Inner Fears and the MRI Scan...

This white man has been busy of late. Busy with a fantastic and blessed pastoral role at Camberwell Salvos and busy keeping up with two boys at home. I have to say that life has an amazingly rhythmic relentnessness about it - a bit like your heartbeat...just keeps pulsing away...100 000 times a day...just keeps going. But my issue over the past week has nothing much to do with my heart but more to do with my neck.

After having served a ten day sentence of 'singleness' with Phuong, Kim & Luc having a holiday away on the Gold Coast with my parents and sister's family, they came back on Wednesday last week. That particular day I awoke with a stiff and sore neck; nothing too much to be concerned about as it wasn't the first time I'd had one of those 'slept wrong' things happen with my neck. Grin and bear it for the day and things would rectify themselves by next morning. Even one colleague quipped that perhaps my family returning was the cause of my discomfort - that subconsciously I woke realising that the 'pains in the neck' were imminently going to be rejoining me!

Well one week after I'm still as stiff and sore in the neck, shoulders and left arm as last week so something is quite awry. Went to the doctor and he diagnosed a bulging disc in the upper vertebrae of the neck. Fair enough...but the definitive manner this could be confirmed was via a MRI scan. Again, fair enough...Have scan, get results, do treatment, get it fixed...it should be that simple right? Or perhaps that's just the 'bloke' in me who would much prefer to simplify the whole thing rather than over-complicate or over-think it all. So anyway, today I went for the MRI scan...and that's where the simplicity of my little 'get better' scheme started to unravel a bit!

Because other than a brief chat with my Mum a couple of days ago regarding the basics of what an MRI scan entails, I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. So there I am, lying flat on my back with head and neck immobilised as I slide into this tube-like machine that encompasses you from all angles. Like being inserted into a white sterile shaft of noisy, beeping white machinery, lodged in there with a feeling of nowhere to move and nowhere to go. It immediately took me back to one of the most terrifying experiences of my life - being a tourist crawling through the famous Cu Chi Tunnels near Saigon, Vietnam. These amazingly complex and very narrow maze of underground tunnels served as a hiding place for Viet Cong in the Vietnam War. Tunnels that a typical Vietnamese person can navigate with relative ease - but more challenging to larger Western tourists like a certain white man! That day I first discovered something deep within that I wish I'd never discovered - a degree of claustrophobia. Today those inner fears reminded me that they hadn't gone anywhere.

Those first five minutes in that MRI machine were a mental torment more acute than anything going on in my neck. It went like this - heart beating faster, breathing rapidly quicker, irrational thoughts like "this is what it feels like to be buried alive, I can't move my arms, I feel like I'm suffocating and having a heart attack"...Irrational? Absolutely...Real? Yes...And all that before the 25 minute scan had even started! Honestly, the only thing that kept me in that contraption was the fact that if I aborted the scan then I would not get back one cent of the money I had paid for it. And as crazy as it sounds, especially for those who know me, that fiscal barb stuck in me much more than wanting to stay in there for the sake of my 'manly pride'! If the scan was a free procedure then I'm sure I would also have been 'free' of it's clutches in a flash! So the dollars kept me in there and thankfully the scan process did get easier after that first five minutes of mental and emotional assault to the psyche.

But I guess what today reminded me is that many of our fears remain dormant fears inside. And they can come out at the most relatively inconvenient of times. But conquering fear in many ways (and regardless sometimes of the motivation for doing so) is an invigorating experience worth savouring. But I'm not kidding myself - today I may have won a battle but the war is far from won. As for my neck? I'll find out about that on Friday! For now I soldier on with my rickety neck and a chin I'm trying to keep up!

An All-Encompassing Tragedy...

