Is that all there is?

No matter how much I try to spiritualise Advent and Christmas the results are always the same. When it finally arrives I heave a huge sigh of relief knowing that I have once again made the midway marker that divides the end of the silly season from the beginning of the Great New Zealand Melt Down. A sort of religious half way house where I can momentarily catch my breath before packing up the camping gear, squashing the family into the car and heading north - the only direction one can go by road if one lives in Wellington. That’s how Christmas has always been for me, but this year I found myself sympathising with the sentiments in Peggy Lee’s song, ‘Is that all there is?’[1] . . . ‘Is that all there is?’

Long before there was a Christmas day, the 25^th of December was the mid way marker between the dark days of winter, and the promises of spring. It was a mid winter feast the Romans called festus solis invicti, - the festival of the unconquered sun. When Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire, the imagery of the invincible sun breaking forth out of winter darkness, and the invincible Son breaking forth out of the darkness of sin was obvious. The symbolism just seemed to shout it without the necessity for words to join up the dots. The festival of the unconquered sun became the festival of the unconquered Son, and nature underscored the theology it implied.

Personally I’d love to do Christmas like that, but the truth is I live in a capitalist culture, in the land of the ‘Upside-down Christmas’ [2]where the seasons give me a very different message. So, try as I might to exempt myself from the Santa Claus face of Christmas and immerse myself in purist liturgy, I can’t. Unless I spend Advent in a monastery, I’m probably doomed to be washed along with the commercial Christmas tide (no pun intended) and to repeat my previous Christmas failures again and again – like Ground Hog Day.

But if I can’t change the culture or the season, perhaps I can change the focus of the feast. What if, for example, instead of just celebrating the memory of the birth of a child, I celebrate the eternal gifts, which that child’s birth guarantees? Gifts of light (Lk2:10-14), gifts of joy (Jn1:3), and gifts of liberation (Mat 11:2-11), to name but a few.

Doing this, won’t change the commercial chaos and general holiday-mania from going on all around me, but focusing on what Jesus brought, rather than simply recalling his coming will change my perception of it. It will change my once a year ham and turkey feast into a 365 day a year feast. One that celebrates an ever-present lighting of my way, an ongoing sense of joy and gratitude for the good things God has given me, and a growing awareness of my personal responsibility to ensure that the society in which I live is just. A society where all can share equally in the good things Christ’s birth guarantees.

By all means let us enjoy and celebrate our ‘Upside-down Christmas’ holidays, but let’s not forget what we are celebrating, and that the message of Christmas extends well beyond the festive season.

For me, I need to remember that the commercialism surrounding Christmas is not all there is, just a pointer to the greater reality of the festival of the unconquered Son who brings light, joy and liberation, not just on Christmas day, but 365 day a year.

Yes Christmas is a feast, a feast of Light, a feast of love, and a feast of liberation for all.

1] Is that all there is – written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller Recorded by Peggy Lee August 1969.

[2] An Upside down Christmas, A New Zealand Christmas Carol by Shirley Murray

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Perfect peace is at best fleeting and at worst, an illusion!

It was lunch time, so I found myself a sheltered spot in the garden and sat down to enjoy a few moments of autumn sun. The weather over the last several days had been less than perfect, and the busyness of the lead up to Holy Week had caught up with me. The peace, the quiet and the warm sun on my face were the perfect antidote to the stresses and strains of everyday life.

Like someone who had just climbed to the top of a high hill, I decided to sit down and enjoy the view (metaphorically) for a few moments before moving on.

Perhaps it was the pastoral conversation I had just had with an elder lady in hospital who was looking back over her life because of declining health, and facing some tuff decisions about her future. Or perhaps it's just something one does naturally relaxing in the noon day sun, but pretty soon, like Alice, I found myself falling down the rabbit hole and to day dreamingly review my own past, looking at where I'd come and who had traveled with me. As I did the years (and decades) fast forwarded themselves: like the individual cards did when you turned the handle in a 'what the butler saw' slide show in an old amusement arcade. Individually they were all still shots, but viewed in succession they appeared as a movie.

It's something I've done often before but this time it was different. For the first time the memory cards seemed to show a seamless integration of past and present. There were no bits that I'd rather have left as 'cuts' on the editors floor, no bits I'd have wanted to send to technical boffins in post production to 'gloss up' on, no scenes I'd rather have re shot. There was no hierarchy in the actors cast either, big part or small part, all were significant and deserving of an Oscar. In short, nothing I would have changed.

Was it a daydream, or was it reality? Only time will tell, but in that moment all the pieces of the jig saw called 'My Life' seemed to fit perfectly, from as far back as I can remember, to as far forward as I can imagine.

Having put the world to rights an unexpected series of phone calls, unscheduled visitors and an assortment of interruptions has left me once again feeling scattered and in need of a fresh daydream.

Seems perfect peace is at best fleeting and at worst, an illusion!

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Wating for a wave

My Great Uncle Jock was born in Clairville, a small south Wairarapa town in the house his father Charlie had built in the late 1800's. A home from which he went to school, met and married his childhood sweetheart, took over the small family farm, raised his children, played with his grandkids and where he finally died: all within a few hundred meters of the house he was born in.

He was a Wairarapa man. He know who he was and where he belonged.

I on the other hand , was born of depression parents eager to take every opportunity that presented itself, no matter where. By the time was 10 I had lived in 6 houses and attended 4 primary schools. Just as I was beginning to fit in and make friends I moved on. By my very early 20's the number had grown to 7 schools,10 houses and I had visited more than 12 countries. By 60 it was more than 50 countries.

I knew where I was born, but unlike Gt Uncle Jock, I had no real sense of where I came from or where I belonged.

One of the most settled periods in my early life were my teenage years which I spent in Otaki and where I learned to surf during the summers of 59-63. As a surfer I would spend hours sitting, often alone, just beyond the breaker line, watching the swell and waiting for 'the' wave. I learned very quickly that waiting for the right wave, as opposed to taking the first wave, vastly improved my level of success and my enjoyment of the ride. I would watch as the waves began to form a few hundred meters away from me and try to pick the one that would be capable of taking me up in its swell and delivering me all the way to the shore. Timing was everything and when the right wave showed up I would paddle furiously, and If I had chosen correctly, the ride would be worth the wait. All waves were not created equal, and more ride for less paddle was my aim.

