June 4th

Today is June 4th, 24 years on from the June 4th that made today’s date a “thing”.

That’s mostly how it’s referred to here – not as Tiananmen Square, but as June 4th.

It often seems strange to me that I live in China.  On June 4th it seems especially strange.

It is easy to insulate yourself in the bubble of your everyday life.  I am busy.  My neighbours are friendly.  People are kind.  They try to understand my poorly constructed and pronounced Chinese.  The parks are beautiful.  I’ve got a soft spot for dragons.  It is easy to cycle here.  Chinese food is delicious (well some of it, and I’m mostly able to choose what I eat).  In many ways China is an easy place to live, full of opportunity, and even on the days that the internet restrictions drive me nuts or the air pollution chokes me, I feel the privilege of living here.

But June 4th.  It reminds me that I encounter only a very small slither of life in China. And that as a condition of being here, I agreed to refrain from criticising the Government (it is part of the ethical conduct clause, though the Congregation prefaced that clause with “while it may be neither inappropriate nor unethical, you must nevertheless refrain from…).   I don’t always know what I should say or do instead.

June 4th happened. Today we are remembering.  And praying for that day when justice and mercy kiss and suffering and death are no more and the lion lays down with the lamb.

Pentecost

(Apologies about the phone pictures – packing a camera did not make it on the “things to carry to church” list, and we had to improvise!)

Happy Pentecost!  This is a record of some of the ways we celebrate Pentecost at Congregation of the Good Shepherd, a record for our life together, and because some people have asked what, exactly, we were doing with 4.5kg of glass pebbles purchased from an aquarium-supplies stall at the Flower Market.

We are a multilingual community.  We had a large whiteboard in the foyer, and invited people to write messages of greeting and welcome in a language they know or to draw a picture if writing words wasn’t their thing (preschoolers love whiteboards too!).

We arrived to the Communion Table looking like the picture above (confessions of a ’4′ on the Enneagram: it didn’t meet my aesthetic hopes, but it worked just fine anyway!).

Some back story:  During Lent we have a 7metre long purple cloth that goes from the top of the main aisle to the Table where it finishes under the central candle-holder, which holds six candles.  Each week our opening meditation recalls the pain, difficulties and sin of the world, and extinguishes one candle.  On the first Sunday in Lent, we draw around some representative feet of congregation members (smallest and largest, longest time worshipping at COGS, a visitor if we have one).  We laminate them, and together with the cardboard feet which children decorate, we move them one step closer to the cross/end of the Lenten journey each week.

On Easter Day we transform the purple cloth with white and gold cloth for the liturgical colours of Easter; we turn the feet to race away from the empty tomb, sharing good news.  We relight all six candles to celebrate resurrection life.  This year we added the rainbow of ribbon to represent different parts of resurrection life.  For the remaining Sundays of the Easter Sunday the six central candles are lit, the white cloth is pooled in front of the altar, and the ribbons are cascading over the cloth.

So on Pentecost Sunday we bring to completion our Eastertide celebrations.  We rehang the Alleluia banner (we bury the Alleluia at the beginning of Lent, raise it again on Easter Day after decorating it, and today added Holy Spirit doves to it).  This year we added birthday present boxes to the ends of the ribbons – each containing a single colour of glass bead/pebble/marble.

We talked about occasions for gifts – and talked about Pentecost as the birthday of the church and the gift of the Holy Spirit for everyone.  We then started opening presents – and each one had a Fruit of the Spirit (from Galatians 5) printed inside the box.  Most of the children at worship today were readers – so one child would open the box and everyone read out the gift.  We then shared the boxes around the congregation – encouraging anyone who needed the Holy Spirit to work to bring a fuller measure of that fruit in their life to take a bead as a reminder.  We talked about them as maybe seeds, or that the work of the Holy Spirit was both to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable: maybe some of us need a pebble in our shoe!  This seemed to be as popular with the adults as the children – and after worship when all the boxes were together, people came to take extras of qualities from boxes they hadn’t received during worship, and to take phone photos to remind themselves of what they were praying for!

