This is what Easter means

The following piece began life as an article written by Melissa and myself for a newsletter for an aged care facility. The occasion was Easter 2021.

Lockdown, masks, sanitiser and nasal swabs. This last year has reminded us how inescapably physical we are. That patch of dry skin, cracked from the constant hand washing. Masks that fog up your glasses. The hugs we want but can’t have.

We're powerless to escape our physical bodies and their limitations. And so the protocols rule our lives.

I wonder how the first Easter would have played out had it happened in 2021. Not long having walked out of Joseph of Arimathea’s tomb, Jesus appears to his followers and says to them, “Touch me!”. 

I hope he’s sanitised.

“Touch me and see,” Jesus insists. “A ghost does not have flesh and bones like you see I have.” There’s something about his resurrection that Jesus wants to make sure his followers understand. It’s not just his spirit that they see. It’s his body. The same one that they saw killed days earlier.

“Look at my hands and my feet. It’s me!” (Luke 24:39)

Jesus was not only recognisably himself, but his body was the same one he had before. It was him. Thomas had only to reach out and put his fingers in the holes in Jesus’ hands to confirm it. Not just a spirit, a body. And not just any body, his body.

This isn’t just a curiosity, however. This is the pattern of Spirit-enabled resurrection. 

Jesus’ resurrection life wasn’t an escape from physical existence. Resurrection by the Holy Spirit is the fulfilment of physical existence. You will not leave your body behind, escaping the trappings of everyday life. The resurrected in Christ will pass him the fish and ask him for the salt.

What then for those who can no longer taste? Whose legs no longer work? Whose eyes do not recognise their own children?

They are not looking forward to the simple easing of their pain. Passing from the body and its limitations. Escaping to a world without these things. This is not how it will be for those in Christ. They will glory in the balance of the spices. They will run. And they will recognise their loved ones when they see them.

This is what Easter means.

Happy Easter. 

Why can't we discuss values anymore?

[minor language warning: contains a quoted swear]

I'm starting to think that Australians find it hard to discuss values. The plebiscite debacle was a difficult and yet powerful example of what happens when we do. It gets ugly.

And I got to thinking, why? Some would point the finger at elements of toxic tribalism - which certainly plays its part - but what other factors are at play?

I wonder if a combination of scientific naturalism and post-modern cynicism is what's tipped things.

First, we fell in love with science. Fair play too, she's a total babe. And the technological devices she gave birth to are as alluring as she and even more accessible. Science-derived tech has successfully increased human power over over reality at an astounding rate. As the ever eloquent Richard Dawkins put it "it works, bitches". And so, when she speaks, we listen. She has become the arbiter of any truth claim. If you want to know if something is true or not - and a quick google won't suffice - you consult 'science'. It's a given.

Simultaneously, postmodernism's influence has pulled the authority out of any and all truth structures that sit outside of science. Stories, truths and interpretations of data - they're all power grabs that oppress those who come up against them. See the patriarchy and Victorian sexual mores as cases in point.

Which means that when we come to discuss issues that aren't questions of science but of morality, we struggle. Well, we struggle if we find that someone has a different value set to what we do. Or even the same value set but a different context that means we understand and implement them differently.

At this point, we have no recourse. Science does not help us (which doesn't stop us from claiming that its results support our side of the debate) and neither will the insights of philosophy or religion, tainted as they are by the power that their proponents are simply seeking to maintain.

Which leaves us in a difficult place in terms of public debate. We need to discuss our values and where we've got them from. But we don't seem to do that much. We don't go there. I've never heard someone discuss where the idea of the right to define yourself comes from, and why we should have it.

For some reason, we don't seem want to discuss the differences in values that underlie the differences of opinion. Those are off-limits.

Which leaves Pauline Hanson's famous catch phrase "I don't like it" being as coherent an argument as any.

A crumb for when someone is being unreasonable

I'm not the only one who would argue that the West is experiencing a loneliness epidemic. And plenty of people argue that tribalism is causing problems in our global community. Loneliness and tribalism, two of the biggest issues for our civil discourse.

But if we see these two things as linked, it might help make someone that we once thought unreasonable much more understandable.

Many try to find a tribe of people who think like us because we feel it's our best (last and only) hope for connection. And that makes the tribe a precious thing indeed. Which, in turn, makes staying in equally precious. Which makes risking disagreement over the very thing that keeps one included unthinkable. Literally impossible to consciously be aware of, perhaps.

