Expectations at church

A long way away from home, we went to church the other Sunday. The experience fell a bit short of my personal criteria for worship. The very up-front role of two men leading the singing and two more men managing the dazzling audiovisual production didn’t do a whole lot for me. The shallow, banal and repetitive nature of the songs and the fact that without music or a melody line from an instrument I couldn’t join in the singing didn’t help at all.

However, the modest roles left for the visiting worship leader were in stark contrast to everything else. She got the attention of all of us in an entertaining but highly relevant experiment involving some of the children. She preached without notes but it was never off the top of her head. It seemed to flow from the depth of her immersion in the scripture. Throughout, she engaged us with passion and clarity about our doubts and uncertainties and led us to a point of insight and re-commitment.

I can’t imagine how many others noticed, but for me she made some telling points in what she didn‘t say. In dealing with the resurrection experience of the disciples on the Emmaus Road she did not say at any time that Jesus was bodily raised from the dead. She did not claim that the story she was so ably expounding was might not be a literal account of actual events. She did not say that Jesus died for our sins through the traditional explanations of the atonement. No conservative member of that congregation could have found anything to carp about.

Of course, that may or may not be a good thing. Teaching by not saying some things doesn’t always work. The failure of the church’s leadership to be more explicit about biblical interpretation a century ago continues to haunt the mainline church. But, in the context of this worship service, Sunday’s gentle omissions enabled me to feel included among sixty people among whom I would have otherwise felt alien and rejected. It was a salutary and inspiring experience.

More on the Hospice Church

Our denomination has recently circulated some material to encourage small churches; it’s full of practical and imaginative advice about how to serve such congregations.
But the advice has come from the USA, where the definition of a small church is around three to four times the number of members that we would expect to find in a "small" church here. And there would be no way that such a church in this country could even contemplate paying for much in the way of ministry.

I’ve been doing more reflecting on my concept of the “Hospice Church” where an ageing congregation of less than a dozen members in a town going into recession are still willing to roll up for worship if someone else provides the resources of leadership. I was a little disparaging of them in an earlier post. But there are some strengths in that situation and I am going to explore them.

Too often we have told the congregation of under 30 people that they really should “make a decision” about their future when they were actually already working on it. Too often the wider church has imbued the small church with a sense of failure. Too often, we have put before them programmes and strategies and ideas that may be appropriate for a medium or larger congregation.

But we have forgotten that the small church is not just smaller, it is different…

Strength for the day?

Around 6am today, the NZ Herald on my phone informed me that earthquake strengthening Auckland’s buildings will cost $10 billion. On a statistical basis, it was claimed, this would probably save seven lives in a hundred years. However, five to seven other lives would be lost due to stress of the strengthening process.  The article pointed out that if the $10 billion were spent on improving our roads, quite a few lives would be saved each year.

The article rang some bells for me. I have been uneasy about the huge cost of earthquake-proofing every Methodist church in the country against the long odds of a serious earthquake hitting with no warning on a Sunday morning at 10am. So I rushed to the newly set up computer to put a post on my blog.

I went to check the facts and found this interesting piece had disappeared from the Herald App. My suspicious mind reminded me that it is April 1^st. Could the now invisible “report” be an April Fool stunt? That would be in pretty bad taste just when we are all agonising over the personal stories as the inquests and investigations continue.  Christchurch has taught us that earthquakes have to be taken very seriously, even in low-risk zones. 

But life teaches us also that stuff happens. Earthquakes, tsunamis and the effects of global warming are part of the reality of our existence. We all live just one day at a time. At the end of the day we cannot protect ourselves or those we love against every possible contingency. Faith is not doing everything we possibly can to ensure that we will be here tomorrow. It is living today as if there will be a tomorrow. That should be enough for us. 

All the same, I'm glad that our new home is also more than 30 metres above sea level.

How Jonah swallowed Noah - or something...

Thinking about the upcoming movie Noah, I recall a comment made by our Theological College Principal in the 1950s about Cecil B de Mille’s The Ten Commandments. “Father” Hames said that movie would probably confirm pagans in their paganism and Christians in their Christianity.

 I feel somewhat  the same about Noah. Except that the re-telling of most ancient myths doesn’t  do much  for my faith. So it was with a little unease that I attended our new local church where Sunday’s service was to feature the Trinity Puppeteers presenting Jonah and the Whale.

I needn’t have worried. The Muppet-like characters emphasised the mythological context, the story was imaginatively and amusingly told; the presentation thoroughly professional; and the whole absolutely entertaining. Our presbyter followed up with a brief but forthright introduction to the issue of truth in parables and four or so points of relevance for our lives today.

