I'm finally beginning to process some of my thoughts from the three nights I spent in Ngaruawahia at IGNITE 2014, the national youth camp of the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand (WMCNZ). This might take a few blog posts because my attention span is completely shot, so bear with me.
I came away from IGNITE 2014 on a high. And I was surprised, because it wasn't the "camp fever" type of spiritual highs that I was used to from all my years of being a good church girl.
No, it was a very refreshing high. It was a high that would have more longevity than the other camps--particularly youth camps--I've been involved with in one way or another.
Every component of the camp struck me as well thought through with intentionality and theologically reflection. Perhaps the biggest thing that impressed me was that there was a lot of thought put into connecting the students back to their home church environment so that there can be as much follow up as possible by their youth pastors/leaders and home church.
Hats off to Rev. Joanne McKinnell, Rev. Amber Livermore and their leadership team. I've been in on some of the struggles they've had and continue to have moving forward from here, and they would say it's not quite where they want it to be yet. But to borrow the words from dear sage and mentor, Ann Smith, "Focus not on how far you have to go, but how far you've come." With only eight short years of an event history and the amount of personnel they had pulling off all the various pieces, this camp has already surpassed the level of excellence that can be achieved at this stage in the history of WMCNZ.
On a more personal note, what amount of respect I already had for both Jo and Amber have just been majorly upped because they don't simply talk good theological reflection--they also put good theological reflection into bite-sized, age-appropriate portions.
To borrow a Tongan phrase, "Malo Sisu" (Thank you Jesus)
Showing posts with label WMCNZ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WMCNZ. Show all posts
16 January 2014
That's What Makes You Beautiful
I had the privilege of attending the funeral of the brother of one of the ministers of WMCNZ last night. I didn't know him, or even anyone in the family. But many of the family members would have been a part of IGNITE camp over the weekend (more on that in posts to come) if not for the untimely passing, and so a few of the leaders involved in the camp showed up to lend our support.
When I heard the service was going to be about four hours long, I got a bit nervous. I was barely recovered from camp and was afraid I would fall asleep during a four hour long service, and in a language I didn't understand either.
But there was something beautifully spiritual about a Tongan funeral service. Maybe it was the beautiful harmonies of all the songs that interspersed the speaking. (You just HAVE to experience a Pasifika sing-fest. The beauty of that experience is beyond words) Maybe it was the beautiful flowers that decorated the funeral home.
Maybe it was that I was swept back to the church service in "The Blue Church" in Berlin. That spiritual things transcend language and culture. That maybe when we don't understand everything that's going on except for the fact that we're simply sharing the same breathing space and ... I don't know the right word for it ... more than just worshipping, but also basking in the presence of, the same Creator God...
That. That is what makes it beautiful.
When I heard the service was going to be about four hours long, I got a bit nervous. I was barely recovered from camp and was afraid I would fall asleep during a four hour long service, and in a language I didn't understand either.
But there was something beautifully spiritual about a Tongan funeral service. Maybe it was the beautiful harmonies of all the songs that interspersed the speaking. (You just HAVE to experience a Pasifika sing-fest. The beauty of that experience is beyond words) Maybe it was the beautiful flowers that decorated the funeral home.
Maybe it was that I was swept back to the church service in "The Blue Church" in Berlin. That spiritual things transcend language and culture. That maybe when we don't understand everything that's going on except for the fact that we're simply sharing the same breathing space and ... I don't know the right word for it ... more than just worshipping, but also basking in the presence of, the same Creator God...
That. That is what makes it beautiful.
06 January 2014
28: The Year Of Expectancy
A few days ago, I met Soana, a Tongan lady at a training session for Ignite, the youth camp by WMCNZ that I'm going to be a part of this weekend (assuming I'm still in New Zealand). At the beginning of the session, we were divided into groups, and asked to go around sharing stories of how we came to a relationship with Jesus, and what it is that's keeping that relationship going today.
