"And they'll know we are Christians by our love..."
That's a line from a familiar song. We are one in the Spirit; we are one in the Lord...
Some friends from my time in Anderson and I have had our share of musings over the theological repercussions about that line in the song. When it was sung at the Asia Pacific Church of God Conference last week, I found myself smiling fondly--not because of the discussions of the theological repercussions, but because there was something about the spirit of unity as we were singing that song.
Unity. That's one of the pillars of the Church of God Reformation Movement. And unity was what we saw at the APCGC last week.
As I had shared during the morning devotion time on Friday, I had grown up in the Church of God in Singapore hearing about this APCGC. Uncle Mac and Auntie Jean Johnson were regular visitors at our church, and I would hear about this conference from time to time. So to have been not only present for the first time, but also asked to share during this year's conference was a big honour.
But I digress. Unity.
Growing up in the Church of God in Singapore, I had come to eagerly anticipate church camps and conferences. Yes, I was THAT church kid. As a kid, that was the one time I got to hang out with my church friends for a whole week. But as a teenager exploring my call to ministry, those few days of camp became a time of seeking, of spending time with those whom, upon looking back now, have been mentoring me from the time I was a shy kid hiding away from the crowds. Because of that, church camps and conferences were always special to me. It wasn't till much later that I found out that this Campmeeting thing was a big thing for this wider Church family I came to love dearly.
In my college and seminary years, the Anderson Campmeeting (and the various names it has come to be known by) slowly grew to become a highlight for me each summer. Part of it, admittedly, was because as part of my job while in seminary, I got to meet church leaders and missionaries from all around the world--and hearing the stories of cross-cultural ministry always fascinated me.
But more importantly, it was the spirit of campmeeting.
The spirit of togetherness.
The spirit of unity.
As I sat in each of the conference sessions at the APCGC last week, it became apparent to me that the spirit of unity was so present in our midst. Pastors, ministry leaders, lay leaders, missionaries alike, were all in the same room sharing about what God was doing in our region. Maybe it's because I've felt so distant from the rest of the Church of God family, since the Church of God presence in Aotearoa New Zealand and the South Pacific is young and tiny. Maybe it was the songs that we sang that reminded me of my childhood growing up in the Church of God in Singapore. Whatever it was, it reminded me of the importance of gathering with the brothers and sisters for the very reason of being together.
Unity.
Ah yes, unity.
Two particular highlights for me from our time together:
The first was the privilege of translating for the second half of the conference. It was an unexpected responsibility because I had only mentioned to Pastor Alan on the Wednesday that I would be happy to help if needed. I never thought I would ever serve as a translator because my Mandarin sits in about 10 years of rust, and my spiritual vocabulary exists mostly only in English. But I could tell the translators were struggling, and later found out they had to translate from Mandarin to Cantonese to English in their heads.
My Mandarin may be rusty (and it definitely showed on a few occasions), but there's something about growing up bilingual that I realised I can no longer take for granted. In more than one way, it was also a reminder for me to return to my first clear call to ministry: to the ones living in-between cultures, where translation is more than just about the language barriers--something I'll be unpacking more in the days to come.
The other highlight took place on that same Thursday that I did about 4 hours of translating. At lunch the day before, I had the opportunity to be a part of a brief conversation between our Chinese and Japanese national leaders (identities concealed for security reasons). If you're familiar with the history, these two nations have had a long-standing political enmity towards each other. Our Chinese pastor shared that growing up in China, he had always been taught in school to hate the Japanese, though he had no clear understanding of why. Yet as his understanding of the Gospel grew, he began to understand that for God so loved the world, and the world included Japan and the Japanese. He then requested for a moment of reconciliation between the Chinese and Japanese Church at the end of the China Consultation Day the next day.
That next day was a moment in history I will never forget. (A small piece of personal history here: my first call to ministry was to "return" to China. There are a lot of cultural pieces surrounding this "return" that will be explained at a later time.) Witnessing that moment of reconciliation where the Japanese and Chinese brothers and sisters embraced each other (and also serving as translator for that entire segment) is something that will forever be etched in my heart. There were tears, hugs, words of encouragement to each other. I've studied biblical reconciliation for a while now thanks to my seminary work, but to see it first hand in a moment like that is a completely different experience.
"And they'll know we are Christians by our love..."
Unity.
Ah yes. Sweet unity.
Showing posts with label CHOG roots. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CHOG roots. Show all posts
12 December 2014
01 January 2014
Where We Come From: Of Stories And Songs
I had this discussion a few months ago with MaryAnn and Jim via Skype about what we, as the Church of God, have to offer at the ecumenical table. As churches in New Zealand tend to be more ecumenical anyway, the Church of God presence here has had many opportunities to partner with other denominations in the area--in particular an open brethren church where WCF is planted, and the Wesleyan Methodist Church (WMCNZ) as a denomination.
Because we line up fairly consistently with Wesleyan Holiness teachings, WMCNZ has welcomed us with open arms to theological conversations, particularly at their annual symposium where we sit around the table with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters. As conversations for about the future of our partnerships continued, and as the Church of God in New Zealand continues to move forward in establishing our presence as a denomination/movement here, I began to think about what was so unique about the Church of God stream of holiness doctrine, especially in the context of New Zealand. It wasn't that I didn't believe in the one, catholic, apostolic, universal Church--it was that I believe there is room for more unity where there is diversity.
I don't remember coming away from our discussion with much of a solid conclusion (I don't think it was meant to be a close-ended conversation anyway), except for this: everybody's welcome.
In the months that passed, that discussion carried over with some of my scattered community whose theological thoughts I respect greatly. I'll confess it was tempting to try to quickly come to my own conclusions just so I could write a blog post about it and check that off the to-do list. But there was more value in waiting and mulling things over about what it was about the Church of God that I loved.
Then last week, I had the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with three Church of God missionary-ish folks who have lived, served and travelled all around the Church of God world. (Bear in mind there are only two ordained Church of God ministers living in New Zealand--we get pretty lonely and isolated in these parts) And then I remembered two main things I love about the Church of God.
the time when they had to eat strange dishes to be culturally sensitive
the time when they embarrassed themselves while learning the new culture
the time when something about the new culture greatly disturbed them
the time when they observed someone they greatly respected on the mission field and the lessons they learnt from them
the time when they saw God working
the time when they saw the fruit of someone else's/their own labour
the time when they learnt God was the God of the universe, not just the small parts of the world they've seen
As I sat listening to Dave, Greta and Mike reminisce about the times when their journeys intersected in Japan, and all the stories in between, I was struck by the realisation that THIS is the Church of God.
We are people who believe in a God that loves the world and a God that transcends culture.
We are people who have, for more than a hundred years now, been active in the missio Dei all around the world.
We are people who keep our teachings and beliefs alive through the sharing of stories, reminding ourselves as we serve around the world that we stand on the shoulders of giants.
It took me back to being in Anderson this summer, being surrounded by the rich musicianship that we have in the Church of God. The annual NAC tradition of singing, "Child of God" with the Park Place sanctuary choir. And more importantly, the evening services when I got to sit with my scattered community, singing side by side as if we were back in the seminary chorus all over again.
And THIS is the Church of God I love.
We are people who sing our stories.
We are people whose voices come together and brings a unity that words itself cannot describe.
We are people whose songs remind us of the giants like Charles Naylor and Barney Warren who have gone before us and paved the way.
THIS is the Church of God I love.
This is where WE come from.
Because we line up fairly consistently with Wesleyan Holiness teachings, WMCNZ has welcomed us with open arms to theological conversations, particularly at their annual symposium where we sit around the table with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters. As conversations for about the future of our partnerships continued, and as the Church of God in New Zealand continues to move forward in establishing our presence as a denomination/movement here, I began to think about what was so unique about the Church of God stream of holiness doctrine, especially in the context of New Zealand. It wasn't that I didn't believe in the one, catholic, apostolic, universal Church--it was that I believe there is room for more unity where there is diversity.
I don't remember coming away from our discussion with much of a solid conclusion (I don't think it was meant to be a close-ended conversation anyway), except for this: everybody's welcome.
