The past week has seen me back in my old stomping ground of Carlton a fair bit. It's always an interesting experience returning, feeling at once just I've never left and like it's years since my life revolved around that place.
One of the more awkward aspects of city life that I am always reminded of when I go back is the very challenging question of when to give money to beggars - and they abound on Lygon St, particularly outside Lygon Court. I never worked out a consistent strategy to adopt when I lived there, and am no more consistent when I go back. On Tuesday night, going to the Nova to watch a film with my old housemate from the latter Carlton days, we were approached by someone asking for money to get him and his uncle somewhere. My friend obliged with some small change, and so I felt like I might as well. I only had about $1.50, plus a few 5 and 10 cent pieces, so I got out the $1 and the 50 cents and handed it over - only, we were standing just over a drain and, much to our collective horror, the $1 fell out of my fingers and through the grate. The man stood over the drain, looking in and saying, "Is there any way of getting it out?" I didn't really know what to do - I only had what I had already dismissed as worthless shrapnel left in my wallet, which I instantly took out and gave to him as some means of making amends. The larger notes in my wallet seemed too much to give him as well - why, I wonder? Was I playing it safe, and figuring that he could hardly do much damage to himself with only 70 cents, whereas $20...well, who knew what he might do?
What stood out for me most from the whole experience was that I wouldn't miss that dollar coin that was now circulating somewhere in Carlton's sewerage system. I had parted with it because it didn't mean a lot to me, and so I was no worse off. To that man, though, the dollar was worth enough that he even contemplated climbing into the drain to get it. Speech of Arrested Development had it right, I suppose, when he said, "Two dollars is a snack to me, but it means a big deal to you." Pity "Mr Wendall" hasn't dated very well. The social message was probably once very profound.
Then, last night, I sat outside Vina Bar, sadly soon to be closed down, with some friends from my book group, when we were approached by a girl, probably about twelve years old, who was selling handmade friendship bands. We declined her offer without much thought. I wondered as she passed what she was selling them for. I had no use for a friendship band, but would probably give her money for one if it was for a good cause. One of my friends must have had the same idea, calling the girl back to ask what she was raising money for. The girl's answer was that she was trying to buy all the "Twilight" merchandise. I tried to hold back my amusement while a couple of my friends engaged her in conversation about "Twilight" and why it was important to her. The girl was delighted, clearly, to share her love of the books, and her hopes for the movie, just released on DVD - and, I must admit, while my snobbery made me feel that this was in no way a worthy cause, I suspect my friends had the better response to talk to her about it, and to make a gutsy twelve-year-old girl feel a bit more comfortable walking alone on Lygon Street on a Saturday night.
The lines to guide us in situations like this are fairly thin. If we aren't responding with love, we make every cause worthless. With love - even the most worthless of causes can gain some purpose.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Conspiracies for the desperate
Well, yesterday The Age unearthed a religious conspiracy so titillating it's got to be the basis for the next Dan Brown novel.
This week's Saturday Age published a small article in the A2 liftout revealing the little-known fact (something the author said many "good Christian folk" would be fascinated to find out) that Jesus Christ was never actually called that in the original Bible.
No. Believe it or not, his name was actually Joshua. And the "Christ" bit was a transliteration of the Greek version of the Hebrew "Messiah", for "anointed one". Amazing, I know.
Of course, he makes it sound all very farcical, by detailing all the different stages of translation: how the name "Jesus" is an Anglicised version of the Latin version of the Greek version of the Hebrew, or something like that. And he uses words like "bumbling" to make the process sound ridiculous at best, evil at worst, and emphasises the fact that the Hebrew name "Joshua" has meaning that our version, Jesus, lacks. The name "Jesus", in short, is a meaningless result of too many translations.
