sustain:if:able kiwi

worship when a changing world means a changing mission

Last night was the second week of the Adelaide mission shaped ministry course. With 2 new faces, there are now 47 registered. With the nerves of the first week gone, there is momentum in the air. My task is to lead worship and the hope is that all the worship is done in ways that are different, ways that offer possibilities.

The theme of week 2 is the mission of God. So I begin (the call to worship) with the teaser from the movie Up.

It seems to capture mission as risk, surprise, adventure. And so we say together, a missional paraphrase of Romans 8: This resurrection [mission] life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?”

The next task is the task of prayer. This is offered as an invitation to either ask/intercede or thank/praise. On every chair is a balloon. Half have words from our “changing world” homework, a word texted in by us, which I have written on the balloon. This becomes the task of intercession. As Jesus breathed on the disciples in the sending of the Spirit (John 20), so the invitation is to pray by breathing on our world, to blow up the balloon, praying for the mission of God in our changing world.

The rest of the balloons have words from the week 2 course notes – Scriptures that speak of mission, names of mission moments in history, words from the Anglican 5 marks of mission. This becomes an invitation to praise, to give thanks. As Jesus breathed on the disciples in the sending of the Spirit (John 20:21-23), so we are to breathe thanks, to blow up the balloon, thankful for the mission of God in which we participate.

And so the room begins to breathe. As we finish our prayers, we tie our balloons, our breathe prayers. And we repeat together, the missional paraphrase: This resurrection [mission] life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?”.

And we bat the balloons around the room, our joyful, playful, participation, our worship, when a changing world means a changing mission.

(Note, this might also work as a Creationary: a space to be creative with the lectionary if the Bible texts were John 20 or Romans 8). For more resources go here.

changing world, changing mission

The first session of the mission shaped ministry course included a focus on our changing society. I explored five sections, using photographs from around Adelaide.

1. Changing Sundays
2. Changing relationships
3. Changing cultures
4. Changing faith knowledge
5. Changing spirituality

Participant feedback indicated this was one of the most helpful parts of the evening. I wanted this to be grounded in their everyday lives and in ways that might begin conversations outside the church. So I suggested some “homework”:

How has Australian society changed? First, ask someone inside the church. Second, ask someone outside the church. Text us your answer.

It has been great to have the texts roll in over the week. The responses will be woven into our worship tonight (more on that after it happens), but here is a summary:

(Hat tip wordle)

This was based on isolating one key word from each text –

ego; economy; change; no face-face; diverse; financial; diverse; greedy; 4 me; technology; diverse; self-sufficient; busy; parenting lack; technology; affluence; time poor; less family oriented; globally connected; busier; global warming; IT; technology; morals; 4 me; diverse weekends; family structure; communication; aging; diverse; technology

missiology in the Uniting Church Preamble

Uniting Church in Australia has over the last few years, moved through a process. the outcome of which has been the addition of a new ‘Preamble’ to its Constitution. It emerged from discussion with indigenous folk (UAICC -Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress), and extensive discussion a various church gatherings

The new Preamble offers 10 paragraphs. They include a brief account of the role of the church in Australian (settlement/invasion) and then makes some declarations of the Indigenous experience of God. (The complete document is here. )

Here is paragraph 3:

“The First Peoples had already encountered the Creator God before the arrival of the colonisers; the Spirit was already in the land revealing God to the people through law, custom and ceremony. The same love and grace that was fully and finally revealed in Jesus Christ sustained the First Peoples and gave them particular insights into God’s ways.”

I have been sitting with these words and phrases over the last few months. What does it say about the mission of God? What does is say about the activity of the Trinity (Creator, Spirit, Jesus) in mission? What does it say for those who want to be participants in God’s mission today? What might we learn from the past, for a mission (especially when that mission includes talk of fresh expressions) going forward?

Warning: I am working on a journal article on this, so comments you make might (properly cited of course) be used in my research 🙂

Leapers or baby steppers? Is this fresh expressions? Or simply different expressions

The Adelaide mission-shaped ministry course course kicked off last week. With 44 folk registered – add to the fact that it’s pioneering in the sense of being spread across Uniting, Lutheran and Anglican denominations and being a first ever in Australia, let alone in a brand new building, there was a good deal of nervous energy in the room.

As usual, as speaker, I end up probably learning more than those who attended. For me, this was around fresh expressions. Are we talking “fresh” expressions or “different” expressions? And does it matter?

The question emerged most clearly during a part of the evening involving some Fresh expression storytelling. I could have showed the UK DVD, but I asked if instead there might be any local fresh expressions either being dreamed of, or being explored.

Which led to stories of playgroup church, outdoor labyrinths, someone finding themselves being called Pastor of a social poker club, Friday happy hours that were offering community to local neighbours and the beginnings of ministry to Middle Eastern students.

