TV, Movies and Mission

I'm still thinking through some of the details of how to engage with popular culture as a Christian (and as a Christian parent!). Here's a recent post by John Piper called 'Why I don't have a television and rarely go to movies' where he makes the case for a pretty minimal engagement. We haven't got rid of the TV yet, but I have to say that I felt the force of a few of his arguments. Here's an excerpt:

I think relevance in preaching hangs very little on watching movies, and I think that much exposure to sensuality, banality, and God-absent entertainment does more to deaden our capacities for joy in Jesus than it does to make us spiritually powerful in the lives of the living dead. Sources of spiritual power—which are what we desperately need—are not in the cinema. You will not want your biographer to write: Prick him and he bleeds movies.

It's directed mainly to preachers, but I think there's a lot of it that translates pretty directly to my situation. You can read the rest here.

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Tim Keller on the Prodigal Son

I've just finished working my way through Tim Keller's sermon series on the parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32). It gave me fresh insights into this part of the Bible and especially challenged me in my thinking about repentance and forgiveness. I was convicted about my tendency to be like the older brother - which in itself gave me a bit to repent of! Here are the sermons, with some brief explanations:

He Welcomes Sinners - we're a community of sinners, saved by grace.

Give Me Mine - Looks at the implications of a Son demanding his inheritance in a New Testament context.

He Came to Himself - What true repentance looks like.

To Be Called Your Son - What Sonship meant in New Testament times in terms of inheritance and privileges - and what it means that Christians (men and women) are called 'sons' of God.

And Kissed Him - Looks at the example the father in this parable gives us of forgiveness - what forgiveness is, and how to forgive each other.

We Had to Celebrate - This focussed on the celebration at the end of the parable, and equated our longing for 'home' with our longings for heaven. I wasn't entirely sure I agree with Keller about everything in this talk, but its worth listening to still!

The True Older Brother - Asks whether we are like the older brother - characterised by joyless duty, rather than love for the Father.

Pic: Rembrandt's 'The Prodigal Son'

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'My Seventh Monsoon' at EQUIP book club in July

I'm very excited about EQUIP book club for July. Of course, I'm always looking forward to reading the book and the notes by the contributors, but I think this month is going to be quite special.

We'll be reading and chatting about My Seventh Monsoon, by Naomi Reed. That's great in itself, as I think it's a wonderful book (you can read my review here). But what I'm really excited about is that we're being a little creative this time around. For one thing, the author is one of the contributors, and we'll be posting a series of letters between her and my friend Rachael, who is a missionary in Vanuatu.

Rachael has written a post today explaining how this came about:

When Nicole asked if I'd be willing to be contributor when we read My Seventh Monsoon, and that Naomi would be involved I jumped at the opportunity. Finally I'd have an excuse to talk to her! Unfortunately, however, we were not able to meet before I had to return to Vanuatu. Well, I thought, back on this small island, if I can't talk to her, I can write to her.

And this is what we have done. Over this month at EQUIP book club, Naomi and I will publish as series of letters we have written to each other discussing various issues raised in her book.

I think it will be a wonderful opportunity for us all to get an insight into what it's like to be a missionary in a different culture. It's not too late to grab a copy and join in, but even if you don't get to read it, I'm sure it will be encouraging stuff to read!

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On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Just for a bit of fun at the end of the series, this last Coleridge poem of the month is one of three sonnets that he wrote as a kind of spoof on the style of his own early poems. He explains a bit more about why he wrote it in his accompanying note when he republished it in his Biographia Literaria:

Under the name of Nehemiah Higginbottom I contributed three sonnets, the first of which had for its object to excite a good-natured laugh at the spirit of doleful egotism and at the recurrence of favourite phrases, with the double defect of being at once trite and licentious. The second was on low creeping language and thoughts under the pretence of simplicity. The third, the phrases of which were borrowed entirely from my own poems, on the indiscriminate use of elaborate and swelling language and imagery... So general at the time and so decided was the opinion concerning the characteristic vices of my style that a celebrated physician (now alas! no more) speaking of me in other respects with his usual kindness to a gentleman who was about to meet me at a dinner-party could not, however, resist giving him a hint not to mention The House that Jack Built in my presence, for that I was as sore as a boil about that sonnet, he not knowing that I was myself the author of it.

On a Ruined House in a Romantic Country

And this reft house is that the which he built,
Lamented Jack! And here his malt he pil'd,
Cautious in vain! These rats that squeak so wild,
Squeak, not unconscious of their father's guilt.
Did ye not see her gleaming thro' the glade?
Belike, 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.
What though she milk no cow with crumpled horn,
Yet aye she haunts the dale where erst she stray'd;
And aye beside her stalks her amorous knight!
Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,
And thro' those brogues, still tatter'd and betorn,
His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white;
As when thro' broken clouds at night's high noon
Peeps in fair fragments forth the full-orb'd harvest-moon!

Pic - front cover of 'The House that Jack Built', by Randolph Caldecott. From Wikpedia Commons.

