Eating

Tue, 7 Sep 2010 09:49:06 +1000

The great philosopher of gastronomy Jean Authelme Brillatt-Savarin once said, in perfect French, ‘Tell me what thou eatest and I will tell thee what thou art.’ Though I am sure my King James English translation loses something along the way, the point is this: eating has always been a telling business, loaded with meaning far beyond nutritional sustenance.

This past Sunday in our series on Everyday Practices for an Everyday Faith we explored the possibility of eating as a spiritual discipline, one that potentially nurtures our relationship with God and God’s world. We played around with the ideas of eating as confession, eating as sacrament, and eating as mission.

It’s no secret, I like eating. Just yesterday a friend took me to lunch in honour of my birthday. Though the birthday is long gone, it was a lovely gesture and an even lovelier meal: house-made bread with olive oil from the Yarra Valley, a risotto with quail, and a delicious chocolate ‘bonet’ with honeycomb and raspberries. But it was the conversation that happened around the eating that was the real gift, such a tangible reminder of friendship that’s been sustained over so many years. I came away feeling very grateful.

In his otherwise frustrating book Hallowed Be This House, Thomas Howard once wrote some words I return to often:

‘The idea that ordinariness should be so fraught with heaven, and that a thing like mere eating should open out onto vistas that we thought were the province of religious mystery—it is all too heady. Not that we are transported every time we sit down to our cornflakes, any more than we are struck by Cupid’s dart every time we come across our spouse. But the thing which forms from time to time and we are given to see when our vision is roused—that eating is a mysterious thing, or that our spouse if fairer than Aphrodite—it is there all along, cloaked in the demure mantle of ordinariness.’

For those who missed out, the article I mentioned on Sunday is downloadable here:

a prayer

Tue, 31 Aug 2010 15:56:06 +1000

It’s time to head home. It’s been a full day of work with too much to do; and always too many things left undone. But home calls: a child who is unwell, groceries to buy, dinner to make, conversations to have.

I feel torn sometimes, fragmented, pulled in different directions. Conflicted. Every now and then I remind myself that work and home are not compartments in opposition, but streams running in the same direction, callings that dovetail ... potentially at least.

This prayer says something I often feel.

Pigeon holes, compartments, and other places

It’s so separated, Lord,
this life of work
and family
and you.

Just when I’m most involved at work
and solutions are coming
and deadlines are being met
and the race is being won,
it’s time to lay it down—
dismiss it
and go home.

But there another life waits.
It did not wait while I was gone
but expects my return.
A life with people, plans, needs,
personalities, schedules,
and a love affair to nurture.

Then it’s Sunday and I enter the third cell
to give you my worship,
to refresh my soul, to resurrect and to listen,
to deepen our involvement
you and me.

But then it’s Monday again,
And it’s like putting my hand
in a familiar glove;
to pick up work again
just where it was laid aside
by tense fingers
and anxious eyes
three days ago.

Help me to make just one compartment, Lord,
out of this trinity of transition:
work,
home,
you.

Must one life be laid down in order for another to begin?

O Mystery which is Unity!
Help me, Father, Son and Holy Spirit!
Amen.

Ken Thompson, Bless this Desk: Prayers 9 to 5, Abingdon, 1976, 11-12.

Working

Mon, 30 Aug 2010 10:37:59 +1000

In her challenging little book The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and ‘Women’s Work’, North American poet Kathleen Norris says this:

“The often heard lament, 'I have so little time,' gives the lie to the delusion that the daily is of little significance. Everyone has exactly the same amount of time, the same twenty-four hours in which many a weary voice has uttered the gospel truth: 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' But most of us, most of the time, take for granted what is closest to us and is most universal. The daily round of sunrise and sunset, for example, that marks the coming and passing of each day, is no longer a symbol of human hopes, or of God's majesty, but a grind, something we must grit our teeth to endure."

In her own delightful way, Norris prods us to a greater awareness of the ordinary and taken-for-granted. It’s in the stuff we barely notice, she says, that God is most assuredly at work. With this in mind, we’ve begun a four-week series at Collins Street, Everyday Practices for an Everyday Faith. We’re exploring four of the ‘taken-for-granteds’ in daily life, working, eating, talking and sleeping with a view to finding a greater sense of God in them.

Yesterday it was working. Among other things, members of both congregations brought with them objects that represented the work they do and laid them on the communion table amidst candles and artwork. There were books and reports, brooms and gardening tools, nappies and spreadsheets, soup ladles and hardhats, hammers and rolling pins, laptops and mobile phones ... all such a great reminder of the life we bring us into worship.

