A New Song for Life

In 1997, it was my privilege to lead a small group of christians (43 of us met on that first Sunday), as we pioneered a new work we came to call Palmside Community Church. I have always believed that the mantle of Christ falls on the shoulders of His church. We need to engage ourselves with what occupied Him, with God's help and in the strength of His Spirit. For me, this meant that I envisioned developing a church on the east side of the city (Christchurch NZ, where we were living at the time), that would be characterised by its desire for: preaching good news to the physically, emotionally and spiritually poor healing the brokenhearted announcing freedom to those in captivity setting prisoners free proclaiming God's grace and acceptance reaching out to comfort those in grief or experiencing painful loss of any kind helping any/all of the above to find beauty in their life again showing a way out of the dark places of despair bri...

A friend mentioned to me that he went up Ainslie Hill (Canberra) to observe the christians protesting there. A number of satanists faced up to them. Surprisingly, as he watched the interaction between the groups, he was more concerned about the christians' behavior around the satanists than the other way around. He began a few interesting conversations with the satanists. They were friendly and one or two commented – you're the first christian we've met who we can understand, who makes sense, who is actually likeable. For clarity, the reader should know everything the satanist stands for is anathema to me but listening to my friend, I began wondering who had the greater effect, the greater impact that day. As salt of the earth, we are here to permeate, to flavour the dish, to leave our influence. Lives in which Jesus has become the main feature. In a Sunday school class, one little boy answered the teacher's question, what is a christian? "Someone who makes peop...

All my life, I had been over-invested without realising it. Call it aiming for excellence or whatever you wish, it had left me a dreadful legacy of sermon post-mortems or deep regret and guilt that some christian event or programme didn't fulfil all my expectations. Basically, it was an obsession – that my life be "without spot" and wrinkle-free. A counsellor friend suggested I was spending my life as "a tight-rope walker." I remember the distressing thought that plagued me over not seizing an opportunity I had to have our older children videoed when they were small at a local park. My failure to think creatively enough in the moment meant that I made a different "call," and as the years went by, so that we approached each of their 21st birthdays, I had no video clip to pull out that I might have hidden away for years and brought out to surprise them. Every time, I stood behind a father with a video camera slung over his shoulder, I berated myself! ...

Early in my pastoral ministry, I was called “Mr Nice Guy.” It is true that from early childhood, I had been groomed to be interminably nice. I would be safe if I modelled perfect behaviour. I guess as I grew I wore a little of this mantle, like a veil of self-protection; besides, it meant I could please most people. Who ever gets offended by someone who's perennially nice? However, I received a personal challenge followed by a Holy Spirit nudge, and that all changed. My learnings in this journey were quite dramatic. If you are looking for a nice, easy path towards retirement, I suggest you don't choose pastoring. It's not all tea and scones as we visit old ladies and sit on their comfortable sofas. To pastor any local church requires a close, personal intimate walk with God, leaning into Him so as to hear His voice, then responding out of that. People will get to see the “fire in our belly.” But know that a prophet isn't always “honoured in His home town” (Mark 6:4)....

I took to preaching like a duck to water. At age 7, I was conducting the funeral services for our goldfish. On arriving home from school, I would burst in the door eager to know if another one had died, giving me another shot at leading at the graveside, matchbox all prepared. (Regrettably, our family had a penchant for killing its goldfish, more than likely from overfeeding. I'm sure every time my dad made it to the pet shop to purchase one or two replacements, the fish began furiously mouthing “not me, take him”). Growing up in a church where lay preaching was strongly encouraged, I began speaking regularly from the age of 14. I believed the art of good preaching was to pack in as much material as I could. One of my early messages was on honouring the Lord's Day and I know I didn't step down till after 50 minutes. The congregation was very patient with me. At the age of 35, I was employed as a fulltime teaching elder (open brethren were very cautious in those days abo...

Scripture is laced with the value of thanksgiving. God Himself is the Great Giver and about 15 years ago, sports fields had John 3:16 held up at NFL playoffs to remind a watching world "God so loved the world that He gave…" The value of that gift, the Son of His love has never been duplicated in any other setting. Our response to His love is stated well in Psalm 92:1 It is a good thing to give thanks to the Lord, and to sing praises to Your name, O Most High I am conscious of the proximity of this post to Thanksgiving, a celebration of thanks to our great God for all His blessings of the past year, and our expressions of gratitude for one another. This theme continues with Paul's word to the church at Thessalonica, to continue to encourage each other and build each other. The Aaronic blessing in Numbers 6 takes us to new high places in what it means to truly grace each other with our words. The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you a...