There are times in life when words just don't do justice to conveying the depth of feelings that arise when something so despicable, so inexplicable, just so tragic happens in our midst. Well that is the feeling I share in some way today, I suggest, with many other past friends and associates from both the St Albans Uniting Church Filipino youth group and the Vietnamese Evangelical Church Melbourne youth. Why? Because today Michael Hermogenes was sentenced to 21 years jail, with a 16 year minimum term for his attack upon a then 14 year-old fellow member of the BASIC (St Albans Uniting Church Filipino) youth group. I care not to re-visit the details of the crime Michael committed but if you need to they can be found via this link http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2011/06/29/3256500.htm

First let me say this - I met Michael Hermogenes on probably two occasions in my past vocation as a pastor in VECA Melbourne. The Vietnamese church youth there have a close association with the Filipino BASIC youth due to the personal relationship of two of their respective leaders. And when I say met him I mean just that - just an introductory moment plus a little bit of small-talk. I would not say that I knew Michael in any way more than that and as such, I clarify my opinions to reflect this level of contact. Therefore when I first learned of the horrific incident that occurred and understood the extent of violence that Michael perpetrated I was shocked and deeply concerned for the effect his actions would have particularly on both youth groups. In no way would I dare suggest that my proximity and relationship to the devastation of what happened would even go close to comparing with the trauma that many others much, much closer to those affected have endured.

So I guess I formulate these thoughts and emotions now from an even greater vantage point having left the fold of VECA. So with some distance now present, I make these observations with regard to the sentencing handed down today. If I didn't ever know Michael Hermogenes, the church and youth group he belonged to then I would most certainly say that I feel the custodial sentence he received today is, as they say in sentencing jargon, 'manifestly inadequate'. That I did know him and the youth group he belonged to actually doesn't change my opinion that much. In some ways I wish it did and I have that 'pesky' reminder of grace and mercy tapping away at my heart even now as I write this. But really, what that individual did to another young human being was truly evil. He must pay a price and endure a consequence that is proportionate to the violent injustice he committed - I'm not sure the sentence today reflects the weight of suffering he's left behind. Not just the suffering in the act itself but the on-going pain and 'sentence' of his victim. I completely understand and have to concur with the outpouring of comment from the community also feeling that a 16 year minimum sentence is grossly unjust.

And I also add this - a response to the media portrayal of this case thus far. Personally I find it completely pathetic and distasteful that this kind of reporting has accompanied this tragic crime..."church leader rapist jailed...", "self-confessed sex demon jailed...", "Melbourne youth church leader jailed..." I say it is regrettable, not because it emphasises that Michael had an involvement in church because that part is true, he was involved in the youth group and church. But because I believe it is an unnecessary over-sensationalising of one aspect of his life that ideally shouldn't add any extraordinary dimension to what he did. However I do concede that, as reported in court, Michael did reportedly confess his belief to a psychologist that he was a "sex demon" and added that "I was in a possessed and drunken state" when committing his crime. The veracity of that statement no-one will ever be able to validate and justifiably it cannot be seen as any excuse or alibi for what Michael did. Nevertheless, how cheap our media outlets have become that they choose to label this man as "the church youth leader rapist". Another shameless attempt at a convenient jab to the vulnerable ribs of church I believe. Because surreptitiously they are trying to highlight the apparent hypocrisy of how a church youth leader could perpetrate such an act which leads people, more often than not, questioning not only the person per se but the institution of church as well. Michael Hermogenes has rightfully taken his stand in the box of the accused - the church wasn't on trial with him. It's about time the collective media revised their boring and exceedingly monotonous agenda of trying to prosecute the church for the wrong-doings of it's attendees. It's a simplistic and nonsensical argument when you follow it through to it's core.

As the title suggests, this whole episode is an all-encompassing tragedy. And as I said at the beginning, even that description seems trite and doesn't convey the full blackness of how many people are feeling today. My prayers continue for all involved, especially the victim; may God bless her and continue to heal her. But prayers also for families affected, including Michael's and importantly for Michael himself.

An Occasion to Remember...

