Aussie Rambling Rose

He likes cats. She likes dogs. Is he better than her? 

She is pedantic about conventional spelling, grammar and punctuation. He can’t see the problem in more creative ways of expressing oneself. Nor does he see the point in spending time checking for typos and fixing them. What does it matter, so long as the message is clear? Is she better than him? 

He is good with his hands. He can fix or adapt anything with his trusty toolbox. She is good with her head. She spends hours reading, thinking and writing. Which is better? 

Right, wrong or just different?

Cross-cultural training often incorporates the concept that certain things which may strike newcomers to a culture as strange are not necessarily wrong, but just different. Should children be seen and not heard, or should they be encouraged to express their individuality? To greet another person, should two people shake hands, rub noses, peck one another on the cheek, bring their hands together in front of their chests or bow a little? (Okay … during a pandemic, some of these conventions for greeting are definitely ill-advised.) Do rules apply to everyone regardless of the situation or is it appropriate to interpret the rules based on the particular players involved and the setting? What is the best way to enjoy a meal – chopsticks, cutlery, or a freshly washed hand?

I like to think that I am sensitive to such differences when interacting with people from cultures different to my own. Yet in my own culture, I am quick to attribute value to things that don’t merit it. Why is it so important to ensure that typos are fixed before hitting ‘publish’? Roles requiring a tertiary education or unskilled intense labour … both are valuable though often in different settings. Her Feline Highness might argue that cat people are better than dog people, but until she came into my life, I would have said the I preferred dogs. (Ssssshhhh … don’t tell the cat!)

Convicted

Last week I had the privilege of teaching on a passage from Romans 12. I found myself convicted on several points, and would like to reinforce those lessons through blogging. Thanks for reading along. This particular blog post relates to Romans 12:3b.

“Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgement, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.” 

Romans 12:3b NIV

As part of my preparation for teaching on a later verse, in which all members of the body, though independent, belong to one another (Romans 12:5-6), I grabbed a Twitter post from the Olympics opening ceremony. Although the picture and sentiments ideally illustrated my point, to my horror, the post contained a typo. Whoever let that through? And how was it picked up and reproduced in mainstream media? Surely heads would roll…… 

Then something even more dreadful than a typo occurred to me. In putting down those responsible for letting a typo through, I was elevating myself. I was thinking of my self more highly than I ought. Never mind that the intended message was perfectly clear. Or that this was only a Twitter post and not a news article. 

The early Roman church

The people who first heard Paul’s letter to the Romans read aloud most likely came from a variety of backgrounds. Jews, Gentiles, slaves, slave owners, former slaves, tradespeople, men and women, educated and illiterate – they joined together in small groups scattered around the great city of first century Rome. Within society, their positions were anything but equal. Yet within the body of Christ, they all had a role to play. 

Just as an aside, if you, like me, enjoy historical fiction, I can thoroughly recommend the book ‘Phoebe’ by Paula Gooder. The main character, Phoebe, is based on the woman of that name mentioned in Romans 16:1-2. The book was written by a New Testament Pauline scholar who has a rich grasp of history and the culture of that time. When I read the book of Romans today, I freely admit that my interpretation is coloured by Dr Gooder’s work of historical fiction. I am grateful to its author for those insights into the world of the original recipients of Paul’s letter to the Romans. 

A modern context

The church to which I belong in an outer eastern suburb of Melbourne looks quite different to that of first century Rome. In our hyper-connected world, I can grab a Twitter post about an event halfway around the world to illustrate a point in a sermon just two days later. Nevertheless, these words recorded in Romans 12 are as applicable to us today as they were to Phoebe and her peers. 

“Do not think of yourselves more highly than you ought….” (Romans 12:3b NIV). Righto, I acknowledge that being pedantic about the written word doesn’t make me a better person than one who lets a typo slip through. 

“… but rather think of yourself with sober judgement, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you.” (Romans 12:3c NIV) This isn’t all negative, actually. In fact, introspection can result in offers of service to the greater community.

I judge myself a picky proof-reader, which doesn’t make me better than anyone else, but it does make me potentially helpful in certain areas. If I were to proof-read certain documents before they were published, wouldn’t that bless the greater community of readers? Perhaps because I have been vocal about noticing errors in the past, I have ended up being asked to regularly proof-read material in several settings. I’m glad to use my pedantry to benefit others. 

Moving on

Are cat people better than dog people? Are practical people better than academic people? Are perfectionists better than those who can tolerate a little variation in certain settings? 

Sometimes things are plain right and wrong. Yet there are many times when I am quick to cast judgement on others without first examining myself with sober judgement. We are all different and, indeed, we need one another if we are to enjoy a robust community. 

And now, moving on, I shall not be judgemental about those responsible for an extra apostrophe in not just one but several signs for a local barbeque store. Yet whenever I pass that shop, I shudder. And I am afraid that deep inside, an arrogant smirk echoes what I perceive as Barby Dave’s evil grin … evil because he knows about the errant apostrophe in the “BBQ’s” sign (below) yet does not let on.

I’m a work in progress…… 

My community is in lockdown #5 as I write this blog post. Many countries have thousands more daily new COVID-19 cases than we do here in Australia and my heart goes out to them. Nevertheless, in this blog post, allow me to blinker my eyes and just focus on people in my own area. 

I’m thinking about world views and the virus at the moment. ‘Worldview’ (it can be written ‘worldview’ or ‘world view’) simply refers to how people view the world. We talk about it in missions training, urging those preparing to cross cultures to proactively strive to understand how local people in the places they visit view the world.

The contexts in which we live or grow up impact our worldviews. Just think about how people of different cultures view status and authority, the importance of community, child-raising philosophies, the interaction of the spirit world with our daily lives, what we consider to be the causes of disease and more.

It strikes me, however, that right here, right now, I see people in my own neighbourhood who have very different world views in relation to the pandemic. I wonder if this is, in part, because the communities to which we belong are less defined by geography these days and more defined by networks and the biases of our sources of information. 

I am making this observation not only as a matter of interest (to myself, at least) but also as a reminder that those in my own communities who have a different worldview to myself are still people just like me. I can be quick to judge people who think differently to myself as ill-informed and ignorant. Even though I may not agree with everyone, seeking to understand how people around me view the world is surely a more respectful and appropriate response to opinions and actions that I view as odd … especially for a cross-cultural worker. 

