The Village...

Straight after completing his year 12 studies, this white man studied for one semester in a Bachelor of Arts degree at Monash University in 1990. It only lasted a semester before I quickly realised that I was in no fit state to study, especially studying at a tertiary level a course that I felt no resonance with at that time. But one of the subjects I did briefly attend was anthropology. This is the study, literally of humankind...especially in regard to living together in community. So this offering today is somewhat anthropological in kind. But if you have seeing eyes and a perceiving mind then you will know exactly what I'm about to describe.

I share with you some thoughts about a village I knew of. It's a small village that tended in nature to be very cautious and highly conservative. It demanded of it's villagers that they conform to a particular standard of conduct and allegiance in accordance with the demands of the village deity. And the wishes and desires of that deity were transmitted through the village chieftain - most of the villagers accepted this reality and slavishly drank his words without question, like children nursing at a mother's breast. And he knew this...and unfortunately, due to an innate shade of grey within his soul the chieftain took advantage of this. And so this meant that he could effectively control the villagers like children, for children usually are the easiest to control. Controlling what they could say, do and know about life in the village. Even trying to control what they could know and learn about the deity. That knowledge should only ever be imparted by him he reasoned, for different knowledge or, heaven forbid, greater knowledge could be dangerously subversive to the village itself and to his position. Controlling the villagers understanding and their knowledge was key, for the chieftain understood well that knowledge is power and that was a commodity he claimed mostly for himself and perhaps apportioned a little to those closest to him, only to serve his purposes. It wasn't that the chieftain just controlled for control's sake, for he did believe that this aligned himself with the village deity's expectations of him. For he WAS the chieftain - his villagers needed to be controlled for their sakes and for the deity's sake. It was in their best interests that they all commit their allegiances to the deity and the manner by which this manifested itself was through their devotion to him as the chieftain - the deity's especially anointed representative in that village.

And so, for the most part, village life meandered along a predictably comfortable and relatively uneventful way. There were occasional bumps and bruises on the road of life in the village and this would see the chieftain quickly act to impose his will, usually acting through his closest village sychophants. Ideally though, the chieftain would pride himself in 'troubleshooting' issues in the village even before they became potential issues. All for the sake of control. But every community, society or even a village has an underbelly. That village was no exception. But differences and disagreement in the village would always be branded as disunity and would be dealt with cruelly and ruthlessly. For example, any villagers straying from the collective village mentality were dealt with in either of two ways. Either they were silenced immediately by threats of village exclusion and by the scorn of their fellow village counterparts, to which they would normally bend and comply. Or otherwise, if they were resolute in their grievances against village life and/or the chieftan, they were slowly isolated from the village. They would be stared at by 'concerned' villagers but never spoken to...acknowledged as existing within the village from a distance but regarded as nothing better than lepers, only fit to be treated as village pariahs. And so, cold and frozen out of the greater village community they would eventually lose heart and hope and do either of two things; unable to bear the isolation of the village they would accept their fault at ever having the 'audacity' to question the village or the chieftains ways and come crawling back to the fold with contrite heart hoping to be accepted back. Or alternately they would just eventually leave the village quietly...inoffensively vaporising into the collective amnesia of the village that they ever existed. The most earnest hope of the chieftain was that 'dissenting anarchical' villagers would just 'disappear' and do it in silence so that the village would hear or know as little as possible of their reasons for departing.

The village lived, breathed and functioned on fear. Fear of what the deity might see...fear of what the deity's divine enemy was up to...fear of what the chieftan might do...fear of what other villagers might think or even worse, say to the chieftan or those close to him. Fear of being seen with other 'suspect villagers' that could be interpreted as dissention and advocating village disunity. Fear of being branded 'guilty' by association. Fear of ever being isolated from popular village cliques and/or the community at large. Fear of contemplating what life would be like without or outside of the village. And all of this fear was ultimately perpetrated by the village chieftain for fear was his greatest weapon. A means of control...a means of pleasing himself and, in his mind, pleasing or worshipping his deity. But most certainly a means of establishing his own position as head of the village. Because even for the chieftain, outside of that small village he was a nobody. Inside he was king...outside he was 'king nothing'. Nothing more than an anonymous small man whose importance ceased at the borderline of his own shadow. So his own ego demanded that he be elevated to the position of grandeur he enjoyed within the village. And he would employ fear and control in any measure to ensure that his status quo could not be threatened or taken away.