Like my youth, Otaki became a diminishing speck in the rear view mirror and lost in the blurr of life. But the sense of timing I learned surfing had become part of me and the analogy of 'waiting for wave' became one I resorted to often, even when my surfing days had long since ended. I would often describe my situation as waiting for a wave'; a wave of energy, a wave of inspiration, a wave of enthusiasm, support or what ever. Waiting for the right moment seemed to shorten the odds and meet my criteria of more ride for less paddle: but there was a price to pay. Because of this approach I spent more time on the outside of life looking in than on the inside of life looking out: and I spent much of today waiting for the right wave I knew would come tomorrow.

I had become very adept at sitting just beyond the breaker line of life, often alone, waiting for a wave. It had become a way of life. The paten continued and I became very good as spotting the potential in a situation, often long before others did, and in knowing how and when to paddle in time to catch the natural swell that would ensure I could ride it , , , right to the shore. Im not complaining, the 'talent' I had developed allowed me to do more things than most people would ever dream of doing. I was supremely happy, but unlike Jock I didn't really know where I belonged . . . except possibly in a place called 'mid life crisis.'

I was emotionally stateless, just an elderly surfer waiting for yet another wave.

The Otaki school reunion last October turned out to be a bigger wave than I expected, in fact, I hardly noticed the 'swell' that just visiting old haunts and meeting old friends had begun. But a swell it was, and I noticed bits of my identity floating all around me. There was no cohesion, no clear sense of anything like Jock's identity with his place of origin, but slowly over the last several months, I've watched the 'swell' gathering together the fragments of my whakapapa (?): I am John, I come from Otaki. my people are those I knew and grew up with in the late 50's and early 60's, my whenau are my wife, my children and grandchildren, my mountain is Hector and my river the Otaki.

It's not as strong ad Jock's identity, but its a beginning, an anchoring point, a point from which I can begin to grow.

It may have taken sixty something years but I now know who I am - and where I'm from.

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Perception is reality . . . or is it?

Suppose several of us witnessed something horrific, like a train crash say, or perhaps a road accident.

And if we were all asked, several weeks later, to write an account of what we'd seen, do you think all of these accounts would be identical? And if not, would one be the truth and the others lies?

Or would each simply represent differing interpretations of the same reality viewed from differing perspectives by different people?

Looking back at my life as a teenager I very clearly saw myself in those days as insignificant and lacking in either personalty or confidence: a Mr Cellophane character, noticed at best by no one, at worst, overlooked by all. Over the years I've grown past that early adolescent image of myself (or at least, learned various coping mechanisms to mask it), but perception was reality and beneath the mask, I knew beyond doubt that I was a social failure.

With this knowledge lodged firmly at the forefront of my mind, and my most confident smile masking my insecurity, I headed off for the Class of 59 reunion: trying hard to blend unseen into the atmosphere of the cocktail lounge (read gymnasium).


Conversations I was apart of usually went something like this . . . .

“Smith " (name changed to protect my anonymity) you old b#&^*rd' you haven't changed a bit. I'd have recognised you anywhere!

Remember the time . . . “, and then would follow a story full of life and punctuated with humour. A story I would recognise, but one in which I'd seen myself as the monochrome coloured extra rather than the center stage star of this action packed replay of someone else's memory of my past. A story where the facts were all there, but not quite as I had remembered them.

Clearly their recollection of our childhood days were at odds with mine, so one of us must have the wrong end of the stick. Or did we?

Could it be the same reality viewed from differing perspectives by different people?

But if so, which was the correct version, theirs, or mine? I certainly preferred theirs: but perhaps they were just as surprised by my remembrances of them? Perhaps their adolescent self image was about as shaky as mine?

Anyway several such encounters, and a glass or two of wine later, I felt myself walking noticeably taller, with a definite spring in my step and humming the old school victory song.

Reunions, I've decided, are a great opportunity to re write some of those old scripts that for some of us, are still running our lives 50 years on .

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On the doorstep

Several months ago I heard of the 50th anniversary of my old secondary school - and it got me thinking.

I thought back to that morning in February 1960 ( I can't remember the exact date) when I dressed, put on my cap picked up my school lunch and headed off out the door, just like I'd done day after day for the 8 years that had preceded it.

But as I rode my bicycle toward the gates of my Secondary School for the first time, I was unknowingly crossing the doorstep from childhood into the training room of life. A place where, over the next few years, I would learn not only academic truth but, more importantly, a place where I would absorb important truths about life. Values and attitudes that would shape me as an adult: intangible things like, an enquiring mind, confidence, a work ethic, a concept of responsibility, societal values such as etiquette the importance of team contribution, first love, etc. etc. A worldview which I would gathered eclectically, recklessly, taking from here and there what ever took my teenage fancy. Like a hungry man at a lavish smorgasbord, piling my plate with much more than I could possibly eat. A plateful that would shape my future, a starter kit for the rest of my life.

And so here I stand at 63 on another doorstep. The doorstep of what is popularly called the Second half of Life. Standing here with a worldview built by a 13 year old, and largrely unreviewed over the past 40 years.

Eric Ericson, the father of developmental psychology, who coined the now famous phrase,'identity crisis' speaks of this second half of live as a time when life challenges us to integrate our 40 year old, eclectically gathered worldview into the reality of our post family, post career, pre pensioner life. The fruit of this pleasurable/painful exercise, he assures us, will be self acceptance, contentment and inner peace,.

I'm not terribly advanced on this new journey toward a peaceful integration of myself, but I have realised that I'm on the doorstep of the last frontier and a doorway to self knowledge and acceptance.

And I thought midlife crisis was the last big hurdle.

Dream on John!

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Should we be allowed to die because we are poor?

I've been following Barak Obama's argument for affordable health care and I agree, access to essential social services is a basic human right and provision of these services is the responsibility of government, not private enterprise.

