by tashmcgill | Jul 11, 2005 | Uncategorized

Sifting Rubble
Seems like a lot of the Emerging Church conversation has done a little bit of an auto-correct in recent weeks. At least, the people that I read and respect, have alluded to commentary, articles, conversation that taps into my deep thoughts on the subject. Recently, Steve’s teaser on Attractional vs. Incarnational is along similar lines I think, but again, even in the comments response, the ideas are being reduced to stylistic interpretation.

The initial spark for me, was coffee with Stu and Nige a little while back.. it was giving me permission to say aloud, the deep dwelling concern about the trifle-like substance that was being transformed. The eagerness to throw the old away, the rushing to embrace the new, seemingly rejuvenated.

It was challenged again with the concept of barrenness in our own communities. The kind of barrenness that promotes fresh, organic new life.

And fresh, organic new life brings me to the weekend’s conversations about the presence and manifestations of the Spirit within a community.

In it all I am thinking and reasoning that there is no one answer. There is no one new thing that can replace the old, nor should the old be replaced. There just needs to be sifting. We launch bombs at the old structures and neglect to consider the treasures we are burying in our dust. I’m consistently amazed how many people who are training for ministry are essentially dispassionate, dissatisfied with the Church. How can you possibly train to commit your life to something that you hate more than you love? I know a lot of people who are passionate about the Kingdom of God, but cannot relate their love-words about the Kingdom to the Bride.

How much this attractional vs. incarnational argument winds me up.. not because I believe it should be one or the other.. but because it ought to be and can be both, and it seems too easy for this to become yet another reasoning for division and stone-throwing. The question is a good and worthy one.. how do we possibly go about the task laid at our feet.. but there are so many people falling into the arguments for their own sake it seems.

Rant over.

by tashmcgill | Jul 11, 2005 | Uncategorized

Sermon Gem

Ti hei mauri ora.
Patai mai he aha te mea nui o te ao
Ka whakahoki au
He tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
Ti hei mauri ora.

(Translation)

The breath of life.
Ask me what is the most important thing in the world
And I will reply
It is people, it is people, it is people.
The breath of life.

Perfect.

“Let me tell you who I am that you may breathe my breath.
Let me tell you who I am that you may know we are brothers.”
The universe and I are not apart; we were born from the same source;
we were formed from the same stuff.

The stars that are the eyes of the night, the rain that washes the earth,
the leaf that harnesses the sun, the rainbow that joins the sky and earth,
the insect that burrows, the bird that flitters, the fish that darts,
we are all the same; unique faces of Io-the-all.

It matters not what form it takes it is my kin. Their lineage is my lineage.

Their wisdom is my wisdom. Their potential is my potential.

It is the potential of Io-who-knows-no-bounds;
seen by him in the eye of the Void,
fashioned and carved in the haven of the Great Nights,
and given life in the World of Light.

Never shall be lost the unique seed that was sewn
in the sacred altar of the sky.

For it is the seed of life from which all things grow and,
through which all things are connected.

It is the seed that holds the potential of the universe.

Turn and face me and embrace my being,
and know that you embrace yourself.

I sneeze!
I breathe!
I live!
This is who I am.

Slightly Less Perfect, but pretty darn good.

by tashmcgill | Jul 9, 2005 | Uncategorized

Come On Crashing Down, Remind Me Of Normal
Give me one Saturday night in a surbanan pub, that wants to be an old school english local. It’s been a long time since I did anything like just go for a drink and watch the rugby. Then cups of tea at Frances’ house. Pleasant. Last night was the leaders thankyou dinner.

Stu is away for now for two weeks in Fiji, on the same trip that I went on. I miss having his wise and gracious words to lean on. Maybe it’s that the moon is nearly black in the sky, or just that I am really tired.. I feel very nothing at the moment.. I need to laugh. It’s not that I’m sad or miserable or any of those things.. the immediate and pressing concerns of the future have been put on hold.. the realisation that I was going to drive myself in circles and away from the focal point. I put a stop to it, by reassuring myself I was going to live in the moments in front of me, not ahead of me.

But in the absence of pressure and angst, comes the foreboding weight of knowing that harrow choice is still on the horizon, and that the next few months will be a battle to maintain a focus on the God journey, rather than the human one. Ambition is so dangerous, so motivating, so driving, so inspiring, so good and so bad.

