Geoff's Blog

Timeless Stories in 60 seconds

Our generation were often taught in ‘scripture’ at school. If you didn’t get them there, they were part of our folklore anyway: The Good Samaritan, The Prodigal Son, The Lost Sheep, all attributed to a wandering Jewish carpenter turned teacher/philosopher/messiah.

The Parables are remarkable for their brevity and their deep insight into the human condition. But their teacher – a man called Jesus – often claimed more about them when he said, “The kingdom of God is like…”.
That they - so simple in form - reflect a glimpse of some other reality makes them worth a second look. Consider, for instance, this:

“The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it.” (Matthew13)

My daughters are shoppers. And how. GraysOnline, eBay are a more than routine part of their purchasing patterns. What are they buying? Anything that they perceive will make their lives happier, easier, richer. Have they got to the point in their lives of shopping for meaning? Not so sure. But when they do, they will shop! And then, watch out the bishops, new-agers and gurus. They’ll shop hard till they get the answers they want.

The pearl merchant shopped and searched for excellence. He wanted to posses the ultimate prize. He was prepared to dispose of everything else in order to achieve that magic joyous moment of exchange of the less valued for the ultimate prize. Is this what the kingdom of heaven is? The most valued sought after purchase of our existence? The thing in the light of which, everything else fades into insignificance? In our shopping experience, often the ultimate prize seems hidden from us. But once we see it, our focus can go nowhere else. I suspect that this was what Jesus hoped for all of us.

But there may be more. The parables about the Kingdom of Heaven to me often are about this Jewish teacher and how he saw himself. In telling this story was he talking about himself searching out the great and most valued thing to him in the universe? Each person. You. Me. That our value was beyond price? Was he prepared to make whatever spiritual transaction was required, no matter what the cost, to open the Kingdom of Heaven in all its happiness to us who are searching for meaning?

Mistake on a mast

When Peter Garrett or Penny Wong blurb on our media about the virtues of Solar Power I have the “chuck bucket” ready. Have either of them a solar installation? A real one? I doubt it. If they had they would have experienced the total and utter unreliability of solar and wind where there is no back connection to the grid.

I guess that on the farm we have spent close to $70,000 for an installation using professionals all the way only to find that the equipment, the batteries, the exposure to the elements makes this a very dubious technology indeed. As part of our installation we had two wind turbines. Not only did they keep us and the neighbours awake at night, they became victims of lightning which struck at the very core of our system and took significant money and time to re-asses and replace.

That’s not the only thing. Over- zealous sales people (who talk more like religious fanatics than green-power professionals) sold us the wrong batteries for our installation, gave us, and recommended, an installer whose work had to be redone, etc, etc, ad nauseam. So P.G & P.W, get some first hand experience before you become such evangelists. The solar/wind cost per KW hour is something, which, if applied to a suburban household will have our beloved Kevin out on his ear in no time.

And another thing, as I was out preparing the mast for the new wind generator there was certainly no global warming, it was just above 0 degrees and the windchill reminded me of my time in the snows of Canada. So all in all, P.G and P.W for me, your credibility gets lower by the minute. It was probably not enhanced by my mood because I had to adjust the old wind mast guides to accommodate a new, heavier mast. My mistook. Grumble. Grumble. Fumble. Fumble.

Which, now I’m sitting in the comfort of the house at the computer, seems a little unfair (but only maybe) because here I am, taking out my frustrations on our elected’s who are probably easy targets.
And I am reminded of the parable about a man who owed a king’s ransom and who begged for time to pay from the monarch. Not only was he given time to pay, but the debt was wiped.

However, once out of the king’s presence, he saw a person who owed him a tiny debt, just enough to get him into court. Which he duly does and sells the family of the small debtor into penury and prison. This is observed by some of the king’s other servants and they duly report it. Where upon the tables are turned.

Perhaps I should grant P.G. and P.W. a little more slack. My green power frustrations are my business not theirs. I’m sure they mean well. However I do have a question of them.

At dinner last night we had a guest who works at a coal fired power station. He bulldozes the coal into the station. 25,000 tons per day. Assuming no CO2 capture or advanced technology, and being generous in that one ton of coal produces one ton of CO2 (it’s up to 3 times that), if Kevin, P.G and P.W set the carbon price at $20 per ton, that power station is going to be paying a tax to the aforementioned of $500,000+ per day ($182,000,000 p.a) to operate. What is that going to do for power bills? Is it my imagination or is the hoax on us because of some “ expert” scientists and the economist’s report?

We may all find ourselves owing a king’s ransom just for power and petrol to satisfy the government’s desire to lead the world in what is demanded of them by the global warming high priests who may be proven wrong when the ice age approaches in the next decade.. I somehow suspect that we won’t be getting our debts forgiven.

Robyn is elsewhere - what a way to go

There was an angel at the bottom of the bed as she died. Her daughter saw the angel welcome her as she breathed her last.
Sounds like a Mills and Boon doesn’t it?  Yet this was relayed to me in an email after Robyn died. I believe the story is worth telling because there are amazing people in our lives, most of whom will never be recognised with an AO, or as Parent Of The Year. Robyn was one of them.

I first met Robyn when her husband Harold came to work with us some two decades ago. Harold had a unique talent in design and made a huge contribution to the business. Harold was restless. He was a Christian of firm belief and had inside an awareness of the spiritual world which ran deep. One day he gave notice. He and Robyn were going to “live by faith” and work south of Sydney. To those outside the Christian experience, “live by faith” is where the couple will exercise a “ministry” to other people of counselling, healing, preaching and believe that God will provide what they need, in the way of gifts from other believers.
And so they did, for some years as I remember. Then Harold contacted me and said he and Robyn were going to India. Same idea but they were going to live in poverty and establish churches amongst the poor. Now I’m a Christian and I’ve run churches but I’m also a businessman and a realist. Privately, I’m thinking it’s nuts.

Off they go, someone provided an airfare and the next we know, they are living on the outskirts of an Indian city. The most amazing things start to happen. In the next decade, this quiet self-effacing couple establish home churches throughout the surrounding districts. Indian. Self supporting. Totally within the prevailing culture.
This was not imperialist evangelism, it was a couple with a vision, seeking to give what they saw as good spiritual news to the poor, dispossessed and alienated. They had no huge established missionary organisation behind them. Just the God in whom they believed and themselves.

Harold was the visionary teacher, encourager and pastoral genius. Robyn could have lived in his shadow but whatever power was with them, settled in Robyn in the form of a healer. In the Christian sacred writings, there are many instances of Jesus and his immediate followers making sick people – both mentally and physically ill - well in an instant. It appears that Robyn had this extraordinary gift.

Sitting in the comfort of my office, I would get these unbelievable emails, telling of healings and spiritual events which were so foreign to me as to be from another time or another planet. It brought on a sense of inadequacy and guilt. Did I not believe in their God? How many people had I healed in any sense? I had practiced my advertising craft and sold things but in the eternal things had I done anything?

In the middle of all this came the nasty news that Robyn had cancer. They flew back to Australia (if my memory serves me) about five or six years ago to get medical opinion and after consultation, decided that God would heal her. I am left more than incredulous. “Get the chemo, zap in the radiation,” was my private response but I did not understand the dimensions of their faith in their God.

Back they went to India. She was healed and declared clear of any symptoms. So their work amongst the poor went on. It seemed to grow and grow. They came home two years ago and we had coffee with them. Robyn was radiant.
Then, just recently, only a very little while recently - the symptoms returned. They flew home. It appeared that it only took two weeks for the cancer to run its course. This time there was no miracle, except…
In those last moments of grief, separation and anxiety, to Robyn’s daughter an angel appears at the foot of the bed, to escort her mother into a place beyond this. Do I believe?  Absolutely. Even though my faith is nowhere near theirs, I am convinced that at times God’s world intersects with our world in the most remarkable ways.

There is grief at Robyn’s going. Here and in India. For her family, one of the unsung heroes of Australia has left. Leaving a legacy few will ever match or even appreciate. But as witness of God’s acceptance, a special messenger was sent to welcome her into that world, which for a moment, was near ours. In our moment of passing we should all be so lucky.