The upshot of this is that much of the overly defensive, non-curious and emotionally charged responses to differing viewpoints are driven not just by tribalism, but by the loneliness that makes belonging to a tribe such a desperate need.

Disconnection (general loneliness) breeding more disconnection (with anyone outside the tribe), for the sake of maintaining what little connection we have (with those inside the tribe). Only, the quality of that connection is lessened for being dependent on total agreement. Unconditional it ain't.

Now there's nothing revolutionary in all this. But I think what it DOES do is to help make understandable the sheer vehemence with which many refuse to 'go against the family'. When from the outsider's perspective it beggars belief and logic to hold to that party line.

Because that family may be all they've got.

So be gracious to them.

Of course, this isn't the only reason people are unreasonable, but if we can demonstrate loving acceptance with individuals - even those who seem unreasonable to our minds - then perhaps connections can form across divides. And that may lead to some small number of people believing in their hearts that they can be loved despite disagreement.

And once being truly known and truly loved happens at the same time... well... anything can happen.

The opportunity the plebiscite gives Christians

Christians in Australia have been given an opportunity by the plebiscite that has been recently announced. But I'm not talking about the opportunity to have our say. I'm not talking about your opportunity to bring about the result that you'd like to see in Australia.

I'm talking about the opportunity to make scared LGBTQI people feel safe and loved by Christians.

And I think it's the most important opportunity that we've had for some time.

According to stories like this one, many within the LGBTQI community are scared. Scared that the plebiscite will be hugely traumatic. So much so that Bill Shorten went on the attack last Thursday, telling Malcolm Turnbull that he will be personally "responsible for every hurtful bit of filth that this debate will unleash." LGBTQI people are are scared of the next few months of debate. And, of course, many of them are us. Members of our churches.

And what many Australians are expecting to hear from the public voices of Christianity is 'hurtful filth'. Things that hurt them to the core. That invalidate their humanity and exclude them from mainstream society.

If I wasn't cisgender and other-sex attracted, I suspect I'd be scared too. And maybe I'd have grown up being scared. I know many same-sex attracted Christians have.

Now the odd dodgy buzzfeed article claims that these fears have already been realised, but I'm not convinced that they have yet. And I'm praying it stays untrue.

You see Christians in Australia have the chance to do something incredible. To show that we don't just claim the name of Jesus, the guy who died for those who opposed him, but that we're also a bit like him. To stand in the storm of disagreement, and to NOT hurl insults, retaliate or belittle. But instead, to seek the welfare of the 'opponent', no matter what.

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

Brothers and sisters, we have the power to reduce fear in a sector of our population. To enable scared people to slowly relax and take a breath. And even, perhaps, to feel welcomed and loved. If we ever hope for them to come to trust Jesus, what better way for them to come to think him trustworthy?

I think that this is the great opportunity here, regardless of how you plan to (or not to) vote. Christians cannot control the result of the plebiscite in either direction. But we are fully in control of our behaviour in the discussion in the lead-up to it. How we speak now, for me, will tell me how serious we are about Jesus' mission to seek and save.

Can you imagine what would it be like if LGBTQI people come away from the plebiscite feeling shocked at how Christians cared about them and their lives? At how they listened with care and concern? Can you imagine the surprise if the one thing that was obvious about the Christians speaking to this issue is that they made it their highest priority to love those they're in dialogue with?

This is our great opportunity, sisters and brothers.

It will require a lot of effort. We'll have to care more about the person we're talking to than about getting our point across. We'll have to listen more than we speak. We'll have to check every FB post to see if we'd like the same point made towards us. We'll have to resist straw-manning and

To write this post well would take more time than I've got. And you lot will probably do a better job of writing the rest of it than me anyways. So, in that spirit, I've got a couple of thoughts on what we'll need to do in order to take this opportunity, but I'll need your help to work out the rest.

Think about how it'll be heard

Photo by Alex Blăjan on Unsplash

In a word, we need empathy. Love requires it.

And that means that we need to think on one extra level even about the construction and logic of our arguments. Not just about how we express them.

What this means is that we can't just make arguments that are loving from our perspective, we need to be sensitive to how they're heard. People with a different story for the world will hear different things in different ways, so we need to understand . Which means, as I've said above, we need to listen well and often. Those who hold opposing views will hold them very deeply.

