It's a small world...

I was down at the fire station on Friday at afternoon tea time. I was there with a number of fire fighters and my friend from Vanuatu drinking tea and telling stories. At one stage I began a yarn by saying, "While I worked as a plumber on the Clinical Services building..." and went on. (I spent at least two and a half years during my plumbing apprenticeship working on the Clinical Services building at the Dunedin hospital.) At the end of the table was "Mini" Munro, an older firefighter who works now as a trainer. (Using computers and "virtual" fire incidents.) His ears pricked up and he said, "Were you there when a guy fell five floors down a ventilation duct?" I replied that yes I was and he told the story from his point of view. He was called to this incident and they turned up to try and find and rescue this guy who fell. He said, "We had f*** all cutting gear in those days and the saw we had would not start. We ended up using some guy's tin snips to cut him out." To his surprise I said, "Those tin snips were mine.... and they have never worked decently since!"

Here's the story from my point of view. It was 25th July, 1967 ...maybe 68?? (I know it was that date because it was my girlfriend's birthday... now my wife.) I was threading pipe in the plumbers' workshop which was in the basement. I had heard the fire truck siren, but was not really concerned. After a time a big carpenter guy came rushing into the workshop. "You wouldn't have a pair of snips would you? Cyril has fallen five floors down the ducting. The fire men have turned up but their gear is bloody useless. The poor guy's probably buggered by now!" I rushed to my tool box and got two pair of snips out, both expensive brand new apprentice's tools. He rushed off to do the deed and I was later told that this guy virtually ripped the steel ducting apart with his bare hands to get at his friend. Cyril was a carpenter's labourer who looked after their tea rooms and did cleaning up around the site. He was a bit like Radar on the show MASH, he was fairly pivotal and quite a popular, helpful figure. He had fallen down a big ventilation duct, which got narrower as he fell. Five floors down he came to a stop, squeezed into a small duct with his feet up near his ears. Apart from bruises scratches and cuts, and a small broken bone, he was fine when they pulled him out.

Here I was, over forty years later, having changed careers and lived in Australia and all round NZ in between times, telling the story with the fireman, who all those years ago used my snips to cut Cyril out. I told him I would send the bill to the fire station for a new pair of snips. It's a small world!

I remember the date because it was my girlfriend's birthday. I went to her place for a birthday dinner that night. (I bought her a dressing table brush and mirror set for her birthday) I rode a ten speed bike to work, they were a very rare thing in Dunedin at that time. As a crowd gathered to watch the fire fighters and ambulance staff bring Cyril out, some person must have discovered my bike parked behind the fence. I knocked off early that night because I had to go home and clean up before my dinner date. It was then that I discovered that both my tires were slashed! That is why I remember the date so well.

Photos: The Clinical Services building and the tin snips that were used.

I believe in love and "presence"

We have three visitors visiting our Church family. There is a couple from Vanuatu where he is a minister and president of our churches there. There is a man, a leader in the overseas mission area of our churches here, driving them around. I took Moses (the minister from Vanuatu) around a few fire stations yesterday and all three came to our Drop-in centre. All of them are fairly "religious" so I wondered how they would cope with my fairly laid back approach in my community involvement. Also the firefighters and indeed some of our drop-in people have a fairly "rich" vocabulary so I wondered how they would cope with that. Being with another person makes you look at your own activities from an outsider's perspective. How does it measure up? Would they see it as a waste of time? Am I doing something useful? In all modesty I finished yesterday feeling good about what I do.

We visited the first fire station and had a cup of tea with some of the firefighters. The conversation was fairly tame really, about interesting subjects and life experiences, though dotted with expletives. Apart from one "How are you after your....?" conversation there had been no real "pastoral" conversations. I hopped in the car wondering what Moses had been thinking. As we drove out of the station he made a comment, "Often just our presence makes a difference for people doesn't it?" I breathed a sigh of relief. He was on my wave length and saw the value in sitting around talking and listening. 