In the months that passed, that discussion carried over with some of my scattered community whose theological thoughts I respect greatly. I'll confess it was tempting to try to quickly come to my own conclusions just so I could write a blog post about it and check that off the to-do list. But there was more value in waiting and mulling things over about what it was about the Church of God that I loved.
Then last week, I had the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with three Church of God missionary-ish folks who have lived, served and travelled all around the Church of God world. (Bear in mind there are only two ordained Church of God ministers living in New Zealand--we get pretty lonely and isolated in these parts) And then I remembered two main things I love about the Church of God.
Stories
We are people of stories. One of the things I love most about my job when I was at Global Missions was the informal gatherings where the missionaries got together and exchanged stories. With missionary communities, the stories often had the same themes:the time when they had to eat strange dishes to be culturally sensitive
the time when they embarrassed themselves while learning the new culture
the time when something about the new culture greatly disturbed them
the time when they observed someone they greatly respected on the mission field and the lessons they learnt from them
the time when they saw God working
the time when they saw the fruit of someone else's/their own labour
the time when they learnt God was the God of the universe, not just the small parts of the world they've seen
As I sat listening to Dave, Greta and Mike reminisce about the times when their journeys intersected in Japan, and all the stories in between, I was struck by the realisation that THIS is the Church of God.
We are people who believe in a God that loves the world and a God that transcends culture.
We are people who have, for more than a hundred years now, been active in the missio Dei all around the world.
We are people who keep our teachings and beliefs alive through the sharing of stories, reminding ourselves as we serve around the world that we stand on the shoulders of giants.
Songs
One of the most strikingly Church of God moments I've experienced in my over two years in New Zealand was on Christmas morning. As we sang "Joy to the World" that morning, Mike nonchalantly broke out the bass line, which prompted both Greta and I to take the alto harmony line. Then last night as we sat together for Mike's last dinner before his return to Japan, we sang the Doxology in four-part harmony again.It took me back to being in Anderson this summer, being surrounded by the rich musicianship that we have in the Church of God. The annual NAC tradition of singing, "Child of God" with the Park Place sanctuary choir. And more importantly, the evening services when I got to sit with my scattered community, singing side by side as if we were back in the seminary chorus all over again.
And THIS is the Church of God I love.
We are people who sing our stories.
We are people whose voices come together and brings a unity that words itself cannot describe.
We are people whose songs remind us of the giants like Charles Naylor and Barney Warren who have gone before us and paved the way.
THIS is the Church of God I love.
This is where WE come from.
31 December 2013
27 New Years
I don't suppose 27 count for a lot when it comes to the number of New Years I've seen.
As 2013 draws to a close, I'm taken back to a few of the more memorable New Years I've celebrated.
There was the one in 2000. Dad worked in the heart of the city (Orchard Rd) at the time. As building manager, he was on-call in case things fell apart with the Y2K bug that everyone seemed to be paranoid about. So Dad drove my brother and I, together with our closest friends at the time, to and from town so we could countdown with the revellers while he was at work.
Then there were the several watch-night services at the Church of God congregation in Singapore that I grew up in. Us youth always looked forward to that time, not so much because it was the watch-night service, but because we got to hang out together at church till the wee hours of the morning.
Then there were the ones where my family started travelling together more over the Christmas/New Year season. Some of the traditions that we used to celebrate with our church family were no longer observed. The times were a-changin'.
I remember the New Years we celebrated in China (2009), Cambodia (2010) and Auckland (2012) best.
China has always been special because of my deep appreciation for our cultural roots, and that being the first place I felt like I was called to serve. To be there with family, tracing our roots to my grandfather's village made it extra special.
Cambodia was special because in all the flurry of activities in our week there, when the clock struck midnight in Cambodia, my siblings and I were like little kids again, running out to the balcony to watch the fireworks.
Auckland was special because this was my new home, and I got to share it with my family for the first time.
And as I sit here quietly taking in the last few minutes of 2013 here in Auckland, I realise it's true that the older you get, what you value changes. The hustle and bustle and flurry of activities don't matter as much as simply sitting with family and the good people in your life, and giving thanks for making it through another year.
To each one of you that have cheered me on and pushed me forward through an unkind year, thank you.
To each one of you that have carried me without expecting anything in return, thank you.
To each one of you that have put up with my crap, instability and lack of consistency this year, thank you.
And finally, and most importantly, to the God of grace, love and faithfulness, I give praise for not giving up on me this year.
Dear 2013, I won't deny that I have been looking forward to this day where I can finally pack you away in the history books. You have been most unkind, and I'm more than ready to say our goodbyes. But as I do, I want to say thank you as well, that in your unkindness, you taught me to love myself better. Goodbye now.
Here's to 2014. Here's to hope, peace, faith, joy and love.
Here's to you.
Cheers, mate.
Arohanui
As 2013 draws to a close, I'm taken back to a few of the more memorable New Years I've celebrated.
There was the one in 2000. Dad worked in the heart of the city (Orchard Rd) at the time. As building manager, he was on-call in case things fell apart with the Y2K bug that everyone seemed to be paranoid about. So Dad drove my brother and I, together with our closest friends at the time, to and from town so we could countdown with the revellers while he was at work.
Then there were the several watch-night services at the Church of God congregation in Singapore that I grew up in. Us youth always looked forward to that time, not so much because it was the watch-night service, but because we got to hang out together at church till the wee hours of the morning.
Then there were the ones where my family started travelling together more over the Christmas/New Year season. Some of the traditions that we used to celebrate with our church family were no longer observed. The times were a-changin'.
I remember the New Years we celebrated in China (2009), Cambodia (2010) and Auckland (2012) best.
China has always been special because of my deep appreciation for our cultural roots, and that being the first place I felt like I was called to serve. To be there with family, tracing our roots to my grandfather's village made it extra special.
Cambodia was special because in all the flurry of activities in our week there, when the clock struck midnight in Cambodia, my siblings and I were like little kids again, running out to the balcony to watch the fireworks.
Auckland was special because this was my new home, and I got to share it with my family for the first time.
And as I sit here quietly taking in the last few minutes of 2013 here in Auckland, I realise it's true that the older you get, what you value changes. The hustle and bustle and flurry of activities don't matter as much as simply sitting with family and the good people in your life, and giving thanks for making it through another year.
To each one of you that have cheered me on and pushed me forward through an unkind year, thank you.
To each one of you that have carried me without expecting anything in return, thank you.
To each one of you that have put up with my crap, instability and lack of consistency this year, thank you.
And finally, and most importantly, to the God of grace, love and faithfulness, I give praise for not giving up on me this year.
Dear 2013, I won't deny that I have been looking forward to this day where I can finally pack you away in the history books. You have been most unkind, and I'm more than ready to say our goodbyes. But as I do, I want to say thank you as well, that in your unkindness, you taught me to love myself better. Goodbye now.
Here's to 2014. Here's to hope, peace, faith, joy and love.
Here's to you.
Cheers, mate.
Arohanui
01 October 2013
The Bridge: Foundations
About a year ago, I was asked to help out at a kids' camp. It was a busy time of year at WCF, but because I knew I still had a lot to learn about children's ministry and this would be a good learning opportunity, I decided I would go.
During the camp, Paul, who was one of the directors of the camp, asked if I would share my testimony one night. And so I did. I wrote about it after coming back from camp because it gave me a lot to think about.
On the final day of camp, Paul asked if I could give a ride home to one of the camp leaders and the other camp director, Gwen. As it turned out Gwen's flatmate at the time was an American lady who served as a chaplain at a university here. That she was from Portland, Oregon and was a chaplain to international students (both of which I was really passionate about), gave us a lot in common. If I hadn't been that worn out from camp, I would have stayed for dinner with them. I didn't realise at the time was that that wasn't going to be my last interaction with Carrie.
A few weeks later, I was out running errands with Marilyn and had shared with her about my interest in working with migrants, refugees and international communities--which was why New Zealand even interested me in the very first place. She excitedly told me that her mum had been volunteering with an organisation that helped migrants with their transitions, and that I should have coffee with her. As much as I wanted to, life got busy and that got put on hold.
