ADVENT 2012 // No.41
Taonga ANGLICAN
COMMUNION
ACC
in Auckland Our three Tikanga meet the world PEOPLE
Come and see Archbishop Rowan Williams up close SPIRITUALITY
In angels' footsteps Walking the Camino de Santiago
JUSTIN WELBY
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ANTARCTICA
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ANZAC DAY
A D V E N T
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Where can we adore him? Greg Jackson tells an Advent story from the perspective of Christian World Service’s “Gifted” catalogue animals
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he CWS Gifted animals were getting excited. First they had heard a whisper, then a louder voice telling them someone amazing was on the way. He’d appear to the animals first, in a stable. “They said he'll be awesome, beyond time and space,” said Gifted Cow, who liked science stuff. “One day he'll be able to walk on water,’’ said Gifted Goat who liked amazing stuff. “It’s better than that,’’ grunted Gifted Pig. “I’ve heard he’ll make hundreds of meals out of one meal and barrels of wine out of a single bottle.” Gifted Pig snorted happily at the very delicious idea. He loved food and drink stuff. All in all, it sounded like the one who was coming was going to be very exciting. “And, and, and,” clucked the Gifted chickens and buzzed the Gifted bees, each one wanting to tell what they’d heard too. *
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But like the others, they knew that no matter how excited they got, they’d still be told to wait. For all of this pesky time called Advent, they’d be told to wait. They'd be told that Advent was all about waiting. That miracles happen in their own good time. *
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And if they got too noisy they’d be told to keep it quiet.
They were not to annoy Great Uncle Christmas Appeal. After all it was soon going to be his 67th birthday. And Great Aunt CWS had been very busy too. She’d been out and about all around the world; talking to struggling farmers, small merchants, listening to and helping lots of other poor people too. The Gifted animals didn’t do all that. They just helped the poor people with milk, or honey, or income or food, so that the people weren’t so poor, or sad anymore. And they each had their pictures on a card, so that people could give them to their friends or relatives at Christmas. *
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can’t find a stable to be born in, because the land has all been stolen?’’ she asked. “Where can we adore him then?” None of the animals had an answer. There was none. Without land, it’s hard for good things to happen. Except, for miracles, that is. The Gifted animals knew that Jesus would come, and in the meantime, they'd just have to keep on helping the poor people as best they could. Gifted is a Christian World Service initiative to support development work with poor communities in the twothirds world. To give a Gifted gift this Christmas, go to www.gift.org.nz. The Christian World Service 67th Christmas Appeal supports poor and marginalised communities through CWS partners round the globe. You can find the Xmas appeal materials in your local parish, or online at Christmasappeal.org.nz, where you can also donate directly to the appeal.
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This year Great Uncle Christmas appeal had been grumping away about something called “land grabs”. He said that nearly eight New Zealand’s worth of good farming land had been stolen from poor people in Africa and South America over the last ten years. That was just wrong, he reckoned, and the poor people needed help to stop it happening. As usual, he went on and on about it. He had a booklet written and even a new-fangled website called Christmasappeal.org.nz. The Gifted animals were not much interested. Until Cow had a thought. “What if the one on his way, the awesome one we've all been waiting for,
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Anglican Taonga
Anglican Taonga
Contents 04
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REGULAR 28 Theology: Tim Meadowcroft on the wild compassion of God
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32 Children: Julie Hintz: First steps for a family friendly church 38 Environment: Phillip Donnell faces the ecological Goliath 42 Film: John Bluck meets some less than angelic Scots 43 From the far side: Imogen de la Bere goes on pilgrimage Front Cover: Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams at Turangawaewae Anglican Taonga is published by the Commission on Communications and distributed to all ministry units and agencies of the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia – Te Haahi Mihinare ki Aotearoa ki Niu Tireni ki nga Moutere o Te Moana Nui a Kiwa. Editor Julanne Clarke-Morris 786 Cumberland Street Otepoti - Dunedin 9016 Ph 03 477-1556 julanneclarkemorris@gmail.com Design Marcus Thomas Design Ph 04 389-6964 marcust@orcon.net.nz Distribution Chris Church Ph 03 351-4404 cfchurch@orcon.net.nz Advertising Brian Watkins Ph 06 875-8488 Mob 021 072-9892 Fax 09 353-1418 brian@grow.co.nz Media Officer Lloyd Ashton Ph 09 521-4439 021 348-470 mediaofficer@ang.org.nz Taonga Online Editor Brian Thomas Ph 03 351 4404 bjthomas@orcon.net.nz
Features
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Getting to know Justin Welby
Michael Lapsley on reconciliation and peace
New face for Canterbury
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Where do we stand? Theology for this place
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Manaakitanga plus! Hosting the global Anglican whanau in Aotearoa NZ
The forgiveness journey
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In the path of miracles Meeting with truth on the Camino de Santiago
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Into the endless ice
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Seeing Antarctica through the eyes of faith
Up close and personal with ++ Rowan Williams
Remembering them anew
Come and see
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ANZAC and Remembrance days revisited
+ Rowan Cantuar In his own words
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It’s time to act A voice from Burundi
For the latest on the Anglican world, check out our website:
www.anglicantaonga.org.nz Page 3
Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
PEOPLE
Peter Carrell shares his insights from behind the scenes as we meet the next Archbishop of Canterbury, the Rt Rev Justin Welby.
Called to
reconcile and unite There was an air of ‘command’ about Justin
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ot long after Teresa and I arrived in Durham, UK in 1990, one of our new acquaintances said we “must meet” a couple, the husband of whom was an ordinand at Cranmer Hall. So we were duly invited to their place for dinner, and along with another couple, we passed a convivial evening together. Our hosts were Caroline and her
husband Justin Welby – who is now Archbishop of Canterbury (ABC) elect. It struck me then that we had met two people of impressive intelligence (both Cambridge University graduates), who were from the top level of Britain’s multiple-layered society. I was quite sure I’d been in the presence of a future bishop too. There was an air of ‘command’ about Justin, the kind that instantly distinguishes some leaders from the rest of us.
Anglican Taonga
Photos © Lambeth Palace /Picture Partnership
We had little contact after that, and for some years I had no idea of Justin’s progress in ministry, except to notice his name didn’t seem to appear as new bishops were announced. As it turns out, he served in parish ministry for years, in the Diocese of Coventry (1992-2002). Then, he served as Coventry Cathedral’s Canon Residentiary and Co-Director for International Ministry (2002-05), before becoming its Sub-Dean and Canon for Reconciliation Ministry (2005-07). Further cathedral ministry beckoned and he was Dean of Liverpool (2007-11). Most recently (since 2011) he has served as Bishop of Durham.1 In fact, Justin’s nearly twenty years in parish ministry add up to more years than his previous four ABC predecessors had combined. A notable feature of Justin Welby’s parish appointments is that none of them has been to a plush or plum post. In ministry terms, he has grounded himself in the Church of England’s ordinary life. Many of his episcopal colleagues, by contrast, will have been theological college principals or full-time archdeacons. He really began to distinguish himself in his reconciliation ministry role at Coventry. Since his appointment, the British papers have revealed that Bishop Justin took risky trips into the Nigerian hinterland as part of that ministry, where he negotiated between military government and armed warlords, including Al Qaeda operatives.2 Such conflict resolution experience between Christian and Muslim will clearly find use in our current geopolitical and Anglican Communion contexts. While being no expert on C of E politics, I did sense that something was afoot when Justin Welby was announced as Bishop Tom Wright’s successor in Durham. Most bishops in Britain start out as suffragan bishops, work their passage, and if viewed competent by the Crown Nominations Commission (CNC), get the nod as a diocesan bishop. In a further twist, some dioceses are informally ranked more highly than others. As I see it, they are (in descending order): Canterbury, York, London, Durham and Winchester. For Bishop Justin to go straight to Durham, from Dean of Liverpool, suggested to me that the CNC was beginning to get their head around the imminent departure of Rowan Williams,
and a shortage of eminent possible contenders. Of course the CNC might not have been as far-sighted, but they did show the courage of their convictions by recommending an outstanding ABC candidate, despite his relative inexperience as a bishop. As news of Bishop Justin’s appointment hits the papers and the web, interesting elements from his family background have emerged. His father was a bootlegger with Joseph P. Kennedy. His mother was a private secretary to Winston Churchill. He is related to Rab Butler, a former Deputy Prime Minister and one of the best known Conservative politicians since WWII. He was educated at Eton, Britain’s most prestigious private school.3 My intuition that the Welbys belonged to the elite of Britain turns out to have been well founded. After graduation from Cambridge, Justin Welby worked in the oil industry for eleven years; as an executive in Nigeria (presaging his future reconciliation work) and in Paris (he is a fluent French speaker). One outcome of his business background is membership of a parliamentary committee investigating banking standards – which he joined following the recent ethical scandals in British banks. Through the oil years and his years of ministry, he and Caroline had six children, though sadly their first child died in infancy as a result of a car accident. So, what is the new Archbishop of Canterbury like to work with? The Rev Tom Wilson, Vicar of Christ Church and St James, Gloucester writes, “I had the privilege of working for Justin for two years while I was a curate in Toxteth, Liverpool. I was asked by the Cathedral to pilot a ‘School of Theology’ for them; we met ... to discuss the big questions of faith, to explore the Bible together and to learn how to engage better with Liverpool’s Muslim community. Justin was an excellent help for all of these challenges. His vast experience in mediation and conflict resolution were especially valuable, as we discussed the challenge of befriending and learning from our Muslim neighbours. His teaching on the doctrine of creation was also masterful, and helped bring a tricky subject to life, enabling students to grapple with complex questions. For me, it was one of many examples
Advent 2012
a wise and godly leader, who also models humility and grace
of his aim to make Liverpool Cathedral ‘a safe place to do risky things in Christ’s service.’ 4 Justin is a wise and godly leader, who also models humility and grace. I am really excited that he will be our next archbishop.” Unfortunately for the church in these islands it took until the last months of Archbishop Rowan Williams’ time as ABC to visit us. Let’s hope we can meet Archbishop Justin much sooner. Perhaps in 2014, if he can take up our archbishops’ invitation to come to Aotearoa New Zealand for the bicentenary celebrations of the gospel being preached here. Rev Dr Peter Carrell is Director of Theology House in Christchurch director@theologyhouse.ac.nz Notes: 1. http://www.number10.gov.uk/news/newarchbishop-of-canterbury/ 2. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2231115/ Justin-Welby-Archbishop-blindfolded-rebelsKalashnikovs-jungle-mercy-mission.html 3. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-20251972 4. For one aspect of risk at the cathedral, see http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=de4G5M6LFFU
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Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
THEOLOGY
Just where
do we stand?
Carole Hughes wonders whether at some point this Church has forgotten to ask ourselves where we are. How can Christian hope be real, she asks, if it doesn’t grow where it’s planted?
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ontextual theology changes things. It can change the way we see our world. It can change the way we interpret Scripture.It can offer us new ways to worship and ‘be church’. That is, if we take our context seriously. So what does the world look like from where we stand? And how do we get in touch with our ideals as the people of God? *
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I remember once lying under a maple tree at Ripon College, Cuddesdon, in Oxford with my eyes closed, dreaming about my ideal world. Some of it revolved around a white sandy beach on a summer’s day in Aotearoa New Zealand, but beyond the desire for home, I had time to work on life’s big theological questions.
On the surface, Oxford was an awesome experience; the spires, the academic gowns, the snow and the beautiful English countryside. But for me, it was a place of great struggle, as well as celebration. As a young, Pakeha lay woman training for ordination in a Church of England theological college (at Oxford University) in the 1990s, I found myself asking so many questions – about who I was and where I found hope – both in the world and beyond it. It was 1994. Just one year after the Church of England had voted for the ordination of women. When I arrived, there were a total of eight women training for ordination at Cuddesdon, amongst a community of 80 ordinands.
Anglican Taonga
To call that ‘culture shock’ is putting it mildly. As I struggled to make sense of this very different environment, I realised I’d have to do some work on identity and context. The orthodoxy gave me a deep grounding in theology and church history, but I continued to feel starved for something I couldn’t quite name. As I read the academic texts, attended tutorials and lectures, and struggled with the liturgy, I became profoundly aware of a lack of feminine images, both for humanity and God. The longer I studied, the more intense my dreaming for a better world became. At around the time I began to feel “hopeless”, I started reading Jurgen Moltmann’s ‘A Theology of Hope’’1. That text introduced me to Moltmann’s theories that underpin his political theology of liberation. Moltmann’s understanding of ‘liberation hope’ doesn’t cling to the past, but challenges the status quo. It encompasses the whole of creation and promotes empowerment of those with no voice. Moltmann points out how our present reality fails to fully reflect the realisation of Christ’s love in our world. That creates a contradiction between what is and what can be; what is promised and what is experienced. This tension, he says, ‘makes the Christian Church a constant disturbance in human society’ and makes it ‘the source of continual new impulses towards the realisation of righteousness, freedom and humanity’ 2. Moltmann’s understanding of Christian transformation is that hope has to be made real. ‘The promise liberates people from acceptance of reality as it is and provides an initiative for change … Resurrection hope proves itself not as an illusory myth of the existing world, but a critical force for change’ 3 *
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Reading all this, I realised that worldly transformation is not an optional extra to eschatology, but is central to theology. It is the reason why contextual theologians emphasise
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doing theology through ‘praxis’. That is, theological reflection that leads to practical action – and is then, in turn – informed by that action. “Talking about it” may grant futuristic hope, but praxis is what brings hope into the present reality. Real hope requires action – and not necessarily action from the “hoper”. Moltmann’s theology gave me hope, but I realised it could also heighten my disempowerment. If we raise awareness of injustice – without the expectation of real change in the here and now – then those who are disempowered can easily become disillusioned as well. It is not enough for our Church and its leaders to simply acknowledge pain or disadvantage and then do nothing about it. Currently I am Convenor of this Church’s General Synod Council for Women’s Studies and I serve full-time as Archdeacon for the Auckland central region’s 45 ministry units. Contextual theology continues to feed me as I go about my ministry. I still ask the questions; How do we make this world a better place? In our three-Tikanga context, how can women and men work alongside one another to model a theology that embraces all people? Have we simply offered pseudo-hope to those who are disempowered in our land? How does our Pacific context influence our reading of Scripture and our experience of God? Aotearoa New Zealand has been called “God’s own country”; a land flowing with milk and honey. I was brought up believing it was a land full of opportunity and hope. But over the past ten years our context has become increasingly permeated with struggle. The rich have got richer and the poor have got poorer. The youth suicide rate has risen
Advent 2012
considerably and is one of the highest per capita in the world. Right-wing positions are cementing in our political leadership – with the corresponding shifts in ethics and priorities. Our health and education systems are increasingly less than adequate to meet our lower socio-economic population’s needs. Women continue to be lower paid than men and there has been a regression of women in leadership positions in society and the church. Without a doubt, there’s a need for theological critique that can lead to transformation. Over a decade ago this Church’s response to our changing context was perceived as inspiring. In its introduction, ‘A New Zealand Prayer Book – He Karakia Mihinare O Aotearoa’ cites new ecological awareness, strengthening Maori identity and language, and the ordination of women as all crucial to an understanding of the contemporary church. Women’s ordination in particular, it says, ‘has ensured a continuing dialogue on the equal partnership of women and men within the Church. Thus there has been an increasing need to choose language which is inclusive in nature and which affirms the place of each gender under God.’ 4
...worldly transformation is not an optional extra...