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Book of the Week: 'At the Zoo'

I've been a fan of Simon and Garfunkel ever since Dave bought me their 'best of' cd in our first year of marriage. Every time I hear the opening bars of 'The Sound of Silence', it's 1999 and I'm back in our tiny flat in the Blue Mountains with the bright green carpet.

So, I have to admit I was a little jealous of those in Sydney, (including my parents!!) who got to see them in concert this week. But I consoled myself with the cd version, which prompted the kids to ask us to read 'At the Zoo' which is a kids' book based on one of the songs.

Dave picked this book up at an op shop a few years ago, so I have no idea whether it is still possible to get a copy. It is basically the lyrics of the Simon and Garfunkel song with some cute illustrations by Valerie Michaut, some of which are quite funny because they 're-interpret' the lyrics so to make them suitable for kids. (For example, the fact that "the zookeeper is very fond of rum" isn't a problem, because 'Rum' is actually one of the beavers!)

Word of warning: you will have to sing your way through this book - it doesn't really 'work' any other way. Perhaps this is the real reason why all our kids love the book. Either way, it's a lot of fun. Here is a 'Youtube' clip which includes the audio for your listening pleasure!

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'Life In His Name': John 5

The miraculous healing at the end John 4 is followed closely with an account of another healing. In verse 1 we learn that Jesus heads to Jerusalem - straight into the midst of a Jewish festival, and into conflict with the Jewish leaders.

The fact that he heals a paralyzed man is significant in itself, of course. The way he shows compassion towards the man, that he already knew that the man was there 'a long time' and that he could heal him, all help us to see Jesus' authority and power.

But it is interesting that it isn't the healing that attracts the most attention here. It's that it happened on the Sabbath. John waits until verse 9 to tell us that this detail, and then we observe the domino effect that this detail has in the rest of the chapter.

Of course, the Pharisees, at first are outraged at the breaking of the Sabbath, but as we read on we see that it is the claim that he is God's son that really infuriates them. This claim makes them want to kill him.

For the rest of the chapter, Jesus elaborates on his outrageous statement in verse 17. He emphasises that he has come in the Father’s name, that belief in him will lead to eternal life and that those who do not hear and believe will not live, but will be judged by him.

As I was re-reading this chapter this week, it struck me that it is Jesus' claim to divinity that continues to invoke conflict and outrage even today. It's what tells me that all paths don't lead to God, and it's what makes his words (and the teachings of the Old Testament and the apostles that he endorses) non-negotiables. Because he speaks with all the authority of God I have no right to soften the offence and outrage of his claims to make things more palatable.

When I have conversations with non-Christians I sometimes feel the weight of how absurd my beliefs must be to them. But this chapter also reminds me that there are witnesses to who Jesus is who have passed on their testimony to me. John the Baptist, his own works, God the Father and the Scriptures, especially those by Moses are witnesses to his Sonship.

Because he is the Son - the divine Son - and life is only in his name, I can afford to be bold in my evangelism and trust in the power of God to give life to those to whom Jesus the Son chooses to give it.

Pic: ' Piscina Probatica or Pool of Bethesda' , by James TISSOT, and 'Pharisees and the paralytic', by Johann Christoph WEIGEL.

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Unpolished Evangelism

The other day I had an opportunity to have a conversation about Jesus with a friend who's not yet a Christian. It was a great conversation, covering a lot of ground, and difficult topics, but very friendly at the same time. I was surprised by how much I said (it's usually my style to be more reticent and tongue tied - i.e. scared!).

But after we'd said our goodbyes and I was on my way home, I found that my emotions were in turmoil. On the one hand, I was rejoicing at the opportunity I'd just been handed. On the other, I couldn't stop thinking about all the things I should have said differently. I was dissecting the conversation, word by word, wishing I could go back and have it over again.

Reflecting later I was encouraged to remember that God doesn't need my words to be polished and perfect for him to use them. Paul says in 1 Cor 2:3-5:

3 And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, 4 and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, 5 that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

It's good that God doesn't need my my evangelism to be in 'plausible words of wisdom' because, well, it's never going to be! I will never have a perfect gospel conversation, because I am an imperfect evangelist.

Knowing that God works in the weakness of my words is freeing. It frees me up to speak about Jesus to my non-Christian friends and neighbours, knowing that the Holy Spirit uses my words to bring glory to God. As Mark Dever recently said in this talk on evangelism, it's like a child who paints a picture, knowing that a master painter will come along afterwards and make it beautiful and perfect.

If we all waited till we were master-painters before we started painting, we'd never get as far as dipping the brush in the palette!

Pics by Seb C on flickr, and from stock.xchng.com

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The Buballamodile

We've had a strange creature in our house this week. For a school project (inspired by this fantastic website), Jacob was asked to create and describe an imaginary creature, made up of the traits of 4 real creatures. He came up with this:

- it's called the Buballamodile. Here is his description of this interesting creature whose construction has given the whole family many hours of (at times stressed filled!) fun over the last few weeks.