A few months later, we had a guest speaker one Sunday who worked with migrant and international communities. Merv Coates had also been the professor for pastoral care at Laidlaw Bible College. He and I had several conversations about his work, and he invited me and members from our church to come along to one of the events their ministry was sponsoring. It was at that event that I ran into Carrie again. Because there was so much going on at the time, we never got to talk much.
This was the third time that this idea about working with migrants and international communities had come up, and I was beginning to wonder if God was up to something with these "accidental" run-ins. But again, life happened, and I never got around to following up on any of those conversations.
Then one random day, Carrie posted on Facebook about an event called Newswatch. It was one of the programmes sponsored by the chaplains at the university where students would watch news clips from the week to help keep them connected with news both locally and around the world, and especially in their home countries. Because the news clips were in English, it was also an opportunity for them, many of whom English was a second language, to brush up on their language skills. I hopped on and asked Carried if it would be ok for me to come along to just hang out. Before I knew it, Newswatch and student group Fridays had become a regular on my calendar, and the students began to count on the desserts that would show up with me.
While all this was happening, Carrie and I still hardly knew anything about each other because we both understood our priorities on Fridays were to hang out with the students. One day in the middle of nowhere just before my trip back to the States, she asked where my funds were coming from. Because Carrie herself has to raise support, she understood some of the hoops to jump through with fundraising. But as I began to explain the complexities of my situation and all the ways we've tried to work with the system, she was appalled that it had become such hard work. She then asked if I would consider having my funds come through the organisation she was working with. And then she said, "I don't know what your contract is like with your church, but if you would like to come work with us, we would love to have you."
At that time, I had already known I wasn't going to serve another term with WCF. As much as I loved my experience and had learnt a lot from my time here, I had also learnt that just because I was able to do something or learn how to do something (like run the children's ministry), it didn't always mean that I was the right person for the job. And I began to recall all the conversations I had prior to arriving in New Zealand about all the other things I was passionate about--working with migrant and international communities, and working outside the church structures to bring people into meaningful relationships with those within the church structures. And I began to trust the prompting that it was time to pursue that. All of these conversations with Carrie, Marilyn and Merv could not have been coincidental. (The Bible does say something about, "three times..." eh?)
And so Carrie and I began to talk a little bit more. All of this time, it bothered me that I didn't know how it would all fit with my (somewhat foolish) loyalty to the Church of God Reformation Movement, or how this new ministry would fit into its structures, or what I would do if it didn't. Several other things got thrown onto the scene that halted my conversations with Carrie for a while. But as things began to fall into place, as they always do, I began to realise that whether it fit into a denominational structure or not, I could no longer run away from pursuing this new ministry.
Shortly after my return from the States, several things happened that led to some significant conversations with the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand. Even though most ministries in New Zealand tend to run ecumenically, I was "raised" to respect denominational traditions, and WMCNZ would have been theologically closest to the Church of God. And it was encouraging to know that there were WMCNZ folks who, upon hearing about my ideas for a new ministry next year, got really excited and wanted to jump in to support however they can. They themselves had relationships and connections that made it easy for them to understand why this new ministry would be significant, which gave me hope to realise that I wasn't crazy for wanting to do this. As good students of missiology will tell you, outsiders may see a perceived need, but until the insiders want to address those needs themselves, they will not buy into any programme that outsiders are pitching.
So where does this lead, and what's next?
Well, I'm not exactly sure yet either. As conversations continued with Richard, superintendent of WMCNZ, I begin to realise there is potential for this to have a much bigger scope and influence than I can even foresee at this point. I would love to see this eventually develop into a community space (not necessarily physically) where students can connect with both local communities and churches, and it becoming an intergenerational relationship-building venue.
But for now, there is work to be done to get the first steps in place. Here's how you can pray with us:
As always,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
me
Coming up: "Why me??"
During the camp, Paul, who was one of the directors of the camp, asked if I would share my testimony one night. And so I did. I wrote about it after coming back from camp because it gave me a lot to think about.
On the final day of camp, Paul asked if I could give a ride home to one of the camp leaders and the other camp director, Gwen. As it turned out Gwen's flatmate at the time was an American lady who served as a chaplain at a university here. That she was from Portland, Oregon and was a chaplain to international students (both of which I was really passionate about), gave us a lot in common. If I hadn't been that worn out from camp, I would have stayed for dinner with them. I didn't realise at the time was that that wasn't going to be my last interaction with Carrie.
A few weeks later, I was out running errands with Marilyn and had shared with her about my interest in working with migrants, refugees and international communities--which was why New Zealand even interested me in the very first place. She excitedly told me that her mum had been volunteering with an organisation that helped migrants with their transitions, and that I should have coffee with her. As much as I wanted to, life got busy and that got put on hold.
A few months later, we had a guest speaker one Sunday who worked with migrant and international communities. Merv Coates had also been the professor for pastoral care at Laidlaw Bible College. He and I had several conversations about his work, and he invited me and members from our church to come along to one of the events their ministry was sponsoring. It was at that event that I ran into Carrie again. Because there was so much going on at the time, we never got to talk much.
This was the third time that this idea about working with migrants and international communities had come up, and I was beginning to wonder if God was up to something with these "accidental" run-ins. But again, life happened, and I never got around to following up on any of those conversations.
Then one random day, Carrie posted on Facebook about an event called Newswatch. It was one of the programmes sponsored by the chaplains at the university where students would watch news clips from the week to help keep them connected with news both locally and around the world, and especially in their home countries. Because the news clips were in English, it was also an opportunity for them, many of whom English was a second language, to brush up on their language skills. I hopped on and asked Carried if it would be ok for me to come along to just hang out. Before I knew it, Newswatch and student group Fridays had become a regular on my calendar, and the students began to count on the desserts that would show up with me.
While all this was happening, Carrie and I still hardly knew anything about each other because we both understood our priorities on Fridays were to hang out with the students. One day in the middle of nowhere just before my trip back to the States, she asked where my funds were coming from. Because Carrie herself has to raise support, she understood some of the hoops to jump through with fundraising. But as I began to explain the complexities of my situation and all the ways we've tried to work with the system, she was appalled that it had become such hard work. She then asked if I would consider having my funds come through the organisation she was working with. And then she said, "I don't know what your contract is like with your church, but if you would like to come work with us, we would love to have you."
At that time, I had already known I wasn't going to serve another term with WCF. As much as I loved my experience and had learnt a lot from my time here, I had also learnt that just because I was able to do something or learn how to do something (like run the children's ministry), it didn't always mean that I was the right person for the job. And I began to recall all the conversations I had prior to arriving in New Zealand about all the other things I was passionate about--working with migrant and international communities, and working outside the church structures to bring people into meaningful relationships with those within the church structures. And I began to trust the prompting that it was time to pursue that. All of these conversations with Carrie, Marilyn and Merv could not have been coincidental. (The Bible does say something about, "three times..." eh?)
And so Carrie and I began to talk a little bit more. All of this time, it bothered me that I didn't know how it would all fit with my (somewhat foolish) loyalty to the Church of God Reformation Movement, or how this new ministry would fit into its structures, or what I would do if it didn't. Several other things got thrown onto the scene that halted my conversations with Carrie for a while. But as things began to fall into place, as they always do, I began to realise that whether it fit into a denominational structure or not, I could no longer run away from pursuing this new ministry.
Shortly after my return from the States, several things happened that led to some significant conversations with the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand. Even though most ministries in New Zealand tend to run ecumenically, I was "raised" to respect denominational traditions, and WMCNZ would have been theologically closest to the Church of God. And it was encouraging to know that there were WMCNZ folks who, upon hearing about my ideas for a new ministry next year, got really excited and wanted to jump in to support however they can. They themselves had relationships and connections that made it easy for them to understand why this new ministry would be significant, which gave me hope to realise that I wasn't crazy for wanting to do this. As good students of missiology will tell you, outsiders may see a perceived need, but until the insiders want to address those needs themselves, they will not buy into any programme that outsiders are pitching.
So where does this lead, and what's next?
Well, I'm not exactly sure yet either. As conversations continued with Richard, superintendent of WMCNZ, I begin to realise there is potential for this to have a much bigger scope and influence than I can even foresee at this point. I would love to see this eventually develop into a community space (not necessarily physically) where students can connect with both local communities and churches, and it becoming an intergenerational relationship-building venue.
