Jesus, what on earth are you doing?

While he was saying this, a synagogue leader came and knelt before him and said, “My daughter has just died. But come and put your hand on her, and she will live.” Jesus got up and went with him, and so did his disciples. Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment. When Jesus entered the synagogue leader’s house and saw the noisy crowd and people playing pipes,” (Matthew 9:18–23, NIV)

Ask yourself: Where am I in this story?

Me? I find myself in the crowd, watching intently, excited about what might happen, looking on as Jesus indicates he’s about to do something special for Jairus and his daughter. I follow with the crowd as Jesus heads toward the official’s home.

Then: what?! Jesus is looking through the crowd – seems to be looking for someone, and he can’t find them. What has happened? What’s going on? Who’s he looking for? And why?

And Jairus is a walking machine! He hasn’t even realised Jesus has stopped – he’s striding ahead by some 20 or 30 metres, before he even realises Jesus isn’t following him anymore. What the…??

Doesn’t he know how sick my daughter is? Did he miss my exasperation? Doesn’t he get it? Didn’t he say he would follow me? Doesn’t he realise she’s dying? What on earth is he doing now, stuffing around in the crowd?

There it is. Confusion. Anger. Frustration.

How often have I felt this? That Jesus is somehow missing in (my) action? That I doubt he’s with me, or not fully cognizant of what’s actually going on in my life? Why isn’t he do it what, just a moment ago, he seemed so clearly to say that he would do?

There’s nothing happening to me – or you – today that Jesus is anxoius about.

Amidst all of my anger, confusion and possible questioning of God, I see Jesus in this story – and he is not flustered at all. Not. At. All. He is sovereign, and he has me perfectly and mysteriously in his hand.

I might think he’s making poor decisions (actually, phrasing that sounds as ridiculous and faithless as it actually is) I may not understand, and I may not accept what’s going on. But Jesus has it – me – everything – in hand. I may be bothered. I may be confused. I may be worried or afraid.

But not Jesus. There’s nothing happening to me – or you – today that Jesus is anxious about.

He has me in his hand, and what he does will bring brother grace and healing and restoration to those who maybe frustrating me. And he will bring that same grace and healing to those around me who are in such great need.

How do we party while the bush burns?

It was just a little uncomfortable watching fireworks over Sydney Harbour while people were facing a bushfire apocalypse.  The fireworks were sensational – I can understand why people travel halfway around the globe just to see them. But a few hundred kilometres to the south people were sheltering on beaches and in boats while a firestorm consumed their towns, their homes, tens of thousands of hectares of forest, and – at this stage – eight human lives. So, while millions people were in awe on the harbour many others were in fear while the bush exploded around them.

Some called for the fireworks to be scrapped altogether. While I understand that call I also understand why the Sydney Harbour celebrations were allowed to continue. Cancelling may have saved several million dollars, which some say could have been used for fire relief. In truth the money was spent months ago when the contract was signed. Cancelling the display in the event of catastrophic conditions would have resulted in an insurance claim, not a net saving. Cancelling the event would also have cost the NSW economy $150m in lost revenue, and perhaps put some people out of business.

So cancelling would not have helped much. Even so, there are a few things which could have been done differently.

Some $2m was raised on the night to aid those who have been impacted by the fire. Great result. But imagine how different it may have been if the civic leaders had specifically suggested that all adult attenders give at least $20 to the appeal? Some people might have found that hard – fair enough – it would not have been compulsory. Others could have given more. But a specific “ask” is always helpful. Who knows, doing it that way maybe $20m could have been raised on the night.

Also, the Prime Minister received some criticism for having some friends at Kirribilli House for a box seat fireworks viewing opportunity. He’s the Prime Minister, of course, and he’ll be criticised for anything. But what if he’d asked some cameras in, and just before the fireworks display, encouraged all Australians them to give the the Appeal? What if his guests had all dug deep on the night and raised their own sum for the appeal?

That would have been a great display of leadership and empathy. I think something like that would have pulled our country together even more, and the millions of people not affected by the extreme fire events would have been drawn closer to the thousands that are facing unimaginable terror. Australia would have been left with an enduring message of solidarity in a time of massive destruction and fear.

So, yes, we cheered in the New Year. And we prayed. And we held the joy and hope of new beginning at the same time as holding fear and concern for others as the fires bear down on them.

God Says “It’s OK To Not Be OK”

This morning I read Psalm 88 again. When I say ‘again’, I mean it comes around regularly in my daily readings.

This Psalm always unnerves me. Sure, I t starts with a voice of praise, acknowledging God as the true rescuer, but that’s about the only positive thing we read. Heman, the writer, then takes us downstairs through trouble and difficulty into the lowest pit and the darkest depths (v.6). Heman reckons those dark times are no chance occurrence, or a string of bad luck. It’s confronting to hear him say all those terrible things are the work of God (v.6-8). I am not sure whether he’s got that right. Maybe he’s just trying to rationalise all the pain in his life and this is his best shot. Whatever the reason I can tell you it takes guts to say it the way he does.