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Advent 2012
THEOLOGY
We are not the gate keepers, but the boundary breakers.
The intention of the Prayer Book Commission was to ‘wrestle with the issues of justice and mutuality (and seek to continue) the dialogue about inclusive language … beyond merely referring to humanity’ (p xii). In the global picture of discrimination, the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia could be described as offering hope. However, changing policies and language do not necessarily mean long-term changes to attitudes and theology. Nearly twenty years on, many parishes in this country still would not accept a woman vicar, and there’s still only one woman on the bench of bishops. We are in a huge turmoil over ordaining gay and lesbian people, and yet the church has been ordaining gay men for centuries. We still do not empower our young people and children to be active, full members in our parish churches, yet we have talked about this for decades. Our three-Tikanga structure needs drastic attention, and issues around ecology continue to be regarded as a low priority. We need action as well as changing attitudes. Our theology and gospel of liberation for all people requires praxis – reflection and action. I believe this Church is not afraid of challenge, review and change, but we struggle to educate people in new ways of being church. Over the last decade “unity” has been promoted as a positive and hope-filled
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way forward for our life together. However, for people to realise God in their context, I believe that our current concept and dream of unity isn’t the answer. If we are “unified,” many people potentially remain theologically and ecclesiologically starved. Unity often means that only limited worldviews and theologies are found in the collective expression of community, or they are difficult to identify amongst the orthodoxy and mass responses. Contextual theology requires a change of attitude and a gathering of difference to emerge. Moltmann’s theology sought to challenge existing theologies, to “break with the old and come to terms with the new”, to arouse “passion for what might initially appear impossible”. Differing, and even opposing, views can give us hope. If many views are expressed, held and honoured, a wider group of people can experience a sense of belonging, with a place at the table in our faith communities. If we always agree with each other, then the element of surprise that God gifts to us is lost. If we obstruct passion and conflicting opinions, the prophets amongst us are lost. All we do should be about broadening our experience of God and one another. Contextual and liberation theologies teach us that we have to deconstruct our theology, but reconstruction must follow. My challenge to myself and to the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia is to work on both deconstruction and reconstruction – simultaneously. If we are struggling with theological concepts, it is important that we spend time identifying why. At the same time, we must work to reconstruct our world to more fully realise God’s love. Ecclesiologically this may look chaotic and confusing. People will appear to be in a variety of places and hold different opinions at the same time. But in a post-modern
world we are forced into ways of living that are not straightforward. In the face of this, regulations simply offer a challenge for people to work around them, expand them or disband them. A Church that excludes some, and includes others, restricts God’s love, forgiveness and the fundamental expression of God’s self in our world. Doing theology in our context results in our experiences of God expanding rather than contracting. If we take our context seriously, our theology needs to be as broad as possible. If the church is to be hope-filled, then we have to take risks that constantly disturb. That way, new impulses will emerge and demand the change that recognises God within us, around us and beyond us. We are not the gate keepers, but the boundary breakers. My hope is that the church, local and worldwide, will be the gatherers of difference, not the unified mass. What can we do then, in our Pacific context, to be the gatherers of difference? What is God saying to us in our context? Ven Carole Hughes is Archdeacon of the Central Auckland Region and Convenor of the General Synod Council for Anglican Women’s Studies. carole@auckanglican.org.nz Endnotes 1. Jurgen Moltmann, A Theology of Hope, SCM Press Ltd, London, 1967. p 9. 2. Ibid. p. 22. 3. Richard Bauckham, The Theology of Jurgen Moltmann, T & T Clark, Edinburgh, 1995. p. 43. 4. The Church of the Province of New Zealand, A New Zealand Prayer Book/ He Karakia Mihinare O Aotearoa. Collins, Auckland, 1989, p. x. For further reading on contemporary contextual theologies in Aotearoa, NZ & Polynesia, please see: Our Place, Our Voice: Explorations in Contextual Theology, General Synod Council for Anglican Women’s Studies, 2012. $20.00, gensec@ang.org.nz.
Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
B
oth sides in the saga of Christchurch’s tumbledown cathedral have claimed victory from a High Court judgement that seems worthy of wise King Solomon. But as Taonga went to press, it was still unclear whether the icon would stand or fall. In his interim judgement of November 15, Justice Lester Chisholm halted deconstruction of the cathedral for a judicial review – delighting the Great Christchurch Buildings Trust, which ideally wants the heritage building restored to former glory. Church Property Trustees, on the other hand, found succour in the judge’s ruling that they don’t have to replicate the original cathedral. The fine print of the cathedral trust, according to Justice Chisholm, demands only that there be “a Cathedral” on the Square site. “No term requiring a particular style, for example Gothic, was imposed on the trustee,” the judge noted. “Any suggestion that the purpose of the trust is to preserve the Cathedral indefinitely is inaccurate and unrealistic." The case – brought by the Great Christchurch Buildings Trust – turned largely on whether CPT over-reached itself in March this year when it decided to lower the cathedral to 2 or 3 metres. Striving to be fair, Justice Chisholm acknowledged the complexities facing CPT at the time and concluded that the decision to deconstruct was “incomplete rather than unlawful” because CPT did not formally commit to build another cathedral. "The timeframe was tight (this is not a criticism of CERA); complex engineering and other issues needed to be assessed; there were many competing considerations; and whatever option was chosen, a large shortfall in the funds required to complete the project seemed to be inevitable,” the judge said. After a flurry of meetings in the wake of the judgement, the Diocese has now agreed to do nothing more to the damaged cathedral until the court makes a further order. CPT has also formally resolved to provide a cathedral on the Square site, and is asking
Cathedral judgement has two 'winners' its engineers to review all information provided to the court by the Great Christchurch Buildings Trust. CERA’s view on maximum retention of the damaged cathedral will be sought, too, along with further advice from engineers and architects on design concepts for a new cathedral. In any courtroom battle, however, there’s generally a ‘casualty’. And in this case it looked initially to be the transitional cathedral in nearby Latimer Square, following the judge’s comment that none of the cathedral insurance proceeds could be used “off-site.” Up to $4m of the insurance payout has been earmarked for the “cardboard” cathedral, and the man heading up the fundraising – cathedral development manager Craig Dixon – admits the loss of that money would be a “challenging prospect.” But he remains unshakeably optimistic. CPT has reaffirmed its commitment to the project, enabling Craig to state with characteristic grin: “The Diocese will find
the money somehow.” Unsurprisingly, the church’s legal advisers also have asked Justice Chisholm to clarify his comments on the cathedral insurance. For updates on this story, go to our website: http:// anglicantaonga.org.nz The full judgement can be downloaded at http:// anglicantaonga.org.nz/News/TIKANGA-PAKEHA/High-court
– Brian Thomas
No...particular style, for example Gothic, was imposed on the trustee
Quote here...
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Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
ACC15
Those groaning Another banquet about to be served: Archbishop Williams at the ACC15 dinner hosted by Tikanga Pasefika.
Lloyd Ashton was on deck for the duration of ACC15. He’s been sampling the reaction of some of the visitors to the Auckland gathering, and of some folk from the home side.
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n army marches on its stomach, said Napoleon. Perhaps that’s not the most elegant metaphor to apply to the Army of The Lord. But with ACC15 we saw compelling evidence that yes, indeed, God’s Army is at its best when it’s well fed, too. Not merely in the sense of not being distracted from its mission by rumbling tums – heaven knows, the morning and afternoon teas laid on by the parishes at Holy Trinity Cathedral would’ve dealt with that. But in the sense that good, abundant
kai is the sign, above all, of manaakitanga, of an all-embracing hospitality that makes visitors feel honoured and welcomed – and that leads, in turn, to them taking a sunnier outlook into their deliberations. From the time they emerged, blinking, into the arrival hall at Auckland International Airport – and were met by John and Christine Payne and their team of welcomers – till the time Lloyd Popata and his transport team bid them ‘haere ra’ at the airport almost two weeks later, well, the manaakitanga didn’t miss a beat. Archdeacon Paul Feheley, who is the secretary to the Canadian Primate, and
Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
James, Mangere Bridge, for the November 4 ‘Mission Encounter’. And afterwards, he says, there again were those groaning tables. There again was that open-faced welcome. “All that,” says Paul, “leads people to relax, to feel that they’re being treated as human beings. “And to ask themselves: how can I help make this work?”
tables Photo: Anglican Communion Office
who has helped out on the communications side of things at the last three ACC meetings, thinks he knows the difference that manaakitanga made. Everyone who’s heading into one of these international meetings “feels a bit of anxiety”, Paul reckons. “Will they have a lousy room? Will the food be lousy? Will they be confronted with people they’re anxious to avoid?” But the quality of the hospitality in Auckland was such that people let down their guard, he reckons. At short notice, Paul was himself despatched to preach and preside at St
* * * * * The kumara doesn’t speak of its own sweetness. So you won’t find the man who, more than anyone else, was responsible for making the manaakitanga happen – Bishop John Paterson, the chairperson of the hosting group – talking about the mahi he’d been putting in since March 2010. But he’s OK about the light shining on the wider group. In case you hadn’t noticed… that’s us. “I think that this church,” he says in his quiet, measured way, “did a pretty darn good job.” Bishop John can look back on 24 years with the ACC. “And I can’t recall a meeting that went as well as this one did.” Beginning well, says Bishop John, was a key. And the host group took a couple of calculated risks to achieve that. Blending 250 kids from eight different church schools – of various levels of skill and confidence – into one giant kapa haka roopu for the powhiri at the Telstra Events Centre in Manukau City was the first risk. But when those rangatahi were pounding out their haka, or singing their hearts out in waiata… well, if you didn’t feel your eyes pricking, and your Kiwi heart swelling with pride (“That’s us! That’s uniquely us!…) then you need to check your pulse. Pronto. And it was the young who triggered the intellectual stimulation, too. That came via a youth forum, where for 40 minutes school students posed searching questions to the Archbishop of Canterbury; the Presiding Bishop of the US Episcopal Church, Katherine Jefferts Schori; and the Archbishop of Southern Africa, Thabo Makgoba. And the interesting thing there was that those three leaders didn’t get the questions in advance. So: they gave no patsy answers. The questions varied from the downright quirky: “What shoes would God
At Te Wai Pounamu’s hakari, in Christchurch.
wear?” to the no-escape serious: “New Zealand is debating a bill to authorise samesex marriage. What do Anglicans have to say about same-sex marriage?” On the shoes question, Bishop Jefferts Schori figured the Almighty would opt for either dancing shoes or bare feet: “I think the divine toes would want to enjoy the earth the Holy One has created.” On same-sex marriage, Dr Williams said, to a ripple of laughter: “Thanks a bundle.” He went on: “I’d say that for the vast majority of Anglicans in the world, the idea of samesex marriage is not something they can come to terms with.” Immediately afterwards, there was the lunch hosted by Auckland’s “supermayor”, Len Brown – who had already raised a few eyebrows by leading us in singing Whakaaria Mai at the powhiri. Bishop Kito Pikaahu was the MC at that lunch. As we ate, he had the tangata whenua performing a few action songs – and then, in his own inimitable way, he had all the delegates up on their feet and singing us songs from their homelands. And, at the end of the meal, there was Archbishop Rowan singing, solo, a hymn of blessing – in Welsh. Spontaneous. Unscripted. Heartfelt. And that’s when we first wondered… could it be that the three-tikanga church might have something special to offer to this meeting? And could it be that Rowan Williams, this famous son of the valleys, felt a greater freedom to express his Welshness here… than he feels in London? *
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ACC15
Above: Lifting the hangi after the Te Wai Pounamu powhiri in Christchurch. Left and below: Opening Eucharist, Holy Trinity Cathedral; and Youth Forum Telstra Centre.
But no boycotts, no walkouts, no flare-ups…
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The next morning saw the opening ACC15 Eucharist – with the colour and pageantry of bishops and ACC members assembled from nga hau e wha at Holy Trinity Cathedral. They heard it at its best, too: by turns quiet and still, and then glorious in its worship. During all-stops-pulled passages of the hymns you could kid yourself that the stones themselves were singing. They heard preaching at its best, too – with Archbishop Rowan delivering his first and last sermon in this cathedral, on the “reckless love of God”. Which is the theme he took from the gospel reading set down for that day, John 15: 17-27. * * * * * The organisers took risks again the following weekend, too – by sending out the delegates to 35 cathedrals and parishes around the motu. And if the letter of thanks from the Dean of Nelson’s Cathedral, the Rev Nick Kirk, to Bishop John is anything to go by, that paid off, too. At Nelson they’d hosted Bishop Bill Godfrey of Peru – who, the evening before he
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preached, had asked Nick what he saw as the greatest challenge facing his cathedral. Reaching out to youth, Nick volunteered. So that became the subject of Bishop Bill’s sermon the next morning – and his contribution was so good, Rev Nick wrote to Bishop John, that it was the highlight of the cathedral year.
