Beautiful Birdsong...

Two jobs off the "to do" list around home.

Today, Monday is my weekly day off. I slept in a little then dug a patch of ground. It was meant to have some yams, but I think most have rotted. It was very wet, so each shovel load was quite heavy. As well as this, I chopped up a big branch that I had taken off a tree. It is now drying and part of next year's fire wood collection. It was a good day off apart from some phone calls to deal with. There is something about getting into my vegetable garden area. We are surrounded by bush and I feel like I am in a different world than my normal tension filled existence. The trees, the hens, the goats and the paddocks all transport me away from work issues. Even the repetitive physical digging seems a boost. I set myself goals... "Before morning tea I will have..." and just work slowly toward them.

Beautiful Bird song

My rhythm for digging is to first cut segments with a spade. Then dig a row with the shovel, pause to rest at the end of the row, then pick up the spade and cut the next row. During the pause at the end of each row, I look around and take in my surroundings. I had a pair of wood pigeons flying backward and forward among the trees. You could hear the beat of their wings. They are great, they seem to land on a twig that you are sure will break under their weight, but it just bends as they land and springs back to hold them. They never seem to get it wrong. The place was so quiet that I could hear our two goats (Mary and Joseph) biting the grass in the paddock beside me. You could hear the grass being torn. But the thing that hit me time and again was the lovely bird song. In New Zealand we don't have many interesting animals. (which makes it very safe to wander the bush) But we do seem to have lots of birds. I ran/walked by forests in Poland. I listened for birds where ever I went on our big trip overseas, but I did not hear birdsong like we have here. Having been overseas, I think I appreciated it all the more. It is delightful, and a bit like an orchestra. One bird will set up a tune in one tree. Another adds a higher note on the other side of the paddock. Then there's a shrill tweeting that comes from a little bird high in the air, flying frantically, seeming to be suspended in mid- air, but still noisily adding to the symphony. After my digging I went on a bike ride, beside the Otago Harbour and it's busy road. But even then, above the noise of the cars and trucks, I heard the birds singing their evening chorus. If you are in New Zealand, take time to enjoy the birds. They are a precious gift, making fantastic music that cheers the soul, if you stop and listen.

Getting old...

I dug this very wet patch of ground. It was heavy to turn over and break up. Before we went away I had a sore back, something had "gone out" in it. Fortunately it came right and never troubled me on our holiday, even though I was lugging two heavy bags. But today, about four rows of digging from the end of the patch, my back started to hurt, something had changed in it. It was not just overworked muscle pain, it was the pain I had before. I was so near to finishing that I kept going. What is it? I used to be able to dig all day without such trouble? Not that long ago I remember turning over two patches of ground the size of today's one, with no adverse impacts, apart from tired muscles. But today I ended up having to dig out the pain killers the doctor had given me. I must be getting old! Am I going to be bugged by this weakened back for the rest of my life? The Desiderata advises us to "gracefully surrender the things of youth". It is obvious I am surrendering things. It takes me all night to do what I used to do all night! I dig this one patch of ground and my back hurts! I am a frequent flier at the toilet! My hair is grey and thinning! "Gracefully surrender the things of youth"??? There is nothing "graceful" about the way I am surrendering these things. I don't like it! I hate the limitation. I have so much to do and experience! I am "raging against the dying of the light" and I will continue to do so... sorry... someone else will have to do the graceful bit! ... bugger my back hurts!

Photos:

- Some of the trees next door. The birds must be building nests in them.

- Two plum trees laden with blossom in our back yard.

- Part of our back paddock with the surrounding trees and bush. See why I could never live in London?

- The patch I turned over at the cost of a sore back.

Open spaces

Reflecting on my big overseas trip still....

I have, since I was a boy, enjoyed this poem by Banjo Paterson.

Clancy Of The Overflow

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just `on spec', addressed as follows, `Clancy, of The Overflow'.

And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
`Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are.'

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving `down the Cooper' where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the 'buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --
But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of `The Overflow'.

I like open spaces..

This poem came to mind when I was in London and in the cities of Europe and the UK. In our London Hostel and Hotel there was the constant noise of "London" coming through the window. I would describe it as being like the sound of a hive of angry bees buzzing continuously. Of course this was punctuated by the odd siren or screeching of brakes.

In every city I visited there seem to be row upon row of tenement-street-front type houses with little or no back-yard. You could not help but notice their chimneys lined up. There was concrete, brick and/or stones every where with few areas of green. I saw schools with virtually no play ground, except perhaps the concrete roof of one of the school buildings.

The footpaths, the transport and buildings seemed to be loaded with people. The volumes of people remind me of crowds coming out of a rugby match here in NZ, but always there was nothing special happening, the place is just like that all the time.

