sustain:if:able kiwi

a piece of a puzzle? (or a piece in a puzzle?)

I start a new job today. After 10 days of settling, being with and around the kids as they start school, it’s my turn to pack my play lunch and head off!

I’ve been in quite a few times already – to use the internet, to gain some role clarity, to attend to some admin things and on Friday, for a staff meeting. But today I start.

On the way through Sydney airport I picked up a piece of a puzzle. It reminded me of this prayer that I wove together. It involves holding a jigsaw piece and considering how;

• each is unique and each is different.
• each is essential. Lose one and the jigsaw will never be complete.
• it is actually up to the Jigsaw Maker to put the puzzle together. That’s the Christian hope. Your kingdom come, Your will be done. We’re puzzle pieces and God is at work putting the puzzle together.

I’ve been part of a puzzle at Opawa and in New Zealand and among the Baptist family. Now, in the strange twists and turns of God, I’m in South Australia and among the Uniting family.

Today I’m holding my piece and praying this prayer, slightly adapted, by Nakatenus, 17th century priest).
God of Christ Jesus, the task of loving every neighbour as we love ourselves has become too big for us. The world is now too small, it’s population too large, the burden of its evil and misery too enormous. Therefore we pray to you for common sense. Let each of us be ready to do what can reasonably be done, play our piece in your puzzle, and leave you to put the jigsaw together. Amen.

suspended

On the wall hung three pictures, a Christmas gift from some years ago.

The top picture is of a moon, smiling, and a heart shaped balloon, floating.

The bottom picture is of a person, grounded, looking upward, skyward holding the balloon string.

Take away the top and bottom picture and all you have is the middle picture, which, without close inspection, is simply blue sky.

That is us, the Taylor family.

Look closely, very closely, and you might see the balloon string, tugging, tearing in the hands of our friends, family and church.

But a casual glance and there is nothing to see. The Taylors are between jobs, between schools, between countries, between what is familiar and known and what is dream and not known. It’s a unique space, in which we’re looking, hoping, trusting, wondering …

the gospel and land of promise

Some good news this morning …. another of my writings has been accepted for publication.

Back in July I presented a paper – Faithful Other or Guilty Other? a migrants reading of Genesis 28:10-18 – at an academic conference. The theme was the Gospel and the land of promise. Most of the papers looked at Biblical material in relation to the land of Israel. My paper did also, but by a somewhat meandering path. I started by reading the Jacob narrative through the lens of Aotearoa migration stories – Maori and Pakeha, Cook and Banks and Te Rangi Hiroa – which threw up some fascinating discussion around “land/s of promise.” What if “ownership” was a cultural construct? What if “promised” land was offered as already occupied land, both by animal and people?

Questions I’ve been chewing on for a number of years, and the conference was a chance to draw some threads together, put some thoughts into words. The papers were gathered. And a publisher has just said yes to making them available in written form.

So that’s a third publishable “thing” for me in this calendar year; with another 2 “things” submitted and awaiting. Plus there is a first complete draft of a potential book on faith:full family ministry, emerging from the Breathe conference I spoke at in August. All in all, it’s been a very encouraging year (for a part-time academic) writing wise. Now back to the laptop!

some days are better than others: reseaching U2

I’ve just emailed a UK music producer, John Reynolds. He is responsible for producing the chant by Sinead O’Connor, that begins the live performance of Bullet the Blue Sky on the U2 Go Home – Live from Slane Castle DVD. It’s a gorgeous chant: rich, evocative and moody.

Since I’m researching the evolving live performances of U2, and seeking to turn a spoken 2,500 word paper into a 6,000 word book chapter, I am intrigued:
– Is Sinead singing any particular lyrics, or is she just offering a chant, perhaps as some sort of lament?
– What Sinead might have been hoping to communicate with the chant and how she felt about the way U2 incorporated it into their live performance?
– How the production process evolved, including was it initially requested by U2 or offered by Sinead?