Thankfully, I haven’t been through depression. I’ve seen some pretty torrid times, though. I don’t think anyone can do thirty something years in congregational ministry and not encounter some rejection, betrayal, and most certainly some tears. Don’t get me wrong: I love pastoral ministry, and generally it loved me. But there are valleys and sometimes they are very dark and very deep. And at those times it could be hard to get motivated, or to see the good things around me. I could get irritable and negative, too true. But I never felt depressed.

For plenty of people the Black Dog is a reality. From the little I understand, it can be ever present, very dark, and hard to shake. That’s where my mind goes when I read Psalm 88. The writer may well be depressed, and the comfort of God seems absent. He blames God for everything he’s experiencing. He calls out to God, but he doesn’t get any answer.

I wonder how God felt, hearing this cry in Ps 88? My best guess is that it wasn’t anger. Maybe more like heartbreak, or compassion, or He may have just sat with Heman in his black hole and wept with him.

God wanted us to know it’s OK to not be OK. That when we’re the un-ok-est of all, that he’s still with us. That we can weep, and rail against him, and shake our fist, turn our back, throw the kitchen sink at him, and he’s still there. Faithful and caring and loving as always.

If we believe what we say about the Scriptures, God also treasured these hard words of Heman, and preserved them for us to read. Perhaps God wanted us to know it’s OK to not be OK. That when we’re the un-ok-est of all, that he’s still with us. That we can weep, and rail against him, and shake our fist, turn our back, throw the kitchen sink at him, and he’s still there. Faithful and caring and embracing as always.

This is our God, right? He is with us through the the darkest valleys. He knows, the deepest valley of all is to be utterly forsaken and bereft of his nearness. He knows that because Jesus entered that darkness, and conquered it, we never have to go there. Not ever.

Heman, it may feel like he’s not there, that he doesn’t love you, that he’s throwing all hell at you. But really, he’s still with you, even when you can see him, or hear him, or feel him. It may seem like the darkness is your closest friend, but really, it’s God. He’s there, right there, in the darkness with you. He’s never going to let you go.

[I have to apologise for not hitting the blog that much. It’s been a time of adjustment. Hopefully I’ll be a little more regular now – Dave]

Marketing is broken. Can we fix it?

Marketing is broken. Can we fix it?

How does a Christian mission manage the challenge of marketing? Is it possible for Christian non-for-profits to avoid the pitfalls of presenting just another marketing ploy?

@Suansita shows great realism and sensitivity: we all need to present the need well and pray that generous people will respond, but we can bring some needed transformation to how we do that.

Read on…

⎯ suansita ⎯

Me and Marketing

To be honest, I would never have guessed that I’d end up with the word ‘Marketing’ in my job title. It reeks of big business.

Chances are, I’m not the only one who feels this way. See how many of the following statements you agree with:

Marketing is persuading you to buy things you don’t need.

Marketing is about getting you to open your purse strings.

Marketing is about generating hype out of nothing.

Marketing is about pretty packaging, style over substance.

Marketing is about stupid algorithms.

Marketing is annoying emails in your inbox that you never signed up for.

In short, marketing is a dirty word.

Yet as life would have it, here I am: a marketing professional.

justin-lim-757171-unsplash Photo credit: Justin Lim.

Let me nuance this by saying I’m in the marketing department of a nonprofit dedicated to ending modern-day slavery. But I often feel…

View original post 1,121 more words

Back in Black on the Backs of the Poor

Two things happened in last night’s budget speech. The first was that the Morrison Government made their pitch for re-election. In projecting a solid budget suprlus, the Coalition promised to put the economy back on track. This budget gushed with tax cuts, major infrastructure projects, small business incentives, energy assistance payments, much needed assistance to the States for health spending, and so on. Man, the plate was running over, and the Treasurer was beaming!

Frydenberg obviously relished his pumping refrain “…and we did all this without raising taxes”. I mean, it does look good, doesn’t it? Heading back to surplus, a reinvigorated Government, a better chance of success in the polls?

It was a good look, except for the world’s poorest.

Frydenberg’s refrain could easily have been “…and we’ve done all this without thinking about the world’s poorest.”

Last night’s budget would have done better to leave the foreign aid at its current levels. But it didn’t even do that. It cut another $121m out of our aid programs. Reduced it.

While we get tax cuts, a healthy surplus, and relief on our energy bills, we decided to do less for the world’s poorest.

“…and we’ve done all this without thinking about the world’s poorest.”

What we need to realise is that we could have increased our foreign aid contributions and still have done everything else last night.

We can relate to Micah’s Tim Costello lamenting, How much do we need to have before we can again be more compassionate? Our Aid budget is now the least generous we have ever been.

Read Micah’s full press release here

Last November, as 200 Micah volunteers met with Australian parliamentarians, we were told that the argument for a modest rise to Foreign Aid was compelling. That’s what Tony Abbott told us. And Josh Frydenberg. And numerous others in the coalition.  Today, those commitments count for nothing.

