Monday, 19 September 2022

Remembering Alison Louise Metcalfe

 


Born 23 April 1932, died 13 September 2022 in Dunedin NZ

These word were given by Alison’s remaining children (Scott, Andrew and Greg Metcalfe) at her funeral service on 20 September 2022.

Follow this link for a YouTube playlist of a slide show remembering Alison, a recording of the service and the final music she went out to (Highland Cathedral).

How do you describe or sum up someone like Alison?

It’s easy to start with a timeline, a history of being born, growing up, all the people and places that shaped her life, what she achieved… but it doesn’t really catch the essence of Alison. When a life has taken the journey it has into dementia, it can be easy to be influenced by how things have ended, the last 14 years or so, rather than all those before this.

So, perhaps the way to remember Alison is by her strengths, how she responded to an (at times) difficult life, managing to thrive with ingenuity and making the most of at times meagre resources.

Alison was a depression era child and learnt from an early age to Make Do and care for others.

She was born the second child and first daughter of Corrie Freeman and Doris Armit at Redroofs Maternity Home in Dunedin in 1932. Alison was part of a working-class family who had few possessions but were proud, faithful Christians, valuing hard work and education. They had a Brethren background, but eventually were very involved in Roslyn Baptist Church where JT Crozier was minister for many years.

Corrie was a carpenter and used to work down on the Dunedin wharves, cycling down the hill each day and pushing his bike up the hill at the end, often with a box of produce that he had picked up for a bargain (instead of buying beer or tobacco). The house they had in City Road in Roslyn was not flash, and Doris was not a natural homemaker by inclination.

Alison picked up a significant domestic load, including looking after her other siblings… but she was also taught to read at an early age (the Bible, of course!) and this included music as well. These skills became central to her life, she was always contributing to Church settings – Roslyn Baptist, Miramar Baptist, Mt Albert Baptist, Hanover Street Baptist, Anderson’s Bay Presbyterian, St Kilda Methodist and most recently Caversham Baptist. These were skills that were the last to go during her journey into dementia, often demonstrated by reading every road sign when in the car on an outing!

Her siblings (especially her two brothers) were very spirited with David (number 3 in the family) being a prankster. Alison (who tended to see less of the “joke” with these sorts of things) often being caught up in whatever was going on. Her wider family were always so important to Alison, she loved to hear about their children and will be remembered as an aunty who was always interested in what was happening with them. Her older brother, Melville died in 2022, with David dying in 1992, youngest sister Marion dying in 2020. Her sister Jean lives in Palmerston North and it is great to have her here today.

Despite a childhood that was not easy...

Alison valued education and learning… with a very practical, hands-on bent to tackling this.

After attending Kaikorai Primary School, she went on to King Edward Technical College in Stuart Street, Dunedin, and then trained as a nurse at Dunedin Hospital, graduating in 1954. After deciding to undertake further studies in obstetrics, she went to Whakatane Hospital in 1955, which included attending a newly formed Whakatane Baptist Church. There she met the Metcalfe family, including our father, Arthur.


Alison continued her studies at the Bible Training Institute (BTI) in Auckland in 1956, the same time that Arthur started at NZ Baptist Theological College to train for the Baptist Ministry. In those days there was no entertaining marriage before a trainee minister finished their course… so a long engagement ensued. In January 1960, Arthur (Dad) and Alison (Mum) were married at Roslyn Baptist in Dunedin, before heading to their first church, a brand-new venture in Glen Eden, Auckland, with 15 members, a church hall and rickety old house for a manse set in an orchard.

What followed was a time of Mum being part of…

Building a family, ministry, music and hospitality.

In Auckland, a rapidly growing suburb in the middle of the baby boom meant three children also born into the Manse (Scott, me and Jenny), shifting existing buildings over the road to a new site, continual church extensions while coping with people who wanted to attend by pitching large tents to hold services before buildings were completed.

Mum had always been good at making clothes (for years a variety of sewing machines were put to good use for herself and the whānau) but cooking was not her forté, nor Dad’s. Mum’s mother-in-law, Margaret (Jean) Metcalfe helped teach her the basics, and hospitality was very much a part of life at Glen Eden as well as other churches that followed (Miramar in Wellington and Mt Albert in Auckland). Mum described times in Mt Albert where a minimum of 12 people were at the dinner table at least three times a week, with many people (often with complex life histories and needs) staying in the manse guest room in all the churches they worked in. Mum was a charming vivacious hostess, bringing out the best tableware and making everyone feel welcome at weekly Sunday dinners as a special occasion…

She was very involved in all aspects of Church life, including supporting Baptist Missionaries (something she continued when her own resources were meagre) and actively playing the piano and organ at church services. The pipe organ (after earlier playing electronic versions) became a passion later in life: for many years she went to organ lessons in Dunedin at St Paul’s Cathedral: she loved going to the odd Evensong and organ performance at St Paul’s. Mum was well known as a competent sight-reading musician. Singing – usually alto, harmonising and improvising – was a part of being in the pews at church. She also sang in choirs such as the Scholar Cantorum - Dunedin City Choir, and other church-based choirs.