Last night this white man joined members of the Australian Vietnamese Catholic community and other Catholics along with hosts of other community representatives in celebrating the episcopal ordination of Bishop Vincent Long into his new role as auxiliary bishop for Melbourne. And if you read my previous blog you would understand that this was certainly an auspicious occasion for the Catholic Church and particularly, for the Vietnamese community in Australia as Bishop Vincent is the first Vietnamese-born man to receive this high posting in Australia. And the thousand or so Vietnamese Catholics present last night at St Patricks Cathedral certainly supported their new Bishop with an expected and well deserved sense of pride and achievement. Because, as Father Vincent himself pointed out last night during his address to the massed congregation, his elevation to the position of bishop is a true point of thanksgiving for all Vietnamese refugees who risked their all for a better future in Australia. A reason for thankfulness because it demonstrates to the Vietnamese community that their acceptance into the broader Australian community is tangibly real and that this country of freedom provides anyone, who decides to call Australia home, an equal opportunity to make one's imprint on our society. No wonder the throngs of Vietnamese who filed out of St Patricks last night appeared to walk a little taller!

And so, also in reference to my previous blog, last night I was keenly scanning the masses for a sighting of a Vietnamese Protestant representative. A young VECA pastor, a friend for many years did make contact with me and was going to attend but had to decline at the last moment. To his credit, had his circumstances not prevented him I'm sure he would have joined me in celebrating Father Vincent's ordination. So was there another Vietnamese Protestant pastor present? I very much doubt it - I certainly didn't see anyone familiar. Should I have been surprised? No..."Don't be too harsh white man, for they were probably watching the streamed on-line coverage of the ceremony..." Mmm.....

It is rather pertinent at present that the Protestant arm of the Vietnamese church are currently celebrating, by their definition, '100 years of Christianity in Vietnam'. Or as a personal invitation I received to attend festivities for this event stated "come celebrate 100 years of the Gospel in Vietnam". This refers to the 100 year anniversary of Protestant Christians arriving in Danang, Vietnam back in 1911 and the subsequent establishment of the Protestant Church in Vietnam. As such, Vietnamese Protestant churches all over the world have every right to celebrate this important event and every Vietnamese Christian, whether Protestant or Catholic should be emphatically praising God for this milestone. But I ask all Vietnamese Protestants this question - have you ever heard of Alexandre de Rhodes? He was the Jesuit missionary who arrived in Vietnam in the 1600's, along with other Jesuits to firmly establish the Church in Vietnam. And along with that, de Rhodes also formulated the Latin-style Vietnamese written language (chu quoc ngu) still in use today as the official written language of Vietnam. This did away with the previous Vietnamese script (chu nom) that was based on Chinese characters. Along with this he also started the task of translating the Bible into Vietnamese.

Anyway, enough of the history lesson for my point is this - the Word of God was present in Vietnam, in written Vietnamese language a long time before 1911. And the Church was in Vietnam a long time before 1911. So perhaps I just make this suggestion to my Vietnamese Protestant brothers and sisters in the midst of their 100 year celebration - yes, celebrate with all your joy and thanksgiving for the fact that the Protestant Church commenced it's work in Vietnam one century ago. But please don't embarrass yourselves by advertising the 'fact' that your festivity celebrates 100 years of Christianity in Vietnam. Or that you celebrate the Gospel being present in Vietnam for 100 years - it's patently obvious that the Good News of Jesus Christ has been proclaimed in Vietnam much longer than that. That it has been there longer because of the presence of the Catholic Church in Vietnam should not be just brushed off and history revised accordingly. I'd like to believe that the wording of your celebration is a 'lost in translation' error but my experience tells me otherwise.

I finish with this and it is the last thing I will write on this matter (thank God you may well be saying right now and I most probably concur with you!). I am not a closet Catholic nor am I an apologist for the Catholic Church. I have my own questions and differences in the way the Catholic Church operates in belief and practice. And I have very little axe left to grind with the Protestant Vietnamese Church (getting down to the barest sliver of wood in my hand actually!). But what gets me righteously angry are churches that blindly carry on with their own agendas, functioning as the centre of their own universes, giving no credence to the presence and value of their fellow churches and their mission efforts. It's always been a pet-hate of mine and it just so happened that at this particular point of time, for the Vietnamese Church, both Catholic and Protestant, the stars have aligned in a most telling manner. So all that being said, I celebrate and pray for Father Vincent Long and move on with an open-mind doing my load of work alongside fellow Christians from many different 'houses'.