And then the question (in my words) – Are these fresh expressions? Or just different expressions?

What would you say? Here is what I said (more…)

The ship song project: marking an Australian spiritual space

Just released, a song in honour of one of Australia’s spiritual spaces. It is a love song, dedicated to the Sydney Opera House, based around the song by Nick Cave. In my Reading Cultures/Sociology for Ministry class, I have explored the Sydney Opera House as one of Australia’s spiritual spaces (called “cultural cathedral” here) – (along with Melbourne Cricket Ground, Uluru and Anzac memorials). (Here is what we did in the class this year and for the “video” explanation, go here)) Up till now, I’ve used a video clip of an architect describing the significance of the Opera House, but this seems much more emotionally and culturally connective.

(I love the way this video starts with a Kiwi (Neil Finn), followed by an indigenous voice (Kev Carmody, (updated) plus another Kiwi, Maori Teddy Tahu Rhodes). A hopeful sign perhaps, of an Australian identity that begins with voices other than Anglo?)

garden church anyone?

Fabulous morning. Sun shining. Dirt in fingers. Trees planted in hope of different environmental futures. Conversations about sustainability and spirituality, about human things like rugby and migration. Advice given about mission action projects (guerrilla gardening in Seacliff). Contact details shared with a fellow spiritual seeker. Food and hospitality enjoyed. Kingdom coming on earth.

No, not a church programme or building, but joining something that is – tree planting with a local urban community garden collective.

For related:
Composting as a spiritual practice
Diggers club as model for a fresh expression
Ministerial leader as gardener
Grow your own – Great movie on garden spirituality

This is my body: what elements are essential in indigenous aboriginal communion?

I am on a research quest:

What are the elements used in indigenous aboriginal (Australian) communion? Is it bread made from wheat based flour? Or does it involve any indigenous food products? And what was the theology – specifically the initial theology – that shapes the elements?

When I asked the ACD librarian, she looked suitably intrigued and impressed. And then said she needed some time to think, and suggested I come back on Tuesday.

Why my question? Well, I am working on a paper for a conference in early 2012, “Story Weaving: Colonial Contexts and Postcolonial Theology”

A number of thinkers have suggested that the eucharist is a key resource for living both Christianly and humanly in a post-colonial world. These include William Cavanaugh in Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire and Torture and Eucharist: Theology, Politics, and the Body of Christ (Challenges in Contemporary Theology). The argument is that the colonial notions of global and local, universal and particular, are fundamentally disrupted in the eucharist. A similar, but even more tightly focused argument has been offered by John McDowell, in his exploration of the Narrative of Institution in 1 Corinthians 11 (“Feastings in God at Midnight: Theology and the Globalised Present,” Pacifica 23 (October 1010)).

This argument, that the eucharist is a key resource for a post-colonial world, stands in striking contrast to an example by Susan Dworkin in The Viking in the Wheat Field: A Scientist’s Struggle to Preserve the World’s Harvest. She notes that when the Catholic church arrived (colonised) South America, they brought the belief that in Christianity, wheat flour rather than the (indigenous) corn flour could be used to bake communion wafers. In other words, in practice, the eucharist becomes complicit in processes of colonisation, rather than a key resource in resisting globalisation.

What is intriguing is that Dworkin’s next paragraph, however, provide an example of a way in which colonisation can be deconstructed. She describes how in order to provide such colonial bread, wheat needed to be imported. It was grown around local churches. It self-seeded. Through natural processes of selection, the wheat that survived developed genes more uniquely adapted to local environments.

In the late 20th century, scientists realised that such wheat might have enormous potential in safe guarding food production. They began to search through isolated churches in Mexico, seeking genetic material, plants that had adapted and evolved. In other words, what was originally imported wheat was now highly prized indigenous wheat.

This raises a fascinating set of questions, not only around ecclesiology, eucharist and the Narrative of Institution, but around the very elements. What should constitute the very body of Christ? How is it’s composition, complicit in, or resistant to, processes of colonisation?

Hence my research question in the library this morning. Here in Australia, what communion elements did indigenous Aboriginal cultures employ? And was the underlying theology a colonial imposition? And how does this disrupt, or endorse, the work of Cavanaugh and McDowell? And how might the resultant practices, even if unintentional, contribute toward something that might in fact be a unique emerging indigenous gift for a hungry world?

So, I’d be grateful if any readers, especially Australian readers, might suggest any research leads. Because indigenous Aboriginal culture is wide and varied. And because both I and my librarian suspect that the search will be less that straightforward, but mighty, mighty interesting.

a new reformation: the rort that is academic (biblical) publishing

I just got notice from an academic (Biblical) publishing house. A new book. Price $90.