Be careful accusing someone of having an agenda

Photo by Mike Arney on Unsplash

Of course people have them. So do you. It's a result of having a story about the world, a vision for the good life. You want everyone else to have it too.

But for every activist with an 'agenda' (like their counterpart on the other 'side' will have one too) there are average LGBTQI folk whose agenda is simply wanting to feel included in society in a full way. Terming a certain group as having an agenda tends to be (a) easy to refute and ridicule and (b) can be seen as targeting people that you didn't intend to.

Loving even if it's unfair

Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash

There may be filth and vitriol slung. But I pray that it's not from Christians. No matter what we perceive the provocation to be. Even if there is completely unfair provocation.

Our model/example/leader/lord is Jesus Christ. Who spent his time on the cross praying that God would forgive the people who were killing him.

Following Jesus leads us to a road far harder than simply treating people who disagree with us fairly, it involves giving them grace. Bestowing on them a level of favour that the situation doesn't call for. That you may not feel that they deserve.

We have the opportunity to walk the road of Christ. To not return anger for anger, insult for insult. But to lovingly plead with God to bless the people who feel that we're against them. Because we're not against them. Right?

This plebiscite is an opportunity to make an entire community surprised by love. How good would that be?

What tips do you have for helping us to love people like Jesus over the next few months?

When we perpetuate the abuse our God hates

I felt a particular type of awkward shame when reading Julia Baird and Hayley Gleeson's latest piece on domestic violence and religion. Objective in its reporting yet damning in its implications, the report threw a spotlight on both tender and tinder spots for Australian churches. 

Failing to listen to victims of domestic violence. Perpetuating cultures that keep them in silence. When someone summons the courage to finally speak, failure to support and protect them. Actively advising the vulnerable to stay in dangerous (often deadly) situations. A dearth of sermons preached against domestic violence, among the multitude preached on female submission within marriage.

It makes for grim reading. It was released ahead of the issue being broached on the 7:30 report tonight.

But perhaps the most disquieting and shameful part of the report for me as a pastor was that it found that ministers would frequently use bible verses to tell victims that they need to stay in dangerous situations to honour God. And that with no protection offered by the church.

One of three types of texts that the report found were used to justify these spiritual exhortations were "verses that say God hates divorce". Now the verse in the bible that actually uses those words (depending on the translation) is Malachi 2:16. It goes something like this.

For I hate divorce,” says the Lord, the God of Israel, “and him who covers his garment with violence,” says the Lord of hosts. “So take heed to your spirit, that you do not deal treacherously.”

Now there are a few different translations possible of that verse, but whichever is right one thing is clear: the reason that God hated Israelite men divorcing their wives was because it did violence to them. This can't be a pretext to allow violence to continue. The point of this verse is to ensure that male violence towards wives will cease.

There were many reasons why divorcing a wife in that culture did violence to her, but you don't need to be an expert in ancient culture to see that poor treatment of wives by husbands is God's point. It's what the whole passage is about.

Another thing you do: You flood the Lord’s altar with tears. You weep and wail because he no longer looks with favour on your offerings or accepts them with pleasure from your hands.  

You ask, “Why?” 

It is because the Lord is the witness between you and the wife of your youth. You have been unfaithful to her, though she is your partner, the wife of your marriage covenant.

Malachi's prophecy on God's hatred of divorce is an outworking of God's hatred of husbands committing violence against their wives. It is God stepping in and saying, "Not now, not ever" to his people. For any pastor to use this text to force a wife and/or her children to stay in an unsafe situation has missed the point of the bible, and so has missed the heart of God.

Now to say this doesn't mean that divorce is the first step. Or even a necessary step in every situation. Or even a desirable step.

However it is clear that the duty of the church and its leaders is to stand between the victim and the abuser in cases like this, as God does in Malachi. To bind up the wounded and to call the abuser to repentance. To follow the example of Jesus, not only in living gently and kindly in all our own personal relationships, but to, self-sacrificially if necessary, stand between victims of abuse and violence.

The power of multiple stories

One thing that the Christian faith has always had going for it is that it's had room for multiple stories for the same set of facts.

For example, the book of Joshua reads as if Israel was totally victorious, whereas Judges paints a picture of a nation dogged on all sides by her enemies and her errors. Different stories from the same time and place, different overall impression. 