From Boat Person to Bishop...

The name Nguyen Van Long would mean little to most Australians. Ask the typical bloke on the street who that person is and why they are notable and they're likely to tell you that he's the young Vietnamese drug smuggler who got hanged in Singapore and few years ago! Well actually Nguyen Van Long, otherwise known as Father Vincent is the newly appointed Auxiliary Bishop in the Archdiocese of Melbourne. In other words, this Vietnamese Catholic priest now holds the second-highest position in the Catholic church in the state of Victoria. An admirable appointment for a well-respected man of God who has come a long way since his arrival to Australia in 1980 as a refugee fleeing Viet Nam. And after serving the Church in various roles, even most recently in Rome, he will take up his new role shortly. Again, the appointment of Father Vincent to this high position in the Australian Catholic Church is a wonderful recognition of this man's influence in Australian society and also a source of pride and achievement for the Vietnamese community in Australia. He is certainly a great ambassador for the Vietnamese community and a most worthy representative of our great God.

What this white man really wants to also highlight are two things...First, I hope that this sagacious decision to appoint Father Vincent to his new position is not lost upon those politicians in high places who maintain their vigilant, yet I would contend fundamentally immoral stance that continually implores that Australia needs to "turn back the boats!" Because let's face the fact - if the fall of Saigon and the Communist take-over of Viet Nam happened in 2011 then the likes of Nguyen Van Long and other such real people would have to contend with more than just a leaky boat and South China Sea pirates to make it to the 'lucky country' we call Australia! They would have to overcome rancid Australian political agendas that waft of the disgraceful 'white Australia' policies of the last century. And they would also have to contend with an Australian population who, as recent opinion polls show, are growing more and more resistant to the welcoming of refugees and asylum seekers. It seems to me that the "turn back the boats" message is darkening the Australian psyche at present and, in my opinion, this is Australia's bare-naked shame. A blight on our nation as a developed country that prides itself on it's generosity and humanitarian heart - it's just a pity that our nation's conscience isn't so developed at this time. And so the sooner this shameful mantra of "turn back the boats" becomes a forgotten epitaph the better! Father Vincent Long Van Nguyen, a humble man of the cloth, demonstrates again the immeasurable worth that one refugee seeking a better life in Australia can add to the fabric of our community. May his elevation to his position in the Catholic church serve as a constant reminder of that worth and how we, as a nation are dreadfully culpable if we continue to deny the opportunities of the next generation of Nguyen Van Long's to make their mark on our society.

And finally my second observation, a more personal "sting in the tail" if you will... On Thursday 23 June 2011 an official Episcopal Ordination ceremony will be held for Father Vincent Long Van Nguyen in Melbourne. I am sure that this appointment will be celebrated and attended by many Vietnamese Catholics here in Melbourne and they will appropriately acknowledge with pride the significance of what this appointment means, both in real terms and symbolically for the Vietnamese community. And I am equally sure that the ordination ceremony will also see the heads of the prominant Vietnamese Buddhist communities of Victoria show their appreciation and acknowledgment, in the spirit of inter-faith dialogue and goodwill, for the appointment of Father Vincent. Moreover, I wouldn't be surprised at all to see the crimson and saffron robes of Vietnamese Buddhist temple representation present at that cathedral on 23 June. But I ask, no, I state this...will you see a representation of leadership from the various streams of Vietnamese Protestant churches based in Melbourne support the appointment of their brother in Christ Father Vincent to his position of Auxiliary Bishop of the Archdiosese of Melbourne? Categorically, NO YOU WON'T! I can confidently state with good authority that pig's trotters would be seen in the clouds before you would see one pastor from VECA (Vietnamese Evangelical Church in Australia) attend that ordination ceremony in support of Father Vincent Long Van Nguyen. Believe me...I know.