Of course commercial interests within the U.S. healthcare industry strongly disagree, but then health care is big business for them.

We can see the seeds of Obama's argument mirrored in our own recent history. Less than a generation ago all NZ's social services (including free healthcare) and our nations infrastructure (roading, power, transport, communications etc) were publicly owned. These enterprises didn't make a profit but they weren't meant to. They were run by government, supported by our taxes and their purpose was to offer affordable social services to all, and to ensure near full employment.

Then overnight it seemed, most of these activities of government were privatized. Sold off to big offshore companies who promised us greater efficiency and higher profits. However we failed to see that greater efficiency would be brought about by cutting jobs and higher profits through increased consumer costs.

To use John F Kennedy's words, "the fruits of our victory turned to ashes in our mouths".

Surely the bigger question Obama's argument raises though, concerns the responsibility of government: is it to the tax payer or to big business and CEO bonuses?

Maybe Obama is trying push back the hands of time, but isn't it time somebody did?

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Getting it together.

Looking back, the last time I had my act together was just after I was born. 

Then I was at peace with myself and my surroundings, 

Then I had no fears, no worries, no  concerns.

Then I  didn't have to look good, be right, justify myself, wonder what was in it for me,  or worse, what was in for for them?. 

I was trusting and open then, I was  content and I didn't have to defend my actions. 

Then I was just me, whole, perfect and complete. 

Like the scriptural birds of the air, 'I sowed not, neither did I reap yet my heavenly father provided all I needed.'

As time went on though, I learned better.  

For instance , if I woke and mum wasn't there all I had to do was cry and she'd come and pick me up.

And if that's not what I wanted 

I could cry louder and she'd examine my needs more carefully till she discovered exactly what it was I wanted. 

I had power. 

And I learned other things too; 

dogs were scary because they were big and might hurt me, 

If i was good I got special treats, 

if I was funny people laughed. They liked me when I was funny but I wasn't sure about dad. 

I don't think dad liked me. He was never there, and my school teacher was always crabby. 

You can't trust crabby people. Better to keep quiet and out of sight. 

And strangers must be very dangerous. Every one tells you so. I think I'll stay well clear of people I don't know. 

Piece by piece I was building a new reality about who I was and how best to survive in this hostile world. 

A matrix which would set the parameters of what was, and was not possible for me, would define who I was. 

A matrix that, if I stayed within its boundaries would keep me safe. 

Being whole perfect and complete was no longer what I was, but what I might become - in time, if I really worked on it.

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Easter, a time for remembering

Easter is all about remembering. Remembering Christ's Passion, remembering his death, remembering his resurrection, and remembering the forgiveness of our sins. But how does the Biblical concept of remembering differ from say, remembering our last visit to the beach, or remembering our phone number?

When we celebrate Eucharist, the Prayer of Invitation prayed by the Priest calls us to 'receive  . . .  in remembrance that Christ died for us'.  Here the word remembrance draws on the ancient  Greek concept of ¹Anamnesis, a term that implies a far deeper meaning than simply recalling something to mind. Aanamnisis should be more properly understood as doing again, making present or renewing.  When scripture tells us that  'God remembered His promises to Abraham, for example, it doesn't simply mean he recalled his covenant to memory, it means he actually made it present again, and renewed its power in the lives of his people

Our own understanding of this spiritual concept deepens every Easter as we considered the story prior to Calvary, back to the Exodus and explored the linkages between Passover, the Seder (the post Egyptian form of Passover) and Eucharist, all of which major on anamnisis or remembrance.

The Passover which Jesus shared with his disciples remembers the flight from Egypt (Exodus 12) where the Israelites slaughtered an unblemished lamb and place its blood on the doorposts and lintel on each house. That night  when the angel of the Lord travelled through Egypt only those houses with the lamb's blood on their doorposts would be spared. The annual anamnisis of this salvivic act of God became embodied in the Seder, an intergenerational ritual meal where family and friends gather in obedience to God during Passover, to remember the events  of their salvation history. Through this meal of anamnisis, each successive generation became grafted into Israel's story, and God's promise became personal to each, even though they were not even born at the time the promises were made. 

It was at this meal of anamnisis that Jesus celebrated what many Christians now call 'The Last Supper' with his disciples. (Mk 14:12-16; Lk22:17-20; 1Cor 11:23-25) 

At that meal there would have been three pieces of unleavened bread to anamnisis the promises made to the three patriaches, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and four cups of wine to anamnisis the four distinct redemptions promised by God (Exodus 6:6-7):  "I will take you out of Egypt",  "I will deliver you from slavery",  "I will redeem you with a demonstration of my power", and "I will acquire you as a nation".  

There would also have been a fifth cup of wine called "The Cup of Elijah." This cup is poured as part of every Seder, but never consumed. Instead it is reserved for the Prophet, who scripture tells us is to herald the coming of Messiah at Passover, one day.  

During the meal, the first piece of unleavened bread is blessed and  a portion of it is torn off and reserved in a linen napkin alongside the Elijah cup. It is called the afikomen, a Greek term, that means 'for what (or for whom) is to come'. 

The afikomen is not consumed as part of the meal though the reason seems to have become lost, but at the conclusion of the Last Supper, all that would have been left on Jesus' table would have been the Elijah cup and the afikomen. 

When the words of the liturgy tell us that, 'after supper, Jesus took the cup/bread', these are the very elements he would have taken, blessed and entrusted to us to anamnisisise him.  

Being well schooled in Hebrew Scriptures and tradition, the significance of Christ's actions and words would have been very clearly understood by all present in the room. They were an unmistakable statement, almost shouted, by Jesus  that he was Messiah, and that the promises made to Israel through the patriaches  would pass on in perpetuity, to all who believed in him, through this new meal of anamnisis, the Eucharist, and that there was now 'neither Jew nor Greek, Slave nor free, for we are all one in Christ Jesus.'  (Gal 3:28)

 So, just as each successive Jewish generation incorporated itself into God's promises each Passover, so we who live under the New Covenant graft ourselves into the same story as co-inherit-ants of all God's promises through our remembrance of Easter, and the salvation Christ  won for us.

