Tag Archives: Jesus

I can’t help but wonder … (A Christmas reflection)

Christmas, Faith, , , ,

I can’t help but wonder how something comes from nothing:

time proceeds from eternity,

movement is birthed from stillness,

light shines out of darkness

purpose from chaos,

language emerges from silence,

the Word speaks creation into being

and life begins.

And I wonder at the God who precedes all these things:

existing eternally in community – 

a trinity of loving fraternity –

always living, ever giving,

present, seeing, knowing,

majestic in splendour,

awesome in power,

radiant in glory,

perfect in wisdom and might.

I wonder if He wondered with joy and delight

as each new being he created came bursting into life,

each star ablaze and flung into space,

every flower unfolding with vibrant colour and beauty,

every animal formed, shaped and named,

each human face with tender love beheld,

Spirit-breathed life fashioned out of clay,

invited to walk together in the cool of each day.

I can’t help but wonder at the arrogance and indifference

that could lead us to turn away

from the One who adored and created –

as if our own thoughts could be higher than the

perfect wisdom of the One 

who imagined us before thought was a thing –

to choose paths of hate and war over love and peace,

trampling and treading on one another in a race to the top,

to withdraw and retreat into shame and despair

when we fall by the wayside or the illusions stop.

And I wonder why God doesn’t intervene:

forcefully taking over the mess we make of this world,

superseding our selfishness, determining our fate,

compelling our obedience, dispelling our liberty –

if that’s what it takes to restore order in this chaos

and see heartlessness end.

I wonder if He wonders why we do not surrender,

respond to his grace, seek His face,

choose life over death, heaven over hell,

return and repent, be restored and released,

willingly follow the paths he has shown and made known,

embrace the true freedom his service offers,

constructing the community reflective of his character

rather than our own.

I can’t help but wonder how history unfolds

as each generation drifts further in the cold

dark despair of humanity’s inhumanity,

warring and lying,

cheating and dying,

the futility of our so-called civility

and the profanity of our self-glorifying vanity

playing on repeat.

And I wonder at God’s promises

retold and renewed again and again and again,

a continued plan for redemption revealed century after century

in glimpses and foretastes,

rhymes and proclamations,

through poets and preachers,

prophets and seers,

with previews and signs of a wonder yet to come –

the greatest miracle still to be done.

I wonder if He wondered with compassionate exasperation –

as his prophets were ignored and reviled,

his clear message muddled and defiled –

when we would truly listen, hear and respond

or if each season of turning would last very long

and if even his greatest revelation and utmost salvation

would ultimately be forsaken.

I can’t help but wonder with the shepherds at that moment

when the world turns upside down,

on a peaceful normal night,

heaven torn asunder,

space and time ripped at the seams,

as the Lord of all creation steps down and enters in;

and with Magi from the east,

searching for signs from above

to understand this extraordinary event and what it might mean

for me and for us and for all of history.

And I wonder at God’s timing and I marvel at His grace,

his patient persistence, His undeterred pace,

all promises perfected,

all expectations exceeded,

all faith filled fuller,

all hopes hugely seeded,

a new way of being unveiled for both God and His people.

I wonder if He wondered as the angels sang His song,

how His people would receive him

and just what he was taking on,

clothing himself with humanity

in the person of His Son,

entering into impermanence

taking on skin and flesh,

giving up the magnificent throne of heaven

for a lowly feeding trough.

I can’t help but wonder at a baby’s vulnerability:

utter dependence, helplessness, defencelessness,

enslavement to hunger, susceptible to disease,

exposed to the elements, open to abuse,

birthed into mess and brokenness,

disorder and decay,

need upon need upon need.

And I wonder about God’s experience:

the Everlasting Father now cradled in a new mother’s arms,

once clothed in majesty and splendour now wrapped in human rags,

all heaven confounded, the angels perplexed,

as the one whose word spoke eternity into being’s

cries wordlessly pierce the night,

in to all appearances an ordinary family just like the rest,

easily overlooked and neglected,

yet too soon to be pursued and rejected

when seen as a threat.

I wonder if he wondered with those newborn eyes wide,

how all that he now needed He could not himself provide,

how suddenly did He know frailty,

how immediately did He know distress,

the all-powerful rendered powerless,

the all-knowing limited to babbling,

the infinite reduced to the finite,

the immortal subjected to mortality.

I can’t help but wonder at the paradoxes and the mysteries

of this faith and its creeds,

the beauty and complexity of what I believe,

divinity and humanity,

the supernatural within nature,

miracles and reasoning,

transcendence and presence,

truth in confusion, joy in lament,

hope in hopeless seasons, love in loneliness.

And I wonder who this God truly is

and how to know Him more,

a king who forsakes palaces and dwells among the poor,

who walks among us vulnerable and joins us weak and weary,

who extends his hand to the diseased and dishevelled,

and his heart to the least and lost,

who gives up eternity to walk in the dust,

and embraces humiliation and carries a cross.

