Preach it sister! (Why do bad things happen to good people)

This is a long post.  But one which I think you will find thought-provoking at the very least.  I'm interested to hear your thoughts.  Agreements, disagreements, questions, answers...?

Driving conversations with my boss: Christmas eve, a friend made redundant, a hamper of groceries and chocolate scorched almonds.  Followed by a hurried exit and a collision with a fence.

“Is the universe against me she asked?  Because that story always reminds me not to do good deeds.”

 “Well, the law of cause and effect isn’t always played out immediately” I fumbled. “ I suppose it’s the age old question – why do bad things happen to good people”

“Yeah”, she agreed, and twisted slightly in her seat.  “So, do you have an answer to that one?”

‘Oh wise one’,I raged against myself ‘why dost thou always puttest thy foot in thy mouth, and speaketh before thy thinketh?  Why dost your mouth questioneth what thou can’t answereth?’

You can!  Screamed my brain – you do have an answer.   Jesus is the answer.  God!  The Bible!  You don’t screamed my heart!  It just doesn’t make sense.  When babies die, and children are killed, teenagers are raped, and young adults cut themselves so that they can feel something…anything.  When mums get cancer, when cars crash, when fathers are made redundant, when governments are corrupt, when families starve.  So long as there is depression and sickness and death and fear and abuse and despair in this world there are questions.  You can’t have all the answers.

And so, I paused before I said “I don’t think that it was meant to be like this.  But I think the world is in quite a mess”.

I wanted to say more.  I wanted to end with a message of hope.  I wanted to be able to explain why things happen and how to avoid it and reassure her that everything would be alright.  But I couldn’t and I didn’t, and I spent the rest of the day thinking about what I could have said, and what I should have said, and what I truly think is the answer to that question.

I’ve solved it (not all of it.  Just this one insy weensy tiny bit).  Bad things don’t happen to good people.  Because there are no good people.  Usually we describe someone based on how they are the majority of the time.  She’s nice – because she is polite, friendly and cheerful far more often than she is rude or angry.  But no-one imagines that she is never rude or angry, it’s just not very often, so, she’s nice.  He’s courageous – because whenever I see him he is standing up to the crowd, and fighting for his ideals, never backing down.  But no-one imagines that he never had quiet lonely moments of fear, doubt and questioning himself, it’s just not very often.  So, he’s courageous. 

And so we think she’s a good person – she volunteers, she’s nice to others, she really cares, she doesn’t swear, she smiles.  But no one imagines that she has never told a lie, never hated someone, never put someone down, or boosted herself at another’s expense.  Because there isn’t anyone like that.  So, by our definitions of ‘this outweighs that’, she is good.

Somehow, I think the definition needs to be different for good.  It can’t be a ‘most of the time’ thing.  Good has to be something pure – utterly and completely good.  I mean, if we’re talking about our world being good, we don’t want to just be talking about a few days, or even most of the days.  So long as there is some bad in the world, it’s not good! Right?

Bad things don’t happen to good people.  They happen to people.  Real, normal, a little bit messed up, people.  But that’s not the bit we’re really wrestling with.  I could pick 3 words out of that sentence.  Why. Bad. Things.

The reason I struggled to articulate this part is that I couldn’t seem to do it without sounding like the start of a sci-fi movie.  We, humankind, are in rebellion.   There is a ‘way things are meant to be’, and it’s not this.  I think we all know it.  Somewhere within each person is a yearning for something more.  More understanding.  More compassion.  More freedom.  More beauty.  More joy.  More laughter.  More healing.  More kindness.  More loyalty.  More love.  More—goodness.  It’s interesting that in the Biblical account of creation, God stands there at the end of each day, looks at all that he has made, and sees that it is…good.  Until the final day, the climax, the pinnacle where human beings are created in the image of God and God “saw all that he had made and it was very good” (Genesis 1:31)

That is the word he uses – good.  Not half-assed, ‘not too bad’,  she’ll-be-right-good.  But whole-hearted, completely amazing, there-is-nothing-wrong-with-this good.  That is how we were created.  That is how things were meant to be.

The story goes onward and downward to ‘the fall’.  The day when Adam and Eve chose to go against God, to choose their own way of doing things, their own opinions, their own self appreciation instead of God’s good plan.  ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do’, may be right in the case of an over-bearing coach, or a domineering boss.  But I think it has turned out not-so-right, when it comes to an all-loving, all-knowing Creator God.  With rebellion entered chaos; death and disease, endings and pain, toil and trouble, double double.

