Smacking?!

I just read a survey result that said that 9 out of 10 parents see smacking as not OK as a way of disciplining your kids. That is heartening.

Let me say I was smacked... with an army web belt, sticks, spatula and at school both cane and strap. One poor teacher saw I was still grinning after "six of the best" on my hand so lost her cool and strapped me viciously around the legs! (I was reminded of this once when I was leading a church service at an elderly person's home and she was sitting bolt upright in the front row, as a visitor rostered to make a cup of tea. I wondered if she was ever surprised at what that bad kid ended up doing.)

Let me say also that I smacked my children. I have to say too, that the smack was often not out of any "good parenting concern to discipline" but rather more an expression of my frustrations or the stresses I was under. It would have been better for me and the kids if there were clear messages sent that this is unacceptable.

If I am honest, I am not one who can say as many of my contemporaries say, "Well it did not hurt me!" I believe I was hurt by being smacked by people who I was meant to trust for safety and understanding. Often the "smacks" were unwarranted and I believe I was damaged as a child, even into adulthood by such smacks. Mind you I am also aware that just as much damage can be done by the tongue, and some of the things said to me as a child still hurt, long after bruises from smacks have disappeared. I believe also both with my smacks and my tongue, I hurt my children, though they received considerably fewer smacks than I ever did. I was made a lesser person by smacking my children, our relationship was hurt and they were hurt.

I believe the so called "Anti-smacking" legislation is a call for us as a society to grow up and learn better ways of disciplining our children. It is, in my view a movement of the Spirit, or the Kingdom of God to bring change, wholeness and well being.

But we have many sections of the "Christian" church militantly and ardently trying to reclaim their "right" to smack their children. They use "spare the rod and spoil the child" type text. If we willy-nilly take all sorts of texts in scripture literally we would be stoning people, not sitting on chairs where menstruating women have sat (imagine asking your guests "Is it that time of the month?") and not wearing all sorts of mixed fabric clothing that we wear... along with a lot of other "commandments" that the world has moved beyond. Once again the Spirit of God, or the Kingdom of God has to bypass the church to make progress. It is evil, blasphemous and extremely sad.

Once again we who love Jesus who is meant to be at the centre of the church's life, find ourselves embarrassed to be identified with the organisation built on his name.

Blobbing out on Sunday...

I began the week with a call to go to a workplace where there had been a suicide. The week included the normal chaplaincy hours at Fire Brigade, Ambulance and the brewery. Wednesday involved a walking group. On Friday I had to record a radio church service and on Saturday I had to talk at a men's breakfast about Habitat for Humanity, before going on site to work. Daughter Angela and husband were out of town so stuff they do fell to me... Newsletter, Power points, and setting up technical bits and pieces for the service as well as "pushing the buttons" during the service.  I kept a tally of the hours I worked this week... at least 59 - 60 hours for Church and chaplaincies and eight hours for Habitat for Humanity. A day of physical labour on Saturday when I am not used to it really made the muscles ache.

I coped! I coped reasonably well too! I did find that by Sunday morning I got tongue tied on some awkward sentences, I left the lap top at home and generally was not on top of my game. My son's polish partner Magda, had news that her mother had died in Poland. My wife has gone to Christchurch to support her. Tomorrow I visit the doctor and will try to make sure I have a day off. I wonder what my blood pressure will be?

I am "sad".

The other day a friend said to me, "I am sad today. ...Do you ever get sad like that?" My answer was, "I am permanently sad", but it was inappropriate and perhaps futile to explore my sadness.

What do I mean by sad? My father died when I was a young teenager. For some time after there was a man around the road whose car had a similar sound to dad's old Morris Oxford van. I would be in my bedroom and hear that sound and think, "Here's dad home!" and sometimes even get up to meet him. Then reality hit and I knew again that it would never be. Years later at my daughter's wedding I still felt keenly the absence of my father. There is a sadness you carry because you know that some longed for reality will never really happen. It is not necessarily a sadness that stops you enjoying life, just a part of your heart that is permanently grieving. I am permanently sad on five counts, I will share with you four of them.

1. Lack of confidence. I am permanently sad because as a child I had a certain confidence in myself sqeezed out of me, and I have never regained that. I am shy and lack confidence in everything I do, even though I know I am good at some things. I have never been able to grow out of that. It does not stop me doing things, it just makes everything I do a lot harder. I forever fear failure and rejection. Teachers, leaders and parents have an awesome responsibility. I suspect I have not helped my children in this way also.

2. I am sad because I was not as good a father as I would want to be. Looking back I regret some of the things I did and didn't do as a father as my children grew, and I can't change that now.