I come away from moments and conversations like these secretly relieved. When I watch people owning before God who they are and what they do in daily life, I know again that ‘ministry’ is not about me; that the mission of the church doesn’t circle around my role and my work. Ministry is us, together, in so many places and expressed in so many ways.

For CSBC readers, my apologies that we ran out of printed copies of the article I referred to on Sunday. It’s available here. Just click on the image below.

Everyday Faith

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 16:01:04 +1000

For centuries the Christian church has promoted a set of practices or ‘disciplines’ to strengthen our faith; things like prayer, meditation, silence, solitude, fasting, study of the scriptures, even celibacy. In essence, they are routine, intentional and disciplined acts through which we connect more deeply with God’s presence.

Essential to these practices is the act of withdrawal. That is, to pray, to meditate, or to be in silence usually requires that we leave behind the activities of everyday life to be alone with God. While this is good and necessary for a growing faith, the demands of daily life mean that time to step aside will only ever be occasional.

This Sunday we begin a series at Collins Street exploring ways to embrace God’s presence in the midst of our daily routine, not away from it. Over four Sundays we’ll explore four routine activities of life: working, eating, talking and sleeping. Through liturgy, music, imagery and word, we’ll look for ways to see God more clearly in the regular stuff of life.

This Sunday it’s ‘working’. Should be fun. I’ll let you know how we go.

To vote

Fri, 20 Aug 2010 13:40:53 +1000

Tomorrow Australians vote. Our federal election provides an opportunity for all Australians to cast judgement on which political party will form government for the next three years. Australian citizens are required by law to vote which makes our electoral system unique. There are many saying this election campaign has been one of the most dispiriting in our history, that the two contenders for Prime Minister, Julia Gillard and Tony Abbott, seem unable to articulate any real sense of vision for our nation’s future. Still, the voting booth calls.

Over at Ethos, two of my good friends Simon Moyle and Gordon Preece (both pictured above) have made some thoughtful contributions about the election. Simon writes about his choice--a significant one given our electoral system--to refrain from voting, and Gordon surveys issues relevant to a more thoughtful ethical engagement with this election and its challenges. Both are worth reading.

Don’t worry, be happy!

Mon, 16 Aug 2010 20:40:05 +1000

A reflection on Luke 12.22-34

‘Here is a little song I wrote
You might want to sing it note for note
Don’t worry, be happy!
In every life we have some trouble
When you worry you make it double
Don’t worry, be happy!’

Do you remember the song? It was released back in 1988 and topped the charts. It even won a Grammy for best song. The writer and performer was Bobby McFerrin who borrowed the four words at the heart of the song from the Indian mystic Meher Baba. The full quote is ‘Do your best. Then, don’t worry; be happy in my love. I will help you.’

McFerrin’s reduction works really well as a T-shirt slogan: ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’ You only have to hear it and you smile. Momentarily, it might even help you forget your worries; until the song is over, that is, and then the worries move back in.

The truth is, when it comes to the things we worry about most, simplistic exhortations like this one don’t help. We all worry. I worry. I worry about my children. I worry about my parents. I worry about this church. I worry about you. I worry about money, about paying the bills. For my wife, the worries descend at night when sleep is hard to come by. Most often for Brenda it’s about the kids. If I were to say to her in the midst of the anxiety, ‘don’t worry darling, be happy!’ and roll over, I’d be sleeping on the couch. Worry is complicated and deeply felt, not something you can switch off like an electric blanket. At its worst worry can be debilitating, consuming. When anxious thoughts circle obsessively in our heads, words like ‘don’t!’ are next to useless.

At first glance, the exhortation of Luke 12 has a similar feel. ‘Therefore I tell you, don’t worry! God has it all under control. Be at peace!’ Like McFerrin’s song, it sounds great here in church, but the minute we walk out that door the anxiety returns.

To worry is to be human. Worry is what happens when our minds dwell on difficulties or troubles. Worry is our concern about things important to us. It’s what humans do. It is part of our survival. We anticipate worst-case scenarios to prepare ourselves for whatever’s ahead. We rehearse conversations because relationships matter to us. We fret over issues in our workplace because we are committed to our work. We plan, scheme and strategize. We worry. On one hand, it’s a sign of mental health. After all, a person not concerned with ensuring life’s basic needs lacks maturity. To be concerned for my family’s welfare is part of my job as a parent, a father, a provider. On the other hand, obsessive anxiety can be a sign of serious ill-health. At its worst it inhibits, imprisons and paralyses.

Dig a little deeper in Luke 12, however, and you discover that Jesus’ words about worry are anything but simplistic. This gospel reading reminds us that Jesus takes human anxiety seriously. He doesn’t dismiss it, nor does he suggest simple answers. What Jesus does say about worry is both deeply comforting and incredibly challenging.