"Description: The buballamodile has the head of a buffalo, the wings of a bat, the body of a llama and the tail of a crocodile.They are also a metre tall.

Habitat: they live in the savana and sometimes found in the Andes but are comon in swamps of Australia.

Feeding:They eat elephant grass, birds and love to eat insects.They are omnivores.

Breeding: The males fight to see who is stronger then whoever is stronger gets the female soon the baby will be born.

Classification: they are mammtiles witch means they are half mammal half reptile.

Movement: they can run, swim, fly and charge.

Behaviour: if disturbed it charges and its horns can open car doors.it catches its prey by making screeches witch echos back so it knows where its prey is.It does this because it is blind.It can inger things badly with a lash of its tail.Also when its worried it spits.

What it is made of
The head: paper mache, toilet rolls, cup, wire, tape, paint.
The body: box, paint and fur from Reverse Garbage.
The wings: coat hangers and old black stocking.
The tail: long cloth stocking bag and crocodile skin from Reverse Garbage"

We really did have fun making it. I even found that helping him do the papier mache had a weird soothing effect on me. But I can't begin to explain the relief I felt when we handed it in at school yesterday.

Feel free to follow the instructions to create your own - otherwise, I fear that the species faces extinction!

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The Pains of Sleep, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Another Coleridge poem this week, but this one is quite different from the other poems I've included so far this month, which have all been conversation poems.

Coleridge was addicted to opium, and this poem, like Kubla Khan, seems to have been influenced by this addiction. But while Kubla Khan has a more utopian feel, this one seems a bit more nightmarish.

Intriguingly, it is the scrambling of his brain by the opium that exposes his inner anger and guilt and terrors, puncturing a hole in his customary spiritual exercises (he is far too evolved for praying!!) and driving him back to something far more real, more desperate and in some ways (ironically!) more Christ-like.

Sadly, by the end of the third stanza he has worked his way back to the trite self-satisfaction of the final couplet and the mad, terrifying self-knowledge of the middle stanza has been left behind.

The Pains of Sleep

Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees ;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, every where
Eternal Strength and Wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights passed: the night's dismay
Saddened and stunned the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me
Distemper's worst calamity.
The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;
And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stained with sin,--
For aye entempesting anew
The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with such men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,
And whom I love, I love indeed.

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Book of the Week: 'Pinkalicious'

'Book of the week' in our house this week has most definitely been Pinkalicious, by Elizabeth Kann and Victoria Kann. That doesn't mean I like it very much, but the girls sure do!

We borrowed it from the local library last week, and Rebecca and Elsie have asked to have it read to them over and over again (by Dave and me, but also by poor Jacob and some unsuspecting lunch guests last Sunday!). Dave is so sick of reading it that he has resorted to singing the words, just so that he can keep his mind engaged!

Why do they like it so much? Obviously the very pinkness of the whole thing is attractive to them. But I think it's also that the illustrations themselves are very good and appealing to kids their age. Victoria Kann's illustrations are the book's real strength.

As for the storyline - it's a kind of cautionary tale against over-consumption of cochineal. The basic idea is that a little girl eats too many pink cupcakes and turns pink. The remedy is to change her diet and eat green foods, which she does, and it all ends happily (except for a little plot-twist at the end that I won't spoil).

Me? I think it's all a bit silly, and the parenting leaves a bit to be desired (surely all this could have been avoided if the mother and father had set some better boundaries??), but why let such prosaic considerations get in the way of such a riot of artistry, imagination and all-round pinkness?

Apparently, the book has become quite a phenomenon, and not just in our household. You can read a bit about the book (and Pinkalicious the Musical!!) and find some activities that relate to it at the Pinkalicious website.

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Small houses

Apparently, when it comes to houses, small is the new big. It's encouraging to read about architects who are expending some creativity on making small spaces work well, rather than on designing ever-more-palatial dwellings for the ever-smaller families we seem to be living in these days!

It reminded me of this passage in Peter Pan, about the little house where the lost boys live with Wendy:

...how ardently they grew to love their home under the ground; especially Wendy. It consisted of one large room, as all houses should do, with a floor in which you could dig [for worms] if you wanted to go fishing, and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming colour, which were used as stools. A Never tree tried hard to grow in the centre of the room, but every morning they sawed the trunk through, level with the floor. By tea-time it was always about two feet high, and then they put a door on top of it, the whole thus becoming a table; as soon as they cleared away, they sawed off the trunk again, and thus there was more room to play. There was an enormous fireplace which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it, and across this Wendy stretched strings, made of fibre, from which she suspended her washing. The bed was tilted against the wall by day, and let down at 6:30, when it filled nearly half the room; and all the boys slept in it, except Michael, lying like sardines in a tin. There was a strict rule against turning round until one gave the signal, when all turned at once. Michael should have used it also, but Wendy would have a baby, and he was the littlest, and you know what women are, and the short and long of it is that he was hung up in a basket.