And so village life continues on...but the village is shrinking in numbers. Not that this concerns the chieftain too much as he would be far happier having a small village community that completely aligns their devotion to his position and the village deity as opposed to a larger village of divergant views that could, in his eyes, potentially destabilise his position and the village itself. The older senior village members, perhaps feeling too tired to think or care too much about the future direction of the village simply prepare themselves to pass away and leave their legacy to their village families. Some younger villagers resign themselves to the fact that they are pretty much confined to the village until they might, one day, if brave enough choose to leave. The chieftain had spoken of abdicating his village throne in times past, because of his growing years, but in reality this has been nothing more than a peacemeal offering to a village nervous at times for the village's future. He still remains chief and no evidence is immediately obvious as to why he wouldn't stay in that position for as long as he humanly could. For ultimately he is a selfish chieftain whose personal needs outweigh the greater needs of the village. Of course that is a fact he would never confess to and would vehemently disagree with (most definitely he would brand you a dissenter with poisonous views intending to harm the village) but all practical evidence points to the contrary.

And so there the village remains...Perhaps in perpetuity, perhaps at least until something calamitous happens that causes the villagers to disband or perhaps until a larger village one day swallows that village up. But for now the village remains and it's remains remain in me...

"Fear has a large shadow, but he himself is small."

Memories...

As this white man sits here in the house he grew up in for a decade or so, a house that now contains his office (which was once his brother's bedroom!), one thing that he cannot escape is an irrepressible infiltration of memories. Someone said to me recently, on the topic of being re-united with my old house, something to the effect of "if only the walls could talk..." My response was pretty candid - yes they would say some interesting things, most of them complimentary but other things perhaps not. In fact I think it would probably be just as well if these walls maintained their silent composure for the benefit of all!

One day last week I took a walk around the block - re-treading a well-worn path I used to tread on a daily basis to school and back. I stopped and looked at some of the houses and immediately had flashbacks from 25-30 years ago. One house, on the corner of Edward and Bowen St, quickly came to mind as I remembered it vividly. It was an old house and the owner had a bay window in the front with a bust of Beethoven or some other notable composer on a piano. As a child this used to scare the life out of me as I thought it was a ghost of some sort. In my childlike understanding I could not work out what a bust was - why would someone carve or shape a statue of someone with just their head and shoulders and not their whole body? Anyway as I neared that house on my walk I noticed that it was gone...replaced by a very modern looking townhouse. The ghosts of the past it seems have moved on...

I continued over to the Camberwell Sports Ground, an oval that I was intimately familiar with. I was a regular visitor there as a boy, whether taking my old dog "Honey" there for a run around during the week or going there on the weekends to watch the old VFA (Victoria Football Association)competition where my team, the Camberwell Cobras would routinely be getting thrashed by most other teams. There used to be large hedges that guarded the ground with broken decrepit wire fencing behind them. I knew exactly which areas could be accessed by anyone my size back then - therefore enabling me to never have to pay an entrance fee to watch the football! But the hedges and fences are all gone...and so are the Camberwell Cobras....