Go on you old bloke

Every workday I wake without alarm about 4.45 am. Something goes off in my head and the little battle trumpet issues its call to action. My long suffering beloved stays blissfully unaware and so without further ado I head for the shower, the dressing room, don the suit, crank the diesel and am in the office a little after 5.30am for another exciting day at the factory.

By the time I’ve done a small meditation and then check the email at around 6.30am I’m ready for the morning papers and a cup of the caffeine filled brew from Ming’s Takeaway. The office is an old two story building in a still ungentrified part of inner Sydney. So, as my arthritis infested legs take me slowly across the road to the newsagent and the wafting aroma of fresh-cooked takeaway anything, I’m beginning to sense what is ahead for the day.

The day continues with a mix of copywriting, telephone hookups and ad creation advice until my inner voice informs me that it is midday and time for something to calm the rumbling which is in my ample girth.

Yeah! Right! No breakfast. Wrong move. Breaks all the rules. Yaddy yaddy yaddah etc. But it’s the way it happens for me. And the day of this story is no exception.

Ming’s Takeaway is across the road. There’s a new Turkish Takeout just next door. So this day I got lazy and only walked next door to order. Having got lunch I’m walking back past the tables on the footpath. Just ahead of me there’s a young boy aged 14 or so who has a cardboard takeout of fish and chips from which he has been eating at the footpath tables. He picks up the box and starts to walk ahead of me taking hot chips from the pack as he goes.

Right in front of my office building he throws the box, chips and wrapping on the footpath and walks on.  Himself walking behind is incensed.  I tell him in no uncertain terms to come back and pick up what he has just dropped. The young man is a member of the local aboriginal community.

“Why should I do that you old white mother f……er?” is his opening gambit. So muggins launches into the tidy, ecology, global warming, save-the-planet, tidy town script. I might well be talking Green Martian. There is a tense standoff. He then reluctantly comes back, picks it up off the footpath, walks to the other side of the street and drops the whole package on the other footpath, and repeats the expletives loudly before vanishing round the corner.

Boy did I feel old, from another planet and just a little helpless. Here is this kid going into adulthood doing as he likes, no one to stop him, scattering his litter both actual and relational on the footpath of society leaving whatever mess in his wake believing that someone will pick up after him.

I wished somehow I had been as able as the old hairless Jewish prophet who was laughed at by a group of boys who called him and old baldhead. He cursed them and bears came out of the woods and did some damage on them.

Mine was only a minor act of verbal elder abuse. But it is a sign of things to come. The grey hair on my head is a sign of vulnerability not veneration. My age is a thing to be rubbished not respected. My hope for a tidy, responsible society brings lampooning not lawfulness.

In the future, like the story of the old prophet we will see the bears come out of the forest. They will be creatures of violence spawned by the same disregard for anything. It will not be nice to watch as these creatures of lawlessness actually turn on the aged, the vulnerable and then having dealt with them, on each other to society’s hurt and disintegration. Or is such pessimism just another function of my advancing years? 

A leap in the dark

It was dark last night at the farm. The wind was persistent as it blew its way across our west/east valley, leaving a somewhat disturbed sleeper even more restless than his current mental state. I achieved little as I tossed and turned and seemed to get nowhere in my efforts to cloud myself in a blanket of anonymous sleep.

It seems on reflection curious that I should try to get to sleep. It either comes or it doesn’t. No amount of trying will achieve the end result. So, in the end, I got up to attend to business emails, which had been neglected since I had spent yesterday travelling to and from a conference. As I rose, I was determined not to disturb the better half, so I did not turn on the light. All the rooms at the farm are simply furnished, and so I figured I would find my way to the study with no problem at all.

Because of the darkness I was plunged into disorientation. I made it through the kitchen by the light coming from the microwave menu. Then into the lounge room. Suddenly I lost it. No reference points.
Definitively out of my depth. Stumbling. Bumping. Groping for a reference point. I was effectively blind. Although within the safety of my home, I was disoriented and without direction. In that moment I had the sense of what it means to have no sight.

It could have all been solved if I’d turned on a light. But stubborn me, as I stumbled around, I was brought to mind with my other life stumbles.
Leaps in the dark. In lust, finance, moments of anger.  All of them in either a dark state of mind or in the dark of misinformation or willing blindness to reality.

What the parable teacher does when he meets blindness is to literally open eyes. Both of those who are blind and to those who are observers, to a claim that he makes about himself, “I am the light of the world.”

These sort of statements are at first blush, nonsense. We have light.
Every morning. It is this very light which makes things grow, whose lack of sunspots may send us into an ice age, whose rays ensure our very survival. What other light is there?

In the Hebrew legend of creation, when God says, “Let there be light,”
there is no sun or moon as yet created. Here is another light within the universe which undergirds everything within the created order.  The astute observers of Jesus knew this and his claim to be that very first thing in all creation, must have been like a dissonant chord within their minds.

How can a seemingly normal Jewish man claim to be that very force behind the life of the universe?
As Eliza Doolittle says in My Fair Lady, “Don’t talk of love- show me!”
And to their astonishment, that’s precisely what he does. He opens blind eyes to give light.

In the darkness which is often the inner me, I am caught both hiding from and wanting such light. Light to guide so I don’t stumble, but in asking for that, light which will reveal my inner recesses and life shadows. This is the tension of what some call a leap of faith. Having done it (with now no regrets) it is actually a leap into light with all that that implies. 

The aweful thought of the narrow box

In the Southern Highlands near us is a tiny, 100 year old, stone church. It was built by the local farmers when there was a small but loyal population of people who wanted a place to worship. From all denominations of the Christian belief, they clubbed together and their wonderful sandstone building still looks fresh and cared for.

Part of the attraction is the small graveyard. The early settler families have their burial plots here. Some with magnificent headstones from a bygone era.  Many now have a simple, large local stone with an embedded brass plate where their body or ashes lie.

As someone who has conducted many burial services I am still puzzled even as the inevitable day draws nearer - as to what it must be like to die. I know that I cannot escape or avoid this final act of being human. I know that at some stage this body I have inhabited will lie, lifeless in a wooden box with nothing of my earthly treasures to offset whatever has taken place as my last breath is drawn.

My wife has been a chaplain at a hospice for some years and has witnessed many moments of death in her work. She has a considerable bank of stories where the person dying seemingly sees someone they know welcoming them into another place. The skeptics say that this phenomenon is a lack of oxygen to the brain and that it is all imagination or illusion. But whatever the truth of the matter, death is still the only game in town for us all. 

Which is why the parable teller’s disciples asked him often about “being saved”. I’m not sure that they had the same definition as the televangeists. When they ask about how many will be saved on one occasion , Jesus replies in a curious fashion. He tells them to “strive to enter by the narrow door, because many will seek to enter and will not be able.” Is he creating some sort of exclusive club with sideways entry and secret passwords?

His following words give us a clue. Some will expect to enter on the basis that they shared a meal with him, or that they heard him speak. He says that this is hardly a qualification. What he seems to indicate is that “being saved” is a matter of what I would call the six foot box admission ticket. It is to acknowledge that death is inevitable and to live life in the same framework as he did.

To love God and to love your neighbor as you love yourself, is often to consign to that long narrow box our selfish ambitions and to see the world and our eternal future in the light of the one who did the same. In the entry to this understanding, is the narrow doorway to a wide and unexpected vista of fulfillment and amazement.

All of the societal and relational pyramid climbing in which we indulge with its masks, pretentions and petty conceits takes us nowhere except that lifeless locust shell in the box others lower into the ground. The acceptance of the narrow door experience now is to book a seat at the coming kingdom where in the words of Jesus, “some are last who will be first and some are first who will be last.” A place where rank and privilege do not matter at all.

Go figure- it’s outside the box.

Render to Caesar

Inevitably, the reality of how a government feels about itself and it’s budget shows. Not in the following day’s press, not in the television commentary, not even in the sales pitch which is massively conducted after delivery, but during the opposition’s reply speech.

It will be impossible to get a replay, but my memory of it is reasonably clear. Here is a government which considers itself effectively without opposition. The Treasurer relaxed and with a smirk that even the previous treasurer could not match even in his smirkiest days. The Finance Minister chatting away to an associate as if there was no speech going on.

