Reflections from the belly
The strong ones, the pillars, the rocks: you know who they are. They’re the people who stand firm through everything, and on whom so many depend. They hold families, churches, neighbourhoods and workplaces together; they manage their emotions for the sake of others; they support the ones who are struggling; they raise resilient kids. Continue reading “Prayer for the strong”
As the year draws to a close, many of us are engaging in the great December tradition of running harder than ever. Work is crazy-busy, and our calendars are filled with end-of-year deadlines, functions and events – so much so that some of us have already said we won’t be at church until February. As one person said a few years ago, “I barely have time to breathe in Advent, let alone reflect.” Continue reading “Psalms | God gives sleep to the beloved”
After two years of repeated shutdowns and a limited, restricted way of life, many of us have learned just how good this simpler life can be. Perhaps we have discovered how much we enjoy being with our families. Perhaps we have begun to notice the birds which inhabit our gardens, and their calls, their preferences and their patterns. Continue reading “Letting go and making room”
Small ghosts trail behind so many families, invisible to the naked eye or the quick hello.
Rena bustles around her son’s birthday party, passing food and welcoming guests. During a lull, we chat. ‘Did you ever think of having another child?’ I ask. ‘Oh, we did,’ she says, voice suddenly rough, ‘but he died. He was eight weeks old. He got an infection, it entered his heart, and he died.’ I place my hand on her shoulder; there are no words. Continue reading “Saints | Small ghosts, and how we remember them”
You may not have known him, but last week Sanctuary lost one of its ‘people of peace’: Jon Yaakov Gorr, known to many as Elephant. He was killed while riding his beloved bicycle in Allansford, and perhaps you have driven past him on his regular ride down Hopkins Point Road into Warrnambool. Continue reading “Saints | Farewell, Elephant: A Jewish man whose friendship was a gift to this Baptist pastor”
Sometimes, grief hurts like hell. You feel like nothing but a collection of jumpy jangling nerve endings. Or your chest aches; your stomach spins. Other times, you feel nothing at all. Or you forget for a while, then remember with a start. You’ll probably feel guilty. Continue reading “Luke | Blessed are those who grieve”
It is a truth less than universally acknowledged, that someone in your church will let you down. Maybe they’ll promise to do something, then fail to do it. Maybe they’ll say something thoughtless, offensive or belittling; maybe they’ll misgender you. Maybe they’ll always seem to take and never give. Maybe they’ll miss that something big is going on and hurt you through their lack of curiosity, or their absence. Whatever it is, one way or another, sooner or later, you’re going to feel hurt, disappointed, let down, even betrayed, by someone; quite possibly by the pastor. Continue reading “Being hurt is unavoidable. It’s what we do next that counts”
At our house, we have a simple mealtime ritual. We pause, then someone says, ‘Thank you, God, for this food, for the farmers, and for the cook.’ Then they add whatever else is on their heart. One night, we might give thanks for mathematics and minecraft. Another time, it might be for horses and sisters and … can’t we just eat now? Continue reading “A mealtime ritual: Pause, give thanks, pay attention”
Are we in lockdown? Are we not? Can we have visitors to our home? Are we in the classroom, or are we teaching and learning remotely? Are we worshipping in person or on Zoom? How many people from my house can go to the grocery store today? When the news says ‘Melbourne’, does it include regional Victoria? Can my daughter come home for her sister’s birthday? Can my husband go to his office? If we’re allowed to gather in a group, can we sing?
Continue reading “Psalms | How Psalm 86 changed a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day”
The pain is the terror which wakes you in the small hours. It’s the sweat rolling down your brow; it’s desperate prayer beyond words; it’s abandonment by friends who cannot bear to watch. It’s the gut-wrench of betrayal; the hollowness of a false kiss. It’s the scourge of the whip; the agony of thorns; the spear thrust in the side. It’s God-forsakenness, for God is nowhere to be found. This is the unbearable pain of crucifixion; in the suffering, something must die. Continue reading “First the pain, then the waiting, then the rising”
Alison and the whale 