And then last week I revisited my old primary school, Camberwell South PS. A morning tea was put on by the CRE (Christian Religious Education) volunteers which now includes me as part of the team. I had a look around my old school and could not help but notice how different it looked now. New buildings, different layouts all reminded me that it is 28 years this year since I finished grade 6 back in 1983. I did see one thing there that sent a slight chill through my spine as I suddenly flashed back those 28 years. It is a long seat - a bit like a traditional wooden church pew. It was once located directly outside the teacher's staff room and it's job was punitive in nature - any pupil who misbehaved badly enough were sent to sit on this seat for an appointed period of time. We used to call it the"hot seat" and believe me, every teacher who would pass you in the corridor on their way into the staff room would always stop and ask you why you were sitting there. You would be worn down explaining your misdemeanors over and over, feeling more and more guilty and shameful before every teacher that stopped for their inquisition. Well that "hot seat" was still there, slightly away from it's old position. I asked the current principal of the school if she knew the history of that seat - she gave me a wry smile and asked me how intimately I knew the grainy contours of that seat. I could only smile wryly too....

Isn't the flow of memories an amazing thing when you are suddenly located in places you spent much time in. Memories that one would have thought would have faded (and some surely have disappeared forever into the ether of forgetfulness), yet can still come flooding back most unexpectedly. Memories that grab me and hold me spellbound, almost frozen in time between realities some three decades apart. Memories that are truly captivating, whether bitter or sweet.

And as I run my fingers over my old bedroom wall, feeling the familiarity of it's texture I'm inwardly content knowing that the best and worst memories I have are still kept preciously within. They are mine and mine to keep for as long as my mind and soul need them.

And as I hold the same old doorknob on my old bedroom door I'm happy that I can freely and willingly open the door to a world I grew up in and feel blessed to re-visit. For I have been blessed by God with good family and fine memories of those formative years of my life.

And yet I am very happy that these walls cannot talk because some memories are best kept secret and should remain right where they belong...

The Fishbowl and the Ocean...

Before this white man touches on thoughts of fishbowls and oceans I do want to just briefly make a clarification to those of you who might wonder why my particular thoughts and reflections find their place under the title of "white man's world". I probably explained this when I started this blog but I didn't bother to go back and check, for it is just as timely to remind you again of the meaning behind "the white man".

When I first became a part of the Vietnamese Evangelical Church some 12 years ago many of the youth and young adults there, who I would eventually be most privileged to pastor, fondly commented on the fact that I stood out in their midst as a "white man in a yellow man's world!" They even would tease me about the fact that I was turning into a duck egg - white on the outside but yellow within! And this sentiment caught on and remained with me for the duration of my ministry in the Vietnamese Church across Melbourne. For Vietnamese youth and young adults across many Vietnamese churches I had involvement in, I was THE white man! So if you are new to reading my blog then please understand that I am not a white supremacist or some kind of evangelical xenophobe! Far from it! I guess what is interesting now, having left the Vietnamese church and returned to my spiritual roots at The Salvation Army Camberwell is that the "white man" tag doesn't have much meaning left to it anymore because I blend in fairly seamlessly within the fellowship I now serve. The yellow man's world is, in some respects, all but a memory...fortunately my home is still blended with yellow!

The fishbowl and the ocean? These two realities have been nibbling away at my mind over the past two weeks since commencing my new role within The Salvation Army Camberwell. Why you ask...Because in my "past-life" as a pastor within the Vietnamese Church here in Australia often times I felt pretty much like a fish in a fishbowl. In a small place, confined, looking out into the big wide world but never really having much opportunity to leave the fishbowl. I guess I felt a bit like Nemo, that clown fish in the Disney-Pixar classic animation Finding Nemo. He was caught from the ocean and placed into an aquarium where he could see out of his tank, through the window to the ocean. And it grieved him to the point of plotting his escape, desperate to be reunited with his father. The point is this...he came from the ocean and his perspective was defined by the freedom of living in the ocean. Other fish in the fishbowl may have lived there for most or all of their lives so they have never known any other reality other that the glass walls of that place. Well I came from out of the ocean because God needed me, for His appointed time and purposes to live in a fishbowl. And while I lived in that fishbowl I became quite accustomed to life within it. It became a refuge, a place of security...A place tucked away from the larger workings of the greater community with it's own peculiarities and practices. And I was surrounded by other mostly contented fish more than happy to live out their Christian lives and experience within that bowl. And so, in many ways life in the fishbowl wasn't completely negative and bad - it had it's affirming moments and served a rightful and holy purpose. But it was a fishbowl nevertheless and whilst I grew familiar and used to it's perimeters and depth I still always recognised it for what it was.