Anamnesis is not a simple intellectual function; it is an action (it) does not simply refer to the past, it makes present the past and the future.

As members of the eucharistic community we recall again to consciousness the economy of God in Christ through the Holy Spirit, the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection of Christ, his ascension, and Pentecost. We live them. ³

Anamnisis is not just a word, it's what church does.

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Credit Crisis for Dummies

Call it simplistic if you like but here's how it looks to me.

As the West moved from a land based to an industrialised economy, labour followed. Mining, heavy industry and manufacturing formed an equitable partnership providing profit for the investor and meaningful work and dignity for the workers. Urban workers needed essential goods and capitalism needed producers. The perfect partnership.

A period of affluence followed, richer workers became shareholders and shareholders, hungry for profit, moved manufacturing off shore to cheaper labour markets, Workers in the west became educated, stopped producing and began managing the process of global production distribution and sales. However as well as producers, capitalism needed consumers and production was fast outstripping consumption. Answer, the credit industry.

A stimulated investment industry talked up the value of shares and real estate against which to secure it's credit advances thus providing more and more consumers with more and more spending power to consume more and more goods and services. But the new talked up values were confidence rather than reality based, and the result: was an international credit blow out.

Answer? Run the same scenario in the developing countries where manufacture (but not consumption) is now centered. Offer them the credit they need to become consumers instead of simply producers. That should fix the problem, at least in the short term.

Have we really got the keys to the asylum, or have we given them to the financial inmates?

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Is it about winning, or about how you run the race?

Like most of us, I grew up learning fairly quickly how to win attention and approval, and by the time I was 5 I'd rehearsed it into an art form.

With out even trying, my young sister was working steadily on her own 'winning formula'. It was very different from mine but equally as effective. Being a petite curly headed blond with the gift of the gab, her tactic was to be cute and engaging: and it worked, every time!

Mine on the other hand (probably to gain my fathers approval) was to be enquiring and decisive as I knew these were qualities he admired. It was my winning formula and kept me ahead of the game and in control. And because it always worked, I applied it time after time after time after time. Where she played the cute and chatty card, I won my battles by being enquiring, decisive and quick to act.

But just because you have a winning formula (we all do incidentally) doesn't make it the best strategy for us. Taken to extremes, my sister risked being perceived as a bit dizzy and shallow (which she isn't), and I of being seen as cynical and closed to others input.

So if an habitual strategy learned as a child the isn't the best formula for an adult, then I need to ask myself why do I continue to allow a 5 year old to run my life? Surely there's a better way?

For me there is. It involves a deliberate decision to be open to the possibility of living a life where I'm instinctively positive and open to council. And by giving you (& all my friends, acquaintances and family) permission to let me know if I'm falling back into old my ways.

Will it change anything? I believe it will, but this way you'll be the judge, not me.

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Jimmy Carter had the right idea

James Hider's article, 'Single state solution edges nearer' (Dompost 3/3/09) may be revolutionary but its by no means a new idea dating back to the MacDonald White Paper of 1939. Raising it again now does however expose the dilemma currently facing Israel.

Under military occupation, the Jewish State has laid claim to much of Palestine, built extensively on it and secured it's hold over its west bank settlements by force. Huge steel walls and military check points honeycomb much of the landscape, leaving only discombobulated pockets of land, separated from each other and entirely dependent on Israel's good will for the provision of water electricity and sewage disposal.

Not much of a bargaining chip to offer Palestine by way of compensation.

Maybe its time for Israel to grasp the nettle. Separated development did not work for South Africa and will not be any more successful for Israel. To quote President Jimmy Carter, 'Unless both sides win, no agreement can be permanent'

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Gaza conflict: Who is a civilian?

The Interior Ministry was hit in the first strike targeting a government building

The bloodied children are clearly civilians; men killed as they launch rockets are undisputedly not. But what about the 40 or so young Hamas police recruits on parade who died in the first wave of Israel's bombing campaign in Gaza?

And weapons caches are clearly military sites – but what about the interior ministry, hit in a strike that killed two medical workers; or the money changer's office, destroyed last week injuring a boy living on the floor above?

As the death toll mounts in Gaza, the thorny question is arising of who and what can be considered a legitimate military target in a territory effectively governed by a group that many in the international community consider a terrorist organisation.

This is also the group that won the Palestinian legislative elections in January 2006 and a year later consolidated its control by force.
So while it was behind a campaign of suicide attacks in Israel and fires rockets indiscriminately over the border, it is also in charge of schools, hospitals, sewage works and power plants in Gaza.

 . .more . .

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Looking at the bigger picture

'A text out of context is merely a pretext'.

We all do it. We extract a single core element of truth, (the text) and ignoring every other argument that surrounds it, (the context), build a thesis upon it.

Politicians do it all the time. Mutter mutter 'weapons of mass destruction'; mutter mutter 'terrorism/security/terrorism'. etc. Journalists do it by focusing on the sensational at the expense of the background. Religious scholars who are past masters at it, having done it for 2,000 years, have made it an art form and earned the title 'fundamentalist.' But whatever name it goes by it distorts a truth by ignoring the bigger picture that surrounds it.

But what about us, the little people. Your every day man or woman in the street, are we exempt from this practice in our mundane daily lives?

I don't think we are, I think we do it with our memories: our selective recollection of whatever.

For example, something traumatic happens, a redundancy perhaps, or the death of a loved one, and instinctively we focus on the loss we have experienced, the smaller picture, the text. We defend ourselves and allocate blame, we become angry or perhaps, unable to face the enormity of the situation, so we pretend we're coping OK, but are often just in denial.

These are all perfectly normal responses which hopefully, help us move on,  eventually, to a state of healthy acceptance. But often many of us never get over 'it' because we never talk it through, debate it or look at the wider context instead of just the text.

Let me explain. Recently I began a Progoff Intensive Journalling Exercise called 'The now period'. The rules are simple:

1/ Describe the 'Now' period of your life: an open ended period that has a beginning but no ending. Example be, 'It began 4 years ago when I was made redundant . . . '
2/ Record your feelings, thoughts, memories - what ever presents itself. Complete the phrase , "It's a time when . . . .; record images and describe the period.
3. Describe more details about this period: people,projects, activities, your health, attitudes,events, dreams, images, people who inspired you and choices or decisions you had to make.
4/ Read back what you have written and record how you feel about what you have written.