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* * * * ut what of the business itself? This ACC meeting was Dr Tony Fitchett’s last roundup. He’s been representing this province at ACC for three meetings – at Nottingham in 2005, in Jamaica in 2009, and here in Auckland, this October and November. Jamaica, he says, was a country mile better than the rancour and bitterness that was Nottingham. And Auckland was better again than Jamaica. Why? Well, Tony puts that down to two things. There was the pattern of “respectable daily worship” – and the time taken to discuss issues in facilitated small reflection groups which met around circular tables. That hadn’t happened in Nottingham. Almost all the time there had been spent in plenary sessions – increasingly spiteful plenary sessions. Whereas in Auckland, two-thirds of the time was spent in these reflection groups. In Tony’s group, for example, he had, among others, the Archbishop of Nigeria, Dr Ikechi Nwosu – and Bishop Ian Douglas from The Episcopal Church in the States. Polar opposites in terms of their theology. But no boycotts, no walkouts, no flareups… read it and weep, David Virtue. That doesn’t mean, either, that anybody backed down from their principles. Within his group, for example, there are still “major disagreements on the way we see people in same-sex relationships, and I can’t see any early agreement on that one. “But because we were developing relationships with individual people, as well as with the group – that makes you much more prepared to actually listen to the other person – whether or not you actually agree with them. “And if you do disagree, not to do so aggressively. “I think it was the head of the Scottish Episcopal Church, Bishop David Chillingworth, who made the point: ‘The ACC is about the relationships. Always
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about the relationships.’ ” * * * * * Having the right process, says Tony, the right way of meeting, is vital. That’s why he hopes the Communion will keep bankrolling the Continuing Indaba process. “That’s all about getting people with different views on various matters – basically around Biblical interpretation – sitting down together, and getting to know each other. “It’s resource-intensive, which is the problem, because you’ve got to get people from one place to another. “But face to face makes all the difference. I’m quite sure of that. “When you’re looking people in the eye, and listening to them, things change.” * * * * * Tony acknowledges that some bloggers were bemoaning the lack of decisionmaking at ACC15. Where the Anglican Covenant was concerned, for example – this gathering was only about “reporting progress”. In fact ACC passed 41 resolutions1, including some which declare the Anglican Communion’s stand on controversial issues. Resolution 15:28, for example, moved by Archbishop of Pakistan, Samuel Azariah, “deplores the unjust application of the Blasphemy Laws” in his country. On the positive side, another resolution endorses the “Bible in the Life of the Church” project, which originated here. But the point about decisions, and the point that the bloggers need to bear in mind, says Tony, is that ACC is the Anglican Consultative Council. And not the Anglican Magisterium. “We gather to consult, not to make binding decisions. We can’t do that – none of the Instruments of Communion can – and a good thing that is, too.” So, disagreements continue, still, on major issues – and there were no irrevocable, binding decisions at ACC15. But there were no boycotts, either. No flare-ups. Not even any angry debates. At the beginning of this story, we quoted Napoleon. So now it’s the turn of another of history’s great warriors: “Jaw-jaw,” said Winston Churchill in 1954, “is better than war-war.” * * * * * Location, location, location. That’s the real estate agent’s mantra.
This Archbishop of Canterbury has 'a brain the size of a planet'
It’s one that they thought about where ACC15 was concerned, too. Because it met not in a university lecture theatre, as was the case in Nottingham. Nor in a hotel conference venue, as was the case in Jamaica. But in sacred space. In a cathedral. When Paul Feheley heard in Toronto that the venue was to be a cathedral, he groaned inwardly. Because in Paul’s mind, there’s an automatic connection. Cathedral equals Victorian gothic. Dimly lit. Hard pews. Cold. 10 days. Groan. “When I got there, I thought: Wow! To see “the tremendous amount of light” that bathes the nave in Auckland’s cathedral, he thinks, was a sign of the difference that sacred space can make. * * * * * So. Hosting the meeting at the cathedral was a smart move. Mind you, there was a power of work for Jo Kelly-Moore and her team to get through. Not only were there the months of work beforehand – there was the small matter of still being the cathedral while the ACC was on. On the day before the powhiri, for example, the cathedral hosted the funeral of Sir Wilson Whineray – and that’s as close to a state funeral as you’re likely to get. Then on the Thursday when the ACC headed south to Turangawaewae, Jo stayed back – to take the funeral of Harry Julian, who in his day, had been one of Auckland’s leading lights. Then, on the following Thursday, the day after the ACC ended, it was all on again, for the funeral of Lady June Blundell, widow of Sir Denis Blundell, the former Governor General. Page 13
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– that’s a factor in making people think that, actually, you can live with difference within the one church.”
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Kapa haka at the Telstra Events Centre.
Phew. “Our team worked really hard,” says Jo. “We put in a lot emotionally, too, because we were conscious as a cathedral community – along with everybody else involved – of representing our province.” Jo says she is chuffed at the way “every nook and cranny” of the cathedral, including old St Mary’s, was used during those two weeks. It was the attention to detail that worked, Jo thinks, “from the pillows the delegates slept on, to the hymns we sang to the parties we organised. “We can take heart, I think, that the way we hosted… somehow that facilitated the mystery of God’s grace to move here.” And now that it’s over, Jo is reflecting
If you do have the good fortune to see the kotuku… Your heart is warmed
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on the “utter privilege” that hosting ACC 15 was. “What an amazing group of people they were. And what a joy to have our Anglican world gathered in our cathedral for worship.” A good number of the ACC members stayed on in New Zealand after ACC15 ended. And a steady stream of those members have turned up in the cathedral again in the days since to say one last goodbye. So you have to think they’re taking good memories home with them. * * * * * If we were to identify one other reason, from the home side’s point of view, for the meeting’s success – that would have to be the three-tikanga church. Archbishop David Moxon puts it this way: “The ACC delegates have always been respectful of diversity, I think – but I think they saw cultural diversity in another way. “They saw our capacity to interweave and relax with one another – and they saw that unity and diversity can work in the way that it does here.” Tony Fitchett saw signs of curiosity about how that might be outworked on the larger scale, too. “I had a couple of members ask me to go through the principles behind our church with them. The fact that people witnessed the three tikanga in one church
* * * * he other thing that stood out about ACC15 was Rowan Williams himself. As one of my English colleagues put it, this Archbishop of Canterbury has “a brain the size of a planet.” But it’s not an arid intellect. There is a grace about the man that somehow communicates itself in words. Tony Fitchett puts it simply: “Everything he said was worth listening to.” Every sermon, Tony reckons. Every speech – even his suggestions for untangling procedural knots. Part of Rowan Williams’ gift is his uncanny ability to say something relevant to each audience. We saw that in his first public utterance on New Zealand soil – at the unveiling of Sir Paul Reeves’ headstone at St John’s College, the day before ACC began. In a mark of almost extraordinary empathy, this Welsh-born Archbishop of Canterbury began his homily by quoting from the Maori poet, Glenn Colquhoun:
The art of walking upright here, Is the art of using both feet. One is for holding on. One is for letting go. Dr Williams then gave a brief and poignant meditation2 on how Sir Paul had mastered the necessary art of living “a holy and double life.” “That doubleness of life,” the Archbishop reflected, “takes us right to the heart of creation and redemption.” Because the ultimate double life, he said, “is that of Christ himself.” We saw that empathy again when the ACC broke camp on 1 November, and headed to Ngaruawahia for an audience with the Maori King. Here we were, Dr Williams reminded us, on All Saints Day, gathered in Aotearoa, The Land of the Long White Cloud. “And… we may very well think of that phrase in scripture, where we are told that we live in the presence of a great cloud of witnesses.” He wasn’t being super-spiritual there, either. Because 150 years earlier our Tainui hosts had witnessed the loss of 1.2 million
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Marlene Tauai leads a rippling Pacific dance at the Tikanga Pasefika dinner. She’s supported by folk from Mangere’s Ekalesia Agelekana Samoa, and other young people from the Diocese of Polynesia in Aotearoa NZ.
hectares of their lands to a rapacious settler government. “Perhaps,” reflected the Archbishop, “this is in a very particular way a land of witnesses. “And so... we thank God that the cloud of witnesses is over us, and around us, calling us to answer for our faith, for our lives, for our relationships before God. “Knowing that we will answer to God for the peace we make, and the justice we serve together.” At several points during that welcome, we heard the whakatauki3 that Potatau Te Wherowhero spoke at his coronation as the first Maori King in June 1858: Kotahi ano te kohao o te ngira E kuhuna ai te miro ma te miro whero me te miro pango A muri i a au kia mau ki te ture ki te whakapono ki te aroha Hei aha te aha! hei aha te aha! There is but one eye of the needle through which the white, red and black threads must pass. After I am gone hold fast to the law, the truth
and love. Forsake all else... Archbishop Rowan also acknowledged that proverb. But he also drew attention to a similar proverb in the scriptures – the plaiting of the three-fold cord which, the Book of Ecclesiastes tells us, is not easily broken. He then went on to quote another verse of scripture to Kingi Tuheitia: “Te Arikinui, we have in our minds as we come to a royal court, saluting yourself and your household, the words of the psalm: “Give the King your judgements, O God, give your righteousness to the son of the royal house.” * * * * * We’ll finish by quoting one further saying – a more elegant one than those from Napoleon and Winston Churchill. It’s a whakatauki that Archbishop Brown Turei used in his mihi at the powhiri. Speaking to the ACC delegates in general, and to the Archbishop of Canterbury in particular, he said: He kotuku rerenga tahi.
Which means “a white heron’s flight is seen but once.” Archbishop David teased out the meaning of that proverb in his speech. The white heron nests in secret places, he said, and is rarely seen. “If you do have the good fortune to see the kotuku fly across your sky,” said Archbishop David, “you feel blessed by its sight. Your heart is warmed.” Dr Williams’ visit, he noted, was the first and last he would make to these islands as Archbishop of Canterbury. He kotuku rerenga tahi. Indeed. Lloyd Ashton is this Church’s Media Officer and served on the ACC15 media team in Auckland this year. Notes 1. You can read the ACC15 resolutions at: www. anglicancommunion.org > Instruments of Communion > Anglican Consultative Council > ACC15 > Resolutions 2. See: http://www.anglicantaonga.org.nz/News/TheCommunion/walking-upright 3. Whakatauki: proverbs used as metaphorical illustrations in Maori oratory
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Come and see Up close and personal with the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams: Brian Thomas reflects on the man and the message
A Archbishop Rowan is not an imposing figure. More like a kindly uncle in need of a trim.
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s Rowan Williams lays down the crozier of ++Canterbury at year’s end, the Anglican Communion may finally wake up to a disquieting question: did we deserve him? That’s not to say we won’t be well served by his successor, Justin Welby, the evangelical Bishop of Durham. Only that Dr Williams is a saintly man who at times has been demonised by some of his own people. In his new role as Master of Magdalene College in Cambridge, he’ll still need to guard against the cut and thrust of intelligent ambitions. But at least they won’t be cloaked in unctious prayer. We might forgive him, then, a gentle sigh as he deposits his chapel keys and waves the last removal van out of Lambeth Palace. Human sexuality, the Anglican Covenant,
cultural pluralism, biblical truth, women bishops… Such hotspots have ignited acrimony all round the Communion, and no one has been scorched as severely as Rowan Williams – simply by riding through the flames. (Note to the Archbishop’s Office: do the new man a kindness and get him a fire blanket for a cope…) OK, it’s a hot job at the best of times because of the huge responsibilities it carries. But sadly for Archbishop Rowan, much of the heat directed at him has also been fuelled by faulty perceptions, selective soundbites and mischievous blogs that distort both the truth and the man. So, maybe the best way to glimpse the soul of an Archbishop – and of any priest, for that matter – is to sit at their feet, literally, and watch how they handle the Sacrament and proclaim the Word.
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For all the saints Christchurch was given such an insight on All Saints’ (November 4), when Archbishop Rowan celebrated and preached at the Cathedral service in Christ’s College. And if there was one small disappointment about that service, it had to be that the congregation wasn’t half big enough to panic the ushers and choke the sacred quadrangle outside. Heaven knows, the occasion warranted it. Archbishop Rowan is not an imposing figure. More like a kindly uncle in need of a trim, or an absent-minded professor. Yeah right. Because when it came to the sermon, he showed exactly why he’d been picked to lead 80 million Anglicans worldwide these past 10 years. He skirted the pulpit, preferring to stand centre-aisle with fingers steepled on his chest. Then, without so much as a note, he breathed life into a story that most of us had heard a hundred times before but never quite fathomed. John 11: 32-44 – the “shocking” tale of Lazarus, which sees Jesus appearing on trial for his very being. “If you had been here,” says Mary accusingly, “my brother would not have died. So where were you?” It’s an age-old question, the Archbishop noted. In the wake of any kind of suffering, disaster and loss, we’re all inclined to say: Where were you? So how does Jesus respond to Mary? Not by silencing her or by justifying his absence. Instead, he says: Take me to where the body is. Take me to where it hurts most. And Mary replies: “Come and see.” Therein lies the challenge of the Gospel, said Archbishop Rowan. In the midst of all our suffering, can we (like Mary) bring ourselves to say, “Come and see”? Come on, Jesus. I’ll take you to where it hurts most. Which brings us to the shortest verse in the Bible: Jesus wept. He doesn’t offer to sit with Mary for half an hour and explain the death of her brother and the mysteries of the universe. He expresses his solidarity with her, his absorption of the pain. By weeping. “Jesus says, I am not a God who lives far away, in a distant heaven – to whom all these sufferings on earth are a matter of
indifference. “What touches you, touches me… If you invite me to be with you, where it hurts the most – know that I carry that grief in my love. Trust – and you will see glory.” Of course, Jesus wasn’t prepared to leave it there. And neither was Archbishop Rowan in his homily. Noting sister Martha’s reluctance to open the grave after three days of tropical weather, he reminded us that, once again, Jesus didn’t stifle the cry. He simply reiterated his promise: Trust and you will see glory. Trust me and you will see something extraordinary, that you never dreamt of. Archbishop Rowan was now at the climax of his message to a congregation that itself had seen death and destruction in the worst disaster to befall a New Zealand city. As a Christian community, called to respond to suffering and disaster, we don’t try to silence the protests, Archbishop Rowan said. “We say, in the name of Jesus: Take us to where it hurts most… Trust, and you will see. Something will be uncovered for you, in the middle of all the pain, the grief, the confusion… “That’s how to respond in a God-like, Christ-like way to the world’s pain,” the Archbishop continued. “Go to where it hurts most. Be a sign of promise, and say: You will see something, if you hold on.”
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The sermon would have ended hopefully enough there, but the preacher had more for us: a postscript of sorts on how to recognise the saints of the church. “Saints are very definitely not people who have perfect explanations for everything that happens,” Archbishop Rowan said. “Saints may have their failings but they’re not that annoying. “Saints are people who don’t silence us. They let us speak out of what is most real to us, even if it’s painful. “A saint is somebody who says to you: You have God’s permission to be yourself – even if that means pouring out anger, misery, guilt and confusion. “A saint is somebody who says, Let me come with you, to where it hurts… Trust, and you will see what you never imagined. “Because the saints are, above all, people who show that things can be different – that humanity doesn’t have to work in the cyclical, miserable, reworking of resentment, unhappiness and selfishness.
A saint is somebody who says, ‘Let me come with you to where it hurts… ‘
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“Saints break that open and they tell us, Trust God – and God alone knows what you will see in his world. And what you will see of him.”