And, for the first time, I glimpsed the inner soul of the Prime Minister through his body language and expression. All that was missing was a toga and a crown wreath. Caesar at his most remote. Slumped in his chair. Face immovable. Eyes fixed elsewhere and his mind asking him the question, “Do I really have to be here? Oh well, I’d better go through the motions!” The language on non-involvement was palpable, the indifference to an alternative view was fully on show.

As I sat there, having digested the social engineering of the budget which included the studied ignorance and neglect of retirees and carers- previous and present contributors to the marvelously rich society which the government is now meant to serve, I was tempted to commence all the possible avoidance action possible in my next return to this Caesar.

Which would put me at odds with the parable teacher, who when challenged about the level of financial commitment he and his followers should have to a hostile occupying power, uttered (unfortunately for me) the lingering words,” Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God, the things that are God’s.”

So now I am stuck. I have two obligations. One is clear. The Tax Commissioner and Treasurer get their take. The other is not so clear.
And what about me? I’m not even mentioned.  What does “render to God”
mean?

When I was three, my parents dropped me off at St Luke’s Narrabeen for Sunday School. I remember it as a typical pew layout church. The collection would take place. I had been given a penny. Into the brass plate it would go. The brass plate would then be marched down the aisle and given to the minister. He would then face the altar and lift the plate above his head as he intoned the prayer. For the life of me, as I strained around the end of the pew or stood on it week after week, I could not see the money rising up. Yet I heard the prayer asking God to take this money for His work.

Trying to sort this out, I’m not sure that I’ve grown up at all from there.  The rule for a God follower pre-Christ was a tenth of gross income and then some more on occasion, plus some specials for the poor.
And, I’m not being deliberately evasive now, but our modern Caesar has taken over some of that, but cut it back in this budget.  So what is my financial responsibility towards God as my personal economy tightens and Caesar becomes more demanding? And what of me?

The ancients gave their tenth to The Temple and its operations. Today, it needs to be considered carefully. Why today, give to support a moribund, irrelevant “Temple” structure which has lost its way? Equally, why give to get-rich slick televangelists in order to get a tacky lion statue by return together with a future lifetime of pleading Junk Mail for your trouble?

The God response should not be a puzzle.” Love your neighbor as you love yourself”. Walk through today alert to the possibility that someone near and visible may need my physical help and some cash. As well as the invisible children of Africa or Asia. As I can, and not beyond my capability, be generous and look after them. In doing this I am giving balance and meaning to both Caesar and to God.

And of me? The inherent promise of the parable teacher was that in doing this I could trust God forso it would be given to me. Surprisingly, unexpectedly and generously.

Mother and Son

What am I to make of Mother? At this stage my mum is in care as she slips slowly and surely into a world of limited words, memories and conversation. This (as many carers will tell you) is not the mother I have known.

Mother The Cook. Mother the Washer Woman. Mother the keeper of My Father. (Often keeping him away from us kids I suspect). Mother The all-round advisor, visionary and encourager. Mother the Champion Businesswoman in our suburb. This is (or was) my mother.

She had a saying when I strayed (often to her hurt) from the expected.
“Gladly my little cross I’d bear.” To my insensitive ears it made no sense, since what I heard was, ”Gladly my little cross-eyed bear.” She would bear the cross of my being a rather disappointing son by not doing whatever she had in mind for me.

In that, she was a fellow traveller with the parable teller’s mother who found it difficult when her son did not follow a life-path which she may have expected. This was the son promised to her by other-worldly visitors and life changing events. This is the son who was seen by her surrounding relatives as illegitimate. He was certainly special. Mystics came soon after the birth to visit and bring gifts. A king wished to kill him so the family became refugees.

Special. There was a trip when he was 12 years old where he painfully vanished for a couple of days. She knew he had special abilities so when at a wedding at which they were both guests ran out of alcohol, she pushed him to do something only to earn a rebuke for her trouble, yet to have before her eyes an unexpectedly generous miracle. It is recorded that she “kept all these things in her heart.” But it was only the beginning of curious and heart-wrenching pain.

He became a wandering teacher and healer. He gathered round a group of rag tag followers. He became an object of desire for some, and a structural threat to others. He narrowly avoided being at the head of a mob who wanted to make him king. In time though he managed to irrevocably offend and upset the entrenched power bases and become a condemned man. Yet to his mother, what had he done? Told some obscure stories. Healed the sick and tormented. Made some astute observations about existing political structures. But he wasn’t a criminal. They killed him anyway.

The Roman method of execution was certain and brutal. It was a cross on which you hung until your body gave way. From one to four days. This was where he died. His followers fled. His mother watched. His mother watched and bore this cross way beyond our imagining.

This is mothers. They bear us in the beginning and then bear with us in various states through our lives. The cross we put on them is our own doing. Our own errant behaviour. For the mother of Jesus it was a cross of unfairness, unreasonableness and irrationality. By this time, in all probability a widow, it was a strike at the very heart where she kept her hopes dreams and memories.

What is the cross we have put on our mothers? Some of us may not even be aware of being a “cross eyed bear” to them. The record is that Jesus died, was buried after the cross, but rose out of the grave to see his mother again. Is it, on Mothers’ Day, time to visit our mothers, understand the cross they have borne and bring new life to our relationships? 

In a little town far from home…..

Rosemary and I are travelling and we’ve stopped at a little town near Lismore. The travellers’ washing is on at the Laundromat. And now for a cup of tea. In the window of the first coffee shop is a pre-ANZAC display.

In every town we have passed there are signs indicating that the centre road will be closed this Friday for a remembrance of some kind. A parade. A service or maybe a game of two-up. No matter, we are really as a nation, wedded to the ANZAC Day idea.
What is it about this? One of my predecessors died on a battlefield overseas. My father was retained in Australia as being essential to the war effort when he wanted to be a pilot in New Guinea. There was sacrifice all through the family at various turns of WWII. I missed the ballot draft for Vietnam and have absolutely no idea of the horrors which men my age endured and faced.

Anzac is when each of us confronts our own mortality and a quiet remembrance with thanks for those who heard a distant drum and considered it a call. Without thought of themselves they went to the sacrifice of the killing fields and in return would probably only ask one thing; “Remember Me”. And so we do.
When the parable teacher Jesus was in his last hours of life, he sat with his friends and as he broke bread he asked them the same thing; “Remember Me.” What are we to remember? We remember that he, in the words of St Peter “left us an example, that we should follow his steps.”

The example?
A total sense of a life given to others. A life whose only desire for “more”, was that of giving more of himself for the benefit of those around him.
In one of the ancient Middle Eastern languages, the word for war approximates to; “the desire for more cows”. In our “more-obsessed”
society, no wonder there are turf wars, family wars, community wars, tribal wars. It’s always the desire for more- for- me.

In ANZAC, as in true followers of Jesus, we glimpse a desire not for more-for-me, but a desire for the wellbeing, security and happiness of others.
Remember me? We do. With grateful humility. Cross or killing fields so that for us it is an example and time we beat our swords into ploughs, and our spears into pruning shears. No longer at war with God,ourselves or others.

Mrs “Five More Minutes

It has come to a point of mutual agreement. I’m an on-or-before-time person. My beloved is always needing extra time to get away. In my childhood I remember dad sitting in the 1949 Chev outside our fibro house leaning on the horn when mum was running behind time.

Not for me, my life is worth living and she (who is only occasionally obeyed) is beloved. So “five more minutes” has entered our vocabulary and our mutual experience. But I’m sneaky. I set our departure time ten minutes in advance so that the five make no difference to our on-time arrival.

And as we progress (regress?) towards life’s big departure, I often wonder if “five more minutes” will apply when the angel arrives with the bye-bye vehicle. Jesus parable may give us a clue:

“Who then is the faithful and wise steward, whom his master will set over his household, to give them their portion of food at the proper time? Blessed is that servant whom his master when he comes will find so doing. Truly I say to you, he will set him over all his possessions.

But if that servant says to himself, ‘my master is delayed in coming,’ and begins to beat the menservants and maidservants , and to eat and drink and get drunk, the master of that servant will come on a day when he does not expect him and at an hour he does not know, and will punish him, and put him with the unfaithful.