But for now, there is work to be done to get the first steps in place. Here's how you can pray with us:
- Pray for the churches that have an interest in being involved with this ministry. Pray that the existing relationships with the students will continue to be strengthened and the desire to pour into their lives will grow.
- Pray for the students that will be reached through these relationships, that they would encounter life-change in their few years in New Zealand. And pray that the relationships built here will continue to support and provide accountability for them as they return to their home-countries.
- Because of all the complexities surrounding my support raising with several organisations in different parts of the world supporting me, it makes sorting out a visa complicated. Please pray that things will begin to fall into place for the process.
- I will also need to move out of my current living arrangements to make room for a ministry of this nature. Pray for a new living arrangement to open up that will be affordable.
As always,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
me
Coming up: "Why me??"
22 August 2013
Where We Come From: Holiness and Unity Part #4
One of my first lessons on ecclesiology came not from a textbook or lecture, but from a conversation with a dear friend. Caldwell Manners was a first year student at the School of Theology back in 2004 when I was starting my freshman year at Anderson University. He was the first friendly face I met on campus. I had come knocking on Uncle Mac and Auntie Jean's home the day I arrived in Anderson. They weren't home, but this Indian kid came to the door. I didn't know what to make of it except that he was friendly, and I was awkward. By the time we had a second conversation, I knew we were going to be friends.
I don't remember how it started, but one evening, we found ourselves having a lengthy discussion about denominationalism. At the time, I had no interest in theological education because as far as I was concerned, theologians were either dead white men or nerds who buried themselves in books and didn't know how to interact with the real world. But Caldwell simply asked if I thought that God's ideal was for everyone to camp under the same church roof and sing Kumbaya (granted, those weren't his exact words). I felt like the right answer was to say, "Yes, of course that's God's ideal," but something in Caldwell's tone of voice hinted that he had expected something different.
And I don't remember how he explained it, but I remembered that conversation for a long time. It wasn't until years later that I understood that it was ok for us to claim Wesleyan, or Church of God, or Nazarene, or even Calvinist or Baptist--as long as we could leave each other on the common ground that we all love Jesus and each other. I began to understand that we are story-formed people, and that the variety of denominations created space for all stories to be embraced.
There are traditional churches with pipe-organs and sanctuary choirs, and there are the hipster churches with their cafes and praise bands.
There are country parishes with the pianos that accompany every hymn, and there are gospel choirs.
There are house churches and underground churches, and there are churches that meet on the streets.
These styles of "church" came into existence because story-formed people came together under different contexts, each bringing their own God-woven story and deciding to share them in a particular manner that was comfortable to them. And they all simply display the creativity of the God we worship.
The beauty of the Church of God theology I embrace is that there CAN be unity in all of the differences. We don't all have to interpret baptism the same way or use the same word to describe communion or the eucharist. But we all believe Jesus died for us, and wants us to choose life with God. And we all live under the "Love God, and love your neighbour as yourself" rule, which means we should all be able to work side by side for the Kingdom.
Over the past couple of weeks, I had the privilege to spend a significant amount of time with the Wesleyan Methodist Church in New Zealand. The thing I love about spending time with the Wesleyan Methodist Church is that I get to interact with the Pacific Island and Asian communities, and to hear songs and prayers in different languages. And we get to sit around the tables with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters, talking and learning from each other.
One of the questions raised in our conversation was this: What impact does context have on our understanding of holiness? Should it have an impact?
The conversation around the table was lively, and I was intrigued by the question so I brought it back to our small group yesterday and asked the ladies the same question.
Let me just say, they blew my mind.
Sylvia began by saying, she wasn't exactly sure how or why yet, but she knew the answer had to be that context DOES impact our understanding of holiness. She went on to describe that those living on the fringes probably understand their need for holiness far better than those of us who have been living a good life. We often assume that because we have been good, we have also been holy. But holiness has nothing to do with being good as much as it has to do with realising our need for Jesus.
Nina talked about how holiness would mean something different to a Buddhist than to us, and how we don't touch the heads of Maori children because the head is tapu (holy/sacred). It made me realise that the question was actually really open-ended, but MY context as a Christian has already impacted my understanding of holiness in that I hadn't even considered how holiness might be understood by those who didn't follow Jesus.
(Seminerdian friends, I'm aware there's still a load of stuff to unpack from that question, but that isn't the point of this post.)
The point is this: We don't all have to love pipe-organs more than praise bands or ukeleles, and we don't all have to have a trim latte before church. We don't even have to understand holiness in exactly the same way, except in that holiness requires us to love God and love our neighbours as ourselves. And that is what brings unity.
And that. That is where we come from.
I don't remember how it started, but one evening, we found ourselves having a lengthy discussion about denominationalism. At the time, I had no interest in theological education because as far as I was concerned, theologians were either dead white men or nerds who buried themselves in books and didn't know how to interact with the real world. But Caldwell simply asked if I thought that God's ideal was for everyone to camp under the same church roof and sing Kumbaya (granted, those weren't his exact words). I felt like the right answer was to say, "Yes, of course that's God's ideal," but something in Caldwell's tone of voice hinted that he had expected something different.
And I don't remember how he explained it, but I remembered that conversation for a long time. It wasn't until years later that I understood that it was ok for us to claim Wesleyan, or Church of God, or Nazarene, or even Calvinist or Baptist--as long as we could leave each other on the common ground that we all love Jesus and each other. I began to understand that we are story-formed people, and that the variety of denominations created space for all stories to be embraced.
There are traditional churches with pipe-organs and sanctuary choirs, and there are the hipster churches with their cafes and praise bands.
There are country parishes with the pianos that accompany every hymn, and there are gospel choirs.
There are house churches and underground churches, and there are churches that meet on the streets.
These styles of "church" came into existence because story-formed people came together under different contexts, each bringing their own God-woven story and deciding to share them in a particular manner that was comfortable to them. And they all simply display the creativity of the God we worship.
The beauty of the Church of God theology I embrace is that there CAN be unity in all of the differences. We don't all have to interpret baptism the same way or use the same word to describe communion or the eucharist. But we all believe Jesus died for us, and wants us to choose life with God. And we all live under the "Love God, and love your neighbour as yourself" rule, which means we should all be able to work side by side for the Kingdom.
Over the past couple of weeks, I had the privilege to spend a significant amount of time with the Wesleyan Methodist Church in New Zealand. The thing I love about spending time with the Wesleyan Methodist Church is that I get to interact with the Pacific Island and Asian communities, and to hear songs and prayers in different languages. And we get to sit around the tables with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters, talking and learning from each other.
One of the questions raised in our conversation was this: What impact does context have on our understanding of holiness? Should it have an impact?
The conversation around the table was lively, and I was intrigued by the question so I brought it back to our small group yesterday and asked the ladies the same question.
Let me just say, they blew my mind.
Sylvia began by saying, she wasn't exactly sure how or why yet, but she knew the answer had to be that context DOES impact our understanding of holiness. She went on to describe that those living on the fringes probably understand their need for holiness far better than those of us who have been living a good life. We often assume that because we have been good, we have also been holy. But holiness has nothing to do with being good as much as it has to do with realising our need for Jesus.
Nina talked about how holiness would mean something different to a Buddhist than to us, and how we don't touch the heads of Maori children because the head is tapu (holy/sacred). It made me realise that the question was actually really open-ended, but MY context as a Christian has already impacted my understanding of holiness in that I hadn't even considered how holiness might be understood by those who didn't follow Jesus.
(Seminerdian friends, I'm aware there's still a load of stuff to unpack from that question, but that isn't the point of this post.)
The point is this: We don't all have to love pipe-organs more than praise bands or ukeleles, and we don't all have to have a trim latte before church. We don't even have to understand holiness in exactly the same way, except in that holiness requires us to love God and love our neighbours as ourselves. And that is what brings unity.
And that. That is where we come from.