He lets his hair down There’s more, much more, to this sermon – and if you want to read the full text, go to the Taonga website and search for “Take me to where the body is.” The text is no substitute for the live delivery, though, because Rowan Williams embodies the Gospel, in demeanour as
much as in word. That’s what stood out in his celebration of the Eucharist on All Saints’ – and indeed throughout the whole of his visit to these islands. There was no grandiloquence, as you might expect from our highest primate. No lofty gestures to enhance the singer rather than the song – even if he does have a lovely Welsh tenor. And don’t be misled by the Establishment plum. This man knows how to let his hair down, as proven when Te Waipounamu welcomed him to Otautahi/Christchurch with an evening of kapa haka, banter and gourmet kai. Kina and pipi, whitebait and crays were followed by trays of meat and veges still steaming from the earth oven, and the Archbishop took to it all like the cultural connoisseur that he is. Even Bishop John Gray’s parting request – that the Archbishop ask the Queen “for our lands back” – failed to ruffle him. He just smiled diplomatically –
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a capacity well honed by a decade at the coalface of church politics. “This has been a very memorable evening,” he said as he took leave of Waipounamu to front up at a quake volunteers’ rock concert in the city. “A similar event in the UK would never have such musical, comic and liturgical content.” Which I guess is partly why so many of us have no intention of ever living there. Lloyd Ashton, this church’s media officer, has been a reporter all his life, including a stint in the parliamentary press gallery, so he’s not easily swayed by rhetoric and charm. He’s heard it all, seen it all… And yet the slightly dishevelled Welshman in a well-travelled cassock took hold of Lloyd’s spirit and gave pause to his pen. “An Archbishop is properly addressed as Your Grace,” Lloyd mused towards the end of the tour. “But in Rowan’s case, it’s more than just a formality; it seems to fit the man himself.” In weeks to come, many fine words will be said about the outgoing Archbishop. We’ll laud his prodigious intellect, his political courage, his catholic tolerance, his tireless search for consensus in what he calls “this quarrelsome family.” But the essence of ++Rowan is what moved him to sit on the carpet and chat with Christchurch youth after a busy day in the media glare: holiness. “The way Jesus talks about holiness in the Last Supper is helpful,” he reflected. “Holiness there is seen as going into the heart of where it’s most difficult for human beings to be human. “So Jesus goes outside the city to the place where people suffer and are humiliated. “He goes to the place where people throw stuff out, including other people. “Outside the camp.... “And that’s the first thing to bear in mind about the Christian idea of holiness. “It’s something to do with going where it’s most difficult, in the name of the Jesus who went where it was most difficult. “And he wants us to be holy like that.” Not unlike Rowan Williams, 104th Archbishop of Canterbury. The Rev Brian Thomas edits Taonga Online. bjthomas@orcon.net.nz
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“Hold onto joy: Look at Jesus” “Take the long view; don’t be bullied by the media; refresh yourself at the grass roots of the Church… hold on to what brings joy in the great work of God; look at Jesus.” Sage advice from the retiring Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams, to his successor. Taonga put the following questions to Dr Williams before he left Aotearoa New Zealand – and, immediately in the wake of a tumultuous Church of England synod, he graciously responded. Brian Thomas devised the questions, Lloyd Ashton chased the interview – and in London, Marie Papworth asked the questions on our behalf.
Anglican Taonga:
You’ve weathered many storms as Archbishop. How do you manage it? What form of prayer works best for you? And how exactly do you refresh yourself physically? Archbishop of Canterbury:
Weathering storms requires some robust anchorage, and wouldn’t be remotely possible without daily periods of stillness, when I try, first thing in the morning, simply to open up to God. Patchy results, thanks to the butterfly mind darting around, but nothing else will do. Physical exercise is something I’ve never been brilliant about! But I walk whenever I can – and sometimes play the piano (badly)…
St Augustine is my hero among the saints, complex and flawed though he was; among more recent figures, I have a deep devotion to Bonhoeffer and to the Dutch/ Jewish martyr of Auschwitz, Etty Hillesum, and in the Church of England to the memory of Archbishop Michael Ramsey.
Weathering storms requires some robust anchorage…
Who (apart from Jesus) would you rank as your greatest spiritual mentors? Both living and dead? Page 19
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penalize the poor. And you have been criticized for it. Should church leaders everywhere be more vocal on such issues, whatever the cost?
…to believe otherwise is the real meaning of idolatry in our age.
In my personal experience – my vicar when I was a teenager, and the Benedictine monk who was my spiritual director for years, both now departed. One of my most important mentors now is a hermit living in West Wales. Another – though he probably doesn’t realise it! – is a former student of mine, a priest and writer who always strikes me as touchstone of absolute integrity. People are living longer, which poses huge problems for their care. Is this something that the Church should be prioritizing in its mission? In practical ways such as the provision of home care or resthomes? Yes: the Church has a great role in helping people take the older population seriously and use their gifts. It isn’t good enough just to focus on youth, important as this is; we do need to show that we can cope with the experience and wisdom and sometimes lack of illusion of older folk. It’s sometimes said that Western society is in the thrall of two gods: Material Gain and Individual Advantage. What’s your Christian response to social competitiveness and the burgeoning power of “the Market”? ‘The market’ doesn’t exist: human agents do. We can’t shift responsibility by pretending that something else is making us do things. We have choices, and to believe otherwise is the real meaning of idolatry in our age. In your role as Archbishop, you have been strongly critical of government policies that favour the rich and Page 20
I don’t see any alternative to Church leaders speaking for the poor – and better still, working to make the space for the poor to speak for themselves. The whole of the Bible assumes that God wants to give a voice to those who have no voice; and Jesus is consistently challenging the ways in which exclusion works in his world. We seem to be seeing, in the West at least, two apparently contradictory trends: A growing interest in spirituality, and a declining interest in institutional religion. Can these two trends be reconciled? Between individual spirituality (which can be a bit self-indulgent) and institutional religion, there is something else – genuinely corporate religious practice and spiritual discipline, discovered in small groups seeking to bring a tradition alive in new ways, often linked to some centre of renewal like Taize, or Iona in Scotland. I think this is where our energy should be focused. Religious plurality is giving rise to all sorts of tensions in our daily lives: the wearing of religious dress and symbols, for example, and even personal witness in the workplace. What would you want to say to a devout Christian who fears that Christianity is “under siege” from secularism and other faiths? We should be ready to defend the freedom of all believers to manifest their religious identity. I’ve sometimes tried to distinguish aggressive secularism, which wants religion to be invisible, from proper public secularity, which allows all faiths to flourish without privileging any; this is fine for believers. We shouldn’t panic too much about all this, though: what’s important is to defend religious freedoms at every level in the name of a comprehensively fair democratic philosophy, and allow the public square to be inhabited by a real diversity of visible identities and views, learning to work together for everyone’s welfare.
Statistics point to a downturn in mainstream Christianity – in the West, at least. The pews of many parish churches, for example, are thinning and greying. What can the institutional Church do to counteract this? We’ve tried to respond in the UK with the Fresh Expressions movement – getting out to where people are and helping to generate small new communities for less formal worship and open-ended discussion outside the traditional parish structure. The latest research suggests 60,000 people have been reached in this way, about half of them with no prior contact at all with church. In the Church of England alone, we reckon that the numerical equivalent of two new dioceses has been added in the last few years by this style of outreach. And these new groups do want to be part of a baptising and Eucharistic community; they don’t want to be freefloating. The secret is to go where people are, work with the rhythms that make sense to them, deal with the questions they are actually asking, and see what transforming new patterns emerge. Often what emerges is very deep and disciplined, and open to the greatest riches of ‘mainstream’ tradition. But we get to that point by close attention to the reality of the people we’re trying to reach. What have been the highlights of your time as Archbishop? Some of the travelling – especially to the Solomons, to Zimbabwe, Congo, Pakistan, to the smaller churches which live with profound hardship in faith and hope and love. And in the UK, although the great state occasions are memorable, what I think of most are the regular visits to schools and parishes. The highlights are the routine! And finally, what would you want to say to your successor? Take the long view; don’t be bullied by the media; refresh yourself at the grass roots of the Church; be obstinate in making time for your own human interests and your family so that you don’t get twodimensional; remember you’re loved; hold on to what brings joy in the great work of God; look at Jesus.
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In Auckland for ACC, Julanne Clarke-Morris met a global advocate for non-violence. Claudette Kigeme was here from Burundi to support one of the ACC’s most challenging resolutions.
Now it’s time to act
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hat really stands out at the Anglican Consultative Council (ACC) is the people and their extraordinary stories of mission and ministry. Neither of which you’ll usually find in an ACC press release. Bishop Laurence Minabe of Yokohama, for example, was a quiet, steady presence throughout the meeting. But stop to talk to him, and you could tell just how big an impact the earthquakes and tsunamis have made on his church and country this year. Or pause for another purple-shirted perspective – from Archbishop Paul Kwong – and you’ll hear about Hong Kong’s
Anglican ministry with Filipino migrant workers, and how they’re hoping to use some of the church’s ‘million-dollar-ametre’1 land to build a cancer hospital. Despite the lack of either collar or purple shirt, Claudette Kigeme from Burundi has a no-less-compelling story to tell. She came to the Anglican Consultative Council (ACC) meeting to back the International Anglican Women’s Network (IAWN) role in an ACC resolution to end gender-based violence. As Coordinator of the Mothers’ Union (MU) of Burundi, Claudette can speak for the many silent women and child violence survivors there. The Mothers’ Union
we must also work.. to make the bigger change happen, the mentality change
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She was forced into that situation because of the culture, but also the Christian religion...
promotes healthy family life in Burundi, against a backdrop of poverty and post-war trauma. Even though the MU work feels like a drop in the ocean, Claudette is powerfully motivated to gain support for what it does. And she thinks the ACC’s resolution 15.7 will help.2 ACC15.7 is a tough call. By signing up, we Anglicans haven’t merely “condemned” family and gender-based violence, or even more actively said we’ll “work against” it. We’ve set out, as a global church, to eliminate gender-based violence. That wording is inspired by next year’s theme for the UN Commission on the Status of Women. Claudette says both send a very clear message: “We want a movement from words to action.” Claudette feels a real urgency for that action, and that comes from seeing the status quo first hand. Claudette often meets abuse survivors face to face in the villages where Mothers’ Union programmes take place. But for Claudette, it all comes home in one woman’s deeply traumatic story: Amelie’s.3 Amelie’s husband was killed during the 12-year Burundian civil war that ended in 2005. Because of local custom, Amelie was compelled against her will to marry her husband’s brother, a man who’d never liked her. Amelie suffered violence at her new husband’s hands but had no option to leave. She had a daughter to him. Then, when she became pregnant again, her husband went into a rage because he was convinced she would give Page 22
birth to another girl. In that rage he cut off both her forearms. At the elbows. “Amelie’s is a huge suffering that really hits me and hurts my heart,” says Claudette. “Whenever I see her, I feel so motivated to do this work. I have to advocate for people like her, to stop this ever happening. “She was a double victim – of the civil war, and of the culture that said she had to marry this man. ” After her ordeal, Amelie was gathered in by the Anglican Church and MU members, who fed her in hospital for a year after the attack. Now, she still has to be cared for by church members every day and lives in a house they help her to rent. Her only daughter lives in an orphanage. For Claudette, Amelie’s story illustrates something very important about the way we act as a church. “We need to look after the victims, the survivors, and care for them, yes, but we must also work to make the bigger change happen, the mentality change. “The church has kept quiet on this kind of suffering. We need to break the silence. “If the church had spoken out first, Amelie wouldn’t have had to marry that man that didn’t like her. “She was forced into that situation because of the culture, but also the Christian religion which encourages women not to break their marriage.” The resolution just signed by our ACC representatives pushes the Communion that step further. It reiterates the call for Anglican churches to take up the UN charge to ‘Promote gender equality and empower women’. In the words of the Primates’ letter on gender-based violence from their 2011 Dublin meeting: ‘In penitence and faith we must move forward in such a way that our churches truly become a living witness to our belief that both women and men are made in the image of God.’ The resolution starts at the very beginning – with the values and selfunderstanding we instil in our children. As churches, it says, we must ‘provide an environment where boys and girls are equally valued and equally enabled to participate’ and to ’foster positive and
respectful relationships irrespective of gender...’ So the ACC meeting in Auckland may impact on Sunday school programmes after all. *
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In Burundi, Malawi and Sudan, Mothers’ Unions have identified literacy as the first step towards any kind of real empowerment and equality for women. In the past, the MUs ran plenty of community development courses. But they had limited effect. “No matter what training we offered women, they were not able to hold on to their learning or move it forward because they couldn’t read or write,” recalls Claudette. “They’d forget what they’d learned and they didn’t have a way of finding out more. They just weren’t open to the world, at all. “The effects of illiteracy go right through. They can’t access health care. They can’t read pamphlets, or coins, or maps. They can’t even read their own Bibles.” The Mothers’ Union has loaded a clip onto Youtube4 about literacy, which leaves no doubt that it can slow family violence. “Before we joined the literacy circle, I thought my wife was worthless,” says one man in the video. “I made all the decisions and spent a lot on drink. I beat her regularly and forbade her from going to community meetings.” Even as he spoke, the look on his wife’s face shows she isn’t entirely certain those days are over. In a later segment, the same couple (Verdiane and Deo) appear again. This time, neither of them can help smiling. They have learnt to read and write and know more about hygiene, nutrition, family planning, banking and saving, and how to access medical care. They’re experiencing control over so many more aspects of their lives. “Now we make all our decisions together and we run a small business. Everything has changed. She could tell you what I’ve got from the training,” the husband jibes. “What he said is true,” laughs his wife, whose face no longer shows signs of strain, “I’ve got a lot from this programme.” While it sounds a world away, Verdiane and Deo’s story is reminiscent of an Aotearoa New Zealand couple who
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appeared onscreen at ACC. Their DVD story was at the heart of a presentation on helping families overcome violence, put on by Anglican Social Services’ Lower Hutt Family Centre and Social Policy Unit. That video revealed the dynamics of controlling, violent behaviour in our own context, and showed how it could be healed through exposure, anger management and attitudinal change. IAWN Coordinator Ann Skamp (Australia) says it’s important that genderbased violence is owned by the whole church, and is named as something that blights every province of the Communion. “That means we need to take it seriously in every different context,” she says. Rev Canon Marion Little (Canada) couldn’t agree more. She remarked that while recent history of sexual violence is outside Western countries, every society has its blind spot on that subject. “In Canada I work with PEERS, an organisation that offers health and safety support to sex workers,” she said. “Sex workers are 60 times more likely to be injured or killed than the average person. And it’s the stigma they face from society that prevents them getting protection from harm.” According to Claudette, there’s another very good reason why anyone should make violence prevention a top priority. “When I see the suffering, which by the grace of God I haven’t had, I know that I have to serve. “And I have done nothing to deserve all the blessings I have. “Because I have been so blessed, I need to be a blessing to others.” Notes: 1. Not an exact figure. 2. To see the full resolution, go to www. anglicancommunion.org > Instruments of Communion > Anglican Consultative Council > ACC15 > Resolutions > ACC15.7. 3. Name changed for privacy reasons. 4. http://www.youtube.com > search > Counting Blessings - Literacy & Development Programme
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Counting her blessings C
laudette Kigeme could be the poster child for several clauses in ACC resolution 15.7.