It took some time in my life to fully appreciate that rescuing is a poor and dangerous substitute for caregiving. One area I finally discovered about myself was the picking up of other people's grievances. Three occasions immediately come to mind where in picking up another person's grievance I didn't serve them and only harmed myself and other relationships important to me in the process. The sharing of one such occasion will suffice to make the point. I had been invited to participate in a women's evening at a local Baptist church outreach and was really looking forward to it. The minister's wife rang me during the week to ensure I was on target for this and then the evening came. I knew the women who came would enjoy the material I had put together. It was a good time with lot of laughter and take home truths, until over the supper refreshments, when one of the women who came pinned me in a corner and shared her view that the church had not met her pastoral n...

From early days in my preaching and teaching, I loved language. The English vocabulary is so rich. I could never for the life of me understand how some people could not progress beyond the obvious swear word, or more latterly that by the use of God's name so regularly sprinkled in their sentences, somehow imagine they have managed to get their meaning across with greater force. While still in Auckland, a close friend complimented me on the effort I put into my messages, but raised the question if I had considered sharing my heart's message in simpler language. Another friend has called me a “wordsmith,” and I enjoyed the thought – yes! that's what I want to be, a dealer in words, yet this raised for me again the question: am I connecting with the ordinary person on the street? Defence counsel need to have a connection with the jury, or the case is lost. I think I became aware of this also in my secular work, with the odd client asking the dictionary meaning of a word t...

What do our young children remember most clearly about us? I was highly excited when I came home from the elders' meeting. I had just been invited to join the ranks. I certainly had the desire Paul speaks of (1 Timothy 3:1). Some of the other qualities that go with shepherding had come to the notice of the eldership, especially my visitation of the church family, usually in my own time. This was nothing new. I enjoyed pastoral visitation. In my case, I had adopted the unusual practice (to some of my mates) of spending some of the days of my school holidays, off on my bike visiting some of the shut-ins on our church prayer list, much to their delight as well as my own. The other love I had was that of teaching the Scriptures, which I had engaged in from a young age. My only difficulty was my “blind spot.” My becoming an elder and attaining the status of father both came at a young age. I gave my eldership all I had and most weekends I was engaged all day Saturday preparing a m...

My childhood memories include our nightly devotions. Every evening without exception, my father would read us a chapter from the Word of God and when I was old enough (about the age of twelve), the baton was passed on to me – intended to achieve the further benefit I'm sure of increasing my reading ability. Just a reading of Joshua 13 meant mastering everything from the Geshurites, Ashdodites, Ashkelonites and Maacahathites to cities like Beth Baal Meon, Kirjathaim, Sibmah, Zereth Shahar, Beth Peor and Beth Jeshimoth giving me plenty of practice. I remember distinctly how my sister and I would burst as I began to read us through the Song of Solomon. I would have to go into the adjoining kitchen and project my voice from there because the mere catch of each other's faces would send our young adolescent voices into uproarious laughter. In dutiful fashion, I transferred this custom to our home after marrying and the birth of our first three beautiful children. It brought back f...

From childhood, I have been fascinated with relay races – in the pool or on the track. The careful handing over of the baton without losing a stroke or a stride in momentum. The cheers from an enthusiastic crowd of spectators watching on. It took till I was much older before I heard the term mentor, or had any idea what it meant. I began to see some powerful pictures in Scripture as I observed team duos like Elijah & Elisha, Naomi & Ruth, Barnabas & Paul, Paul & Timothy. The wonderful energy and fruit that comes when one intentionally invests one's life into another. I have seen it with counsellors in training who my wife has taken under her wing. How quickly they have developed under her modelling and supervision. Yet for all this, I have been reluctant. I held back in offering any advice when as a young man in my mid-30s employed as a teaching elder in Christchurch, a friend some years my senior approached me one morning after I had spoken, and asked if I would ...

I was raised in a very loving christian home. There was no doubt that dad loved mum and mum loved dad, and they both loved their children. There was also no doubt who "wore the pants." Dad was a man to be feared and respected as he maintained his instant obedience regime throughout the house; "don't let me tell you twice" was his regular refrain. Mum too honoured and respected him, deferred to him as spiritual head of the home. In subsequent years, I came to see that the regime my dad had me under, while not totally out of step with the age (when one is born in the 1950s) was also his way of showing love. If I obeyed instantly, Dad would not have to give me a physical hiding. He did not want to have to lay a hand on me, which is why I guess I had the "benefit" of a verbal hammering instead. I am sure my dad also wished to give me some of the strong guidance he missed out on, when orphaned at the age of 12. His intentions were I am sure very noble. ...

We were ready for a new chapter in our lives. My wife and I had been preparing for this for some time, as I had been in the finance/banking industry for a good 16 years and like Elijah, it had felt as if the brook was truly drying up. When Cherith dried up, the Lord was preparing his heart for moving on. I had graduated in law the year before and we were wondering if the Lord meant to open up a pathway there although I held a secret longing in my heart to more actively be engaged in the Lord's work. Various people had been praying for us that we would have clarity on the next move when suddenly I received a call from chairman of the elders at Rutland St Chapel in Christchurch if I would engage in discussions with them about possibly picking up the role of Teaching Elder in the new year (1991). What a thrill to receive that call. God was on the move and it might even be in the direction I had long longed for but had never thought would ever be possible. Others were also excited ...