11 July 2013
Where We Come From: The Institution and The Reformation
Jen posted this question to our group of friends yesterday and invited us to respond:
Preface:
Most folks who know my story know that a big part of who I am today is a result of several years of wrestling with the institution that we as “Christians” call “Church”. As much as I’ve felt let down by the institution, there are reasons for why I’m still sticking around. Admittedly, a small part of that reason is a foolish loyalty to this highly dysfunctional family that I cannot seem to work past.
It began some time in 2005. My picture-perfect understanding of the Church as an institution had just begun crumbling, but there was always something that said, “Hold on, this is family. Don’t quit.” Over the years, the more I got involved in the Church, the more I felt let down by its structures. At times, “This is family. Don’t quit,” no longer stood as strong enough reasons for me to not leave. I needed something more.
By 2010, my disgruntlement with the Church as an institution had hit its peak. That was when I got involved with a ministry project in Berlin. Maybe it was being in Germany where some of the theologians I had the most respect for came from. Maybe it was having the time to step away from the institution for a bit. Whatever it was, the 3 months in Berlin caused a seismic shift in the way I understood "The Institution". This is the story.
Definitions:
First, a few definitions:
Institution – a system that provides lifestyle structure, law, boundaries and/or guidance that are socially accpted by a specific group of people.
Reformation – a time period dedicated to questioning the identity, vision, mission, values, and structures of a specific group of people, specifically addressing its relevance to the current culture and context.
Why Institutions Part #1:
Even as children, structures, rule books, boundaries or guidance help groups of people feel safe. In a social science experiment, children were put in a compound where there were no fences surrounding their play area. The group of children played close together. When fences were put in later to surround the same play area, the group of children spread themselves out to the limits of the fences. There was safety in having structures in place.
Whether we are looking at churches, schools, corporate organisations, politics or international relations, some form of institution is necessary to help groups of people navigate what it means to work or live together. We might say that institutions are necessary evils, but I think that is only because even the most free-spirited human being need some form of institution—even if it’s as simple as, “I will not hurt any living organism.”
So if those assumptions were true, (and for the purpose of this piece, let’s assume they are) how do we explain the increasing disgruntlement toward institutions, and specifically toward the institutionalized Church? To begin, I’m not convinced this disgruntlement is anything new. It might be helpful to examine what institutions looked like through history.
While I’m fairly certain the ideas presented in this piece are relevant to most institutions whether religious or not, because my academic background focused mainly on the sociological and religious fields, it is through these lenses that I present these ideas.
The Early Church:
For most church historians, the beginning of the institutionalized church is often defined by “The Early Church,” or “The Acts 2 Church”. Jesus had just been on the cross on Golgotha and been raised. The spiritual morale was on an all-time high even while persecution continued. Believers gathered together to share their belongings, break bread and fellowship. All was nice and rosy, right?
But “The Early Church” institution didn’t last for long. Barely a few chapters later in Acts, that institution was falling apart. Yet even today, we paint idealistic pictures of what it must have been like to live in the times of “The Early Church”. We look to that model to figure out how to create Church institutions today, perhaps because we choose to only remember the moments of the spiritual high reflected in the early Acts chapters. It is much easier to idealize what community life can be like if we default to some historical structure.
Historical Perspective:
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the study of history, or Scripture for that matter. In fact, I think there is much we can learn from the overall historical narrative of Scripture—and not just because I'm a history buff.
For the purpose of this piece, let’s begin with Moses—not because there’s nothing that can be said or learnt between the time of Adam and Eve up to the story of Joseph, but because it is during the time of Moses that the idea of institution really began to become clearer. Prior to Moses, the collective identity of the people of Israel had been exactly that: they were the people of Israel. It was as if because they wore the last name, “Descendants of Adam and Eve,” they knew exactly how the household ran.
Fast forward to the time between Joseph and Moses. By this time there were so many of them, and the “Descendants of Adam and Eve” last name no longer held water as they now lived under Egyptian authority. The Egyptian institution of making them all become slaves was put in place to help create some sense of order by an authority that felt threatened by their presence.
Fast forward a few more years to the period of exodus. We find a group of people whose institution was once defined by a common last name, then by an authoritarian figure now wandering in the wilderness without a sense of direction or common identity anymore. Enter the Ten Commandments and the other Mosaic laws as an institution to help navigate forty years of wandering.
Fast forward a few generations. This same group of people now live in the Promised Land and have been guided by judges. But it was no longer enough for them. They got disgruntled (sound familiar?) and asked for a king. And so King Saul became a part of their institution. And then King David. And Solomon...
Fast forward to the New Testament. We find Jesus himself saying that he came "not to abolish the law, but to fulfil it." (Matthew 5:17) And soon we begin to find more practices that help define "institution". Like Passover or Communion, baptism and footwashing.
Institutions. These things that help us function together as a people group. They're necessary even if we don't always agree with everything about them.
The Problem With Institutions:
The thing is, these all happened even before "The Acts 2 Church" developed as an institution. And yet when we default to the "Acts 2 Church" whenever we look for guidance on how to create new institutions today. Maybe it's because the Acts 2 model is the beginning of life after Jesus' death and resurrection. We understand that things had to be different after the first Easter, so we take on the first "radical" institution that came into existence as the main/right model for doing Church as an institution.
So what went wrong? Why are more and more people having issues with the institutional Church as we understand it today?
Maybe it's the simple reality that we don’t live in Acts 2 days. The first apostles probably had to tell themselves the same thing, that they didn't live in Exodus days either. Too often we get caught up in trying to keep things the same according to "the original version" of our institutions that we lose track of the spirit behind these institutions in the first place. If Jesus had been as caught up with the "original version" of the law of Moses as we sometimes can be today, fulfilling the law would not have led him to Golgotha.
Yet as frustrating as they might be, we as humankind default to institutions for various reasons. It might be that institutions provide safety, or because we love organizing things, events or people, or simply because we crave structure. Even for those of us who want to break away, it usually isn’t because we don’t want structure, as much as we have become disillusioned by structures that are not working. The reality is that as frustrated as we can get with institutions, breaking away from structure isn't going to solve anything. Why? Here are my reasons:
1) Humankind defaults to structure. We may try to break away from one structure, but we still end up swinging toward another structure. Migrants leave political structures of one nation, but they end up in another institution. Corporate workers who leave their jobs to set up their own businesses find that they have to create their own institutions as well. Radicals revolutionise only to eventually set up another governmental institution. Folks who want to, or have left institutionalized Church find themselves in other institutional structures as well--even home churches need structure: where are we meeting, what time and what are we doing when we meet?
2) We are made for community. The major world religions can differ greatly in theology, but there is a common thread through them all: the betterment of the community we live amongst. We may have differing opinions of Buddha, Allah, Jesus or Brahman, but we all know that we don't push each other on the playground, and we share our pencils to those in need. As followers of Christ, particularly, we do not, and cannot exist alone. And where there are folks gathered, a way of doing life together is formed.
The Reformation Response:
So if institutions are necessary, how do we make them work? How do we move forward together, and where do we go from here? Allow me to share with you a little bit about the heritage I inherited as a daughter of a reformation movement.
The Church of God Reformation Movement, through which I inherited my Christian heritage, has had a history of priding itself as a progressive movement. In a time where the universal Church struggled with denominational differences, we prided ourselves for preaching the message of Holiness and Unity, in an effort to restore Christian unity.
The problem is that too often, as sons and daughters of a reformation movement, we assume that the work is done. We assume that DS Warner and his kindreds did all that there is and can be to do for the cause of the gospel message in their reformation work. As a result, we simply settle into the institutions of those who have gone before us. But we don't live in the days of DS Warner anymore, nor do we live in the time of the Acts 2 Church. And we forget that even before the Church of God Reformation Movement came into being, the fathers and mothers of our Christian heritage had already been a part of this reformation work.
Jesus himself set out to reform the institution of the synagogue.
Martin Luther saw the great disparity between the institution of the Catholic church and the community they were supposed to be living with, and helped plant seeds for the Protestant reformation.
And after Warner, Nora Hunter reformed the missionary sending institution of the Church of God.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, through his writings, reformed the institution of the Church that had been corrupted by war.
