The Wordle of Sunday's reading from Acts 2:1-21 and a link here to my Rectory Musings blog and some sabbatical reflections...
Monday, 17 May 2010
Looking back... Looking forward...
The Wordle of Sunday's reading from Acts 2:1-21 and a link here to my Rectory Musings blog and some sabbatical reflections...
Monday, 10 May 2010
The Eucharistic Adventure Continues...
Recovery from jet lag took a long time. I was exhausted for a few days. I was surprised but considering we were up and awake at about 4.30 am on the day we left and then traveling pretty much constantly until we landed at Heathrow bright and early on the Monday morning. This included an 8 hour wait in Sydney airport and also taking a flight from Singapore at Midnight their time. Shattering. Weird to be back, but with many experiences and much to reflect on.
Other than a few days of recovery one of the things that I did was spend time in London with Richard Watson, Rector of East Barnet... an opportunity to chat with someone whom I have known (not well tho) for a number of years. We had a chance to chat over our theology of the Eucharist and mission. One thing he shared with me that I had not grasped, and forgive me for recording it here so ungraciously, but for Roman Catholic Eucharistic theology, the Mass takes place if you will, on Good Friday at the foot of the cross. SO there is a very real link between the Sacrifice of the Mass and the sacrifice of Christ, of himself to God, on the cross. In Anglican Eucharistic theology, the Eucharist takes place if you will, on Maundy Thursday as it is by in large a recalling of the Last Supper and fulfilling of the hopes of Easter. I am sure many of you might well disagree. Interesting though, and something I had not seen or appreciated before.
Thanks Rich for that and continued support, encouragement, laughs and beer!
Other than a few days of recovery one of the things that I did was spend time in London with Richard Watson, Rector of East Barnet... an opportunity to chat with someone whom I have known (not well tho) for a number of years. We had a chance to chat over our theology of the Eucharist and mission. One thing he shared with me that I had not grasped, and forgive me for recording it here so ungraciously, but for Roman Catholic Eucharistic theology, the Mass takes place if you will, on Good Friday at the foot of the cross. SO there is a very real link between the Sacrifice of the Mass and the sacrifice of Christ, of himself to God, on the cross. In Anglican Eucharistic theology, the Eucharist takes place if you will, on Maundy Thursday as it is by in large a recalling of the Last Supper and fulfilling of the hopes of Easter. I am sure many of you might well disagree. Interesting though, and something I had not seen or appreciated before.
Thanks Rich for that and continued support, encouragement, laughs and beer!
Friday, 16 April 2010
Auckland and beyond - the final chapter
So the final stages of the journey need to be blogged. It seems strange doing this as I am now back in the UK reflecting back on it all, but perhaps time and distance are good like that...
~~~~~~~~
Woke up early on Sunday morning - 5am - perhaps phantom sermon angst. Let the preacher understand! Probably more to do with a warm night and too much wine. Ah well...
Following breakfast and packing we left Pauanui and headed back to Auckland for Easter Day worship at St paul's on Symmonds street.
Arriving at the church, mad me think of ST Aldates in Oxford, as the building had been set up, turned through 90 degrees. The church was previously a bit on an Anglo-Catholic shrine (the stations of the cross and the stoop are still present) but was the venue of a new church plant from HTB in the UK. The very small congregation at Mass has been enhanced by 4 services on a Sunday with somewhere in the region of up to 200 at each, lots of young families, children etc.
The worship was led by a proficient young band. Mostly Matt Redman stuff, which mercifully I knew. The worship had more in common with a free church than with Anglicanism as I know at least.
There was some HillSong worship to begin and a welcome. The rest of the service followed no liturgical format that was recognisably Anglican, but included a welcome, an apology for using a formal liturgical Easter response because it might seem odd or old fashioned (!!!), more worship, a reading read by children with some lovely images accompanying it, a fairly light sermon about resurrection life not being something airy fairy and spiritual and for later, but for now and for living now. We then shared bread and 'juice' together.