Neighbours

Let me describe two neighbours who exemplify two different worldviews of people in my own community. Neither of them are literal descriptions of any particular person I know personally … though I have met people like them. 

Jenalyn stands outside the vaccination centre, unmasked, with a sign declaring, ‘The vaccine will change your DNA! Don’t get it.’ Only when a police officer arrives does she reluctantly accept the proffered mask and walk away. Not for her are QR codes in venues she visits. No, she doesn’t want the government tracking her every movement. As for hand sanitisers provided at the entrance of every shop, she would rather build up her immunity than leave herself vulnerable to any new bug that comes along. 

Giselle glares at the young woman who stepped in front of her in the supermarket to grab a can of tomatoes. “Do you mind?” she asks, her voice quavering. She tries to protest without inhaling germ-ridden air. Gloved and masked, wearing glasses primarily to protect her eyes from viruses, she is doing her weekly grocery shopping. A 12-pack of toilet rolls takes up half the trolley. She longs to get to the relative safety of home, where she will quarantine everything in a big box on the porch for a couple of days before bringing it inside. Everything except for the fridge and freezer items, that is, which she will thoroughly soak in disinfectant spray. Only then will she will strip off of her outside clothes, throw them into the washing machine, and shower.  

Environments

Our worldviews are significantly impacted by our environments. In our modern hyper-connected world, we can live remarkably similar lives and yet be surrounded by vastly different sources of information. We live in similar physical environments but dissimilar online environments. That, in turn, impacts how people like Jenalyn and Giselle think about the pandemic and associated restrictions, as well as how they feel. 

Jenalyn gets her news from a ‘right-wing’ news service. She wants real information rather than biased propaganda. She opens her laptop and the home screen flashes up with a news headline about yet another person in a different part of the country dying a week or so after receiving a vaccination. Her social media notifications alert her to a string of posts from people remarkably similar to herself complaining bitterly about how unreasonable restrictions are robbing us of freedom. Jenalyn clenches her teeth, rolls her eyes and grumbles emphatically.

Giselle watches the news on a free-to-air TV station. The hospitals are in danger of being overwhelmed, she learns, and another person in her city has died from COVID-19. She opens her lap top and the home screen flashes up with a news headline about yet more exposure sites, including a supermarket a mere 15 kilometres from her home. She moves to social media. A string of posts from people remarkably similar to herself share news reports from around the world, including photographs of funeral pyres and mass graves. Giselle’s heart leaps into her throat and tears roll down her cheeks.

So what?

These two examples are a little extreme. I like to think that I am logical and reasonable when it comes to the pandemic. (And I have had one vaccination which gives me a certain sense of security. I look forward to receiving my second shot.) In any case, the point of this blog post is not to promote one extreme or the other. The point is to think about two things: (1) world views,  and (2) how I view people who look at the world differently to myself. 

People in my own suburb are surrounded by different sources of information. We frequent different online communities. Algorithms direct our way yet more of the sort of news and information that we have chosen to to access in the past. All this reinforces the way we think. In fact, having done a little ‘internet research’ on news providers with extreme views on the pandemic in the process of writing this blog, no doubt I shall be bombarded for a time with such news myself. Our free-to-air media in Australia, at least, is quite sensationalist and not unbiased either. 

May I be quick to view others who think differently to myself with the same degree of curiosity and a desire to learn as I view those who come from very different cultures to myself. I’m not saying that I agree with people like either Jenalyn or Giselle.  However, may I treat them with respect and not scorn them.

In writing this blog post, I have also been reminded to be thoughtful and deliberate in what I choose to put into my own mind.  To a degree, I am responsible for managing my own worldview as far as the pandemic is concerned, at least. 

As a Christian, I am reassured to know that there is One who sees Reality without being swayed by this or that. That impacts my worldview in the best possible way in the uncertainties of our virus-ridden world.

As I write, Melbourne is in lockdown again. Since this pandemic began, Melbourne has endured 144 days of lockdown. This current lockdown began as a seven day ‘circuit breaker.’ That was ten days ago.

As Christians, we are to ‘to rejoice always’ and ‘to give thanks in all circumstances’, right? (See 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18.) As a good Christian woman, I was determined to look at the positive aspects of our current predicament with as much joy and thanksgiving as I could muster.

Last week I was part of a little retreat group which focused on ‘praying in colour’ for an hour or so. Our group members are all safe at home or in the homes of family members. None of us are about to go hungry or be kicked out due to loss of income brought about by lockdown. We all have good internet, so we didn’t even miss out on this anticipated half day of retreat, though gathering face-to-face would have been nicer. We all have work that we can more-or-less do from home.

Yes, life is good for the members of our little group compared to, say, people in places like India and Nepal. The pandemic has made life very tough for many people there.

Praying in colour

“Just start with a shape,” the retreat group member leading the activity instructed us. “Pick colours and doodle as you pray for the person or place that shape represents. See what emerges. You might like to meditate on verses of Scripture or attributes of God later too.”

The people of India and Nepal have been heavy on my heart lately, so it was obvious where to start. I quickly realised how hazy my geography of that area is, but I was determined not to be distracted by getting online to check the details.

I prayed long and hard for people I know, people I don’t know, organisations I know and trust, governments and authorities and more. As I prayed and doodled, the rose on my desk dropped its petals.

Perhaps it was chance that the colours and even shape of my prayerful doodle kind of matched the colours of the rose. Perhaps I chose these colours sub-consciously. Perhaps it was a divine prompt. Whatever, it was, the fallen rose petals and the imminent end of the rose reminded me of a verse of Scripture: “Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.”

Where is that verse from? I allowed myself a quick check online to access my concordance. There it was – Psalm 116:15 – “Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.”

Off to Psalm 116 I went for some more meditative doodling.

“I believed, therefore I said….”

How would you expect this sentence to end? ‘I believe, therefore I said only positive things about everything’? ‘I believe, therefore I said only words which built others up, and myself as well’? ‘I believe, therefore I said only words that highlighted the silver lining of any storm cloud’?

Psalm 116 contains a number of beautiful verses, some of which I have memorised and meditated on in the past.

I love the LORD, for he heard my voice;
he heard my cry for mercy.

Psalm 116:1

The LORD is gracious and righteous;
our God is full of compassion….

Psalm 116:5

Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.