What makes us think it ever becomes time to stop living and breathing our reformation heritage? I don't mean that we need to hold on to all "the original versions" of Luther, or to all of DS Warner's original teachings. I mean we continually seek to live out our reformation heritage.
We speak for injustice as Martin Luther did.
We break down barriers that hinder Kingdom work as Nora Hunter did.
We refuse to sit with status quo and easy answers as Dietrich Bonhoeffer did.
We uphold the essentials of all that is sacred as Jesus did.
Why Institutions Part #2:
As a part of the Church of God Reformation Movement, we become inheritants of a reformation heritage, but no just because of DS Warner. We don't worship DS Warner because of what he stood up for, but uphold his spirit of continually living out that reformation heritage. We call ourselves a "reformation movement" because that is exactly who we are supposed to be--reformers that keep moving forward with the times to create new institutions that continually remain relevant to the culture and context in the world we live in. I don't mean that we need to tear apart all that has been established by those who have gone before. I simply mean we need to continually exegete our culture and context to continue building on the foundation they laid.
So maybe you don't claim the same reformation heritage that I do. And maybe you don't have the same foolish loyalty to a highly dysfunctional family institution that I do. But I think we owe it to each other to keep speaking into the institutions that have become a part of our communal heritage as followers of Christ--not simply for the sake of keeping these institutions alive, but because these institutions are what feed our sense of community.
My friends, Joe and David have become very important people who have helped me be a better person in spite of my frustrations with the institution. They have each written separate pieces about how these institutions feed our sense of community, so rather than try to re-write what they have done, I invite you over to their posts.
Click here for Joe's thoughts
Click here for David's thoughts
WHY IT IS COOL TO LOVE THE INSTITUTION OF THE CHURCH AND TO STAY COMMITTED TO IT EVEN WHEN THINGS SEEM DIFFICULT.Forgive me that this is a much longer post than usual. My attention span isn't usually long enough for me to sit still to write such a long piece, but I was stuck on a plane for half of this. This is a culmination of thoughts from several years of a love-hate relationship with the institution of the Church. It might as well be time for me to share the nerdy-side of why I still choose to be committed.
Preface:
Most folks who know my story know that a big part of who I am today is a result of several years of wrestling with the institution that we as “Christians” call “Church”. As much as I’ve felt let down by the institution, there are reasons for why I’m still sticking around. Admittedly, a small part of that reason is a foolish loyalty to this highly dysfunctional family that I cannot seem to work past.
It began some time in 2005. My picture-perfect understanding of the Church as an institution had just begun crumbling, but there was always something that said, “Hold on, this is family. Don’t quit.” Over the years, the more I got involved in the Church, the more I felt let down by its structures. At times, “This is family. Don’t quit,” no longer stood as strong enough reasons for me to not leave. I needed something more.
By 2010, my disgruntlement with the Church as an institution had hit its peak. That was when I got involved with a ministry project in Berlin. Maybe it was being in Germany where some of the theologians I had the most respect for came from. Maybe it was having the time to step away from the institution for a bit. Whatever it was, the 3 months in Berlin caused a seismic shift in the way I understood "The Institution". This is the story.
Definitions:
First, a few definitions:
Institution – a system that provides lifestyle structure, law, boundaries and/or guidance that are socially accpted by a specific group of people.
Reformation – a time period dedicated to questioning the identity, vision, mission, values, and structures of a specific group of people, specifically addressing its relevance to the current culture and context.
Why Institutions Part #1:
Even as children, structures, rule books, boundaries or guidance help groups of people feel safe. In a social science experiment, children were put in a compound where there were no fences surrounding their play area. The group of children played close together. When fences were put in later to surround the same play area, the group of children spread themselves out to the limits of the fences. There was safety in having structures in place.
Whether we are looking at churches, schools, corporate organisations, politics or international relations, some form of institution is necessary to help groups of people navigate what it means to work or live together. We might say that institutions are necessary evils, but I think that is only because even the most free-spirited human being need some form of institution—even if it’s as simple as, “I will not hurt any living organism.”
So if those assumptions were true, (and for the purpose of this piece, let’s assume they are) how do we explain the increasing disgruntlement toward institutions, and specifically toward the institutionalized Church? To begin, I’m not convinced this disgruntlement is anything new. It might be helpful to examine what institutions looked like through history.
While I’m fairly certain the ideas presented in this piece are relevant to most institutions whether religious or not, because my academic background focused mainly on the sociological and religious fields, it is through these lenses that I present these ideas.
The Early Church:
For most church historians, the beginning of the institutionalized church is often defined by “The Early Church,” or “The Acts 2 Church”. Jesus had just been on the cross on Golgotha and been raised. The spiritual morale was on an all-time high even while persecution continued. Believers gathered together to share their belongings, break bread and fellowship. All was nice and rosy, right?
But “The Early Church” institution didn’t last for long. Barely a few chapters later in Acts, that institution was falling apart. Yet even today, we paint idealistic pictures of what it must have been like to live in the times of “The Early Church”. We look to that model to figure out how to create Church institutions today, perhaps because we choose to only remember the moments of the spiritual high reflected in the early Acts chapters. It is much easier to idealize what community life can be like if we default to some historical structure.
Historical Perspective:
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the study of history, or Scripture for that matter. In fact, I think there is much we can learn from the overall historical narrative of Scripture—and not just because I'm a history buff.
For the purpose of this piece, let’s begin with Moses—not because there’s nothing that can be said or learnt between the time of Adam and Eve up to the story of Joseph, but because it is during the time of Moses that the idea of institution really began to become clearer. Prior to Moses, the collective identity of the people of Israel had been exactly that: they were the people of Israel. It was as if because they wore the last name, “Descendants of Adam and Eve,” they knew exactly how the household ran.
Fast forward to the time between Joseph and Moses. By this time there were so many of them, and the “Descendants of Adam and Eve” last name no longer held water as they now lived under Egyptian authority. The Egyptian institution of making them all become slaves was put in place to help create some sense of order by an authority that felt threatened by their presence.
Fast forward a few more years to the period of exodus. We find a group of people whose institution was once defined by a common last name, then by an authoritarian figure now wandering in the wilderness without a sense of direction or common identity anymore. Enter the Ten Commandments and the other Mosaic laws as an institution to help navigate forty years of wandering.
Fast forward a few generations. This same group of people now live in the Promised Land and have been guided by judges. But it was no longer enough for them. They got disgruntled (sound familiar?) and asked for a king. And so King Saul became a part of their institution. And then King David. And Solomon...
Fast forward to the New Testament. We find Jesus himself saying that he came "not to abolish the law, but to fulfil it." (Matthew 5:17) And soon we begin to find more practices that help define "institution". Like Passover or Communion, baptism and footwashing.
Institutions. These things that help us function together as a people group. They're necessary even if we don't always agree with everything about them.
The Problem With Institutions:
The thing is, these all happened even before "The Acts 2 Church" developed as an institution. And yet when we default to the "Acts 2 Church" whenever we look for guidance on how to create new institutions today. Maybe it's because the Acts 2 model is the beginning of life after Jesus' death and resurrection. We understand that things had to be different after the first Easter, so we take on the first "radical" institution that came into existence as the main/right model for doing Church as an institution.
So what went wrong? Why are more and more people having issues with the institutional Church as we understand it today?
Maybe it's the simple reality that we don’t live in Acts 2 days. The first apostles probably had to tell themselves the same thing, that they didn't live in Exodus days either. Too often we get caught up in trying to keep things the same according to "the original version" of our institutions that we lose track of the spirit behind these institutions in the first place. If Jesus had been as caught up with the "original version" of the law of Moses as we sometimes can be today, fulfilling the law would not have led him to Golgotha.
Yet as frustrating as they might be, we as humankind default to institutions for various reasons. It might be that institutions provide safety, or because we love organizing things, events or people, or simply because we crave structure. Even for those of us who want to break away, it usually isn’t because we don’t want structure, as much as we have become disillusioned by structures that are not working. The reality is that as frustrated as we can get with institutions, breaking away from structure isn't going to solve anything. Why? Here are my reasons:
1) Humankind defaults to structure. We may try to break away from one structure, but we still end up swinging toward another structure. Migrants leave political structures of one nation, but they end up in another institution. Corporate workers who leave their jobs to set up their own businesses find that they have to create their own institutions as well. Radicals revolutionise only to eventually set up another governmental institution. Folks who want to, or have left institutionalized Church find themselves in other institutional structures as well--even home churches need structure: where are we meeting, what time and what are we doing when we meet?