First, Jesus’ words are comforting. They tell us that the things we worry about, no matter how basic or mundane, are of equal concern to God.
‘Do not worry about your life, what you will eat,
or about your body, what you will wear …
Consider the ravens; they neither sow nor reap,
they have neither storehouse nor barn,
and yet God feeds them.
Consider the lilies, how they grow;
they neither toil nor spin;
yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory
was not clothed like one of these …
how much more will God clothe you.’

One of the most common misuses of Jesus’ words in this text is to suggest that there are two categories of concern. One set of concerns is about temporary things—what we will eat and wear—and the other about eternal things—the kingdom of God. According to this view of life, there are things worth worrying about and things that are not; there are concerns that are spiritual and worthy and others that are material and of no real consequence. The spiritual maturity of a person is measured by their ability to worry about the higher things alone. But if that were the case, why would God spend so much time feeding the ravens and clothing the lilies. The fact is, God is concerned with every aspect of our lives. There is nothing about life in this world that is beside the point to God. There are not two categories of concern to God, the important and the unimportant.

If this was the case, imagine the response of a woman in Ethiopia whose infant child is languishing for want of basic nutrition. Can you imagine Jesus saying, ‘Don’t worry about what you will eat or drink, for these things are unimportant. Rather strive for the kingdom of God.’ The truth is, at that moment what her child will have to eat and drink is all that is important. Or imagine a person who tonight cannot find a place to sleep in this city, a place that is safe and warm. Can you imagine Jesus saying, ‘Fret not about where you will sleep. Think instead about eternal things.’ Both suggestions are insulting, insulting to our humanity and insulting to God’s character.

The truth is, the kingdom of God is not some ethereal place disconnected from our world, but the presence and rule of God in this world. We may well say, ‘but Jesus did not address these words to the poor and the homeless but to the disciples.’ True, but we need to remember the majority of Jesus’ followers were common working people. Some of the ones we know best were fishermen. Jesus’ call to leave the nets and follow him had implications for these men and their families. Fishermen of this time could not even afford to take fish home for the family meal. Fishing taxes were so high that every single fish had to be sold to make ends meet. Jesus is not dismissing the needs of his followers and their families, but assuring them that these matters remain important to God. The kingdom of God encompasses these concerns; it does not render them second-rate.

There is a school of thought in the Christian church that infers that things like the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the houses we live in, the education of our children, all of these things are completely irrelevant to the call of God upon our lives—distractions, all of them, from the things that are really important to eternity. But that is so wrong. It is certainly not what this passage says. Jesus tells us of a God who feeds ravens and clothes the fields, a God who understands our needs and desires, a God who knows our material and physical needs better than we do. There is nothing outside of the interest or concern of God. The kingdom of God is not some place removed from this earth. Rather it is a here-and-now place, one that encompasses every aspect of our lives.

Second, Jesus’ words are not only comforting but challenging, and for the very same reasons. Verse 29 begins:
‘Do not keep striving for what you are to eat
and what you are to drink,
and do not keep worrying.
For it is the nations of the world
that strive after all these things,
and your Father knows that you need them.
Instead, strive for the kingdom,
and these things will be given to you as well …
for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.’

What is it that you strive for? To strive speaks of passion, conviction, obsession. In this consumerist culture, we strive to accumulate, to gather to ourselves, to hoard and hide. But it is when we are obsessed with getting for ourselves that we completely fail to see God’s generosity toward us. A consumerist culture blinds us to what we have, what we are given every day, and to the needs of those around us. We become self-obsessed to the point that our own needs and desires are all we can see. It’s like constantly looking in a mirror. As long as we are obsessed with what looks back at us—the imperfections, the failings, all that is missing or inadequate—then we are blind to anything beyond it.

Do not strive for these material things, Jesus says, but strive for the kingdom, a state of giving, generosity and grace. ‘Sell all your possessions,’ Jesus says in verse 33, not so that we can be released to live on a higher plain of spiritual existence away from material needs. No, so that we can ‘give alms’, so that we can live the generosity of God’s kingdom in the here and now: ‘For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.’

Today we meet at the Lord’s table. The bread and the wine on this table are such powerful reminders that the most basic provisions of life lay at the heart of God’s concern. What we eat, what we wear, where we sleep, these things are not beside the point to God. They are the concern of God, and it is through the bread and wine on this table that we are provided the basis of our confidence in that fact. What we hold today is the bread of life, real bread and real life met in Jesus Christ. There is no disconnect between significant things and insignificant things. The two are all entwined in one place—the kingdom of God. And it is in this place that we are invited to rest, to lay down our concerns and our worries, knowing that God holds them in his generous and loving hands.