This was the really weak point in the worship for me. This clearly as close to sharing Eucharist as we were going to get to on that morning. There was a call to break up into groups of about 20, for someone in our group to go and get the elements, we were then asked to share something that we were thankful for in our group, the words of institution were used and then we were to share the bread and 'wine.' No one in our group really know what they were supposed to be doing really, so one guy shared, and no one else did and we administered to each other. It could have been so much more powerful if the links had been made for us in the address as to why we were doing this, about living resurrection life now by the power of Christ's risen life in us... But it wasn't. We shared, we sang, we went.
There was also an Easter egg hunt earlier in the service for the kids which was nice.
All in all, no robes, trying to be relevant, trying to be relaxed, but ultimately haphazard and disorganised, too 'right on'and too open ended.
That said, the worship was very powerful indeed and I was deeply deeply moved by the power of the Holy Spirit.
My other reflection is that it could have been any other Sunday other than Easter Day. Now I can see a whole theological argument that says that that is ok and that every Sunday is a mini Easter etc etc etc but...
Either way, I came away deeply moved and yet deeply disappointed. I guess a bit like if Mary Magdelene, having met Jesus as the gardener (the reading that Sunday), rushes back to get Simon Peter et al, and for them all to get to the tomb, to find... the body wrapped in the burial garments and lying in state.
It was great to see a full church. It was great to see so many young families. It was great to experience God in good worship. It was a shame that the address didn't work. It was a shame that the Eucharist was so underplayed. It was a shame that the litugical responses were apologised for. It was a tragedy that we were not welcomed by people in the church or really spoken to. All in all, a bit too 'Jesus and me' for my liking...
~~~~~~~~
Woke up early on Sunday morning - 5am - perhaps phantom sermon angst. Let the preacher understand! Probably more to do with a warm night and too much wine. Ah well...
Following breakfast and packing we left Pauanui and headed back to Auckland for Easter Day worship at St paul's on Symmonds street.
Arriving at the church, mad me think of ST Aldates in Oxford, as the building had been set up, turned through 90 degrees. The church was previously a bit on an Anglo-Catholic shrine (the stations of the cross and the stoop are still present) but was the venue of a new church plant from HTB in the UK. The very small congregation at Mass has been enhanced by 4 services on a Sunday with somewhere in the region of up to 200 at each, lots of young families, children etc.
The worship was led by a proficient young band. Mostly Matt Redman stuff, which mercifully I knew. The worship had more in common with a free church than with Anglicanism as I know at least.
There was some HillSong worship to begin and a welcome. The rest of the service followed no liturgical format that was recognisably Anglican, but included a welcome, an apology for using a formal liturgical Easter response because it might seem odd or old fashioned (!!!), more worship, a reading read by children with some lovely images accompanying it, a fairly light sermon about resurrection life not being something airy fairy and spiritual and for later, but for now and for living now. We then shared bread and 'juice' together.
This was the really weak point in the worship for me. This clearly as close to sharing Eucharist as we were going to get to on that morning. There was a call to break up into groups of about 20, for someone in our group to go and get the elements, we were then asked to share something that we were thankful for in our group, the words of institution were used and then we were to share the bread and 'wine.' No one in our group really know what they were supposed to be doing really, so one guy shared, and no one else did and we administered to each other. It could have been so much more powerful if the links had been made for us in the address as to why we were doing this, about living resurrection life now by the power of Christ's risen life in us... But it wasn't. We shared, we sang, we went.
There was also an Easter egg hunt earlier in the service for the kids which was nice.
All in all, no robes, trying to be relevant, trying to be relaxed, but ultimately haphazard and disorganised, too 'right on'and too open ended.
That said, the worship was very powerful indeed and I was deeply deeply moved by the power of the Holy Spirit.
My other reflection is that it could have been any other Sunday other than Easter Day. Now I can see a whole theological argument that says that that is ok and that every Sunday is a mini Easter etc etc etc but...
Either way, I came away deeply moved and yet deeply disappointed. I guess a bit like if Mary Magdelene, having met Jesus as the gardener (the reading that Sunday), rushes back to get Simon Peter et al, and for them all to get to the tomb, to find... the body wrapped in the burial garments and lying in state.