Now, before you all start to lose faith over all this, it's probably worth noting that, like most religious conspiracies, this is not news to any particularly knowledgable Christian with an NIV Study Bible. When you look up the passages in the Gospels when Jesus' earthly parents are told to call him "Jesus" (sorry, "Joshua"- or, to be more accurate still, "Yeshua"), the NIV note will tell you what Joshua means - not our Anglo-estimate of the word, "Jesus". In other words, Bible translators are aware that what they're working with is...a translation - a notion that any group of schoolchildren from Italy, Germany and Australia could all come to grips with when they realise that they all learnt about the same fifteenth century Italian explorer (the one we call Christopher Colombus), just by moderately different names.
Some details are lost in translation. Most Bible scholars will acknowledge that, which is why we tend to expect that Bible teachers will have at least some knowledge of the original Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic, or at least own reputable books designed to demistify it all for us. Contrary to this knowledge being locked away in the cell of some tyrannical monastic hell- (sorry, heaven-) bent on deceiving for his own bizarre, sadistic gain, these facts are out there in the open for anyone who wants to sit through Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ", or anyone who reads the liner notes in their widely accessible Bibles.
If the translation of "Yeshua" to Jesus, or "Messiah" to "Christ" somehow altered the meaning beyond comprehension; if the original words and their meanings were lost to all but the privileged elite, dressed in suitably Opus Dei-ish robes and flagellating for the camera, then we'd have reason to be concerned. But anyone - seriously, anyone - can access this information which, for the record, makes not a speck of difference to the essence of Christianity, or, if you will, Messianity.
There are other, more important issues of faith that we could be thinking about, I suspect. Like when Richard Dawkins is going to find the gene that predisposes people to become evil and Christian. That I'd really like to read an article about.
For now, I think I'll go on believing.
This week's Saturday Age published a small article in the A2 liftout revealing the little-known fact (something the author said many "good Christian folk" would be fascinated to find out) that Jesus Christ was never actually called that in the original Bible.
No. Believe it or not, his name was actually Joshua. And the "Christ" bit was a transliteration of the Greek version of the Hebrew "Messiah", for "anointed one". Amazing, I know.
Of course, he makes it sound all very farcical, by detailing all the different stages of translation: how the name "Jesus" is an Anglicised version of the Latin version of the Greek version of the Hebrew, or something like that. And he uses words like "bumbling" to make the process sound ridiculous at best, evil at worst, and emphasises the fact that the Hebrew name "Joshua" has meaning that our version, Jesus, lacks. The name "Jesus", in short, is a meaningless result of too many translations.
Now, before you all start to lose faith over all this, it's probably worth noting that, like most religious conspiracies, this is not news to any particularly knowledgable Christian with an NIV Study Bible. When you look up the passages in the Gospels when Jesus' earthly parents are told to call him "Jesus" (sorry, "Joshua"- or, to be more accurate still, "Yeshua"), the NIV note will tell you what Joshua means - not our Anglo-estimate of the word, "Jesus". In other words, Bible translators are aware that what they're working with is...a translation - a notion that any group of schoolchildren from Italy, Germany and Australia could all come to grips with when they realise that they all learnt about the same fifteenth century Italian explorer (the one we call Christopher Colombus), just by moderately different names.
Some details are lost in translation. Most Bible scholars will acknowledge that, which is why we tend to expect that Bible teachers will have at least some knowledge of the original Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic, or at least own reputable books designed to demistify it all for us. Contrary to this knowledge being locked away in the cell of some tyrannical monastic hell- (sorry, heaven-) bent on deceiving for his own bizarre, sadistic gain, these facts are out there in the open for anyone who wants to sit through Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ", or anyone who reads the liner notes in their widely accessible Bibles.
If the translation of "Yeshua" to Jesus, or "Messiah" to "Christ" somehow altered the meaning beyond comprehension; if the original words and their meanings were lost to all but the privileged elite, dressed in suitably Opus Dei-ish robes and flagellating for the camera, then we'd have reason to be concerned. But anyone - seriously, anyone - can access this information which, for the record, makes not a speck of difference to the essence of Christianity, or, if you will, Messianity.
There are other, more important issues of faith that we could be thinking about, I suspect. Like when Richard Dawkins is going to find the gene that predisposes people to become evil and Christian. That I'd really like to read an article about.
For now, I think I'll go on believing.