She was one of the first children brought up by a Burundian graduate of Mothers’ Union training in healthy family living. Her parents were among the first baptised into the Burundian Anglican Diocese of Matana in 1935. At that time Anglicans were pushing for children’s health and educational needs. “In those days, even sending boys to school was a problem. They had to work in the fields.” But Claudette’s mother was different. She not only sent her boys to school, but her girls too. “She was always giving the same opportunity to all of us,” Claudette recalls. “She said, ‘Try to do your best, whoever you are.’ And she taught us that even if you are a girl, you should not underestimate yourself.” In some ways it’s no surprise that Claudette has become a leader. Her family descends from the Burundian royal family, the Baganwa, who were ‘extinguished’ under Belgian colonial rule. But as Claudette grew up, her mother
made it clear that royal heritage was no excuse for slacking. “The royal family is over,” she said. “Now you have to serve others, and no one has to serve you.” It did mean that Claudette had luxuries that others didn’t have. “My parents were not so poor,” she says. Unlike many, they had a good foodproducing farm. But still, in the rural village where Claudette grew up, there were only the basics at home and no electricity. That’s partly why 75% of her classmates never made it through high school – no light for study in the evenings, on top of a heavy workload around the home. After Claudette’s father died, her mother continued to work hard to give the family some extras. “My mother could afford petrol lamps so we could do our homework at night.” After completing her university study, Claudette worked in Burundi’s Ministry of Rural Development, before becoming Provincial Coordinator for the Mothers’ Union. “By the grace of God I succeeded, but also thanks to my mother and her training from the Anglican Church.” Page 23
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PEOPLE
Travelling the journey of forgiveness The thing about losing your hands, he says, is that you can never forget that…
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Fr Michael Lapsley first went to South Africa almost 40 years ago – and more than any other New Zealander, he experienced the brutality of apartheid, firsthand.
He was back in New Zealand recently – and he talked to Lloyd Ashton about his journey from being a freedom fighter to a healer.
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I
n 35-odd years of journalism, I’ve done a few interviews. Including some that have begun over a cuppa and biscuits. None, however, has started with my interviewee asking me to snap his biscuit in two – and pop it into his mouth. Startling. But impossible to refuse, given that my subject, Fr Michael Lapsley SSM, had had his hands blown off by a letter bomb. *
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Fr Michael is a Hastings-born priest who was sent to South Africa in 1973 by his order. He resisted apartheid1 he was exiled, he became a chaplain to the ANC – and that letter bomb found him at his Zimbabwe address on April 28, 1990. It maimed him. Two years later, he returned to South Africa, and he’s been based there ever since. Nowadays, Fr Michael relies on “Faith” and “Hope” – which are the nicknames he’s given his two prosthetic hooks. He is extraordinarily adept with those hooks. He drives a car, and he uses a laptop. He was in New Zealand in August to attend a conference to mark the 100th anniversary of the ANC, and to launch his autobiography: Redeeming the Past – My Journey from Freedom Fighter to Healer 2. At functions he would hold a microphone, sip water as he spoke – his steel hooks gently clasping his glass, and raising it to his lips – and afterwards, sign his books for purchasers. But the thing about losing your hands, he says, is that you can never forget that you don’t have them. The day before our interview, for instance, he’d been invited to a Auckland restaurant – and the time came when he needed to visit the bathroom. Trouble was, the door to the bathroom had a heavy door knob. Had he gone in and closed the door – he mightn’t have been able to get out. So Fr Michael had to ask someone to wait outside, and to listen for his knock. And while he can manage many tasks, he’s made choices about which he will struggle with. For instance, he would have to fumble for several minutes to button his shirt – where it might take someone else a few seconds. So he lets someone help him with that.
Little things, too, present psychological challenges. When the rest of us make a cuppa, for example, we add the milk when we choose. “But when you have a disability,” says Fr Michael, “you have to receive people doing things in the way that they do them. You have to reach a degree of healthy interdependence.” Sometimes, too, when he’s travelling, the challenges come with a tinge of black comedy: “For instance, I need help carrying my hand luggage. “But people sometimes come to me with a wheelchair. “And I say: well, my legs seem to be fine…” In flight, too, Fr Michael has experienced stewards who, in feats worthy of a TV magic show, make him disappear. “I’ve noticed that they have served everybody their meal,” he says, “except me. “And they don’t say anything. “Because they think: ‘How on earth will he eat? ‘Oh, well, if we pretend he’s not there – the problem is solved!’ He’s also on the receiving end of other odd behaviours. These days, post the letter bomb and the loss of his hands, people usually greet him with a hug. He likes that. Occasionally, though, some still insist on shaking his hook. “I think: If you’re turned on by metal, feel free, but otherwise… excuse me? Bizarre?” However grievously that letter bomb affected him – both hands blown off, blinded in one eye, hearing permanently damaged – there were no lasting wounds to his wit. *
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That wit often has a philosophic tinge to it: “I got bombed at a certain day, at a certain time and place. “And my Western-ness said to me, ‘Well… can I just add to my CV that I’ve been bombed and I’ve got no hands and now get on with the rest of my life?’” “Getting on” with his life, in fact, hasn’t been plain sailing. “In a way”, he says, “taking part in the liberation struggle prepared me for the
Advent 2012
A happy chap in Hastings.
possibility of death. “It hadn’t prepared me for major physical disability that would be part of my life forever.” “I will always grieve for the hands that will never return. I will never touch again. “That doesn’t mean that I’m full of sadness, or sunk in depression. I’m not. “But I would say that an element of grief will always be a dimension in my life.” *
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When Fr Michael left Zimbabwe in 1992, and returned to South Africa, he’d been away for 16 years. “I discovered a damaged nation,” he says. “A nation damaged in humanity. Damaged by what we’d done, what had been done to us, and by what we failed to do. Everybody had been damaged by the journey the nation had travelled.” He helped found a Capetown-based Trauma Centre for Victims of Violence and Torture – both were widespread under the apartheid regime – and he became fulltime chaplain to that centre. And in 1998 he peeled off from that role to set up a new work, which he called The Institute for the Healing of Memories, and on whose behalf he now travels the world. One of Fr Michael’s core convictions is that our individual stories are affected by our nation’s story. That may be self-evident in South Africa, perhaps – and Fr Michael is convinced that individuals and communities there have suffered intergenerational trauma. Page 25
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PEOPLE
For fear of being condemned… People say nothing. And wait. And wait, and wait
But it’s also true here too, he reckons. Why else would there have been such an outpouring of national emotion in 2004, for example, when they brought the body of the Unknown Soldier back to Wellington from the Somme? During his time at the Trauma Centre, Fr Michael had also come to some conclusions about what had helped him with the healing of his own inner wounds. Yes, he’d had excellent medical treatment – and “a deluge of prayer, love and support.” But it was the acknowledgement of his own story that made a difference, he says. On the other hand, he says, vast numbers of South Africans had had little experience of having their stories “acknowledged, reverenced and recognised, and given a moral content.” All they had, he says, was their victimhood. At that Trauma Centre Fr Michael had worked alongside an array of mental health Page 26
Fr MIchael with Archbishop Desmond Tutu at the New York book launch of Redeeming the Past.
workers. And he’d come to see that while most South Africans had been scarred by their nation’s journey, “not everybody was pathological. Not everybody was in need of expert long-term psychological intervention. “Most of us were functioning. But we still had stuff to deal with on account of what we’d lived through. “And we were in danger of ‘overexpertising’ our response to human pain.” Fr Michael has no wish to devalue the role of the experts. But neither did he want “to undervalue the wisdom of the ages”. Creating safe spaces for people to tell their stories before witnesses, he felt, could help many on their journeys of healing. * * * * * In simplest terms, the Institute for Healing of Memories runs workshops where people can tell their stories “in an atmosphere of deep listening and mutual respect.” Trained facilitators guide the process, and the emphasis is on the heart, rather than the head. For some, says Fr Michael, it may be the first time they’ve been able to
unburden themselves. “I often find myself listening in our workshops as someone tells an extraordinary story, and I say to them: ‘Have you told that story many times before?’ ‘No. This is the first time’. “When I’m working in prisons, prisoners will often say to us: this is the first time I’ve ever told my story. It’s the first time anybody has ever listened.” For fear of being condemned, he says, or judged, or being shut down, people say nothing. “So they wait. “And wait, and wait. “Yet having their stories heard can be what enables them to move forward. To begin to leave victimhood behind. “And to break the chain which turns victims into victimisers.” * * * * * Story telling doesn’t automatically bring healing, says Fr Michael. “There are stories which have poison connected to them. Stories that feed hatred and bitterness. Wars are built on such stories. “Which is why we emphasise the feelings that come, not the thoughts.
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Because it’s at the emotional level that the poison lies. “There has to be a process of getting that out, and beginning to let that go for healing to take place. “And also a recognition that I may be justified to have those poisonous feelings. “But they’re messing me up. They’re damaging me. “So for my own sake, I have to find a way to let them go. “How would South Africa be today if Nelson Mandela had come out of prison and said: ‘It’s time to get them!’ “We would have died in our millions. “Instead he said: ‘Never, never, never again should people do to one another what was done to us’.” * * * * * Acknowledgement, then, is liberating. So too is apology, when that’s called for. Fr Michael recalls when Helen Clark, as Prime Minister, went to Samoa in 2002 to apologise for the “inept and incompetent” behaviour of New Zealand authorities during the colonial era. In 1918 those authorities had knowingly allowed a ship carrying passengers with Spanish influenza to dock in Apia. That caused an epidemic, which claimed the lives of more than one-fifth of Samoa’s population. In turn, that led to the birth of an independence movement – and in 1929 New Zealand police officers panicked during a peaceful nationalist protest in Apia, and gunned down nine Samoans, including a paramount chief. “That was a story,” says Fr Michael, “that most Kiwis didn’t know. “But every Samoan did. “And the entire nation wept to hear that apology.” “I think that so often oppressed people carry in their souls the memory of what has been done to them – but those who did it are often sailing on into the future with ignorance or denial.” * * * * * During his time in Auckland, Fr Lapsley gave a lecture to the Students at St John’s College. His subject? Bicycle theology. That’s what he calls a species of forgiveness pedalled by some Christian preachers. He described it to the students this way: “I steal your bicycle. “Then six months later I come back
to you and confess, saying: ‘Yes, I’m very sorry I stole your bike. Please forgive me.” “Being a good person, you say: ‘Yes. I forgive you.’ “But I keep the bike.” He went on: Some preachers speak of forgiveness as if it was something glib, cheap and easy. Whereas the real thing, he said, is costly, painful and difficult. Something that must involve making restitution for that which has been stolen. The story of Zaccheus, the corrupt tax collector, is the scriptural counter to Bicycle Theology. “In the face of meeting Jesus, Zaccheus says: I will return four times what was taken. What is times four? Code: with generosity of spirit. Not with mathematical exactitude. “But we often reduce forgiveness to saying sorry. “And we don’t return the bike.”
T *
* * * * he person who deliberately wrote Fr Michael’s address on the envelope of the letter bomb that almost killed him – one imagines them taking pains to get that address correct – may well still be alive in South Africa today. And feeling tormented by what he – or she – did. Fr Michael holds the key to the lock that would free that person from their guilt. But he has not turned that key. “I’m not full of hatred,” says Fr Michael. “I’m not bitter. I don’t want revenge. “But I haven’t forgiven anybody. “For me”, he said, “forgiveness is an I-Thou process. And since I don’t know who bombed me, there is as yet no-one to forgive. Forgiveness is not an abstract transaction. “If someone were to come forward and say: ‘I am the person who sent you the bomb. Please forgive me,’ I would be willing to turn the key that frees that person from guilt. “But first I would need to know if he still makes letter bombs.” Fr Michael now lives in Capetown, around the corner from the largest children’s hospital in Africa. “So if that person were to say: ‘Ah, I work at that hospital,’ I would know he had had a change of heart. My response would be: ‘Yes, of course, I forgive you.” “How much better that my assailant should continue working in a hospital rather than being locked up in prison.
Advent 2012
we preach too much, and listen not enough
“This is the justice of restoration, not the justice of punishment. “I believe 100 times more in the justice of restoration than the justice of punishment. “But again, maybe I’d sit and drink tea with my new friend and say: ‘Well, sir, I’ve forgiven you – but I still have no hands. I still have only one eye, and my eardrums are still damaged.’ “‘I’ll need someone to assist me for the rest of my life.’ “‘Of course, you’ll help pay for that person.’ “That is not a condition of forgiveness. But it is part of returning the bike. It’s part of making reparation and restitution in the ways that are possible.” Sometimes, says Fr Michael, we in the church use forgiveness as a weapon against people who are hurting. “People are crying out for us to acknowledge their pain, and we’re too quick to tell them: ‘You should forgive.’ “Instead of hearing what it is that they’re saying. “In time, they may well choose to travel the journey of forgiveness. “But we preach too much, and listen not enough.” With his work for the Institute of Healing of Memories, he’s doing his best to increase the listening. Lloyd Ashton is Communications Officer for the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, NZ & Polynesia. mediaofficer@ang.org.nz Footnotes 1 “The day I arrived in South Africa, I was robbed of being a human being… Apartheid robbed me of my humanity. It made me part of the oppressor group.” SABC interview 2012. 2 Available from Pleroma Christian Supplies management@pleroma.org.nz, $47.50.
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THEOLOGY
Tim Meadowcroft marvels at the powerful compassion shown by Jesus’ mother, and reflects on what she can teach us about God.
Holy Mary, meek and wild God loves us with the wild compassion of a mother’s love for her child.
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O
ur first glimpse of Mary, in Luke and John’s Gospels, is when Gabriel calls her to become the mother of Jesus. As a naive young girl, she appears more concerned with the mechanics of virginal conception, than the theological significance of a promised Saviour. Nevertheless, she responds in simple obedience to God, “Here am I” (Lk 1.38). Next, we see her caught up in a classic piece of family dynamics, the lost child. After mislaying their twelve-year-old son in Jerusalem, Mary and Joseph spend three days looking for him.
When they finally find him, with the teachers in the temple, Mary’s anxiety bursts forth in a reprimand, as mothers’ anxieties so often do. What must she have made of the casual lack of concern in Jesus’ response, “Why were you searching for me?” (Lk 1.49). To be fair to Jesus, we are told he went home and did as he was told. But the long letting go that all parents must achieve had already begun for Mary. We see it again in the wedding at Cana, perhaps the start of Jesus’ public ministry. When his mother tells Jesus that the wine has run out, he says “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” (Jn 2.3).