That is what we do at drop-in. The people come in at 6:30 p.m. and receive sausages, tomato sauce and sandwiches. There are easy chairs, hot drinks on tap, TV, pool tables and table tennis tables. We catch up, talk life, play pool, do dishes, serve food for 3 hours. Let me tell you of some of the people there last night. 

Sally with 9 month old baby in arms, has two other daughters there (6yrs & 9yrs). Each has a different father. Sally, is relatively attractive, has had trouble with the law, has attempted suicide and has delved into drugs. Sally's mum and Dad are there, they basically parent Sally's children, but have health problems of their own and other adult children in and out of prison and with "issues". Bill, Sally's dad spends the night playing pool with Jack. Jack is a devoted and serious pool player and as such has been known to fly off the handle, threaten people with a pool cue and throw his cue down when things don't go his way. Fred is there with his wife Jill. Jill is in a wheel chair and is getting heavier. I know this because Fred and I carry her and the chair up the flight of 25 stairs. Fred is likable enough, but is like a 13-14 year old in a mans body. His sister Mary is like an 9 year old in a 40 year old's body and can fly off the handle easily. Tonight she had great joy in feeding Sally's baby and getting her down to sleep. Harry is a 38 yr old who is a nice genuine guy, but who struggles with weird voices in his head and who has been made to feel perpetually guilty by warped fundamentalist religion. He loves to play pool with me and tonight talked through anxieties with me and later with my wife. Dick a 70 year old alcoholic I have known for 20 years, sits chatting on the couch with another alcoholic in his late seventies.  Trevor his mate and landlord, sits close by and has a tendency to go on about the same subject all night. He actually owns old houses on valuable land, but lives roughly in one of the houses. He has been unemployed for years. Freda is a 38 year old delightful busy body who knows and cares about every body. She runs around getting cups of coffee for people. Henry a loud Australian helps serve food but gives people cheek, sometimes causing an uproar. Ted is a strange character who likes to abuse people and has a liking for blocking the toilets with paper or magazines. I could go on to describe more people...  we average about 40 through each Friday night. (I have changed their names) But you get the picture of these people who are my Friday night friends and "congregation". There are new faces each week. It is funny watching them. They come in, get a drink and sit looking out at the crowded hall wondering what its all about. 

Last night as I looked at all that was happening wondering how our visitors saw this, I felt a surge of pride. All around you could see this motly crew of people, acting like brothers and sisters to one another. They talked, joked, drank coffee, played pool and enjoyed being "present" for one another. Amongst them was Curly and Margaret Griffith, my wife Jean and her sister Elva. We were doing dishes, listening, joking, playing pool etc. responsibly sharing friendship and hospitality with these people. Together we all were a loving family and I thought that people were being valued, supported, guided and cared for. Don Williams sang a song called "I believe in love" that I really enjoy. I was reminded of that. We have the privilege of facilitating a place where love happens, where people are present to one another and that is NOT a waste of time. Another song says, "Love changes everything" and I think that is what happens in people's lives. I felt proud of our drop-in and my being "present" at fire stations. 

"... at your age..."

I have just been to the doctor for him to check my blood pressure medication. I would like to decrease it if possible but he is reluctant to even if my readings are lowish. He said, "You are 60 now and at your age you could have a stroke if your blood pressure goes too high." I hate that phrase, "at your age". Every body says it to me. "You should have given up running at your age, go biking instead." "At your age you should go for walks and take up bowls." "At your age you should be slowing down, not working so hard!" "You went for a dirty weekend! Are you still doing that at your age?" At a shop the other day, "I'll take that to your car sir, at your age you don't need to be lifting that!" I never said what came to mind, I just politely said, "No thanks I'll be fine!" Then the good one was a forty year old guy at the gym when comparing distances for twenty minutes of rowing, "You beat me! I hope I can still do that when I'm your age!" I guess I have to accept gracefully that I am getting older. I should be thankful for the measure of health and well being I have.... but if you are talking to me, please don't, whatever you say, verbalise the phrase "at your age." I could possibly scream at you, which is not a good look at my age!

"All things to all people..."

