I bought them from a department store for a few dollars four years ago, not the coolest or the most expensive but they did the job.
They’ve flipped through the sand playfully and rested on tiles prayerfully with Bali’s beautiful peopleThey made an accidental appearance at Wimbledon, and may have suffered a dollop of warm cream from my strawberries.
A European summer was a fitting environment for these fine friends and not to be outdown by more practical measures
They tasted the dust of Rome’s ancient paths
Cooled in the light blue waters of Venician canalsStood beneath David’s marble features in Florence, dashing through the piazzas.
Not to be outdown by time and distance, they found their place in India’s complex culturesShopping for sarees on Commercial St, BangaloreA dash of tea near a St Thomas church on a steamy afternoon
The sands of Chennai clinging and the blood of the martyr as close as could be
And then there are the wonders of our broad landCarried along the in the far north during a Cape Tribulation stroll
The sounds of Italy and the smell of garlic down Leichhardt streets
windmill on a Brisbane hill looked down on my friends
The trams of Melbourne could not shake us apart
And many other places
But in the end, after taking eveything I could throw at them
Or even when I threw them at anything, many times
They have been undone by nothing more
Than the little cuts and grinds of wear and tear
And though my trust remains strong
My fellow travellers are approaching their last journey
Growing up in Taree from about 1967-72 I was the proud owner of a purple dragster bicycle.
Not indentical, but a close match for the dragster I use to ride. This one, an original, is selling for $2,800...
High-rise handle-bars, a T-bar gear shifter midway along the top-tube (in hindsight, perilously located), and banana seat with sissy bar meant I was the height of late-60s, early-70s bike-riding fashion… something that escaped me as a nine or ten-year-old.
I can still recall riding around Nicoll Cres with my friends singing Bopping the Blues (Blackfeather, 1972 – not that I actually knew who the band was at the time) or pedalling down to the corner store for a 15c can of soft drink. Saxby’s I think.
I can also recall my mother giving me a sheet of flouro pink stickers that had Christian mottos or sayings on them for the purpose of encouraging people to think about God.
When I started riding the bike to school, we attached a bike rack at the back (I’m finding this hard to imagine but I know it’s true because my school case once fell off it in the middle of the road outside Taree West Primary School and while scooping my belongings back in, I found about 15 cigarettes lying there and scooped them in too – but that’s another story).
Anyway, we used to park our bikes in racks at the side of the school and I can distinctly remember two boys, walking past as I was preparing to leave for the day, stopping, reading the sticker, laughing and moving on.
The good news was that they appreciated the humour of the flouro pink sticker and this saved me from a moment of ridicule which I had been fully expecting.
The sticker read:
‘If God seems far away, guess who’s moved?’
Now, in 2012, this is an extremely old line which still gets trotted out. But in the late 60s, early 70s – it was brand new.
And the saying has remained associated with these memories ever since. Of my purple dragster, of my mother’s eager new faith and desire to share it with others, of my own childlike faith and an innocence in putting my beliefs on the line, of wearing green button-up shirts to school, drinking warm flavoured milk in small foil-lidded bottles at recess and falling off the monkey bars and smashing my head open one lunchtime (yet another story).
Forty years on and recently I have paused to reflect on the whole idea of our relative location to God and the reality of him feeling far away.
If I had my time again, and was a wise nine-year-old, I would say to those two older boys, as I say to you:
‘Everyone is moving all the time and often without even knowing it. But wherever we go and how ever we get there, God is never far away, even if that’s what we feel. We may take 10,000 steps away from him but it’s always only one step back.’
The past few years have seen some changes in my life that I could never have anticipated, to do with who I thought I was and what I was doing with my life. A lot of movement occurred, often outside my control, but thankfully the most important things of life – faith, marriage, family, health – have remained true and near. God has indeed seemed distant, often, and yes, it was me who moved in those times.
But if God seems far away to you today, he isn’t. He’s close enough to whisper in your ear and know the longings of your heart.
Lying forlornly in the dirt, like a yellowing tomb slit open, is the remains of an early season tomato from my garden that didn’t quite make it to the plate.
Sydney’s unseasonally damp summer has meant the vigorous tomato plant this specimen came from is long gone, afflicted by various diseases and my lack of care on occasions when life got too busy.