Hers was a life of service that had significant challenges and difficulties. You could say that Mum was …

Tested in Life and Faith on many fronts.

An early testing time was when Jenny was born in 1965, with the family advised to put Jenny into institutionalised care (as was then viewed as best practice for a child  born with Down Syndrome). Mum and Dad brought Jenny home to the Glen Eden manse with initial support of Dad’s parents, figuring that Jenny was better to have the love of a family, rather than institutional life. We are so grateful for our parents making this decision that was ahead of that time, and acknowledging other children were not so fortunate. Jenny was lovable, loved, and loving, being “special” in the best sense of that word.

But it was not plain sailing for anyone, primarily for Mum, who lived with and cared for Jenny for almost 45 years… and it didn’t get easier when the family shifted to Wellington in 1965, with fourth child, Carey (born in 1967) catching bacterial meningitis at 11 months and becoming critically ill. Mum’s mother, Doris came up to lend a hand, but travelled on the ill-fated Wahine, which went down at the entrance to Wellington harbour. Grandma survived, but after four months Carey died… which put an enormous strain on the family who were expected to keep up church commitments with variable support and understanding. The youngest child, brother Greg, was born in 1969 and completed the Metcalfe whānau.

A shift to a new church in Auckland at the start of 1974 saw another home (this time a renovated villa with a section that needed Mum to break in)… a busy church, but with congregational undercurrents starting to show, and cracks in the relationship between  Dad and Mum that ended in a separation early in 1976, when the children were aged 15, 13, 10 and 5. This resulted in Mum becoming homeless and eventually returning to Dunedin, with the younger family members Andrew, Jenny and Greg. Scott moved to Wellington at Dad’s prompting, who had become a prison chaplain at Mt Crawford.

This was an incredibly hard move for Mum, and for us as well. From being in a church--provided house and with a pivotal role in ministry, 1976-7 saw five different living places, moving the young family around Auckland and then onto Dunedin, starting in a tiny flat under her mother’s home in City Road. The family situation must have been seen as serious enough for Mum to be given the keys to a brand-new Housing Corporation home in Mulford Street, Concord… and yet it was another place barely finished, lacking insultation, floor coverings, curtains and possessing a clay-like section that went from bog to concrete in quick succession, with faulty plumbing forming a covert lake of grey waste water under the house, which was why the house was unreasonably damp and cold until it got sorted. Mum set to with her typical determination, breaking in the section (with some help from friends at Hanover Street Baptist), laying carpet tiles and vinyl flooring offcuts, making curtains… all the time trying to cope with being a solo parent with two young children and a teenager on very limited income.

Despite all this, Mum continued to remain generous and hospitable, always caring for the needs of others first with a determination to just get on with it all… making good use of a strong, stubborn streak in her family genes. Dunedin was the place where her mother Doris, beloved Aunty Jean and other family members lived, and being close to them was an important part of life, especially as some came to the end of their days. Mum did Karitane Nurse training in the mid-1970s and was thinking about a return to the paid workforce, but she decided that her family came first, and she wanted to care for them.

It's something that all of us children have been very mindful of: the sacrifices she made for us, and we have tried to help out over the years in many ways… but through thrift and determination, Mum moved into her own home in March 1990 with Jenny, living here for over 23 years until she sadly needed dementia care from January 2014.

Mum was someone who had an active retirement.

She was a great walker, and even as dementia set in, she was able to race up flights of stairs faster than many a fraction of her age, often walking for miles in her St Kilda – St Clair neighbourhoods. She continued to welcome loved family and grandchildren to visit, which would often involve excursions in the great outdoors in the Dunedin area, as well as art galleries and museums. She continued to play the organ for various faith communities until she settled in Caversham Baptist. She would always dress beautifully (she loved to look good – but always on a budget) and kept her home meticulously clean.