Psalm 116:15

We are right to memorise and meditate on precious promises like these. Context is everything, though, and Psalm 116 contains plenty of less pleasant verses too. The one that jumped out at me as I prayed about India and Nepal was not one I had memorised in the past. It was this:

I believed, therefore I said,
“I am greatly afflicted.”

Psalm 116:10

Be real

The Psalmist wrote this ‘Psalm of Thanksgiving’ after he had been rescued from a dreadful ordeal, the details of which we are not sure. What is clear is that the writer did not gloss over the difficulties. No, precisely because of their belief in a gracious, righteous, compassionate, just LORD, they were able to pour out their heart to him.

Life isn’t always a bed of roses. And to mix analogies, even roses lose their petals with time. Rose bushes prick people with their thorns. As for the particular rose which dropped petals on my desk, it also harboured a tiny spider and a green aphid which fell onto the desk too … eeek.

I believe, therefore I say….

Melbourne has been in lockdown for 144 days since this pandemic began and we have a while to go yet. Lockdown stinks. I hate with a passion the isolation that the most vulnerable in our communities endure as a result of lockdown. Personally I am doing okay but am well aware that many in my community are not.

What should a good Christian woman think and say in times like these? As Christians, we are to ‘rejoice always’ and ‘give thanks in all circumstances’, right?

This Psalm reminded me that if I truly believe in God, then I can be real. Beautiful roses drop petals. Saints die. Pandemics cause chaos.

I believe in an all-knowing, compassionate, just, powerful God. Therefore I say, “I am greatly afflicted.”

The point of this post

It’s true that my ‘affliction’ is nothing compared to what some others experience. Let me also point out that I don’t blame our authorities for imposing lockdown. They are doing what public health experts advise is best overall for our community.

The point of this blog post is not to say, ‘Woe is me’ or even to say ‘Woe are those who are far worse off than Melburnians when it comes to lockdown.’

The point of this blog post is this: it’s right and appropriate for Christians to lament. We need not pretend to be positive and chirpy when life is hard.

In a society that is obsessed with comfort and obliterating pain, even Christians can lose sight of the validity of ‘lament’. Did you know that about 1/3 of the Psalms are actually ‘Psalms of Lament’? If we believe in a God who knows our hearts, then let’s be real before God. Sometimes life is tough.

And as for that nice New Testament Scripture quoted earlier in this blog post about ‘rejoice always’ and ‘give thanks in all circumstances,’ you may have noticed that I missed the central admonition.

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances,
for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Pray continually. And as another New Testament writer put it, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you”(1 Peter 5:7).

I believe, therefore I say … lockdown sucks; pandemics stink; pain and suffering is blinking awful. Come soon, Lord Jesus, and deliver us.

To El Roi, ‘the God who sees me’,

I come to you hesitantly, because I am unworthy and imperfect. It is only through Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of my faith, that I even dare approach you.

Your Word says, “Learn from the ant, you sluggard” (Proverbs 6:6). Your Word also says, “A bruised reed, you will not break” (Isaiah 42:3). You see it all – the big picture and the intricate details. You know all about my problem with procrastination. And so I lay it before you, in your presence, with shame but without trying to cover it up with busy-busy-bustling-about. I may distract myself with pointless busyness, but you see it all.

Our hearts are confusing. I don’t even understand my own mind. You see it all though. What I see is this: cluttered cupboards, boxes of books I bought intending to read ‘one day’, projects ‘put on the back burner’ indefinitely, and frantic frenzy as deadlines approach.

I suspect that these symptoms of my malaise bother you less than they do me. For you see deeper than clutter and chaos. You see fear of failure and perils of perfectionism. You see our culture’s lust for leisure, greed for instant gratification and our corresponding short attention spans. You see us living in our brokenness, failing to live up to our identity as your holy people.

I confess that I have not taken every thought captive to you, most holy Lord. Please forgive me and change me. Transform me, mostly for your glory’s sake but also for my sanity’s sake.

As I face the rest of the day, please keep my heart soft towards you, El Roi, the God who sees me. Keep me focused on you, Lord Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of my faith. Holy Spirit, please free me from my fears and enable me to focus on the responsibilities you have entrusted to me.

Thank you for your patience, your presence and your precious promises.

Yours sincerely,

An imperfect procrastinator who is being transformed through the renewing of her mind, slowly but surely – your daughter

“The family is Christian or Muslim,” my teacher commented. 

It was Friday evening in Eastern Australia, though only mid-afternoon in South Asia. We were meeting for our lesson over WhatsApp video. I am the student. We both have access to the same lesson outlines and resources. In this case, we were looking at a strip story of three people by a grave. 

As I had prepared this lesson, I had refreshed in my memory the following vocabulary items: 

• To be sad
• To die 
• A grave 
• To cry

I did not know how to say, “I am so sorry for your loss,” but I was anticipating learning how to express this from this little strip story. 

In the end, I learnt far more about culture from this activity than I learnt about language.

Interesting timing

The timing for a lesson on death was interesting. I didn’t plan it this way. It is just where I am up up to in the curriculum we’re using.

My teacher’s country of residence is currently in the grip of the pandemic, you see. Every day at the moment, the media reports the deaths of several thousand people – deaths which have been directly attributed to this virus. Covid-19 is is a contributing factor to a great many more deaths too, whether directly or indirectly. 

The sheer magnitude of death and suffering is unfathomable. Most of my friends living in that part of the world, it seems, know at least somebody who has lost their life to this virus. 

In faltering language, I say that that what I see of her country in news reports is terrible.

My teacher agrees and teaches me the phrase, “The situation in this country is very serious.” 

Bodies and death

We examine the little strip story of a family around a grave, and I do my best to describe what is happening in the pictures. Three people are standing around a grave. Maybe one of their family members has passed away. The people are sad. The woman is crying. 

My teacher makes an observation that I had missed. “The family is Christian or Muslim,” she states. “Only Christians or Muslims bury their dead. Everyone else here cremates them.” 

For the first time, this little strip story strikes me as being incongruous with her culture. Of course most people there don’t bury their dead. I should know that, for day after day, in the media, I see heart-breaking scenes of funeral pyre after funeral pyre after funeral pyre. 

My teacher teaches me the phrase for ‘cremation’. It literally means ‘to burn the corpse’.  The phrase for a grave, however, such as that pictured in the strip story, literally means ‘the place where the body is hidden’. 

Customs

Why do Christians and Muslims bury their dead, while Hindus and Buddhists burn them? 