I wonder if he wonders as He shares our human life,

how we carry all these burdens

and tread these disheartening paths,

not overwhelmed by our sorrows or enslaved to our sin,

knowing our weakness, tenderly walking beside,

with fullest understanding in compassion reaching out,

the One who has entered our experience, 

now inviting us to follow Him into His.

I can’t help but wonder and in awe I worship 

for I can never comprehend,

I sing and praise and bend my knee,

forever I stand amazed,

I come and adore Him, I kneel at His feet

in astonishment and adulation,

in reverence and veneration,

with prayers and songs and silence I ponder,

seeking not to understand but simply to wonder.

And I wonder because God has come and revealed himself completely:

the invisible made visible,

the indivisible Three now One in flesh,

Wonderful Counselor unveiled, Mighty God incarnate, 

Everlasting Father with us, Prince of Peace inside the chaos,

God, King, and Saviour now one of our race,

His name called Emmanuel.

I wonder if he wonders as His people join together

to celebrate His coming each December,

singing songs, sharing stories to remember again,

his entrance into our world once and for all,

how we can receive His wonderous coming with wonder yet again,

every day, every moment, to have, to share and to make known,

and like little children on Christmas morning,

to be enthralled and transfixed, thrilled and elated,

in His abiding presence with us always and forever,

with wonder,

in wonder.

I can’t help but wonder.

A Fringe review and some reflections

Culture, Faith, , , , , , , , ,

It’s Mad March in Adelaide again, which means the Festival, the Fringe Festival, Writers Week, the now oddly-cereal-like named Superloop 500, Womadelaide and much more. Living in the city is ideal at this time of year, and I’ve loved the opportunity to wander down to the riverbank to see the Symphony for our World (which was an outstandingly beautiful reflection on creation and creativity) and Yabarra: Gathering of Light (which is an engaging and vital project grounding the city in its long history and culture).

In terms of the Fringe, so far I have seen a truly terrible comedian (who I won’t name and shame here) and an absolutely enjoyable choir performance that I have not only been singing the songs from for days, but has also had me reflecting on some deeper themes it touched on.

So, this is my part review and part reflection on The Choir of Man.

Nine talented performers singing well known songs in impressive harmonies is always going to be a recipe for a good night out. The talent on display is pretty remarkable, including a piano virtuoso, a Dein Perry-esque tap dancer, a poet or three, comedic timing, audience participation, multiple instruments and dancing styles, all held together by nine strong voices. Songs covered include those that had the audience clapping and singing along, like Welcome to the Jungle, I Would Walk 500 Miles, Some Nights, and the iconic Aussie favourite You’re the Voice; others that showcased impressive soloists telling stories through melody, like Adele’s Hello, Don Quixote’s The Impossible Dream, and Sia’s Chandelier; a heartrending rendition of Luther Vandross’ Dance With My Father during which you could have heard a pin drop; and an almost benedictory traditional closing song, The Parting Glass.

That this performance is set in a working bar, a classic English pub, where both the performers and the audience are invited to authentic fun and engagement (and to a pint or two) and is drawn together by a narrator who reflects on mateship, community, love and loss, adds to the enjoyment, but also leads me to my deeper musings.

“Some pubs have a football team or a darts club,” we are told. “This pub has a choir.”

The show is a bit of an ode to the local pub, the place where regulars can get together for a drink and share something of life. But we are also told it’s not a “boys don’t cry” kind of pub, and the idea of a community where genuine experience and emotion can be shared and supported – whether just by listening or by lending a hand – is significant throughout the storyline. To me, this is mateship. Friendship. What community should be. What for me as a Christian and a pastor, the church should be. My church is currently doing a sermon series exploring ideas of friendship and community, family, work, rest and play together, and so this show resonated with some of the same ideas, both encouraging and challenging me. Encouraging me that the church at its best has something valuable to say to our culture on this; challenging me that we can too often think we have a monopoly on it or hold it to ourselves, rather than championing it wherever we see it and inviting others into it.

This is also a show by, for, and about men. The (male) friend who recommended it to me warned that I might find it “a bit blokey.” And I did. But in a way that I loved. The characters in the pub are all pretty blokely blokes. (And yes, there is a song performed at a urinal). As a group, there’s a lot of testosterone on display. But there are men with hipster beards and man buns, as well as men with six pack muscles and classically strong jawlines. There are also men of less than average height and of over average weight. More importantly, these are not only men who sing and dance together, but men who are unafraid to both laugh and cry together. These are men who provide a glimpse into what male camaraderie and mateship can be.

And while there is some serenading of women in the audience and relationship woes played for laughs, at the end of the night I realised that they had managed to put on a public performance of broad-shouldered masculinity that didn’t need to objectify or degrade women to do so. (Unlike the aforementioned comedian, who the less said about the better). One review of The Choir of Man I read said this was a picture of the “opposite of toxic masculinity” and that’s not a bad description. In a cultural moment where there are certain voices criticising feminism for seeking to emasculate men, these guys affirm that it is a not an either/or proposition. They reminded me in some ways of my brothers and what I love about them. And in a week where unfortunately I had yet again had some (men) devalue what I do simply because of my gender, I needed to be reminded of that.