In the church I once served that I know very well, inter-faith dialogue was non-existent and inter-church ecumenism nearly as rare. And as for the prevailing attitudes of Vietnamese Protestant Christians towards their Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ? Well generally speaking, those Catholics may as well be non-believing contagions as far as Vietnamese Evangelical Christians are concerned. Ask one of my friends, who, being from a Catholic background and having been baptised in the Catholic Church was "strongly discouraged" (denied the right) to partake of Holy Communion in the evangelical church. That of course could have been remedied if he chose to submit to a 'better baptism' in the Vietnamese Evangelical Church! Would the Vietnamese Protestant community feel proud of Father Vincent and his promotion within the Catholic Church? I doubt they even know about it and even if they did, I doubt they would even care. But then again, what does an insular-looking edifice really care about what happens outside of it's front gate? Even amongst their own community?!

So i repeat again, they (pastoral representation from the Vietnamese Evangelical Church in Australia) won't be there but this ex-Vietnamese church pastor will! And I challenge any fellow Vietnamese muc su (pastor) to prove me wrong. If this opinion piece infiltrates the Vietnamese Evangelical Church or any other Vietnamese Protestant denomination in regard to this matter then I will see you on Thursday 23 June so we can both offer our support and goodwill to our fellow brother in Christ Father Vincent Long Van Nguyen! I'll be saving a seat for you!

God bless you Father Vincent and may He continue to strengthen and uphold you in these exciting days as you continue to serve Him obediently.

Travelling East and West...

It was the Vietnamese-born memoirist and humanitarian Le Ly Hayslip, whose life was depicted in the Oliver Stone movie Heaven & Earth who once said, of her own existence, that she was caught between east and west. Caught between cultures, between religions and between the countries of the US and Viet Nam. This white man is also caught between east and west and, whilst admittedly not to the dramatic extent that Le Ly felt ensnared, still can relate to her feeling of constantly crossing over polaric divides. Not that I am bouncing between differing spheres of religion and the hybrid of eastern and western cultures in my house with Phuong has synthesised well over the 14 years of our marriage. At present my dominant east and west journey is literal...and geographical. Located in the north-west of Melbourne, I have become a frequent driver, traversing the city of Melbourne five days-a-week, crossing over to the suburb of my childhood and youth, the leafy eastern suburb of Camberwell. So in this way my life is again crossing divides...east to west...and back again.

This year I think I've crossed one bridge or another more times than ever before in my memory. The once spectacularly-noted cityscape view of Melbourne from the apex of the Bolte Bridge isn't so spectacular anymore. The once-felt thrill of entering the 3.5 km long Burnley Tunnel, burrowing under the Yarra River grows less every day. Yet on a positive note the early morning and afternoon drives to and from work have re-acquainted me with the world of talk-back radio which has been a cathartic distraction from the monotony of tollway traffic. Time spent behind the wheel also provides a convenient place to think, reflect and pray about life, something one can never really do too much of. So I have to say that overall my east to west journey has it's benefits and for me it is a 'glass half full' reality. Even amongst the pressing and intimidating presence of impatient truckers powering their monstrous toys and the other Formula One wannabees who can't sit still in one lane for more than five seconds, my car is my sanctuary. A place of peace, a therapeutic haven and a locale of learning as I engage not only gears but in life itself.

So the next time you bemoan the fact that a long drive awaits you stop and think about the time you can spent productively in that small place of worship that is your car. For me, west and east is my current reality but honestly I wouldn't want to have it any other way!

The Great Lama!

With some interest this white man has followed the arrival of the Dalai Lama on his latest visit to Australia. As usual, the spiritual leader of Tibetan Buddhism has been afforded the 'rock star' treatment seemingly customary for a leader befitting his status. As a global icon of peace, love and all-things harmonious, the Dalai Lama is never without a willing throng of devotees and 'spiritual groupies' seeking a word of wisdom or perhaps just to hear an example of the slight high-pitched cackle of laughter that sounds a little unseemly coming from such an 'enlightened being'. And they are just the journalists, slavishly trailing the robed guru proclaiming the message of the man it seems no-one has a bad word to say about...well no-one not affliliated with the government of that rather large Asian country that stands between the Lama and his homeland anyway!