I am no expert but it occurs to me that these different ways of dealing with the remains of our loved ones reflects our understanding of what happens after death. 

Forgive the gross oversimplification of my explanation of major world religions, but bear with me as I attempt to make sense of our different funeral rites. 

Christians and Muslims both believe in one life, one death and one resurrection to judgement. Is it any wonder, then, that we bury the bodies of the dead to keep them ready for that day?

Hindus and Buddhists, on the other hand, believe in life forces that migrate from one ‘sentient being’ to another. Is it any wonder, then, that people burn the bodies of the deceased so that the life force may move on unhindered? 

Differences in worldview

The different ways we interpret death and deal with the remains of those we love is just one example of how we see the world quite differently. It is as though we are observing life through glasses with different coloured lenses.

I am reading a book on this matter of ‘worldview’ these days. The author, James Sire, outlines some of the key differences in how people view the world.  He suggests seven main areas … or perhaps eight. 

1. What is prime reality – the ‘really real’? 

2. What is the nature of external reality (that is, the world around us)?

3. What is a human being?

4. What happens to a person at death? 

5. Why is it possible to know anything at all? 

6. How do we know what is right and wrong? 

7. What is the meaning of human history? 

And perhaps 8. What personal, life-orienting core commitments are consistent with this worldview? 

(James Sire, ‘The Universe Next Door’ 6th Edition, InterVarsity Press, 2020 p.8-9)

Fear not – I’m not going to go through these one by one. Not today, at any rate. I am simply observing that we interpret the world around us in very different ways. 

And specifically I am thinking about how different people would answer the fourth question about death.  

Beliefs

My teacher has grown up in a community in which there is no awareness of a Creator or Sustainer. Rather, there is a sense of everything being part of the one. Death is not the end of life, then, according to that worldview, but simply a transition.

The figures in my strip story, however, apparently belong to a community in which people acknowledge a Creator and Moral Judge. (Though I acknowledge that in the country I call ‘home’, many people don’t actually know what they believe these days.) Death is the end of life … or at least life as we know it.  Judgement will be based on how well we lived. Thank God … quite literally … for the Christian doctrine of the atonement in which Jesus’ righteousness is imputed to us who believe. 

What matters, of course, is the question of truth. What IS truth? What is the ‘prime reality’? What is the ‘external reality’? Who are we? And so on.

In other words, what is a biblical worldview?

Communication

When I think long and hard about different worldviews, my head feels like it just might burst. I’m no philosopher.

Thankfully, like me, my teacher is not a complicated lady. She is just an ordinary woman muddling her way through life, doing her very best to live well. 

Part of that involves spending hours with me each week, patiently giving me the opportunity to mangle her language. For that I am grateful.

As we spend time together, we share stories. I show her pictures of my father’s grave. I share with her the precious hope expressed in the words we had engraved on his headstone – ‘… absent from the body, present with the Lord.’ (These words come from the Bible – 2 Corinthians 5:8.)

This is not preaching. This is simply sharing life. 

Hope

Here in Australia, most of us cannot fathom the depth of suffering that many people are enduring in some other parts of the world.  

I don’t even know quite how to pray during this time. Of course, I want the people I know and care about to stay safe and well. I want them to be spared grief and pain. That’s only natural and I do pray for that. 

At the same time, I pray that my friends will have hope. Real hope. Hope based not on the way one views the world, but on truth.

Regardless of whether one’s corpse is buried, burned, cryo-preserved (frozen), or consumed by crocodiles, the Bible teaches that if one dies in Christ, there is hope. 

“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.…”
“Therefore encourage one another with these words.”

1 Thessalonians 4:13-14, 18 ESV

Many of my friends living in South Asia, like the writer of the passage above, do believe that Jesus died and rose again. In him they have hope. Their faith has impacted their worldviews. May those around be touched by this hope too.

By the end of that lesson, I knew a smattering more vocabulary and a lot more culture. I never did learn how to say ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ My teacher seemed to think it more appropriate to say, “There, there, don’t be sad.”

Come soon, Lord Jesus.

“Could you tell me your story,” I often ask people these days. 

I am specifically asking people from a particular background to tell me their stories of coming to saving faith in Jesus Christ. It’s part of a project I’m doing for college. I am already learning lots, even before conducting formal interviews. 

The stories I am hearing are gripping, challenging and memorable.  The tales of these particular sisters and brothers in Christ are much more interesting than mine.

Thinking about this topic has motivated me to write this blog post. Writing it up helps me to process a little of the mish-mash of thoughts muddled in my mind at the moment. Thanks for reading along, and so giving me purpose for writing.

The power of stories

Stories are powerful. Consider television advertisements, for example. Can you think of an appealing advertisement which does not contain a story of some sort? Do you have a ‘favourite advertisement’?

On Australian TV these days, I sometimes watch a story of a child who loses her toy rabbit on a day out. The father drives his fancy car here, there and everywhere with the bereft girl in the back seat, trusting her daddy to find the toy. As it turns out, the mother finally realises that she had it in her bag all along, but she decides to let the father think that he had found it and so be the hero. The whole story is beautifully portrayed in the space of 30 seconds. Even though I don’t care about cars, I am impressed by the car (a Toyota Hilux) which covers beautiful and sometimes rugged terrain as the patient daddy looks for his little girl’s toy rabbit.

(For the sake of appropriately acknowledging intellectual ownership, I should probably reference the Toyota Hilux story summarised in the paragraph above – you too can watch it here .)

The advertising world uses stories to persuade us to part with our money in ways which suit their shareholders. How much more should we use stories to share things that are important to us and which we want so badly for our family and friends too. I am thinking, of course, about faith. 

Hence this focus on stories of how people came to saving faith in Jesus.

The structure of stories

A good story, we are told, follows a standard pattern, sometimes termed ‘a narrative arc’.

The beginning of a good story introduces key characters and the setting. Think of the line, “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess….”. 

As the story progresses, tension and conflict are introduced. The tension builds up and climaxes with some sort of crisis. Think of the line, “Then the wicked stepmother imprisoned the beautiful princess in a castle turret.”

The story moves on to describe how the crisis was managed. It  finishes with a resolution and all details neatly tied up. Think of the line, “The beautiful princess and her handsome prince lived happily ever after.” 

For generations, storytellers have been following this sort of a pattern as they keep listeners spellbound.

“Has anybody got a testimony?”