I'm sure I've seen some of those ideas at IKEA!! If you have seen any other good ideas for using small spaces well, I'd love to hear them.


'Wendy Darling sits mending clothes in the Underground Home', by Oliver Hereford. From Wikipedia Commons
Pic no 1 from stockxchng.com

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'Vivid' Sydney

Last weekend, our family went on the 'light walk' which was part of 'Vivid' - a festival of lights set around Sydney Harbour (it's now over, but I'm sure they'll do it again next year!). It was basically just a self guided walk around The Rocks/Circular Quay/Observatory Hill area. Artists had placed light art displays along the route that we could observe. It started from 6pm, so we drove in early and were able to get home just a little bit after the kids bedtime - and still have a 'nighttime adventure'! It's amazing how exciting it is for kids to be out after dark isn't it? We especially liked seeing the Opera House and Museum of Contemporary Art lit up. The only negative was that it was SO crowded down there - we gave up even seeing one of the events, it was impossible to see anything. I think next year, we'll go earlier on in the festival.

Elsie, all rugged up with a glow stick - all part of the fun!

Jacob generating electricity by riding a bike - the electricity generated helped light up one of the displays.

My dad and Jacob and Rebecca standing under the rainbow lights of one of the installations at The Rocks. (It was actually mum and dad's idea that we do this together - they are much more 'in touch' with Sydney culture than us these days!!)

Tiredness did overcome little Elsie towards the end of the walk (and yes, I did take the beanie off her face - after I took the photo)!

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Led astray...

We've been studying Proverbs this term in the college wives Bible study group I co-lead (using Jean's studies - which I highly recommend!!). A couple of weeks ago, we discussed what Proverbs says about sex and adultery (we discussed marriage in general the week before). This is one of the passages we read:

Proverbs 5:15-20

15 Drink water from your own cistern, flowing water from your own well. 16 Should your springs be scattered abroad, streams of water in the streets? 17 Let them be for yourself alone, and not for strangers with you. 18 Let your fountain be blessed, and rejoice in the wife of your youth, 19 a lovely deer, a graceful doe. Let her breasts fill you at all times with delight; be intoxicated always in her love.

As I was preparing the study I was struck by the language of the last line. That word 'intoxicated' in v. 19 is the same word that's used in the next verse to describe the enticements of the forbidden woman:

20 Why should you be intoxicated, my son, with a forbidden woman and embrace the bosom of an adulteress?

And it's the word that occurs again down in v. 23 to describe the wicked man being 'led astray' in his folly:

23 He dies for lack of discipline, and because of his great folly he is led astray.

In fact, 'led astray' is the normal meaning that the word has, again and again, when it occurs in Proverbs and in the rest of the Old Testament.

It's interesting that the father in Proverbs 5 giving advice to his son doesn't just tell him to 'be content with' or 'affectionate toward' or 'loyal to' his wife (all good things, of course). He tells him to 'be led astray' by her (in a good way!).

We do live in an imperfect world. In this aspect of marriage, as in all things, experience will sometimes fall a long way short of expectations and aspirations. But I still think it's kind of liberating that the author of Proverbs saw fit to be so daring in the language that he chose.

Why give in to the assumption that it is the adulterers who have all the fun?

Pics: Song of Solomon, by Sally Ghally on flickr, and 'The Kiss' by Klimt

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It's my blogoversary!

It's been two years since I decided to start a blog and much to my surprise I'm still going!

I thought I'd take the opportunity to thank you for reading. Thank you to all of you - those who quietly lurk, and those who comment and interact online.

It's a pleasure to write for you!

Pic from stockxchng.com

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The Aeolian Harp, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I have chosen another of Coleridge's conversation poems this week. An aeolian harp is an instrument which plays when the wind blows on its musical chords. Coleridge also uses this as an image in 'Dejection: An Ode'. In both poems, the breeze symbolises the creative power of nature acting as a muse for the poet, and the harp represents the poet.

There is a fascinating struggle within this poem between Coleridge's pantheistic speculations and the pietism that he seems to still (half?) hold onto, in response to the 'mild reproof' in Sara's eyes.

The Aeolian Harp

My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined
Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is
To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o'ergrown
With white-flower'd Jasmin, and the broad-leav'd Myrtle,
(Meet emblems they of Innocence and Love!)
And watch the clouds, that late were rich with light,
Slow saddenning round, and mark the star of eve
Serenely brilliant (such should Wisdom be)
Shine opposite! How exquisite the scents
Snatch'd from yon bean-field! and the world so hush'd!
The stilly murmur of the distant Sea
Tells us of silence.

And that simplest Lute,

How by the desultory breeze caress'd,
Like some coy maid half-yielding to her lover,
It pours such sweet upbraiding, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its strings
Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise,
Such a soft floating witchery of sound
As twilight Elfins make, when they at eve
Voyage on gentle gales from Faery-Land,
Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers,
Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise,
Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on untam'd wing!
O! the one Life within us and abroad,
Which meets all motion and becomes its soul,
A light in sound, a sound-like power in light,
Rhythm in all thought, and joyance every where--
Methinks, it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in a world so fill'd;
Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air
Is Music slumbering on her instrument.