Mum never had a lot of possessions, making do with what she had and at times, recovering lounge suites and renovating household items to keep them going. Family pictures sometimes show one particular cane--sided lounge suite which had around three upholstery reincarnations in its lifetime of over 50 years… and the suite remained in her home at Victoria Road after this was sold. Mum was terrible with technology, especially in later years when TV remote controls defeated her: she never used an ATM, a computer, or mobile phone. The opposite to Dad who used to push the boundaries with gadgets, including keeping in touch with her by radio telephone when out and about doing his church work.

Diagnosed formally with dementia at the end of 2008, the family kept a closer eye on her (and Jenny, who was still at home), with Jenny moving into supported accommodation in 2009 and then hospital level care until her death in 2012. Prior to this, Mum’s wider travel excursions were always connected with whānau: after her first overseas visit to Australia in the early 1970s, she visited Greg in London in 1997 and Tokyo in 2001, going as far as Scotland in the latter visit to spend time with Andrew. In 1991, a highlight for Mum was travelling to Minneapolis-St Paul in the USA, to support Jenny as a talented gymnast winning several events  in the International Special Olympics. In November 2004, Mum travelled to Hawaii to celebrate Greg and Mayumi’s wedding. Mum’s last overseas visit was in 2006 to visit Greg and Mayumi and Mayumi’s family in Japan.

Mum was someone who was never idle (again, a family characteristic), with her days including completing the ODT crossword with her sister Marion (by phone), looking after her house and garden, singing in the Schola Cantorum - Dunedin City Choir, corresponding with many friends and relatives, reading and watching TV, and always actively attending church.

As her world started to get smaller and life became more of a struggle, Mum was a very reluctant recipient of support packages, remaining fiercely independent and (somewhat unsuccessfully) trying to convince everyone she was OK. She resisted – but eventually enjoyed – the services of the Gibson Day Unit at Dunedin Hospital, a similar pattern emerging when she went to Thornbury House in 2014. This did give a new lease of life – we realised how lonely and isolated she had become, and this gave her a whole host of new friends… and (for a while) being the ‘Queen Bee’ as the most cognitively intact person there to start with. She had rejected the notion of taking any of her beloved sheet music with her, but Thornbury discovered that she could still belt out tunes on the piano, which she did much to the enjoyment of others. One of the staff there called her “chuckles” due to her tendency to respond to what was going on around her with laughter – a bit different to how some of us remember a sometimes serious and intense person, but many of the old inhibitions had started to loosen.

The then manager said that at times when Mum sidled into her office on the pretense of some idle chatter, she’d eye up some boxes of chocolate on a top shelf in the room and enquire if she could possibly have one or two?!  Her sweet tooth was something that never left her…

And so to the final journey…

Mum’s last home was at St Andrew’s Home and Hospital, Dunedin, where she went in February 2016, following a dip in her health that saw her no longer able to walk and needing hospital -level care. Although dementia continued to take its course, she continued to interact with people (… including those appearing on the TV!) and enjoying singing and music: mum was still able to sing along with videos of favourite hymns on her TV until the past few years. She loved having visitors, especially younger people and children.

Mum has defied us all: at times when we thought she may be moving into the last stages of life, she has rallied, calling on all the strength of her long-life family genes. It has been hard for us, her family, to see her gradual decline and the loss of so many things that were important to her. But, along with many others who have been on this kind of journey with loved ones, we know that she still lives on. Not just because of her strong Christian faith and knowledge that she continues to be held in God’s love, even in death, but a part of her in all her brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchild, who she has loved, given herself so generously to, consoled and forgiven: her life and faith have become part of who we all are.

A comment she made when talking about going on a series of challenging overnight tramps with Hanover Street friends in 2003, said that for her :

“The best part of these tramps was the isolation and withdrawing from “society” and enjoying having no radio, TV, telephone or other mod cons and appreciating having lots of fun and fellowship as we walked and talked. I’m so glad to have had these good times…”

Graham Fawcett, one of the (then) younger people who came into Mum’s orbit when she was at Hanover Street Baptist, sent the follow recollection which sums up Mum:

“One memory I have of your mum - at one of the many Sunday lunches I was invited to I mentioned an organ piece I’d liked - I can’t remember the name - some famous musicians fugue or some such… Well, she asked the ‘official’ church organist if it might be ok to play that particular piece one Sunday before the service began, and boy did she play it. Her feet were going every which way but loose. It’s the things that she did that often go unnoticed that made so many people feel special. I know that her memory (deserted) her (in later years)…but there are many people who will remember her for a long time”

Mum, you were and are a thankful, clever, gentle, caring, grateful, loyal person of love and music who worked hard to make your world a better place, and succeeded.