Let me tell you where I’m headed.  This world today, as we know it, is flawed.  It is, as I so understatedly put it, ‘a bit of a mess’.  The result of years and years of humanity choosing self above good.  Of choosing short-term gain above good.  Of choosing ‘what is best for me’ and ‘what feels right without regard for others’ above good.  And so, in this world of mess, no matter who we are we are caught up in it. That’s the tough thing about a fallen world – it doesn’t discriminate.  ‘It’s the world we live in, God help us all”(Coach Yoast, Remember the Titans)

If I left it here (as I kind of did this morning), it’s a pretty hopeless situation.  and yet, in the same Bible that, to me, explains so clearly how we got into this predicament, lies a hope that this is not the end.

Jesus.

This is the bit where I was scared I might sound trite.  Although I don’t know why becasue Jesus ddin’t swan in whistling, clap his hands and say ‘put on your glad rags folks because I am the answer!’.  He didn’t dismiss or hide from pain – he stared it straight in the face. Jesus was poor, and humble in his beginnings.  He was a friend of the dregs of society, was often tired, overworked.  He was hounded by tiresome, aimless people, and was misunderstood by even his closest friends and family.  Jesus was publicly criticised and challenged by the most influential Jewish leaders of the day.  Eventually he was betrayed by one of his besties, subjected to cruel and unusual punishment, and crucified on an ugly Roman cross between two thieves.  THIS is the ultimate in bad things happening to a good person.  And in doing this, Jesus took on himself the consequences of our (all humankind’s) wilful rebellion.  In being fully eternal God, and yet fully mortal man – “Jesus took our sins on his body on the tree.”  In his resurrection, God vindicated him as His son, and made a way so that Jesus life on earth is just the beginning of a restoration of this earth to the goodness it was intended to be.

Jesus brought sight for the blind, cleansing for the lepers, forgiveness for the sinners, freedom for the demon-possessed.  These are foretastes of what is to come when one day God restores this world completely – and everything is good again.  In that day, there will no longer be bad things happening to good people.  There will no longer be bad things at all.  Just God; Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and his people; flawed and imperfect, yet redeemed by Jesus’ sacrifice, which, should they choose to accept it opens the door to life.  Good life.  Forever and ever and ever.

That.  That is what I wanted to say.  That is what I was trying to express.  If I’d had half an hour, maybe I would have got there.  I don’t want to minimise pain.  There are things in this world which SHOULD NOT HAPPEN.  There is evil and darkness, and sadness that can’t be described.  But, in my life experience, age 24, this is what I have found to be true.  I know that in the years ahead, this will be tested again and harder.  But I believe with all my heart that no matter how much I doubt, and rage, cry and question,  I will always find this to be true.  God is good, and he is there when bad things happen to people.  His goodness, his love, his faithfulness, his truth WILL be enough for whatever I face.  This is the hope I cling to.

Community

A selection of questions I asked myself about community;

• Is community intrinsically good, or can you have ‘bad’ community?
• Is there a difference between the local community, the global community, and community?
• Does it have to be hard?
• What the heck does it even mean?
• What does wikipedia say?
• WWJD?

Insightful answers I came up with;

Nothing.  And I’m frustrated.  Bleurgh.

Bulletpoints;

• Anywhere you have people, you have complexity and flaws.  You also have creativity and energy, and potentiality.
• Some people are easy to like, easy to get along with, easy to live with, easy to love.  Some people are hard.  Both kinds of relationships seem to be important.
• I’m going to think of community as a journey rather than a destination.  It’s the fact that as we pursue the ultimate of relationships that are completely restored to perfection, we travel with others.  And each moment of truly good, deep, life-giving connection is a signpost of what is to come.  While hurts and misunderstandings and words spoken in anger remind me that we’re not there yet.
• To be honest, Jesus probably wouldn’t be too worried about defining the word community.  I think he kind of summed up relationships in his “two most important commandments” speech.  Love God – with all your heart, soul, mind and strength.  And love your neighbour as you love yourself.  So in this community thing we can’t lose sight of ourselves and we can’t lose sight of others.  And at the very center – everything about our relationships has to flow from being totally in awe and in love with God.