For several years, I had the delightful task of serving a hospice as a relief chaplain. This brought many rewarding hours and some wonderful conversations. My hardest memory is that of walking past an elderly lady obviously near her end, who had an anguished look as she turned her face towards me at the time she was passing. It felt to me she was in some spiritual desperation. My first instinct was to pray with her or in some other tangible way make myself available to her, but I sensed great resistance from her family as I moved in her direction, and so I passed on. Belatedly, I returned and spoke to a daughter who was at her side, suggesting she might like to share with her a prayer which I was able to leave with her on a pre-printed card. I don't know if she did this, or if her daughter might have shared with her, or spoken over her... Here was a dear woman who was entering the final moments of her life, without spiritual help or support. She had every right to expect this...

It was my 49th birthday, and I wanted to end the 40s in style. I know — a go-kart night. So, I rallied all my best mates, male and female, for the challenge. I was looking forward to it and well remember an occasion when I was much younger at Camp. I'll never forget the voice from the sidelines, “Did you see that? Wayne lapped him!” I couldn't wait to do it again. A pastor once shared in my hearing, “Never kill the boy in the man. If you do, you kill the man.” I rang to make the booking and thought the manager would be thrilled to get my booking — a group of about 12, for a couple of hours racing. Yet, even from the outset, I detected his difficult manner. It wouldn't be a good night because of another group who were coming in at 11p.m and they had a standard booking on Friday nights. Still I bravely pressed on, convincing him we would be a very accommodating group and out in time. At the back of my mind it occurred to me that there might be other options — ten pin bow...

For a long time, I was convinced the most effective opportunity I might have with a work colleague or a non-christian friend was to be alert each day, looking for and praying for a “bridge moment,” that moment that just led beautifully or glided naturally into a seeding moment, almost a back-door method if you like. I did not want to foist my faith onto anyone. It had to be comfortable for everyone, witnesser and witnessee (is there such a word?) alike. The conversation could continue to be built over time. The trouble is in my desperation for the perfect opportunity I so often missed it. Sometimes, the subtlety of the bridge moment just wasn’t there. Other times, I was waiting for perfect conditions that never came. “Why do those other two people have to always be in the lunchroom when Jack’s there? Next time Jack and I are here alone, I want to pick up with him on what I heard him say the other day…” Before I knew it, Jack might tender his notice and the “perfect moment” never arr...

Guilt has always come easy to me. I don’t know if it began when I took too much to heart my mother’s puppy dog eyes as they looked in my direction after some hurt or pain I had inflicted on her. Perhaps, it took up residence as a result of my bedtime ritual with dad to absolve my conscience by sharing all my “naughty stories,” from the day. And so it was I grew up to think this world was a place of earned happiness. There wasn’t any place for the luxury of a broken window. Whatever the origins, all my life, guilt has felt safer than grace. It was like a comfortable old shoe, my familiar ground. My accuser (Revelation 12:10) was my own self-talk, my own conditioning. Satan (the external enemy) was just in for the piggy-back ride. What really anchored it for me was my internal voice. The Lord will often speak to us through the people we rub shoulders with in our everyday working world. A lady called Lisa once looked me straight in the eye, “I’ve had the hardest 10 years of my life; it...

From earliest childhood, I held a great fear of the deep end of the swimming pool. It was very important for me to have my feet on something solid – to get out of my depth, to feel nothing but water under my feet threw me into near panic. My flawed attempts at swimming with any kind of ease contributed to my problems. I never seemed to master the art of taking my breath while stroking my way through the water. When I was a young teenager, there was an event at youth camp where an older person kept my head under the water (his idea of a joke). I thrashed about, struggling to surface and take a breath.  My anxiety only became further entrenched and I finally put paid to trying to develop my friendship with water. From then on, I made every effort to stay on terra firma. I still avoid the deep end to this very day. No doubt this fear has kept me from some interesting and exhilarating experiences along the way - scuba diving and water sports of various kinds. But my deep-end phobia...

Surgery loomed yet again – and big surgery at that! I didn’t yet realise how big it was going to get. Aortic incompetence from birth meant that throughout my lifetime my aorta would always be particularly vulnerable. It was 2009, going into winter. I had a consistently growing aneurysm on my ascending aortic arch. This would be my third open heart surgery and would eventually include the aneurysm repair, a further valve replacement (my third), a graft, a mitral valve repair and insertion of a pacemaker. For now, my focus was on the aneurysm. The internet is as much a curse as a blessing. Too much surfing the subject at hand threatens to dethrone God’s incomparable peace. When you are diagnosed with a growing aneurysm such as I had, you do not want to give too much air time to links on aortic dissection or what can happen when an aneurysm acts with a will of its own. I had just been to spend an hour with a professional, to help me track my emotions around our new health crisis and w...