Rest in peace Alison, safe in the arms of Christ who you loved and who continues to love you…

 


Saturday, 18 December 2021

 



A Momentous 2021

I’ve been attending Ponsonby Baptist Church on-line this year, as Auckland has continued to struggle with extra restrictions resulting from a re-emergence of the Delta variant of COVID. In many ways, a sentence to kick off this year’s reflections which would not have made much sense this time last year… but does indicate a significant change of direction for me this year.

At last week’s on-line Church at Ponsonby, we were encouraged to come up with a 1-minute reflection on 2021, looking at what we have learnt this year that we would take into 2022. The words below are what I came up with by way of a video slide show … of course! (Click on the link or the picture above).

Life keeps moving ...
I need to as well.
Love is still stronger than fear.
Life changes swiftly, but
Love is still stronger and
full of surprises!
I am loved, and
each day the
sun still
rises.

Moving
A big change for me has been the loss of 18 kg as I took on an on-line Noom programme at the beginning of the year. This has involved some significant lifestyle changes, including becoming more plant based in my eating (vegetarian-vegan) and actively walking more. I figure that once I stop moving, I’ll probably be dead… so, why not?! The year started well with a silent retreat at En Hakkore (Maniototo) and attending the Awaken GLBTQI Christian Conference in Wellington with my friend Jonathan, so it has been more than physical only changes, bit a renewed emphasis on prayer.

Love is stronger than fear
It’s been a year that is finishing with a lot of uncertainty – and certainly some more COVID disruption that has slowed down my regular tasks at work, but I’m very grateful for the new vaccines. I find myself being more cautious, but the message is still that Love is always stronger than fear, and that’s something I want to continue to live by.

Life changes swiftly, but Love is still stronger and full of surprises!
For me, the biggest change has been in meeting and connecting with a new man who has become my partner. Marty Pritchard is an amazing person who has come into my life when least expected. We met by a series of fortunate, almost random events at the beginning of April, and in October Marty extricated himself from a level 3 Auckland to come and be part of my life in Dunedin. A completely unexpected surprise, but I’m so grateful. The Ponsonby Baptist attendance has been as part of connecting with where Marty has been nurtured more recently. I continue to be involved in the Diocese of Dunedin Evening Prayer and occasional services at All Saints Dunedin.

I am loved, and each day the sun still rises.

So, feeling very blessed and loved… not just by Marty, but others who have stood beside me over this year, including family and friends. Alison is till hanging in there as she looks forward to her 90th birthday next year, and I head towards the big 60 in January 2022. I enjoy capturing what’s around me on my camera, and being an early riser, that often involves sunrises. Whatever happens in the next year – and I expect it will be a mix of joy and pain – the sun still rises: each day God’s love and blessings continue extravagantly.

 

Arohanui to you and those you love… have a great (and safe) festive season.

Friday, 13 August 2021

 


Luke 1: 46-55 


Singing Love

If your faith was a cake, what would be the most important ingredients in it? 

A slightly unusual question to ask…but I imagine there would be a variety of answers from each of you here today.   

For some, the key ingredient may have been a life changing experience, when God drew us in with love… perhaps in a profound way. It’s a very real “something” that we can point to.

It could have been to do with finding God in a moment of absolute joy… or in the middle of darkness and despair.

It might not one special ingredient – but just the usual ones – prayer, scriptures, faithful service. Basic, no-fuss, deeply embedded functional faith. Perhaps our recipe has been this combination of familiar words, prayers, rituals that move us through the seasons of the church year and our own lives: this is what comes together for our particular faith journey.

Others see different things in the mix: challenging injustice, transforming our society, caring for our world, fighting on the side of the poor and oppressed – that’s what’s important.

For some, the faith-cake is more organic, not so much a series of ingredients but a gradual awakening, like yeast in dough. It’s a longing for something that we can’t quite put our finger on, but that we see as the divine spark in us.

For me, I can relate to a lot of these things, but one element of Christian faith that has kept me connected over the years, and coming back to church, is… singing.  

The combination of, at times, profound words and music, from more contemporary songs of faith to traditional hymns, take me on a journey that shows me the heart of God.

One of my lifelong practices has been a Sunday morning listen (and maybe even sing along) to RNZ’s Hymns for Sunday Morning – now accessed on-line so I don’t have to tune in at rather inconvenient times.

However, Christian songs have also at times put me off rather than engaged me: they are so personal for many of us, triggering all kinds of memories and emotions. I can recall nearly two years ago being moved to tears by singing a verse in Church from the national anthem, in response to the terrorist attack in Christchurch. And, I can also recall quietly leaving a service in Wellington just a few months ago, when the music reminded me of faith settings that hadn’t been good for me, and I didn’t want to re-enter what the music evoked.