I recall a retired minister telling me as a young student that he would never conduct a wedding away from a church setting. He claimed that the wedding belonged within the community of the church. A funeral director, a very religious man, once said to me that he would never conduct a funeral for anyone who did not want it to be religious. I can understand all these positions but I have differed.

Since Christmas I have taken four wedding services, only one was in church. (A confirmation of vows really, a western style service for a Japanese couple.) In the first weeks of chaplaincy at the brewery I was asked to take a funeral. As I talked with the family the instructions were clear and to the point... "No bullshit and no religion!" ... ("Short funeral" I remember thinking at the time.)

When I take funerals or weddings I talk with the family about what sort of "religion" they want. As I talk and listen I am sensitive to where they are at. In the ceremony I often turn what would be prayers into "statements" or "affirmations". I will introduce them by saying, "Shall we join in a statement (sometimes affirmation) or prayer..." At the end of such prayers or statements, I will sometimes say... "I pray in the name of Jesus" allowing others the freedom to identify or not. I am happy to take weddings where ever it suits the couple and family. Nearly all my weddings are not in the church setting. I recall taking a wedding on a beach down the Otago Peninsula. At the rehearsal we placed a rock near where the bride would stand the next day. When we arrived the next day that rock was under water! The tide had come in.

I have had criticism from religious people who claim I am "wishy washy" and not making a strong "witness to Christ". They say that as a minister of the gospel I should be unashamedly religious and present the gospel through prayers, scripture readings etc. I would claim that I am witnessing to Christ, to the love of Christ. Jesus went about meeting people and ministering to them at their point of need. In the story of the good Samaritan, he decried those who let religious protocol leave a dying man on the side of the road. I believe by meeting people at their point of understanding I am witnessing to the love of Christ. I am willing to reach out, "empty myself" so that I can relevantly minister to them in ways they can identify with. What I endeavour to do is to lead people to experience the sacredness of the occasion, the sacredness in human life or relationships, whether or not they can or are willing to name that sacredness "God". One feedback I got once was, "Somehow you brought God into it without mentioning him." An athiest fire fighter once said to me that at my funerals "you do not feel offended or left out."

It takes a lot more work to sort out wording to suit the people involved. It often leads to situations where you are not in control or you are uncomfortable, because you are on their territory. I keep thinking, however, that Jesus would do the same sort of thing. That this is what "the word became flesh" was all about. I have the privilege often of shouting "God" "silently" just by being there for and with people in these important moments of their life. (Photo: a naming ceremony carefully worked out with the couple involved. Conducted in their lounge)

Sundays burble...

God's thoughts are not our thoughts; Deny yourself, take up your cross; if you lose your life you find it. etc.

This was the theme of the reading for today's morning service. I had preacher's block during the week on this. What could I say that was new? How do you communicate the different values and ways of the eternal? I tried again but it is not easy. As I plodded around my run tonight I thought of Francis of Assisi's comment. It went something like this; "Preach the gospel in season and out of season. If necessary use words." I actually think the only way to communicate the way of Jesus, the way of the cross; the way of the servant king, is to live it out in the midst of the community. It is important too for the church in the community to be seen to be living it out. Oh well, I tried speaking about it. I hope my lifestyle goes some way to showing it.

Old people

Many in my congregation are elderly people, but this afternoon it was my turn to lead a service at Ross Home, an elderly persons' home in our town. We took the data-projector and some music videos to ensure they enjoyed some music.... But what do you say to people who could be dead next week? What do you say to people immobilised in a wheel chair and with more health and disability problems than I can imagine? They all say they love me but each time I struggle to put into words something real and relevant. Sometimes, I must admit, I have thrown together a bunch of cliches and presented these. That practice came to an abrupt halt when I fronted up one day and discovered an old time chaplain colleague of mine, in there at a relatively young age, because he was dying of cancer. I remember the sense of guilt as I stood behind the pulpit. Here was my friend in the last weeks of his life, and I had cobbled together something to fill in the time acceptably! I am much more conscientious these days.

Exercise report.