Friday, April 10, 2009
TGIF
Well, today is Good Friday, as you'll no doubt be aware. And how could you miss it? It's one of the only days of the year when everything shuts down. The TAB make the huge concession of only placing bets on races run overseas. Some people eat fish or chicken. Everyone, except for the poor sods at the TAB, gets the day off.
And you can cast your minds back, no doubt, to the various debates about what should and shouldn't be done on Good Friday. Should there be gambling? Should re-runs of "The Exorcist" be shown?
Which is strange, really, given how little significance the day itself still holds in society. Easter Sunday is an easier day to tackle, because at least then we get to eat eggs. Not that we tend to wait until the Sunday to eat them anyway - they've been on sale in Safeway ever since midnight of Valentine's Day.
But why Good Friday? Is this one last remaining vestige of Christendom, that we still observe it, still keep it sacred, even if we're not quite sure why?
What, I wonder, would our society look like if Good Friday was no longer observed. Probably not much different to how it looks now, I suspect, only we'd have one fewer Public Holiday. No, that's not the important question. What we should really be thinking about is what our society would look like if Good Friday had never happened at all.
It's when we start to imagine that kind of society that the day becomes significant. If you have the time to think about it today, please do, before the chocolate eggs take over and we go back to work. It isn't just tradition that makes us still observe this day. It has a meaning - a deep one, that could really change all our lives if we let it. I hope that it can do that for you this year.
And you can cast your minds back, no doubt, to the various debates about what should and shouldn't be done on Good Friday. Should there be gambling? Should re-runs of "The Exorcist" be shown?
Which is strange, really, given how little significance the day itself still holds in society. Easter Sunday is an easier day to tackle, because at least then we get to eat eggs. Not that we tend to wait until the Sunday to eat them anyway - they've been on sale in Safeway ever since midnight of Valentine's Day.
But why Good Friday? Is this one last remaining vestige of Christendom, that we still observe it, still keep it sacred, even if we're not quite sure why?
What, I wonder, would our society look like if Good Friday was no longer observed. Probably not much different to how it looks now, I suspect, only we'd have one fewer Public Holiday. No, that's not the important question. What we should really be thinking about is what our society would look like if Good Friday had never happened at all.
It's when we start to imagine that kind of society that the day becomes significant. If you have the time to think about it today, please do, before the chocolate eggs take over and we go back to work. It isn't just tradition that makes us still observe this day. It has a meaning - a deep one, that could really change all our lives if we let it. I hope that it can do that for you this year.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Real Thing
Driving to church this morning, I saw a publicity sign on Sydney Road - one of those signs that the Melbourne tourism crew put together to make each region feel special. And there was a picture of a typical Coburg scene, with the caption: "Coburg - The Real Thing".
I liked it, even though I wasn't exactly sure what it meant. More to the point, what was it implying about the rest of Melbourne - that it was fake? Nevertheless, there is a feeling of down-to-earth reality in my side of town that makes me love it very much. In fact, I've heard a number of people describe it as more "real" than the wealthier parts of town. I have a feeling I've said similar things myself.
One of the catch-phrases amongst English teachers at my school right now is "Who's Reality?", the topic/context that our Year 12 students study throughout the year. The concept of it all is that they examine the way that reality varies from person to person - a thoroughly postmodern concept, of course, but like all things postmodern it started off okay before it became a law unto itself. And Coburg is a good case in point. For the citizens of Coburg, this is the real thing. This is "real life". For people in Hawthorn, reality is very different. They can simply afford a plusher reality.
So do we only settle for the down-to-earth reality of Coburg if we can't afford an alternative? Possibly, but I doubt it. Many urbane, upwardly mobile types are moving to the inner-northern suburbs, partly because it's cheaper than other options, but partly (and perhaps mostly) because they like it. As someone who rents, I was hardly constrained by housing prices when I decided to live on this side of town. I liked it. I liked how it felt. Anyone who has read this blog for much of its 2 year existence will know that very well. It's no more reflective of any universal "real thing" than "The Wire", but there's a feeling, when you live this side of town, that you are engaged in life along with many others like and unlike you. You are not living in a gated community. You are not buying your isolation. You live, if you will, in solidarity with your community.