I had too much to drink on Tuesday night, as I was working at home, I polished off nearly an entire bottle of wine before I realised I hadn’t eaten dinner and the room was a little floatier than usual. But in the haze of an honest internal monologue, I asked big questions of myself and God again, and then read my daily reading. I had to read it slowly and several times, but that was more to do with the content than the alcohol. However.. it spoke of the tension of when God has given you a vision and you live betwixt the vision and the reality of the vision. I feel naked and vunerable reading Surpgeon’s words, because he unravels me in unexpected places.

Song Of The Moment : Best Of You
Foo Fighters

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh…

by tashmcgill | Jul 8, 2005 | Uncategorized

My Ears Are Bleeding
Not only is that an obscure quote from Adam LaClave, but it’s an apt way of describing how it feels inside my head after three days of rain in the city.

Today there was a man about 6’4″ walking down the street in an old khaki anorak and too-short tracksuit pants with holes in them. His head was bleeding and his nose was a sea of broken capillaries. I know that means he’s probably on such a constant flow of blood alcohol that he doesn’t notice the pain throbbing, but I noticed we all walked past. Earlier in the day when we spotted Barmy Army members parking their campervans in the open parking lot behind our building and getting starkers in front of the world, oblivious to the high-rises all around. Seemed a bizarre contrast.

The most silence in the whole city is the space between the walls of my carpark building. Once the smoke door closes behind me and I’m standing in front of the lift, I’m in a concrete vacuum of noise. That’s when I notice that my ears are literally, throbbing.

Although I am working in the hub of the fast lane, listening to people talking about the NZSE40 in the elevators, and yet it feels like my whole life is on a go-slow. Making meetings and phonecalls around work hours and all the time maintaining a focus on the tasks in front of me.. it’s a strange, sped-up limbo.

Street Stories

by tashmcgill | Jul 7, 2005 | Uncategorized

Street Stories
It’s grey and dull in the city. Everything is damp, and dampness permeates bones, turning them cold. The bustle of the city in winter is drawing the homeless and the down and out into it’s central heart. The Auckland City Mission is close at hand, and I think the busyness makes you feel less lonely, although the skies are so dark.

I saw Mary three times last week. I know that she wasn’t around town before that, because I would have seen her. She has such a familiar gait, with a half-limp from a swollen left knee. She rolls her jaw listlessly as she walks slightly diagonally up and down Queen St. I saw her twice on Monday, once on Wednesday and then twice on Thursday and Friday. Mary isn’t her real name, because that wouldn’t be fair, but it doesn’t matter now, she doesn’t recognize me anymore.

I first knew Mary when I spent a summer working for the Merivale Womens Refuge. That was a long time ago now. I ran a school holiday programme for the kids that were staying there at the time. All but 2 were Maori and Pacific Islanders, mostly from South Auckland and further south. One family of four kids were in the refuge for the second time. The youngest was 5, and the eldest 11. All up there were about 12 kids over the summer. Mary had a baby. A small, underfed baby. Her bronze skin was sallow and saggy over tight little elbow bones. Her nose was always encrusted with snot carelessly brushed away. She was the cousin of another of the women staying at the refuge; all of them from gang families, making a break together.

In between the first time I knew Mary and the second time, the baby disappeared. The second time was in Mt Eden, during the summer. She was wandering aimlessly but fervently.. scalping for money mostly, and rarely food. Because it was warmer, suburbia is an okay place to beg – depending on where you are staying, a central suburb like that is easy to get to. It’s when you’re homeless that you head for the city – there are more places to hide, to sleep, to shelter.

So, the second time.. Mary recognised my face and knew my name and was shameless about identifying her need. She wouldn’t take the food I offered and wanted the dollars. I was hard-hearted, thinking about her baby and refused to empty my wallet for anything other than food for her mouth.

The third time was in the city a year later. She recognised my face but my name had fallen through umpteen cracks.. she had lost weight and gained a limp. She still approached me with open arms and dry, acidic breath, damp armpits on a humid day.

Last week Mary didn’t recognise my face or name, and she was wearing the same knitted wool jersey she had the last time. I was waiting for her to ask me for the money, to accost me with her human smell of decay and desperation. She did not and I felt criminal. Around her mouth were dry white flakes, and her teeth black. She walked vacantly through the crowds of corporate suits, stains running down her clothes, wind and rain in her hair. I suspect that the gaps are getting bigger in her mind.

I don’t know what to do with Mary’s story.