This shell-of-a-tomato was most likely not picked and taken inside for human consumption because it was marked or damaged or being eaten by a worm… In other words, it was rejected.
I know a Man who takes rejection, accusation and being cast aside and turns them into new life. He did it with his own life, saying, ‘unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone’.
February is late for growing tomatoes but no one mentioned this to my cast-aside tomato and without any assistance from myself, a veritable forest of tomato seedlings have emerged from their yellowing tomb.
With Sydney’s weather finally providing some sunshine and still plenty of rain, the young seedlings are thriving.
It’s not easy growing vegetables in an inner city town house. Pots are used, mainly, and these have to be carefully positioned to find sun and escape birds and the occasional visiting rat. (And Leroy our dog is known to occasionally pluck a tomato or strawberry for his own illegal consumption…)
It also means carrying pots and soil and shovels through the house to get to one courtyard or another, making an exercise such as repotting tomatoes a logistical challenge.
During the process I carried one of my new self-sown seedlings to another courtyard and realised I was carrying life in the palm of my hand. I also realised it was one of those ‘stock-photo-moments-of-hand-with-seedling-depicting-new-life’.
There is something about gardening that is renewing. Or perhaps the renewing comes first and then the energy to garden emerges. A bit of both I think.
As the cricket starts, and the sun bites, I’ve finished my little project and that pale shell of a tomato womb has birthed an array of seedlings, some already flowering, ready to greet the final month or so of summer warmth in Sydney.
There is not a soul among us who has not had at least a moment of being cast aside, left for dead, and lying in the dirt alone.
There is a God who showed himself as one of us, who placed pictures of death and resurrection among us as reminders and who died an earthly death so he could share a heavenly life with many, many sons and daughters.
No doubt he is enjoying my tomatoey resurgence and if even one of these offspring is as productive as the original (bought from a stall at Leichhardt Public School fete), then we will enjoy a feast of home-grown tomatoes as the seasons approach change.
“I am still modeling but only with brands that respect my decision not to wear lingerie,” tweeted former Victoria’s Secret model Kylie Bisutti, aged 21.
The Californian Christian won Victoria’s Secret Model Search ahead of 10,000 other girls in 2009 but has quit the company because of her Christian values.
“Victoria’s Secret was my absolutely biggest goal in life, and it was all I ever wanted career-wise,” she told FOX411.
“I actually loved it while I was there, it was so much fun and I had a blast. But the more I was modelling lingerie – and lingerie isn’t clothing – I just started becoming more uncomfortable with it because of my faith. I’m Christian, and reading the Bible more, I was becoming more convicted about it.”
Her comment that “her body should only be for my husband” was widely reported, and ridiculed, but for Kylie “it’s a sacred thing”.
“I didn’t really want to be that kind of role model for younger girls because I had a lot of younger Christian girls that were looking up to me and then thinking that it was okay for them to walk around and show their bodies in lingerie to guys.”
She has a number of career opportunities ahead including an appearance with Jennifer Lopez and will continue to model for companies that respect her decision not to model lingerie.
“It is a very hard industry to be in without falling into things you don’t want to do,” she said.
Husband Mike had apparently prayed that Kylie might come to this decision but allowed her to reach it in her own time.
In a world where people do anything to achieve success, particularly if it involves celebrity, it is encouraging to see someone allow their conscience to guide their decisions and trust God with the outcome.
“Tonight, we ask ourselves how do we speak to this time, to this day. There is no way around this, there’s been a death in our family. And at least for me, for me, the only thing that seems right to me is to begin with a prayer.”
And so LL Cool J begins the 2012 Grammys in Los Angeles, leading the large group of celebrities, many with heads bowed, in a prayer for Whitney Houston.
“Heavenly Father, we thank you for sharing our sister Whitney with us. Today our thoughts are with her mother, her daughter and all of her loved ones. And although she is gone too soon, we remain truly blessed to have been touched by her beautiful spirit, and to have the legacy of her music to cherish and share forever. Amen.”
Prayer is so often the cry of our heart in the midst of tragedy and joy and many other circumstances.
If you are in need of prayer and are struggling for the words, simply express yourself as you would to a good friend and believe that God who loves you is listening. For more prayer help, visit Wesley Mission’s prayer page or Hillsong’s prayer and support page.
