For those who are UNE students, a warm welcome back for Semester 2 (even if it’s not all that warm outside). I’d like to share something that caught my attention this morning.
A former colleague of mine, Cheryl Lawrie, works for the Uniting Church Synod of Victoria and Tasmania as the project worker for their alternative worship project. She blogs at hold :: this space and yesterday’’s blog reproduces a piece that she wrote for Melbourne’s Age newspaper, where she’s a semi-regular contributor of opinion pieces.
In it, she reflects on her experience of visiting Port Phillip men’s prison, where she works with the chaplains to conduct worship. In it she says:
Every visit to the prison converts me. I’m reminded that the assumptions by which I live my life outside are the product of privilege. What I so glibly think is achievable, for both humans and any God I can imagine is beyond hope inside. Sometimes love doesn’t conquer all. Sometimes justice doesn’t come. There are some places hope can’t exist.
It’s made me an awkward Christian – bad company, I fear, in the circles of faith. If truth be known, by most definitions, I couldn’t be called a Christian. I’m not at all convinced by the being of God, though the event of God – the actions and transformations that have been traditionally attributed to God – entice me. But much as the label ‘Christian’ doesn’t fit, I’m loathe to give it up. It’s not for nostalgia, it’s certainly not because I’m superstitious, it’s not even because I have a need to belong or be part of a group. It’s because I need to be held to an expectation that is way beyond myself, and I’m compelled by the expectation that Christianity has of me: that I will live as though everyone can begin again, and that I will act as though the impossible might one day be true.
I’d encourage you to visit the site and read the rest of the article, which isn’t very long. And if you’re a Christian, to think about what that means for you.