When I was growing up, it was quite common for somebody to get up during church to ‘give a testimony’. Usually these were stories of how God had intervened in an individual’s life in some way or another. Even as a child, I would sit up and pay attention when it came time for testimonies. 

Testimonies specifically about how God drew an individual or family to himself are called ‘conversion narratives’ in the literature. The were especially popular in churches in the 17^th and 18^th centuries, hence having a name of their own in academia – the genre of ‘conversion narratives’. 

Back then, as now, stories were powerful. 

These days, I hesitate to use the word ‘conversion’ when I ask for people’s stories. It is politically sensitive in some parts of the world, while in my own country, ‘conversion’ is often used to describe people’s process of transitioning from one sexual orientation to another these days

So I shall continue to ask people, “Tell me the story of your journey to saving faith in Jesus.” 

A famous ‘conversion narrative’

A well known story of someone’s journey to saving faith in Jesus is that of the New Testament character, Saul/Paul on the road to Damascus. His story grabs my imagination. 

Do you remember that ‘narrative arc’, described earlier?  Here is how it plays out in the story of the apostle Paul. 

The start: Once upon a time, there was a fanatically religious Pharisee with a very good heritage named Saul. 

Rising tension: Saul used to persecute Christians and even had them imprisoned and killed in his efforts to keep Judaism ‘pure’. 

Climax: While travelling, a blinding light shone around him and a voice from heaven – Jesus’ voice – spoke. Saul’s fixed ideas about Jesus were suddenly shattered.

Resolving the tension: Saul / Paul was blinded but led to Damascus where a Christian was sent to help him understand what had happened, baptise him and heal him. 

Resolution: Instead of persecuting Christians, Saul / Paul became a famous Christian missionary.

Isn’t that an inspiring story? My story is nothing like that. 

NOT a famous ‘conversion narrative’

Like me, the early church leader, Timothy, did not have a compelling story of coming to faith in Jesus.

Timothy’s story of coming to faith in Jesus was more of a gently rising line than an arc. Consider this: 

The start:  Once upon a time, a baby boy, Timothy, was born to a fervent Christian woman.

Rising tension: As Timothy matured into a young man, he demonstrated through his life that he accepted the faith of his mother and grandmother as his own.

Crisis: What crisis? 

The apostle Paul would later write to this young leader, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.” (2 Timothy 1:5 NIV)  When Paul first met Timothy, the young man was already known as ‘a disciple’ … a disciple “whose mother was Jewish and a believer but whose father was a Greek. The believers … spoke well of him….” (Acts 16:1,2 NIV).

Timothy’s ‘conversion narrative’ didn’t have the ‘narrative arc’ of a good story. 

Timothy had some good stories, mind you, of how God worked in his life – just not stories of how he became a disciple of Jesus. There was the time that Paul laid hands on him and God did something special in his life (2 Timothy 1:6). Then there was the time that Paul circumcised Timothy to pacify overly sensitive Jews (Acts 16:3). There is lots to learn from these stories. 

“Tell me the story of how you came to saving faith in Jesus,” someone might have asked Timothy. I wonder if he ever wished for a story more akin to that of the passionate apostle Paul than his own.

A wish not granted

When I was younger, I used to wish for an impressive ‘testimony’ to tell people about how I came to saving faith in Jesus. But God saw fit to deny me my wish. 

As I listen to the stories of people I am currently talking with for my study purposes, my heart aches. Many have experienced chapters of abandonment and despair in their life stories. Life can be cruel. Thank God that he turned their lives around, often by surrounding them with his people who loved and supported them.

In contrast, my story is more like Timothy’s. Raised in a loving home, taught to know and love God from infancy, my story was ‘boring’. “God has no grandchildren,” adults would say at the time. As a child, then, I made a personal commitment to Jesus, and tried to tell my little friends at school about it the next day. Being a good Baptist girl, there was a church service some years later in which I was immersed in water as a public declaration of my decision to follow Jesus. 

That was my story. There wasn’t any real crisis or point of desperate need. It’s not a gripping story.

My heritage is godly. My childhood was calm. And now, as I look back on it, I am so very grateful.

Stories to tell

Having a boring ‘conversion narrative’ does not mean that I don’t have a good story to tell. On the contrary – I have decades worth of stories to tell of God’s gentle transforming work in my life, of his generous provision to me, and of ways he has ‘shown up’ in quite special ways here and there. You probably do too.

Some of those stories from recent years appear on this blog site, and others are on the blog I kept through my cancer journey several years ago now. I hope they encourage and challenge you, a reader. The telling of these tales certainly helps me. 

Stories are powerful. People forget facts … at least I do … but stories with strong characters and an interesting plot linger. 

May God use our stories to encourage and challenge other people, just as he uses the stories of others to build us up. 

Does anyone have a testimony to share? Let’s be story tellers.

Do you know the woman who scurries in a few minutes after a meeting starts, keys jangling in her hand, an unzipped handbag bulging, forehead furrowed, frazzled? 

“What happened?” you ask, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I had a bad run getting here,” she explains. “The traffic lights were almost all against me, plus I got stuck behind a big truck, and also the school zones slowed me down because it is 9am, and, well, I’m sorry I’m late.” She takes a deep breath, then breathes out slowly and steadily, trying her best to settle and focus.

You feel sorry for her the first time. And the second. But after that, it becomes somewhat predictable. Oh, yes, she is stressed. But she has done it to herself. You wonder why she just doesn’t leave home a few minutes earlier. 

That woman is me. 

An encounter at the gym

I arrived at the gym just a little later than I should have last week. The ladies gym I attend closes at 6pm on Fridays. I arrived at 5.33pm, frazzled. Each workout takes half an hour … ideally.

Usually I race through my exercises, cutting half a minute here and there. I always squeeze in the strength exercises and vow to make up the aerobic bits later.

This time, however, I chatted to a friend there. A wise friend. A friend who recognised something she has been reading up on lately.

“Have you heard of an urgency addiction?” she asked. 

Really? An addiction?

‘Addiction’ sounds bad. It’s not like a proclivity to procrastinate hurts anybody else. It’s not in the same category as, say, an addiction to illegal behaviour-altering substances. 

I suggested this to my friend. “Sometimes our procrastination does impact those with whom with collaborate on projects,” she replied. “It certainly impacts our own well-being and work. Anyhow, there are deeper issues to be probed which lead to this procrastination that generates urgency. Urgency addiction can be deeply rooted.” 