Debates over prayers in Parliament or council meetings periodically emerge as another place where institutional secularism seeks to usurp institutional religion.
The latest has been the English town of Bideford where a former councillor took Bideford Council to court over official prayers during meetings.
The High Court ruled in his favour on what it described as a narrow point of law that it was not legal for councils to make prayer part of official business.
Some are seeing the ruling as having wider ramifications as secularism continues to reframe the nature of our societies.
Bideford may yet become a byword for a nation and nations loss of spiritual identity.
“When you think about it, I was holding something together that was time to let go.”
So began some spontaneous writing in the middle of one of many nights when I’ve sat up awake, considering the unfolding of some difficult times.
“It’s hard for me to admit that I’m better of letting it go completely. It almost feels like admitting I’m a complete and utter failure; that everything I did was in vain, that there’s nothing left for me. If I could get something so wrong, how can I trust my choices in the future?”
Losing something is different to letting it go, especially when you are hyper-vigilant and hyper-responsible. I’m more aware of how much loss people experience in life and wonder how some survive. Of course some don’t. Though we lose people, relationships, moments, ideals, opportunities, seasons that we love, often we’ve invested so much of ourselves we hold on tight to something that is gone and our minds keep tricking us that somehow it is still within our grasp.
“But I’ve wasted enough time with regret. Time is passing me by; if I’m a disciple then I will say, enough. Get moving. Find the chance to sow again. To give again. To believe again. And even to build again.”
Intellectually we know we cannot live well in regret and yet it is a persistent posture that we must fight hard to overcome.
“I’ve hit the wall here – the conundrum, the knot in my head and my heart – and I can’t think straight…”
As the night unfolded and my writing continued to spill out I had to recognise I didn’t know the way home. That was of some relief.
“That’s what it is. A tangle, a knotted ball so messed up that I sit here trying to get it into order and it defies me and so I leave it and keep coming back to it. I know I should probably just say, well, there’s nothing you can do with that. Put it in the bin and get some new string.
“But if you know me you know I don’t take that kind of defeat easy. I’d rather say, no, I’ll get it, just give me some time… But people and relationships and feelings and words and time and memories and beliefs and imaginations aren’t string.”
I have often sat with tangled string or a broken appliance or a computer that just won’t do the right thing and found it very hard to stop trying to fix it. It’s a thin line between perseverance and outright obsession.
“Breath the new air, Peter. Stop looking over your shoulder. Stop trying to fix it – who are you, God? God didn’t stop it so he must know it will lead somewhere good so trust Him. It’s not about you. Peter, you idiot. It’s not about you.”
Mmm, that’s telling me… It’s about 2.30am… not time for mincing words.
And then, out of no where, a sense of resurrection gripped me, this dark night. Looking back at the words I wrote I can hardly recognise them as mine or do they indeed belong to another, greater…
“But me, I’m up, I’m away. I leave that dead thing and laugh at the thought that the remains I leave are even incorporated as strength and I have the last laugh. They may not know it, killing at me as they were, but some of my life got into them and so I’m there regardless, but gone and free as well.
“Look at me striding now, casting off the trailings and feeling strength return, filling my lungs with new air. Resurrecting, ah ha. When you are in resurrection you don’t need retribution, restoration, reconciliation, remembering. You are of new order, those things seem of another land. There’s a greatness in you that only the dead and lying in the tomb understand when they are standing in the garden among angels and bright lights. You stop for a moment, there’s someone you knew. But they don’t know you any more because you are not who you were. You can find them, but they can’t find you. And you might pause to find a few, because it’s from Him to do but it will not slow your upward journey, heaving heavenward in joyful victory and they will be what they will be but you are in a new day and can’t wait long.”
And I went to bed; an inner sense of resurrection accompanied me, singing in my spirit, and I wondered what I’d touched, as the sun rose…
Not only does this story remind that the understated qualities of mateship and self-sacrifice are alive and well in Australia, but it provides a bloodied and beautiful picture of God’s daring rescue of humanity.
The son Kevin places himself in the dangerous water alongside the fallen man, while father Les throws out the lifeline and directs the follow-up support.
And all while they were out fishing. ‘I will make you fishers of men.’
Be encouraged that God too still rescues and puts within us a rescuer Spirit.
SMH.TV has brought us another amazing documentary, this time about a man claiming to be the Messiah and living in the wilds of Siberia.