Soana and I were going to be cabin leaders together, so as the training session was ending with a prayer time together, we had some time to visit and get to know each other better. At one point, she asked, "So, you're Chinese?" And I explained that I was, but I was born in Singapore. Then she said this: "You're so lucky that you can be a Christian. In Tonga, we're all raised as Christians, and we all have to go to church--it is a part of our culture. But when I moved to Auckland two years ago, I started to see that so many of the Tongans here don't follow the ways we were brought up in anymore. They read the Bible, but it's kept separate from their lives, and they don't even go to church anymore. You're lucky you can be a Christian, and still choose to be a Christian."
I've been mulling over that conversation over the last few days. In our Wesleyan-Arminian tradition, we talk a lot about free will. But the danger of only talking about free will is that we can drift off into an unbalanced dialogue that doesn't give consideration that God does ordain some things. That I was born into the land, family and place in society I was born into was definitely God-ordained. There can be no explanation than that (bearing in mind I'm writing this solely through the lenses of a relationship with Christ). But what I choose to do with the circumstances I was born into--that's free will.
In my short stint at WCF, I got to know several youths whom society would not pay any attention to. They weren't achieving enough to get positive attention, but they also weren't quite destructive enough to get just enough negative attention for it to go wrong. As I began to spend more time with these kids, I began to realise more and more that there really aren't "bad" kids, just kids who don't often make the best decisions from time to time. And with many of our kids, they didn't have the privilege of being born into the safe, sheltered circumstances I had. Sure, they had the free-will to make better choices and leave those circumstances behind, but for so many of them, they've not had the adults in their lives to support and encourage their making better choices.
Over the last few months, I've been at the district court a number of times. What breaks my heart most isn't just the number of youths who are summoned to court, but the reality that they are often there alone, represented only by a lawyer that was allocated to them by the district authorities. They often don't have a rapport with the lawyer, and coming from backgrounds of abandonment and trust issues, they have difficult trusting that the lawyers actually do want the best for them.
And then I marvel again, at how privileged I am. Yes, Soana, I am lucky, or blessed, or whatever word you want to use, to have been born into a family where starting and keeping a relationship with Christ was easy. I'm lucky to have been born into a family where it was easy to be a good kid. I'm lucky that even if I didn't have a picture perfect relationship with my birth family, they are at least supportive and encouraging of what I do--especially when it breaks the mold of success defined by finances that Asian societies value so deeply.
It is 6 January today. In exactly a month, I will be turning 28. Last year, as I was turning 27, I wrote that 27 was the year I joined the circus. In case you missed it, I discovered there was a free community circus in town, and I wanted to at least give it a shot. If nothing else, I can check off the bucket list that I was crazy enough to join a community circus for a few weeks. I didn't last in the circus for a variety of reasons; the main one being I hate performing. In uni, my piano professor told me I should switch majors if I hated performing (It only made sense when Chad--who also graduated from AU with a music degree--explained that universities in the States place most of their emphasis on performance, and I felt completely out of place because I loved theory and composition--and choir, but only because of a fantastic choir director). I was really disappointed with myself that I didn't last longer in the circus since I had hyped it up so much for my 27th birthday. But I eventually had to come to terms with simply being ok with who I am, and not placing the expectations on myself to be someone I'm not, and to pretend to love things that I don't.
Greta reminded me last night of something our dear Ann Smith talks about often: the difference between expectation and expectancy. #27 was a year of great expectations, and finding myself miserable when I couldn't keep up with my expectations of myself. As I head into #28, my only expectation of myself is to learn to live with expectancy of whatever it might be that God is going to do this year. As I continue the waiting game for my visa, I'm reminded again that, right from the beginning, New Zealand has been my Isaac. So I'm choosing again to surrender my Isaac at the altar in expectancy of whatever God is going to do with it.
And even though I had been crazy enough last year to set some things in place to publish and get ordained in 2014 (and am currently sitting here with the slightest anxiety over the realisation that 2014 isn't "next year" anymore), there is no expectation to see those things as achievements anymore.
I am enough because I choose to make the best of what I find myself in.
And I am enough because I choose to believe God thinks I'm enough.