Samuel, Kings and Chronicles have many stories and characters in common, yet there's a different slant on each character or event depending on the source. Multiple 'stories' for the same events.

Not content with this level of nuance, however, the Bible goes even further at its central event: the death and resurrection of Jesus. For this one set of events, we're furnished with a myriad of different metaphors to convey its meaning: Jesus as ransom, Jesus as redeemer, Jesus as propitiation, Jesus victorious cosmic warrior, Jesus as perfect example and so on. The exact same event being loaded with multiple 'meanings'.

The Bible and (largely) Christians are ok with this. In fact, it's a part of the richness of the Christian faith that has seen it minister to the souls of millions for over 2,000 years across every cultural, racial and temporal barrier we know. It's the telling of these different stories that nourishes and forms those who would follow after Jesus in laying down their lives to bless others.

This, I think, shows us modern Australians a way forward as we grapple with the complex nature of our identity and history. Particularly, in the controversy of how to celebrate our national day.

In so many ways, Australia is a place of multiple stories. Different stories about the same time and place that give different impressions to each other. Of multiple 'stories' for the same events. Of the exact same event being loaded with multiple meanings.

Australia is this legitimately. Understandably. Truthfully.

I think this means that if we are to have a truly 'Australia' Day, then it can only be a day where these different stories are told. Stories of dispossession side by side with stories of refuge and hope. Stories of ancient belonging next to stories of proud domination. Stories of thankfulness alongside dirges of mourning.

Australia is all of these stories. Should not the character of our day be the telling of them? A day of national storytelling. As they're told and as they're heard, we would in turn cry and laugh. We would be aghast and then relieved. We would hurt and hug. Together. And perhaps, through the rugged experience of telling our stories and being heard, together come to a peace.

If all Australia Day celebrations were storytelling events of multiple stories, I think it would change us.

I don't know on which day this should happen. I suspect some whose stories are of dislocation, loss and disorientation would prefer to tell those stories on a different day than the 26th. But I can't help but wonder if the pain of that day is the reason it's the day to hear exactly those stories. I suspect many would tell them.

If we invite them. And if we turn our ear to listen.

A story of me

I've not written about Australia day before. I've never really had anything to say. Given that I feel quite strongly about my partial indigenous heritage (I'm half Russian and half, well, we'll get there) I've always thought of this as evidence of a fault within me. An inadequacy where I wanted a connection with my heritage that wasn't truly mine.

This morning, while driving through Ugarapul land, I realised why it was that I have nothing to say. I realised, it's because I have no story. Or, at least, that I don't know it.

One of the quirks of my life has been that neither the Russian nor the 'Australian' sides of my family have been forthcoming with their stories.  It wasn't until my wife befriended my babushka that stories of great-grandfathers leading cossack hordes by Lake Baikal started to tumble out. It was only on hearing those stories that I began to connect with that element of my identity. It was the first time I could.

My family's history in this land, however, has never really seen the light of day. Or, at least, not so that I'd know.

I guess I did know about uncle Martin, the rugby league hero.  And some things about my grandfather: how he befriended orangutans and learned the natives' language when serving in Borneo.  As I grew older I even heard about his alcoholism, though he'd been on the wagon since before I was born.

But of my indigenous heritage, I knew nothing.  Literally.  I don't think it was until my late teens that I found out. My uncle Larry, who is quite dark skinned, was apparently quite relieved when he found out. I, being light-skinned and hungry for an identity, felt twin pangs. The first was the glimmer of hope for an identity. The promise of legitimacy and a place to belong. (no adolescent issues driving that one. Honest.)

The second was a white-knuckled fear that this was a fool's hope, and that I did not belong anywhere. Was I indigenous at all? Am I allowed to feel it?  Or am I a fraud, leeching legitimacy from the oldest living culture on earth?

But it was only this morning on that drive that I put together the pieces. Stories I'd read and heard. The effects of the stolen generation. Young indigenous people struggling growing up in mixed cultures yet not truly in either culture. The loss of tribal languages. Disenfranchisement. And covering all of it, shame. The kind of shame that stifles stories and safeguards silence.

And so I realised. Perhaps I am one of them. Maybe my fear of being not genuinely connected with the land, with the culture, is less a sign of being fake than of being true. The story of those who do not know their story. Who have lost dreaming.

Maybe I do belong with them. With those who also don't belong.