What a rort.

What happened to the Reformation? Remember the people who died for the belief that the Bible belonged not to an exclusive elite, but to the whole people of God, who insisted that translation be in the vernacular, who fought for lay interpretation.

500 years later, we still have an elite, sustained by the academic publishing market, fused with the research academic. Here’s how it works.

Academics do research. They need to publish their research, so they write. What they write is quite elite, so only a few people read it. So not many books sell. So the price is expensive.

Yet other’s in the academic guild have to read what their peers write. So academic libraries still have to buy these books no matter how expensive. Which means a guaranteed market. And ensures little competitive pressure to make a book more accessible.

I know this happens in all academic disciplines. I know that “pure” research (cf applied research) is important. I know that there is an academic speak which is is an important shorthand (see my post – Can I swap your pliers for my Economic Trinity?)

But when books are priced at $90, the world of biblical scholarship has priced itself as an elitist occupation, affordable to a few, inaccessible to the many. Anyone for a new reformation?

real hospitality: their place not ours

I blogged this back in April. I stumbled across it again last night and thought it was rather good. So at the risk of self-promotion, and in honour of the mission-shaped ministry course, which is starting tonight (40 folk registered, woop woop), I’m putting it up again.

Welcome Home is a Dave Dobbyn special, the first song on his 2005 Available Light. It was reputed to be written in response to a racist incident, in which a far-right group suggested Chinese migrants were not welcome in New Zealand.

The chorus is gorgeous: “Welcome home from the bottom of our hearts/from the bottom of our hearts.” It song then offers a number of important insights in regard to hospitality and welcoming the stranger.

1 – Honouring of migrant story

Tonight I am feeling for you/under the state of a strange land
You have sacrificed much to be here

These are the first words and in doing so, the song begins in a listening posture. It starts with the migrant, and desire to empathise. This leads to an honouring of the migrant journey, the recognition of sacrifice, that no matter how good it might be to move, it still means homesickness and breaking of relationship, of missing out of change, and not seeing parents grow old and children grow..

2 – Offering fresh possibilities

Out here on the edge/the empire is fading by the day/
And the world is so weary in war/maybe we’ll find that new way

This is quite profound, for it suggests that the current state of the “home” is not the best. It needs a new way. And thus the migrant is framed as a gift. With their coming, their might actually be a new way by which the old country might live, might learn, might grow.

3 – Suggesting a new practices

So welcome home, see i made a space for you now

And here the rubber hits the road. It’s one thing to say welcome. Some words.

It’s quite another whole set of realities to make a space. Space making is physical. Space making means the welcomer must move, must let themselves be disturbed in this act of space making.

Part of the difficulty is that different cultures perceive space making differently. A comment about an accent might be a joke one day, but on another day it can be perceived as a reminder of difference, an exclusive gesture.

Nevertheless it suggests that welcome is never just words. It must include the welcomer being willing to move, to deliberately enact gestures that the migrant understands as space making.

But at the root of this is the question of who owns, who defines “home.” The danger is that “home” means that relationships are always defined in binary

• home-visitor
• local-foreigner
• mine-not yours

Theologically, it seems to me that Jesus left “home” in the Incarnation. Much ministry was done not at his home, in his place, but only as he experienced the “other” saying “welcome home.” – At Matthew’s house, in Zacchaues’s place, at Mary and Martha’s. But on the other hand, this was always done in Jesus home tongue, his language and his culture.

Should the church say “welcome home”? This has been the dominant ministry posture in Christendom. We are the host and we expect the world to come to us.

Then in a post-Christendom world I hear people rifting off the Prodigal Son, the church becomes the father, waiting for the culture, which has stomped off, getting ready to welcome the returning. “Welcome home.” The Luke 15 parables cluster around this theme. As I’ve written elsewhere, the lost sheep assumes the shepherd will bring the sheep home. But what would happen if the shepherd decided to make a new home, in the place where the lost sheep was? What happens if the Christ is not saying “welcome home” inside our buildings?

(Cartoon from asboJesus).

So perhaps, if the church seeks Incarnation as a way of being, it is time for the church to become alien, migrant. To give up saying welcome and go looking for welcome. To wonder who, if any, will make space for it? This is certainly the heart of Luke 10:1-12, in which the disciples are sent, speaking peace, to be reliant on the welcome and hospitality of another.

For further on this:
When home is a pain

mother of God icon: one coat turns it to crap

This is my second icon- Mary, mother of God. (My first, a pioneer icon, is here). I’ve been working on it for about 3 months. A lot of evenings, a lot of weekends. It’s been relaxing and enjoying.