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No matter how hard commentators try not to let it, the Greek turn of phrase still smacks of an abrupt response. Yet Mary’s confidence in Jesus is unshaken as she tells the servants to listen to him. She is coming to terms with his adult self, learning to allow him to be different, while still being her son. In that light, I find it extraordinarily moving that one of Jesus’ last acts on the cross was to provide for his mother’s ongoing care by John (Jn 19.26-27). Although the Gospels are mostly interested in Jesus’ public pursuit of his Father’s business, one of his last acts on earth was to exercise the private duty of an eldest son towards his mother. And he addresses her in the same terms used at the wedding at Cana. As he did so, Mary stood at the foot of the cross, wincing as the Romans mocked her son, and fighting with Jesus for every breath he struggled to take. Her heart was breaking into a million pieces as she did so, and she wished with every fibre of her being that she could somehow be on the cross instead of him. How do I know that Mary would have felt like that? I know, because recently my daughter discovered that her baby had a nasty childhood cancer. As the initial shock set in, one of the things she said was, “It’s not fair; it should be me who has it”. I have thought a great deal about that mother’s response to her child’s suffering. It reflects, I think, something that we see throughout nature. The wild compassion of a mother’s love that is prepared to take
whatever risk is necessary to protect her child. I call it a wild compassion, because the compassion is directed toward the suffering child, but there is a wildness experienced by whoever is trying to hurt that child. This encounter with a mother’s love has recalled for me an interesting cluster of Old Testament words and ideas. One Hebrew word to express the mercy of God is ruchamah. Usually used of God, when used of humans it most often indicates compassion exercised by women. It is in the same word group as rechem, the word for womb, (Isa 49.15). So, it is a word that speaks subliminally of a mother’s love, and to say, “as such of this” is the compassion of God. It reminds me that God loves us with the wild compassion of a mother’s love for her child. It reminds me that God’s heart regularly breaks for us children, and God is prepared to suffer to whatever degree is required for us. In ancient Near Eastern terms, to fight the monsters of chaos on our behalf, no matter what the risk to himself. And in fact, God has done just that on a Roman cross, and God’s heart continues to break at the impact of the forces of evil on all God’s children. We catch a glimpse of this in passages like Hosea 11, where God is a parent longing for a wayward child, wishing that he could abandon the child (for his own emotional wellbeing), but finding himself with no option, but to keep on loving. Apart from the wonder of being so loved by the creator of the universe, there is a
Advent 2012
challenge for us as God’s image bearers, as co-creators with God. The way that human beings exercise compassion helps us to understand God’s compassion, but this understanding then bends back on itself. It calls us to be compassionate with the sort of wild compassion that God shows towards all his creatures. Mothers may show us the way in this kind of love, but none of us are exempt. All of us, like Mary, face the call to obedience. And part of that obedience will be the call to suffer with others. Not because we go looking for it (don’t, is my advice on that score), but because that’s the way life is. Mary had no idea what she was taking on when she met Gabriel and said, “Here am I”. But she saw it through to that bitter day at the foot of the cross. And neither do we know what our obedience to God entails when we sign on. I simply do not understand what Paul means in Colossians 1.24 when he says, “I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions”. But I think it might have something to do with this wild compassion of God for each of us. And there are those moments in life when we are called to exhibit that same wild compassion towards others. Rev Dr Tim Meadowcroft is Senior Lecturer in Biblical Studies at Laidlaw College and Dean of Laidlaw-Carey Graduate School. TMeadowcroft@laidlaw.ac.nz
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Page 29
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Advent 2012
SPIRITUALITY
In angels’ footsteps Kelvin Wright sets the pilgrim’s shell on his backpack and steps onto the Camino de Compostela’s path of miracles for the second time; never expecting for a moment what he’d encounter there.
It was an electrifying moment, but only the first of many.
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n the dining car of the train from Santiago de Compostela to Madrid I met an American of about my age, who like me, had just walked the Camino. He told me that he had recently nursed his wife through terminal cancer. Following her death, he went, lost and bereft, to the movies. In the multiplex, picking a film at random, he found himself alone in the theatre, watching the Martin Sheen film The Way. It’s a drama set on the Camino Santiago, which he had never heard of, until that moment. He isn’t a religious man, but as he watched, he heard an inner voice telling him that he too must travel to Spain and make that journey. So here he was, six months and ten thousand kilometres later, telling me that walking the Path of Miracles has changed his life. His story was not atypical. Everyone who walks the Camino has a reason for doing so, although that reason is not always what they’d expected it to be. Christians have been making the
journey to Santiago de Compostela since the mid 9th Century, when Bishop Theodemar of Iria discovered the remains of St. James the Great there. For at least a thousand years before that, pagans had made pilgrimages across the same piece of ground to Fisterre, the end of the earth. There, it was customary to burn one’s clothes and put on a new set, in a ritual of rebirthing. In the Middle Ages, with passage to the Holy Land closed by the crusades, Santiago de Compostela became one of the most important European pilgrim sites, with over half a million people visiting each year. That would mean of course, half a million reasons for going. Most were about getting the plenary indulgence that could be earned by completing the journey and undergoing it’s hardships. And, there was the opportunity to get closer to God by praying in the presence of the relics of one of God’s most esteemed servants. After falling into comparative disuse,
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numbers on the Camino are rising again to almost medieval levels. For a few, the old reasons, both pagan and Christian, are still valid. For the rest of us, it is not so clear cut. But that makes it no less compelling. For some, the outward reason is to make all the earth’s great journeys. The Camino Santiago is perhaps the cheapest and the most accessible. It is not so much a route, as a network of routes that branch all over Spain and into Europe. Dotted at convenient intervals round the network are hundreds of albergues, pilgrim hostels where it’s possible to find clean, safe accommodation for the equivalent of $NZ10-12 a night. Food is cheap, the scenery is often breathtaking, the company is good, and given the length and dramatic intensity of Spanish history, there is always some interesting ruin or stone edifice to view. For some, the health benefits of walking 800 km are important. But whatever the reason we think we are there, no-one makes this journey without the direct prompting of the Holy Spirit, whether it’s consciously acknowledged or not. A pilgrimage is a symbolic journey. Metaphorically, it represents the journey we all make through life. The great destination represents our hope that life will lead us, eventually, to God. As an icon of life, it contains all that we are likely to encounter on our earthly journey: pain and enjoyment, hardship and rest, moments of exquisite beauty and stretches of mind-numbing tedium. Any journey can act as a pilgrimage, but there is something that differentiates the Camino Santiago from other hikes and journeys, just as an icon differentiates itself from other paintings. Perhaps it is the hopes and prayers of literally millions of people who have walked this path that have soaked into the very soil of Northern Spain. Just as the prayers of centuries soak into the walls of great cathedrals. But there is something special about this path, noticed and commented on by everyone who takes it. I started my Camino in 2009, soon after a wrestling match with cancer. Setting out from St. Jean Pied de Port in France on a wet April Sunday morning, the first day took us over the Pyrenees. At around midday, after a climb of more than 3000 ft, I struggled to the summit of the pass in a gale that caused my trouser legs to flap on my shins like flags.
It was an unusual way for me to spend a Sunday morning. I thought about my then parish, now all asleep after their Sunday services. I began to pray for St. John’s and the people I knew, and to miss them all terribly. At that moment, a golden eagle – the symbol of St. John – rose over the brow of the hill and hovered above me for a few moments. It was an electrifying moment, but only the first of many. During those 17 days in 2009, when Clemency and I walked the 400km to Sahagun, and the 19 days this year when we returned to journey to St. James’s tomb, we have learned why the Way is often called The Path of Miracles. There is a kindness on the track, often manifested in the ordinary Spaniards we encountered and also in our fellow pilgrims. But there is also something deeper. The journey requires that you walk 20 or more kilometres a day, every day, for more than a month. The difficulty of doing this finds you out. Sooner or later, as happens with all icons, the Camino reflects back to you who you are, and what you are made of. Facing ourselves. This is the reason we are called to don the pilgrim’s mark and walk this ancient path. And I know the exact moment when the path faced me with myself. A hundred and thirty kilometres out from Santiago we took a side path to visit the ancient monastery at Samos. Founded in the 9th century, the great Benedictine house is now a huge complex with a five-storeyed cloister and an ornate gothic chapel. Clemency and I found a bed in the albergue built into the cellar, and set about our daily routine of unpacking, doing laundry and having a shower. As I began, I heard a crash and a cry of pain that I instantly knew was Clemency. She had missed a cubicle step and had fallen onto the hard tile floor with her full weight on an unprotected hip. An ambulance was called and we made a very fast journey to the city of Lugo about 50 km away, where we were taken to a large modern hospital. Clemency was taken for X-rays and I found myself alone. I feared a broken pelvis and was wondering just exactly what we were going to do next. I am a very self sufficient person, and all my life I have usually assumed that the best, most efficient way for anything to happen is for me to do it myself.
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But here I was, as far away from home as it’s possible to get, in a city which, until half an hour ago, I had never known existed. Nobody spoke any English. No one I cared about had any idea where I was. My pack, my wallet and ID were all 50 km away and I didn’t know for sure how I was going to get back there. I didn’t even know if the limit on my credit card would cover our medical expenses. I could do nothing, absolutely nothing; except trust God to get us out of this mess. God is good. The pelvis was not broken. We were treated with great kindness and charged nothing for ambulance and x-rays. And in those few hours I faced myself. More than in the glories of Santiago Cathedral, or the beauties of the walk, or the riches of Spanish culture, or the depth of the pilgrim community; that moment of utter helplessness and dependence on God was why I was led across the globe. The reasons for Clemency having such a difficult ending to her Camino are different, of course. While pilgrims walk in company, ultimately everyone makes the journey for their own reasons and in their own way. For her, it means she has some unfinished business and so we’ll need to go back. I am happy with that: I’m sure there is much else that God wishes to face me with yet. Rt Rev Kelvin Wright is Bishop of Dunedin. bishop@dn.anglican.org.nz
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CHILDREN
For many families, Christmas is one of the few times they enter a church. So each Christmas season offers us a unique opportunity to reach out to children and families, by making sure our churches are friendly, welcoming and memorable. Julie Hintz takes us on a journey into how that might change the way we are – if we really take it seriously.
O come,
A
all ye families
s we enter Advent, we can pause to take a look at who we are and what we do, and find new ways to involve and engage parents, caregivers
and children. We need to look for ways to create churches that are safe, healthy and nurturing spaces for people of all ages. That starts with the quality of our welcome, the way we include new people and how we build up relationships. It’s not always easy to change the way we do things, but having a vision for ministry to children and families is foundational to reaching our communities.
Old habits of focusing on adults’ needs and spirituality can be deeply entrenched. It can be tempting to see becoming a familyfriendly church as an almost insurmountable goal. However, there are some easy (and not-so-easy) things to do to welcome families into our places of worship.
Walk in for the first time To start, let’s take a stroll into your church. From the street, through visitors’ eyes, walk up to your main entrance. Do you know how to get there? Is the entrance clearly sign posted? What do you notice as you walk? Is there anything in the car park or entrance that would indicate that families are welcome? Once you come through the doors, do you know where to go? Is there a place for children and young families that you can see? Did you notice where the toilets are?
Changing your viewpoint Jesus happily ‘interrupted’ the big people’s time to take care of the little ones, they’re just that important!
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Now, get down on your knees, literally. Young children are at about our kneeling height, so try kneeling at the door. Kneel in the foyer, at the welcome desk, where morning tea is served and in the pews or seats. What do you see now? What does it feel like? Can you see the front of the church from your seat? Can you reach the biscuits? Can you reach the sink when you want to wash
your hands? Unless we get down to child height, it’s hard to understand how children experience our big person’s world. It can be frustrating to be a child in this adult-sized world and uncomfortable children can make it difficult for the whole family to enjoy being at church. Then when adults don’t know what to do, they too feel out of their depth. Just think of a new family that’s on their way to your church this morning. Let’s see just how good it could be for them.
Imagine Rachel, the mum, has organized and fed her three children, dressed the baby and packed the nappy bag. She’s excited and a bit nervous, it’s been a long time since she last went to church. As they pull into the car park, it’s already full, but Rachel’s relieved to see a parking space marked ‘families with children’. She pulls in and gets out of the car. Helping the children and getting the pram, she’s thankful she doesn’t have to cross the street or walk a long way through a busy car park. Tom, her 8 year old, points out a sign that marks the main entrance. It was clearly made by a child and has a huge red arrow on it. “That’s something I could make”, Tom thinks to himself. He smiles. At the door, a woman welcomes them with a big smile. Her name is Sonja and she says she’s really glad they’re there. Sonja shakes their hands and pats baby Marie. Rachel thanks her and tells her
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they’re new. Sonja takes them over to the welcome desk. A lady in a bright blue tee-shirt comes over to see the two kids. “Hi, I’m Beth. I’m one of the kids’ leaders. Would you like to make your own name tags?” Tom and Amy say yes, and decorate their name tags at a small table. Rachel gets the latest parish magazine, a children and youth happenings list, and the flyer for an upcoming family event. Would she like to fill in a welcome form to be contacted later? Around the foyer, Rachel, Amy and Tom see pictures of children on a notice board and a colourful KIDZONE banner. There’s a collage of small handprints hanging by the front door. Amy runs over and places her hand over a few of the prints to see if she ‘fits’. Blue-shirted Beth comes over. “We all stay together for songs at the start of the service, then when the children’s programme’s announced, I’ll come over.” To Tom and Amy, Beth continues, “If Mum says it’s OK, then you two can come out to KidZone with me a little later. We’ll play some games, have a story and learn stuff about God. It’s lots of fun.” Tom and Amy are excited about KidZone and Beth. They notice two other big people in bright blue shirts. “If you like, there are some seats near the front for families” says Sonja. Rachel shakes her head no. “That’s OK,” says Sonja, leading them to seats closer to the back. Tom and Amy get two bright red cushions, so they’ll be tall enough to see.
Sorting out the basics Sonja points out the parent-child room with its changing pad, wet wipes and nappy
bin. “We have toys and books there too. “I’ll be back soon,” she says. Sonja returns with musical instruments for them and says how some children like to go to the front during the songs. Tom and Amy can go too, or they can stay with their Mum and play instruments there. Sonja gives each one a cloth activity bag with felts, colouring sheets and a wooden backboard. They can draw and colour if they stay in the service with Mum. As Sonja sits down, Rachel’s baby starts to fuss. “Don’t worry,” she says, “we love children and babies here and don’t mind a bit of noise. If you need to feed her, you’re welcome to stay here or go to the parentchild room.” The vicar stands up and welcomes everyone. “A special welcome to Rachel, Tom, Amy and Marie today.” He looks round to find them and Tom waves, he waves back. After the children’s song, the kid’s programme is announced and the vicar prays for them. Beth comes over and asks if Tom and Amy would like to come out. They both want to go. Rachel notices there are three leaders and about 10 children. Sonja sits with Rachel during the entire service. Rachel relaxes as people round her smile and encourage her. When the children come back, they’re excited to show Mum the clay fish they’ve made. Next is communion. Rachel isn’t sure if she’s supposed to take communion or what the children should do. The vicar invites everyone to come forward. “You’re all welcome to join us at the Lord’s Table.” He goes on to explain that if caregivers prefer, children can receive a blessing instead. At the end of the service, everyone’s invited to morning tea. Rachel packs up her things as another family comes over and chats. In the hall Beth calls out “Children’s food over here”. Tom and Amy see yummy biscuits and drink. Rachel follows them over and explains that Amy has peanut allergies. Beth brings out a special snack, “We have nut free, gluten free and dairy free biscuits,” she says. In the hall, Rachel and her family are included in conversation and invited for lunch. Even though she has to get home to put baby Marie to bed, Rachel exchanges phone numbers with the other family to meet later in the week. As they’re leaving, Beth and Sonja both say how nice it was to meet them. The vicar is waiting by the door and spends a minute with the family. He walks them to their car. “We’re so glad you could join us,” he says. “Is there anything we can help you with?”