This week I have struggled with a cold. I had a small run last Sunday... a walk up a hill track and back on Wednesday.... another small run on Thursday...slightly longer one on Saturday. Tonight I ran even though it was raining. I ran 9.5k, the longest run I have done for a while and I did it well. It was persistent rain, "persisting" down all the time except for the last half k. About two thirds of the way around I saw another old bloke... perhaps a little younger than I... running the other way, with a jacket on, but looking as drenched as I was. As he closed in on me he put on this broad grin and raised both his hands in a joyful salute. I yelled at him; "You're mad too!" "Yeah! but isn't it great!" he yelled back. I had to agree. It was quite nice plodding along in the rain, but I think only slightly demented runners would understand that. I guess sometime in the future I will have to give up running, but I hope not for a while. I just loved plodding along under my breathe saying,"One, two, three and four, ... One, two, three and four....." ... and feeling the rhythm of my feet on the ground and sensing and appreciating my breathing and my body movement. I'm so glad I can still jog at the moment, it is great Sunday afternoon therapy.

The rhythms of life...

During the holidays I read a biography of John Seymour. He was a guru of self-sufficiency and wrote one of my favourite books. ("The Complete Book of Self-Sufficiency") I loved the book for the heap of practical advice in it, its philosophies and its sense of humour. One example was when he wrote about a tree he suggests burying a dead dog at the base of it. With tongue in cheek he says, "If you haven't got one, find one and shoot it!" The biography showed that here was another writer whose personal life was not as idyllic as his writings might suggest. But it reminded me of my experiences of and yearning for living out self-sufficiency principles. When we were at Apiti we experimented with Self-sufficiency and it has been a part of our lives ever since. We still try growing veges and fruit, still keep making and repairing things and still keep hens. I hope when, and if I retire to get back to doing more of it, there were deep rewards. I will list off some nostalgic memories.

• We purchased year old battery hens and free ranged them. At first they lacked feathers, could not perch and did not know how to peck at grass and insects and such. They were scared of sunlight! It was so great a few months later to see the same hens running around, fully feathered, enjoying the paddock and the stream and being harassed by an ever horny rooster. The eggs had a thick consistency and were a rich yellow.
• We drank copious quantities of goats milk and made our own yogurt and cottage cheese. Simply delicious.
• We installed an old wood stove and would clean up farmers' fallen trees to keep it going. We could cook, heat the water and heat the house with this stove. A kettle perpetually sizzling on the stove was a great feeling of "home".
• There was something really neat about looking at your big colourful meal of meat and fresh veges and knowing that you had grown everything on your plate.
• There was the absolute joy of watching, sometimes helping kids to be born. They were always a delight with heaps of energy and mischief.
• There was a sense of peace, quietly rounding the goats up and one by one milking them. Each had a different personality and each had their preferred order of walking in and being milked. Sitting milking a goat with your ear up against their warm tummy, hearing it rumbling away there was something so real. You knew that this "machine" had taken grass, dock leaves, blackberry leaves and all sorts of other greenery and turned it into beautiful milk! And it would do the same by tomorrow morning, and again at night. If it was cold and wet, production went down, the goat had not eaten as much. One goat would finish eating whatever pallets you put for her to have while you milked her,then pick the container up throw it aside and turn her head and softly nuzzle your ear until you finished milking.
• Then there was the killing of hens or male kid goats for meat. What was a job you tended to put off became a sacred experience as you realised that this animal's life was sacrificed for your table. Food became so much more precious and meaningful.
• You appreciated the weather so much more. If it rained you were thankful for it, it was not just a nuisance. The sun too was appreciated and the balance of hot and cold, night and day and the different seasons. There was a new sensitivity and appreciation of life, creation and its balance.

One of the hassles of modern society is that we lose touch with the rhythms of life. We lose that sense of appreciation, sensuality and awe at the provision of nature. I recall once we offered someone I was budgeting for some free surplus eggs. He turned us down, he wanted "real eggs from the supermarket". He was suspicious of home grown ones. I once heard of a program for troubled young people that taught them to do a vege garden and raise hens. I would think these simple activities would bring so much that is "spiritual" into their lives. I will always dabble in self-sufficiency, thank you John Seymour.