And that servant who knew his master’s will, but did not make ready or act according to his will shall receive a severe beating. But he who did not know and did what deserved a beating shall receive a light beating. Everyone to whom much is given, of him shall much be required; and of him to whom men commit much they will demand the more.”

Is this about “Joe Tough God” giving you stick when you die? Hardly, its about being ready for that day when departure from this sphere of existence occurs. If there’s any stick it will be us beating up on ourselves for lost opportunities to do what is needed. How to be ready?  Looking after those who are given as our responsibility. Those who need “feeding”. Real physical hunger is hardly evident in our society but the hunger for meaning, relationship, belonging and identity is ever-present and needs to be satisfied.

What I suspect Jesus is asking of us here is to put aside our “five more minutes” when it comes to fulfilling the hunger others have in themselves. To have our lives full of service to others and to be at it until our moment comes, is not only to have a meaningful existence for ourselves, but it is to enrich the world around us and to be trusted servants of the very person who, though our creator, became our servant to leave us the example to follow in his steps. That is setting your eternal clock ten minutes in advance. Good move.

It’s a worry

Advertising. Blessing or curse? Being in the industry I guess I should come down on the blessing side, but there are times when it becomes difficult to revel in advertising’s benefits. The alcohol ads which, despite the protests of the big liquor companies, cleverly and brilliantly target the underage by packaging, presentation, taste and communication are a curse. They offer good times and instead deliver life damage.

Other advertising seeks to persuade us that by spreading this yellow margarine concoction on our toast we can(by implication) become more healthy and extend our lives. This combined with the emphasis on super fitness and rigid diet will help us (we are told) live into a ninth decade or longer. Knowing those who have relatives who are in care because of age beyond the three score years and ten goal, one wonders at the quality of life is really enjoyed. What is behind our obsession with extending our life?

I suspect it is our fear of what ends it which hangs heavy. Death. Thanks to the advertising and marketing of funeral directors, death is likely to be the most expensive purchase of our lives after the house and the car – and possibly the way things are going only second to the house. But I digress.

We want to avoid death. It is a gut reaction because death removes us from the very thing/s which we hold dear. Relationships. Our jobs. Our possessions. All gone, often in an instant. Often death seems unfair. Intrusive. So we are anxious to keep it at bay. Looking at the face of the joggers as they seek to extend their lives...they’re not happy, they are worried.

The parable teller seems to think differently. “Which of you by worrying, can add a day to his life? If you are not able to do such a little thing, why do you worry about the rest?… And do not seek what you are to eat or what you are to drink or be of anxious mind. For all the nations of the world seek these things; and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, seek his kingdom and these things shall be yours as well.”
Is it possible that in our headlong rush to a materialist heaven, where we seek to deny or delay death, that we have not only failed to reach the elusive happiness, but have actually become stressed in the search?  Our buying behaviour in the supermarkets or the Harvey Normans, our love affair with fad diets and a visible obsession with cooking programs on TV betrays us as we search for the new, the better, the best. Often to no avail.
Could there be another way to look at life? “Your kingdom come...” is part of a prayer which many of us can parrot off at will. What is that kingdom? Do we know what it entails? Is it that this kingdom which we are advised to seek has more in it than health food, a flat screen TV or a packet of Twisties?

The advice of the teacher is that in realising the spiritual kingdom ‘s realities of loving our neighbour as we love ourselves, our mind is set on eternal values which then puts this temporal life into a vastly different perspective. And to back the idea, there’s the promise that the creator God will not abandon our earthly needs as we put those values into practice and head towards the doorway where those eternal values become eternal reality.

No worries. 

All about Eve

The woman you put here with me....

More than any story in our western consciousness, the Garden Of Eden record - in the Hebrew and Christian sacred books- has shaped our sense of self and the way in which we view the role of the sexes.

It is a multi-layered story which presents itself with elegant simplicity but has been used by interpreters in many and varied ways.
Consider one of the most obvious, the chapter heading in the New International Version – “The Fall Of Man”. Even before the text is read, the mind has been shaped to accept that this is an event shaped by the word “fall” with all its negative connotations.

Then set within the story is the focus on the woman , and, by some interpretations, her bringing the world to a vastly different and less satisfactory place. This is the beginning of the portrayal of womankind as susceptible, emotional, seductive and the cause of all our troubles.
(“Us” being men of course).

But what if this story is really something else? What if Eden is the breakthrough into true humanity?
If the woman here is the adventurous one who is the risk taker and the “new horizons” person?

Indulge me. Look at the story.

“So the Lord God caused a deep sleep to fall upon the man, and while he slept took one o f his ribs and closed up its place with flesh; and the rib which the Lord God had taken from the man he made into a woman and brought her to the man.

Then the man said,
“This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman, because was taken out of Man.”

Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and cleaves to his wife, and they become one flesh. And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed.

Now the serpent was more subtle than any other wild creature that the Lord God had made.

He said to the woman, “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree of the garden’?”And the woman said to the serpent, ”We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden; but God said, ’You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’” But the serpent said to the woman, ”You will not die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves aprons.

And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, and said to him “Where are you?” And he said, “I heard the sound of thee in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” He said, “Who told you that you were naked?
Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man said, “The woman whom you put here with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, ’What is this that you have done?” The woman said,” The serpent beguiled me, and I ate.”

The creation of woman out of man is another discussion, but the end result is a wonder and complexity of relationship which promises intimacy, identity, support, meaning and joy. This is the potential of the Creation story. These two created beings are placed in an idyllic setting with only one instruction. There is a tree. It is sacred and its fruit is not to be eaten.

So, in the story, the woman’s focus is brought to this fruit. (Although we “blame” the woman, do we really think that the man was not around at the time?) Her thought patterns are brought to its “benefits”. New understanding of your emotional and spiritual makeup. The sense of being God-like. This is a significant possible shift. Yes, it is in defiance of the direct order of God, but why put the tree there in the first place if you don’t want it to be taken? Haven’t you heard of a razor wire fence?

The woman uses her senses, evaluates and thinks through the getting of wisdom idea surrounding the fruit. She is the risk taker. The adventurer. Gives some to the man, and they have the revelation of their status in the world. Before, in some sense they are eternal. Now, they are fully human in all its nakedness and vulnerability. Suddenly, there is the desire to mask their new naked awareness with covering. We’ve been doing it ever since.

Is this a story to be gloomy about? I think not. Rather, I think it is a story in praise of a risk taking woman who brought us into a true understanding of ourselves and our place in time and the universe. Yes, that had consequences of stepping into a limited span of life, of being at risk in our relationships with ourselves, others and God. But by doing this she also introduced us into the potential of humanity’s risk taking journey with all its good and evil.

In this I celebrate the uniqueness of woman. Of the women I have been fortunate enough to meet. The women who have taken the risk of relationship in any form with me. I celebrate their adventure, their emotion, insight and their showing to me as a man the potential of the most joyous and intimate moments when indeed we have a sense of what it must feel “to be like God”.

When is enough, enough?

Have you wrestled with this? When is it really time?  If you have, you know the issues –let’s say you want to retire. Will I have enough to live on? What if interest rates go up or go down? Will I head for the house on the coast or the retirement village?

Recently, one of Australia’s top bankers decided to step down. He’s been exceedingly astute, successful and would have accumulated heaps. No worries. Cleverly, he knew when to stop. he has more than enough. A wonderful position.

For most of us, the struggle is real and the decision hard. There is a parable which may give pause for thought as we journey towards that point.

“The land of a rich man brought forth plentifully; and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ And he said, ’I will do this; I will pull down my barns, and build larger ones; and there I will store all my grains and all my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; take your ease, eat, drink and be merry.’

But God said to him, ‘Fool, this night your soul is required of you and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So is he who lays up treasure for himself, and is not rich towards God.

In our climb through the upward path of materialism, is it that we become so caught up in the process that we forget the very thing in which we are involved? It is the daily business of survival and accumulation in a world which sometimes works for, and sometimes against us.

