Why "rewire" the church? Church has been at the centre of my identity. It’s formed me, frustrated me, deeply angered and hurt me, guided me, and protected me. Some of the most challenging ideas I have ever met, far more radical than the lawn meetings of my student days, have come from the theologians of the church. There has been a sense of connection to the tradition and wisdom of millennia. And, inevitably, the frustration of tradition hide-bound. I remember singing the words of a hymn one Sunday morning, “nothing changes here...” and one of the youth group muttered sotto voce to his girlfriend, “God, you can say that again!” What worked for our parent’s church doesn’t necessarily work for us. I notice it often doesn’t work for them anymore, although older people are sometimes more gracious about their frustrations! Life changes, we change, and constantly need to reassess where we are going.
This little church on the web is modelled around the metaphor of an old and treasured house. It's the house our parents lived in and inherited from someone we never knew. The house is strong and robust, but needs rewiring. Our ways of thinking and being need to change to make the house liveable and practical. Otherwise it will be a burden, not a base camp for life.
Weeds and Bad Seeds
Sunday July 20, 2008.
Matthew 13:24-43
I like this parable. It tells me there will always be weeds. There is a degree to which it is not my concern. Indeed, if I am zealous to weed the patch I am likely to harm the good people of God. Life will go on, and there will be a harvest, despite the weeds. Matthew has his typical burning and gnashing of teeth at the judgement at the end of the reading. It always puts me off; I feel he takes a certain pleasure in those words. I remember standing once against the solid wall outside of a church as a friend almost wept at bad things being done there. What could we do? What would happen to people? I said this was judgement. There had been an offer of something new- a better way. It had been rejected, and it would cost people. There was no pleasure in that statement, only a sad recognition of consequence.
I remember the stone and the warmth of the sun as we stood sheltered from the wind. The kingdom of God will go on despite the storms.
After some years I have recognized two things. Despite the weeds, good things have happened, and there has been a harvest. I suspect the harvest was more than I ever expected. And second, pleasure or not, there was a much fiercer anger burning in me than I had realised. I must remember my disapproval of Matthew's anger. In my congregation are people whose close family are struggling to survive in refugee camps. They go weeks not knowing if their parents are alive or dead, with only rumour and news reports of war in the camp regions. They carry bullet wounds in their bodies, and bear the scars of dead family. In my comfortable Australian security, my discomfort with Matthew's burning anger shows little theological insight. It is my utter ignorance at what people suffer for principle and faith. One couple, have left their two surviving children here in safety, and gone back to Sudan. I can only marvel.
Andrew Prior
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