On a day when we pay special attention to Mary the mother of Jesus, it’s really fitting to hear again the words of the Magnificat, one of the most powerful songs of protest ever written. In fact, one of the marvelous things about a lot of the scriptures are the songs that emerge everywhere.

 

Luke’s gospel, in particular, is full of them.

 

Have you ever noticed how often Luke employs songs in the first chapters of his story about Jesus?

 

Mary sings when she is greeted by her cousin Elizabeth (today’s reading). Zechariah sings when his son John is born and his tongue is finally loosened. The angels sing of peace and goodwill, sharing their “good news of great joy” with the shepherds. And Simeon sings his song of farewell once he has seen God’s promises to Israel kept in the Christ child.

 

Why, one might wonder, all these songs?

 

Because singing is an act of resistance, of exclaiming an alternative reality to our current experience.

 

That’s not to say, of course, that all singing is this. Sometimes it’s an act of joy or of expressing solidarity and togetherness… but it’s also this act of resistance.

 

You’ll be aware of the significance of our gospel passage - and of Mary - in the development of Christianity. In a very patriarchal society, Luke’s version of this portion of the gospel has no men: the women get all the speaking parts.

 

Mary (and Elizabeth in the verses beforehand) are seen as prophets. The story is told in a way that echoes the same pattern of the prophetic calling of them, concluding with the ultimate proclamation of God’s words, that turn the expected order of things upside down.

 

The older cousin, Elizabeth, living with the societal stigma of not having a child, connects to this (as yet) unwed young woman, Mary, who has the shame of a baby that was really hard to explain to anyone. Both women speak strongly of God’s love and inclusion. Indeed, they say, all are welcome at God’s table, not just the usual in-crowd.

 

For Roman Catholics and some other branches of the Church, today is a very special day that celebrates the assumption of Mary. She is a Co-Redeemer with Christ whose job description is to act as a go-between with us earthly sinners and God in heaven. The names of some Roman Catholic churches around the world have a strong reference to this concept: Our Lady of Perpetual Help, Our Lady of Grace, Queen of the Universe, Our Lady of Good Counsel, Star of the Sea.

During the Middle Ages, as the church's leadership became more and more distant from the people, Mary became important in the prayer lives of ordinary folk. She was one who could empathise with their plight and mediate forgiveness. In the councils of the Church through the centuries, she gradually gained supernatural qualities…

She was declared free from personal sin before her birth and to this day (known as the Immaculate Conception, a doctrine formally proclaimed in 1854). She remained perpetually a virgin (a doctrine affirmed by several church councils by the 7th century), and she was taken directly from earth to heaven (known as the Assumption, confirmed in 1950).

All of that might seem a bit much to many who see this as an over emphasis of her role to the extent of her veneration almost on par with Jesus.

But, maybe some have gone too far in the other direction. For many Protestants, Mary is just a peasant woman chosen to bring the Son of God into the world. Roman Catholics accuse Protestants of putting Mary on a shelf to gather dust, ignoring her role in salvation history.

Both worship of Mary and reducing her to a mere biological role, miss out on something very important: that is Mary's example as a person of faith, called by God, struggling with the daily demands of her life. It is Mary who can help us to keep preparing spiritually for Christ’s coming to us now, and who reminds us to keep singing those songs of challenge and resistance to all that is not right in the world around us.

It is the gospel of Luke that best portrays the fullness of Mary's human life as an example of faith. Luke's portrait of Mary lets her out to stand flesh and blood, life-sized, before us. The gospel invites us to participate with her in giving birth to, raising, mourning, and—eventually—following Jesus Christ our Lord in the kind of life that can also upend our world.

Luke portrays her in a startling role: one that shakes up the way we may have been taught to think of her. He invites us to stop observing her and start imitating her instead. Mary’s song of praise is to a God who lifts the humble like her, and chooses her, rather than a privileged queen or princess, to be bearer of God's Son. She foreshadows her son's prophetic ministry that will do the same thing.

Imitating Mary means being willing to let go all our preconceptions, allowing God to use us - ordinary you and me - who long to share the love of Christ to those around us.

I was reminded recently of the words of a Sufi, Bayazid[i], who said this about himself:

I was a revolutionary when I was young, and my prayer to God was: ‘Lord, give me all the energy to change the world.’”