My prayer;

O God of the Universe,

Great in power and rich in love.

Bring your kingdom here on earth

Just as it is in heaven.

Bring it in the beauty of friendships

Bring it in the smile of strangers

Bring it in the warmth of family

Bring it in the touch of understanding

Bring it in the joy of loved ones

Bring it in the cry of the unlovely

Open my eyes and my heart

So that every person I meet is

Another opportunity to

Love you and to love  them and to

Love me and to be

Ever more whole.

Because you are the author of

wholeness

Fail blog

Every now and then, I get to a point where I think 'Really PM? You're x years old, you really should have known better'. Like the time when I was 20 and I cut my own fringe, ending up with a little sprout of hair just above my ear that couldn't even be covered with a headband.

Today was such a time. I think I can pin the moment of revelation down to the very second. I was standing with one foot on my side of the fence, one foot on the neighbours. Lasagne for their hordes of visiting family in my hands and chicken wire fence tangled up in the crotch of my stockings. "I'm stuck" was what I thought. Quickly followed by "Hmm, I wonder how I can free myself without spilling the lasagne, attracting a crowd, or hindering my ability to have children". Without going into too much detail (I've probably already crossed the TMI boundary), I can tell you that once I realised my dignity was beyond saving it was relatively easy to loose myself from the chicken wire clutch. However, while I can say that I lived to tell the tale - unfortunately I can't say the same for my stockings. Successfully detangled, I brushed myself off, delivered the food offering to my neighbours, frantically praying that the topless Tokelauean teen who opened the door hadn't seen my escapade from his lounge window, and chattering away as if I hadn't a care in the world.

Note to self. Be VERY careful when climbing over chicken wire fences. Especially if you're short. And if you're wearing a skirt and stockings? DON"T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

Laughing at myself is funny. It's refreshing. It keeps me sane.

Hypocrisy and Shame

I wrote that title so you would read this. First I want to share a poem that I penned on the train this morning. A most original title : Writing on the train. So, without further ado;

Writing on the train

between a solid wall of black
and a flying blurry forest
I write
Oh hello, person sitting next to me
peering over my shoulder trying
to catch a glimpse of what I’m doing
just in case I’m
a famous writer
yes. yes I am.
I see you blushing
Now you know that I know that
you know
you may as well
keep reading

in the tunnel now
and
solid black surrounds me.
One side the corporate world
One side the gloom that never sees the sun
Both equally dark. Symbolic.
Deep. Let’s reflect on that a little.

A butterfly peeks through
a gap.
flitters it’s wings above the collar
uncurls antennae to test the air
deciding it’s
safer to hide.

And here is Wellington
in all it’s glory
arrayed in golden splendour.
The towering turrets preceded
by glistening waves
verdant hills embrace
sapphire waters.
A gentle mist hangs
softly around Somes Island
and a ferry cuts a sharp angle
across the harbour

The train carriage empties out
as fast as a bucket
with a hole, dear Liza
and another day in the city
is begun.


Second: hypocrisy. I have a confession to make. I bought clothing at Glassons today *blush* *hangs head* *scratches self awkwardly* *shuffles feet* *Ahem!*

Every sprout of individuality in my heart curled up and died as I walked past rows of cardigans, Miss60’s dresses, and repeated colour schemes (I later resusicated them by walking in bare feet down Lambton Quay). I’m an op-shop snob. Sometimes I even see something in SaveMart that looks cool until the tag tells me it’s from Glassons (or, even worse, Supre) . No way am I buying something that 50,0000 other girls will be wearing, that is seriously uncool. Like, you know, whatever…

My dad is super impressed by my ability to put together a ‘snazzy outfit’ on a budget. Now, Pops is no fashion expert by any stretch of the imagination (you say the word ‘trendy’ and he goes running), but I think it’s kind of nice that he’s proud of his little baby’s dress-sense. So, now you see the heights from which I have fallen, I will explain – I needed black tights. Plain, basic,simple, common, black tights. And so I went to Glassons. I will not backpedal on my preference for second-hand treasures, but I thought I should give credit where credit is due. I can’t just turn up my nose in contempt of all things Glassons and then expect them to help me out in my hour of need. No. Right here, right now, I will admit that GLassons does very good black tights. Well pretty good. Enough said. That is all.