And thus, my Love! as on the midway slope

Whilst thro' my half-clos'd eye-lids I behold
The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the main,
And tranquil muse upon tranquility;
Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,
And many idle flitting phantasies,
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various, as the random gales
That swell and flutter on this subject Lute!

And what if all of animated nature

That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the Soul of each, and God of all?

But thy more serious eye a mild reproof

Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek Daughter in the Family of Christ!
Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd
These shapings of the unregenerate mind;
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.
For never guiltless may I speak of him,
The Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with Faith that inly feels;
Who with his saving mercies healéd me,
A sinful and most miserable man,
Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess
Peace, and this Cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!

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You've got lies

Beth Spraul from Capitol Hill Baptist Church has written a thoughtful article about some of the subtle messages in the average chick flick. Here are some of the lies she argues these films can perpetuate:

Lie #1: Men think of romance and relational intimacy exactly like women do!
Lie #2: If I marry the right man, all will be right in my life.
Lie #3: I will know that a man is right for me by feelings I get when I’m with him.

At a couple of points I think she was a little bit unfair to Jane Austen: whilst there is usually a touch of the happily-ever-afters about the marriages of her heroines, there is a fair bit of nuance in the overall picture of marriage that she paints in her novels (especially when the minor characters are taken into account).

But that's a minor, minor quibble (and it applies much less to the chick-flick adaptions of her novels than it does to the novels themselves). In the main things that it says, I think Beth Spraul's piece is a really great, wise, helpful little article, well worth reading and passing on.

HT: Radical Womanhood

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Life in his name: John 4

In John 3 we saw the unbelieving Nicodemus meeting Jesus in secret by night to question him about eternal life.

In just the next chapter, John 4, we see Jesus approach a Samaritan woman in the fierce noon sun and offer her ‘living water’ - eternal life. She's known for her immorality, she's a Samaritan, she's a woman. She's the last person you would expect to come to believe. But Jesus chooses to reveal himself to her. He tells her everything she's ever done, and he tells her he is the Messiah, and she believes. Many others in the town come to believe, 'because of his word'.

As Jesus said in chapter 3, it is the Spirit who enables someone to be born again. The Samaritan woman was spiritually dried up, but Jesus came and offered living water to her. He sought her out. He spoke to her in devastating, loving, honest words, and eternal life was hers.

Then we see the very real belief of the official (probably a Gentile). His son's about to die, and he's desperate. At first, he seems like the fickle crowds who welcome Jesus, but are only interested in seeing miracles (vv. 43-45). He's only concerned with his son's well-being and is interested in Jesus' ability to heal. But he persists, and when he turns to commence the long trip home, he shows that he takes Jesus at his word that his son has already been healed. He arrives home and learns that it was at that very moment - when Jesus spoke the word - that the fever left his son.

The whole chapter gives me a powerful reminder of the way Jesus saves - a feverish child at the point of death is restored to life; a lost, evasive, thirsty woman finds living water. And it shows me again the staggering range of people for whom his salvation comes, from the immoral Samaritan woman and the whole crowd of people from her town to the dying child of the Capernaum official.

As the Samaritans say in verse 42: "this is indeed the Saviour of the world!"

Pic: 'Lord I am not worthy', by James Tissot, from Brooklyn Museum, New York.

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Joke time

Every morning, at 6am, our three kids come running through the dark, to tell Dave and me it's 'morning time'.

It's the same ritual every morning.

The kids jump into bed with us and wriggle about until we're all squashed in together like sardines. Then Elsie announces that "it's joke time".

Rebecca trots out a few favourites.

Jacob pulls out another gem that he's learnt from his '1001 jokes' book.

Dave composes an original one, on the spot (whether it's funny or not, I'm always impressed by the ambition!!)

I trot out an old standard from my very limited 6am repertoire and the rest of the family all laugh politely.

And then Elsie delivers hers. It's the same every morning too:

Q: "Why did the chicken cross the road?" A: "To get a nappy for the baby."

I'm still trying to work out why it's funny, but it is. It will be a sad day when she's old enough to start thinking that it's not!!

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Zoo-Trips and Discipleship Structures

A few weeks ago I got to go on an excursion to the zoo with my son's Year 1 class. Altogether, there were three classes from his school on the excursion, each with 20 or so kids and 4 adults supervising (1 teacher and 3 parents).

Each of the three teachers followed a different approach in deploying their supervision resources to look after the kids:

1. In one class, the four adults walked with the group, in no particular formation, and stopped occasionally to count them to make sure we hadn't lost any yet. (Yep, crazy, I know. Thankfully, all the kids were still there when they counted them onto the bus at the end of the day, and no-one got eaten by the crocodiles...)

