I think, therefore I blog

My housemate Phil declared, on seeing "The Social Network" with me last year, that it was THE film to capture our generation, and Phil knows about movies (he writes them) so I guess I'll trust him on that one. I certainly thought of it when reading this article from ChristianityToday on the impact of blogging and Web 2.0 on theological debate. Mostly I thought of it because the article directly referenced the film. But I also thought of it because, duh, it's an obvious connection.

In particular, I thought of it when I read this section of the article:

Social media relentlessly asks us to publish our personal opinions on anything and everything that happens. There is no time for reflection in prayer, no place for discussion with other flesh and blood image bearers, and no incentive to remain silent.

You must declare your position, and you must declare it now.

Which is, of course, where the film tells us that Mark Zuckerberg began: blogging about his breakup of that evening, and insulting his ex-girlfriend in the most public forum the world has ever known, the Internet. This was, of course, a practice that the said ex-girlfriend Erica later decries sarcastically:

As if every thought that tumbles through your head was so clever it would be a crime for it not to be shared. The Internet's not written in pencil, Mark, it's written in ink.

The problem with blogging is the very problem that Zuckerberg had that night: it's instantaneous, and encourages instantaneous, and thoughtless, comment. This, as the ChristianityToday article observes, is an approach to public discourse that is anathema to so much in the Bible, and thus should be anathema to church practice.

But wait a minute. The article makes an excellent point, and I don't want to defend it purely because I, as this very page demonstrates, am a blogger. No, I'm not interested in defending blogging, rather in refining what it should aim to do.

First of all, I would suggest that Paul's injunction to Timothy to "watch [his] life and doctrine closely" could be revised to, "watch your life and blogging closely". That's to say, do you think, or pray, before you blog? Do you aim for consistency in the life you live and the life you portray online? Do you embrace the anonymity of the internet to live a life, and to espouse a worldview, which those that know you best would laugh at you living and espousing?

I don't know how I would answer those questions. I am not writing this because I have any of this worked out. I cannot write this post at all without a fairly strong sense of the irony of every word I am typing. But blogging ain't going away, even if I decided, prayerfully, to suspend my blogging altogether. So I might as well use it to spread the word, that they who blog should be judged more harshly than they that keep their discreet mouths shut.

That said, if by prayerful reflection I did decide I should no longer blog, I would hopefully have the maturity and humility to do so. But for the time being, I say to everyone who both reads this and knows me: Don't just read what I blog. Look at how I live. If they don't match, tell me. I need to hear.

For the time being, I will try to pray more before I blog, and to think more, and to write only when I have something to say. That seems a good place to start.

"But that day ain't here yet"

Last night a mellow but merry crowd filled the Palais Theatre in St Kilda to celebrate what folk-singer M Ward was presenting as the "2nd anniversary special" tour of his album "Hold Time", probably his best album to date. Performing entirely by himself, with only a guitar, harmonica and piano, the sound was much more stripped-back than is typical of "Hold Time", which contains some of his most lively and experimental songs. But the sound worked. Some songs became much slower than you would expect, but the pace encouraged you to slow with it, to accept the gentleness and peace of the music instead of wanting it to rush along with you.

Of my five or so favourite songs of his, he probably only played two or three. My three absolute favourites did not get a look-in, possibly being too upbeat to fit with the mood of the night. But, knowing all of his albums fairly well, I found many of the songs feeling comforting and familiar, having been gently in the background of my life at so many points. This meant that it was a show with few standouts, but carrying with it a general feeling of consistency and beauty.

I was particularly impressed by his humility and professionalism. When one of his fold-back speakers started playing up towards the end, he continued playing the song with barely any hesitation, and ended up finishing the song with his acoustic guitar unamplified. We could still hear him where I was sitting. There were no prima-donna antics. He was quiet but not aloof. He joked occasionally with us, and in the second encore invited any member of the audience who could play piano to join him for a lovely rendition of "Rollercoaster". The man who volunteered the loudest was then given a chance to finish with a laid-back solo. M Ward left the stage quietly and unobtrusively, and gave his audience member the final limelight.

Of course, one disappointment for me was that he did not play my absolute favourite, "Fisher of Men", from the Hold Time album. That song has special significance for me. But the subtly Christian side to his music was still there in a beautifully simple piano rendition of "Here Comes the Sun Again", a gentle and worshipful song that I had not really listened to before last night. I will return to it often now, I'm sure. But the words to "Fisher of Men" seem to sum up something about M Ward for me - that he is a musician without pretence, a musician that so often seems to sing, whatever the content of his lyrics, to a higher song:

"He put his name in my chorus

And his dark before the dawn,

So that in my hour of weakness

I'd remember it's his song."