My friend then recommended a book which I won’t quote at the moment because I have not yet read it. It’s coming in the mail. I am looking forward to reading it. No doubt I will write more about this topic then.

And, by the way, of course an addiction to urgency is not in the same category as addictions which lead to violence, crime and ruin. That is, if procrastination even is an ‘addiction to urgency’…..

I use deadlines to my advantage. At the same time, life would be simpler and saner if I could just start things earlier. 

This blog post is my way of exploring the concept. 

A healthy lifestyle

It’s costing me $20 a week for eight weeks. It’s money well spent. 

I am paying to be part of a community which is holding me accountable to meet daily deadlines for what I want to do anyhow. Every day, I will walk 10,000 steps (except Sundays), eat healthily and track what I eat. Every week, I will do four sessions of easy strength training exercises at the gym. 

I’ve done this before and it worked then. It will work again this time. 

It’s really important to be healthy – obviously. It’s comfortable and convenient to be in good shape. Nutritious food is delicious, but having it easily accessible at home just takes a little bit of planning and preparation. Walking for pleasure is refreshing. 

So why do I need to part with financial resources to do what I want to do anyhow? 

For some reason, without the accountability that comes with community, I procrastinate. 

And so I’m leveraging my possible addiction to urgency to make me live a healthy lifestyle … for eight weeks, at least. 

Academic pursuits

I get a thrill as I enter the deadlines for essays, presentations and reading assignments into my diary. Yet the night before the deadline I invariably I ask myself, “Why didn’t I start this earlier?”

This past week we had three days of classes. They were very good. At the same time, the truth is that what I find most beneficial is being forced to read and reflect on material that is relevant to my work. 

Do I need to enrol for classes and write essays to make myself read and think?

Apparently I do.

Again, I am leveraging that possible addiction to urgency to do what I want to do anyhow.

Searching for a solution

So what is the solution to my procrastination problem? Can I enjoy a healthy, productive life without constantly setting semi-artificial deadlines? Life would be simpler if I could.

There are plenty of practical resources out there. I have read books about making lists, setting priorities, tracking how I use that precious resource of time and more. I have productivity apps on my phone. I even use some of them. Yet still I procrastinate. 

I don’t know the specifics yet but suspect that the solution lies in getting to the root of WHY I procrastinate. What is behind this possible ‘addiction to urgency’? 

Identifying those factors will take some work. I shall put that off for another day. 

Okay… it may sound like I am procrastinating … but the book hasn’t arrived in the mail yet. And I have a few other things on my plate just now. And now that I have publicly written about it, I have created some accountability too. 

In the meantime, naming the issue is halfway to finding a solution. My wise friend is probably right … I think it likely is an addiction to urgency. 

Naming it enables me to recognise it and to address it.

Stepping up

As I draft this blog post, it is 7.35pm on a Saturday evening. 

I have 5047 steps to go before I reach my 10,000 step target. That equates to 50 minutes on the cross trainer or stomping around my living room. Most evenings this week I have ended up doing a mixture of both.

My FitBit links me with several others doing the same healthy lifestyle challenge and they will know if I don’t make our shared deadline. Regular exercise has gone from being important to also becoming quite urgent. I need that sense of urgency to motivate me. I’m grateful for it. 

At the same time, I’m hoping very much over the coming weeks to get insights into this ‘urgency addiction’ and … possibly … step by step, to overcome it. 

Watch this space.

—————————–

PS After finishing the first draft of this blog post and before posting it, I completed the 10k step goal by leveraging that sense of urgency. It feels good.

As I write, it is the day before Easter Sunday. Just six days ago, it was Palm Sunday, and I wrote a ‘backyard meditation’ post. It was set in an Australian suburb in the 21st century. In that post, I said that ‘psalms, palms and prophecy were significant.’ However, I didn’t elaborate at the time due to space limitations.

Today I am thinking back to a very different time and place. In my imagination, I have tried to go back to first century Jerusalem. In this post, I reflect on the significance of psalms, palms and prophecy that first Palm Sunday.

I wonder what devastated followers like Mary, Martha, Susanna, Joanna, Mary the mother of Jesus and others were thinking that first Easter Saturday. Less than a week earlier, they had reason to think that Jesus was entering Jerusalem as the Messiah, the victorious king. Yet within days he was crucified, a sign over his head aptly proclaiming that he was ‘King of the Jews’.

Imagine now, as you read the rest of this post, the voice and perspective of one of the women who had followed Jesus. At just one point, though, as the modern woman penning this blog post, I will insert a note of explanation in italics.

Psalms

“Hosanna,” we shouted joyfully last week. ‘Hosanna’ is a Hebrew word meaning, ‘Save us.’

Salvation … that’s what we thought was happening. We thought that the time had come when Jesus’ true identity as God’s Messiah would be revealed. We had thought that this procession was the prelude to our salvation.

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD,” we yelled with all our energy as we followed the donkeys, mother and foal, carrying our Lord.

The words we cried came directly from one of our psalms.

O LORD, save us (literally ‘Hosanna’);
O LORD, grant us success.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD.
From the house of the LORD we bless you.
The LORD is God,
and he has made his light shine upon us.
With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession
up to the horns of the altar.

Psalm 118:25-26 NIV

The psalm is beautiful and full of hope. It is all about God’s goodness, love and salvation. We thought that the time had come for its fulfilment…..

The first sign that things weren’t going as we had expected was that horrible pause along the way. When Jerusalem came into view, Jesus stopped and sobbed. He said some dreadful things about Jerusalm’s future destruction. And the children … oh, the children…….. “Dashed to the ground,” he declared.

My heart felt like a knife had penetrated it. I determined to convince my son to send the grandchildren far from Jerusalem.

Somewhat subdued, we kept going towards the Temple, its gold exterior reflecting the sunlight. Once we reached it, Jesus didn’t go straight to the altar, like the Psalmist had suggested. No, he actually stopped in the Court of the Gentiles, which is part of the Temple, but not where the altar is located. Traders there were selling sacrificial animals and exchanging currencies. The Messiah pushed the traders roughly towards the exits, shouting, “It is written, ‘My house will be a house of prayer’, but you have made it a den of robbers.”

“My house……” What do you think that was about? He often aligned himself with our God. That’s what led to his subsequent arrest, actually.

There is so much to ponder, as I look back on last week’s procession.

