aiden choles

The Methodist Church (my church) is on the precipice of a dilemma. In fact it may already be there. Just recently a Methodist minister who is gay has been suspended for getting married. According the the laws and disciplines of the church, this is not legal. Ecclesia broke the rules and she was suspended. But the issue is deeper than that - it is about the legitimacy of homosexuality within the church.

The issue has been around for ages. The difference now is that it is firmly within the Methodist stable. We are used to hearing about the conflict surrounding the same-sex debate within the bounds of other denominations i.e. the Catholics, Anglicans, etc. Now, it is a Methodist issue and we cannot escape it. The debate does seem to revolve around gay marriage in the church. The constitution allows it, the church does not.

As an elder in my local church (Northfield) I am especially convicted that the church's "non-stance" of the last few years is wholly inadequate and that the time has come to act. I have a lot to say about the subject, and I am preparing myself for some very stern conversations amongst the elder's about the topic (especially when I consider the desire not to talk about it that surfaced in our last elder's meeting). But then I ask myself why I am so convicted by an issue that is not my own: I am straight. Is this my battle to fight? Is it my cross to carry?

In a recent email conversation amongst straight and gay friends, I started to articulate why I'm so passionate about this debate:

Again, I'm delving deep into my heart why I feel so convicted by this matter. There's a side of me that finds homophobia offensive (especially the subtle practices of the church) and insults my very nature as a human being. There's a side that dislikes marginalisation. There's a side that knows my own sexuality is not a polar issue ... rather a continuum. There justice at stake. There's equality at stake.
In a moment of weird lucidity I would admit to believing that the Spirit is convicting and prompting the church to change, despite how contrary it might seem in comparison to the traditional six-gun/anti-gay scriptures.

There you go.

There'll no doubt be more to come ...

Our baby is due in a few weeks time. I'm sooo looking forward to it.

One of the joys as a father-to-be in the gestation time is the ultrasound scan visits at the obstetrician. For the most part, the pregnancy isn't as "real" for me as it is for Sam - after all she does have another being growing in her belly? Me, not.

I love the scans. They are the best, and they are the most favoured appointments in my diary ;)

It's amazing the technology development in a few shorts years. For most of the people reading this post, there was no such luxury when you were in the womb. Your parents most probably only "saw" you for the first time when you were born. I know this is true for me.

But then, as I was reading scripture this morning I began to wonder if science and technology have gone a little too far? Here's the verse:

¹³ You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
      and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
      Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
¹⁵ You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
      as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.
¹⁶ You saw me before I was born.
      Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
   Every moment was laid out
      before a single day had passed.

So before ultrasound technology God was the only one who could "see" the baby prior to birth. Now we have the luxury. There's a side of me that wonders if this goes too far? Not that it's a danger to mother and baby, but that it's a step too far for our pride as humans?

Should the privilege of "watching the weaving of a baby in the dark of a womb" not remain in God's arena?

As a result of the technology, we have now taken another step into the realm of the "Godly", and boy, we know all too well what happens when humans make so-called technology advancements. This is not to say I'm spelling the doom of the human race because of the perils of ultrasounds, no, rather I'm reflecting on the advancement of the human race. It seems to me that every new year marks the next step we're taking in "knowing more", and subsequently "taking" more away from God.

I dunno, this is maybe a dangerous musing. Or maybe it's just plain pointless.

Either way, I am pretty chuffed to be able to see - in some small, fuzzy, black and white way - the way my son/daughter is being woven in the womb by God.

At our weekly home group last night, Kirsty pulled out this amazing quote from Dallas Willard (one of my favourite philospher-theologians):

The aim of God in history is the creation of an all-inlcusive community of loving persons, with Himself included in that community as its prime sustainer and most glorious inhabitant.

Such a community lives under the immediate and total rulership of the Holy Spirit. They are a people blinded to all other loyalties by the splendour of God, a compassionate community embodying the law of love as seen in Jesus Christ. They are an obedient army of the lamb of God living under the spiritual disciplines, a community under the process of total transformation from the inside out, a people determined to live out the demands of the Gospel in a secular world. They are tenderly aggressive, meekly powerful, suffering and overcoming.

Such a community, cast in a real and apostolic mould, constitutes a new gathering of the people of God.

May Almighty God continue to gather such people in our day.

This statement is an intense self-reflective mirror to those who claim to follow Jesus. I can only pray that I would one day live up to this picture of God's true community, and that I open myself to God's prompting as He invites me into such a community.

Sam and I moseyed along to a recording of the Gareth Cliff Show earlier this week.

You might have seen me on the box when I asked a question to his panel about the dark-side of relationships. My question didn't get answered. Gareth rather took the opportunity to turn a deep question into a joke ... and threw it to Mara Louw as "the darkest one of us here".

Anyway, I guess the question might have been a little too intense for talk show like that. Nonetheless, I still believe it to be a key issue in modern relationships, and especially when we look at the issue of infidelity.

And so, my question again: is there not a dark-side to everyone one of us that threatens to self-destruct our monogamous relationships? As man, is there not a desire to spread our seed with as many mates as possible? And then, if our relationships were able to confront and own up to the dark-side in each of us, would our relationships not be more resilient and honest?

