by tashmcgill | Dec 9, 2014 | Community, Leadership, Spirituality
It’s rare that I would choose to comment on current news in this forum. But I will today, because the last 48 hours or so have been truly abhorrent. When my friend David Hayward posted a supportive Facebook comment regarding Jim Marjoram this evening, it confirmed my conviction that this is worth taking a stance on. The reason why I’m writing about this? I’ve seen many pastors and friends post Facebook updates of sympathy, compassion and outrage but not address some of the underlying issues with the occurences of the last few days. But the most unreasonable thing has gone unnoticed, without comment from so many. Of 400 opportunities, only 1 voice responded and was heard. That voice was an embarrassment, a reminder of a broken humanity. Why so silent, 399? Why so quient? It’s easy to be outraged when somebody says something nonsensical, but the other, more justifiable atrocity is right under our noses and nobody has said a thing.
Here’s the short version of what’s happened to date:
- Jim Marjoram is a courageous man, trying to walk a reconciled life between his sexuality and a fundamental religion that would often rather not deal with him
- He wrote a book, called ‘It’s Life, Jim’
- His story deserves honour and attention
- He emailed details of the book to about 400 churches in NZ
- He got one response, that I won’t repeat here
- His courage and bravery should never have been treated with such disdain
- It’s a tragedy that this was the only response received from the broader Christian community
- This is absolutely not the ideal marketing solution
There are many Christians and people of faith who have been outraged in recent days by the words and actions of the self-proclaimed pastor of a church called Westcity Bible Baptist Church in Auckland, New Zealand. You can read more from media outlets about the story here and here.
Update: One of the most important points I want to make is that there is a lack of strategy in how this email came out, which means that the Church needs to think carefully and well about how to respond, so that the current voice is not the only voice heard. A number of Christian leaders have responded to Jim personally, as well as reaching out to Logan Robertson. Bravo. The Baptist Church of New Zealand has made an official statement – which I commend.
Here’s the summary. Jim is gay and Christian. He’s been both activist and grace demonstrator over the years that I have known of him, his activities and his relationships with many that I respect and love. He recently published a book that ought to be embraced with open arms by the mainstream Church – his story of being both gay and Christian. You can purchase it here and you should, because these stories are important and should be honoured. His story is one of trying to find reconciliation between sexuality and spirituality, two aspects of humanity that should rarely be separated.
Jim sent an email promoting the book to churches in New Zealand to support the release. He received one response: an independent, fundamentalist pastor who stated his desire that the author would commit suicide. When interviewed by news media, Pastor Logan Robertson reported that although not something he would want to do, he believed the Government should put homosexuals to death.
Not affiliated with the Baptist Union of New Zealand (an organisation with which I have been and remain an advocate); this person has managed to unveil a number of crucial lessons that all reasonable human beings ought to consider.
Here’s the frustration for me.
Lesson #1. For the Church – Did No One Pay Attention?
Are you freaking kidding me that this was the only response Jim received? 400 churches on the email list and no one had the presence of mind, the compassion or even the good conscience to reply to his email? Granted, I can’t speak for the elapsed time between when the email was sent and the ‘nil reply’ measure given, nor the quality of the list (I’ll come back to that) – but when the voice of Christianity is left in the hands of the minority, there is little ground to stand on for people to be horrified. I am deeply appalled that at a time when we ought to be able to embrace these stories with grace, compassion and interest – it appears there was no room at the inn for Jim’s story. A crushing blow, in the Advent season. There is no blame to be placed at the feet of the media for giving attention to the story, the worst part is that Logan Robertson’s voice was the only one to respond. In defence; many pastors receive hundreds of emails a week promoting a variety of Christian books, products and services. It’s very probable that many did not read the email. This does relate to the next point, regarding strategy.
Lesson #2. For Marketers – Did No One Check The List?