What I found when I did this was that many of the older episodes in my story had been well worked through, and I was completely comfortable with them: grateful for them. But in the more recent period there were stories (episodes) which were too fresh. Too many things I'd simply skimmed across the surface of and hadn't yet examined as part of the wider picture. In terms of my own analogy, I'd latched onto the single text (my own pain) and ignored the context. To that extent I only had a partial understanding of the truth.

This lead me to repeating the exercise again, slowly - and oft times, painfully, till my immediate memory drew me not to the pain of my loss, but to the richness that experience has bought to my life. For example, to be able to celebrate the gift my late daughters life was to me, and others, rather than resenting her premature death. 

It's not always an easy journey, but it's a worthwhile one -  and proves to me yet again the wisdom of the old saying that the truth will set you free.

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But who will pay?

As joyfulness and tears mingle together in the streets of Gaza this morning;

as those who are alive give thanks to God and mourn their dead;

as European leaders meet in Sharm El Sheikh to discuss funding for the rebuilding of the shattered Gazan infrastructure;

I'm left wondering, what recompense will Israel pay,

financially and morally?

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NZ Church Leaders’ statement on Gaza

The leaders of New Zealand churches are deeply concerned about the dire situation in Gaza and support the call for an immediate ceasefire in the region

The escalation of violence and associated increase in civilian casualties is intolerable. It is time for concerted action to end the suffering of the 1.5 million people trapped within the 360 square kilometers of Gaza with little food, water and medicine, and under almost continuous attack from the land, sea and air.

Before the collapse of the ceasefire in December, the borders of Gaza were tightly controlled and movement in and out very difficult. Now the conditions are much more lethal. The consequences of this unparalleled pressure cannot be underestimated. Already many innocent civilians have been killed and injured. People are living in perpetual fear and growing numbers of people are in desperate need of food and water as well as medical treatment. The trauma will have a lasting effect on everyone and is undermining any possibility of negotiating a just and sustainable peace.

To date the international community has failed to broker a lasting peace. We urge the New Zealand government to do all that it can through the United Nations and through its own diplomatic efforts to call a halt to Israel’s military offensive and the Hamas attacks. New Zealand has an obligation to uphold the international community’s ‘Responsibility to Protect’ populations from war crimes as agreed at the United Nations’ Millennium Summit.

As followers of Jesus, who exercised his ministry of reconciliation in this troubled region, Christians are deeply concerned about Jewish-Palestinian enmity. While religion is often tragically used to fuel inherited hostilities, it can also be a force for shalom/salaam. It is our hope and prayer that all adherents of the three Abrahamic faiths in that region (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) might truly seek the way of peace and reconciliation to which their scriptures bear witness.

We encourage church members and all people of goodwill to:

Pray for the victims and perpetrators of violence in Gaza and Israel.
Pray for the success of diplomatic efforts between Hamas, the Israeli Government and the international community.
Pray for peace and reconciliation.
Advocate for the New Zealand government, world leaders and the United Nations to take effective action to renew the ceasefire in Gaza and work towards a just resolution of the conflict in the interests of long term security and peace.
Support the Christian World Service and Caritas Gaza Appeals providing desperately needed food, fuel, water and medicines in Gaza.

13 January 2009
Jabez Bryce, Bishop of Polynesia
Anglican Church in Aotearoa New Zealand and Polynesia

John A Dew, Archbishop of Wellington
Roman Catholic Church of New Zealand

Rodney Macann, National Leader
Baptist Union of New Zealand

Garth McKenzie, Territorial Commander
The Salvation Army

David Moxon, Senior Bishop of the New Zealand Dioceses
Anglican Church in Aotearoa New Zealand and Polynesia

Graham Redding, Assembly Moderator
Presbyterian Church of Aotearoa New Zealand

Mia Tay, Clerk
Quaker Peace and Service Aotearoa New Zealand
Religious Society of Friends

Brown Turei, Bishop of Aotearoa
Anglican Church in Aotearoa New Zealand and Polynesia

Jill van der Geer, President
Methodist Church of New Zealand



A Prayer for Palestine

Loving God
Who cares for each one of us like a mother cares for her children
We pray for the people of Gaza: rich and poor, young and old, armed and peace-seeking
We pray for your protection in this time of desperation.
Lord have mercy in this time of great need.

We pray for those who have the power to bring hope
For those who operate the weapons that cause so much destruction, those who inflame the conflict with words and those who can broker the peace that is so urgent.

Lord have mercy in this time of great need.

We pray for the Department of Service to Palestinian Refugees as they struggle to offer the means of life to so many people in need while dealing with their own trauma and suffering. We pray for the members of ACT International who are trying to deliver food and medical assistance in the most dangerous circumstances.

Lord have mercy in this time of great need.

Help us not to turn away.
In our words and our actions help us all to work for an end to the violence that holds all sides captive.
Let us forge new ways of peace that help to spread justice in this world that you have created.

In the name of Jesus, the Prince of Peace, we pray.
Amen

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Whose Blood is worth more?

A volley of machine gun fire crackled out over Wellington's Civic Square. It hit me like a hot wind and exploded like white light in my brain. My knees buckled and my head and spine jerked back as it exploded in my chest .

I slumped to the ground amid others collapsing and falling all around me, a total in excess of 800 of us symbolically dead.

The simulated gun fire continued to rattle all around us, confronting the internal silence within as we remembered, and prayed, for those living with the nightly reality of death in both Israel and Gaza.

Unlike them, we rose, symbolizing our hope that the people of Palestine and Israel would rise too. Rise above the madness that is war and realize that in God's eyes, both Palestinian and Israeli blood are of equal value.

(Today I attended a 'Die In' sponsored by the Christians for Justice in Palestine - a very moving event)

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Raising Yousuf and Noor: diary of a Palestinian mother: Where do you hide? The terror in Gaza.