My favourite part of the way we do Pentecost at COGS is during the reading from Acts.  After the reader reads the portion that describes how people began speaking in many languages, as the Spirit gave them ability, and in response to the description that “in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power” we have readers all over the church stand and begin to read two or three verses from anywhere in Scripture that describe to them something of the power of God.  This morning we heard Russian, Ukrainian, Japanese, Mandarin, Maori, Fijian and Korean.  It is an extraordinary and beautiful sound and many report goosebumps and tears in response to that moment.

The children have been collecting “Change for Change” during the Great Fifty days.  We are yet to count it – but, together, with a collection of oil and rice for a migrant school, we seek to focus on some practical ways to share resurrection life with the communities around us.

Worship concludes with each person having a lighted candle (red!) from the Easter candles, as we pray that by the Spirit’s power, we will carry good news into the world around us in the ways we live our lives.  The Easter candles and decorations will be put away for another year, but empowered by the Spirit, we seek to be Easter people no matter the time of year!

Happy Easter*

So, my computer died on Good Friday. Which seemed kind of liturgically apt, but wasn’t particularly convenient. Sadly, it has not experienced a resurrection to date – and so the co-pastor and I have been sharing his laptop. Which puts a bit of pressure on screentime and has sidelined blogging.

But by way of a quick catch-up:

Easter was celebrated. There were children, so many children (almost 40), and alleluias (over 100 of them all told – in liturgy and hymns and greetings and suspended above the Communion Table covered in sparkles).

We took our traditional post-Easter “go see something wonderful in China” trip. This year we went to Chengdu where we saw pandas. We saw other beautiful and amazing things (the Leshan Buddha chief among them) but really, pandas! They were so much fun – they climbed trees and ate bamboo and wrestled with each other and were swatted by their mothers and I was completely and utterly charmed.

We had the great pleasure of sharing that trip and the two weeks following with Andrew’s parents. It was their second time visiting China and they also went to Xi’an with Andrew (involving an overnight train trip). We enjoyed being with two such adventurous, good-humoured and joyful people.

Last week the congregation announced that they have extended our call for another two years. We’ll be at our three-year anniversary in July, the further two years beginning 1st August. There is much that is uncertain about life in China, but by God’s grace we hope that both congregation and pastors will be able to live into the hope that that call represents!

*Glad to be part of a tradition that celebrates Easter for 50 days.  That’s the kind of leeway I need!

Rape prevention

Telling a woman to carry a concealed weapon is not rape prevention.

If you know me in person, you will know that I fulfil many of the stereotypes of a tree-hugging, feminist, vegetarian, pacifist Christian.  I do like legumes.  I don’t like guns.  But this is not primarily about my unease about weapons.  This is about a culture which accepts rape as inevitable and offers advice to women about what they drink and how they socialise and how they should defend themselves as some kind of a solution to the problem of sexual violence.

Sexual violence, assault and rape are never caused by the victim.  The responsibility for these crimes lies with their perpetrators.

Zerlina Maxwell, a rape survivor and social commentator, made an appearance on a current affairs show in the United States last week.  She said that she did not want to be told that she should have prevented her rape by carrying a gun.  In the follow-up to that she has been on the receiving end of racial epithets, threats of rape and violence.  It seems to epitomise rape culture: a culture which blames victims, objectifies and sexualises women, and trivialises rape.  You can read more about the aftermath here and about what Zerlina Maxwell said and believes here (trigger warning: both links contain descriptions of violent threats and reference the experience of being raped).

Rape is an act of violence.  The victim is not responsible.  If your sexual partner does not or can not consent, you are committing a crime.

Home leave

On Christmas Day Andrew and I left Beijing for home leave. We flew to Hong Kong, and on to Auckland.

On Chinese New Year’s Eve I flew home to Beijing.

