Working Grace

In one of the final scenes of the movie “V for Vendetta”, is the climactic recognition by the main character (named "V"), that his years of seeking vengeance on his enemies have been a brutal and broken response to the pain inflicted on himself and his country. The movie is a reinterpretation of the Guy Fawkes story, with a George Orwell 1984 twist, set in modern Britain. The script moves through his self-understandings as hero, villain, victim and ultimately as anti-hero.  

This growth in self-understanding - and consequent action - is what makes a good story. Students of literature are taught to look out for character development and understand how these contribute to the quality or otherwise of the story. Sometimes this comes through growing (or breaking) relationships, while at other times the growth of the character comes through a moment when they are forced to reflect on their actions or inactions.

And one reason why these stories work for us, is that they reflect the reality of our daily lives and give us opportunity to respond or act differently.  When the movie “Once were Warriors” came out in New Zealand, it generated a considerable ferment of conversation in the general public about domestic violence and how each of us contribute to it.  It did this because the characters reflected our “ordinaryness”, while at the same time having to come to terms with their “ordinary” brokenness or weakness.

At some point in our lives, we have all struggled with our own brokenness in relation to others. Whether as a parent with our children, as a child with parents, a spouse, business or work colleague or neighbour, our brokenness expresses itself in anger, gossip, unkind words or avoidance. Many of our apologies are framed because we “should not have done …” this or that … or we “should have known better” or "I wasn’t thinking clearly”. We are ordinary people trying to be the best we can be, but not always succeeding. Our brokenness “leaks” when we don’t want it to and we have to admit that while our standards are fairly high, our reality never quite gets there.

This is what Paul is talking about. The Message translation puts it this way; “For if I know the law but still can't keep it, and if the power of sin within me keeps sabotaging my best intentions, I obviously need help! I realize that I don't have what it takes. I can will it, but I can't do it. I decide to do good, but I don't really do it; I decide not to do bad, but then I do it anyway”. Romans 7.17-19 The Bible

The naming of “sin” is not popular, even in churches. However we know its reality in our own lives, and (maybe especially) in the lives of others.

From Entertainers Rolf Harris and Jimmy Savville to cyclist Lance Armstrong, we struggle to admit that people we thought of as lofty as heroes or as simply as kind, ordinary people, that these people are not only sinful, but abominably so.

It is abhorrent when we see it in others. It is scary when we see it in ourselves.  How do we deal with it? What do we do?  Over centuries of Christian practice there have been many answers offered. It would be fair to say that some have not been helpful.  Here’s a few thoughts that might be helpful.

I don’t believe it is helpful to tell people that if they sin they are going to Hell.
I do believe that we need to understand our brokenness and how it creates Hell in ourselves and others.

I don’t believe that we should beat ourselves up about our sin
I do believe that we need to name our sin for what it is.

I don’t believe that God judges us when we sin.
I believe that God requires us to account for our attitude towards it.

I don’t pretend that sin and brokenness and evil and humanity are easy to understand or solve. For it draws from me tears and frustration and sometimes even despair.

But I hope that I will always find a place for Grace.

The answer for sin and brokenness and weakness has never been to pile on guilt or damnation or promises of Hell.  God’s answer has always been grace.

After having slammed those who abuse power, and commended those who seek to understand God’s ways, Jesus says this; ““Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest”  Another translation goes on to say this …
“Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won't lay anything heavy or ill–fitting on you. Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11.29-30 The Bible

“The unforced rhythms of grace”. However, to understand Grace, one needs to have encountered brokenness and sin.

I wrote this on Facebook during the week:
"What does a responsible, caring, parent / Christian / minister do? Rolf Harris is stripped of titles and awards, and his plaque is ripped out of pavements. Should we be throwing out his albums? What does our action or inaction say to our daughters, to our childhood memories, to those women (and men) for whom this trial and verdict have brought up the most terrible of memories about their own childhood abuse?”

I was on the floor stretching in the clubhouse yesterday after our run, and one of the guys came over to me and said that he had read my post on FaceBook, commenting how hard it was to deal with these questions. One of the other guys, a family councillor, chimed in and said that we need to keep talking about this - as hard as it is - because it is the only way we can bring out what is hidden and make it seen for what it is - unacceptable.

But what do we do with Rolf Harris?