And now, by His divine fish-scooping net God has lifted me out of the bowl and it feels like He's lowered me back into open waters again! One of the real transitions I have encountered through this process is realising just how vast an organisation The Salvation Army is. I grew up in the Army as an officer's kid and thought I knew the basic machinations of the Army but I never fully appreciated the scale of who the Salvation Army is and the measure of what is does on such a massive scale. I never appreciated the level of respect the Army has in the community and just how powerful a presence the "Red Shield" is when it turns up to events such as natural disasters, grand openings of casinos and even Sexpo conventions. I had grown up in an ocean of a movement, a movement called an Army but never fully realised the limitless potential and resources that the Army has. Didn't realise it until I was stripped of it. It doesn't mean that this white man has changed to this rose man with some newly acquired rose-coloured glasses to wear. I'm far too weathered in my life experience to be so idealistic about all the plots and sub-plots at also provide for treacherous and dangerous waters in Salvationism. But I tell you, when you've been swimming around in a fishbowl for 12 years it is very liberating right now to be feeling the movements and currents of an Army that is moving in a promising direction. Sure it won't last forever but I'll ride those currents freely while I can!

So this white man is being expanded...stretched if you will. Stretched to serve and fulfil God's purposes right here where He needs me. Stretched to re-discover the deep spirituality of "others", "the last, the least and the lost" and the three S's "soup, soap and salvation". Stretched to swim in open waters...I'm learning how to swim again!

Foundations...

Last night this white man had the opportunity to sit in on his first senior church leadership board meeting since beginning my re-invention as a member of The Salvation Army Camberwell. And it was a constructive meeting from my point as I was given a time slot to present some thoughts and observations of the current health status of children's ministries at C'well and then present some new ideas for where things should head in the near-future. And following that further church business was discussed and the meeting concluded shortly thereafter. I looked at my watch and discovered that the meeting had only gone for 90 minutes. That would definitely make that church leadership committee meeting the shortest I have been to in a long, long time! Again, God is good!

But there was one other moment that struck me last night in this meeting. I guess it was what many would term a "God moment" - it certainly took me to a place of meaningful contemplation. Sitting across from where I was seated last night during that meeting was my Sunday School leader from 28-30 years ago. David currently assumes responsibility in C'well Corps for the discipleship programs. I remembered vividly my own Sunday School days as a boy learning the ins-and-outs of God, the Bible, the Army and so on. And I even recalled David writing a reference letter for me in order to assist my scholarship application to attend Scotch College. And it just made me think...when David took on the role as Sunday School leader all those years ago would this fine Christian gentleman have had any idea that one of his young boys would one day, some 30 years later, be discussing his plans for the present and future Sunday School in 2011 and beyond? Did he have any inkling of the significance of the foundation of faith that he played a part in building in someone like me? Not that I'm anyone special at all for I only want to chip in and 'do my bit'. But it just made me wonder...do we really ever stop to think of the impact we have on the young people we lead in the church? Do we dream where they may end up one day down the track? Do we actually realise that the foundations of faith we lay in children is so precious a task that it stands the test of time and real living?

I thank God for people just like David who in their humility serve God and His church faithfully. Because I know that without such leadership and guidance young boys like me could easily end up base-less and without direction or substance. And as such I am inspired to simply do the same...to serve God by leading the most precious jewels of His Kingdom, the children. And if I can be a foundation-builder for God in the lives of children then I know that my life here on earth has been well spent. Because in 30 years from now I want to sit where David sat last night...keenly listening to the dreams and plans of a children's ministry leader whose faith foundation has my initials carved in it's small corner somewhere. Oh, that I could have that privilege someday...