Raising Yousuf and Noor: diary of a Palestinian mother: Where do you hide? The terror in Gaza.

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Peace comes at a price

As the world pauses to consider peace in the middle east, both Israel and Palestine would do well to look again at Pope John's reminder to the world forty years ago, of the Four Pillars of Peace which are the basis of right order in our world.

'It is an order that is

• founded on truth,
  
• built up on justice, 
  
• nurtured and animated by charity,
  
•  and brought into effect under the auspices of freedom.'

It is not some cheap cobbled together lowest common denominator statement that requires only the verbal ascent of both parties without the commitment of either. 

God's love may be free, but peace comes at price.

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Imagine -

Imagine: the last votes are counted. Your town now has the first  democratically elected Green Mayor and Councillors. Nearby towns feel threatened that your radical ideas may spread so they erect a 5 meter concrete barrier wall around your town. There are armed guards on the wall who have been ordered to shoot  at anyone coming within 3 meters of the wall.

The only gates in or out are closed for weeks on end so  you can't get to work, and incoming supplies are denied entry. Your town's economy soon crumbles. Your Council can't afford to buy electricity from the national grid now so power is rationed and essential service like sewage, and water pumping falter. Your small day hospital can't function without power, the crematorium closes and there's no petrol for the hearse. 

Helicopters patrol overhead looking for known Green supporters and Green strongholds to blow up.  Sometimes they miss and hit a children's playground, but the Greens were only using the kids as a shield - so that's OK.  

You're angry at the way you are treated, no one seems interested in your plight, so hit back with the only weapons you have - you throw stones. 

Welcome to Gaza!

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There's always an alternative

Persecution and cruelty feed the human spirit and are the manure from which patriotism and nationhood are forged.

The Roman treatment of the early Christian community and the German Concentration camps of the Second World War did not wipe out Christianity or Judaism but resulted in the worldwide spread of Christianity and the establishment of the Israeli State, for example.

So what is the likely outcome of inflicting continuing human suffering on innocent Palestinians and Gazan civilians ?

Israel's Prime Minister says, 'they left us with no alternative'. 

But there is always an alternative.

Peace with our neighbours comes through dialogue & respect not aggression and cruelty.

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Upside of the Credit Crunch

Contrary to what my children think, I'm not that old. But I can remember,clearly, a time when the credit card was not a feature of our social landscape.

I got my wages, in cash, each week in a brown paper envelope, My employer built and sold widgets. He financed the business out of sales, but had a small development loan, from the bank, to buy bigger machine to make better widgets. I lived out of my income but had a small overdraft facility to cater for emergencies. Our property values didn't sky rocket (up or down!) but it didn't seem to bother anyone.

Now with the advent of our flexible friend, our model has changed and we are pressured to live, not out of what we have, but out of what we don't have. And that;s fine as long as you can keep all the balls in the air. But, if they fall, we realize only too clearly that credit (compared with real money) is a little like the Emperors New Clothes - pure fantasy.

The upside of this economic turmoil however, is that even if I can't now afford to retire, my widow can always rely on MasterCard to make sure I'm buried in a smart new designer T shirt and Nike sneakers, rather than the cheap undertakers shroud I would have been forced to wear in the good old days.

I guess thats progress?

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World Leaders tackle credit crunch

Great news that our world leaders are now poring mega trillions into the international economy to resolve the global credit crunch and revive our falling property prices. The disturbing question for me however is, where is all this money suddenly coming from?

Did governments have it stored up in new notes, hidden away for a rainy day? Not a very responsible investment plan I would have thought. Perhaps they borrowed it. But from whom? Did they blow the dust of their gold reserves and are they putting in real cash, or just signing off against some sort of international journal entry,

And who will pay for it all in the end ?

What ever the answer the question still remains, where's it coming from and why should the world put itself into hock to rescue a bunch of irresponsible, under regulated financial cowboys.

And If there is this sort of 'bottomless pit' financial resource available, how come it hasn't been used to solve the worlds huge humanitarian problems, feed house and educate the poor, fight cancer etc., etc.

Perhaps it's simply because there's no profit in it?

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Empty Pram Syndrome

It felt strange, sort of silly really.

There I was, walking home pushing an empty pram.

She had been our daily companion for the last 18 months and today was her first full day at daycare.
The first of many goodbyes that she would say as she moved on through life: primary school at five, her secondary education as she entered her teenage years, university, marriage and so on.

It all flashed through my mind in a few seconds as I looked down at the empty pram before me.

In some ways it felt like an end of something - but then too, it was a new beginning. The start of the next new and exciting phase in her life.

Several minutes later I found myself at home sending greetings to my closest friend on the occasion of his 65th birthday and wondering how his mum felt the first time she let him go out into the big bad world alone?

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Hey Mom, I'm famous!

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Never to be repeated bargain prices?

Almost 80 years on and history, as it has a habit of doing, repeats itself.

To quote David Letterman, " It's the 79th anniversary of the stockmarket crash and to commemorate that event, stocks are now selling at 1929 prices.'

It's amazing how quickly we forget the lessons of the past.
At the end of the day there's no such thing as a quick buck, just an advance that must ultimately be repaid,

. . . . all too often by someone else.

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Going out with a BOOM!

They came thundering out of the 50's & 60's like an out of control tidal wave.

A post war baby boom so large that it would fracture every social infrastructure it came in contact with for the next 60 years.

In the 50's it swamped pediatric services, burst out of undersized classrooms, created the worlds first teenage generation and fired the protest movement of the 60's. It took control of industry and politics in the 80's and, because of its shear size, now threatens to collapse retirement funds, superannuation schemes and health care services as these Boomers, as they became known, enter retirement years.

This week the New Zealand press association release details of a financial package designed to put more money into palliative care and hospice services. I also notice that my local funeral home has just spent mega thousands enlarging it's chapel and expanding (four fold) its adjoining processing and storage (mortuary) facility.

These are sure signs they, and the health care service providers, expect more business in the days ahead and that the BOOMERS next big social impact will be on an increasing level of departures from planet earth. Going out with a boom?