Vissarion, the Teacher, Jesus… wearing a flowing white robe, sitting on the side of a hill and teaching his followers, who also are wearing flowing white garments.
Vissarion’s real name is Sergey Anatolyevitch Torop who was born in 1961, served in the Russian Army, became a traffic policeman, before losing his job and becoming Christ.
In many ways Vissarion is reminiscent of our very own North Queensland Jesus, Allan John Miller who also lives in a remote location and is busy gathering followers and building utopia. Although Siberia looked quite warm in the video, I can only imagine Miller would be a better choice in winter…
It is interesting to see the faith of many who follow, and there is a certain sense of harmony apparent in the documentary, produced by a combination of the community’s music and the beautiful scenery.
But with the benefit of distance, there is also strong sense of religiosity, stifling spiritual deception and a shallow confusion of thought.
One thing we know, both Miller and Torop can’t be right – one of them is an imposter, or more obviously both.
Jesus, of the New Testament, warned that many would claim to be him, but not to run after them. He can be found, right where you are.
This morning I tweeted: ‘#AustraliaDay, like any anniversary arrives amidst strength & weakness, sorry & joy. These are acknowledged & we move on together #AusDayNSW’.
Later in the day Tony Abbott said something similar and the drama pictured (7 News) unfolded.
Australia Day must be a time we celebrate the nation we are and must be a time we acknowledge the loss and pain in our history.
Today some words were spoken, tempers stirred, and responses exaggerated.
This is nothing unusual in family gatherings where feelings run deep. And yet most families find the grace and maturity to walk away arm and arm. We must do the same.
We can’t change that we are here – black, white and many colours. We should not be ashamed that we are a remarkable nation and there is much to celebrate. We cannot hide that many have suffered and still suffer. Those who have suffered less should bear the burdens of those who have suffered more. And when the chance for healing comes, let’s embrace it.
“@jonforeman: So stoked to play Brisbane tonight! See you at the Tivoli...” Anyone up for #Switchfoot at The Factory, Marrickville, Monday?? 22 hours ago
@KRuddMP "Sorry to anyone watching the cricket on TV. Promise not to do it again." Promise not run for PM or not interrupt cricket? #kevenge23 hours ago
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”
They’ve flipped through the sand playfully and rested on tiles prayerfully with Bali’s beautiful people
They made an accidental appearance at Wimbledon, and may have suffered a dollop of warm cream from my strawberries.
They tasted the dust of Rome’s ancient paths
Cooled in the light blue waters of Venician canals
Stood beneath David’s marble features in Florence, dashing through the piazzas.
Shopping for sarees on Commercial St, Bangalore
A dash of tea near a St Thomas church on a steamy afternoon
The sands of Chennai clinging and the blood of the martyr as close as could be
Carried along the in the far north during a Cape Tribulation stroll
The sounds of Italy and the smell of garlic down Leichhardt streets
Would the real Jesus please not wear a robe?
SMH.TV has brought us another amazing documentary, this time about a man claiming to be the Messiah and living in the wilds of Siberia.
Vissarion, the Teacher, Jesus… wearing a flowing white robe, sitting on the side of a hill and teaching his followers, who also are wearing flowing white garments.
Vissarion’s real name is Sergey Anatolyevitch Torop who was born in 1961, served in the Russian Army, became a traffic policeman, before losing his job and becoming Christ.
In many ways Vissarion is reminiscent of our very own North Queensland Jesus, Allan John Miller who also lives in a remote location and is busy gathering followers and building utopia. Although Siberia looked quite warm in the video, I can only imagine Miller would be a better choice in winter…
It is interesting to see the faith of many who follow, and there is a certain sense of harmony apparent in the documentary, produced by a combination of the community’s music and the beautiful scenery.
But with the benefit of distance, there is also strong sense of religiosity, stifling spiritual deception and a shallow confusion of thought.
One thing we know, both Miller and Torop can’t be right – one of them is an imposter, or more obviously both.
Jesus, of the New Testament, warned that many would claim to be him, but not to run after them. He can be found, right where you are.
Watch Jesus of Siberia
Wikipedia’s bio of Vissarion
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Posted by Peter Hallett on February 2, 2012 in Comment, News, Religion, Society, Uncategorized, World.
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