21 May 2004

I wonder Whenever I bump into someone from my old church, or see them from a distance, or just get to thinking about them at some odd moment, I can never help wondering whether they've been on the same journey I've been on. Sometimes it's those folks I talked about in the last entry, the ones who wandered into church for a few weeks, became part of our church "family," and then wandered back out, never to be seen or contacted again. I always want to probe them and see where they've been, and sometimes I almost want to apologize and say, "Listen, I know I was all part of that ridiculous set-up there, and I know you probably think I'd want to judge you or call you a backslider or start getting all concerned about your 'spiritual walk,' but honestly, I've moved on, too, and it's all right." Sometimes when I bump into old Christian acquaintances, I want to test the waters, and start sharing something of the pilgrimage I've been on, hoping they'll say, "Isn't it great? That's exactly where I've been." I want to drop little hints about the enormity of God's grace that I've discovered, the way God and the world have become so much bigger in my eyes, the way my outlook has expanded beyond anything I ever dreamed of, the way my old world shattered and I started seeing things in a totally new way, and I imagine them turning round and saying, "Yeah, isn't it amazing? I found those things, too." But it's just as likely they'll just go all quiet on me and think I'm backsliding, that I've turned my back on God, that I'm sliding down the slippery slope, or at worst, that I'm on my way to hell. So, I continue privately just to wonder. Today, on my train home, I stood next to Harry. He was once an alcoholic, perhaps still is, and he was part of our church one time, but eventually drifted away. We never knew each other all that well, and I would be surprised if he even recognized me -- took me a while to place the face myself. I wanted to kind of nudge him and say, "Hey, Harry, didn't you used to go to that church downtown years ago?" But I had the uneasy feeling that he'd go crimson red, and shuffle around and try to make all kinds of excuses why he didn't go to church anymore, and feel terribly guilty, thinking I was checking up on his spiritual health. So I didn't say anything. But I wonder what he thinks of God now. Did he abandon God altogether when he left our small church? Does he know that even if he did, God didn't abandon him? Has he realized yet that what he experienced in our church -- both the good and the bad -- was just one bunch of Christians, one particular brand of Christianity? I wonder. Dave 8:11:58 PM    comment [] The humble handshake versus the holy hug The following letter in Monday's Telegraph (London) got me thinking back to my old Pentecostal days: Sir - Charles Moore may have come round to making "the sign of peace" at Holy Communion (Opinion, May 15), but it depends on how it is done. Few take offence at a soft handshake or nod, or even a brushed kiss on the cheek (although my father, a traditionalist, still meets such approaches with a polite "no thank you"). What is troubling is the practice of some members of the congregation of approaching the event with more gusto. These hearties do double hand-shakes like boxers at the start of a bout. Wearing moony smiles and saying "the peace" with soppy sincerity, they leap the nave to greet strangers with full-bosomed embraces, sometimes even winding the victim for several moments. Mr Moore, in his guise of modern Briton, may be prepared to tolerate such assaults. Many of us, however, flinch at "the peace". It spoils the privacy and dignity of worship, and we dread it like the onslaught of the dentist's drill. Though the author is a bit of a sourpuss, whose phrase "the privacy and dignity of worship" makes me question why he doesn't just stay home and worship on his own each Sunday, it brings back amusing memories of life as a charismatic. Hugging was a major part of the charismatic subculture. In my church, it was considered cold or reserved to exchange a simple handshake. It was always a big hug, whether you meant it or not, and usually even if the recipient was a stranger to you. Looking back, it was embarrassingly awkward at times to have this grand display of affection as the standard greeting. It was time-consuming, and too often artificial. I was also wondering what message newcomers were getting from all this to-do with the wild embraces and unrelenting bear-hugs. I remember one young woman, who was quite a bit older than my fifteen years, who developed an obvious infatuation with me and started bringing me gifts of pens and pencils and pads and things. She was severely mentally imbalanced, and I had no desire whatsoever to have any involvement with her other than our contact on a Sunday evening, and yet I can't help but wonder what effect our weekly loving embraces had on her. "Turn around and say hello to one another," would be the standard invitation from the platform, at which point arms would be flung around anyone and everyone, whether they looked like they wanted a hug or not. And this more-than-a-little-unhinged young lady was enjoying these demonstrations of undue familiarity from me on a weekly basis. Is it any wonder I had trouble warding off her advances? I wonder as well about all those folk who came to the church and were positively leapt upon by our little throng of holy huggers week after week, but then wandered out of our lives after a short while, and were never again thought of, never again phoned, just like they were never a part of our church family in the first place. Things like this seem incongruous with our lavish hugging rituals. I'm an Anglican now. Hugging isn't the done thing. As a charismatic, when the hugging thing was phoney and hollow, it was bad, but when it was done right, and you really meant it, it was good. I miss the "good" ones. Sometimes I want to throw my arms around the Vicar like I'm greeting an old friend, but just that's not cricket. I do like "the peace", too. There can be a lot of warmth and genuine affection in those smiles and handshakes. I don't miss the phoney, faked sincerity, but even I, with my happy-clappy, holy-hugging days far behind me, wouldn't turn my nose up at the occasional display of exuberant affection, Anglican or not! Dave 7:41:06 PM    comment [] The noise of passion I had quite possibly the noisiest lesson of my teaching career so far this afternoon. This was not the noise of misbehaviour, however -- at least not all of it. I had been teaching my Year 9 class about Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel-Prize-winning peace campaigner in Burma. After letting them examine the sources for themselves, and learn a little more about this brave woman, I told them to make up posters for Aung San Suu Kyi's cause in Burma, along with a chant of protest. Much noise later, they were ready to perform. Thumping and pounding on their desks for the rhythm, and shouting at the top of their lungs, they filled the corridors of an entire wing of the school with the noise of passion. After each group had performed their chant, the entire class was swept away with the enthusiasm of the moment, and together they chanted and cheered and drummed and shouted out their slogans in support of Aung San Suu Kyi and the people of Burma for all the school to hear. The bell went, and as usual I promised they would be dismissed as soon as they had settled down in their places quietly. It was a good five minutes after the bell that the last few murmurs had finally subsided. I told them I sincerely hoped that the passion and enthusiasm they had managed to whip up for the afternoon's task -- and I am well aware that the cause of their excitement was as much the opportunity to run riot as it was any deep feelings they might have for Aung San Suu Kyi and the people of Burma -- would be translated into a passion to shout out for peace and against injustice in the real world. And I pray to God they truly will. Dave 6:42:58 PM    comment []

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