I wonder to what extent our marriages and commitment-relationships are hiding our dark-sides, thus becoming a ticking time bomb?

Dunno.

I commented in this post about a reflection I had around being connected within a community, most especially in my role as an Elder at Northfield.

Last night, at our monthly Elder's meeting I shared this reflection and facilitated a Towing the Line exercise as an illustration.

It's a simple exercise. Stand in a circle. One person holds one end of a ball of string, and depending on the answer to a question, throws the ball to another person in the circle. Last night's question was: who in this group do you feel most connected to? And so, a tangible network diagram emerges as people throw the ball of string to one another.

Here's what it looks like from another group:

There was one comment made during the reflection of what the diagram mean to us as a group that stuck out for me. Brian said that he could "feel" his connections, and not only see them. He was struck by how the string allowed him to feel the movements of those connected to him.

I think this is powerful. Being connected is also about feeling each others movements, state of being, etc.

The challenge I guess is keeping that level of connectedness when you're not physically present with a person.

This was the biggest reflection for us last night! As we sit down to talk about our church, town and community ... how do we stay connected to them when they're not even in the room and cannot "feel" their connectedness?

One of the most novel, if not THE most novel applications of narrative I've come across in the last few years is the work of internet-artist Jonathan Harris. He has done some really amazing stuff with gathering stories on the web and rendering them as art projects.

In particular, We Feel Fine is my personal favourite. It's an almanac of human emotion. By trawling the web for blog posts, images and videos associated with the words "I feel ...", Harris has managed to measure the pulse of the world's emotional state. Amazing. Check it out.

I received a mail from Jonathan last night that launched the book version of the project. I highly recommend seeing the preview over here and then pre-ordering your copy here.

It will be a coffee table must-have.

I was invited to be an Elder in my church (Northfield) earlier this year.

As far as a know I'm the first 20-something Elder at Northfield. I guess it's quite significant.

But now that I'm 30, I'm hoping to have an extra wrinkle or first grey hair so that I can be taken just that little bit more seriously.

I digress.

As Elders, we meet once a month to discern God's-will-in-practice for our Church. At the next meeting (Thursday), I've been asked to kick off with a devotion, and I think I'll tie it in with one of the biggest issues I have with being an elder: connectedness.

I want to ask the question: how connected are we to our community.

As the body responsible for the overall direction of the church, how can we be sure we're in touch with the "body" when, on average, each one of us attends a monthly meeting, a monthly prayer meeting, a weekly Sunday service and in some cases, a weekly home group/bible study?

With a membership of over 5000, and a weekly attendance of 1500, how connected are we to our congregation?

A friend of mine commented the other night that he has been coming to Northfield for 24 years, and it is only in the last 3 months that he has come to know who the Elder's are in person.

Is this not an indictment on our connectedness?

I asked a group a people involved in a ministry at Northfield how many Elder's they know of. The majority of the group could not name more than 4 Elder's (and there are 13 on the Board).

Now, Jesus ranked "connectedness" as the source of all good fruit:

John 15

The Vine and the Branches

¹"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. ²He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes^{a]" style="line-height: 0.5em; font-size: 7px;">[a]} so that it will be even more fruitful. ³You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.⁴Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

⁵"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. ⁶If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. ⁷If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. ⁸This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

⁹"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. ¹⁰If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. ¹¹I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. ¹²My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. ¹³Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.¹⁴You are my friends if you do what I command. ¹⁵I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. ¹⁶You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name.

How do we learn from Jesus here in terms of how we need to stay in touch?

I received a Facebook friend request from someone who sounded familiar. Turns out she didn't know me and subsequently apologised and then asked, "Are you born again?"

But I hardly know you woman ... what a blunt question. I kinda felt offended by it.

After a few curt message exchanges, I found out that she saw a pic of me from the recent Northfield musical with a massively-lit cross in the background, and hence her question.

Now, this whole "born again" vibe grinds my turkey to some degree.

As a Christian myself and someone who believes wholeheartedly in my own salvation and redemption, I find the use of the language "born again" intriguing, cryptic and sometimes offensive (when used by certain types of Christians).

I guess it's not part of my every language and discourse as a believer in- and follower of Christ.

Sure, Jesus reckons (in John 3) that in order for us to really understand the Kingdom of God we must be born again (or, "born from above").

But what does that really mean? Really, what does it mean to be born again?

(I can already hear the Born-Again-Pundits questioning my own born again status because of this line of questioning).

One cannot be born twice, literally. But, I guess one can, through the work of the Holy Spirit, "re-enter" (or re-engage) this world with a different perspective, life and mind. It's a second birth of sorts. Where we begin to see this world not for what is physically in front of us, but rather see it in eternal and spiritual terms.

For me, my second birth was not an event. In fact I experience it as a continual birthing process where I'm wrestling with my nature as a human being - I'm always in a state of tension between my selfish human nature and the bigger picture of God in my life.

A significant experience in my second birth journey was being baptised in the River Jordan, not too far from where Jesus was probably baptised by John the Baptist.

But before I get too carried away, I've been wrestling lately with a different phrase ... "second death".