It was great to see a full church. It was great to see so many young families. It was great to experience God in good worship. It was a shame that the address didn't work. It was a shame that the Eucharist was so underplayed. It was a shame that the litugical responses were apologised for. It was a tragedy that we were not welcomed by people in the church or really spoken to. All in all, a bit too 'Jesus and me' for my liking...
Friday, 2 April 2010
Auckland and living the story
So we made it! Having clocked up about 3600 kms or so, we arrived in Auckland. We drove through what is now a very busy city, found the place to drop off the campervan, were driven to the place to collect our (very scabby) hire car and drove to Epsom to meet up with family (parents, 2 aunts and an uncle plus us lot.) What ensued included lots of chat, some wine, a play at the playground, unloading the car and settling in. A great area, a great house, a great welcome, a great meal, a great time.
Suddenly he was gone... (cue a Rush song in my head) my Dad returns to the UK and left that morning. Sad to see him go as I have not really seen him at all over the course of this trip, and as we are now both really relaxed,it would have been good to spend some stress free time with him, but it was not to be...
The day he left, we all upped sticks and drove the 2hrs to Pauanui in the Corramandel. We left before most of the traffic. We were heading for the holiday home owned by family, for a few days of sun, sand, and great times. So far so good.
Yesterday was Good Friday and often for me, one of the busiest and emotionally charged days of the Christian year. We drove from the house to the centre of town. On the way in we passed some members of the local church preparing for a Walk of Witness. They stood in silence, a handful of them, praying before they set out with a large cross to a church for worship. I felt ashamed, cut off and voyeristic as we drove to go and play crazy golf.
In may ways though this is how Lent has been for me this year. I have been a bystander, and I have missed not being an active participant in remembering the Passion. And yet I also understand something. We are called to enter deeply into the mystery of the Passion of Christ, and yet, if we do not (as I have not this year) fully participate – hearing each twist and turn of this part of the Gospel – it is is strangely difficult to enter into the spirit of this Holy season; it is hard to make sense of the Cross without a grasp of the Via De La Rosa and harder still to experience the shock and wonder of the new world order bursting from the empty tomb.
It all becomes a confounded mystery, one that is immensely hard to engage with. In a culture where we are constantly presented with choices, Christian faith being one of them, the Church needs to think hard about how we present what's on offer through faith to a world which chooses to opt in and out of the story we tell year in, year out, and how we help them to make sense of it, and we must pray that the Gospel is not just about how we make sense of a story, but how through encountering the Risen Christ for ourselves, we can become part of the story of God in the world, His story, and to allow that story to be written in us and by us.
Suddenly he was gone... (cue a Rush song in my head) my Dad returns to the UK and left that morning. Sad to see him go as I have not really seen him at all over the course of this trip, and as we are now both really relaxed,it would have been good to spend some stress free time with him, but it was not to be...
The day he left, we all upped sticks and drove the 2hrs to Pauanui in the Corramandel. We left before most of the traffic. We were heading for the holiday home owned by family, for a few days of sun, sand, and great times. So far so good.
Yesterday was Good Friday and often for me, one of the busiest and emotionally charged days of the Christian year. We drove from the house to the centre of town. On the way in we passed some members of the local church preparing for a Walk of Witness. They stood in silence, a handful of them, praying before they set out with a large cross to a church for worship. I felt ashamed, cut off and voyeristic as we drove to go and play crazy golf.
In may ways though this is how Lent has been for me this year. I have been a bystander, and I have missed not being an active participant in remembering the Passion. And yet I also understand something. We are called to enter deeply into the mystery of the Passion of Christ, and yet, if we do not (as I have not this year) fully participate – hearing each twist and turn of this part of the Gospel – it is is strangely difficult to enter into the spirit of this Holy season; it is hard to make sense of the Cross without a grasp of the Via De La Rosa and harder still to experience the shock and wonder of the new world order bursting from the empty tomb.
It all becomes a confounded mystery, one that is immensely hard to engage with. In a culture where we are constantly presented with choices, Christian faith being one of them, the Church needs to think hard about how we present what's on offer through faith to a world which chooses to opt in and out of the story we tell year in, year out, and how we help them to make sense of it, and we must pray that the Gospel is not just about how we make sense of a story, but how through encountering the Risen Christ for ourselves, we can become part of the story of God in the world, His story, and to allow that story to be written in us and by us.