This will be highly impolitic to say, however, this appears to be appalling marketing practice. If a blanket email inbox dump is your best strategy, then it comes as no surprise that a unvetted, unchecked email list created such controversy. There’s a lesson in this for all would-be and professional marketers – when you’re dealing with a bespoke and important message, you better have a clear idea about who and where you’re sending that message. I wish that I’d had the chance to work with Jim on the strategy around the book release, because common sense rationalises the risk of sending unsolicited direct email to anybody, let alone regarding a topic bound to send chills down the spine of an Independent Baptist. Sound direct marketing and email marketing principles exist for a reason as aptly demonstrated by the complete mismatch of audience and message here. Whilst this might seem like trivialization, it’s really not because people are guilty of this kind of negligence every day. Regardless of what minor side benefit might be gained from the publicity in current form, the message of the book is now tainted with an altogether different message.
Lesson #3. For Activists – Don’t Stop Being Brave.
Realistically speaking, there is every chance that Jim’s book and his story may have largely passed under the radar of the average New Zealand Christian or the average New Zealand gay person. I’m really glad that this story made a way to the front page news because it matters that we stop tolerating this. I’m relieved to hear and see other Christian leaders publicly admonishing this young man because it matters so much, that the rest of NZ society understands we don’t share a single view on this. I’m also sad for Logan, because this kind of public statement is extraordinarily hard to recover from with an equal sense of public humiliation. We need people like Jim and others I know, who are brave enough to take these first steps to say publicly, ‘I will be both gay and Christian’, in order to educate, prove and disprove the lingering questions that may exist. That is activism – to prove something with your own life.
A Challenge In Conclusion
Believe what you will about sexuality and it’s expression alongside spirituality. My stand is simple. If you are remotely sympathetic to the Christian faith and you haven’t worked out which side of this story you would choose to stand on, you’ve got some stuff to work out. I’ll happily have those conversations with you – but there is no space in any kind of Gospel story or values I know that has room for the bigotry and hatred demonstrated in this man’s words over the last few days.
If you are a Christian, particularly if you are a leader in a Christian community – I challenge you to do more than simply express your sympathy or your shame in a Facebook post or a tweet. Engage your people in the conversation about restoring grace and humanity to those whose spirituality has been somehow overshadowed by their sexuality. Do more than give words.
Lastly; if you or someone you know is experiencing a sense of displacement or confusion in their faith or relationship with faith communities – may I recommend thelastsupper.com to you? You’ll find a community of people who are welcoming, vulnerable and honest. You’ll also find a leader and pastor in David, who is compassionate and remarkable.
by tashmcgill | Nov 29, 2014 | Church, Mind, Spirituality
I recently celebrated my birthday with a backyard bash for friends and family. And because I think it’s always important to add moments of emotion and poignancy to an event – I asked a few dear friends to share a few words.
They captured almost every facet of who I am with their words and memories; it was sweet and it made me glad. Without weddings, funerals and birthday parties we would rarely have the opportunity to review the world’s opinion of us.
There was one phrase that stood out in particular: “What I love about Tash is that she manages to be a person of deep faith without being a weirdo”, or words to that effect.
Confession: the words made me nervous for a moment. It was a diverse crowd filled with work colleagues, old friends, friends from the bar and clients. And while I don’t try to hide my spirituality any more than I try to thrust it upon people; there were a lot of people there I’d never ‘fessed up to my faith in front of.
Unwittingly I’ve stumbled on one of my greatest insecurities. I’m afraid of being alienated from people I genuinely care about because my spirituality is misunderstood or inaccessible to people.
One of the most poignant reminders was a conversation at my local bar. I couldn’t tell a lie so I had to ‘fess up to being a person of faith with a couple of regulars as the topic of conversation turned to all things spiritual. I watched the walls of defense slide into place as the conversation turned and the casual easiness of our camaraderie fell away. It wasn’t anything I’d said or done, but the risk it posed. Sometimes our history has done too good a job of shaping the myth.
My fear is that when people have experienced personally or witnessed from afar, a singular or communal failure on the behalf of traditional or even modern Christianity, it creates unnecessary distance and wariness between us. Mistrust and unease are the by-product of those experiences, often rightly so. I don’t really care so much about evangelism (that’s an inside word). I don’t care about converting you or anyone to faith. I really don’t. I care about people having the freedom to engage with their own spirituality, discover meaningful truth and communities of expression that support that. A steady, life-long, flexible engagement with spirituality. None of that is about conversion, yet so often that seems to be the greatest fear people have, thus my greatest fear is that people will assume that’s what my goal is.