New Zealand is home in the sense that it is where I speak the language and know how to do most day-to-day things. Loving friends let us make our home with them when we are in town. Family members open their homes to us. We are loaned vehicles to drive, bikes to ride. We are loaned a New Zealand life.

Beijing is home in the sense that it is where our day-to-day life is. There are many day-to-day things we still don’t really know how to do. We cobble together our rudimentary Mandarin and lean into the goodwill of those we interact with (and the goodwill of those we phone for on-the-spot telephone translation). Beijing is where I have more than one pair of shoes and more than three t-shirts.

Where is home? And is that even a question that makes sense? I wouldn’t want to give up having home leave.  I wouldn’t want to call this apartment anything less than home.

2013

It’s a little late for a start of the year post, but after four weeks of leave, I’ve been back at my desk for a week.

To be fair, I’m not really back at my desk.  I’m still in New Zealand, a few more chores to do, some health matters to attend to, but by virtue of my laptop, various internet connections, Skype, email and the general wonders of the world-wide web I’m officially back at work!

Here is a brief glimpse of life in 2013:

• I don’t have a word for the year.  The year I chose “movement”, I moved to China!  The year I chose “openhearted” I ended up getting biopsies of my lungs!  I’ve chosen some practices, some touchstones that help me check in with myself, but this year no one word seemed to appear…

• Andrew and I loved having homeleave in the New Zealand summer.  It has been lovely to have time to catch up with people when they are not working and not in school.  Summer sales have also been handy for stocking up on a year’s supply of toiletries, shoes and other hard-to-buy things in Beijing.

• I love being able to read labels when I go shopping.

• Feilding, a small town, at the end of the holiday season, in a small supermarket, still had 5 kinds of gluten-free bread on the shelves.  That seemed crazy!  There are many things that ex-pats miss about home.  Coeliac-friendly toast is on my list.

• Our friends are faithful, generous, hilarious companions and having in-person time with them is a treasure.  We had some very lovely visitors in Beijing in 2012 and some great visits in New Zealand and are looking forward to seeing some more folks in Beijing this year.

• It is awesome to have parents and siblings and other relatives who are also good friends.

• Having a 4-year-old niece ask how you know her name (because I’m your aunt and that’s my job) might suggest that there is room for improvement in maintaining relationships with the important children in our life.

• When your appointment at the bank seems to be dominated by the “personal banking consultant” regaling you with stories of pandas he has seen on Youtube, and very little discussion of anything to do with actual bank accounts, you might feel it wasn’t the most fruitful way to spend 40 minutes of your summer afternoon.

• When kind friends loan you a diesel van (vanette?) to drive, you feel like you ought to have a youth group in the back.  Given the Johnny Cash soundtrack, anyone who might be in your youth group is probably grateful not to be!

2013: a year that’s off to a good start.

 

Christmas Eve

It’s an unlikely story.

And I don’t mean the virgin birth nor the angelic choruses

or the three wise men.

It’s an unlikely story, this plan to save the world.

 

It doesn’t seem like much of a plan, really.

There is no army.

No strategic deployments on multiple fronts.

 

The arm that is mighty to save

is not supermuscled

superheroic

the Lord strong and mighty in battle .

There are no chariots of God

in thousands and tens of thousands.

The arm that is mighty to save

is the chubby waving arm

of a new-born baby,

that his mother will tuck inside his wrappings.

Wrapped in bands,

swaddled and laid in a manger.

 

It all seems rather ridiculous.

Instead of hosts of sword-wielding angels,

instead of appearing on the clouds in might and in glory

God says, “Here I am”.

Born in poverty.

Completely vulnerable.

Dependent on humans

to feed me and clothe me

to love me and care for me.

A baby.

 

I mean, seriously, a baby.

 

That’s God’s plan.

It’s so unlikely.