I’ve asked for help on the atU2 forums (yep, part of research is reading fan sites!)

Some days, research is fun! (And is also an excellent excuse to keep me away from writing, which is what I am really meant to be doing).

save the last latte for me: an evening update

So the Thurs-day also marked not only my last latte-frothed class, but an evening staff/student barbeque. This included a farewell to me. Previous students I had taught were invited. (Some showed. You know who you are/are not! 🙂 )

A few speeches of thanks. Regret that I was going. Reflection on my impact on student lives. Naming of my unique “hole” – a creative thinker who offered whole-bodied educational experiences (other wise known as lectures!)

And a lovely, unexpected, gift – a koru, framed in native rimu timber. A Kiwi symbol of new beginnings. With the prayerful hope, that my move to Adelaide, while Laidlaw’s loss, may truly become a new beginning for Taylor’s and an expression of God’s missional purposes in Adelaide.

No latte, but a lovely ending. Thanks Laidlaw.

save the last latte for me

I was teaching my last class ever at Laidlaw College (Christchurch) today. Which made it a moment of personal significance. Happily, it was the Missional Church Leadership course, one that I have pioneered, and now taught 5 times in 4 different cities in Australasia. A personal favourite, so I nice course to end on.

We headed off to the local cafe and sat around a long wooden table. Coffees all around, on my “leaving budget”! Together we all shared a memory, something about the Missional Church Leadership course that might stay with us – Luke 10:1-12 as hopeful hook and challenging platform, a sense of safe space, a model of leadership as reflective and bottom-up, benedictions as physically facing the door, taking the course out of classroom and to community tables.

And then we read Luke 10:1-12 together. A bit of a recurring Steve Taylor/mission, church, leadership text! What struck us? What question might we have for a New Testament scholar?

It was a fitting conclusion: in cafe rather than classroom, around a shared table, drink in hand, Biblical text central, a growing community of pilgrims. A moment worth saving the last latte for.

And what struck me? The need to dwell deeply. That as I leave one (Christchurch table) and journey to another (Adelaide table), my task is to dwell deeply, to make a priority of relationships and food and drink and consistency and hospitality. I have offered peace and found peace in one place. May it be so in another.

redemption for the body: a spirituality of native timber

Today was a wet cold rainy day. Too wet for the builders working on our church building project to be outside. So they started in on the foyer.

The old 70s windows are to go. Replaced by new aluminium glass. The builders knock off about 5 pm. Two windows out, two windows in. A good day’s work.

Then at 5:15 pm a van arrives. It’s the Opawa Facility’s Ministry leader. A man of immense creativity, faithfullness, care and humour.

He reverses the van in and opens up his boot. And starts to rumage through the rubbish left over by the builders.

Intrigued I wander out. He tells me he’s looking for rimu. It’s a New Zealand native timber species. A beautiful, honey brown colour. And it was pretty common back in the 1970’s, used to frame windows. And when you strip back the paint, and apply coats of varnish, then recycled rimu starts to look absolutely stunning.

And together, bent over the day’s rubbish, the two of us start to dream.

What about another pulpit. Or perhaps a communion table. Or what about some stands, to hang art or allow interactive stations! We get excited. What about taking the old rimu and make something re-newed for the church. We could take the best of the 70s, the best of our past, and redeem it for the new millennium.

you can’t beat a long cut

I am a bit of a vegetable garden fan. In my garden I find God, I contemplate ethics (see here and here). Viewing gardens tends to inspire me about the shape of church and possibilities for worship. It has helped frame our mission, for example here.

After a 16 day absence, my vegetable garden got some well-deserved attention today. The winter compost got spread. The early potatoes got mounded up in case of early frosts. Vegetables got harvested: peas, brocolli, silver beet, spinach, broad beans, cauliflower. Summer vegetables got planted: lettuce, beans, quick growing cabbage, early tomatoes. As a family, we now very rarely buy vegetables, such is the extent of our home garden.