One answer is simple.  Do what the Herald Sun did this week, and label him as an “Evil Mug”, and a “Singing and dancing predator”.  We demonise him, because it is easier to see evil in “them”, than to see it in us.  And if they are NOT like us, the separation and justification becomes easier.  As James Godfrey said to us in May, when we separate “them” from “us” it is no longer our issue, it is their problem and our job is to ignore them or come up with a solution for them, or lock him up and throw away the key.

So where does Grace fit, even there?

Or do we see him as human like us. Can we at the same time acknowledge his weakness or brokenness or sin AND see him as human like us?

Can we abhor his actions and do all we can to stop it happening again, AND still find grace to recognise that he too is created in God’s image?

Can grace go too far - even there?

This is working Grace.

When we wrestle with this very real human brokenness and sin and evil in our world and in our own lives, and are able to see that Grace persists, even in the middle of all this.

U2 have a great take on Grace. "Grace finds Beauty in Everything". (or Click here.)

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. … Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly.”

The invitation of a hill

A hill is what it is.
It cannot change what it is.
I need to change in order to run it:
either get stronger or run smarter
or find another hill.

I never conquer the hill
- it will not be mine;

 It's challenge will still be there tomorrow.

I conquer myself
my fears, my inadequacy
I am stronger at the end than I was at the beginning:
Not because I have run the hill
but because I have given my best.

The hill is what it is
It cannot change what it is.
It invites me to change.

First words: An explosion of worship

This time last week I was in Alice Springs.  I began and ended my blog on that week away with these words:

I feel like I've been away forever.

Maybe I have.

Forever in time, place, heart.

Forever, to places where time is measured in thousands of years, or in generations, or in Dreamtime.

Where you can feel forever in the soil, the sunrise, the rocks, the sunset.

After nights sleeping under stars and cooking food on an open fire, I’m lying in bed in a motel in Alice, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of those sunrises, that rock, the open fire, sunsets that set fire to rocks, queues of aboriginal men outside a pub, others congregating in a supermarket carpark in a curious mingle with suits who have arrived in the latest Mini Cooper or Beemer, roos at sunset, dingos at dinner time. 

Occasionally the smell of the fire smoke in our clothes reminds us that this was not a dream.

I feel like I have been away Forever. Maybe Forever is a place (!?)

Maybe I am Dreaming, after all, in that aboriginal sense.

But I can still smell the smoke in my clothes ...

(the rest of that story is here)

There are many different ways to describe reality. When that reality is as complex as Creation or Trinity, we can get lost in detail or we can find wonder. We may even hear things with our hearts, or see things with different eyes if we are open to new perspectives. At Uluru we were invited into a deeper understanding of that sacred place.  But for some of us, that meant putting aside some of our expectations of time, our “right to climb the rock” and our understanding of how we might learn. We were invited to listen to ancient wisdom that uses different categories to ours – and still is true and real.

Genesis 1 is a bit like that. 

These words of beginning, of genesis, of creation.

Words written to speak of God in action; awesome, amazing, creative, detailed, intimate, care-ful.

Some say this God sits on a throne, but in the creation God is very present and close.

In the Worship Space in the desert a lone voice is heard, “And God Said …”

And the people whisper in response, “… and it was so.”

The voice continues more strongly, “And God said …”

And the people utter the words confidently, “And it was so”.

The voice shouts, “And God said …”

And the people shout in response, “And it was so.”

And God saw that it was Good.

Words heard over generations, passed on from parents to children.

And God created humankind

In his own image

In the image of God,

God Created them

Male and female

He created them.

(yes, male and female, in his image)

And God saw

All

that he had made.  And it was

VERY

Good.

And he rested.

(for a version of Genesis 1 as a responsive reading for a worship setting, click here)

Ancient words, written to remind God’s people that at the beginning of the story, there is God who creates and is intimately concerned with this creation.  It is a theological statement.

Science is concerned with giving nature its own meaning and purpose (or seeking to understand it) apart from God; Mythology wants to tell stories of gods apart from created beings.

Genesis 1 is altogether different. This story affirms that creator and creation are intimately linked in a covenant expressed in action – God’s act of creation by the Spirit.  As such it is neither science nor history nor myth. It is a theological statement, a bold explosion of worship of God - and of confidence in this one who is so intimately concerned with the created world. Creator and creation are delicately and uniquely linked. Against other ways of understanding the world, these words affirm that all that is described is fully and joyfully God’s creation. What’s more, this creation and this bond make salvation possible (or maybe even inevitable) – because God cannot walk away from God’s creation, even if created beings may turn away from God.