3. I ache for hurting people. Jesus looked over Jerusalem and wept, saying he wished "they knew the ways of peace." In my encounters with people I ache because they so often look for happiness in things that can never satisfy. Jesus said, "If you lose your life, you will find it." I believe that to be part of the essence of life. At two levels I find people unwilling to live by this. (a) We try to operate successful relationships without "losing" ourselves. Often we end up hurting ourselves, the other and others. Often too I notice, a further hardening of heart results and life and love are limited by a greater fear of being hurt. I ache when I see people not finding "belonging", closeness and "a-place-to-be" in their partnerships. Instead they find competing power games, and loneliness. I see this so often and it makes me sad. (b) Secondly our consumer society and materialism fools us into thinking we can find happiness in grasping. I have discovered happiness comes whenever I risk a giving lifestyle. I had a man say to me when he learned of yet another voluntary project I was getting involved in, "You've got to look after yourself first Dave!". I find I have never been able to convince people that in a giving-lifestyle there is an inner unity, a sense of purpose and a feeling of being "connected to the essence of life" that cannot be found by "looking after yourself". I ache for a divided, hurting world where we are all "looking after ourselves" and missing out on life as it could be.(This sadness is a driving force in my life)

4. A church I will never see or experience. I am nearly at the end of my career as a church minister. A career I entered in a search to try to bridge the gap between the world I knew as a plumber and the church I shared in. I have not had the skills or the circumstances where I have been able to experience great success in that search. This post was prompted by listening to Bishop John Spong talking about the "Call of Jesus" on U tube. ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJICIGQl0JU&feature=related ) He described a discipleship and a church atmosphere I long to see and be a part of. I am sad because I will never see the church get remotely close to that sort of ideal. In some ways I feel I have spent my life propping up a distortion of what I long for instead of being able to change it... and maybe I should have given up and moved on long ago.

As I say, these sadnesses do not stop me finding deep joy and pleasure in life. It is just that I live with a permanent sense of grief in the corner of my heart. They are part of what keeps me reaching for that "impossible dream" and to try to make this life better for people around me.

The Paradox of ministry

When I run a half-marathon it is never easy. (I hope I get to run another one?) I always seem to take about 2-3 kilometres to get into a rhythm, then about half way I start to feel a bit like saying "enough". Then I get a second wind and plod along happily. In this period I really enjoy the company of runners, the rhythmic plod of my feet, the air in my lungs and the strength I feel. About 3 k from the end it becomes just a matter of hanging in there, and I cross the line with both legs on the verge of cramping up. I sometimes say to myself, "... and I have paid for the privilege of putting myself through this pain??" But I lie on the grass in sheer ecstasy, feeling so pleased with myself. At that point all the pain is forgotten and I LOVED doing it. It is the weird paradox.

My work is like that.

I prepare for a service. I hate it. "Fancy having to get up and try to lead those people again?... I HATE this!" I try to shape and mould the service so it all fits together and makes sense, is meaningful and helpful, but while I am doing it I am asking, "What's the point?" On Saturday night I seldom get much sleep. The service is churning over in my mind, getting refined and still being shaped. After it I am absolutely shattered and go home and have an afternoon nap if I am allowed. But... and this is the weird thing... when I am doing it, often I find I am on top of the world. I have fire in my belly, there is truth I want to share and come what may those people are going to hear it. My hands are often shaking with the tension of it all, but I am switched on and I have a "this is what I was born for!" feeling. What a weird paradox

When I hear news of a death and a funeral I have to take, I groan. I know I will have three or four days of anxious nervous stewing and preparing.  Yet I visit the relatives, I listen to where they are at, I feel the service taking shape in my mind and heart. I feel ALIVE, sitting there listening with my whole being. I word each service for the family concerned, and shape the words I say to lead them toward healing and a sense of the sacred. I KNOW I am good at this. When I lead the ceremony I am sad with the mourners, but full of adrenalin and again a deep sense of fulfilment. I LOVE being able to help these people. I HATE it! It is stressful. It is an awesome responsibility.  It is anxiety producing. But I LOVE being able to do it. A weird paradox.

Today was my day off. I had lunch with my son who was visiting from Christchurch. As I sat there my cell phone rang. It was Workplace Support. There has been a sad critical incident at a workplace in town, would I visit there tomorrow and talk with the people? I said "Yes", checked arrangements, then hung up. I sat there semi-listening to my son talking. I was beginning to feel stressed about this already. How would I approach it? Do I know what to do? I then realised that I was being rude toward my son and dragged myself back to the conversation. But I have continued to stew. I know I am good at this. I know I am very experienced at critical incident work, but I still stress. I am sure that when I go there tomorrow I will be able to relate to the guys. I will listen and they will know they are being listened to. I know that even though I will be dealing with sadness and tragedy, I will be feeling really alive, focused and energised. I am fairly sure I will come away with the feeling of a job well done, even though I will be emotionally drained. But I hate this ball in my stomach of uncertainty and stress. What a weird paradox?