His music also occupies a time of quiet longing: waiting for a day when "weak will not be weak any more", but searches for ways to deal "with the pieces of a broken heart". Last night his songs were a beautiful accompaniment to our own longings.

Urban renewal

When I first began this blog, a few years ago now, the title and general theme reflected the fact that I was thinking rather a lot about life, work and ministry in inner-northern Melbourne. I had just moved to Preston and one of the topics that occupied a number of posts was the issue of finding a church in that area. One thing I found as I searched was that the inner-north, compared to, say, the eastern suburbs, is quite church-hungry. Churches were often very small, or very stagnant, or a bit on the odd side. I was doing a lot of thinking at the time about the so-called "emerging church" and how churches should engage with culture and be part of the community. But I didn't see any good examples of inner-northern churches doing that sort of thing effectively, well-meaning as a number of examples seemed to be.

I can't say I've thought terribly much about those kinds of issues in recent years. I found a church where I was happy, then I moved to Malaysia, then I left the north. Now I'm back, in Brunswick, and am finding myself, quite unintentionally, at a church that is about to move a tad further north for the purposes of mission.

Strangely, I am finding myself feeling much more ambivalent about this move than I would have years ago. Part of this is due to the general feeling of exhaustion that I have had in this period of post-Malaysia burnout (not necessarily something that would have been reflected in this blog, but which has been quite a present feature of my life since the middle of last year). Yet I do find myself growing somewhat excited at the thought of the inner north's "spiritual renewal", something that my new church family is keenly focused on.

The task seems a large one. Some might say insurmountable. Melbourne is one of the world's most secular cities. The inner north is one of the most secular parts of the city. How, you might ask, do we hope to renew the city? We could try to renew the way that everyone does urban renewal - through more community events, through city garden projects. These are all important. But do they renew the spirit? Truly renew the spirit, in the way that only God can?

But that's the thing. Only God can do it. So, if we succeed, it will only be through God's strength. This should bring a sense of relief. It isn't really up to us. But it's also scary, because it requires submission to God. It requires losing a sense of control.

One thing's for sure. If we plan on doing it properly, it will be quite a journey.

Some of that journey, I imagine, will be documented on the new church blog, and some of it will be documented here. It will, I'm sure, be a process worth documenting.

Watch this space.

Happy Palindrome Day

Because today is a palindrome day (11/02/2011), I decided to write a poem in honour of the occasion. So here it is:

Palindrome

Fall back, flow forth,

Palindrome, chiasmus, sway

From end to end,

Distended, pure.

May I, small atom, sit between

These equal walls of symmetry,

A point of stillness fixed amid

The sameness and the mirrored grace

Of what once was, now once again.

(M Pullar 2011)

The holiest day of the year?

More businesses, it seems, will be allowed to trade on Easter Sunday, if the Government has its way. And, naturally, some people are upset and others don't care. This is no surprise. What strikes me about it all is that, once again, we seem to be missing the point. There's a phrase that gets used regularly for days like Easter Sunday (ironically, it seems to get used about a few days, including Christmas too) - "the holiest day of the Christian calendar", or something to that effect. Now, I don't know what this phrase is in the original New Testament Greek, so some of you might have to help me out there, but I don't think I've seen it in the Bible. Naturally I believe it's essential to remember Jesus' death and resurrection. But the only time that Jesus actively said to His followers, "Do this to remember me," He was referring to a regular act of remembering, a reminder that came with bread and wine, two staples of every Middle Eastern meal in those days. In a sense, every time you ate and drank together you reminded yourselves, "This is why we come together: because of Jesus." So no particular day (except the Sabbath) was to be special or holier than other days. Holiness was much more about where you stood with God and how you lived your whole life rather than a particular observance on one day of the year.

Now, I never normally agree with Father Bob McGuire, but I suppose he has a point when he says that now employers will have another chance to overwork their employees. But I'm no more comfortable with non-believers using Jesus as an excuse for a holiday than I am with businesses capitalising on the chance to make an extra buck out of the celebration and good will He creates. The question shouldn't be what we do about Jesus on Easter, but what we do about Him every other day of the year. I hardly think the Bible would say, "It's fine to worship consumerism 364 days of the year but for God's sake don't do it on Easter." If consumerism runs counter to the Easter spirit once a year, it runs counter to it all the year. Perhaps we need to look at our hearts, not our trading hours, to see where the real issue lies.