At least that's how it feels to me. That's why I like the north. That's why I plan on living, working and serving here for a while longer at least.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Taking sides
Imagine living at the time of the English reformation - the first one. Imagine deciding whether to stay "Papish" or to join that new, hip Anglican crew. Or, to take it a step further, imagine if, once you decided to join the latter, you found yourself on the wrong side of Mary Tudor's quest to uphold the former. Imagine how you might have felt, reflecting on your choice while you faced death.
Not an easy choice, of course, but for most at the time their decision, either way, would have been very much one of conviction. Or was it? Many historians from Lytton Strachey onwards will suggest that such decisions were as charged with political as with theological implications. Perhaps you just hated Rome and wanted England to govern her own church. Perhaps you cared little about the actual articles of faith pertaining to either side of the debate.
Many Christians today like to think that they have choices of similar gravity to make: to emerge or conserve; to be Calvinist or Arminian or, dare we mention it, Open Theist; to ordain or refrain. And who, can someone tell me, is actually right?
Being part of a church that is at some sort of cross-roads, I know some of how all this feels. Yet, to make it more complicated, I have been brought up to respect views that I may not myself hold. I have also been taught to see both sides to the debate. This makes me fairly tolerant, I suppose, and sometimes unwilling to take a stand, unless I'm completely confident on which side is "right". Add to the mix the fact that I care about how our traditions appear to outsiders - a bad thing when focused on pleasing too many people, and a positive when channeled into being more inclusive - and you get a sense of what I am - a semi-emergent, soft-charismatic, liberal-conservative evangelical Anglican who likes to question the Anglican way of doing things (I couldn't think of a snappy way to describe that last one). In short, I'm a bit of a mix at the moment.
Is that such a bad thing? I'm not sure it is. Because, while I'm not exactly taking sides, I doubt that any of us is necessarily facing decisions that are as grave as we think they are. After all (and you'll have to excuse the pun), the most significant grave any of us is going to face has already been triumphed over. Besides, we have living in us the same Spirit that allowed that grave to be overcome. Perhaps tuning into him a bit more, and a bit less into our own hang-ups, would help us make the right choices - when choices need to be made.
More on this as it comes to mind.
Not an easy choice, of course, but for most at the time their decision, either way, would have been very much one of conviction. Or was it? Many historians from Lytton Strachey onwards will suggest that such decisions were as charged with political as with theological implications. Perhaps you just hated Rome and wanted England to govern her own church. Perhaps you cared little about the actual articles of faith pertaining to either side of the debate.
Many Christians today like to think that they have choices of similar gravity to make: to emerge or conserve; to be Calvinist or Arminian or, dare we mention it, Open Theist; to ordain or refrain. And who, can someone tell me, is actually right?
Being part of a church that is at some sort of cross-roads, I know some of how all this feels. Yet, to make it more complicated, I have been brought up to respect views that I may not myself hold. I have also been taught to see both sides to the debate. This makes me fairly tolerant, I suppose, and sometimes unwilling to take a stand, unless I'm completely confident on which side is "right". Add to the mix the fact that I care about how our traditions appear to outsiders - a bad thing when focused on pleasing too many people, and a positive when channeled into being more inclusive - and you get a sense of what I am - a semi-emergent, soft-charismatic, liberal-conservative evangelical Anglican who likes to question the Anglican way of doing things (I couldn't think of a snappy way to describe that last one). In short, I'm a bit of a mix at the moment.
Is that such a bad thing? I'm not sure it is. Because, while I'm not exactly taking sides, I doubt that any of us is necessarily facing decisions that are as grave as we think they are. After all (and you'll have to excuse the pun), the most significant grave any of us is going to face has already been triumphed over. Besides, we have living in us the same Spirit that allowed that grave to be overcome. Perhaps tuning into him a bit more, and a bit less into our own hang-ups, would help us make the right choices - when choices need to be made.
More on this as it comes to mind.
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