I think about the psalm from which we had been quoting. The ancient Hebrew is sometimes translated as “With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession up to the horns of the altar,” (Psalm 118:27b NIV). But perhaps it would be better translated as, “Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar!” (Psalm 118:27b ESV). What sacrifice? How would it be bound to the altar? With cords? Boughs?

Are we missing something? There is another phrase in that same Psalm that I can’t help but think must be significant in light of all that has happened this Passover. “The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone….” (Psalm 118:22)

We had thought that this was the beginning of the end. And so it was. But it wasn’t the end we had anticipated.

Palms

We all waved palm branches last week and laid them on the road, too, along with our cloaks. Palm branches symbolise victory in our culture.

We carried them all the way to the Court of the Gentiles, there in the temple. That’s where we left them.

Victory…..

What followed was anything but victorious, it seemed.

PS from Suzanne: Years later, as an old Christian lady, our first century Jewish woman would have learned of another crowd waving palm branches before Jesus. The vision was given to John by the risen Christ. John wrote it up and sent it around the churches to encourage them to persevere in the waiting. John would write:

… there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice,
“Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb.”

Revelation 7:9-10

Prophecy

When I saw Jesus sitting on the donkey last week, with the colt by its side, how could I not think of the words of the prophet Zechariah? In fact, by being part of that procession into Jerusalem, I was fulfilling prophecy myself. Fancy that – me – an ordinary Jewish lady – fulfilling prophecy! Zechariah called for daughters of Zion to rejoice and to shout, and that’s exactly what I did.

Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!
Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
righteous and having salvation,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Zechariah 9:9

Just six days ago, the righteous king rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, a symbol of peace. I know. I was there. I rejoiced and shouted along with many other women. Salvation, the Psalmist promised, and salvation is what we were expecting.

But see what they did to our king…….

Two days ago, the Passover lambs were slaughtered. They killed our Saviour, our Messiah and king, that same day. The day the sun went dark. The day the earth shook. The day the curtain in the Temple split from top to bottom. The day that changed the world.

And now, I wait.

Waiting

I wait for the Sabbath to finish so that I can go with some of the other women to put spices on his precious broken body.

We don’t know yet how we will get into Joseph’s tomb, which is where they have laid him. There is an enormous rock blocking the entrance, plus Roman guards. But we must try.

Perhaps God will make a way. After all, Jesus was, in some mysterious way, in very nature God himself.

A week ago we happily marched into Jerusalem behind the King of Peace, who was riding on a donkey. We waved palm branches. We shouted psalms. We fulfilled prophecy. We expected salvation.

And now, broken hearted, we wait.

We wait for Sunday.

It’s Palm Sunday, as I write. But this Australian woman just doesn’t ‘get it’ when it comes to the tremendous symbolism behind the Palm Sunday story. 

How do you even go about getting palm fronds to lay on a road to a city? Were first century Israeli palms not as tall as palm trees growing amongst gums in backyards in my neighbourhood? Can you imagine trying to access the top of this solitary palm tree (photographed on Palm Sunday), let alone cutting down enough fronds to line a street?

Something I am more familiar with is the brand new green growth of peace lilies, which have once again emerged from the ground. There is a photo below. This is an annual miracle in my somewhat neglected backyard. I am already dreaming of showy white flowers in the drab shady corner behind my unit. That dream will become a reality in a few months time. 

Yes, I know … peace lilies aren’t officially ‘lilies’. And the white flowery bits aren’t officially ‘flowers’. The actual flowers are so tiny I never even notice them on the central fleshy yellow bit. The white hoods are more like a leaf. Whatever they are, I love them. Not everything is as it seems. Peace lilies are a bit of a mystery to me, but I can live with mystery.

Were Jesus to explain the symbolism of Palm Sunday to an Australian women like me, far removed from first century Israel in terms of time and place, I wonder if he would point to the corner of my backyard instead of to palms, psalms and prophecy.

The first Palm Sunday in Israel

Our Lord entered Jerusalem on a young donkey. The road was strewn with cloaks and palm leaves. People praised God and joyfully recited a Jewish Psalm. 

None of that makes any sense to me. I understand that these things happened, of course, but don’t understand the significance behind them. 

For sure all this was very significant. The events are recorded in each of the four gospels. The boughs from trees … the young donkey … the timing of it being just days before the Passover … the cloaks … the chants of the crown … it was all hugely symbolic.

I don’t intend to unpack that symbolism in this blog post. It’s important, I know, but I don’t have the space to do it justice. Not if I want to rabbit on about my peace lily shoots, anyhow.

I would like to suggest that these green hope-filled shoots can remind Christians like me of the wonder and hope of Palm Sunday and of all that this coming ‘Holy Week’ will hold. Let me explain.

Peace lilies – symbolism in ‘my’ culture

In my culture, peace lilies symbolise peace, purity and rebirth. 

‘Peace’ is part of their name, of course. They provide a steady calm presence, without the frills and flutter of many other flowers. 

‘Purity’ is related to their colour. They are pure white. 

As for ‘rebirth’, peace lilies are often given to grieving relatives to express sympathy, so florists tell us. They are not only elegant without being colourful and inappropriately cheerful, but they also symbolise rebirth. I can understand that, having witnessed the miracle of ‘rebirth’ year after year in my own backyard. 

A Christian interpretation of peace lilies’ symbolism

Jesus’ death and resurrection brought peace – peace between God and us, and peace between one another. The Apostle Paul wrote at length about that. (See, for example, Ephesians 2:14-22.) Peace lilies can remind us of this precious peace. 

Jesus’ death and resurrection was only effective because Jesus was pure. The Old Testament is full of the nasty imagery of sacrifice. A lamb or goat or bird that was without blemish was killed as a picture of the innocent taking the place of the guilty. Jesus fulfilled all that. I hate such distasteful imagery. Give me a pretty white flower any day. 

Yes, yes, I know … like it or hate it, the atonement is a key element of our salvation. It may be distasteful but so is sin. I am eternally grateful that God’s perfect Son became a sacrifice on our behalf. 

Rebirth is not a term I like to use, given how confusing it can be to people who believe in reincarnation. The rise of Buddhist elements in popular Australia culture, however, is probably exactly why the term ‘rebirth’ is now associated with peace lilies.

In any case, like it or not, ‘rebirth’ assumes the horror of death. Let peace lilies remind us of that.