“As I approached middle age and realised that half my life was gone without my changing a single soul, I changed my prayer to: ’Lord, give me the grace to change all those who come in contact with me. Just my family and friends, and I shall be content.’”

“Now that I am an old man and my days are numbered, my one prayer is, ‘Lord, give me the grace to change myself.’ If I had prayed for this right from the start, I would not have wasted my life.”

So, maybe nearly enough said.

Perhaps what we need to do, along with praying the Sufi’s prayer that we might be changed as well… is to sing:  to find our voice and take Mary as our inspiration for whatever time God has left for us in this world.

What will your song be?

One of joy, of rage, of love, of crying for justice? Or of forgiveness, peace, a longing that everything could be different, new, alive? Scattering the proud? Lifting up the humble? Filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich empty away? Or… a completely new song, inspired by others but finding our own voice?

Yes, we can sing: sing the songs of Alice or Andrew, of Ralph or Ruth, of whoever we are and whatever we are called … to be bearers of this same Christ in our world. To have the same outcome to our song and prayer of being changed into the likeness of Christ.

How good would that be?

I love a song by Dunedin hymn writer Colin Gibson who captures this beautifully. It’s called:

He Came Singing Love [ii]

He came singing love

He lived singing love
He died, singing love.
He arose in silence…
For the Love to go on
We must make it our song;
You and I be the singers….



[ii] He came singing Love
Words © 1994 Hope Publishing Company, 380 S Main Pl, Carol Stream, IL 60188

Amen


[i] From: De Mello, Anthony (1987, 1988), The Song of The Bird, Guiarat Sahitya Prakash, Anand, India, pg 174-175

and he lived singing love;

he died, singing love

He arose in silence.

For the love to go on

we must make it our song;

you and I be the singers.

 

He came singing faith

and he lived singing faith;

he died, singing faith.

He arose in silence.

For the faith to go on

we must make it our song;

you and I be the singers.

 

He came singing hope

and he lived singing hope;

he died, singing hope.

He arose in silence.

For the hope to go on

we must make it our song;

you and I be the singers.

 

He came singing peace

and he lived singing peace;

he died, singing peace.

He arose is silence.

For the peace to go on

we must make it our song;

you and I be the singers.


https://www.hopepublishing.com/find-hymns-hw/hw3830.aspx

Sunday, 6 December 2020

Greetings from Andrew - Advent 2020

 

Greetings from Andrew – Advent 2020





Golden Pohutukawa, New Plymouth, 23 Nov 2020

Lockdown view of High Street, Dunedin, 1 April 2020

It seems strange to think that this time last year we had no idea of the impact of a certain virus and the massive world-wide disruption it would cause. Although not as severely affected as in other parts of the world, it has certainly been a year of best laid plans falling apart, double the amount of work to try to keep things going, and the emergence of words that didn’t have the same significance in November 2019: bubble, lock down, Zoom, tipping point….

There is still a lot to celebrate:

·        Living in a country with a strong compassionate response from leaders and people, resulting in fewer deaths and disruption than other places.

·        Being able to get on with an albeit modified life that is the envy of others

It also meant changing overseas excursion plans to spending time “at home” so to speak… swapping a mid -year planned journey to Scotland, to Wellington, the Hawkes Bay and Taranaki instead.




Kat and David arrive at their wedding reception, 29 Feb 2020

Paul Woodward, taken in May 1999.


There have been significant events to celebrate this year: the wedding of Kat and David on 29 February just before things started shutting down, the 60th birthday celebrations of my brother Scott (October), Paul (November) and Chris (December)… which I guess must mean mine is only just over a year away!

Work wise, the emerging pandemic required a lot of national and local liaising to position the Diocese of Dunedin for new ways of working in a virtual world and ensuring that people continued to be loved and cared for. This involved a significant amount of health and safety related work all alongside the personal pressure of having no human contact for a number of weeks. I was a bubble of one for Alert Level 4 and 3.

The unusual element of it all was that all over the world people were experiencing the same [apart from some places where the apparent  lack of any collective identity resulted in science being ignored with fake news and conspiracy theories - usually tied into a particular brand of evangelical theology that saw all this as a sign of the end times… people who appeared to be on a very different planet].

Everything went virtual for a time, including the first part of our Synod in September, although we were able to meet in November to decide the future of Selwyn College – Te Maru Pūmanawa (a university hall of residence that comes under the Diocese of Dunedin).






Emerging from lockdown, 31 May 2020

Synod on Selwyn College, 14 Nov 2020

This did mean we had to think differently about how we connect faith with each other… and started a series of videos that I’ve begun to try and tell some of the stories going on in faith communities in this part of the world.

