Here’s an excerpt of a few conversations to be had tomorrow. “So, what did you get up to yesterday?” “Me, I went to church in the morning, not much in the afternoon, just puttered around the garden here at home.”
“Church, eh? What church?”
“The Unitarian Church, over in Ponsonby.”
Now, the conversation can go one of many directions, Continue reading We’re at church, so what?!→
The book of Acts has a lot of over-the-top stories about the Christian gospel spreading out to other nations. There’s one about Peter dreaming of a Roman Centurion called Cornelius, who just happens to be dreaming about a man called Peter. There’s an earthquake that breaks open the prison two apostles have been locked into, but the apostles just stay in jail, singing. About a dozen of these stories altogether. Continue reading The Transgender Bookworm→
“May the sins of the father be visited upon his children.” This was the inscription in a book sent as a gift by my mother to my first born. The book was Dumbo. Confused by her sentiment, I called my mother to thank her and ask what she meant. She explained that when I was very young I insisted she read this story to me nearly every night. Sending this gift was her way of taking revenge, although she probably thought of it as balancing the scales of justice. Continue reading Once upon a time: The Power of Story→
Money and I have always had a complicated relationship.
My parents loved to tell the story about when I was four. We were visiting one of their friends during the Christmas holiday. Our host gave me a crisp one dollar bill as a Christmas gift. Apparently, I burst into tears, crying that I wanted “real monies”. He took the dollar back, went into his den, and came back with a roll of fifty pennies, which immediately satisfied my objections. I’m relieved to say I have no memory of the event, which gives me hope that the story is apocryphal. Continue reading A World Without Scarcity→
On the 28th of February 1961, the small Catholic Hospital in Zambia where my uncle was due to be born was going to close due to violent uprisings and sabotage. My uncle was due on the 27th and my grandmother drove up and down-pot holed roads to make sure he came early!
The hospital packed up and a white doctor accompanied the nurses up country where they we all raped and killed. Life involved sleeping with guns under the pillow and doing housework with revolvers in their apron pockets. Continue reading Reflections on ANZAC Day→
Something was off when I woke up in my dorm room in late January 1969. I realised I couldn’t hear the ocean, which was only 75 metres from my bedroom at the University of California at Santa Barbara. The sea was silent. I and other early risers went to the cliffs overlooking the normally pristine coastline. The ocean waves were weighed down by oil and tar, unable to crash on the beach. Continue reading Reflections on Earth Day→
I fear I’m a creature of habit. Most mainline Christian churches have a three-year lectionary that they, for the most part, share. A lectionary sets readings from both the Hebrew scriptures and Christian writings to be read on particular Sundays over the course of the year. After three years, if you have gone to church every Sunday, like every good Christian does, you have heard most of the Bible. There is one notable exception. It is on the Sunday after Easter. Continue reading A Doubtful Faith→
In one of my last Easter Day sermons at St Matthew’s I opened with how difficult I found preaching on the Day of Resurrection in a Christian context:
Look out! Here comes the preacher walking the Easter sermon tightrope!
Can he balance the life-giving message of joy and hope that the ancient story of resurrection suggests, with the progressive theology and openness St Matthew’s embodies?
Can he make it across safely to the other side without falling into either the dreaded, dogmatic pit of spirit killing, rigid orthodoxy, or the confusing fog of bland generalities that can mean just about anything?