After, I finished, I sat in the late afternoon sun, enjoying a beer and some peas picked straight from the garden. It struck me that none of this comes quick. There are no shortcuts. Compost takes time. Peas and broccoli need to be planted in autumn. It is a few hours a week, and slow and steady, over the year the garden takes shape.

Which probably says something about the spiritual life and the shape of ministry. We live in an instant age and expect instant results. Yet compost now enhances a sermon in a year or two. Seeds take time to mature. Pausing for moments of reflection and prayer lend sustainability. Savouring, like freshly picked peas, the God-moments that are changed lives nourishes hope. Here’s to the long cuts of ministry!

getting excited

Today I will walk past this letterbox.

Tucked in behind Tabor College, where I will speak on Discerning the emerging church in the afternoon. Then in the evening I will speak on Picturing Christian Witness at Coromandel Uniting.

But first I will walk past this letterbox. It was shown to me last year by Mark Stevens and lies on the way to the funky Brown Dog cafe.

At this letter box, I will pause. And give thanks for creativity and spirituality and culture. And count down the hours until.

soak and lectio divina for those wanting to hear God in sickness

Soak is a monthly (first Sunday) service we run at Opawa. It’s like nothing I’ve ever been involved with before: sung worship, a great space, lectio divina, and then various stations, with people leaving when they feel they’ve finished soaking.

So tonight the theme was Hearing God in sickness. One of the stations was a wheelchair, on which people could sit and pray for the sick they knew. Another offered healing prayer. Other’s offered prayers, poetic and tactile, for those hearing difficult news.

It just felt such a useful pastoral thing to be part of; offering Christian resources – a wide range of Christian resources – for those everyday realities.

For those interested, here’s the lectio divina I wrote. It’s based on a phrase from Ben Harper album, “Two hands of prayer”, which seemed to me the best way to understand Mark 9:24 “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!..” Which linked in my head with John 20:27 “Put your finger here; see my hands.” It’s not exegeticaly logical or coherent. But that’s the beauty of lectio divina: it expects God’s inspiration simply because the Spirit is alive and well both in relation to Biblical text and in relation to human imagination. We offer the Bible in many, many ways at Opawa, and the lectio approach is just one of the man.

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a seasonal spirituality of wine making

I was re-reading my sabbatical 08 journal last week. Partly because it was this time a year ago the Taylor family headed off (August 20-Nov 1). Partly because of the news that two of my sabbatical writing projects have been given the green publishing light. (1st, a chapter on the Bible in bro’town accepted for an edited book, published by Semeia Studies, designed to be used in theology and popular culture graduate level courses. 2nd, a paper constructing a pneumatology for engaging popular culture accepted as a book chapter, to be published by Wipf and Stock publishers.)

As part of the sabbatical, I took a 3 day retreat, walking the Riesling trail and re-reading my journal, I found the following quote:

“It begins with the old, dry grown vines gently tendered. Berries gently hand picked at optimal ripeness, producing full-flavoured fruit. Crushed, hard plunged, basket pressed to extract intense juices. Add passionate wine making skills, maybe an influence of oak. And in time …. delicious, full-bodied, flavoursome wines just for you to enjoy.”

It caused me to reflect on seasons; of how vines become laden become harvested become processed become served. What season am I/you/Opawa? What practices and resources are needed for this season? (And all this before you even think about toasts to new wineskins.)

Updated: In honour of this post, I got my Spirituality Of Wine of the shelf and will be reflecting around it’s themes over the next weeks.

new mates, old friends

I feel like I’ve made a whole lot of new mates and shared a pretty special week with various leaders from around Australia. God took us to some deep and probing places and the final worship was a wonderful end, participative, joyous, attentive to relationship, weaving so many threads of the week around God’s grace in communion.