2. In the second class (the one I was with) the teacher got the kids into a sort of line formation, each with a 'buddy' they were responsible for, and the four adults walked along with them in that formation.

3. In the third class, each adult was allocated to about 5 kids that they were particularly responsible for.

As we herded the kids through the zoo from enclosure to enclosure, I got to thinking about the way we look after each other in church. At the risk of sounding kinda Forrest-Gump-ish, life is a bit like a big zoo trip - lots to learn, lots to see, crowds everywhere, lots to get distracted by, easy to get lost...

And one of the reasons why God has put us together as a church is to help us make our way through the big zoo without getting lost or missing the things we were meant to see and do. If you decide to do it in a big group (and trust me, for a day-trip to the zoo, 20 is a big group!) then it helps to have some sort of system where the leaders know which five kids they are aiming to keep out of the mouths of the crocodiles.

There were pluses in model 2 (it was good for the kids take some responsibility for each other, and one other kid was probably enough for them to have to keep an eye out for!), but I have confess I was a little envious of the parents in the class that was following model 3.

There are real benefits, of course, in those four little groups of 5 still hanging together in a big group of 20. It was good for the four of us looking after Jacob's class to have some mutual accountability in making sure we kept with the programme and didn't do anything untoward with the kids, for example. And since the teacher was the one who had spent her school holidays researching chimpanzees and hippos, and she was going to be the main one doing the follow-up lessons with the class over the next few weeks, then it made sense that she got to draw up the route with her texta on the zoo map and get us all together from time to time to point out something particularly important in the pachyderm enclosure or give us a little talk about chimpanzee communication.

But at that basic, keeping-kids-out-of-the-mouths-of-crocodiles level (and at the level of helping them to process what they were seeing and notice some things for themselves) having a group of five kids, knowing their names and faces and knowing I was responsible for them would have been a big plus!

Pics: The Library of Congress, and Andrew Michaels

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Evelyne

A few months ago, my niece Evelyne was diagnosed with a rare connective tissues disorder. It's so rare that the (extremely capable) team at Westmead is still in the process of narrowing it down to a particular type, but it looks like it might be Beals or some similar syndrome in the Marfan's family. My dad has written a post (with my sister's permission) about Evelyne and the ethics of genetic testing, which contains a bit more information about the prognosis.

When I first found out that Evelyne had a disorder of this kind, I confess I did spend some time on the internet, trying to find out something about Beals and Marfan syndromes. I was struck by how many sites are quick to mention the role of prenatal genetic testing with this disorder. Of course, it may be helpful to find out about potential health problems in advance, but as Melinda Tankard Reist points out in her book Defiant Birth, usually the pressure to abort a child once these problems are identified is immense.

Evelyne is a precious, precious blessing that God has given particularly to Jon and Louise's care, but also to all of us who know her. We know that Evelyne is going to have some real and difficult challenges ahead of her. But, even now, I can already see there are many ways that God is being glorified in this situation (and I know there are many more that I cannot see or understand). I can see it in the way Louise and Jon are faithfully trusting in Him, who knit Evelyne together in my sister's womb. I can see it in the way they are not giving in to fear and anxiety. I can see it in the joyful, selfless way they serve her and care for her needs (while also caring for a lively 3 year old!).

Evelyne has brought joy to our lives, and she is blessed to have been born into a family who love Jesus and will care for her so well. Please pray for them as they do this!

* I've posted this with permission from my sister

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Frost at Midnight, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

This week's poem is another of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's conversation poems (see last week's post for a definition). In this one, he is addressing his infant son, asleep by his side.

The last ten lines of this poem have been described by George Harper as the "best example of the peculiar kind of blank verse Coleridge had evolved, as natural-seeming as prose, but as exquisitely artistic as the most complicated sonnet."

Frost at Midnight

The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud--and hark, again ! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
'Tis calm indeed ! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.

But O! how oft,

How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,

Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

Pic by warie on flickr

The links embedded in the poem come from this site, administered by the University of Virginia.

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Book of the Week: 'Peter Pan and Wendy'

This week I finished reading Peter Pan and Wendy, by J.M.Barrie to Rebecca. It was a lovely hardcover edition that I borrowed from the library with illustrations by Robert Ingpen (the illustrations alone made this book worthwhile - they are stunningly beautiful).

I have to admit that I had never read this book before, and had only had my impressions of the Disney version to go by when I chose this to read to my 4 year old. It was not what I expected, and in some ways wasn't totally appropriate for a 4 1/2 year old - it was a bit scary in parts, and the language was challenging. She loved it though, and begged me to keep reading it. So I continued to read (with a bit of 'editing' or explaining where I thought the concepts were too difficult for her to understand).

The things that were challenging were also in many ways the things that made the book so delightful. Written in 1911, the language was much more difficult than we were used to, but that was also one of its strengths. I enjoyed the fact that the written style reflected a different time and place and I thought the Barrie's style (including his charmingly intrusive narratorial voice) was both beautiful and quirky.