What strikes me about the inevitable hoopla when the Dalai Lama visits really has nothing much to do with him. To be honest, I have nothing against the man at all - I think he is a fine ambassador for his brand of religion and the values he espouses are generally positive and life-affirming. And I'm certainly not in the business of bashing other religious figures simply for the sake of some "my God's better than your god" argument. I have friends who profess their belief in Buddhism and this is their right - a right I respect and affirm. But let me say this - I always find it bemusing that such a cult of celebrity falls not only upon the Dalai Lama but on his religion as well. It seems that as soon as the Lama hits town Tibetan Buddhism is suddenly elevated to being the legitimate cure for everything from Western decadence, empty materialistic living, childhood obesity to male pattern baldness and so on...But be warned - the cure from the Bodhi tree doesn't come cheap. $5000.00 for a premium ticket to enlightenment sees the Lama's wisdom come at a price.

In these days where the legal right of Christianity to be taught in Australian schools is being challenged, my great heartache inside lies in the fact that it seems that another Great High Lama (by the way "lama" is a Tibetan word for high priest) receives none of the pop-star attention the Dalai Lama and his inspiration, Gautama Buddha get. Not that Jesus the Lama would have been seeking all the stuff that goes along with a Dalai Lama visit. Let me put it this way - Australian's would do well to reflect and remember that one Jesus of Nazareth lived an exemplary life that both spiritually taught and practically demonstrated all the intrinsic values that the Dalai Lama emphasises. No it's not a competition in any way, but how I grieve that somewhere along the way it seems that churches have excelled in portraying the author of our faith as nothing more than a boring option for old people who don't have a life anymore. But I guess it's far more trendy these days to jump on the Buddhist bandwagon as opposed to the foundational essence of what a God-man called Christ lived and breathed. Maybe the challenge of journeying one's life along a Christ-modelled pathway of unconditional and radical servantude will never be as appealing as vacating your mind in a lotus position whilst contemplating the cosmic meaning of 'nothingness'...

Well Jesus Christ is my Great High Lama and in Him I find my meaning. And He doesn't need my $5000 because He has already paid a far higher price for me!

Journeying in Yellow, Red & Blue!

It is now three months since this white man took leave of his past vocation as a pastor in the Vietnamese Church. It would be misleading to suggest that I have left that part of my life completely behind for I am still dealing with the residues that place has left on me. Nevertheless I am proud of all my scars and I bear them gladly as a testimony to God's greatness and my smallness.

Since then I have been refreshed, revitalised and renewed by God through serving Him in my new vocation as Children & Family's pastor at The Salvation Army Camberwell. Back amongst my spiritual family in the church of my ancestors - a church, a movement that I am joyfully discovering has shaped and defined who I am in so many ways over my lifetime, even though I wasn't even conscious of it's far-reach into my inner-self. So not only have I been acquainting myself with my new position ministry-wise but I have also been journeying on a path of exploration into my Army roots.

Last Sunday I did my part in door-knocking for the Salvation Army Red Shield Appeal, the first time I have participated in this annual event for perhaps 15 years or so. As I said to the area leader who requested my services to assist him in his team, "it's pretty hard to say no to doing the door-knock when you've avoided it for over a decade!" So off I went with plastic bag in hand and my dad's Salvo jacket on to proudly proclaim the presence of the Red Shield and what that means in our community. I must admit that I did muse to myself along the way that there would be no way I could have collected the donations I did in that two hours of volunteering if I was representing my last place of employment! So again it struck me just how respected a movement the Salvation Army is...and here I am, so proudly and strongly affiliated to it. I'm not sure I ever felt that sense of pride in my home church as I grew up in it and I certainly don't ever remember actually taking a sense of pleasure in Red Shield door-knocking before! So being back in the Salvos must be doing me some good inside I think...I know...