God was and is God

and became human

and we call that human Jesus

and he was born to parents

who didn’t have much money

and shortly after his birth became political refugees

fleeing from a tyrant who wanted that baby dead…

 

And what’s more,

we don’t really know much about what happened

between birth and his teenage years

he pops up in Jerusalem,

worrying his parents when he goes missing

and they spend several days looking for him.

 

Then the next we hear,

the God who created the universe

has become a 30-something carpenter

who collects followers

and tells stories

and heals the sick

and makes some trouble

and ends up dead.

Three days later he’s alive again.

 

And that’s how God acted to set the world to rights.

 

I wouldn’t blame you if you find it kind of difficult to believe.

It’s a foolish kind of story to throw your lot in with.

 

God,

the all powerful

who saves us from our sin

from our brokenness

from our greed and from our impatience and from our unkindness

from our violence and hatred

from all that binds us

sends us a baby.

 

When God set out to forge relationship with us

when God set out to save us and help us

he sent a baby.

 

He sent a baby who grew up to be a man

who in his life and teaching and death and rising again

pioneered the way for us

to be in relationship with God

and with each other.

 

Babies change us.

For some of us it is that moment of softness

as they turn towards us and reach for our finger.

As they smile.

For some of us it is the lifetime of change

that the hard work of parenting wears into us.

 

Babies invite us to love them.

Babies invoke in us protectiveness and care.

Babies inspire in us awe and wonder.

They soften our hearts and at the same time

they inspire in us the passion to work for a better world

for them to inherit.

 

I realise that is all somewhat romantic.

Babies also wear us out with their needs and demands.

With their tears and unsettled sleep.

They go on to toddler tantrums

and teenage prickliness

and all of that.

That is also true.

 

And as pretty as the candles and the carols are tonight,

this baby knew that difficult edge of life.

This baby did not live a romantic nor charmed life.

He was born to the world in all it’s darkness.

Born to a woman shamed for being pregnant outside of marriage,

who felt the pain of labour,

and the fear that drove her family further away from home, into Egypt.

His earthly father, Joseph, felt the burden of responsibility,

tried his best to protect his family.

 

God was born a baby.

Babies change us.

 

And this baby,

this baby born among animals

to parents a long way from home -

this baby changed history.

 

Not all of that change was for good.

In his name many atrocities have been wrought,

lives damaged, wars fought.

 

But despite the claims to the contrary, that was not on behalf of the baby.

Nor his Father.

 

For that baby became human

and his name was to be called

Wonderful Counsellor

Mighty God

the Everlasting Father

the Prince of Peace.

 

The Prince of Peace.

 

The angels sang at his birth:

Glory to God in the highest

and peace to God’s people on earth

(and, you know,

all people are God’s people!)

 

In this baby the goodness

and loving kindness of God appeared.

 

God invites us to experience

that life-changing baby

in the way we are human.

 

God became human

and dwelt among us,

not as a conquering army

not as a violent superhero

but a vulnerable baby.

 

God came to us in the vulnerability of a baby,

a new-born child,

and God’s first word as he entered the world

as a human baby was likely a long wail…

 

All of us,

no matter what language we speak,

how hardened our hearts,

know that a baby’s cry calls forth from us

kindness and compassion,

invites us to love.

 

A baby:

what a ridiculous plan!

But it changed our world

and it changes us,

every time we choose love,

every time we receive love,

every time we act with love rather than fear.

 

Fear not, said the angel!

Fear not, I bring you tidings of great joy for all people

For to you is born this day

in the City of David

a Saviour, who is the Messiah, the Lord.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host,

praising God and saying, 
‘Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace among those whom he favours!’

 

A baby!

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad plan…

 

(Scripture read in worship included Isaiah 9: 2 – 7, Titus 3: 4 – 8, Luke 2: 1 – 20)

(Influences on this sermon include http://www.ibenedictines.org/2012/12/24/the-christmas-martyrology-proclamation/ and a conversation with The Rev. Jan Tarrant)