The Greatest Church I’ve Ever Been To.

The Greatest Church I’ve Ever Been To.

The greatest churches I have been to, I’ve never crossed the threshold of.  I couldn’t give you directions to them, or tell you ahead of time.

I’ve simply found myself in the midst of them as they have risen around me. Great cathedrals of human expression… Songs of triumph, hope and victory, psalms of despair and suffering shared through the rhythms of shared humanity that seem to rose up from the earth.

I know one thing to be true: genuine spirituality of any form is both individual and shared. Both elements are required for authenticity. A genuine internal engagement and shared common experience.

That raw spirituality, the ruach Elohim, the wai rua that rises when humanity reaches outside of it’s current self and toward something other… That is where I have been to church, rarely on a Sunday.

In a swathe of human diversity, in dark halls devoted to melody, in moving picture shows seated next to strangers..In concert halls, food halls and markets where plates are shared and passed. Where sight, sound, smell, taste and touch are swamped in sensory experience.

These are the great churches of my generation.

Too often, contemporary spiritual or religious practice has stripped “church” down to programmes and attendence, formalised patterns of reverence and expression. There is beauty and wonder in it, yes. But before we had liturgy, before we had structure, before we had church doors and pews – humanity has had stories, songs and music. We’ve sung our blues, our joys and our sufferings. We share language of human experience this way, we share language of divine encounters this way.

It is no surprise that music festivals draw out thousands, or that Burning Man encourages something in the soul that yearns for a gritty spirituality. These gatherings evoke the primal in us.

We ought to rid ourselves of any flimsy thread of cleanliness or tidiness between spirituality and humanity. It’s all dirt and grit and messiness, and we’re the better for it. We ought to rid ourselves of the straightlined pews more often when seeking genuine spiritual encounters.

When we loose ourselves into the dust or rhythm of a dance we learn as we go along – we realign to the balance of humanity and divinity in Creation. We ought to do it more often and at every chance.

So go to concerts, play live music. Buy a drum and bang it with your bare feet toes down in the grass. Breathe. Connect. Go to church.

These Wasted Sacred Spaces.

These Wasted Sacred Spaces.

We live in a world where the contemporary sacred longs to be relevant and connected to the secular. In rural and small towns, this connection is easier to build in meaningful ways. In urban centres and sprawling cities, there is one resource that the church has in spades, that could revolutionise the way churches contribute to communities and cities.

What is that precious resource? Space. It is the one commodity that urban centres long for and churches have an abundance of.

If the broader contribution of the church to human civilisation is to patron the arts, then more of our spaces should be devoted to sharing space. Opening up space. People in cities and urban spaces are constantly constrained from pursuing their gifts, talents, business endeavours because urban space is so expensive and hard to access. Shared spaces and hotdesking in virtual offices is on the increase but what if the Church, in all those prime city and city fringe locations opened it’s doors to people who need space.

I don’t mean leasing our space either. I mean opening up the doors of our buildings in prime central real estate that often sit half unused and pouring that resource back into the communities that are longing for it. For the small and medium sized businesses that are in start-up mode, where every penny they can save on overheads can go into smarter and better products and services. Into innovation and invention.

We should splatter the walls of our cathedrals with the acrylics and plaster of our artists, sculpting, painting and making in the vast caverns of space that we devote to holy emptiness.

We should fill those spaces with good works. The works of hands and minds. There should be no caveat of Christian belonging either. Just being human ought to be enough to make use of the resources we provide – free internet, hot water, meeting rooms and desk space. Studio space. Creating and making space. So what if our bills go up slightly and we have to vaccuum more often? Think about the relationships we could build. Who cares if occasionally people take advantage? Think about the ones who won’t.

The point I’m making is that the Church mets week on week and searches for ways to be meaningful and build bridges into communities and cities in ways that contribute to broader society – when the easiest thing we could do is remember what the preciousness of our sanctuaries and spaces is all about. People.

I frequently recall the words of Mike Yaconelli, who wrote about the necessity of stained carpet. We worry so much about the straight lines and cleanliness in our welcoming space but there is an authencity to stains on the carpet and on the walls that says ‘humanity is welcome here’.

Humanity with all it’s mess and creativity. Our sanctuaries and buildings were always meant to be for people. Filled with people, resourcing people, providing help and shelter for people. Providing opportunity and support for people.

The Church often gets confused into thinking that in order to be meaningful it must be us that does the work. That the work must be of our hands. But often the greatest impact is had simply in what we can facilitate. What opportunities we create for others by our being.

 

 

Why I’m Proud Of My Ass & You Should Be Too.

Why I’m Proud Of My Ass & You Should Be Too.

I’m not Beyonce or Kim Kardashian, but I’ve got booty. And I’m resolutely proud of it, actually. Prouder now than I was ten or even five years ago. It’s a symbol of strength, capacity and my relative wealth. Still, I’ve scorned and joked my way through endless Instagram posts.

“Do you even lift?”
“Squats all day.”
“Every day is leg day.”

I never considered myself to be body-obsessed, let alone butt-obsessed. Body conscious, for sure. Who isn’t? I’ve written about those issues some. Then I was talking with my friend Jessie – the talented, intelligent and compassionate @bloore). In talking about self-image and the age of selfies, she told me about removing almost every mirror from her house so she could learn not to look at herself.

