pause

It's been a while since I blogged: my grandmother died last week, and between the sadness and the funeral I haven't had much energy for reflection. I hope to get back to regular posting later in the week. Bear with me, kind readers!

Missions and Empire

For those of you interested in the history of missions and/or the British Empire, I've posted a review of a recent book on the subject over at Think Tank. It's a great book - check it out.

church and state

Australian church leaders across the theological spectrum have come out over the last couple of weeks to criticise the Government's plan to 'reform' industrial relations legislation. Cue hostile response from the Government. The Age today contains a terrific editorial on the whole kerfuffle.

fuel

Earlier this year I realised that for a long time I had been running on fear. Fear of letting people down, fear of being hurt badly like I have been before, fear of things falling apart and it being my fault. Last week someone I really respect told me she felt like she was running on guilt. Fear and guilt, powerful fuels - they'll drive you a long, long way and keep you going when you feel like nothing else could. It's impossible to think how you'd survive without them - how could any other fuel be as effective? When I admitted that I was afraid to live without fear (heh!), my counsellor suggested 'love' might be as powerful as fear. I almost laughed. Love?? How could that drive me so far and so hard? Perhaps the answer is, it wouldn't.
We've been pushing ourselves too hard again lately, so this weekend we didn't do much. I slept. Watched a great movie. Sat under a tree and read the latest P D James novel. Didn't answer the phone. Today I feel like I'm actually looking at people, listening to what they're saying, caring what they feel. I've written some paragraphs and I like them. I've said no several times to the inner voice telling me to do things that aren't really necessary but add to my feeling of being useful to people. Running on love might be a bit like this.

listening, reading

Two exciting arrivals in yesterday's post.
Sufjan Steven's new album 'Come on and Feel the Illinoise' arrived from Asthmatic Kitty Records. It's been given rave reviews by the likes of Rolling Stone, and I'd say all the raving is justified. I've played it three times since it arrived, and it's exhilarating listening. And not just because of the prevalence of the banjo! It's about Illinois, which apparently is all about the spirit, death, serial killers, stepmothers, road trips and zombies. I can't possibly do it justice, but I look forward to telling the next generation that I listened to early Sufjan.

Another welcome arrival was the latest edition of Zadok. Having read a couple of similar publications from outside Australia, I'm convinced that Zadok publishes some of the more thoughtful and informed Christian writing around. This edition is on the environment, and also includes two views on the religious vilification laws and some interesting reviews. Though I have to disagree with the reviewer who thinks the latest Harry Potter is the best so far... surely not!

Kashmir

Like anyone with access to the news, my mind has been much on the disaster on the Indian subcontinent this week. Half my life ago, my family visited Kashmir in one of the very brief spells of relative peace that the region has experienced in decades of conflict. It was a long journey - my brothers and I travelling up from our boarding school in South India, my parents coming west from Bangladesh to meet us. Then another overnight train north to Srinagar.

I had been imbibing M M Kaye novels and arrived in Kashmir with the most inflated expectations of adventure and romance. For once, life surpassed imagination. We stayed in an ornately carved houseboat on the Dal Lake. I remember sitting on the roof, sipping chai, writing in my diary, with the snow-capped mountains reflected in the still water. Later we spent a few days in elaborate, wooden-floored tents up in the hills. The only place I've ever seen fields of flowers. Icy streams ran through carefully constructed stone channels, the force of the water turning tiny mill wheels. One day we went pony riding, and out on one of the roads we were passed by a Kashmiri man on horseback. He was the essence of M M Kaye's romantic heroes - bright blue eyes in a fierce olive face, a curved knife hanging from his belt, galloping past on a mountain pony. My thirteen-year-old heart nearly stopped!

After we left, the hostilities resumed. For years afterwards my parents received plaintive letters from tourist operators in Kashmir, whose livelihoods were being destroyed by the conflict. With kidnappings and bombings in the news, the houseboats on the lake and the tents in the hills were empty. And now this new horror. So much beauty, so much blood.

month of miyazaki

If you have not yet seen it, rush out and watch Howl's Moving Castle. It is Hayao Miyazaki's latest film, and just delightful. The storyline is a bit weak in places (particularly towards the end) but the animation is enchanting as always. Miyazaki is unusual among anime artists in having strong female characters, and this film is no exception. (I could rant here about the tendency among anime artists and science fiction authors to assume that the two defining characteristics of life in the future/parallel universes will be the extraordinary technology and the skimpiness of women's attire, but I will desist.) Along with the Miyazaki fest on SBS, this release makes for a month of quality viewing.

monday's Hot Tip

I share this tip for free, because I care:
If you are really hungry, and the only food you have in your desk is a large packet of wasabi peas, do not, I repeat DO NOT scoff three quarters of the packet in an attempt to stave off starvation.
Trust me on this.