The wave that began in the late 40's has now crashed onto the beach. Its frothy brown foam has settled on the sand any the roar of the sea dragging its remaining waters back across the stones can be clearly heard.

A sobering sound for people of my generation.

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Building on Sand

It started years ago.

Like a distant rumor, or the first signs of a leak in the dam. There was no doubt that it would ultimately result in the total collapse of the entire dam with all of the devastation that would cause. But that was something we couldn't even contemplate. It was too unimaginable, so we worked away to patch up the leak and encourage each other with positive statements about the situation. There was too much at stake.

But eventually the unthinkable happened, Wall Street collapsed under its own weight. And still we tried to talk it all back together again.

Two thousand years ago a Jewish Rabbi told a story about the folly of trying to build a house on the sand. Perhaps the sand of the 'live now pay later' credit society has finally been washed away leaving us the opportunity to rebuild - this time on the rock of reality.

Save now, buy later.

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The Cold Peace

Hearing both sides of news story certainly makes you stop and think.
We spent 4 glorious weeks in Georgia recently. We had a great time and made lots of wonderful friends in this warm and hospitable country, so naturally we were horrified to see the advance of Russian tanks on the streets of Gori and feared for our friends in Tblisi.

Yesterday however I watched the Russian TV News Channel and was equally disturbed to see first hand the death and destruction wrought on the citizens of South Ossetia, and the very real humanitarian crisis that exists there.

It showed a perspective I've not seen explored in any western media, and it makes me wonder, who are the true victims of propaganda -

- them, us or both of us? .

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We cultivate hope

Here on the slopes of hills, facing the dusk and the cannon of time
Close to the gardens of broken shadows,
We do what prisoners do,
And what the jobless do:

We cultivate hope.

Mahmoud Darwish died on Saturday at age 67. He was famous throughout the Middle East and widely respected for his non violent quest for peace, and as Palestines national poet.

Delivering harsh criticisim for the factional fighting between Hamas & Fatah which he described as 'a public attempt at suicide in the streets,' he gave a voice to Palestines dreams of statehood.

Amidst all the chaos that surrounded him he did, as the opening lines of his poem, Under Siege state, live a life which cultivated hope.

His voice of prophetic wisdom will be much missed.

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Higher walls or wider bridges?

I have now exchanges several emails with the gentleman who accused me of being anti semitic. He is a 79 year old survivor of the Holocaust who now lives in the US and I have been surprised how easy it has been to find issues on which we can both agree. One of the thing we are both certain of is that even if a peace is brokered between Israel and Palestine it will take a generation or two to rebuild good will and trust between the two parties. To build wider bridges rather than higher walls.

When Chinese and Irish Catholic immigrants came to New Zealand in the late eighteen hundreds, they brought their culture with them choosing to remain close to each other, but by doing so, on the fringe of main stream Kiwi culture. As seven years olds my friends and I would wait outside the local Catholic school of an afternoon chanting taunts, throwing stones and scaring each other with tall tales of friends of friends who had been captured by the devil after running into the church. Fear and mistrust separated us as surely as any wall. Now, fifty years on, second millennium children would shrug in disbelief of such prejudices.

As a fifty year old, having learned absolutely nothing from this lesson, I headed off from New Zealand, back pack and culture in tow to travel overland through Asia and the Middle East to Europe, As it was hot we wore the kind of clothing we would wear at home: cotton t shirt (or skimpy blouse), shorts and flip-flops. Cool, comfortable, light and totally acceptable - or so we thought, And we were fine in countries that had embraced western tourism, but once we reached Pakistan we realised folk were not so impressed. From their perspective we were immodestly and offensively clothed. We quickly learned that replacing the Kiwi summer uniform with used local clothing from the markets immediately opened previously un known doorways to friendship and hospitality from a warm and very friendly people. A lesson that served us well through out Central Asia, the Middle East and the Balkans.

Now I'm not suggesting peace in the Middle East will be won by George Bush swapping his stetson for a turban, or by Osama bin Laden shaving his beard and waring a three piece suite, but I am saying ,that in the long run, peace is impossible unless we respect one another's differences.

Building walls may keep us safe, but it shuts us in, and it shuts out dialogue. Building bridges is more risky, but opens the way to friendship and trade.

Jesus said, 'Love your enemies.' Loosely translated, that means, ' don't have any!'

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Is prejudice something we inherit?

Because of my sympathy for the plight of Gazan's I was recently asked if my views were anti semitic. It made me think.

You see the New Zealand I grew up in during the 50-60's was a country that prided itself on its egalitarian attitudes and practices. It was 'God's own country' and we were lucky to live here. Yet Maori were invariably rural dwellers, educationally and economically disadvantaged, the few Chinese who came here during the gold rush days, were limited to selling vegetables and emigrants were all winging Poms who should go home if they didn't like it here.

Apart from them we were mainly white, protestant and proud of our colonial uniqueness.

Yet I grew up believing the myth of our equality and laid back acceptance of all: well, anyone who was exactly like us that is. - or unless they were Australian, of course!

It wasn't until I contemplated backpacking through central Asia and the Middle East where I would be the foreigner that I became aware of my fear of non Christian religions, my mistrust of Asia's poor, my suspicion of anyone who dressed differently from me and especially, my frustration with those who didn't speak English as their first language. I was afraid of what I didn't understand and there was much I didn't. Acceptance of others was great in theory but, like Siberia, it's may be a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.

Despite misconceptions about my egalitarian culture I began to realise that I was just as racist as the anti Pommie jokes that were so much a part of my colonial heritage.

What I discovered in realty was that beneath the cultural cloak we all wear, we are all the same. We share the same need of food, shelter, affirmation, justice and love because we are all made in the likeness of the one God - whatever we call him/her. However we dress and regardless of our social practices I began to learn that there are no bad men, just bad decisions.

That doesn't mean I support every Hamas policy or that I oppose every action taken by Israel. Just the political game playing of the few (on both sides) who ruin it for the majority and cause unnecessary pain and suffering on innocent people.

I wonder, is that prejudice or just the sign of an open mind?