Jessie’s captivating thought, while not the central idea of my post is worthy of a summary. Our obsession with mirrors and now, selfies, causes us to form our identity or self-image from an external observation. We observe ourselves and pass judgement or scrutinize our flaws. (At the same time, I think it gives us carte blanche opportunity to indulge our vanities too – TM.)

So I tried it for a few days. I paid attention to how I used the mirror. To be honest, I think I did ok. Not that many selfies, a tiny mirror in the bathroom doesn’t allow much scrutiny and there’s no full length mirror in my bedroom either. That might explain a few things. But I was totally mistaken.

I realised what was happening while  I was walking to work. Past a run of glass windows, I caught myself studying my reflection. I’m a secret glancer, but not too secret. I caught myself almost every day. Not just mornings, but on the way to meetings and leaving at the end of the day.

So I paid attention to the pattern my eyes travelled. Butt, hips, knees, hair, sometimes the shadow of my chin, and then my butt. Lingering on the butt, particularly if walking uphill. In the work kitchen, the mirrored splashback means I pay attention to my hair and eyes, same as in the rear-vision mirror of my car. But anywhere else, I was a butt-watcher.

Day after day, I caught myself in the same patterns. So I started to think even more about what I was paying attention to and what I was looking for. Then I realised it was beauty, normalised beauty. My stomach is strong but soft. My arms have definition and curves. My legs are powerhouses. I’m short and curvy and strong, but all of that is acceptable in the curvaceous globes of those gluteous maximus and their supporting muscalature. In those moments, I belong to the beautiful crowd – we are alike. Those rounded curves are just as well formed as some of the best I’ve seen, hidden in clothes.

That beauty is more than just a physical sense of appreciation. It’s deeper. We have to become reconnected to our bodies and integrated with what they tell us. My butt is a staunch reflection of my character and personality. Gregarious, generous but in proportion, equal parts soft and strong, with strength that can’t be seen but only felt or experienced. My butt is one part of my body that really feels like me, if my heart and soul was flesh and blood. And my ass doesn’t make apologies, or demand them from me. It just opens doors with a kick of my hip or sashays down the pavement when taken by the mood.

I’m in two minds about the the endless parade of booty songs on the radio – they are not the kind of empowering I was looking for. But they rightly give women the opportunity to reclaim their bodies. I just want to reclaim mine for more than sex, whilst still being sexy.

I don’t wear yoga pants outside of the gym. I do wear tight jeans. My ass is not #belfie-perfect  but I do squat and lunge and lift and climb steps taller than my calves. My ass is not a sex-symbol, it’s a powerhouse of confidence. That’s no brave feminist voice, either. I literally can carry 15 – 20kgs of toddler on each hip, supported by that butt. It powers me up stairs faster than my long-legged colleagues and it cushions every hard and cold surface I have to sit myself on.  Am I a proud butt-watcher? Well, I don’t know. I’m not watching anyone else’s. I just see what my own is accomplishing and feel somehow stronger. I appreciate how I fill out my own jeans. I’m not likely to post a #belfie anytime soon – but I have a butt worth admiring on it’s own merits.

What is this vanity – this self-obsession with my physical being that can produce such torment and such joy, such satisfaction and a sense of pride? Can I weather it, just accept it and let it be – that the one thing I might catch myself watching is the one thing that gives me confidence instead of robbing it?

There are other parts of my physical self I might add to the watching list then; my cooking callouses, my calf definiton, the scalloping abdominals under their soft stomach blanket. The skin that carries my stories in tattoo, the eyes that are equal parts my mother and father. There are many parts of my body I would reclaim and let them be pride-stirring, strength-giving reminders that I am in fact, not my body. But my essence is reflected in it.

The Architecture of Hospitality.

The Architecture of Hospitality.

Great beauty or purpose without design is a rare and miraculous thing. The more beauty, ease and purpose, the more likely you are to find great design. That is why architecture is such an important part of communities and hospitality.  It starts with our homes and ends in our town squares and public spaces – at it’s core, town planning is about creating functional and healthy communities that live well together,

Hospitality is my great art form. Welcoming people into my spaces and making them feel completely at home, as if they were their own. Part of that love includes a love of designing and making spaces that encourage conversation and comfort. For this reason, I love front porches. My love of the American South is birthed in my love of these homes with wide open entranceways, homes that greet the street with living spaces, spaces that are meant to be seen and enjoyed. I also love the hospitality that flows naturally through these spaces and into neighbourhoods and streets.

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Why You Should Love Makers; And Learn Making Love.

Why You Should Love Makers; And Learn Making Love.

Here’s what I wrote on Facebook this Valentine’s Day: just a thought about constructing love that lasts whatever the relationship context may be. I wrote it because I believe that Love is something made over time. It might begin in a moment or a series of moments – but for it to last it must be crafted, thoughtful, constructed, built, fixed, refashioned, renovated, added to over time with intention, creativity and purpose. It does not happen by accident. Love cannot be found, but Love comes looking for you. (more…)