2) We are made for community. The major world religions can differ greatly in theology, but there is a common thread through them all: the betterment of the community we live amongst. We may have differing opinions of Buddha, Allah, Jesus or Brahman, but we all know that we don't push each other on the playground, and we share our pencils to those in need. As followers of Christ, particularly, we do not, and cannot exist alone. And where there are folks gathered, a way of doing life together is formed.
The Reformation Response:
So if institutions are necessary, how do we make them work? How do we move forward together, and where do we go from here? Allow me to share with you a little bit about the heritage I inherited as a daughter of a reformation movement.
The Church of God Reformation Movement, through which I inherited my Christian heritage, has had a history of priding itself as a progressive movement. In a time where the universal Church struggled with denominational differences, we prided ourselves for preaching the message of Holiness and Unity, in an effort to restore Christian unity.
The problem is that too often, as sons and daughters of a reformation movement, we assume that the work is done. We assume that DS Warner and his kindreds did all that there is and can be to do for the cause of the gospel message in their reformation work. As a result, we simply settle into the institutions of those who have gone before us. But we don't live in the days of DS Warner anymore, nor do we live in the time of the Acts 2 Church. And we forget that even before the Church of God Reformation Movement came into being, the fathers and mothers of our Christian heritage had already been a part of this reformation work.
Jesus himself set out to reform the institution of the synagogue.
Martin Luther saw the great disparity between the institution of the Catholic church and the community they were supposed to be living with, and helped plant seeds for the Protestant reformation.
And after Warner, Nora Hunter reformed the missionary sending institution of the Church of God.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, through his writings, reformed the institution of the Church that had been corrupted by war.
What makes us think it ever becomes time to stop living and breathing our reformation heritage? I don't mean that we need to hold on to all "the original versions" of Luther, or to all of DS Warner's original teachings. I mean we continually seek to live out our reformation heritage.
We speak for injustice as Martin Luther did.
We break down barriers that hinder Kingdom work as Nora Hunter did.
We refuse to sit with status quo and easy answers as Dietrich Bonhoeffer did.
We uphold the essentials of all that is sacred as Jesus did.
Why Institutions Part #2:
As a part of the Church of God Reformation Movement, we become inheritants of a reformation heritage, but no just because of DS Warner. We don't worship DS Warner because of what he stood up for, but uphold his spirit of continually living out that reformation heritage. We call ourselves a "reformation movement" because that is exactly who we are supposed to be--reformers that keep moving forward with the times to create new institutions that continually remain relevant to the culture and context in the world we live in. I don't mean that we need to tear apart all that has been established by those who have gone before. I simply mean we need to continually exegete our culture and context to continue building on the foundation they laid.
So maybe you don't claim the same reformation heritage that I do. And maybe you don't have the same foolish loyalty to a highly dysfunctional family institution that I do. But I think we owe it to each other to keep speaking into the institutions that have become a part of our communal heritage as followers of Christ--not simply for the sake of keeping these institutions alive, but because these institutions are what feed our sense of community.
My friends, Joe and David have become very important people who have helped me be a better person in spite of my frustrations with the institution. They have each written separate pieces about how these institutions feed our sense of community, so rather than try to re-write what they have done, I invite you over to their posts.
Click here for Joe's thoughts
Click here for David's thoughts
01 July 2013
"Welcome Home"
I never know what to do with you
When we first met, you felt like the odd great-uncle
Your manners reminded me of a jaded war-veteran
Full of grandiose and pomp
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
You felt ancient, troubled and quirky
Yet someone said, stick around
These are good people
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
I resisted for a long time, but you grew on me
The melodies you sung and the liturgies you spoke
And the people...
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
We fought some tough battles together
As my days of prodigal wandering began
And you struggled to find your place in our family
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
You felt distantly close as my days of wandering continued
But when night fell and darkness tried to overwhelm
You became the familiar nursemaid from childhood
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
Soon the time came to leave home
Others didn't know what to do with me
But you said, "Go, we love you"
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
You had become friend, confidante and accomplice
You embraced me as a grandchild
And nurtured me to be likewise for others
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
I look back on the years we've been family
Our relationship has been weird and awkward at best
But we've learnt to embrace each other with all the love we have
They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from
I never know what to do with you
All I can say today is, thank you
For teaching me to fight, and for teaching me to love
For giving me space to ask questions, and for allowing me to wander
For fighting with and for me, and for believing in me
For the hard questions, and the questions that matter
For giving me permission to be my honest, politically-incorrect self
For pushing me to be unto others what you have been to me
For telling me to go, and for arms always open to say "welcome home"
....
I never know what to do with you
They speak of stories you have to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from, and where to from here
Dear Park Place Church,
Thank you for letting me be a part of this weird body we call family.
Thank you for loving me well, and sending me well.
Thank you for always being home no matter where I've wandered.
The hardest thing about being home is knowing the time will come when you have to leave again.
But we are a people on mission.
We go knowing we have family that sends us.
Dear Park Place family,
Thank you.
29 June 2013
Where We Come From: Holiness and Unity Part #3
One of the first things I had the privilege of being a part of when I arrived in Anderson last week was the unveiling and dedication of the Church of God Interpretive Center. The Interpretive Center has been the dream of outgoing (and now former) General Director of Church of God Ministries, Dr Ron Duncan for as long as he has been in the office. To see it completed and unveiled just before his retirement is, as Ms Martha, his wife, says, "a dream come true".
Dr Merle Strege, the historian of our movement and one of the brains behind the Interpretive Center, said at the unveiling that, "We, as the Church, are a story-telling people. To know where we are going as a movement, we have to tell the stories of where we came from."
And so we continue to tell our stories. Not because we should live as if D.S. Warner were still alive, or in fear that he would flip in his grave. But because we are a reformation movement, and the spirit of reformation should continue to move us forward.
So we fill the pages not simply with words that help us remember the historical events, but with acts that remind us to live out the spirit of reformation. We continue to tell stories about holiness and unity, not just as narratives to pass on to our children, but as intentional decisions to keep moving forward.
Because that's where we come from. We are people of a reformation movement, and we are people who continue living out our theology of holiness and unity.
Dr Merle Strege, the historian of our movement and one of the brains behind the Interpretive Center, said at the unveiling that, "We, as the Church, are a story-telling people. To know where we are going as a movement, we have to tell the stories of where we came from."
And so we continue to tell our stories. Not because we should live as if D.S. Warner were still alive, or in fear that he would flip in his grave. But because we are a reformation movement, and the spirit of reformation should continue to move us forward.
So we fill the pages not simply with words that help us remember the historical events, but with acts that remind us to live out the spirit of reformation. We continue to tell stories about holiness and unity, not just as narratives to pass on to our children, but as intentional decisions to keep moving forward.
Because that's where we come from. We are people of a reformation movement, and we are people who continue living out our theology of holiness and unity.
18 April 2013
Where We Come From: Holiness, Unity, Servanthood part #2
We recently started a new series, E100 (or the 100 essential places/readings to visit in the Bible). I'll be the first to admit I'm not a big fan of cookie-cutter programmes like these, especially Christiany programmes. I could come up with 101 theological reasons to disagree with the programme, but I forced myself to pack away the seminary cynicism and give it a chance. And I was glad I did.
As a result of this new series, I've been tremendously blessed by Table Talks, the adult small group I've been facilitating for the last couple of months. Granted, there's only the three of us that meet regularly, but that's the thing. We meet. And regularly. And of course, we go through the study questions and stuff.
But that's just the stuff that gave us a reason to start meeting together. The stuff that's really blown me away as getting to do life with these women who have become my church mums. Nina's taught me more about how to work in a western kitchen than anything Google can offer. Likewise with Sylvia's resourcefulness with children's ministry crafts and doing stuff on a low-budget.