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Rotorua and the language of transformation
The Maoris must be in some way lingustically related to Gaelic speakers or those with a Scandanavian tongue... yet another language, I guess also like my own that does not always pronounce the letters as they are written on the page.
We left Rotorua and travelled to Whakatane. It's one of many places in NZ that begin with the letters 'Wh' but not 'Wh' as in 'where' or 'why', but 'Wh' as in 'fun' and 'fantastic.' So we have gone to see friends in Fockatarnie. I digress.
We left our site before the 10am eviction and were pleased to go. Not a good place or experience. We decided we wanted to go and find 'the old English-looking building you see in the tourist brochures' somewhere in Rotorua. It transpires that it is the museum and it could not get more English looking and therefore the seedy side of Colonial if it tried.
Cream walls. Wooden exposed timbers. Tiled sloping rooves. Two bowling greens, a rose garden and a tip of the hat to our near neighbours in France with a gravel 'square' to play Petanque. All that rubs shoulders with Rotorua's own version of Kiwi culture – hot springs. Back in the 19whatevers a very English 'taking of the waters' style Bathhouse was built here too, but all this gentility is overwhelmed with the raucous Satanic stench of sulphur. It's sort of revolution. Two fingers to you Empire building squibs says Rotorua – I will out smell your delicate roses and cloud your bowls with gag-inducing steam. I loved it! It must be the Protestant part of my Anglicanism coming to the fore.
So to stoke the pyre we decided to spend some time at the Polynesian springs. $32 it cost for us to get into the family pool and spas – a bargin in anyone's book. This gave us spa pools at 40 degrees and 37 degrees and a fresh water pool at 33 degrees. The spa pools felt great on the skin – slightly ascorbic – and wonderfully hot. We all had a wonderful time and didn't want to leave.
We eventually left Rotorua's wonderful whiff (thanks for that tweet Mund!) at about 2pm, much later than we thought. We drove the 30 to Fockatarnie. Now my memory is that part of this road used to be unsealed, but no more! But, it still has to be one of the worst roads we have driven in NZ – rubbish surface. (Dear I must have had a dull day... commenting on the road surface...)
We arrived, and just pulled on Martin and Sarah's driveway. They are son and DiL to other friends of ours. We got in, kids played, walk to playground, great chat about church, church planting and God's vision, mission and ministry, the structure, future and life of both of our churches. Back for lasage and play and kids to bed, followed by more chats. Martin and Sarah have been more than generous and I have been inspired by their seeking after God's will for them and the church they are called to serve – thanks guys you have been a blessing!
Next day, up, breakfast, Al and our kids and Martin walked their kids Ben and Isaac to school. the kids had breakfast and the adults did more God talk. I feel like I have been led to two people who are as passionate for God and His church as I feel I am. They have been great hosts and I feel the tentative beginnings of friendship.
We left about 10.45 in search of Moko (?) the dolphin who has made his home in the rive estuary at Fokatarnie. Well we found him, chasing the dredger boat – didn't his mother warn him not to do that? - not far from the shore. Great to see a dolphin pretty close – could clearly see his dorsal fin and his blowhole exhaling. He was clearly playing and enjoying the attention from people on the dredger and small dingies nearby. An amazing experience.
We drove from Fockatarnie then on to Waihi via Te Puke for a quick lunch. Waihi was put on the map because of the gold and silver found and then mined there espcially Martha's Mine which is a huge open cast mine effectively within Waihi itself. It's a nice wee town and has an interesting museum about the mining industry which has recently restarted. The mine is vast and makes the enormous mining trucks that take 15 minutes to reach the bottom and consume 100 litres of diesel an hour (!!!) look like Tonka toys. A great short stop. The hilight for me in the museum was the video about the moving of the Cornish pump house 296 metres away from falling into the mine.
The pump house has become for Waihi, a symbol of their mining past and present. When application was submitted to reopen the mine a sub-clause was added that said that the mining needed to move the pump house. Watching the video about what they did, an amazing feat of engineering – stabilising and then moving an already standing structure, was jaw-dropping. Google it and see if there is a video about it. It is worth a few minutes of your time to watch. And there the pump house now stands at the top of town, upright, turned and moved to safety.