These words of Genesis 1, when disconnected from this setting of worship and theology, find themselves used for purposes for which they were never intended.  Their language and intention and purpose become confused. Our questions of, “Is this historical” or “is it true and verifiable”, or even “is it a mythical description” would never have been a question in the minds of the writers, or the jewish people who first held these sacred texts.  That is not to say that these questions are irrelevant.  But that is simply not the concern of these texts, which have as their primary focus, the relationship of the creator to the creation in a theological statement – which is still true and real.

God is intimately concerned with all of this world. This creator is not a manufacturer or carpenter who makes something and walks away.  Words are spoken, “And God said…” and responded to, “And it was so.” God puts God-self into creation through speaking.  This creator has a purpose for creation, for each part of this creation is stated as having a purpose.

And there is purpose in having this explosion of worship as the very first words of the scriptures.  It reminds us 

• That our story starts with God.
• That this God brings order from chaos, and creates with intention and intimacy of words.
• That humanity is not only part of the creation, and not only the final part of the creation, but in the image of God.
• That this "image" is not just a select few. It is all. Male and female.
• That this not a statement of hubris, of pride and arrogance.  No – it is a whispered response of awe at the purpose and intention and work of God; and the sacredness of the other. Each other. Every other.
• That All of creation is good.
• That All of creation is blessed.
• And that everything, and everyone, and even God, rests.

First words: An explosion of worship.

(From a sermon for Trinity Sunday, June 2014)

Dreaming

I feel like I've been away forever.

Maybe I have.

Forever in time, place, heart.

Forever, to places where time is measured in thousands of years, or in generations, or in Dreamtime.

Where you can feel forever in the soil, the sunrise, the rocks, the sunset.

"We acknowledge the Anangu People as the traditional owners and custodians of the land ... "

A man saw Uluru as something to be conquered, his right to walk all over. The gate was closed by the aboriginal ranger for sunset and safety, but the man insisted on walking through the gate and wanting to climb; To climb that rock which The People ask him not to climb - but he sees as his right to climb. I'm not sure whether the ranger's response was immature ("I'll count to five and I want you off"), or whether the man's immaturity deserved it.

Sleeping in places where our food is cooked on an open fire, sheltered by a rock and a cliff that holds the memories of the fires of other campers, explorers, wanderers, and locals ... over hundreds of years; (where you dig a hole for a loo!); where we wake, unzip the tent and lie in our sleeping bags gazing over a riverbed and listen to the gentle zephyr in the reeds, a crow, and ... Forever (is there a word for hearing nothing else, ... and everything else?).

A mission station where my people tried for a hundred years ... tried, and now their trying is a reputation of goodness and mercy, and a village of people living in safety and possibility, and a Museum to 'Trying'.

Two nights later we are in sheets, in a bed, (showered!), in a motel, behind electric gates in a town called Alice.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of those sunrises, that rock, the open fire, sunsets that set fire to rocks, queues of aboriginal men outside a pub, others congregating in a supermarket carpark in a curious mingle with suits who have arrived in the latest Mini Cooper or Beemer, roos at sunset, dingos at dinner time. 

Occasionally the smell of the fire smoke in our clothes reminds us that this was not a dream.

The sun rises, but is hidden by curtains and electronic gates.

So we pack the memories and the camera and the smoke-soaked clothes.

"... We remember their ancestors with respect & commit ourselves to work for reconciliation & justice for indigenous people."

And go to listen to Anne - an (Ab-)Original grandmother who holds the stories of her people, explains rights and rites, "our lore" and "British law", clashes and customs, edible berries and skin systems and a human world and a spiritual world and symbols and women's world and men's stuff and nature and ... 'Dreaming' as a world view, and a way of living, now.

I feel like I have been away Forever. Maybe Forever is a place (!?)

A Forever bookended by a man with rights, and a woman with rites.

Maybe I am Dreaming, after all. 

But I can still smell the smoke in my clothes ...

They aren't just running shoes ...

A thought came to mind when I was cleaning out the laundry today.

How many running shoes does a bloke need? 

Each pair tells stories of pain and success and getting out there when I was too tired and rain storms and 40deg days and exploring new trails and seeing new sights and races run and finished against difficult odds and beating personal bests - and then getting out next week to do it all over again - and finding new friends and tears over leaving others behind (or saying goodbye forever) and Dad's heart attack and hard decisions at work and learning more about myself and just when I thought I couldn't go on, finding one more step and another, and ... and ...  

They aren't just running shoes. They are way, way more ...