What if it is for us and we get that windfall?  Does the parable give us an indication that we live in a delicate impermanence, where motive becomes a significant factor in our very survival? Here the rich fool believes that material wealth has something to do with real life. He plans to deliver for himself the kind of lifestyle that retirement advertisements like to shower on us.

But is that what our inner life, the soul, is all about?  He has addressed his inner self, the very spirit part of his being with a promise he cannot warrant to deliver. That life will stretch before him at his own behest and that he can set its course for his own pleasure. None of us has that guarantee.

Does the last sentence of the parable give us the real insight?  Life is not about material treasure accumulation. It is a journey of understanding our own humanity and our relationship to the creator who blesses us day by day with the richness of life and all its trappings.
Once we see God in that light, we can determine to use the material resources with which we are blessed to enrich and heal the world around us.

And that not only makes us rich towards God, but you can never have enough. Ever. 

Life is full of interruptions

Programs interrupt our sincere and devoted enjoyment of the commercials
on TV. “Don’t speak when I’m interrupting”, is one of my favourite
mottos.

And some interruptions are really important and need attention. This is
one of them.

One reader (they may in fact be the only one- so they have my full
attention) has responded to the blog on prayer thus:

“You reckon we get what we pray for? I do not think God (if there is a
God) hears my prayers very often and if he does I am not sure I ever get
anything because I prayed.” - Phyl

This is a serious and vital response, because I suspect it is a hidden
thought for many people who seek to deal with a somewhat alien and
puzzling personage we call God because God appears to be hidden from us
and, at best, remote when we pray.

Do I have your permission to play at being God for a moment?  If I do, I
would like to have a dialog with our respondent.

God: “Phyl, I’m distressed. Obviously from your remarks, I sense that we
aren’t travelling too well in the prayer department.”

Phyl: “That’s about it.”

God: “ Since you have not been too specific about where I haven’t
answered , it is a bit hard for me to respond.”

Phyl: “Look, I know it’s all a bit general, but if you are God, really
in charge, what’s the harm of giving me something I really want?”

God: “Politician’s answer - Glad you asked that. I am God, I hear all
your prayers, and I really am in charge and I am able to give you
everything you want. “

Phyl: “Well, in the light of that, I’m happy to put aside the past, do
it now!”

God: “So really you want me to be a genie with no restrictions on
wishes.?”

Phyl: “That will do very nicely.”

God: “Just one question, what if I, Knowing everything, seeing the
future and actually caring for you as one of my created beings, see that
what you ask for in prayer will actually harm you?”

Phyl: As a God who supposedly loves me, either you’d think about it for
a while or you’d say no.”

God: “That’s what’s been happening. That new relationship you wanted so
badly would have irrevocably hurt you because the person had issues
which would have ultimately been unsatisfactory for you and them.”

Phyl: “Yeah but that Lotto ticket -even second prize- would have given
me a boost in all sorts of ways.

God: “To spoil yourself a bit?”

Phyl: “Betcha!”

God: “What about that older person down the road whose house needs
attention?”

Phyl: “He can do the same deal with you and then buy a Lotto ticket.”

God: “But what if I’ve been waiting for all these years for you to see
if you can answer his prayer to you before I answer your prayers to me?”

Phyl: “He prays to me?”

God: “ When he asks you for help and you promise to come back and help,
but something always distracts you, how he feels about you, is how you
now feel about me.”

Phyl: “So prayer is quid pro quo?”

God: “At one level you know that."Forgive us our sins as we forgive
those who sin against us."All I’ve been waiting for is the indication
that your prayer is not all about you.but has some outward vision for
the good of o0thers.”

Phyl: “Got a bit to think about.

God: “I’m always there if you want to talk.”

With some apologies to Phyl. But I hope that has helped a little.
Answers to prayer are sometimes Yes, sometimes Wait, sometimes No. But
all with the reason of our best in mind.

Knocked up

Ever got into a situation where you actually pray?  If the situation is awe-ful enough the prayer will splutter out as a plea bargain. “You get me out of this and I’ll be “good” (whatever that means). I will pay you more attention. I may even try to love my neighbor!”

Crisis passes and we quickly revert to our normal life. Prayer becomes the item of last resort again.

And that is something to which the parable that occurs just after the Lord’s Prayer points us:

Which of you who has a friend, will go to him at midnight and say to him, “Friend, lend me three loaves; for a friend of mine has arrived on a journey and I have nothing to set before him.” And he will answer from within, ”Do not bother me, the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot get up and give you anything? I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet, because of his importunity he will rise and give him whatever he needs. “ Here is real crisis. No all-night supermarkets or petrol outlets. No mobile phones to give advance warning of arrival. Empty food cupboard.
Just sudden appearance. Caught. Knocked up. Pray generosity from your friend. And even though grumbling and delay, yet the required face saver is provided.

There’s always the unexpected. And so we offer desperate prayer. And this seems to Jesus, such a waste because prayer offers not only answers in crisis but something much more, because he comments, “Ask and it will be given you, seek and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you. For every one who asks, receives. And he who seeks, finds. And to him who knocks, it will be opened. What father amongst you if his son asks for a fish will instead of the fish give him a serpent? Or if he asks for an egg will give him a scorpion?

If you then who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?”

For Jesus, the real stuff of prayer is something far beyond the material concerns even though those will be answered.  It is that, in prayer, the very wind (spirit) of God will be given to blow in and through our lives.

The same wind which, in the first chapters of the sacred books, is moving in the chaos of pre-creation and breathing life into the first beings. The wind which with move into our personal disorder to blow away that which is not real, and recreate in the heat and tiredness of daily life.

This can then be our daily prayer - let this wind blow! It is the very breath of new life, a recreation of our first and proper selves and it is the delight of God to do this. But only as we realise the crisis of our daily lives and in the light of a Chinese interpretaion of this word - opportunity - seize it and in prayer (no matter how hurried) ask him.

Subversive Prayers

We interrupt this program to bring you an important..

Confession. I was a radio serial addict. I would do almost anything to get a fix. Home built Crystal Set, small radio in the bedroom listening late at night. The Shadow. Superman. Any of them. And just occasionally the words above would cut in.  It is therefore with no apology that we interrupt the blogs on the parables of Jesus to bring you this short prayer.  This prayer precedes more of the parables.

It is reported that Karl Marx once said, “Every action is political”. If that is so, what are we to make of Jesus who taught his disciples this elegant and deceptively simple prayer which unfolds into a statement of attitude pregnant with political implications for our each of us and society?

How deeply subversive is this?

Our Father. When Rome was in his time, when the State is in ours. We dare to think beyond the visible, material universe and call upon someone totally other..

Hallowed be your name. May I hold in nothing less than awe the name which reflects the person who, on his own description, is “I will be who I will be”. Time less. Outside my manipulation. Beyond my human comprehension.
His own purposes beyond me yet wanting for me to share his life.

Your kingdom come. Why? Is my materialist heaven not delivering all of its promises? Or do I find this difficult because I want to run my kingdom without acknowledging the authority of another?

Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. There are two spaces.
God space and our space. Some believe they actually meet when God’s people get together or when the sacred writings are read. This is where we discover God’s will. His amazing purposes for humankind. If we will only let him.
God’s space is happy. Complete. At peace. That’s why we ask. Because ours is not.

Give us today our daily bread. In a time of recurrent famine, a big ask. In our endless quest for everything beyond the basics, here we are brought home. It helps us to remember who grows the wheat. The milling.
The baking. All at His creative bequest. And it directs us to the basics.

And forgive us our sins as we for give those who sin against us. Hardest word in the world. Forgive. Especially for sin which is missing the mark.
The mark God sets, the mark we set others. This is the only pattern for relationships. To indulge gloriously in forgiveness.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Protect us from ourselves. I hardly know what lurks within me to do damage to myself and others. Help me because you alone can.

Elegant. Simple. But personally at once devastating and uplifting. Worth interruption time every day.

Walk on By

The sellers of Big Issue magazine appear in my life at amazingly regular intervals. Each seller is different of course, but each seller is, by definition, a person who has gone on some sort of a personal downward journey and is trying to make sense of life in a capitalist society by selling this magazine and retaining a commission. Good on them.