And the questions they're asking. Nina and her four pages of loose-leaf notes complete with family trees of all the crazies in Genesis. Wrestling with God and evil questions. Stuff that make me wrestle with my own theology all over again, and coming to terms all over again with the fact that life isn't simply black or white. More than anything else, I was thankful that my seminary education managed to find a place in life outside the walls of Tallen Hall.
Then this week, Sylvia blew me away even more. Somewhere between asking questions about grace and redemption and the difference between the soul and spirit and the essentials of our faith, she said, "I want to know what our church tradition says about this."
I don't remember how I reacted outwardly, but inside, I was doing a happy dance. My gut reaction was, "Oh great, now I'm going to have to seriously review CHOG/Wesleyan Holiness theology so I can articulate it in non-nerdy language." But when I got over myself, I wanted to scream, "You're so Wesleyan, whether you realise it or not."
But this is why I appreciate these women.
Not because I have well-crafted seminary answers to throw at them, but because they challenge me to think about life.
And because they are so gracious with me and my inexperience with their children and grandchildren.
And because they don't simply write me off as a young whippersnapper, but embrace me as their nerd and their pastor.
So I've been thinking a lot about my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots lately. At Table Talks, we've been discussing a lot about law and grace and what those all mean according to our church tradition and understanding of scripture. I'll admit that I've taken the community of fellow Wesleyan Holiness nerds for granted in never really having to explain where we're coming from concerning our understanding of holiness and unity. But the more I dig into those roots, the more I'm thankful for a tradition whose concern for holiness and unity is rooted in grace. Not in law for the sake of law, but law for the sake of relationship.
And I've been thinking about my church mothers. The Nora Hunters, the Ann Smiths, and the MaryAnn Hawkins. The women who have gone before me, and the communities that have celebrated their wisdom and leadership. And I wonder if they had days when they had to deal with a self-esteem so low from being told over and over again (sometimes even not with words) that they were young, or inexperienced, or simply were not the right gender for proper leadership.
And then I think of my other church mothers and the Dumbledores. My own mother who has been quietly supportive and encouraging in her own way. The Ninas and the Sylvias who have affirmed me as their pastor, even in my whippersnapper-ness. And the Arthur Kellys and Jim Hawkins and Patrick Nachtigalls, who have never tried to pack my out-of-the-box-ness into neat packages.
And then I think of the people that Emily calls my "cloud of witnesses". The people whose paths I crossed while in Anderson who believe in me. The ones that hooded me not because I wrote good papers (I really didn't), but because we're all in this footwashing business together. The ones that talk about Kingdom Come more than the number of degrees we hold or the titles we wear.
On the days that I struggle with my place in the world, this is what I come back to.
Not the current job title or the job description. Those things are temporary.
No, this is where we come from.
These are the stories of holiness and unity.
These are the stories of the footwashers.
These are the stories of my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots.
As a result of this new series, I've been tremendously blessed by Table Talks, the adult small group I've been facilitating for the last couple of months. Granted, there's only the three of us that meet regularly, but that's the thing. We meet. And regularly. And of course, we go through the study questions and stuff.
But that's just the stuff that gave us a reason to start meeting together. The stuff that's really blown me away as getting to do life with these women who have become my church mums. Nina's taught me more about how to work in a western kitchen than anything Google can offer. Likewise with Sylvia's resourcefulness with children's ministry crafts and doing stuff on a low-budget.
And the questions they're asking. Nina and her four pages of loose-leaf notes complete with family trees of all the crazies in Genesis. Wrestling with God and evil questions. Stuff that make me wrestle with my own theology all over again, and coming to terms all over again with the fact that life isn't simply black or white. More than anything else, I was thankful that my seminary education managed to find a place in life outside the walls of Tallen Hall.
Then this week, Sylvia blew me away even more. Somewhere between asking questions about grace and redemption and the difference between the soul and spirit and the essentials of our faith, she said, "I want to know what our church tradition says about this."
I don't remember how I reacted outwardly, but inside, I was doing a happy dance. My gut reaction was, "Oh great, now I'm going to have to seriously review CHOG/Wesleyan Holiness theology so I can articulate it in non-nerdy language." But when I got over myself, I wanted to scream, "You're so Wesleyan, whether you realise it or not."
But this is why I appreciate these women.
Not because I have well-crafted seminary answers to throw at them, but because they challenge me to think about life.
And because they are so gracious with me and my inexperience with their children and grandchildren.
And because they don't simply write me off as a young whippersnapper, but embrace me as their nerd and their pastor.
So I've been thinking a lot about my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots lately. At Table Talks, we've been discussing a lot about law and grace and what those all mean according to our church tradition and understanding of scripture. I'll admit that I've taken the community of fellow Wesleyan Holiness nerds for granted in never really having to explain where we're coming from concerning our understanding of holiness and unity. But the more I dig into those roots, the more I'm thankful for a tradition whose concern for holiness and unity is rooted in grace. Not in law for the sake of law, but law for the sake of relationship.
And I've been thinking about my church mothers. The Nora Hunters, the Ann Smiths, and the MaryAnn Hawkins. The women who have gone before me, and the communities that have celebrated their wisdom and leadership. And I wonder if they had days when they had to deal with a self-esteem so low from being told over and over again (sometimes even not with words) that they were young, or inexperienced, or simply were not the right gender for proper leadership.
And then I think of my other church mothers and the Dumbledores. My own mother who has been quietly supportive and encouraging in her own way. The Ninas and the Sylvias who have affirmed me as their pastor, even in my whippersnapper-ness. And the Arthur Kellys and Jim Hawkins and Patrick Nachtigalls, who have never tried to pack my out-of-the-box-ness into neat packages.
And then I think of the people that Emily calls my "cloud of witnesses". The people whose paths I crossed while in Anderson who believe in me. The ones that hooded me not because I wrote good papers (I really didn't), but because we're all in this footwashing business together. The ones that talk about Kingdom Come more than the number of degrees we hold or the titles we wear.
On the days that I struggle with my place in the world, this is what I come back to.
Not the current job title or the job description. Those things are temporary.
No, this is where we come from.
These are the stories of holiness and unity.
These are the stories of the footwashers.
These are the stories of my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots.
06 April 2013
Where We Come From: Holiness, Unity, Servanthood part #1
"Holiness, Unity, Servanthood"
Ours wasn't a family that went to church our whole lives, and I still remember the days when Mum would take my brother and I church-hunting. But as long as I remember going to church, I remember those words to be inscribed on the walls of the building that we went to.
As a child, I remember staring at those words, thinking, "I know those words exist in the Bible. And if they are also appear on the walls of this building, and on the front page of those papers they hand out when we walk in to church, they must be pretty important. But they sound so grown up and fancy, and I'll never understand, much less achieve, what they mean."
Fast forward about twenty years, and I'm sitting in my bedroom here in Auckland, pondering those same words. Except now, they've been inscribed in my DNA as a follower of Jesus. Lots have happened between then and now, and a lot more is about to happen.
My mind flashes back to the silver letters on the front wall of the sanctuary in the new building of the church I grew up in.
"Holiness. Unity. Servanthood."
These are stories of Where We Come From--
This is the small part of my Christian heritage
The movement I claim roots in
The Church of God that I love dearly.
Ours wasn't a family that went to church our whole lives, and I still remember the days when Mum would take my brother and I church-hunting. But as long as I remember going to church, I remember those words to be inscribed on the walls of the building that we went to.
As a child, I remember staring at those words, thinking, "I know those words exist in the Bible. And if they are also appear on the walls of this building, and on the front page of those papers they hand out when we walk in to church, they must be pretty important. But they sound so grown up and fancy, and I'll never understand, much less achieve, what they mean."
Fast forward about twenty years, and I'm sitting in my bedroom here in Auckland, pondering those same words. Except now, they've been inscribed in my DNA as a follower of Jesus. Lots have happened between then and now, and a lot more is about to happen.
My mind flashes back to the silver letters on the front wall of the sanctuary in the new building of the church I grew up in.
"Holiness. Unity. Servanthood."
These are stories of Where We Come From--
This is the small part of my Christian heritage
The movement I claim roots in
The Church of God that I love dearly.
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