The New Testament scriptures are littered with references to how we must put our selfish nature, our flesh, our human side to death in order to follow and understand Christ.

We must die to ourselves.

Now, we can only die once. In the same light of a second birth, our first death is about us relinquishing our lives we we know them in subservience to Jesus.

This is the most difficult part of Christian living - and it is when we fail to do this that the world rightly accuses and criticizes us.

Is a "first death" not a prerequisite to being "born again".

This is why I believe my second birth is a process, not an event. I HAVE TO die to myself daily in order to walk and live in the life of God. And so, my first death is a continuous choice ... a suicide of sorts.

This means that when we die, the extinction of our life on earth, it is a second death, not the first.

But for those who have not given their lives to Jesus, it is a first and only death.

I'd like to believe that when a Christian dies, the Christ-following community understands that this death was not the first, and that it is a transition point to a new life. It is not THE end.

This was my sense at Barry Marshall's funeral in September, and I hope it is what my family, friends and church-community sense at my own funeral one day.

I want to live a life that honours my second birth, making it real and worthy.

Sam and I have been talking about our families a lot lately. We're on the verge of bringing a new being into the world, and into two very different families.

One of the questions I've been asking myself for the last 24months or so is: how do I reconcile my faith-life with my family life?

My folks have always been very supportive of my church endeavours, but they themselves have not found any traction from a faith perspective. As I've moved closer to the teachings of Jesus and the influence of the Holy Spirit, I have found that I lead a double life: that of my faith-community, and that of my family. I have not been good at being a congruous being. At times I have felt that I'm the same old Aiden in front of my family, but a different person in my faith community.

This incongruity is an imbalance, and like nature dislikes imbalance, I have felt the need to address the issue. My solution: to try and be more upfront with my family about my faith, my relationship with Jesus and how it all affects the way I see the world.

It has been a process of baby steps for now. I have sensed (only slightly) a resistance and hesitance to me being more congruent and true to my faith. I guess the danger of doing this is that it gets interpreted through the normative secular filter of who and what a Christian is i.e. they bible bash you, they try and impose salvation on your life, they are hypocrites, etc.

In the end, I have a sense that the last thing my family want is to feel that I'm imposing my faith on them. I hope they never feel this. Rather, I hope they'd see that it is something I want to share with them ... in more than an information sense.

Again, Sam and I were talking about why we desire that our families find faith. It's not the usual 'turn-or-burn' sentiment, but rather that we believe we have access the a better life through Jesus, and that this experience is worth sharing. Also, that it would help to have more in common with our families ... something more than the same home town, etc, but something of greater significance, something of eternal value.

This TEDGlobal video is one of the most poignant talks I've ever viewed. It is by Chimamanda Adichie, an African novelist, who shares some experiences of how encountering a single story of a person, people or country framed the way she viewed them.

Her point is that being exposed to a single story is very dangerous, and that we've got to open ourselves up to "balanced stories" in order to really get a grasp on the world around us.

If you want to dispossess a people, the simplest way to do it is to tell their story and to start with "secondly". Start the story with the arrows of the Native American Indians and not with the arrival of the British and you have an entirely different story. Start the story with the failure of the African states and not with the colonial creation of the African State and you have an entirely different story.

As I have written before, the heart of narrative therapy is about helping a client identify the "dominant story" they have of their own life, and to create awareness of the "alternative stories" that are present and, if given some prominence, open a doorway to healing and intentional living.

Again, Adichie resonates with this:

Power is not only the ability to tell a single story about a person, but to make it the definitive story of that person.

The single story creates stereotypes. The problem with single stories is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.

The power of the single story is it's ability to deceive. But I also believe the danger of buying into a single story of a person, an organisation, an idea or a country is that it limits the range of possibilities we see on the horizon.

Nassim Taleb, in his book The Black Swan, is well known for his critique of narrative. The problem of narrative, for Taleb, is how it distracts us from seeing the range of possibilities out there ... and hence when an event takes place that was outside of the realm of possibility allowed by a particular narrative, it has catastrophic results.

I heard an American say shortly after 9-11 that he did not believe it was possible for the US to be attacked on home soil.

If this belief was widespread, which I suspect it was, it had developed over time into what Adichie would call a "single story". Taleb would call it a "narrative". Others may call is a discourse. What ever it was, it allowed people to buy into a dominant view point that left the possible alternatives at bay.

A client recently challenged Sonja and I about our use of narrative in light of Taleb's critique. I really do agree with Taleb - he highlights the danger of single stories, much the same as Adichie does.

Rather, our viewpoint is around the power of mass narrative. A single story is limiting in seeing the possibilities out there, but capturing mass narrative opens up our eyes to what is possible, especially from a scenario planning perspective.

The issue for me is how we choose to expose ourselves to stories.

We can live life absorbing the stories our families tell us, that the media presents us with, or we can choose to intentionally scan for more "balanced" stories.

In the end, it is up to our own choice to scan for stories that balance out the single stories we get faced with. The down side is that it is much more of a cognitive and emotional load listening to alternative stories. Sadly, it is much easier to buy into a single story of an organisation, a person or an ethnicity.