My goal is simple: he tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
“Ask me, what is the most important thing and I will tell you, it is people, it is people, it is people.”
My fear is that I will be robbed of relationship with you because of other people’s bad history.
Still – this is not a story about my sense of loss or alienation. This is a story about coming out spiritual, defining what I mean when I say it. I’m not religious; if religious means living by prescribed belief and without ongoing engagement of my intellect. It does mean the applied force of my humanity and intentional engagement with the earth, the air and the heavens. It means engaging with other human beings and listening, looking to the universe in all her signs and wonders. Yes, I believe in God. I am open to how that is expressed.
A non-Traditional Spirituality
I spend a lot of time with people and in places that ‘good Christians’ aren’t expected to be found. I don’t regularly behave in a way that people might expect or demand. I’ve regularly got myself in trouble with organised faith communities for not holding to the party line. The trouble is – when you don’t fit easily into the Church’s idea of faith and you don’t fit easily into the world’s perception either… well, that can be a difficult path to walk.
I have found enormous comfort in the spiritual rituals of our ancestors; both Maori and European. I have found meaning in the faith of my Muslim, Buddhist, Baha’i friends. I have found centering and powerful emotional connection through yoga as much as through boxing. I believe that the world is full of signs to point us on the way. We came to define coincidence and serendipity by experiencing and describing those circumstances. The world is full of signs – from the tui that sings in the trees outside my window no matter where I sleep to the reminder of the ongoing rebirth and rejuvenation of creation that happens constantly beneath our feet while we talk about the demise of the planet.
I believe there is no greater way to discuss or describe music and the arts than to engage the part of the human soul that reaches outside of itself to a higher or deeper expression. I have seen a birth. I believe in a creative power in the universe. Even if our engagement with that creative power is no more than to acknowledge the mystery of it, to resign ourselves to not understanding the complexities of the world in which we live – I would rather that, than to cast aside the possibility.
I am smart. I know church history. I am learning and engage with broader faith practices than simply the Judeo-Christian traditions. I know, better than many but less than my scholarly friends, the critical errors of church polity that have caused so much friction and fracture within communities that should only thrive in serving a wider society. That’s probably why I’ve been so afraid of losing the opportunity to connect and engage with people if I wear my spirituality on my sleeve.
I’ve been struggling for years to walk the line – not to deny my spirituality but also to run a mile from becoming a proclamation-based, traditional Evangelical. The core of my fear is my dislike of traditional evangelism. I am actively engaged in the exploration of what faith means in this world. My challenge, is to be honest about how little I like to publicly own my faith, despite the enormous amount of time I spend with people who don’t have connection with traditional Churches or spiritual contexts. In the darkest of nights, I’ve questioned whether in fact, I am a fraud.
There is much about the historic and the modern Church that disappoints me. But I will not quit it, for transformation is only made possible from the midst of her. I will not quit. I wrestle, argue, get frustrated as much, if not more than those who hate the Church. But I won’t give up on it, because the idea of a community of people committed to the same values of serving humanity should be the most successful humanitarian work on the planet.
I work really hard to not be a spiritual weirdo. To be grounded, relatable and approachable while still exploring and expressing my own spiritual beliefs and journey. Those beliefs are prone to change from time to time, but my values largely are not.
“Feed them, clothe them, love my sheep.”
It’s a paraphrase of a conversation between the prophet known as Jesus and one of his most passionate (and at times, hapless) followers, Peter the fisherman, and those three verbs are practical expressions of the values I hold most dear – people, hospitality, love, generosity and nurture. That’s what I’ll value the rest of my life, regardless of how my spiritual beliefs and expression may change.
So what do you think? Is my fear ungrounded? My insecurities for nothing? I promise, I’m not what you’d expect – but only you know what that is.
by tashmcgill | Oct 15, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Mind, Spirituality
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.