And finally we come to shame: I bought clothing at Glassons today (oh, wait, that was the last one…my bad) I was given a free DVD today, that was very cryptic in it’s marketing and cover information. The most I could deduce was that it contained graphic content, was endorsed by a number of recognisably Christian names, and it guaranteed to change my life…

OK, actually too sleepy to finish this tonight. I was going to have an early night, but I had to write. It’s a compulsion I tell you. we’ll talk more about shame tomorrow. G’ Night folks!

The 37th Situation

This is a different post. It's a response to a brilliant Fringe-festival play that we went to watch last week. Brilliant. Just brilliant. If you ever get the chance to see it, you should - it was funny and intelligent, and incredible cleverly intertwined, well acted. I forgot all about my Skittles until the lights came up and I realised the whole hour had gone by without sneaking one mouthful.

I've been reading a fantastic book about writing, in which the author encouraged writers to just write - first thoughts. Un-edited. And so I did. It's a bit of a strange way to write because you get to the end and think "hmm that's an interesting way of putting that - I'm not sure if I would have done that myself" and"I don't exactly know what that means" and then you realise you did do it yourself, and that you've converted feelings to poetry, but it is yet to be translated into something immediately recognisable. Here goes;

Theatre is
a cesspool of
crudity and
nudity
and lewdity with wings. Wickedness.
The things
that make us laugh, cry and ring
the bell of resonating identity that hangs
from a twisted rope
on a tortured soul
roundly tolling with each hoot and whistle of
ragged plebians, the commoners
flocking, jeering, beering
swimming in endless circles.
While righteous kings sit
pale cheeked and silent. exceptional
exclusionism.
Unscarred. Unscathed. Un-lived
UNREAL.
When the actors are the actors it is an enigma.
smears reality so no one knows
who is watching whom is watching who is watching whom.
They're playing with us
Us in the padded 36 boxes
where we perform
theatre of our own.

Do I have a sign on my head saying "If you're strange, please talk to me"?

Today, I was told by a “descendant of King David” that he saw a good seed and fertile ground, as he crossed me in benediction and commissioned me to “share the word”. All this while I waited for my friend to finish changing after we’d swum our laps at Freyberg pool (come on honey, change faster please! I’ve been cornered by a descendant of David!!) His calling has gone largely unrecognised by humankind, especially Catholics who widely propagate the idea that David’s descendants had been annihilated (apparently), but, now that I’ve met him, I need to keep a look out for The Oracle. The Biblical version, not the Matrix version. On this point I’m a little lost, and he seemed rather vague on the scripture reference.

Yesterday, a large Maori girl in sunshine yellow, with enough hair on her upper lip to call a moustache joined me while waiting for the train. She told me she used to have 3 cell phones, but now she only has two because she sold the other one and now her boyfriend is gonna be pissed because it cost a lot of money!
‘Why did you sell it?’ I asked.
‘I needed some cash’
What for?’ (I know – nosey right! But she didn’t mind)
‘I was hungry. I needed to get me a feed.’
I just about swallowed my gum, choked a little, blinked to keep my eyes from falling out of my face.
‘Oh. Yeah – he might be angry ae!’

That was the abridged version of this weekend. I could go on and include the guy who talked to me at the bus stop about his job, how good he was at it, all the professional development opportunities they gave him, the overseas travel…and the weather.

Or the guy from the waterfront – orange builders hemet, clunky bicycle laden with plastic bags and boxes. First he said he liked my scarf and we talked about colours. Then he gave me some mandarins for my lunch. It sounds like he was hitting on me, but seriously, it wasn’t like that at all. He invited me to his church on Willis street, which is where the Wellington fault line runs. ‘So, if you come, you’ll have to keep your fingers,arms, legs, everything crossed that we don’t have an earthquake! No wait’, he chuckled, ‘Don’t cross your legs or you might fall over while you’re walking there! HA. AHAHAHAHA. HEHE. That was a good one’ he said. The icing on the cake was the handshake he taught me before I left. The Trinity handshake (every good Christian should know it so take note people). Father: tilt grasped hands toward person 1, Son: tilt grasped hands toward Person 2, and Holy Spirit: Spirit fingers!!! (appropriately)

WHERE DO THESE PEOPLE COME FROM?? I’m pretty sure they don’t all come from Aro Valley. And WHY DO THEY TALK TO ME? I could write them off as isolated events if they weren’t so..erm…un-isolated. Just when I think I’ve met the strangest stranger, a stranger one comes along.