Yet, first up when I see them, I think, “Why bother buying?” To me, it appears as a left leaning piece of editorial which hits at everything I’ve sought to achieve as a small business capitalist. And often I will walk by. This ignores the fact that the magazine is irrelevant to the equation. It is the person selling the magazine who is important.
And it is my reaction which is the point of discussion here. I am using my view of Big Issue precisely to avoid what should be the focus of my attention. The seller.

Which is why the misnamed parable “The Good Samaritan” could be a way in which I determine what is really important, as I hurry through life past Big Issue sellers and others who have experienced loss, a death of ideals, dreams or ambition.
A lawyer asked Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus answered with a summary of loving God anlawyer pursues the issue of “neighbor” and Jesus tells this story:

“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him, and departed leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So, likewise, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.

But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion, and went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; then set him on his own beast and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave it to the innkeeper, saying, “Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back’ Which of the three do you think,” Jesus asks, “proved neighbor to the man who fell among robbers? “

The lawyer replies, “the one who showed mercy on him”. Jesus: “Go and do likewise”

The downward journey person, robbed, beaten and left for dead is a loser and the focus of the story. Jerusalem to Jericho is physically, a 3,300 feet downward slope.  The downward journey is compounded by assault and battery. But wait, two spiritual persons are coming by. They have commandments, observances, ritual to draw them closer to God. Fat lot of good that does to the victim. It’s walk by time.

Another traveler comes by.  There’s all sorts of interesting by-plays here, in that the Samaritans are alienated from Jews and seen as losers.
So as this third passer-by stops and gives aid, it is one loser helping another.  The Samaritan is entering into the pain of the victim and pouring himself out because he understands what has taken place.

Traveller number one, (I happen to see this as a picture Jesus gives of his coming death) has been taken by the world and beaten to a pulp. In the parable, the Samaritan is a piece of middle eastern flotsam and recognizes suffering when he sees it.
This is all about seeing our essential lostness in the world.

We surround ourselves with the trappings of “belonging”. Trophy cars, houses, flat screens, wives, even religion- all to show how we ”belong”.
We do this to deny or disguise our essential lostness and alienation from God and from one another.

It is only as we look at the half dead in the story, the Big Issue seller, or Jesus the loser being crucified and see them in the light of our own lostness, that we can pour ourselves out into the world in any sort of meaningful way and realize that losing ourselves in that, is actually the roadmap to finding, being found and discovering true life both temporal and eternal. 

The toughest call of all

Think for a moment about what is the hardest thing to give to any relationship.

Think about what happens inside a relationship when one party accidentally or with some deliberation gives hurt to the other either physically or mentally.

The point of hurting is the crux of how the relationship will go forward from that moment. One party is in damage mode, and if the relationship is of value, the other is in damage control. But control of any kind is where we come unglued. Consider the parable:

The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants. When he began the reckoning, one was brought to him who owed ten thousand talents; and as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, with his wife and children and all that he had, and payment to be made. So the servant fell on his knees, imploring him, “Lord have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.” And out of pity for him, he forgave the debt.

But that same servant, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow servants who owed him 100 denarii, and seizing him by the throat he said, “pay me what you owe me.” So his fellow servant fell down and besought him, “have patience with me, and I will pay you.” He refused and went and put him in prison till he should pay the debt.

When his fellow servants saw what had taken place, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then the lord summoned him and said to him, “You wicked servant!
I forgave you all that debt because you besought me; and should not you have had mercy on your fellow servant, as I had mercy on you? And in anger his lord delivered him to the jailers till he should pay all his debt.

Damaged bodies, feelings, emotions do not need damage control, they need a liberating healing to restoration. That healing comes about by an act of forgiveness. In this parable, the lord forgave the first servant his debt. I take it to mean that he cancelled the requirement to pay it back. How will that work for each of us?

I suspect that often in relationships I like to keep a scorecard.  A scorecard which keeps account of the wrongs done to me by the other. I keep it close. And I often (to my shame) add a little interest to each score as I plan payback. I am just like that first servant.

The only way change will come in me is to recognise that in the relationship of my life which precedes all others - that between God and
me- there has been an unconditional forgiveness granted, no matter what the level of moral, spiritual debt incurred by me between us. No scorecard is kept. In fact, at one place, God is quoted as saying, “I shall put your sins as far away from you as the east is from the west.”

How then, can I keep a scorecard against my neighbour who struggles with life just as much as I? Is the more sensible thing, for the future of my small circle and my community, to learn the generous and amazing act of forgiveness which brings light, liberty, healing and joy wherever it is applied.

Death and Taxes

The saying you know. “There is nothing certain in this world – only death and taxes.” Having just celebrated yet another birthday in the sixties, getting ever closer to the closer and every month paying the government the tax on my wages and that of my employees, I am trapped in the reality of certainty.

It is inexorable. There is nothing I can do to escape either. No magic pill and no accountant with Mandrake-like qualities can realise an escape hatch for me. Even religion leaves me without any sort of verifiable hope that there is an out. All of them have some ’if’ clause in them. If you do this, live this, pray this, walk this, suffer this, then maybe (no certainty) you’ll get pie in the sky when you die. This is at best unsatisfying and at worst, depressing in the extreme. “Pay your dues or else,” makes for a hard God or set of gods.

Which is why a small episode in the life of the wandering Jewish teacher we call Jesus has that hint of variance in it which sparks imagination and excitement.

One of his disciples is asked if Jesus pays the two days’ wages for the Jewish religion’s temple tax which was collected every year. This helped fund their religious structure: buildings, priests, ongoing expenses.

Sound familiar? Jesus’ disciple gives an affirmative answer, and later at home, there is discussion about that very issue.  Jesus asks Simon, “What do you think, from whom do the kings of the earth take tribute? From their sons or from others?”

Simon answers, “From others.” Jesus says to him, “Then the sons are free. However, not to give offense to them, go to the sea and cast a hook, and takes the first fish that comes up, and when you open its mouth, you will find a shekel; take that and give it to them for me and for yourself.”

This, to me, is Jesus saying, “Let them have their observances for the moment, but let’s hang a ‘Gone Fishing’ sign over it for the future.” What if that has become the reality? That the struggle each of us has in paying any religious price that will quell fear, engender peace, rest our spirits, has been paid?

Is Jesus saying by this act, that he will provide the price if only we will hang that ‘Gone Fishing’ sign on our religious door. To me, it’s an opening, that if we take his words and relax, instead of stress about it all and let a living, now relationship with him take the place of religious observance, it is the end of our so-called human certainty about the inevitable and a new understanding of what it means to be spiritually aware and awake.

A footnote if you please. As a Christian, I have enjoyed the friendship of many ‘Gone Fishing’ people around the world. Some of it in church buildings. The practice of a Christian religion with all its structures, rules, parliaments and administrations is often (regrettably) far away from the freedom and the liberty of actual belief in the person of Jesus and the sharing of that with others in or outside a ‘church’ building. What I hope for is a less religious, and a more relational approach in our spiritual lives.

Lost

“When writing a drama, always ensure that the hero gets into something beyond their control.” This was advice given to me when I expressed some vague hint that I might actually attempt to create an electronic drama/soap. And how good is this advice? Look at the main leads in the television programme ‘Lost’. Up to their armpits in figurative alligators and not of their own choosing.

Some family members are hooked on ‘Lost’. For me, it’s too close to the reality of my life except for one thing: I get myself lost (over my head) with my own greed, avarice, desire (and don‘t forget, plain stupidity).

The realisation that you are lost brings forward a host of emotions. Helplessness. Self condemnation. Anger. Fear. You name it, you’ve felt it. And in that lostness, I’ve sometimes been so caught up in myself that I’ve failed to see the lifeline thrown by someone else.

Which is why the parable is interesting. “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one which is lost until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbours, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me for I have found the sheep which was lost.’ Just so, I tell you there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

Sheep farming must have been different for the practitioner in ancient times. It would seem that there were obedient sheep who would stay put whilst the shepherd would go off on his search. Not the sheep I’ve encountered; however, let’s stay with the story.

This has to be about a remarkable attitude by the shepherd. Which of us will not take a one per cent loss just to ensure that the rest of our investment stays secure? This shepherd takes (when you think about it) a 100% risk. Possibilities are: a) He’ll never find the lost sheep. b) He’ll end up finding he has lost his original flock when he gets back from his futile search. A search of total risk. But a search because he cares about lostness.