I chose it because of the way Jesus is snuggled into Mary. I love the intimacy and humanity of that moment. As I painted, it felt more and more like the arm of Mary was making a gesture of embrace, inviting me to join the intimacy, to appreciate the humanity and warmth.

Over the weekend I applied the gold halo and finished the final etching. Which meant it was done and so last nite I applied a coat of clear varnish to help protect it.

I don’t know what happened, but it turned to crap. The gold halo is now all tarnished brown, rather than gold and shiny. The varnish has formed bubbles and looks all pock marked. The final finishing coat, after months of work. Sorry mother of God, but you look how I feel. Crap!

smelling the Bible: parables of mustard seed, yeast, treasure, pearl, net

On Sunday I was guest preaching. The lectionary texts were the parables of mustard seed, yeast, treasure, pearl and net in Matthew 13. As part of the sermon, I decided to explore a more multi-sensory approach to the Bible and deliberately tried to engage the senses, especially the sense of smell. (For more on smelling the Bible, see here). For those interested in how the senses might be engaged in a sermon (more…)

the outsider: creationary storytelling Matthew 13 parable of treasure

A creationary: a space to be creative with the lectionary. For more resources go here.

The man arrived by shiny 4 wheel drive. An outsider, branded by his clean lines and secretive ways. Disappearing at dawn. Returning at dusk. Avoiding campfire conversation.

A month later he gives in. Finds the local country pub and sadly shares his story.

“I’m from NASA. Your land, these outback ranges, is reputed to be the site of a unique mineral deposit, with rocks essential to our space programme. Which means I’ve had a top secret mission.”

Slowly he pulls a rock out of his pocket. “I’m looking for these. From dawn to dusk. Searching your outback.”

Wearily his head leans onto the bar counter. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

The bar owner peers hard. Bends down. Pulls a bucket out from under the counter and empties the contents over the bar. Identical stones run everywhere.

“Sometimes you simply need to ask, rather than look,” he grins.

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field.” (Matthew 13:44). (Based on a true story heard over coffee today.)

creationary: Mattthew 13 parable of mustard seed

A creationary: a space to be creative with the lectionary. For more resources go here.

For those working on the parable of the mustard seed for Sunday, there are some great pictures – “smallness of the tree” here; birds in a mustard tree here. Regarding permissions, the website does say (generously) that the “photos and text are in the public domain. No other author may copyright them”

For me, I’ll be using Matthew 13:52 – new and old – as the integrative theme.

I will be giving
– some of the people, as they come in, a google map of their local community
– the rest of the people, as they come in, a picture of the church

I’ll also as people come in, give them an envelope in which there is a mustard seed, some yeast, a pearl, and some treasure. I’ll also have a net hanging up the front of the church.

So I will offer some “Jewish context info” for each parable and then pause and ask folk, using verse 52 – what smells old, what smells new. So interaction together about the way the parable is actually working.

And then I’ll finish by asking those with a map of the community what the parables mean to the community, and those with a church picture, what the parables mean to folk in the church. This will allow some communal discussion of the application, plus is also consistent with the Matthew 13 text, in that two of the parables (mustard seed and yeast) are delivered to the wide crowd, while two (treasure and pearl) are given to the disciples.

I will probably conclude with the Paul Kelly song, from Big things little things grow.

writing as displacement in author Graham Swift

I harbour this dream of being a writer. Not a factual writer, but a fictional one. Perhaps it’s why a blog – a wannabe :). Anyhow, beside my bed since Christmas has been Graham Swift, Making an Elephant: Writing from Within. Swift is a UK author, Booker prize winner (1996). Two of his books have become films (Last Orders and Waterland).

This book, Making an Elephant, is a collection of various pieces he has written, many of which explore the art of writing. Below are some quotes that stood out. And which, when put together over some 400 odd pages, suggest a recurring theme. Whether for me, the reader, or in him, the writer, who knows.

[S]he suffers greatly, but she still grows. It’s the price of the ticket, isn’t it? The displacement ticket. Displacement engenders a great deal of suffering, a great deal of confusion, a great deal of soul-searching. (139, 140)

Unlike Vaculik, Klima did not disdain manual work. Rather, he took the view that doing other, temporary jobs could be valuable for a writer; and he told a story which was a perfect explosion of the Western ‘myth’. A famous Czech author is seen cleaning the streets by a friend of his at the American embassy. The American goes into a fit out of outrage at how the authorities humiliate the country’s best minds. But the writer is doing the job voluntarily: it is research for a book. (166)

a belief in the local as the route to the universal, combined with a belief that in the local (including those seemingly familiar localities, ourselves) the strange and the dislocated are never far away. (294)

we are all, at one and the same time, inhabitants of place and of placelessness, creatures of tenure, attachment and of no fixed abode …all writers … would recognize that mental dislocation is part and parcel of what they do. (311)