I can be a bit condescending when I tell these stories, and even while I’m living them - reflecting the brokenness of my own heart in the fact that even though I try to be open and ready to see the good in people, I’m so far short of the perfect love of Jesus. I spend most of my time thinking “are you for real dude?’ (totally understandable in some cases, right?) and “I hope people don’t think I’m as weird as she is, just because we’re talking”. I don’t know if it’s actually possible to live without judging people and placing them in the ‘strange’ category. Part of it is a healthy discernment of who can be trusted and who to be wary of. Yet, some of it is my own pride and self-importance that keeps me from seeing the face of Jesus in the face of these poor, needy, “strange”, mentally ill, fringe. Jesus wasn’t needy or hopeless or crazy, but he was fringe. He was despised and lonely at times, misunderstood, he polarised people, and he reflected views of society back to people around him that they didn’t always like. I’m reminded of what he said about “Whatever you do for the least of your brothers, you do for me”. Receive this love, Jesus.

I think people just want to be listened to. To know that they’ve expressed themselves and been heard. They’ve connected to another human being. We weren’t made to live in isolation. I may be wrong, but I think this is what I think people are drawn to. You know as well as I do, that often my thoughts and attitudes are far from saintly. Sometimes I’m just so speechless, can’t think of anythingintelligent to add, or I’m embarrassed about what other people around might think. And my silence is mistaken for attention and they keep talking. We’re so afraid of silence. WE try to fill quiet moments with music, or meaningless chatter. Conversations flow without cease, talking about anything rather than nothing. But silence is a gap which leaves a space for other things. I dare you to try it this week. Leave some gaps and see who fills them. There are people around who need nothing more than a listening ear. I’m sure you’ll hear some rubbish. But you might be surprised. At the very least, I’m sure you’ll hear something worth blogging about. And you may even be lucky enough to meet the Oracle. Wellington is full of potential (and crazies).

Nissan Obituary

Dear Herbie.

I remember when Dad first brought you home. It was pretty exciting. I remember rushing out to the driveway and clambering over my siblings to be the first to touch you. And I remember Mum saying "David, the one thing I specified was that I didn't want leather seats because they're sure to tear with kids". She was right of course, as Mums will be. But Dad's mechanically minded mate had said that you were a good deal. And now, you were ours.

Your full name 'Herbie Digger Snowy Gogh' was bestowed upon you as a collaborative act. The older, cooler, culturally aware children (AKA me and Jesse-Ana) wanted to name you after Herbie - you know that famous movie star VW beetle that travels around Europe stopping thieves and creating mischief and hilarity. That Herbie was your namesake. Shem voted for Digger. His 4 year-old all-consuming boyishness convinced him that something big and machinery-like had to be named appropriately. Keita-Alix (7 year old, lover of pink, sparkles and the shoe aisle) wanted to name you snowy. I mean, In my 12 year old wisdom, I thought it was a little cliche and just...SNOWY ??? but it WAS cute. And finally Gogh. Well, you know all about 'Dad jokes' and puns - this was one of them. A Van...called Gogh...get it? get it? Yeah I thought it was pretty funny too. I almost voted for it just to show the maturity of my sense of humour and my advanced intellect. But I decided to go for consistency and stuck with Herbie.

In the end it was the family democracy which determined the order of your names, and, being the sort of family who likes to play "everyones a winner", we had to include all your names in order of decreasing popularity (Yay me! and Sorry Dad).

The years have fairly flown by. I learned to drive in you. Bunnyhopping, stalling and lurching around Levin. You dropped me off on my first day of high school. Your screeching rear door announced the arrival of our family at many events. Your unique frame made us easily spottable around town. Every now and again, Dad would lose control at the wheel and we would find ourselves at McDonalds, even though Dad tried to stop you "No Herbie, No! Where are you taking us HErbie?" From one end of the island to another you have been there. Through family holidays, and the inevitable laughter and arguments they entail, rain, snow, wind, hail and sun. You have been there. It truly is hard to imagine life without you because I know that there will never be another Herbie.

Rust in peace, old friend (I'm sorry, I take after my father and I just couldn't resist it!). I hope you are going to a better place (and not the wreckers)