Soana and I were going to be cabin leaders together, so as the training session was ending with a prayer time together, we had some time to visit and get to know each other better. At one point, she asked, "So, you're Chinese?" And I explained that I was, but I was born in Singapore. Then she said this: "You're so lucky that you can be a Christian. In Tonga, we're all raised as Christians, and we all have to go to church--it is a part of our culture. But when I moved to Auckland two years ago, I started to see that so many of the Tongans here don't follow the ways we were brought up in anymore. They read the Bible, but it's kept separate from their lives, and they don't even go to church anymore. You're lucky you can be a Christian, and still choose to be a Christian."
I've been mulling over that conversation over the last few days. In our Wesleyan-Arminian tradition, we talk a lot about free will. But the danger of only talking about free will is that we can drift off into an unbalanced dialogue that doesn't give consideration that God does ordain some things. That I was born into the land, family and place in society I was born into was definitely God-ordained. There can be no explanation than that (bearing in mind I'm writing this solely through the lenses of a relationship with Christ). But what I choose to do with the circumstances I was born into--that's free will.
In my short stint at WCF, I got to know several youths whom society would not pay any attention to. They weren't achieving enough to get positive attention, but they also weren't quite destructive enough to get just enough negative attention for it to go wrong. As I began to spend more time with these kids, I began to realise more and more that there really aren't "bad" kids, just kids who don't often make the best decisions from time to time. And with many of our kids, they didn't have the privilege of being born into the safe, sheltered circumstances I had. Sure, they had the free-will to make better choices and leave those circumstances behind, but for so many of them, they've not had the adults in their lives to support and encourage their making better choices.
Over the last few months, I've been at the district court a number of times. What breaks my heart most isn't just the number of youths who are summoned to court, but the reality that they are often there alone, represented only by a lawyer that was allocated to them by the district authorities. They often don't have a rapport with the lawyer, and coming from backgrounds of abandonment and trust issues, they have difficult trusting that the lawyers actually do want the best for them.
And then I marvel again, at how privileged I am. Yes, Soana, I am lucky, or blessed, or whatever word you want to use, to have been born into a family where starting and keeping a relationship with Christ was easy. I'm lucky to have been born into a family where it was easy to be a good kid. I'm lucky that even if I didn't have a picture perfect relationship with my birth family, they are at least supportive and encouraging of what I do--especially when it breaks the mold of success defined by finances that Asian societies value so deeply.
It is 6 January today. In exactly a month, I will be turning 28. Last year, as I was turning 27, I wrote that 27 was the year I joined the circus. In case you missed it, I discovered there was a free community circus in town, and I wanted to at least give it a shot. If nothing else, I can check off the bucket list that I was crazy enough to join a community circus for a few weeks. I didn't last in the circus for a variety of reasons; the main one being I hate performing. In uni, my piano professor told me I should switch majors if I hated performing (It only made sense when Chad--who also graduated from AU with a music degree--explained that universities in the States place most of their emphasis on performance, and I felt completely out of place because I loved theory and composition--and choir, but only because of a fantastic choir director). I was really disappointed with myself that I didn't last longer in the circus since I had hyped it up so much for my 27th birthday. But I eventually had to come to terms with simply being ok with who I am, and not placing the expectations on myself to be someone I'm not, and to pretend to love things that I don't.
Greta reminded me last night of something our dear Ann Smith talks about often: the difference between expectation and expectancy. #27 was a year of great expectations, and finding myself miserable when I couldn't keep up with my expectations of myself. As I head into #28, my only expectation of myself is to learn to live with expectancy of whatever it might be that God is going to do this year. As I continue the waiting game for my visa, I'm reminded again that, right from the beginning, New Zealand has been my Isaac. So I'm choosing again to surrender my Isaac at the altar in expectancy of whatever God is going to do with it.
And even though I had been crazy enough last year to set some things in place to publish and get ordained in 2014 (and am currently sitting here with the slightest anxiety over the realisation that 2014 isn't "next year" anymore), there is no expectation to see those things as achievements anymore.
I am enough because I choose to make the best of what I find myself in.
And I am enough because I choose to believe God thinks I'm enough.
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.
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