In the context of the community of faith, this old story rang some bells for me. Thanks, Trinity. Perhaps you could have a go at Noah?

Worst Unpacking Ever

Well, we've arrived at the Retirement Village and taken over our villa. Just about everything is unpacked and roughly sorted in the rather smaller space we have at our disposal. We have even been away for a brief holiday to catch our breath, And we've made another trip back "home" to collect some important stuff that got left behind.

Everyone is very welcoming here and the villa is absolutely lovely, having been completely refurbished. But of course it's pretty difficult finding our way through our stuff. Things have got re-arranged into all kinds of new alliances and all of them are in unfamiliar locations.

The worst of it for me is the very means of putting together a brief post for the blog. The computer has been reloaded with Word 7 and after two months of inactivity and two weeks of slightly functional use it still needs another 17 programs installed before it will do what I need. And meanwhile, it can't even cope with the few basic things I have got into it so far.

Locating my best shoes and socks is a cinch compared with finding a file in this wretched beast.

Farewell from the Bay

Last Sunday morning, Bev and I rolled up at church to conduct the monthly communion service. Although Bev is concluding her term as an Authorised Celebrant, we’d agreed that I should celebrate for this last time. We will be leaving the parish in less than a month.

We were somewhat blind-sided by a congregation of double the usual size and, afterwards, a farewell for which everyone except Bev and me was well prepared. Half a dozen people spoke and there were wonderful presentations. We responded as best we could. There were tears and hugs. And then there was the lavish morning tea to which our congregation has become accustomed. (We will miss those morning teas when we go!)

For me, the most gratifying thing of the spoken contributions was that nobody directly referred to my former role as minister. I don’t know if anyone else noticed but speakers spoke generously about my IT skills and Power Point, and administration, handyman and educational gifts. And they were full of praise for Bev's role as Outreach and, later, Pastoral Coordinator and her gifts of friendship. But they didn't so much as hint that we had come among them first in a special "ministerial" role that defined what both of us might do.

Some would have known that in recent years I have found a sense of liberation in being free to take roles as Chairperson, Team Member, occasional organist and Worship Leader. On Sunday it was great to feel just like any other departing lay person might have felt.

I think that says something about how far we have moved towards independence from the “tyranny of the stipend”. What we set out to do some 23 years ago seems to have been achieved: not just some adjustment of church life, but a sea change of perspective.

True, back then, it was not what every member wanted. Some were keen on LSM, some wanted part-time paid ministry, and most fell somewhere in between. It’s been an exciting journey as LSM has come to be accepted and effective. And normal. 

And on Sunday it was symbolised remarkably in the way nobody mentioned that I’d come here to be their minister. And I now leave here as one of them and one with them.

That was pretty special. 

In a rubbish sack?

Perhaps it’s a personal sensitivity about death and dying these days but I get a bit cross about the frequent TV commercials promoting funeral insurance. I am a little surprised that the Funeral Director’s Association seems to have been quiet about some misrepresentation of their profession but I respect the dignity of their silence.

However, I really wonder how some children feel about the idea of a pleasant grandfatherly figure objecting to being “put out on the road in a rubbish sack” as though this were conceivably possible.

I am all for a realistic, frank and open view of death and dying. (Bev says I am much too frank; she says that when people say, “G’day,. Dave, how are you?” and I give them a brief medical report, complete with my PSA trends, that’s not what they actually want...).

And I have no problem with humour in the context of death. People who enjoy my Murder Mystery Dinners will suggest that my sense of humour is pretty macabre. But we don’t encourage young children to buy tickets to our shows. That’s not a matter of any possible breach of any standard. It’s just recognising that there’s an appropriate time, place and audience for some kinds of humour.

I think that sensitivity is missing in the timing of the “rubbish sack”. 

Is it right?