For Those in Peril at the Shops

Today we are heading to a large local shopping centre. We go in some trepidation: large shopping centres are comparable to the lower circles of hell in my estimation. It has prompted me to think about writing a selection of really useful prayers for situations such as this, which clearly put one's soul in danger. (Other obvious examples would be For One about to Switch on the Television, For One Considering Drinking a Third Glass of Merlot, For all Those Writing their CVs and Tempted to Stretch the Truth). Anyway, here's a prayer For Those in Peril at the Shops.

Lord God Almighty, these shops and all that is in them are part of your creation: fallen, but not without the value that exists in all you have made. Be near us as we venture into them.

Deliver us from the worship of nice things; from the temptation to find our meaning in consumption; from the envy of supermodels; from the coveting of our neighbour's clothes, lounge suite, haircut or sound system.
Deliver us from the exhaustion of shopping; from unkindness towards shop assistants; from hatred of teenagers; from the over-consumption of mud cake in an attempt to cope with the endless walking around.

Give us clear purpose, strength of will, discernment, and charity towards others, even those people who waylay us to attempt to convince us to sign up for another credit card.

Remind us, amidst the bright promises of happiness that this place offers that yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

taking responsibility

Yesterday evening Andrew and I enjoyed a chat and a drink with one of our asylum seeker friends, who I have written about elsewhere. Our friend is living down the road from us in a house with a wonderful view of the water, so we sat on the verandah together and watched the sun go down. Mid-conversation, he collected the mail and discovered a letter from the Department of Immigration, addressed to him. Just seeing the envelope had an appalling effect on him. He was obviously terrified, tried to collect himself, but opening the letter was a fierce act of will. It was, thank God, about an unimportant matter. He tried to laugh about it.

I reflected on that experience this morning when I read that the report into the case of Vivian Alvarez Solon has been released. Ms Solon is an Australian citizen who was deported as an 'illegal immigrant', while extremely badly injured, to the Philippines. There she was abandoned to the care of a charity for years. Her case is only one example of the contempt, hostility and abuse that has characterised the Department of Immigration's treatment of those deemed 'illegal'. You might think that the Ministers in charge of this Department over the last few years would bear responsibility. But apparently not. Both the relevant Ministers have made it clear that they feel no responsibility whatsoever for what has happened. Neither will suffer any consequences for the misery that has been inflicted on our friend and thousands of others.

Here is the wonderful Michelle Grattan really losing her temper about it all.

mobible

Hot on the heels of the reader's digest Bible comes the news that you can now SMS the Bible (or little bits of it) courtesy of the Bible Society. It's not a bad idea, but I am reminded of C.S. Lewis's point that the less we Westerners read the Bible, the more we seem to publish it (or come up with new ways of disseminating it). Awfully handy for prooftexting, though.
This reminds me of Andrew's long-standing plan to start a pub called Religion and Politics. It will feature nice beer, comfy chairs and permission (possibly a requirement) to discuss interesting and controversial issues. The coasters will be printed with brief suggestions for discussion topics, such as "Free market or regulation?', 'Kim Beazley: visionary or deep disappointment?', 'The Pope?'
You can see how much fun it would be. Andrew wants to employ PhD students to serve the beer, and then if people get stuck on points of fact (what was the deal with the Reformation? what does the IMF do?) the PhD students can leap to their aid. The ability to SMS for a quick Bible text would be just the thing. Lots of in-depth exegesis over the beer, I'm sure.

change

I've been thinking about change. One of the organisations that Andrew has to do with has adopted the slogan 'Change is Goodness'. Yes, really. Change is Goodness. Change is Goodness. Change is Goodness. Whichever way you think about it, if you think about it at all, it is a ridiculous statement. And yet it represents a fairly powerful theme in much of postmodern culture. To be flexible, to be on the move, to be able to change anything you like about yourself or your situation... that is goodness. To be unable to adapt, to be tied down by commitments, to find yourself stuck with certain aspects of your personality or your circumstances... that is intolerable.

Oddly, that emphasis on the positive nature of change accompanies a fascination with traditions of all kinds that often have their roots in thousands of years of not changing, of doing the same thing again and again and again. So I regard my tradition with the deepest suspicion and contempt, while thinking longingly of the wisdom stored up by those Tibetan monks in their remote mountain monastery. Where, as John Safran showed us, you get beaten with a stick if you don't do things the same way everyone else does.

I don't say all that as the prequel to a diatribe about Young People These Days. I'm all for positive change, for flexibility, for openness to the perspective of the Other. But I'm really conscious of the stability that comes from not changing. My grandparents (who are very openminded, thoughtful, intellectually adventurous people) have lived in the same house and gone to the same church for over fifty years. That staying-still, that refusal to change just because change might be interesting or immediately attractive, has been a stable and restful centre for the family. I think that more and more, our society will be desperate for such centres.

Here's what I want. To put down roots, and to refuse to change just for the sake of it. To be open to new ideas, and to refuse to refuse change just for the sake of it. To work by a tentative slogan, such as 'Change might be Goodness'.