I once participated in a worship service where the leader sang a rewording of the "Fiddler on the Roof" song, "If I were a rich man." In the normal song the man asks God, "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan, if I were a wealthy man?" This man sang, "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I weren't a minister?" I often feel like singing that song. But then again I have been known to say, "I love this job! For this I was born!" What a weird paradox? What a weird guy. 

Photo: Another stressful upfront "privilege"... leading a groundbreaking ceremony for Habitat for Humanity.

Law of the Garbage Truck.

A leaflet arrived in our letterbox from the local real estate agent. His name is Hamish McDonald and the young thirty-ish year old man used to be in a school boy cricket team I coached. I loved this story that he put in his leaflet.... 

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and stated yelling at us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean he was really friendly. So I asked, "Why did you do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!" This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call, "The Law of of Garbage Truck."  He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets. The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day. Life's too short to wake up in the morning with regrets.

Sometimes I try to live up to such ideals. I thought it was a story worth sharing.

People love people

We hear about all the bad news regularly but a number of experiences have encouraged me over the last week.

I saw a film called "Kicking It". It was about the homeless world cup. A movement has evolved where people gather together homeless people who are keen on soccer. They form teams and train and a selected team represents their country at a world cup event. (We are hoping to start a group in Dunedin) This film followed the experiences of various individuals from a number of countries as the prepared for and played the world cup. It was great to see what soccer did for these guys who had so little hope in their lives. What really impressed me was the love shown by the various coaches. They poured their hearts out to help their players. The Spanish team were mostly outclassed. They were made up of older street guys. But they won one game... their coach was so thrilled for them. As the team celebrated he sidled off away from the cameras crying tears of joy for these guys. It warms your heart to see such love for people.

I was at a fire station the other day and they were called to a nasty accident, and of course like a little boy, I went along for the ride. I watched as "my" firefighters and ambulance officers worked so well to extract a badly injured guy out of the mashed up vehicle. I was so impressed! They were totally focused and so totally caring. It was not just another job, they cared for the people at the scene, the people from both cars, trying their best to support and heal in a bad situation. They were simply loving... and again I was moved nearly to tears. (You don't cry around fire fighters!)

I watched as the father of the family in the other car arrived to check out his children and their mother. There was such love evident in the family that I could not help but be moved.

I stood near to the policeman who was ringing the parents of the injured young man and again he was so tactful, caring and gentle as he broke difficult news and guided them in their decisions.

There are rotten people, murderers, violent people and greedy thieves. But I think it is still true that most people are, when push comes to shove, loving, caring and supportive..... Alleluia!

Preaching for myself....

Banjo Paterson in his poem "The man from Iron Bark" has a line that I am often reminded of. It is describing some youths that sat along the wall in the barbershop. It says, "Their heads were flat, their eyes were dull, they had no brains at all." I am evil but sometimes this line comes to mind as I look out on my congregation on Sunday morning. It is of course an incorrect description but I sometimes get the feel that they front up every Sunday, with no expectation of wanting to learn or grow. They will, because it is their habit, sit through another church service and hope it is entertaining. I on the other hand, spend hours trying to mould a service into something interesting, something that will speak to this mob at their level, with the expectation that it will motivate them toward personal growth, action and christian discipleship. I get little sleep Saturday nights, I stew and scribble and read and read some more. Sunday morning is as tiring as running a half marathon and I am often disappointed in the music we can have. But at the end of it all I wonder if it is at all worth it? What does it achieve? I get the feeling again that I am out of step with everyone else.

• They look on faith as a comfort, I see it as disturbing and a springboard to action.
• Their expectation of Sunday morning is like a drink station, a resting place as they cope with life, I see it as a launching pad so that we can rocket into life.
• They see the church as the place they meet God, I see God at work in the world and it's there that we catch up with him and find partnership.

I had the privilege recently of catching up with a ministry colleague who I "click" with. We were together for barely an hour, yet it was sooo good. I expressed my Sunday morning hassles. I enjoy chaplaincy, the community work that the church allows me to do and many people stuff connections etc. but the religious stuff on Sunday morning I can do without. I hate it, it seems a waste of time and emotional energy. A side issue to the real "Jesus stuff". "What are we doing on Sunday morning?" I said. "What difference does it make?" She empathised and we joked about our nasty feelings and the fact that we are always compromising so as not to offend "the saints". But then she said something really helpful. She said, "I see Sunday mornings as being for myself. I use it as the time I remind myself of what I am about and what is important to me. If others get anything from it is incidental. I have found that to be the best way to cope with the frustrations of it." I found that helpful. I still need to try to communicate and mould stuff for these people, but it is helpful to see that it is as much me preaching to myself, holding up for myself the ideals I aspire to, whether or not others want to listen and/or latch on.

It's not unlike blogging. :-)