Otherwise, I’m still surrounded by friends who keep in touch. I’ve been receiving some massage therapy this year as a preventative measure (thanks Nick at Knox Rehabilitation!) and (so far) have not had a single cold.

Alison continues to hang in there (88 this year) and seems to have survived this rather strange year intact. It was sad the say goodbye to my Aunt Marion Strang from motor neuron disease: may she rest in peace and rise in glory.



Wishing you all the best as the year draws to a close… along with peace and joy in all you do over the holiday period.

 

Friday, 4 December 2020

Preparing The Way

 


Preparing The Way

Sunday 6 December 2020
Advent 2: Isa 40:1-11; Ps 139, 2 Pet 3:8-15a; Mark 1:1-8

Although some may think I’m quite “green” transport wise, having a tendency to walk, take the bus or bike… with the hybrid car as a last resort (of sorts), there is something about a wide, fast road that is very appealing.

Maybe it’s an innate response where my inner child loves the thought of bulldozers, graders, bitumen trucks, yellow vested workers scurrying around in their hard hats… all intent on making rough tracks wide and smooth, bridging the bogs, filling the valleys and carving into the hills… all to shave off a few minutes of travel time.

Such epic road building does not come cheaply. The Dunedin Southern Motorway system  was meant to be finished in the 1960s (with the original plan having twin tunnels from Kaikorai Valley under Lookout Point to Caversham) but was not completed until January 2016, with the last overbridge section at Lookout Point costing 45 million dollars. Spare a thought for Wellingtonians and the Transmission Gully motorway from Linden, which was meant to be finished this year at a cost of $850 million, but with the latest figures putting it at $1.25 billion and opening in September 2021.

Isaiah 41 is a much loved scripture in the Year B advent cycle. It speaks of human frailty versus an incredibly strong God, who expresses this in gentle nurturing. And, that superhighway concept is quite striking. Maybe we, too, like the idea of a God who smooths out all the rough places and makes the road easier.

However, the reality of such a super highway is pretty tough: this kind of road building involves serious engineering, expense and at times a quite brutal re-shaping of the landscape.

Commentator Todd Weir describes a particular highway the Prophet Isaiah - and also John the Baptist - may have had in mind:

The King’s Road, which connected Heliopolis (modern Cairo) to Damascus, literally put Israel on the map as spices, gold, textiles and olive oil flowed through the great caravans.  Unfortunately, armies travelled the highway as well, as Egypt, Assyria, Babylon and Rome all coveted the strategic dominance that came with subduing Palestine.  It was a perilous and wondrous journey that traversed the Sinai desert, wound through the ravines of Petra and across mountain ranges, fighting heat, thirst, stubborn camels and bandits along the way

Jamieson, Fausset and Brown when reflecting on the beginning verses of Mark’s gospel noted that

“Eastern monarchs send heralds before them in a journey to clear away obstacles, make causeways over valleys, and level hills. So, John's duty was to bring back the people to obedience to the law and to remove all self-confidence, pride in national privileges, hypocrisy, and irreligion, so that they should be ready for His coming.”

All of this emphasises that such roads don’t magically get built until suddenly all is ready, the ribbon is cut and off we go on an easier journey. All of the obstacles being removed, all of the objects that need to give way, are actually parts of us: we are the subject of roadworks that allow Christ to come and enter into our world again.

“Prepare ye the way” cried John the Baptist in the wilderness, exhorting people to be ready for what is coming, to live each day as if it might be our last, to turn-our-lives-around. And it is all dependent on Jesus, who through the Spirit makes all this possible.

On our side we need to be patient while this takes place – as 2 Peter chapter three puts it:

… “we wait for new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home. (14) Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; (15) and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation…”

So, what of Advent 2020?

Contrary to the manner in which it is often celebrated shopping malls - and sometimes in churches – this second Sunday of Advent described in our scriptures begins not on a note of joy, but of despair:

·     Humankind has reached the end of its tether.

·     All our schemes for self-improvement, for extracting ourselves from the mess we have created, have come to nothing.

These scriptures call us to realise at the deepest level of our being that we cannot save ourselves:  apart from the intervention of God, we are totally and irretrievably lost. The Hebrew scriptures commentator Walter Bruggeman says of the Isaiah 41 passage:

“These verses are a prayer to God by a people that is powerless and under oppression. The prayer exhibits the two main features of genuine Advent hope: on the one hand, a deep sense of desperation about a situation out of control… On the other hand, a bold and confident trust in God is voiced, addressed to a God who can intervene (if God will) to make life peaceable and joyous”.