There is something exciting and edgy about it, but after several weeks of such city scenes I longed for the openness, the bush, the soil, the bird song and "emptiness" of NZ. It is wrong and counter-productive to go overseas and spend your time comparing, you have to accept and enjoy the "personality" of each city. I enjoyed the sights and sounds, but they also made me appreciate the life I have here. For me, NZ is OK.

Photos:

- scene from the old city wall in York

- my home town of Dunedin NZ

- An Edinburgh Street

- The London Tube

- Amsterdam street (Concrete, bricks and cobble stones.)

The "back at work" week so far.

Wow, what a week it seems to have been, so far. I was taking a rough estimate of my hours and I reckon in four days (Tuesday - Friday) I have worked 47 hours at least. There has been all sorts of ups and downs during the week. I nearly lost my cool at a meeting. I have reacquainted myself with my chaplaincy people. I have visited and been visited. Tonight I was part of our drop-in and spent the night in intensive talking. "Why did you become a minister?" I listen to a lady who told me she was raped at 14. She has had her children taken off her. She continues to have problems with relationships and with violence. "I believe in God" she told me, "but when I pray he isn't listening. I feel like a prisoner locked inside and can't get out... how can God help?" Another man asked about why I was a minister, then said, "I thought you were in it for the money?" He was serious!

I have struggled with a cold all week, and lack of sleep. It seems like people have been saying, "Oh welcome back! It's good to see you. Did you have a good trip. ... now we have been waiting for your return... can you....?" and lumbered me with more responsibilities.

I have felt privileged though. People have genuinely been pleased to see me and have shared themselves with me. At times I have felt that my presence is important to the folk I have been talking with and that I have something to offer them in their life. I have felt the pressure of trying to find time for everything, but at the same time felt the privilege of being "with" people. The ministry I have, my community involvements and my view of "the church" make my life intensely diverse and interesting. Tonight I feel exhausted, I wonder how I am going to get everything done in the next one and a half days, but I feel like I am mostly doing worthwhile stuff.

Where Jesus was.

"One day when many tax collectors and other outcasts came to listen to Jesus, the Pharisees and teachers of the Law started grumbling. 'this man welcomes outcasts and even eats with them!' So Jesus told them this parable".... (Luke 15:1-3)

This is the beginning of this coming Sunday's reading. Of course the stories that Jesus goes on to tell are the story of the "The lost Sheep", "The lost coin" and the "Lost Son" or what is often known as the prodigal son. It is always a challenge to me to be as open and as welcoming as Jesus was.

I have to lead a service on this theme. The stories are lovely and delightful but they are Jesus' way of justifying who he is mixing with. I find that I love the stories, but actually practicing the openness and lifestyle he is talking about in my living, is not as easy as listening to the beautiful stories. It's comfort zone stuff, we are stretched and it can be unpredictable. Oh well. I'll have to wait and see what "emerges" by Sunday.

Hit the decks running...

A flying start...
We arrived home from our big seven week overseas trip on Thursday. (Hitting NZ at 1 a.m. and home at about 10a.m.) I went into the office on Friday catching up on emails, phone messages and some people. We also helped out at the Drop-in centre in the evening. We, of course, were quite tired. At 4:30 a.m. on Saturday morning, when the earthquake hit Christchurch we were already awake, having had a milk drink and had been discussing my future. Do I want to get back into the fast paced lifestyle? Was my work really making a difference, or was it just a vain life-support system for a dying institution? After the quake we turned over to go to sleep and my cell phone buzzed with a text from my son in Christchurch. Another text meant we rang him to see how he was. We were well awake when around 7 we had a phone call from other son, (and wife) at Auckland airport, fresh back from Poland and now unable to get to Christchurch. With phone calls going backward and forward, he managed to get a flight to Queenstown. Dunedin daughter and son-in-law offered to go there to pick them up and return them to our place... but that meant that I had to take on their normal duties of doing the Church newsletter and preparing the Sunday morning powerpoints. So Saturday till late at night was spent working as well as preparing the service for Sunday. The fast paced lifestyle had started! Yesterday, my 62nd birthday, I had off and fixed up an improved kennel for our returning dog, went shopping and had dinner with friends at night. This morning I have come into the office at 8 a.m. to start life in earnest again.
I am excited by the possibilities. While overseas, I saw some churches going in similar directions that we are going in and I was encouraged. We are looking to launch a "Sustainability hub" as part of our Space2B, and this is a great step forward. Already there are sustainability activities in our facilities, this will bring a focus. There is a possibility that an ecumenical day time drop-in centre might happen in our facilities. All this sort of stuff is a fulfilment of my dream for the church as a hub of life-enhancing activity in the centre of the city.
But... at the same time I am fearful of the responsibilities. The workload, the needed skills and the challenges ahead make me apprehensive. How do we make our worship more enjoyable and relevant? How are we going to resource all this growth? Do I have the skills to lead change and keep people "happy"? And how am I going to improve my pastoral ministry in all this?