Which meant a trip back, and great to travel with Paul, who’d come with me from the pastoral team at Opawa/Angelwings end. Normally I travel alone, all exhausted and introverted and it was enriching to have time to hang, talk, laugh, reflect.

And now I type this sitting beside my youngest, who is also typing on her laptop. Home. And soon the hockey “lot” will rush through the door. Home. With best friends.

the stimulation of being a global baptist

The last few days at the International Conference on Baptist Studies has been excellent. With 400 years of history (this year), and over 150,000 churches and 37 million members spanning 6 continents, there’s a lot of being Baptist to be studied. With conference speakers from England, US, Australian, New Zealand, Irian Jaya, Papua New Guinea, Aboriginal, Nigeria, India, Burma, it’s been a real feast. 3 highlights that spring to mind:

1: From PNG: The church is harmed by “grasshopper” Christians, those people who just jump from church to church, always chasing a blessing and seeking something better.

2: From Aboriginal Australia: The gospel calls us to be one, but it also calls each member to be unique. So the task of mission is to help each member helped to find their own God-given identity. That is our challenge: to be truly, authentically Aboriginal and Christian in a post-modern Australia.

3: From UK: research into letters kept in the British Library shows that William Wilberforce enjoyed a sustained correspondence over many years with key Baptist mission leaders and had a deep admiration for the work of the father of modern modern, William Carey.

My paper – Baptist Worship and Contemporary Culture: A New Zealand Case study – went well today, with some helpful feedback and good endorsement. With a few editorial tweeks, I hope it will get published down the track (as part of a Paternoster series).

Tomorrow I head down the Peninsula for a weekend with friends. Yep, a weekend away from Opawa. It means I miss the start of missions week, and the preaching of Paul Windsor.

Composting as a spiritual practice

I was asked to write something around spiritual practices for a friend, Christine Sine. Here is what I cobbled together over toast yesterday morning, which I also played with on my weekly Quick Word for the day radio slot. Check out others in the series so far, plus some of the comments on her blog in relation to my piece, which are quite humbling.;

In recent weeks I’ve been enjoying the spiritual practice of composting. As with most spiritual practices, it has been a mix of great fun and hard work, pulling on the gumboots and old jersey, lugging around big bags of animal manure, tossing straw, shovelling and raking.

For me, making compost has become a spiritual practice that connects me with God and helps me pray. As I compost, I think about my local community and people who are not yet in faith. I recall the people I know who are really struggling with life. I think back over the TV news, holding before God, the life situations that seem bleak and barren.

I wonder if composting was part of what God was doing in Genesis 2. The story describes God planting a garden. Given the detail, the slow and careful pace in the Bible narrative, there is this sense of the garden taking time, sort of evolving. God is the careful composter, mixing love with manure, compassion with planting, dreams of fruitful relationship as life is blown in human nostrils. Reading Genesis 2 has begun to turn my act for composting into a spiritual practice, an act of communion with Gardener of the Universe.

1 Corinthians 13 reminds us that hese three remain: faith, hope and love.

Composting is an act of faith. You place compost on the garden in autumn. You let it sit over the winter, with an occasional turn and toss. And come spring, newly planted vegetables will be growing green and I’ll be preparing to saying “Thankyou very much” over a summer salad.

So I compost in faith, that in darkness and amid the muck, things might yet grow. As I compost, I am reminded that new life, indeed, all life, is out of my control, beyond my action, logic or planning.

Composting is an act of hope. I affirms that in the very midst of autumn decay, through the bleak breakdown of winter, things might get grow, that death is never the end of the story, that confusion and chaos, are simply the raw material for a fresh start.

Composting is a prayerful act of love. To care for the soil becomes for me a practice both of loving God’s earth and prayerfully caring for people. In the peace of my garden I let go, offering people and places to God, inviting God’s power into the dark places of the world.

Composting. It has become a spiritual practice that connects me in prayer with God and my world.