The actual role that I am fulfilling at Camberwell is also progressing well. In some ways, as I have reflected with a few members of the senior leadership there, my role is a bit of a fusion of the two main ministry areas that has generally kept me busy over the past 18 years of my life work-wise. Because my role is a little bi-polar in nature; on one hand I am primarily responsible for the children's ministries which draws upon my church-based experience. On the other hand I am also serving to meet the needs of the community in Ashburton, particularly in the government-housing community demographic there. So this area draws on all my years of doing outreach to the disadvantaged in the welfare sector. What does all of that mean for me right now? I guess it tells me that at this point of time I'm positioned in the right place to be of best use to God. With all of the experience and skill-base I've accumulated in those areas of church and community outreach then I reckon that God has me right where He wants me doing what He wants me to be doing! So for today that's good enough for me...Where the journey goes tomorrow? Well wherever that leads I'll walk that path then...

But for now I just thank God for the provision and care that He graciously gives me and my family. It has been such a great blessing to literally return 'home' to the place I grew up in at Camberwell. My yellow, red and blue journey is my deep joy and I know the journey-Maker has only more good by-ways to discover!

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...

Christ('s)church shaken...

I'm sure we have all watched on completely stunned and aghast at the terrible tragedy that has befallen New Zealand's second-city Christchurch in light of the recent earthquake. Given the media saturation such natural disasters receive (especially in countries we regard as developed and, even more so, 'western') we have had to deal with frequent common assaults to our senses with awful regularity over the past week. And there could be no more of a visually shocking image than that which has been seared into this white man's consciousness - the sight of the now crumbling edifice that once stood proudly as Christchurch Cathedral. The century-old church is one of the most iconic spiritual centres of Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud. Yet as it now stands shaken, bowed and de-crowned of it's famous spire, the only cloud that surrounds it is the sadness of its people and the dust of a violent earth. As a single frame, the image of the fallen cathedral appears to represent, frozen in time, the despair of a lovely small city dealing with such a tumultuous and tragic event that literally shook it's foundations to the core.

Upon the occurence of other recent natural disasters around the world such as the S-E Asian tsunami, Hurricane Katrina in the US, the earthquake disaster in Haiti and even the Black Saturday bushfires here in Victoria, Australia, there has been a monotonous chorus of malicious opinion stating that such disasters are the consequence of rampant sin and general Godlessness. This is the viewpoint that believes that countries or regions on the earth vex God so much to the point where He commissions a little 'ground shaking' or oceanwave inundation just to remind those pesky sin-riddled humans who's boss! And it is usually around the 5-6 day mark after such an event that these spiritual doomsayers usually crawl out of their caves and spew forth their highly-convenient invective. Yet it is interesting though, and a good thing I say, that this white man has yet to hear any such forecast explaining the earthquake in Christchurch as being the result of the awful wrath of divine consternation. Well not yet I should add...

Because I guess it's hard, even for the rabid hell fire and brimstone fundamental right of the Christian spectrum to justify how God could have ripped His earth apart and brought a beautiful small city to it's knees in the South Island of New Zealand. Because it's all in the name really. How could God grind out His divine anger against a city called Christchurch? How could the image of a fractured Christ's Church in Christchurch resonate with the very God of love and grace to whom that church belongs?

So at least in the midst of this terrible tragedy and all the destruction the NZ earthquake has wrought, the silence of all the 'righteous haters' out there on the matter of Christ('s)church has been music to this white man's soul. Thank God for at least that one small mercy... And may God continue to defend New Zealand!

God's Revolving Door

This white man first apologises for the lack of activity in recent months regarding this blog. In some respects I have to admit that my absence from this forum has likely been judicious. For I had been treading a difficult path recently work/ministry-wise and I'm sure my contributions as a result would have strayed uninspiringly into the negative. Put simply, this past six months have been a test of endurance - a very real period of being contained tightly within the 'crucible of suffering and pain'. Emotional pain and spiritual anxiety. But again God has demonstrated to this white man that hope-filled rainbows always follow the deluges of life's storms. And that is my story...or His-story with little old me in it!