I also enjoyed being exposed to the values of a different generation through this book. Not surprisingly, the 'Disney' version 'Peter Pan' has completely distorted this novel, so that many of the underlying assumptions by Barrie have been turned on their head. One example is the way that the children themselves are viewed. Barrie portrays them affectionately, but is scathing about the selfishness the children display in going on this adventure to Neverland, leaving their parents distraught at home - waiting with the window open day and night for them to return. And instead of being able to fly when they 'think happy thoughts', this newfound ability is linked to manipulation by Peter (he makes it happen), and the fact that children are "gay and innocent and heartless".

I was also interested in how much violence there was in this book considering it was a children's book. The scenes where Peter fights the pirates for example were quite brutal. I skipped over some of these parts where I thought it was bit much for a 4 year old, but there is so much of a 'fantasy' element to this book, that the violence itself doesn't seem 'real'. It's almost like it's happening in a dream.

There is also quite a 'dark' tone about Peter and his intentions. He is portrayed as a selfish, manipulative, proud little boy, who has some moments of bravery, but is really not a hero. Likewise, Tinkerbell, for the most part, is not an endearing character.

All in all, Rebecca and I had a wonderful time reading this book. We enjoyed the adventure and fantasy. We loved the character of Wendy, and her maternal ways and felt affection for the lost boys. My favourite character (of course), was the mother who sleeps near the open window, always with tears, as she waits for her children to return. She's a great character!

I do recommend this version of the book (obviously with a bit of parental discretion given the complex themes!).

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Contextualisation vs Chameleonisation

I've been thinking a bit lately about contextualisation - not so much the contextualising of language ('charms' and 'calms' and so on) but the contextualising of lifestyle: becoming 'all things to all people' (as in 1 Cor 9:22).

My thoughts were sparked by an evening we spent with our next door neighbours recently. As Dave and I were clearing things away at the end of the night, I reflected on the evening and the way that I'd approached it.

Before our guests arrived, I had chosen an outfit which approximated the style of clothes my neighbour wears, made an extra-gourmet salad and bought a couple of fancy cheeses. Over dinner and afterward I had spent a lot of time talking about mortgages and extensions and consumer products; I had also talked a lot about work - the work I used to do (before kids) - in an instinctive effort to establish the kind of education and career credentials that might be taken more seriously than my current job as a full-time mum. And finally (this is the killer one!) I had found myself squirming in my seat and wanting to change the subject when they asked my 4 year-old daughter what her favourite thing in the world was and she answered "Jesus."

All this got me wondering: What's the difference between contextualisation (or whatever word you want to use to describe doing what it says in 1 Cor 9:19-23) and chameleonisation (or whatever word you use to describe not doing what it says in Matthew 5:13-16)?

...You can read the rest at The Sola Panel.

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'Finally Alive'

Last week, as I continued to blog my way through John, I got to John 3, where Jesus tells Nicodemus he 'must be born again". On the weekend, I started reading Finally Alive, by John Piper (you can download it for free here). It's a book all about the new birth, or regeneration. I'm only half way through, and so far, I've found it enormously helpful in clarifying my thoughts on such an important topic. He writes in his introduction:

The declaration of Jesus that we must be born again (John 3:7) is either deluded or devastating to the one who would be captain of his soul. Not many biblical realities are better designed by God to reveal our helplessness in sin. “The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit” (John 3:8). It is the Wind, not we, who finally rules the soul.

Thinking about what happens at conversion has been very helpful in understanding what continues to happen in my life as a Christian - regeneration is not an end but a beginning. Now I'm born again, my life should look radically (and increasingly) different from how it looked before I was re-born. Lots of challenging stuff to think about, which no doubt I will share as I continue to read!

Meanwhile, I'll move on to John 4 next week.

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Sustaining Your Spiritual Life

I've been asked to give a talk on 'sustaining your spiritual life' for a group of women (mainly young mums) in a few weeks time, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this question:

"In your experience so far, what are some of the things that have worked against you maintaining a joy in Christ and a zeal for serving him? How have you tried to address them?"

I'd love to hear about the disciplines and practices that have helped you in this over the years, (not just the things you do as an individual but also the things that involve the fellowship and help of others). I'm obviously working on the assumption that it is God's grace that strengthens our hearts, and that there are daily and weekly disciplines (prayer, Bible reading, meditating on God's word...) that God uses as means by which we feed on that grace in our lives.

Over to you!!

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They're Just Talking

I was watching a bit of our Australian Federal Parliament Question Time the other afternoon with the girls (it's on just before ABC Kids starts in the afternoon). The girls were kind of transfixed:

Rebecca (4): "What are they doing?"

Elsie (2): "Oh Becca, they're just talking".

Pic by Turnbull Malcolm, on flickr

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Being Neighbours

Several weeks ago I heard a great talk by Steve Timmis (from The Crowded House church planting network) on 'Being Neighbours as a Gospel Strategy'. Last Sunday in church we glimpsed one example of what that might look like in practice, thanks to an interview that our pastor did with a guy from another local church who lives nearby.