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Rachel smiles. She can’t think of anything she needs. “Someone will get in touch. Bye kids, nice to meet you Tom, Amy and Marie!” During the week someone phones Rachel to see how she’s going and the other church family gets in touch about an event. Rachel can’t believe how wonderful church was. She feels welcomed and accepted. Tom said he was an important part of KidZone because God really loves him, and Amy says she had fun acting out the story with another girl. They all feel like they really belong. * * * * * Maybe you recognize your church in the story. More likely you can see bits of what you do and some of what you’d like to do. That’s OK. Being family-friendly takes time, work and a real vision to be welcoming for children. That starts with acknowledging people of all ages and stages as full members of the body of Christ. And that definitely includes children. So often we tend to keep young ones off to the side as we worship, pray and celebrate together. We ask children to be quiet and still, and expect parents to remove their children (and hence themselves) when there’s any disruption to the big people’s service. But Jesus had quite a different view of children. “People (parents) were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them,
“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them.... And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.” Mark 10: 13,16 Jesus happily ‘interrupted’ the big people’s time to take care of the little ones they’re just that important! Children have a lot to offer and we need to take their spirituality seriously too. No matter where you are on the journey of being more inclusive and accepting of families, each of us can make a start. This Advent and Christmas season, let’s be churches that don’t just allow children and families in. Let’s invite, welcome and include families, helping bring God’s love, hope and joy into their lives. Ms Julie Hintz is the StrandZ Children’s Ministry Enabler for the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand & Polynesia. julie@strandz.org.nz Page 33
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C R E AT I O N
Science writer Sarah Wilcox discovers Antarctica afresh, through the eyes of faith.
I
t would be fair to say that Gareth Morgan is not too keen on the church. Arguably, neither were most of theother crew members on the “Our Far South” trip to Antarctica in February 2012. But I’d hazard a guess, that for most of us, it was a profoundly spiritual experience. For me, the presence of God on the journey was palpable – in the environment, birds and animals, as they reflected the changing conditions of the voyage south by sea. God was there too, in the fifty-strong crew whom I now call friends. The trip’s aim was to inspire in us New Zealanders a pride and passion for the land and ocean south of Stewart Island. That purpose meshed well with my own love of the natural world and experience as a science communicator. Gareth sums up the “Our Far South” idea in his book, A Happy Feat “If we could get some scientists along to enlighten the rest of us, and others to entertain us, then we could be a University by day and a party ship by night. Didn’t sound too bad. Then we would communicate our findings to the other 4.5 million Kiwis who weren’t lucky enough to be aboard with us.” And so we set out. Thirty days, five subantarctic island groups, thousands of kilometres of ocean and six species of penguin later, we arrived back in Lyttelton – all ready to spread the word about the wonders we had seen and why it matters so much that we protect this part of God’s creation. One stand-out day was at Sandy Bay Page 34
beach on Macquarie Island, where we sat surrounded by king penguins – outsized and curious, but otherwise quite nonplussed. I reckon plenty of worship went on through camera lenses that day. We all wanted to capture the extraordinary sights on that subantarctic island. We all hoped to somehow record and communicate the scale of that experience – so that others might value and begin to care about the wonders that we’d seen face to face. There were other gentler moments too, which in their own way were no less significant. On calmer days, I saw important men (who’d left big jobs back at home) sit quite still for hours on the deck, just soaking in the experience. At times their eyes were lifted upwards, trained on the albatross that soared so effortlessly around us. It wasn’t always quite that pleasant. After the first seven days in a row at sea, even Nick Tansley’s ever-cheerful disposition was getting a little tarnished. We’d had competitions to guess when we’d spot the first iceberg. We’d marked our Antarctic Circle crossing (at 60 degrees South) with a ceremony and an inkpad penguin stamp on the forehead. Then there was the regular cycle of lectures, team time and flash threecourse dinners to keep us occupied. In fact it was hard to get time alone. There were people to socialise with at every meal, whether you felt like it or not. It was busy too, writing a science blog every day and pressing seaweed samples from each of the islands we visited. So on the eighth day, it was a joy to finally spot Mt Melbourne on the horizon and catch our first glimpse of the Antarctic continent itself. Calm, clear conditions welcomed us as we steamed towards McMurdo Sound that evening into an unbelievably beautiful scene of ice-draped landscape lit by the setting sun. With Mt Erebus rising up on our left and ice sheets crackling beneath us on the sea’s surface, I knew that we had reached the end of the earth and entered an ‘other’ place. At four o’clock that morning I woke with a start as the ship dropped anchor. Silently pulling on layers and layers of clothes, I grabbed my camera and slipped
unnoticed out of the cabin. I was alone in a silent Antarctic dawn, with the icy panorama stretching out around me in every direction. Patched sea ice covered the water like a quilt. A mountain range lavishly cloaked with ice was to the east, and ice cliffs with stalactites stood where a beach should have been. For an hour I watched and took pictures, as the pink of dawn faded into a dull grey day, and the cold air gradually sucked the heat away from me. Back in the cabin, I reflected on the different creative tools that God chooses to use here. He sets down the green and growing and picks up the black and white, to work with ice, snow and rock, making something more dramatic, but just as beautiful. Above Scott Base stands a memorial cross for Captain Scott and his four companions who died on their way back from the South Pole. That cross was a ‘thin place’, where heaven and earth came close. Originally painted white by those who’d searched in vain for Scott’s missing party, the large wooden cross now shows no trace of paint. Every last molecule has been stripped off by one hundred years of snow, ice and intense wind. I shooed the rest of the group down the hill, so I could be alone for a moment beside the cross, and remember the men who’d died. Looking south from the cross, the Ross Ice Shelf leads to the Transantarctic Mountains and then rises to the Polar Plateau, all in endless white beneath the blue sky. Even now, it’s this vast, white Antarctic landscape that remains with me. Maybe heaven will be like this? And I, like Scott and his men, will one day be inevitably drawn towards its endless unknown eternity. In a different kind of experience I encountered Scott’s Terra Nova hut, a small refuge that stands for human presence in that harsh icy expanse. The abandoned wooden hut felt warm and full of humanity, compared with the bleakness and cold outside. Edward Wilson was one of the British explorers who’d lived there. He was a doctor, naturalist, ornithologist and artist. Affectionately nicknamed Uncle Bill, his
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wisdom was often sought by other party members. Captain Scott wrote of him, “Words must always fail me when I talk of Bill Wilson. I believe he really is the finest character I ever met.” I felt very drawn to Wilson, not only in the affection we share for the natural world, but in our common belief and simple trust in the same God. I had a gut reaction on entering this hut, and noticed that I had clasped my hand over my mouth in disbelief at what I was seeing. This was no museum exhibition, nor even an on-site historic reconstruction. It was real. Standing in this place, their place, I was overcome by the knowledge of their degrading and dreadful suffering on the one hand, and their mateship, manners and gutsy British pride on the other. Edward’s words to his wife Ory in a letter from 1899 give an insight into the man. “Look at life carefully,” he said. “The only things worth being disappointed in or worrying about are in ourselves, not in externals. “Take life as it comes and do what lies straight in front of you. It’s only real carelessness about one’s own will and absolute hope and confidence in God’s, that can teach one to believe that whatever is, is best.” Many times these words have encouraged me to just keep going, believing that doing what lies straight in front of me is, in fact, the best thing to do. A polar plunge from the ship on our way home, left me feeling enlivened and refreshed. Becoming one with the waters of the Ross Sea was like a kind of violent fullimmersion Antarctic baptism. That polar baptism has become for me a rite of entry into the family of all who’ve visited Antarctica. Now, with them, I am bound to do all I can to tell others about this unique and spectacular part of God’s creation and to encourage its care and protection.
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I... clasped my hand over my mouth in disbelief at what I was seeing.
Sarah Wilcox is a freelance science communicator who belongs to St Paul’s Cathedral Wellington and Central Baptist Church. sarah@descipher.co.nz Page 35
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LITURGY
New ways
to remember B In the wake of the Vietnam War, ANZAC Day went through a low ebb. But times have changed.
Because the further the wars of the twentieth century have receded in history’s rear vision mirror, the greater is our desire to remember.
...because it matters to them, it matters to me.
And nowhere is that desire stronger, it seems, than in the hearts of the young. You’ve only got to see the newscasts from the Gallipoli Peninsular on April 25 to see that. Lloyd Ashton spoke to one priest who is searching for new ways to honour those who served us.
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y late April, it can get nippy in the predawn hours in Pahiatua. It’s usually misty. Often raining, too. But on April 25, The Rev Wendy Scott wouldn’t be anywhere else. If you were there, you’d spot her in the front rank of a platoon of old men marching down the middle of the town’s main street, heading for the cenotaph. There’s no talk. No sounds, save the clump, clump of marching feet and the clink, clink of medals. It’s ANZAC day, of course, and for Wendy, taking part in that commemoration is “an awesome experience.” Those marchers pass a throng of silent onlookers along their way. Hosts of school
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Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.
children are among them, the Brownies and Pippins who’ve slept over in St Peter’s Anglican Church hall just so they can fall in with the marchers, and wait their turn to lay their wreaths at the foot of the memorial to the fallen. And to intone, as they have done in Pahiatua each year since 1916: They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
That dawn service over for another year, Wendy briefly mixes and mingles with the old service men. She doesn’t muck around, though. Because at Eketahuna, twenty minutes away, they’re waiting for her to lead another remembrance service. Before she gets there she’ll stop at Hamua hall – blink and you’ll miss it – to say prayers with the locals before a war memorial honour board. People materialise from the hills and the farms around to join her there. And that’s the amazing thing, says Wendy. Because where small town New Zealand is concerned, those acts of remembrance have grown neither old nor weary. Anzac Day, says Wendy, “just gets bigger, and bigger and bigger. It is one of the main drawing points for our community.” For her, that’s fascinating to observe. Because just as the curve of routine churchgoing is heading downhill, the commemorations of Anzac Day, the funerals for returned-servicemen, and the Remembrance Day observations have only grown more vital.
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“People crave these commemorations,” she says, “because they mark the narratives which bind our communities together. No-one is untouched – it is the sacrifice and service of their grandfathers, or their great grandfathers that they are remembering.” “For them, that matters. “And because it matters to them, it matters to me.” So much so, that Wendy wants to contribute more. She’s joined forces with Lance Lukin – the Anglican priest who is the Principal Chaplain for the New Zealand Armed Forces – to begin work on a book of resources that they hope clergy and lay people leading ANZAC Day services, funerals for service people and Remembrance Day ceremonies will find useful. And Wendy and Lance are inviting contributions. “What resources do folk have?” asks Wendy. “What do they find helpful? “If they’re taking a funeral for an exserviceman, what do they find that works – and would be willing to share with other ministers and lay people?” There’s any amount of material out there that comes from overseas, says Wendy. But there is a real need for hymns, prayers and reflections that speak of us in Aotearoa New Zealand. The Defence Force is right behind Wendy and Lance’s project – and they’re keen to have the book published by 2015, which will mark the 100th anniversary of the landing on the Gallipoli Peninsula. 2721 Kiwi soldiers – almost a quarter of those who landed on those beaches – were killed there or died of their wounds. Little wonder then, that at Pahiatua, Eketahuna, Hamua – and in a hundred other Kiwi towns – they’re craving for new ways to remember their grandfathers, great grandfathers and great uncles. If you’ve got material that you think could work for Wendy and Lance’s project, Wendy would love to hear from you. wendyscott@inspire.net.nz Lloyd Ashton is Media Officer for the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand & Polynesia mediaofficer@ang.org.nz Page 37
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ENVIRONMENT
Phillip Donnell faces the Goliath of global environmental degradation and offers us some ways forward
Confronting the
ecological giant
E
vidence of major environmental degradation bombards us daily through the media. Pollution is affecting our air, water and soil. Renewable resources of fisheries, water and forests are suffering overuse. Wetlands, coastal reefs and other natural habitats are being destroyed. And today’s accelerated rates of animal extinction are sometimes a thousand times worse than the fossil record average. Not to mention global temperature and sea-level rises. Thermal gradients are shifting faster than ecosystems can adjust, bringing bigger storms and more droughts. The ‘groans of creation’ that Paul1 referred to are getting undeniably louder and longer. Just five years ago, a group of almost 400 international scientists presented the UN with a 500-page report on the Global Environmental Outlook, known as ‘GEO4’. That report’s analysis showed a planetary population living well beyond its means. It foresaw crises brewing for many of Earth’s ecosystems. No longer are we just endangering other species, it said, but now, we humans are becoming endangered too. Without concerted effort, the scientists claim, in 50 years’ time we’ll have rendered this planet unable to repair and heal itself. To see that on a global scale is a first in
God has given us both the resources and the will to change
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human history. Then in June this year, the latest ‘GEO5’ found that unless resource use and pollution rates change, then ‘abrupt and possibly irreversible changes to the lifesupport functions of the planet are likely to occur, with significant adverse implications for human well-being’ So how should we respond in the face of this? How do we take action against this potentially overwhelming giant of a global threat? And how should we respond as Christians? The answer is, in the same way that we’ve met seemingly insurmountable challenges before. With God’s help. God has given us both the resources and the will to change. Going back to David vs. Goliath2 we can find the resources we need, to face the ecological giant. Goliath was enormous, larger than life. He was a proven soldier and a Philistine champion, who defied, terrorized, and shocked the Israelites daily. Everything about him made them feel anxious and desperate. Then, in stark contrast to that state, David came onto the scene. He was just a boy, but proved to be a true warrior for God. Choosing five smooth stones from the wadi3, he felled that giant, with the humblest of technology. That put the Philistines to flight. But David’s actions also abolished the emotional and spiritual giant from the Israelites’ hearts. It’s that hope, trust, courage and optimism that can empower us as we face our ecological giants without fear or doubt. The secret lies in faith. Faith in the God who guides and enables our efforts, multiplies our usefulness, and enhances our effectiveness
whenever we work for God’s reign. And a key way that God works is through the world’s largest social movement; the church. If every local church pursued its biblical mandate4 for environmental stewardship and took a lead for “such a time as this”5 then what could we achieve? Imagine the potential! Our individual actions and our commitment to God’s hopeful future, may seem small, but collectively they could have a significant impact on our world. Here are some stones that you as an individual or a church community can select from the wadi to be “enviro-stewards” with impact.