As followers of Jesus, we have a tremendous hope of resurrection and life eternal. Unlike the peace lily plants which die back then reshoot year after year in the back corner of my garden however, Jesus only died and rose again once. One life – one death – one resurrection. And what a blessed hope that provides for those of us who follow him. 

Now and not yet

My backyard peace lily plants are poking their green heads through the soil and growing fast, but the glory of those blazingly white flower-like sheaths are still months away. Such glory is present, somehow, in those green shoots, but it is far from visible yet. Now and not yet … that’s my peace lilies.

‘Now and not yet’ is an aspect of faith, too, that frustrates Christians like me no end. Our hope of eternal salvation is sure and it is great … but in many ways it is still our hope and not our reality. We are already saved … and yet our earthly bodies still age and decay. We are already transformed … and yet the process of transformation is long and arduous. We are already purified … and yet we have reason to confess ungodly thoughts, attitudes and actions over and over again.

Contextualisation

No, I don’t really understand the symbolism of the king’s entry into Jerusalem on a donkey two millennia ago on the other side of the world. 

Perhaps Jesus could explain aspects of it to this Australian woman in terms of the peace lily plants growing in her backyard though. Yes, I know – peace lilies are not actually lilies. They’re a bit of a mystery, but a beautiful mystery I accept with joy. 

In fact, much of the Easter story, including the significance of the Palm Sunday events, is a mystery to me. That’s fine. I can live with mystery. Understand it or not, I am extremely grateful for the hope offered through Jesus … a hope that impacts us now and yet there is so much more to come.

Here ends another backyard meditation.

‘The main thing is that the main thing remains the main thing.’ 

Whenever I hear this phrase, I always think of the principal of the Bible College I attended in Sydney in 1992 and 1993.  He used to often remind us enthusiastic young people of this truth. I heard him preach here in Melbourne a couple of years ago, and broke into a smile when he again exhorted this middle-aged woman (and others) to keep the main thing as the main thing. His words and even the impassioned tone of his voice brought me right back to those special years of preparation for a life of ministry.

He’s right. The main thing IS that the main thing remains the main thing. 

But what is the main thing? 

The question

Back in Jesus’ day, an expert in Jewish Law asked exactly the same question. 

The air was thick with tension that day. Jesus had been rubbing those religious leaders up the wrong way, to put it mildly. You can read about it in Matthew 21 and 22. The leaders had quizzed him on contentious issues of money and theology, and Jesus’ answers had been wise and impressive, though not flattering. 

An expert in the Law, surely one who knew what we call ‘the Old Testament’ inside and out, tested Jesus with this question:  “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” (Matthew 22:36 NIV).

The answer

Jesus’ answer was short and to the point. 

Quoting the Law of Moses, he replied, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” (Deuteronomy 6:5, quoted in Matthew 22:37 NIV)

Then he added a second quote. “Love your neighbour as yourself.” (Leviticus 19:18, quoted in Matthew 22:39 NIV).

“All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments,” added the Teacher. (See Matthew 22:40 NIV).

There was a lot more detail in the Law and the Prophets, but this summed it up: Love God and love your neighbour. 

That was the main thing. 

A follow up question

“Who is my neighbour?” Jesus was asked on a different occasion by another religious leader. (Or perhaps it was the same religious leader but the story was told from a different perspective.)

Space does not permit me to retell the story of the Good Samaritan in this blog post. You can read it in Luke 10:29-37. Interestingly, Jesus reworded the question from ‘Who is my neighbour?’ to ‘Who was a neighbour to the afflicted Jew?’ 

In summary, the Good Samaritan was a neighbour to the helpless Jew, because he showed mercy to he injured man. Jesus contrasts this with a priest and a Levite who refused to show mercy and actually went out of their way to avoid the poor victim.

Something tells me that story would not have gone down well with the religious leaders to whom the story was directed. But that, too, is another story for another blog post. 

Different setting, same answer

Two millennia later in a different part of the world, we are currently asking ourselves a similar question. What is ‘the main thing’? 

Churches today are dealing with a plethora of tricky issues. 

Theology is as complex in our ever-changing world as it was in first century Israel. Today, churches can be divided by our understanding on matters … important matters … matters such as ‘marriage equality’ or to what degree the church should submit to the state. 

Money is as contentious an issue as it ever was, especially when churches become big and powerful. Consider some of the media reports about misuse of funds in mega churches in recent years. 

And then there is the all-too-frequent abuse of power, as current an issue now as it was back in Jesus day. Our media is quick to pick up on that whenever it comes to light. 

All these things must be addressed. Doctrine – integrity – church governance – they are important. Yet against this backdrop of confusion and concern, I remember my college principal’s words of advice. 

“The main thing is that the main thing remains the main thing.” 

But what is the main thing? 

Imagine….

Imagine now some modern church leaders coming before our Lord. Can you picture the delegation of leaders? There is a modern, casually dressed pastor; a robed priest standing solemnly; a Pacific Islander, swaying to hummed music; a Korean gentleman bowing respectfully; and many more. 

They may have many questions, just like those first century religious leaders did. 

I hope very much that Jesus would not need to speak such damning words to them as he did to those religious leaders in the Biblical records. 

“What, Master, is most important?” I imagine a West African leader asking this question.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind and with all your strength. And love your neighbour as yourself,” our Lord would reply. (I wonder what language and what accent he would use?)

I am confident that Jesus’ answer would not have changed, because, being in very essence God, he does not change. 

Application

Loving God is obvious, though challenging to keep at the forefront of our minds when life is busy. Loving our neighbour is a little more complex. 

Who is our neighbour? 

What does it mean to love our neighbour? 

Jesus would not likely tell the story of the Good Samaritan to this group. Our times are different and he would find something more relevant to the 21st century. I wonder what characters would be in his story? The truth has not changed, even if the times have. 

We must welcome ‘people with problems’ into our communities and love them well. We don’t want to be like those self-righteous religious leaders about whom Jesus was so scathing. 

There will be times when that is not convenient and possibly not even safe. Wisdom will be needed. But loving them and praying for such people is non-negotiable. My own church experienced this first-hand recently. That’s a story not suited to a public blog post. Suffice to say that loving our neighbours can be messy. 

The main thing

The main thing is that the main thing remains the main thing. 

May our eternal, unchanging Father grant us all that we need to love him with everything that is in us, and to love our neighbours as ourselves. 

For that is the main thing. 

In the midst of our complex and often stressful communities, may it remain the main thing.