I visited the new Bunnings hardware store yesterday. (I felt unfaithful to the Mitre ten Mega store) They were not busy, but I looked at the staff doing their work and thought, "Wouldn't it be nice to have a relatively simple job like that?"

In the early hours of this morning when I should still have been asleep I was inspired by this statement I read:

"The Church, like Jesus, is meant to measure us at our tallest, to celebrate our divinity from the moment of our birth, to keep our focus on the beckoning horizons of possibility. It traces for us the hidden shape of God in all creation, the smile of God in all reli8gions, the transforming power of the Holy Spirit in a world called the body of God. The Church is there to reveal to us another courageous way of living, a way of believing in the light while still in the dark." (By Daniel O'Leary in Tui Motu magazine)

So I hit the decks running today. A new start in my Church work - the beginning of my 63rd year of life. A busy day of planning, preparation and chaplaincy, which will end with an important Church leaders' team meeting tonight. I am excited, fearful, still tired and with a touch of a cold coming on. Wish me luck or say a prayer on my behalf.

"I contain Multitudes"

Walking in the door of the St Fagan's National History Museum, by the entrance to an exhibition about Welsh lifestyle there is this poem apparently commissioned for the museum. I loved it. There are a lot of thoughts in it that I identify with.

- It rang bells in terms of what I discovered as I learned about the history of the UK.

- It rang bells as to how I felt about NZ while away. I enjoyed the places I went, but often the words of the old scottish song came to mind; "As fair as these green foreign hills may be, they are not the hills of home." I realised that much of my identity lay in the NZ lifestyle, the openess and "earthyness" of the country.

- It rang bells as to how important the church, with all its faults and distortions (and they are many) is to me. Overseas where ever I saw a church expressing something of my understanding of the Gospel I felt less alone and more a part of an invisible force for good. Unfortunately I often saw expressions of "church" I could not identify with.

I liked this poem anyway....

A Meeting Place

I am singular

My time is now,

And I am here,

But I am not alone.

At my back I hear

the ticking of the past,

the faint breathing of many generations

Of my ancestors;

And all about me

Is the family of man.

Here I see what makes the

fundamental me,

A roof above me, bed, and work

Daily bread, and water,

Here I see my words

Here the beliefs that sustain me.

I ponder here the meaning of me...

I ponder here the meaning of “we”..

And what is my humanity...

In this hall is where

I’ll see clues to my identity.

“I contain multitudes”

Written by Gwyn Thomas (Welsh National Poet)

Placed near the entrance to exhibits in the St Fagans National History Museum in Cardiff.

Like wow!

We arrived home from our big overseas experience today. It was a long trip. We got out of bed at 5 a.m. on Tuesday in London, and at 9:40 flew via Dubai (an hour there) to Brunei. This took nearly seventeen hours. We stayed 2 hours at the airport there, boarded another flight for the 9 hour flight to Auckland, arriving at about 1 a.m. on Thursday (NZ time). After clearing customs, we had a cup of tea and tried to sleep on the seats at the International terminal. When it got too noisy just before 5 a.m. we had another cup of tea with some breakfast and walked to the domestic terminal. At around 7:15 we took off on our flight south to Dunedin arriving around 9 a.m. Our daughter met us and delivered us home. Coming up our street as we got close to our house I looked at our letterbox and saw that it was white. "Who has painted our letterbox?" I asked.... but then as Angela turned into our drive I realised it was probably the same people who had painted our house.

We quizzed Angela and she told us what she knew, but apparently there were a number involved. Some fire wood has been cut, some paths water blasted, some window sills worked on and the whole exterior of the house has been painted. I had it as an urgent "to do" thing to get on to in the summer months, but now it looks so good. I don't yet know who all to thank, but it is rather mind boggling! I keep ducking out and walking around wondering who all was involved.

I am geared for doing for others, but I find it extremely difficult to receive. I want to ask "why?". I feel guilty that people have given up their time to help me. I feel obligated to them. I really do not know how to handle this great gift. I love it, it is a great burden off my shoulders and will allow other work, but at the same time I hate receiving the help and feel quite confused by the whole thing.

Anyway, I am often a "grumble bum", but NOT today.... some people have just painted my house as a gift for free! Isn't that good news! The world is not all bad.