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Vivere

Most corporate entities these days have a mission statement.
Something that, like a motto, endeavours to capture and express the very 'heart' of the organisation.

As individuals we too sometimes need to focus on what our own mission statement would be if we had one. Personally I can think of no better one for myself than Vivere.

It is from the Italian verb, to Live, and in this song is translated as Dare to Live, and Pausinni's English translation of the complete song is electrifying and deeply challenging.

I offer it for myself, and for all who are facing personal darkness and difficult times in their life right now. ( you know who you are).

To each of you . . . . Vivere!



Click here for full lyrics in English and Italian

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Gaza cease-fire could take effect later this week

Haaretz, the official Israeli News Agency ran this story in todays issue saying that Israel could announce their acceptance of the Hamas peace proposal later this week, insha'Allah.
Check it out!

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Whatever happened to the good old days?

It was dark as I rose at 6:30 for the arrival of my young granddaughter.

"Whatever happened to the good old days, I thought, when you only worked 9-5, retired at 60 and got a pension?' When interest on your housing loan was fixed for the length of the mortgage and education was free?

This was the social landscape my generation inherited and almost as instantly, shattered. The sheer volume of post war births meant there were more of us than them and we strained housing resources, overflowed kindergarten facilities, shot classroom sizes from below 20 to over 40, created the first teenage generation, introduced the world to Rock & Roll and took over the workplace.

And we continued to strain the resources of every emerging phase of our lives till at last we've exhausted pension funds and now threaten to overwhelm morticians as we begin to shuffle off, stage right.

So I asked myself, whatever happened to the good old days?

And then it hit me - whose been in control of world government, economics and trade for the past 25 years? Oh yes, it was us, the BOOMERS - architects of our eventual demise.

I yawned, scratched, stepped out of bed and into the darkness and commenced my 12 hour child minder shift.

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Two sides to every story - The Nakba

Air Force One will travel back in time this week, banking low near the southern Mediterranean coast and touching down on contested soil where the past is always present.

In the Holy Land, the battles over the historical narrative surrounding the founding of Israel in 1948 are as hard-fought as the contemporary struggles over West Bank settlers, Palestinian refugees, and negotiations for a two-state solution.

In a long and bitter dispute, there are profound consequences for the "honest broker" (as the US government has long described itself) in identifying with only one side's history.

Yet when George Bush, the US president, steps off his plane to help Israel mark its 60th birthday, he will stride firmly into the past of one side.

Officials of the Jewish state will sweep the US president into their own powerful and compelling narrative: The birth of Israel from the ashes of the Holocaust on May 14, 1948, the invasion of the state a day later from Arab armies marching from the north, south, and east and the loss of one per cent of the Jewish state's population in a fierce defence that evokes Israel's unofficial motto - "never again".

What the president will not hear is the Palestinian story.

He will not be told that one side's "War of Independence" is the other side's "Nakba", or "Catastrophe".

And no one is likely to mention that Israel's heroic survival was, to the Arabs, a dispossession in which 750,000 Palestinians fled or were driven out of their homes.

Here then, is a brief Nakba primer for the US president, a chronicle of the untold to accompany him on his visit to Jerusalem.

Palestinians mark the Nakba with wooden keys symbolising the homes they had to flee

In the spring of 1948, waves of fear gripped Arab Palestine following the April 9 massacre of more than 120 unarmed Palestinians by extremist Jewish militias in the village of Deir Yassin, near Jerusalem.

Thus, even before the war officially began, Arab villagers were fleeing for safer ground, fully intending to return when the fighting stopped.

Later that month in Galilee, Yigal Allon, commander of the elite Jewish brigade known as the Palmach, implemented a plan to spread more fear among the local Arabs.

Allon would later write that he gathered Jewish leaders "who had ties with the different Arab villages, and I asked them to whisper in the ears of several Arabs that giant Jewish reinforcements had reached the Galilee and were about to clean out the villages ... [and] to advise them, as friends, to flee while they could ... the flight encompassed tens of thousands. The stratagem fully achieved its objective."

The next month, May 1948, a similar campaign took hold in the village of Na'ani, according to local Arab and Israeli sources, when a Jewish neighbour rode into town on horseback shouting: "The Jewish army is coming! You must leave or you will all be killed!"

The villagers fled en masse, many going a few miles north to the Arab town of Ramle. There, they hoped, it would be safe.

Two months later, on July 12, Israeli forces overwhelmed local Arab defenders and occupied the refugee-choked Ramle (now the Israeli city of Ramla) and neighbouring Lydda (now Lod). The same day they began expelling the Arabs of the two towns.

According to the memoirs of Yitzhak Rabin, then a young Israeli major, the orders came directly from Isreal's first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion. Three days later, Ben-Gurion wrote in his diary, "there are 30,000 refugees moving along the road between Ramle and Lydda ... they are demanding bread ... "

Deaths of children

The people of Ramle and Lydda had left in haste and packed little, unprepared for a long hike across stony ground of cactus and Christ's thorn in mid-summer temperatures that reached 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 degrees Celsius).

Decades later, old men and women in refugee camps would recall, above all else, their thirst and how they attempted to quench it with stagnant water found in old wells and, in some cases, with their own urine.

John Bagot Glubb, the British commander of the Arab Legion, would write that "nobody will ever know how many children died".

Sixty years later, the Nakba lies at the core of the Palestinians' identity and of their view of history and justice.

Official US ignorance of that, passed down through generations and embodied in Bush's visit only to the Israeli side, has, unsurprisingly, angered Palestinians.

"It is a slap in the face," said Diana Buttu, a prominent Palestinian analyst in the West Bank, told The New York Times, adding that the US is essentially saying: "You have no history and your past does not matter."

But more than the insult or even stupidity of such a one-sided position is the tactical bungling of an administration that wants to be seen as a fair arbiter of a long-standing dispute.

That is pretty hard to do, if all you can see is one side's pain and glory.

Sandy Tolan is the author of The Lemon Tree: An Arab, A Jew, and the Heart of the Middle East, and a visiting professor at the Annenberg School for Communication at the University of Southern California (USC).


Source: Al Jazeera 12/05.2008 Sandy Tolan

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