At last night’s Paihia meeting on the Unitary Authority which is proposed to replace four large local bodies, I let off a little steam.
Before the meeting I had privately cautioned chair Grant Harnish that he should restrain me should I try to speak. And I managed to restrain myself for most of the evening. But after the wishes of the meeting became clear and someone accidentally delivered me a perfect “hook”, not even the anxiety on Grant’s face nor the inconvenience of an overwhelming hot flush could stop me. I jumped up and expostulated against the basic assumption that in this day and age we need “local” government that is becoming less and less local.
This morning I was reading Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities on my phone. I came across an inconspicuous phrase which he used to describe how people just blindly accepted the horrors of inhuman justice in the law courts and gallows of 1775. The phrase was, “Whatever is, is right”
Last night, people seemed to be saying, something like that. They were accepting the Far North District Council is, therefore it must be right. So there was not a lot of energy to ask, “How shall we change the basis of representation?”; “How should we alter the boundaries?”; “How can we get better decision-making?” Though plenty of people wanted to know how much it would save, or whether people in our region would have to share in the huge debt in Kaipara; and where would they go to discuss building applications.
There was no mention of the little elephant that I saw in the corner of the hall. It was taken for granted that Local Government of any kind is, therefore it must be right. I reject that.
It seems to me that when a review comes along, we should ask ourselves “Do we actually need a model of democracy that was appropriate for England in 1888?” The NZ Local Government Commission is not charged to ask that basic question. The present Councillors don’t ask it. Last night’s meeting certainly wasn’t set up to discuss it. And my intemperate outburst probably didn’t help anyone to even see the issue.
The 1888 English County Councils were given authority to manage all aspects of health, welfare, schools, police and every kind of social services for people in their regions. Today, in this country, almost all those functions are overseen by central government. District and Regional Councils manage merely Water, Waste, Ways, Whatever and, oh, yes, Welcomes. Almost all of these could be managed just as well on a national basis. Then we could establish truly local government in local communities where there is passion and drive and enthusiasm.
The Unitary Authority proposal didn’t get the thumbs up in Paihia last night. It has a long way to go through the tortuous, expensive and fragile process of fine-tuning the system that is. The Commission may go ahead and tweak the system; it may not.
But perhaps, some day, the underlying question will be addressed.

Computer evangelism

I pressed a couple of wrong keys on the parish computer a few weeks ago. Ever since, a kindly fellow called Jamie has been sending us emails congratulating us on downloading some kind of program and begging us to use it. Apparently it will change our lives.

Of course, this means we have to pay something, which was not at all what I had envisaged. So we have ignored Jamie and tried to get on with life. But the letters kept coming, getting warmer and even more friendly, all ostensibly signed by this charming Jamie.

Around the turn of the New Year, one of these emails earnestly enquired after my health and welfare. Being touched by the depth of his concern, but also somewhat cynical, I replied in the same serious tone expressing my great appreciation for his concern over my advanced prostate cancer. I shared the fact that we were having to move. I poured out my heart about the difficulties I was having in making a break with our very special church and community. I told him how hard it was to decide what to keep and what to throw out as we completely re-organise our lives around a smaller home a long way from here. And I ended by again expressing my thanks for his interest and suggesting that there might not be any point in future emails.

Since then, we still had regular emails from Jamie, all no doubt generated by the same computer. The last three have all said, successively, this is positively and absolutely the last and final chance for this discount. You have to admire him for his persistence.

I wonder if I am as zealous in inviting people to experience the wonderful things I have experienced in the faith which is so important to me. Have I got that persistent edge of evangelical zeal? On the other hand, if I do, does it sound like it was generated in a computer?

The "Residential Village Church"

As I am winding up my association with Bay of Islands Parish and its long history of Local Shared Ministry, I can’t help reflecting on the congregation we had at Russell.

For more than two decades, leaders from Paihia have crossed the Bay to bring a weekly service to the small membership there. None of them was ever called to the Ministry Team. They did not participate in Parish Council Meetings and rarely joined in parish social events. But they faithfully turned up Sunday by Sunday even as the congregation gracefully dwindled through death.

Those who coin names for styles of churches might have called them a “Hospice Church”. They couldn’t do much for themselves but we ministered to them and supported them as they saw out their days as a congregation. 

Now I hear that one or two are suggesting our Paihia congregation is going the same way. True, they’ve suffered losses, too—and not all by the natural processes of death and dying. And as Bev and I leave to move nearer to family and a smaller home there are serious questions about who will do some of things that we have done as ordinary members of the congregation. It is a scary time for the special friends we leave behind.

But, if Paihia is to lie down and declare itself a Hospice Church so that everyone can just sit there on Sundays and be looked after, where are the people who will come from outside to minister to it?

A better model, from my personal experience over these past weeks, is what I will call the “Residential Village Church”. A residential village is also a place where people will probably see out their lives. But it is nothing like a hospice. It’s full of participants who are young in heart and mind, who are active in their communities, who are involved in the village’s affairs and who are dedicated to making the most of their lives. If they can’t add years to their lives they are certainly putting life into their years.

That seems to me to be the model for the small, ageing church. It won’t attempt to do all the stuff that more vigorous churches do. It will look for the things it can do best and it will put its limited energies into what produces the most results. It will develop its own spirit and ethos and lifestyle.

Local Shared Ministry may still be the model that enables this kind of life to flow. It will call people to do things they didn’t know they could do. It will enable every member to feel a vital part of what is going on. It will challenge but it will also encourage. And it will bring pleasure and strength to its members and its community.