2019-04-03 (2)

There are many people who will believe last night’s Budget got it right. They’ll talk about how we have to look after our own first. Who hasn’t heard someone say the farmers need it more than someone overseas?

The reality is it’s not a matter of choosing whether to help the farmers or  an aid project. We have enough in the kitty now to help both. Even so, last night Australia said, “we’ll take more, and give the world’s poorest less.” Even though we are the richest nation per capita on the face of the earth. The richest. Giving less to the poor.

For those who follow Jesus this is unconscionable. Unthinking. Uncaring. UnChristian.

Jesus reminds us that we’re blessed when we love anyone in need. That it’s better to give than receive. That the heart of God is close to the poor, and those who better themselves at their expense will be held to account:

“Do not take advantage of the widow or the fatherless. If you do and they cry out to me, I will certainly hear their cry.” (Exodus 22:22–23, NIV)

It is hard to contemplate a family continuing to eat their roast dinner while they know people 10 houses down are at risk of their life. Shouldn’t they step in? Wouldn’t they want to? Wouldn’t you? Of course, any good neighbour would. Last night our leaders said that didn’t matter too much.

True: maybe we’re becoming less of what we really want to be. And Tim Costello is right: “This is not who we are as a nation.”

Living in Denial?

The parking ticket flapped against the windscreen. Didn’t notice it at first, but there it was, plain as day. I was not happy. I had filled the meter twice, and it still had time on it. Apparently this doesn’t wash in Melbourne CBD: you can fill the meter all day if you want, but if you don’t move your car before the meter first expires, it counts for nothing. Zip. Nada. But, hey, thanks for the money!

Nothing alerts you to this. No signs. No information on the meters. Maybe, as someone from out of town, you have to sniff those facts in the air. Perhaps that’s how you know. But I read nothing and sniffed nothing about it. And that slip of paper on the windscreen was still flapping around to prove the point.

I was pretty indignant. See: I thought I was in the clear. I know: ignorance of the law is no excuse. But I still wanted to deny my personal responsibility. We all do this. We blame what others have said and done. We blame circumstance. We blame the flippin’ dog. We will do anything to avoid acknowledging our own sin. Because once we yield, even a millimeter, we must also acknowledge that we have sinned against another. And then guilt moves in.

Let’s be adult about it: we wrong people all the time. We wrong ourselves – we don’t even have the ability to keep our own promises perfectly. We wrong our environment. We wrong God. This is all about our actions, thoughts and decisions. And beyond all of that, the Bible talks about sin in our nature: reminding us that sin goes right to the core of our personality. We’re born with this brokenness already in play: explaining why no toddler ever needs to be taught to be naughty. This deep human brokenness is the reason we can never leave sin behind.

Sin is that pervasive. Every person. Every action. Every aspect of life. Every corner of creation. It began as our first rebellion in the Garden turned the universe against God.

We can only wonder, then, that while God hates sin and rebellion so vehemently, he still wants to shower us with grace, forgiveness and a new beginning.  We know this through Jesus: the One through whom all things were created became the One who paid the rebellion’s penalty on the Cross. He is also the One through whom all things will be recreated. And the proof is the Cross, the Resurrection, his Rule, and his eventual Return.

That’s the thing about minimising your responsibility in sin: you also end up minimising why Jesus came, and how he died to bear the cost of your rebellion and bring you back to God. You end up shortchanging the wonder of the life he pours into you.

God, help me to be honest about the wrong in my life and my heart. I don’t want this denial to constrict my life; much less my joy. So let me leave these things behind, as much as I can, and help me instead to embrace a life of love, grace, humility and seeking the right. Let your good life overflow in me, let wash away all my denial, and let Jesus’ life be seen in all its joyful wonder.

 

Law and Freedom

Why would anyone say God’s law brings freedom? Isn’t true that most of us see laws as restrictive and burdensome?

Yesterday, my reading took me to the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20: the primary call to obedience for all humanity, but especially those who know and love God. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the Commands is the prologue:

And God spoke all these words: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.” (Exodus 20:1–2, NIV)

Before God breathes a single word of law, he wants us to know who he really is and what he really wants for us. “I am a rescuing God. I love you. I want you to thrive in freedom that honours me … and this is how you can do that.”

This is the frame God gives us for understanding his law. Perhaps even any law. God wants life to thrive in every context, for every person, no exceptions. Even foreigners, who may not know God, or care about him. Even itinerant, nomads, refugees, people who are different to “me” and “us” – God still wants them to rest and to thrive and to find fullness of life in him. Read through the commands, especially those about Sabbath, and you see that God even wants animals (and so, creation itself) to thrive and to rest.

The best life is found where people follow these commands, right? When there’s no murder, no deception in marriage, no thieving or corruption, no abuse of children, or women, or men. Who doesn’t want that?

God gave these laws to his people, sure, so that by living them they would find freedom. But also, so the nations around them would look at his people, and see how life might abound should they live his way. Even an imperfect, but largely compliant communal or national response to these commands would be evidence aplenty that God is loving, keen to rescue and save, one who brings redemption – even to us.