The story has a happy ending. Sheep found – and a party. What if God is like that? In the midst of our lostness, he takes a 100% risk and finds us. Only to take us into celebration. Down the centuries since this parable, many have attested to its truth. Maybe some of us secretly believe we are too lost to be found, or we have come to pathetically endure our bleating lostness and refuse the overwhelming joy of restoration and belonging once more.

Lost (Again)

In ancient times, if you dreamed the same thing twice that was a sign that the events in your dream would surely happen. In the story of the Great Pharaoh of Egypt, dreaming about a coming seven-year drought, the dream occurs in two variations but with the same theme. He is then so troubled, because it is essentially the same, that he calls on all the senior magicians and interpreters to tell him what the dreams mean

Sometimes the ancients appear to have had a deeper understanding of life than we 21st Century materialist junkies. They were concerned with myths, dreams and stories, believing them to have meaning and application to life circumstances. Which is why for me, when the teller of the parables relates the same story twice, but in different form, he wants us to pay special attention.

Consider: “Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it calls together her friends and neighbours, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin which I had lost.” Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

My previous ‘lost’ parable was about a living creature, a sheep. This is about an inanimate object. A coin. Is it that the second telling indicates a deeper lostness than the first to emphasise the seriousness of the lost human condition?

Being inanimate is a state for us of death. To be dead is to be lost to the world of the living with all of its life patterns, joys and sorrows. There is some depression, some lostness (even alcohol or drug addition) that is like that. It removes the person from awareness of the world around them and to those outside the person is ‘dead to the world’.

The second Jesus parable has an interesting process. First, light. This chases away shadows and brings clarity and reality. Second, a diligent sweeping. Getting rid of all the dirt, dust and distraction to the reveal of the coin.  For each of us in our lostness, no matter how deep, there has to be a moment of reality. That reality is our self exposed, but exposed in light to the searcher who considers us infinitely valuable and worth discovery.

In order to celebrate restoration to belonging, to knowing, to being in harmony with others and the searcher. How hidden do we want to be and for how long? How much do we avoid the light and the broom of the love of a God who wants to bring us to wholeness not hiddeness and abandonment?

The God of small things

In primary school (a lot longer ago than I care to remember) we would be given a grain of wheat and some cotton wool. We would be encouraged to take an old saucer, wet the cotton wool, place the wheat seed on the cotton wool and then hide the saucer in a cupboard. In a time, we were to discover the wheat had sprouted on the cotton wool. We were introduced to the mystery of growth.

It was hidden from us but then revealed. Such a small thing. Inert once but suddenly alive and with visible growth. That’s the life of all seeds, hidden and mysterious until planted and then the reveal as new growth breaks ground.

The teller of the biblical parables once said, “The kingdom of heaven is like a grain of mustard seed which a man took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all seeds, but when it is grown it is the greatest of all shrubs and becomes a tree so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.”

In Palestine, there is a local tree, Phytolacca dodecandra, whose foliage was used to treat cancerous tumors, and it is edible, though acrid. It grows from the smallest of seeds and at full growth is tree size.

The acrid taste of mustard is one to be acquired. Perhaps it is possible to think that the parable teller is not only alluding to the kingdom being unpalatable to some as a passing reference in this story of massive growth from small things.

Which ought to encourage us when, for whatever reason, we think that we cannot influence the world around us because we are “just me”. Though we are the smallest of humanity in our own sight, yet the potential for the kingdom of god in us is so great that we grow into the sort of person where those who are looking for shelter in a difficult world can find a place.

It may only be a word. A gesture. A gift. A helping hand. But each time practiced it will bring a different, surprising and pleasing world experience for another and for us. This is the mystery of the kingdom of god visibly expressing itself in the place where we find ourselves.  Like that Palestinian plant, as applied, it brings healing to the tumors of loneliness, loss of identity, suffering and lack of love in our ever-present world.

Hidden and dangerous

The pleasure of breadmaking is a long-cherished discovery. The smell of the finished product is a mythic doorway to childhood entrustment of half the High-Top loaf as you walked from the shop on the way home. If you were ever so careful, you could just sample a few of the delicious white bread pieces which were protruding when the baker had broken the loaf. Too many, and you were in for a tough time when you got home.

Now I gets to make my own. And last week, I had an accident. Carelessly, too much yeast in the dough mix. What a spillover!
Super-risen dough everywhere. The yeast had done its work.

Amazing really. Tiny flakes - just a teaspoon in 600 grams of flour plus some water and a little later, a risen mix ready for the oven.

Consider then the parable, ‘The kingdom of heaven is like a leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of flour till it was all leavened’.

Here is a virtually inert substance - plain flour. But put in yeast (hidden though it is) and the yeast changes the very nature of the mix. Does it do that gently? Hardly!

Watch yeast under a microscope and it is anything but pretty. It’s assertive, aggressive and, indeed, all out warfare until the flour is changed into dough. And yet it is hidden in the proving under a cover until the final result.

Is this what is going on inside me? That all those internal battles about what is right and what is wrong, those daily decisions of moment- by-moment life are this mysterious, hidden kingdom of god working itself out in me? Hidden but proving me until the time of readiness?

If that is so, do I welcome the struggle rather than mask it, bury it, gloss over it or dampen it with distraction or drugs (legal or otherwise? I find it hard to welcome the pain of personal growth and self-realisation. But if it is the creator working within me, to a higher purpose I say (with bated breath and rather softly) bring it on.

Hidden treasure

When you run your own business, it becomes painfully obvious that there are people who will take advantage of every loophole in any trading agreement you may care to establish.

They will stretch out the payment. Take advantage of a mistakenly unbilled service (and never speak about it to you) so that they get ‘one free’. It smacks to them of good fortune, to me a grudging acknowledgement of my oversight and their opportunistic behavior.

Clever? Devious? Simply smarter? Why is it that I find that the parables Jesus told have this sort of person featuring as a star player?

Consider: “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field which a man found and covered up; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.”

This offends my protestant sensibilities. Has the man no shame? How come he doesn’t declare the treasure and seek a reward? It appears that he wants this all for himself and blow anybody else, he’s going to get it.  Which speaks volumes about him.

He’s determined. Goal oriented. Will stop at nothing. Cashes in every resource to gain the prize. Everything else, everybody else fades into insignificance. Ruthless. Assertive, secretive and fully prize-oriented.

Is this someone who has discovered spiritual treasure? Yes. He has discovered this kingdom of heaven treasure and he is overwhelmed. He cannot do anything but think about it, dream about it and use every resource available to secure it.

If the kingdom of heaven is indeed a treasure which can be discovered, it is interesting that he keeps it under wraps but dedicates his life to its attainment. Which is rather akin to the parable teacher saying to someone he has healed that he should say nothing about his miracle encounter but go back to living his life amongst his peers.

This raises a significant question for people who do believe that they have discovered “the kingdom of heaven”. Is it more important to be single-mindedly working on the kingdom of heaven within us, or endlessly talking about it? Isn’t it better to show in its out-working, that we have found its treasure trove (costly though it is) by the way in which we live and how we relate to others? In the parable, the man is joyful. Unfortunately, often in real life, spiritual people are anything but.

It’s a question of (in the words of Eliza Doolittle) “Don’t talk of love, show me.” Once discovered, the kingdom in us reveals its true value to the world around. It proves its worth beyond any human measure.

Friday, 21 September 2007

“Bugger!” It was funny when it showed up in the commercial about a Toyota, and although it was relatively commonplace in language, it became even more as the television commercial gave it credence with humour. It became a bumper sticker, and although the more conservative members of the community may have complained to the toothless television Commercial Watchdog, “Bugger!” proceeded on its merry way.

Is it an old bloke’s rant that we have all incorporated in our day-to-day conversation words that were once deemed unsuitable? Words, which have now become expletives of frustration rather than words which carry a meaning?

The parable teller once said, “Hear and understand: not what goes into the mouth defiles a man, but what comes out of the mouth, this defiles a man.”