The basic premise for why I named this blog "this white man's world" was because of the fact that I really was a 'white man living in a yellow man's world!' Having attended Vietnamese church for 12 years and been a pastor for 6-7 years of those dozen years, that was my reality. Was...

Early in January one night in the early hours I did something I haven't done in many years. Being unable to sleep (unusual for me) and feeling pretty stressed out by church, its senior leadership and the direction it all seemed to be taking I resumed writing a diary. It was nothing less than a vivid outpouring of emotions onto paper; an involuntary vomiting out of emotional hurt and deep anxiety as to my place in church, life, the universe and anything else. The one thing I found myself repeating over and over was for God to show me a way through the messy tangle of church and life that I felt ensnared within. And after two pages of pain settled onto those pages I closed the diary and slept well.

Not long thereafter Phuong, myself and the boys ventured over the city to the east-side as we had made plans to visit the historic train attraction Puffing Billy in Belgrave. Being a Sunday and having two weeks 'break' from Vietnamese church, I randomly decided that we could pop in and pay a visit to my old spiritual home, Camberwell Salvation Army. It was on the way and it is always nice to return and say hello to familiar faces and old friends. So there we went and enjoyed a quiet holiday-style low-key service. After friendly conversation with many people I'd known and grown up with as a kid I then caught up with a young guy, Rick who is now the church's Corps Sargeant-Major, the church equivalent of a typical church secretary/elder. After the obligatory hello...how's it going etc... he asks me this "how would you like a new job!" I was quite taken back for no-one usually asks an employed full-time church pastor if they are interested in another job! So this question was met with a little stunned silence at first but then genuine curiosity. Anyway Rick agreed to send me a position description for a Children & Families pastor role and we went on our way...just wondering at that initial stage..."what if..?"

Then in the coming week I became aware of a newly proposed structure that was going to be ratified at the next Vietnamese church committee meeting. This change in programmatic structure, completely formulated by the senior pastor without my knowledge or collaboration would effectively remove my authority and ability as a pastor in the church to act or decide on any area of children, youth and young adult ministry autonomously. For the past 6-7 years I had served God and His church and led the young people in this way in accordance with the trust that the church congregation had firmly placed in me. But it was clear to me that my authority was being removed and replaced with a system that clearly would have rendered my position ineffective and, as such, untenable. So I had a decision to make - a decision Phuong and I prayed about but ultimately didn't have to sweat over too much. My resignation was given at that Sunday committee meeting and the exit sign over the Vietnamese church front door began to glow brightly. The white man was actually going to leave the yellow man's world!

That night I sent off a letter expressing my interest in the Camberwell Salvation Army pastoral position and just waited on God to see what might happen. To cut a long story short, immediately after being interviewed on the Thursday after resigning, I was offered the full-time position as Children & Families Ministry Pastor. A fortnight earlier I spewed out pain onto a page; now all I could do was to shout out praise and thanksgiving to my God!

And so now I find myself in this new role in a place so familiar. I work out of the house I grew up in for close to ten years. My office, what was once my brother's bedroom, is adjacent to my old bedroom! Very soon I will take up a role teaching RE (Religious Education) during the week at Camberwell South Primary School. I was a pupil at that school from grades 2-6! The word surreal certainly comes to mind! I truly have come full circle it seems and I am back home under the banner of the blood and fire Army!

They say God closes doors only to open new doors. This I completely understand and testify to, but with one significant difference...my door is revolving! My mother recently commented on Facebook that her son has travelled through some interesting and varied chapters in his life. My reply to her then is the same as what I know and am so thankful for deep inside - the chapters of my life have been diverse but I thank God for every one of them because He is the best and most creative Script-Writer one could ever have! Amen!