growth of winter.  Both types of growth together produce a natural sort of plywood, where the softer, more flexible growth of spring, is given strength by the hard growth of winter. 

We are in a winter season, and it’s hard going – but that does not mean we have ceased to grow.  We may not have the abundant growth, the lushness of Spring, but looking around, I see a different type of growth.

There’s less money around in the economy; but we continue to see a high level of giving in this congregation.  Generosity and sacrificial giving are marks of true discipleship. 

We have a staff of one but we have more volunteers.  Individuals are stepping forward to pick up tasks around the church that need to be done.  They’re doing so with a servant attitude, and we are blessed because of it. 

The reshaping of community ministries has revealed hidden weaknesses and allowed for people to step forward into new positions.  It is in a better position now than it was twelve months ago. 

Though we grieve the loss of those we have loved, I want to celebrate the fact that this congregation has given itself so compassionately to caring for those who remain.  Pastoral care in this church doesn’t just mean care by the Pastor, but care of each other. 

Times are difficult.  We don’t seem to be growing like we’d like.  But I want you to know that I can see growth of a very precious sort happening all the time.  And I praise God for the way in which he has lead us in this.

Winter growth is denser, darker, and deeper.  We need the winter growth if the spring growth is to be any good.

So much for the past twelve months; what of the future?

As we go into the future, I want us to hold onto two practical principles, and one theological truth.  The Truth is that it doesn’t matter what programmes we use or don’t use, what strategies we adopt or not, what mission statements or organisational objectives we use, ONLY GOD BRINGS GROWTH – and to God be the glory.  We will use programmes and events and all the rest of it, but they aren’t the point.  God is.  We’re a church, not a business.  God is the goal and God is the way and God is the gate we go in by.  All the rest is window-dressing.

The practical principles are these: ‘integrity’ and ‘conviction’. 

• ‘Integrity’ means we will not jump on the nearest bandwagon as it rolls past and in doing so abandon everything we are presently committed to, just so that we can do the new thing.  Where we have made commitments, we will honour them.  We will be trustworthy and demonstrate commitment in a quick-fix superficial world.  We will have integrity.
• ‘Conviction’ means we will stop doing those things we no longer believe are right for us.  We will not build structures and then become slaves to those structures.  The structures are there to support us in mission; we aren’t here to support the structures.  We will do those things we have a real calling to do, and not be afraid to let go of what is no longer alive.

You can see how there is a tension between these two practical principles.  When do we continue with a thing for the sake of integrity; and when do we lay it down because we’re no longer convinced it is the right way?  There are no simple answers, and we will approach each situation on its merits.

One of the most basic tests, however, is to see what survives when we begin something new.  If we start a new ministry and it flies like an eagle, then we may find that in the light of the enthusiasm and excitement of this new ministry, we allow some of the old ones to be quietly laid to rest. 

Or we might find that what looked like an aerodynamic eagle on the drawing board flies like a turkey, simply because it’s not right for us at all, and so we don’t get in behind it. 

The only things that will happen are the things that we want to happen.  And they will only lead to growth if God is behind them. 

So we’re going to get on with business; the normal unsurprising business of worshipping, of loving our neighbours, and of looking out for one another as best we’re able.  And we’re going to try new things occasionally, working out new ways of doing those three things. And we’re going to have some successes and some failures and that’s ok.  But we are going to see growth – both the dense, hard growth of winter, and the abundant, light growth of spring.  And to God be the Glory, now and always.

What do you mean by Organic Church?

by philipedwards @ 05/04/2007 – 11:08:24