As individuals A Small Stone Support an environmental NGO, such as the Christian conservation organisation, A Rocha. A Medium Stone Get involved in a hands-on environmental project. A community garden, habitat restoration, or pest eradication. A Big Stone Make earth-keeping an integral part of your lifestyle, reflected in day-to-day decision-making. How do you care for the earth in your spending, work, consumption, transportation and waste management? Simplify. Buy less. Waste less. Save more. Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.
As a faith community A Small Stone Give some focus to creation and its care in your worship and ministry programmes. A Medium Stone Conduct an audit of your environmental impact. Take practical and measurable steps to improve it (shrink your carbon footprint). A Big Stone Plan, initiate and resource a practical environmental project. Phillip Donnell is the EnviroChurches Facilitator for the Christian conservation organisation A Rocha Aotearoa New Zealand and teaches for Bishopdale College in Tauranga. pjdonnell@orcon.net.nz
Biblical references 1. The groans of creation, Romans 8:22 2. David and Goliath, 1 Samuel 17:1-58 3. Rocky streambed or channel 4. Biblical mandate for stewardship, Genesis 1:26-28, 2:15 5. A time such as this, Esther 4:14
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BOOKS
Love, war and endurance KEITH HARPER: MAN WITH A MISSION SUZANNE MCPHERSON MCPHERSON, WAIKANAE, 2012 macaccess@xtra.co.nz $35 incl. p&p Geoff Haworth
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his book is a window into the life of the Rev’d Keith Harper, a West Coast Anglican clergyman who was the only chaplain to be killed in action with New Zealand forces during World War II. He was amongst an uncommon breed of clergy who could minister well on the South Island’s isolated and windswept West Coast, which demands much resilience of its inhabitants. He served in the 1930s and early ‘40s as vicar of Kumara, and of Ross and South Westland. Through numerous interviews and Harper’s own letters and articles for the West Coast Churchman, this book paints a picture of an intelligent, articulate, dedicated and multi-talented man. His skills as a mechanic, musician, father and priest all equipped him to later become a respected army chaplain. In that role, a particular dedication to “his men” motivated
him to take risks for them, which ultimately contributed to his death at Monte Cassino in 1944. This book reads better than a straightforward family memoir, but its extensive photographs could have been better referenced, and in places, quotes would have benefited from editing. On one level, it remains its author Suzanne MacPherson’s personal and painstakingly researched tribute to the father she barely remembers (who left Trentham for war when she was four years old). On another level, it conveys an authentic voice from the West Coast between the two World Wars and gives fresh insight into the realities faced by wartime army chaplains and their families back home. Canon Geoff Haworth is Vicar of Kaiapoi and author of Marching as to War? The Anglican Church in New Zealand during World War II. gmrhaworth@xtra.co.nz
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Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
BOOKS
What is Christ doing? Ethics in the Presence of Christ By Christopher Holmes T&T Clark, London, 2012 www.amazon.com $ 34.95 JIM WHITE
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he author refers to this work as an essay, 150 pages of essay. To my mind, it’s a sustained and deep meditation on ethics and the ongoing presence of Christ. In short, this meditation asks us to take real time to contemplate, not “What would Jesus do?” but rather, “What is Christ doing?” Christopher Holmes is Senior Lecturer in Systematic Theology at the University of Otago. So, this is local writing. We should sit up and take notice. It isn’t comfortable homegrown though. Bonhoeffer and Barth are major influences. In fact, it often feels like one’s reading Barth’s Church Dogmatics. The bulk of the book’s chapters are an exegesis of passages from the Gospel of John. Holmes has a very high view of scripture, confirmed in the fascinating final chapter. He writes:
“My appropriation of John is not an addendum to points that could very well be made independent of it. I would not have been able to offer the account I have without this text.” [p.142] Regardless of whether you are persuaded by Holmes’ points, these chapters are deeply stimulating. Many would gain from reflecting on the dense third chapter ‘On the Presence of Christ’s Truth.’ The perplexing feature of this book is that against the backdrop of, say, our nation considering Marriage Equality, or possibly Euthanasia, many would find it of no particular use at all. This is not to say that is the case, although Holmes doesn’t engage in application. It is just that over and over we are asked to consider the promise of the Spirit; ‘he will guide you into all truth’. Therefore, we do not strive to make Scripture’s message concrete, but submit to conditions whereby its concreteness is fulfilled: his ministry as ongoing…” [ p.151] So this essay invites meditation. Holmes is correct when he says “ethics’ centre is to be the presence and ongoing ministry of Christ.” [p.7] From there, the questions that arise are epistemological and ethical. How do we
know we are discerning the present-tense reality of Christ’s presence? What practices (or ethics) are peculiar and proper in this presence? I dare say, ‘I might be some time.’ Rt Rev Jim White is Assistant Bishop of Auckland. jwhite@auckanglican.org.nz
Wellington - 2 March 2013
PLUS
Auckland - 16 March 2013
Register: www.sunz.org.nz
SCRIPTURE UNION plus NEW WINE partner to present this year’s Children’s Leaders Conference with keynote speaker Mark Griffiths.
Order a free brochure: email way2go@sunz.org.nz or call 0508 423 836
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Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
BOOKS
Gospel from the capital I SING BECAUSE I HAVE A SONG: SPEAKING FROM OUR SACRED SPACE BY FRANK NELSON WELLINGTON CATHEDRAL OF ST PAUL, $25 + p&p HELEN JACOBI
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n this book Frank Nelson shares 40 sermons from his eight years as Dean of Wellington’s Cathedral of St Paul. One collection of English Cathedral sermons I’ve seen starts with the words “Cathedrals have been described as sermons in stone.” Unfortunately the sermons in that book are rather “stone like”. Instead of preaching the gospel, they focus on commemorations and anniversaries, and reflect on the traditions of their buildings. Frank Nelson’s preaching does not fall into that trap.
He preaches the gospel. Sermons are of course an aural form of communication, they’re designed to be heard and not read. Yet even on paper, Frank’s sermons speak into the sacred and public space of his cathedral and into the lives of his readers. We hear of public and political events; tsunamis, bush fires, South African history, the Rugby World Cup. We hear church debates; the Anglican Communion Covenant and the Three Tikanga constitution. We hear about the life of Wellington Cathedral; the cathedral-hosted ball, the seasons of Advent and Easter, the choir tour to England, the departure of a Music Director and Back to Church Sunday. All of these reflections are grounded and woven together
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Very Rev Helen Jacobi is Dean of St John's Cathedral, Waiapu. dean@napiercathedral.org.nz
Whether it’s an LTh for potential ministry, or a paper or two for personal interest - we can fit serious part-time courses around your lifestyle.
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Remembrance Sunday, a day when Wellington Cathedral is expected to be very traditional. The sermon is a fine piece of crafting and was probably (deliberately) rather unsettling for its audience. In my Chicago classes for the D.Min in preaching, we were asked the same question after every practice sermon. “Did you hear the gospel?” The answer for Frank’s book is an emphatic “Yes!” We heard the gospel preached into the lives of Wellingtonians over eight years, woven with contemporary and recalled events. Frank’s sermons are not stone, they are song, and the song is even better for the hearing.
Study Theology from home
Taonga No. 40 Crossword solution 1
with the gospel message. The challenge for a cathedral preacher is to find points of connection for regulars, guests, tourists and the curious, while remaining faithful to the gospel and to oneself. Frank touches on all of these. The “best” stories are ones that eavesdrop on his own reflections and struggles from South Africa. In one sermon, Frank wrestles with having lived in a country with government violence and the armed struggle against apartheid. But the finest is left to last. A sermon from 2005, it weaves the death of a young Palestinian boy with the tale of Tarore, the death of Green Party leader Rod Donald, the death of Puti Murray (the first Maori woman ordained priest) and the story of the Good Samaritan. And all on
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Introduction to Theology Held in Dunedin, 21 - 24 January 2013
Introduction to Pastoral Theology Held in Christchurch, 2 - 4 July 2013
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Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012
FILM
Angels, whisky and grit John Bluck discovers the latest on-screen gem from Scotland in Ken Loach’s new film, ‘Angels‘ Share’. It offers miracles aplenty – even despite its violent, bad-mouthing, ‘on the edge’ lads.
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f you want to avoid a serving of syrup and sentimentality when you go to the movies, then look for the name Ken Loach. This 75 year-old British director has been delivering gritty, honest fare for 50 years and shows no sign of slowing up with this latest offering. His speciality, dating back to the memorable “Kes”, is following the fortunes of troubled young men who manage to find some sort of healing and redemption against huge odds, often with the help of an unlikely older mentor who provides unpatronising support. This is the sort of story that turns mushy in Hollywood hands, but not in Loach’s. He follows the fortunes of his flawed young heroes with great care and unflinching honesty. In this film, it’s a young thug called Paul Brannigan who teeters on the edge of a lifetime in prison, but finds his way again with the help of a young girlfriend and baby. And
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along for the ride are a bunch of wild mates doing community service with him, and a supervisor called Harry – who keeps him out of trouble, well, most of the time. There are several miracles in this film. First, there’s the ability of its young, non-professional actors to draw incredible depth and humanity from their roles. Then, there’s Paul’s triumph to break the cycle of family violence, neglect and abuse that frames his nasty, brutal life in Glasgow. Ultimately, there’s the power of simple friendship to transform the man, and the love of a girlfriend who won’t give up on him. This isn’t a film for the faint-hearted. The Glaswegian language and violence is as hard to watch and hear as it is to follow the proceedings of our own Youth Courts. But the magic of this movie is that Loach frames this material of despair with genuine comedy, in the tradition of old classics like “Whisky Galore”. Scotland’s story is a mix of tough and funny, washed down with a good single malt. It’s a potent formula. The whisky industry (wonderfully explored in all its quaint, archaic and hugely expensive style) provides the setting for the comic caper that the film turns into. There’s a Robin Hoodish, anarchic flavour to the escapades of Paul and his mates that leaves you feeling, in
moral terms, slightly off balance. They get away with their crime, but it’s only whisky after all, and done for the best of causes, with the best of intentions. Loach delights in bewildering his audience with an unsettling blend of shock and delight. It is a film about small miracles. Not least the angels' share that provides the title – a reference to the two percent of whisky that disappears from every barrel. Is it through evaporation, or do the angels siphon it off in the night? It would be easy enough to do, as this film shows, through the role of a young man who is anything but an angel, but manages with a little help from his friends, to find a life and a future. The movie leaves us believing it might just work out for him. Rt Rev John Bluck lives in Pakari, north of Auckland. bluck@vodafone.co.nz
Anglican Taonga
Advent 2012 ADVENT
F R O M T H E FA R S I D E
Imogen de la Bere’s pilgrimage to Florence revealed more than the city’s holy sites.
A new Canterbury Tale Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour…
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n sweetest Middle English and no trace of her Kiwi accent, Emma, sitting over dinner in a small French town, reminded us of the historical precedent for our journey, no doubt to the confusion of the patron, who was already struggling to understand either our English or our French. Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne…..
There were eight of us and we were driving across Europe, on our way to meet another sixteen people, bound for a convent poised on a hilltop above Florence. Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
Yes, we were modern pilgrims, not all that far removed from Chaucer’s in spirit and intent, though perhaps a bit lacking in the story-telling department. I had been working on this project for a year, and its manifold complexities were just becoming clear. Twenty-four people ranging in age from nineteen to seventy-five, encompassing priests and atheists; people with drink problems and eating problems; with physical and emotional disabilities; people who love to spend money thrown
in with the poor and the miserly. People who want every detail planned and every Euro counted, with free spirits who want to walk out after breakfast without a plan and come back whenever. (The last being tricky with a curfew – Mother Tarcisia always buzzed latecomers in, but would appear dramatically from an upper window in an unspoken gesture of rebuke.) What differentiates a pilgrimage from a holiday? Some people came along thinking they were getting a cheap stay in a beautiful place, with a sidedish of churchy stuff they could easily push away. What they found was something profoundly different, for a pilgrimage is a test of character, no matter how comfortable the beds and good the food. People are thrown together with strangers, and because of the ethos of their surroundings, are forced to behave in a Christian manner. You cannot raise your voice when a tireless nun in her eighties is running up and down stairs to look after you. You cannot demand crossly when a young Ugandan nun, comes direct from reciting the evening office, and greets you with a smile direct from heaven. In planning the pilgrimage I had deliberately made certain aspects a little hard, forcing people to rely on each other. I could have laid on a coach, but instead I bought everybody bus tickets. I could have
set out an agenda and trailed them round the tourist hot spots, shouting above the babble of the hoards, while waving an umbrella. Instead we made suggestions about lovely or unfrequented places, and sent them off in gospel-like twos and threes, to return in time for Mass and communal dinner. What emerges when people are put on their mettle in a Christian context is a glimpse of the true self, the one God sees. The selfish and gluttonous and lazy show themselves up, the cowardly find plenty to fear, while the bold, resourceful, kind and loving reveal their virtues to the world – or at least to the whole pilgrimage body, which is indeed, as Chaucer mooted, a microcosm of the world. If you are planning a trip to Italy, you can stay in the amazingly lovely Villa Agape just above Florence as an ordinary guest. You can book through www.booking.com. Group bookings to this and a myriad other religious houses can be arranged through www. monasterystays.com. And no, I’m not getting a kick back for telling you this – though I suppose it’s worth a try for next time. They want to go to Palermo next… Oh joy! Imogen de la Bere is a kiwi writer living in St Albans, England. delberi@googlemail.com
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Two Bedroom
Information: This floor plan is correct as at April 2011. Minor changes may be made to the configuration and construction. Prospective residents should satisfy themselves as to the suitability of the final pro licences for units at the village are secured by a first-ranking encumbrance over the village land i
Artist’s impression of the new Kay Hawk and Gowing Apartments available at Selwyn Heights Village, Hillsborough, in 2013.
If you’ve got plans to move to a retirement village, you’ll find the blueprint for success right here! We have brand new apartments opening soon that demonstrate The Selwyn Foundation’s ongoing commitment to providing the retirement lifestyle you’ve always dreamed of. Selwyn villages are warm, caring communities that make the transition to retirement village living something special to look forward to. Our apartments offer great value, too, with all whiteware and an underground carpark included in the price. Villages are situated in convenient locations in Point Chevalier, Hillsborough, Papakura, Whangarei, Hamilton and Cambridge. If you’re thinking about moving, contact us for a visit today! Call 0800 4 SELWYN (0800 473 599), email mail@selwyncare.org.nz, or visit www.selwyncare.org.nz
Selwyn retirement villages are owned by The Selwyn Foundation, a charitable trust with Christian values. All occupation licences for units at the villages will be secured by a first-ranking encumbrance over the village land in favour of the Statutory Supervisor.
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