Of course, these brothers of mine, in my church family and community, go much further than a 90-minute performance. They don’t just meet the minimum standard of “not degrading women,” but champion and advocate for women, make space for us, support us and honour us, all without compromising their masculinity.  I value what they as men have to offer that I cannot, as they value what I as a woman bring. I love doing life alongside them.

As I watched this performance, in the back of my mind was the sermon I had been writing for Sunday. Perhaps that’s what put me in such a reflective mood. Talking about what ‘rest’ and ‘play’ look like for the church, I was challenged to consider how we encourage one another to explore and appreciate creativity in all its forms, and where we are talking about what we see and hear and experience in art, song, comedy, music, where it resonates with the creativity of our Creator, and how it keeps us hearing his calls to life in all its flourishing.

For me, the ongoing questions are how Jesus calls men and women to life together, and all of us to the expression of community, in ways that reflect and point to who He is and what He is bringing about.

Today would be a good day to be in Nazareth

Faith, Monday Travel Posts, , , , , , , ,

It’s hard to believe 5 months have flown by since we were in Israel. Today I’m wishing I could head back for the day to one of my favourite towns. Nazareth is most famous as the place where Jesus and His family lived and it is great to ground some of the stories of His life in this place. It’s also just a really lovely place to hang out, observe and share life in today.

What have I loved about Nazareth?

Like many places, it is the combination of geography, history, and culture, that weaves the story and invitation of this place.
Nazareth is located in Galilee, in a natural ‘bowl’ surrounded by hills. This great view of the city is found from Mt Precipice, believed by some to be the place where the people of the town wanted to throw Jesus off a cliff after his sermon in their synagogue.

The mountain looks out over the Jezreel Valley, the most fertile part of Galilee, and standing there makes me feel like I’m standing in the middle of a map.

In the city itself is a maze of donkey-track streets going up and down, round and about, what I have found to be a great place to wander and a tricky place to drive!

I love seeing the beauty of houses from different eras built side by side, standing as testimony to the many lives and stories in this place over generations.

Nazareth today is a large town with a largely Arab population, about 1/3 Christian and 2/3 Muslim. Near the central old market is the beautiful old White Mosque.

Even older again is the so-called Synagogue Church, a simple room built atop crusader ruins to remember  and evoke the church where Jesus preached.

And even simpler (and older) again are the caves located underground where it is believed Christians hid during Roman persecution.

The layers of history are also seen at the Catholic Church of the Annunciation. The large church was built in the 1960s.

Inside is a church within a church, with an 18th century altar.

This is located inside the grotto, an ancient church where 5th century mosaics have been located.

Outside, excavations underneath the church have discovered the remains of the village from Roman times.

In the bustling town today people live and shop and socialise in the footsteps of this history. Take this carpenter’s workshop for example, its owner following in the traditional profession of the town’s most famous resident and His father.

Or the renowned Elbabour spice shop, milling and grinding local produce for over 100 years.

When travelling without the larger group, I’ve had the privilege of staying in the beautiful Fauzi Azar Inn.

The staff and volunteers of this guesthouse have a heart for the local community and were engaged in numerous projects including this youth drop in centre with its juxtaposition of modern facilities in an ancient location.

What have I learned from Nazareth?

There are two experiences in Nazareth that I have found educational in complicated and unexpected ways. The first is Nazareth Village, an open-air museum built to reconstruct and reenact life in Jesus’ time.

I have mixed feelings about this place.

It is certainly helpful for bringing the biblical story to life …

… and evoking imagination about a different time and place.

But it is run by non-locals and has a distinctly Western flavour.

And, I think it is fair to say, it can feel a little bit kitsch.

The other place I continue to ponder is the Church of the Annunciation itself. It contains some of the most beautiful modern stained glass windows I have ever seen, which shaped some of my reflections in a previous post.

But it is also decorated by mosaics from around the world depicting the annunciation story.

Each one depicts the story from their own national perspective.

On one hand I do like the idea of drawing our own connections to the significant stories of our faith.

On the other hand, it feels like perhaps we are re-creating Mary and Jesus in our own image.

I have used these photos in some of my biblical studies classes to raise this question.

And of course inevitably someone asks about the Australian artwork, which I have to admit I personally find one of the more difficult to engage with.

I think in the end my favourite is the one from Nazareth itself, both because of its simplicity and because of its authenticity to the story’s location within history, geography, and culture.

It reminds me again that there is still much to learn from the people who make Nazareth their home today. Apparently the bulk of visitors to this city do a day trip to see a combination of these main sites but don’t actually stay in the town. If that’s true, they are missing out. The generosity and hospitality of the local people here, despite significant political and social challenges, is inspiring and challenging. I hope to spend more time among them if I can.