She doesn't know I love her!

Char has gone to prison. I first met Char when she was 13. She came with her parents to our drop-in centre. Some of us discussed then if she was a girl or a boy, she was such a tom-boy. She could handle a pool cue and I played endless games of pool with her. We had an ongoing rivalry. She had a cute way of screwing up her face when she missed a shot, and beamed all over with pride when a tricky one came off for her, and would look at me to make sure I had noticed. She asked me once if God was male or female. I learned she was good at art and she did a couple of posters that we hung on the wall. ... one said, "God Rocks!" another "God Loves us all!" Then she grew older and tended to stop chatting. I recall once her and a couple of mates were doing some stupid stuff and I went down and sat on the fence where they were smoking and harassing others. I sat and listened to their prattle and asked questions then warned them. I reminded them of a woman who comes who is perpetually drunk, lives rough and whose life is a mess. I said that they were headed in that direction. Some listened and changed for the better, Char didn't. I was tickled last year she brought a mate along and I heard her say, "That's Dave. He's cool. He's the best pool player here."(which is incorrect) Anyway she has progressively got into more trouble and last week she went to prison as a 19year old. I ache for her. Looking at her she has these big eyes in which you can see anger- sadness and mostly a lost little girl, who is trying to look tough with tatts and cynical sneer. I love her (Not in that way) but she doesn't know it. It hurts to know she is going to prison. I read a prison chaplain's comment on prison life and he called them "Universities for criminals." He said most come out worse than they went in. Have I failed her? What more could/should I have done?

Joel went to prison last week too. Joel is a great guy. I helped him build his house. We talked together, we sweated together and we laughed. I found him to be a hard worker. He was a quick thinker with a quick wit. He was simply delightful to work with. Too much booze and too much anger and too often over stepping the mark has led to this imprisonment. And again it hurts me! I ache for him. I saw his kids the other day and I wanted to give them all a big hug. They looked so sad, big brown sad Maori eyes.

Terry, I have known for 20years is still drinking and gambling. Gary and Chris were drunk last Friday. Brian still cant control his temper while playing pool. Fred's marriage is still heading downhill. Tayla has run away from home and broken her grandma's heart. And I heard Stephan is in trouble with the law. etc. etc. And the thing is they don't know that I love them and it hurts me to see them this way.

I once watched a horse race (Derby I think) on TV. At various jumps horses fell and jockeys were spilled on the ground, but the race went on. The racing horses just barrelled over top of the fallen horses and jockeys and carried on to the next jump, and so it went on. I think some how the Joel's and Chars of this world are like those jockeys. For various reasons they stumble and fall in life and everyone in our society just races on, no one stops to pick them up, or help them to their feet. And they are injured and every time they get on their feet again, they just keep on falling. The world races on.

But...
I listened to a church man pontificating about "young people today, they have no respect!". He was saying "they" should do something about them.... "teach them a lesson" ... It doesn't hurt him that Char went to prison! I doubt he knows any "Chars"! He lives life in a protective bubble, well within his comfort zone! I heard of a church with 25 members wanting to raise $2million to restore their historic church building! Would Jesus have that priority in this world? A man in my church complained because the church pews had been moved and he said, "This is serious!" ... yeah right! I heard another had complained because no one had publicly thank him for some thing he had done! Another man complained to me because I signed my emails off with "Cheers"! It annoyed him. ... I wanted to scream. Someone else complains about the way I lead communion.. the prayers are not in the right order. People's lives are being flushed down the toilet and are already in hell and followers of Jesus are arguing about "angels on pinheads"!

One old song had the repeated refrain, "Love Hurts". It does. There is a part of me that wishes I could live life in a bubble and not care about the "Chars, Terry's, Joel's, etc" of this world, but I can't and sometimes I despair. But then I get those deep down feelings that this hurting, loving, caring and sharing is what makes life significant, meaningful and ultimately rewarding.