For any of us who at times feel we have come to the end of our tether (and maybe over the past year there have been a few moments like this), these scriptures hold out an incredible hope… but only when we realise we can’t do any of this anymore and need God’s continuing intervention in our lives.

Bruggeman goes onto say:

The prayer for God’s coming, which began in bombast, ends on a note of needful, pathos-filled intimacy. In the end, Advent focuses not on God’s massive power, but on God’s family sense of solidarity, the same sort of solidarity that causes parents to do irrational caring deeds for wayward, beloved children.

I love the story told about Martin Luther who, although he was generally pretty cheerful, also suffered from terrible bouts of depression. He was at one time so low that his friends recommended he go away for a change of air, to see if he could get any relief. He did this, but then came home as miserable as ever. When he went into the sitting-room, his wise wife Kate (Catherine von Bora) was sitting there, dressed in black, and her children round about her, all in black as well.

“Oh, oh!” said Luther, “who is dead?”

“Why,” said she, “doctor, have not you heard… that God is dead? My husband, Martin Luther, would never be in such a state of mind if he had a living God to trust to.”

Martin Luther burst into laughter, and said, “Kate, you are a wise woman. I have been acting as if God were dead, and I will do so no more. Go and take off your black...”

If any of us come to this time of Advent feeling similar desperation – never fear. We may need to have some roadworks carried out on our souls, obstacles removed and priorities re-set, but this can only happen when we have come to the end of our tether and realise how poverty stricken we are: we need this alive-God to keep coming into our lives as a humble baby – a birth that reminds us of how we have been brought into the whanau of God.

Advent is about allowing ourselves to be found again by God – to be changed and knowing that this is one of the most important things we can do. We can’t find ourselves, only God can and does.

[You may have heard the story about a very foolish person[1]. Each morning when he woke up, he had such a hard time finding his clothes that he was almost frightened to go to bed: he was plagued with fear of all the trouble he would have on waking.

So, one night he got himself a pencil and pad. He then jotted down the exact location of each item of clothing as he undressed. Next morning, he pulled out his pad and read, “pants” – there they were. He stepped into them. “Shirt” – there it was. He pulled it over his head. “Hat” – there it was. He slapped it on his head. He was very pleased with this until a horrible thought struck him. “And I – where am I?”. He had forgotten to jot that down. So, he searched and searched but in vain. He could not find himself.]

Let’s pause for a few moments and allow ourselves [to be wise], to be found again and know exactly where we are and who we belong to.

In the quietness, become aware of this God who comes to us so tenderly and wants us to turn again towards a deep and inexplicable love:

What are some of the things we carry right now, all that weigh us down, causes us grief, misery and despair? What clothes of mourning may we be wearing? As we name them, can we give them to this God who cares for us so deeply? What does it mean for us to give them up? What is God asking us to allow to be changed by Love?

What are the things in our lives that are obstructive… maybe not so much things we do, but all that we don’t do? What do we need to make a noise about: poverty, housing inequality, vulnerable, hurting, hungry children in our communities? What do we need to do to find ourselves again… and to be found by God?

Who else is on our hearts – our whanau, friends, co-workers, neighbours: what does it mean for us to lay them before this same God? What does it mean for God’s solidarity to become ours? What are we being called to do?

Finally, a reminder of some of the words from song-writer Bernadette Farrell, based on Psalm 139:[i]

You know my resting and my rising.
You discern my purpose from afar,
and with love everlasting you besiege me:
In ev’ry moment of life or death, you are.

Amen



[1] De Mello, Anthony (1989) The Prayer of The Frog Vol 1, pg 82. Gujarat Sahitya Prakask, Anand, India,



[i] O God, you search me and you know me.
All my ways lie open to your gaze.
When I walk or lie down, you go before me:
Ever the maker and keeper of my days.

You know my resting and my rising.
You discern my purpose from afar,
and with love everlasting you besiege me:
In ev’ry moment of life or death, you are.

[Before a word is on my tongue, Lord,
you have known its meaning through and through.
You are with me beyond my understanding:
God of my present, my past and future too.]

Although your Spirit is upon me,
still I search for shelter from your light.
There is nowhere on earth I can escape you:
Even the darkness is radiant in your sight.

For you created me and shaped me,
gave me life within my mother’s womb.
For the wonder of who I am, I praise you:
Safe in your hands, all creation is made new.

Amen

(Bernadette Farrell, based on Psalm 139)

https://youtu.be/7XFodUeqGqU

 

Remembering Jennifer Jane Metcalfe

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