Nearly ten years ago he and his wife felt convicted that they needed to do more to reach the poor with the gospel of Jesus, approached the Department of Housing and got permission to live in the local public housing estate. With some help from their church to pay the bills and fund some simple, low-key ministry ventures, they set out (in their own words) to be 'professional next-door neighbours'.

Based in the town-house where they live with their eighteen-month old daughter, they try to do the sorts of things that good neighbours do and the things that make for a good neighbourhood: help people if they need something fixed, play basketball with the kids in the street outside their house, run a (free) outdoor cafe in their front yard on a Wednesday morning and an after-school study club in their garage, and so on.

All of this takes place with a very up-front acknowledgement that they are followers of Jesus and they want other people to know him too (subtle things like a sign in their front window advertising their church, shirts saying "Jesus is Lord" in big, bold writing, and a van with Bible verses all over it...).

After sharing a bit about what they do, the guy showed us a DVD of the people in the street who had come to believe in Jesus, talking about the difference that He had made in their lives. Dave and I were just floored by the sheer number of people (kids, teenagers, middle aged people, elderly people...) on this stretch of road willing to confess Christ as their Lord and Saviour. I looked at Dave with tears in my eyes, and mouthed 'there are so many!'. (Later I found out, this was only half the number that had come to believe in Jesus in the estate.)

Not everyone is in a position to do the same thing that this guy and his wife have done; nor are there any guarantees that if we did we would all see the same amount of fruit. But there was a huge encouragement to make the most of the opportunities that God has given me already in my situation to love my neighbours (especially those who are in need) to open my home and to be a whole lot less shy about Jesus.

Please pray for Dave and me that we act on those good intentions!

Pic by karlagerard, on flickr, and Suburbia in All Its Glory by rebelsketcher

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This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Since we've just done a month worth of Keats poetry, I thought I'd stick with the same era, and spend a month on a poet I actually did study for my HSC: Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

This poem is one of his best known (and one of the ones I studied for the HSC). It is one of his 'conversation poems' - a genre which M. H. Abrams describes like this:

The speaker begins with a description of the landscape; an aspect or change of aspect in the landscape evokes a varied by integral process of memory, thought, anticipation, and feeling which remains closely intervolved with the outer scene. In the course of this meditation the lyric speaker achieves an insight, faces up to a tragic loss, comes to a moral decision, or resolves an emotional problem. Often the poem rounds itself to end where it began, at the outer scene, but with an altered mood and deepened understanding which is the result of the intervening meditation.

This Lime Tree Bower My Prison was written in the summer of 1797, when some friends (William and Dorothy Wordsworth and Charles Lamb), paid a visit to Coleridge's cottage. On the morning of their arrival, he had an accident, which meant he couldn't join them on their walks through the countryside. He wrote this poem while sitting on his own in a lime-tree bower in the garden of his cottage while the rest of the party were on a walk.


This Lime-Tree Bower my Prison

Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,
Friends, whom I never more may meet again,
On springy heath, along the hill-top edge,
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that still roaring dell, of which I told;
The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep,
And only speckled by the mid-day sun;
Where its slim trunk the ash from rock to rock
Flings arching like a bridge;--that branchless ash,
Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow leaves
Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,
Fann'd by the water-fall! and there my friends
Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight!)
Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge
Of the blue clay-stone.

Now, my friends emerge

Beneath the wide wide Heaven--and view again
The many-steepled tract magnificent
Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea,
With some fair bark, perhaps, whose sails light up
The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two Isles
Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on
In gladness all ; but thou, methinks, most glad,
My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast pined
And hunger'd after Nature, many a year,
In the great City pent, winning thy way
With sad yet patient soul, through evil and pain
And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink
Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun !
Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb,
Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye clouds!
Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves!
And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my friend
Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have stood,
Silent with swimming sense; yea, gazing round
On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem
Less gross than bodily; and of such hues
As veil the Almighty Spirit, when yet he makes
Spirits perceive his presence.

A delight

Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad
As I myself were there! Nor in this bower,
This little lime-tree bower, have I not mark'd
Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath the blaze
Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd
Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see
The shadow of the leaf and stem above
Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree
Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay
Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps
Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest mass
Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter hue
Through the late twilight: and though now the bat
Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters,
Yet still the solitary humble-bee
Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall know
That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure;
No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,
No waste so vacant, but may well employ
Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart
Awake to Love and Beauty! and sometimes
'Tis well to be bereft of promis'd good,
That we may lift the soul, and contemplate
With lively joy the joys we cannot share.
My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last rook
Beat its straight path across the dusky air
Homewards, I blest it! deeming its black wing
(Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light)
Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory,
While thou stood'st gazing; or, when all was still,
Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a charm
For thee, my gentle-hearted Charles, to whom
No sound is dissonant which tells of Life.

The links embedded in the poem come from this site, administered by the University of Virginia.
Pic from Wikipedia Commons.

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