What goes into our mouths has become more and more a subject of both private and public awareness. The words of the parable now take on a new status in this environment. Has our world turned upside down? Have we become so concerned about calories, the sugar, fat or salt content of our food because we think that will corrupt our self-image? Are we now so obsessed with what we look like rather than the person we are?

The food fads we go though may have some intrinsic value or life extension possibilities, but does that matter if our minds and intents are askew and even malevolent towards our fellows?

The shape and nature of what we really are will show in what proceeds out of that orifice which manages our life support fuel intake. Are we so unaware of how our language actually builds and shapes the world which is close to us that we become so careless with our words and expressions?

The effect of language on our families, friends and workplace should give us pause. Not only because of the effect, but because it shows who we really are and the nature of the emotional and spiritual heart which is within us. This so much more than either, “oops”, or “bugger.”

A hint of heaven

On the shores of tropical islands, lakes and rivers around the world, and even here (although, I suspect, less and less) a daily ritual takes place which few of us witness.

It is the use of nets to catch fish. On reflection, I’ve seen nets being used late at night in Sydney Harbour. And I’ve stood in awe as, on a gently sloping yellow sand beach in Sri Lanka, a team of men brought to shore over some considerable time a net which had been cast wide across a small bay with a resultant catch which would soon find its way to market.

The net on that tropical beach brought in both great and small. It had to be sorted. There was a team leader who made the decision as to what was useful for market and what went back into the ocean. It is precisely this sorting out that is held by many as a perilous, in-balance – hope and yet lurking fear about what is called ‘the end of the age’.

We don’t like the thought, but what if there is a judgement of us as people after death? Many of us in the baby boomer and previous generation have heard fire and brimstone preaching which can be emotionally scary and leave a lurking suspicion that ‘God is going to get you in the end’.

This parable should give us salutory pause for thought. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net, which was thrown into the sea and gathered fish of every kind; when it was full, men drew it ashore and sat down and sorted then good into vessels but threw away the bad. So it will be at the close of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous, and throw them into the furnace of fire; there men will weep and gnash their teeth.”

At first blush it would appear to reinforce those hidden fears about a God who is determined that only goodie-goodies will make it into whatever ‘heaven’ has been set aside for them, because the angels have the fire-pit on the go and soul
bar-b-q is imminent. But, as with a great deal of what Jesus says, all is not as it seems.

The angels’ sorting is carried out to a specific instruction. “Separate the evil from the righteous”. I get the sense from here and from other statements which Jesus makes, that the ‘evil’ are those who have deliberately decided that whatever life-instructions God has put in place are not for them: “I’ll make my own rules; it is all about me.”

If I read the bible stories about Jesus, he deals gently and understandingly with normal humans who are struggling with their humanity and their circumstances. He does not condemn or sentence them but encourages them to push on in the framework of what God has shown them about himself, others and themselves. These, despite what the thunder preachers may tell us, are the righteous precisely because they are, in an accidental universe, loved with an eternal purpose by a God who, at the end of the age will welcome them beyond the struggle to something beyond their wildest expectations.

We get just a hint of it in the breath of a new dawn. In the glory of sunset. Or in the eyes and smile of a loved one. Far from being ‘pie in the sky when you die’, this is a spiritual reality of which we sense glimpses now. How can we know? Because the parable teacher went through death (as we inevitably must) and came back alive to show that what he said was true. Which is why we then respond to Jesus’ major teaching of: “Love God and thy neighbour as we love ourselves”. It is hardly a prissy righteousness; rather it is an entry into the very borders of the ‘heaven’ which waits if we deign to be there.

Making light

In the Jewish creation myth, which we call Genesis, there’s a rather odd part of the story. Before time, God says, “Let there be light” and there is. But the sun (which we understand to be light) is only created “days” later in the process.

What is the light before the light?

We live our lives by light. Actually, come to think of it, we’re only visible because of the light in which we find ourselves.

The parable, “No man lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead he puts it on a stand, so that those who come in may see the light.” Seems terribly obvious. Why have a light and hide it?

Light is the source of discovery, awareness, of growth and in summer – pleasant warmth.

This radiance of light enables us to identify both ourselves and others. By it, we have impressions of each other. We see smiles, frowns, welcoming, rejection. All in the light.
At night in the pitch black, a light, even far away, brings a sense of presence.

Is the parable giver talking about himself as a light which has been revealed and should not be hidden? (Elsewhere he believes himself to be the light of the world). Then is he indicating that we all are who we are, only as we find ourselves in his light?

The Genesis light before time and, I suspect, the light after time, may well be this parable giver who (only with our permission) is present in the darkest moments of our lives so that even if all is bleak, he himself becomes the light – both guiding our steps and the one at the end of the tunnel.

Feel seedy

Often, in cartoons, we humans are pictured as persons with an angel
sitting on one shoulder and a demon (with pitchfork) on the other.
Either the angel or the demon manages to influence our decision on an
issue. Would that it were that simple. One of the parables seems to me
to give a much more difficult view of the human condition.

“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who sowed good seed in
his field; but while men were sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds
among the wheat, and went away. So when the plants came up and bore
grain, then the weeds appeared also.

And the servants of the householder came and said to him, ‘sir, did you
not sow good seed in your field? How then, has it weeds?’ He replied,
‘An enemy has done this.’ The servants said to him, ‘Then do you want
us to go and gather them?’ But he said,’ No, lest in gathering the
weeds, you root up the wheat along with them. Let both grow together
Until the harvest; and at the harvest time I will tell the reapers,
Gather the weeds first and bind them into bundles to be burned, but
gather the wheat into my barn.’”

There is a mystery here. Why let the weeds grow along with the good
stuff? What sort of gardener/farmer is this man when he tells the
servants that he permits the weeds to stay? (There is a particular weed
in the Middle East that grows and looks, for all intents and purposes,
like wheat -that’s cunning!). If you and I ran a wheat farm, we’d be out
there bumping the weeds straight away with some aerial sprayed selective
chemical.

The core of the mystery is the “leave the weeds alone until later”. It
is puzzling, unless I see myself as the place where the seeds are sown.
Then I see the deep insight into my own persona that this parable offers
me. That actually inside me, (not sitting occasionally on my shoulder)
two things have an opportunity to grow. And depending how far I want to
take the image of the parable, I, as the field, can feed one, the other,
or both. That the incredible wrench of taking out one thing of two
(unsatisfactory though it may be) could actually cripple any real
possibility of growth.

And like a lot of the parables, there is an end game. This is about the
kingdom of heaven. God’s place. There is a harvest at God’s place. At
that time, my field is gathered up. What happens?

The problematic wrestling inside me which I have lived with all my life,
is dealt with as, in what is now the appropriate time, the evil things
are bundled up, taken away and eliminated once and for all. The harvest
of the good seed is taken into the presence of the householder with
great happiness and celebration. Then the way in which we encourage
either seed within us will then be evident for all to see.

Religion

What is it? It’s the story or idea which touches the deep recesses of our being. Where what we hear or encounter makes such sense to us that it enriches us or changes the course of our lives. The stories that do it for me (no apologies) are the deceptively simple “parables” from a wandering Jewish teacher in a time that became one of the change points of history.

Consider The Sower.

“A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured them. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they had not much soil and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil, but when the sun rose, they were scorched and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell upon thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

What? No mechanical devices? No direct seeding? This is a hand sown seed story. Like all hand sowings, it is to our machinery ordered minds, wasteful and in some places careless. It is a simple rural picture of the commonplace in the Near East, yet pregnant with all sorts of possible meaning.

Who is the sower? Is it God? Is it Jesus the storyteller?

What is the sower sowing?  Something he expects to bring to maturity and successful harvest through the death and new life of the seed sown?

What is the ground? Is it the world? Is it human minds?

Is it that this teacher sees himself and his words as having been broadcast into the world of good, dry, weedy, hard, vulnerable humanity? With the purpose that people should show or reflect the same to each other?

If I look at my own life, the seed (even the wild oats) broadcast everywhere I’ve been from birth till now, what has been the impact? Narrowing it down, what has been the impact of my life on others in the last week, day, hour?

Have I been sowing something fruitful in my human exchanges or just been a careless and self-centered sow and sow?