Hong Kong

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 22:43:43 +1000

Tomorrow I’m heading back to Hong Kong. It’s been a year since my last stay. It’s a fascinating place, intense … exhausting too. Day and night, the pace at which this city operates, and especially the way it moves, is relentless. I’m not sure I could cope with it year round, but I love it when I’m there: the energy, the heat, the people, the pace, oh and the food … incredible!

This time around I’m participating in a conference with a bunch of really interesting people from all over—the UK, Africa, North America, Asia, NZ, South America. We meet once every few years to talk about our research in marketplace theology, more particularly in the connections between Christian faith and the challenges of work.

Over the last two years I’ve been engaged in a research project with people who work in the hospitality industry of Melbourne. Through interviews and focus groups I’ve been exploring the Christian language of ‘calling’ and ‘vocation’ and what part it plays, or doesn’t play, in the work they do. It’s provided some fascinating conversations—all good grist for the mill for this Hong Kong gathering.

our stories

Tue, 20 Jul 2010 13:01:15 +1000

Last Sunday we celebrated Collins Street’s 167th anniversary. Laid open on the communion table was an old book dating back to the 1850s, just eight years after the church began. It’s called the members book and includes some 3489 names, those women and men who have been part of the life and mission of the church from it’s beginning.

If you read the official histories of churches like ours, you’d be forgiven for thinking the church is a man’s world. After all, it was 157 years before a woman was appointed senior minister. But in reality, the church’s history is so much richer than that. During the service we heard of just a handful of the women whose names appear in the book.

Church member #907 was the writer Marion Downes. Born in 1864, she served as secretary to Collins Street’s longest-serving pastor Samuel Chapman. Marion went on to become a respected journalist and wrote four popular novels and several books of award-winning poetry. He first novel, ‘Swayed by the Storm’ contains a moving depiction of Chapman under the guise of Reverend Stephen Moore. According to one literary critic, her novels gave young women ‘an opportunity to enjoy some over-the-top passion packaged as religious fervour.’

Church member #1434 was Jeannie Taylor. Born in 1870, she was the granddaughter of Collin Street’s second pastor James Taylor. In 1901 she married Auneas Gunn and moved to the Northern Territory. Tragically, just two years later her husband died and Jeannie returned to Melbourne where she wrote two books destined to become classics, ‘The Little Black Princess’ in 1905 and ‘We of the Never-Never’ in 1908.

Church member #689 was Mrs Margaret McLean. Born 1845, she was the wife of deacon William McLean. In 1887 Margaret co-founded the Women’s Christian Temperance Union in Victoria and was a key player in the establishment of the Victorian National Council of Women in 1902. Her pamphlets on ‘Womanhood Suffrage’ were extraordinarily influential in the development of the suffrage movement in Australia. Her commitment to the full participation of women in society grew out of her Christian faith.

Church member #1963, Enid Moore was a member of the church from 1913 until her death in 1986. She was 91 years of age. In her early days, Enid lived with her parents at No. 2 Collins Street where her father, a surgeon, had his practice. She graduated from the University of Melbourne in Arts in 1916, a time when a women’s presence in the university was still unusual. Regardless, Enid worked tirelessly for the Women of the University Fund, an organisation set up during the First World War to raise money for the needy and dispossessed. Enid’s commitment to this church spanned 71 years.

Church member #1786, Maud Wigg died in 1987, age 95. She was a member of the church from 1909 until her death. Maud was the oldest of two children born in Armadale in 1892 during the reign of Queen Victoria. She was a school teacher, an avid supporter of the Hawthorn Football Club and an accomplished elocutionist. Hampered by a life-long struggle with her sight, she was blind for her last 25 years. Maud Wigg invested an extraordinary 78 years in the life and mission of the church.

Church member #2441 Murielle Grace Hearne died in 1996, age 89. Her father was a travelling salesman in the textile trade of Flinders Lane and her mother part of an established family in the church. At just 16 years of age, Murielle lost her mother to breast cancer and so became the woman of the house. Her consequent responsibilities in the home precluded any pursuit of higher education but as a young adult she became a highly regarded identity in Melbourne’s theatre world. Her successful acting career spanned four decades. She married Bill Hearne here at Collins Street in 1930. Their three children, Gary, Peter and Jill were raised here and Murielle sang soprano in the church choir for more than 30 years. Her family’s involvement in the life of the church now spans 143 years and continues.

While these six women may not be the most important names to appear, they remind me that every name listed in that old book represents a story of faith, courage and sacrifice. And the church is all the richer for it.