We drove into Waihi Beach with grey clouds rolling in and found our site, just over the road from the most amazing beach. The site is a place where Kiwis have holidayed since the 1950s, but instead of having a Butlins feel about it, it feels experienced, lived in, like your favourite pair of shoes. Relaxed and yet knows what it is about. I ca hear the waves on the beach as I write, with a chorus of crickets.
Today has, aside from the dolphin encounter, been about seeing the past transformed in the present for the future, if you get what I mean. The Pump house, part of Waihi's past has, through it's move, been transformed in the present into and for the future. This is also the central message of Holy Week. God in Jesus says again – I love you. I want to be with you. Will you be with me? And through the cross, God takes into himself our past and present, and through the abject horror of Christ's death, transforms our present into and for His future.
Ding! Ding! Next stop Auckland!
We left Rotorua and travelled to Whakatane. It's one of many places in NZ that begin with the letters 'Wh' but not 'Wh' as in 'where' or 'why', but 'Wh' as in 'fun' and 'fantastic.' So we have gone to see friends in Fockatarnie. I digress.
We left our site before the 10am eviction and were pleased to go. Not a good place or experience. We decided we wanted to go and find 'the old English-looking building you see in the tourist brochures' somewhere in Rotorua. It transpires that it is the museum and it could not get more English looking and therefore the seedy side of Colonial if it tried.
Cream walls. Wooden exposed timbers. Tiled sloping rooves. Two bowling greens, a rose garden and a tip of the hat to our near neighbours in France with a gravel 'square' to play Petanque. All that rubs shoulders with Rotorua's own version of Kiwi culture – hot springs. Back in the 19whatevers a very English 'taking of the waters' style Bathhouse was built here too, but all this gentility is overwhelmed with the raucous Satanic stench of sulphur. It's sort of revolution. Two fingers to you Empire building squibs says Rotorua – I will out smell your delicate roses and cloud your bowls with gag-inducing steam. I loved it! It must be the Protestant part of my Anglicanism coming to the fore.
So to stoke the pyre we decided to spend some time at the Polynesian springs. $32 it cost for us to get into the family pool and spas – a bargin in anyone's book. This gave us spa pools at 40 degrees and 37 degrees and a fresh water pool at 33 degrees. The spa pools felt great on the skin – slightly ascorbic – and wonderfully hot. We all had a wonderful time and didn't want to leave.
We eventually left Rotorua's wonderful whiff (thanks for that tweet Mund!) at about 2pm, much later than we thought. We drove the 30 to Fockatarnie. Now my memory is that part of this road used to be unsealed, but no more! But, it still has to be one of the worst roads we have driven in NZ – rubbish surface. (Dear I must have had a dull day... commenting on the road surface...)
We arrived, and just pulled on Martin and Sarah's driveway. They are son and DiL to other friends of ours. We got in, kids played, walk to playground, great chat about church, church planting and God's vision, mission and ministry, the structure, future and life of both of our churches. Back for lasage and play and kids to bed, followed by more chats. Martin and Sarah have been more than generous and I have been inspired by their seeking after God's will for them and the church they are called to serve – thanks guys you have been a blessing!
Next day, up, breakfast, Al and our kids and Martin walked their kids Ben and Isaac to school. the kids had breakfast and the adults did more God talk. I feel like I have been led to two people who are as passionate for God and His church as I feel I am. They have been great hosts and I feel the tentative beginnings of friendship.
We left about 10.45 in search of Moko (?) the dolphin who has made his home in the rive estuary at Fokatarnie. Well we found him, chasing the dredger boat – didn't his mother warn him not to do that? - not far from the shore. Great to see a dolphin pretty close – could clearly see his dorsal fin and his blowhole exhaling. He was clearly playing and enjoying the attention from people on the dredger and small dingies nearby. An amazing experience.
We drove from Fockatarnie then on to Waihi via Te Puke for a quick lunch. Waihi was put on the map because of the gold and silver found and then mined there espcially Martha's Mine which is a huge open cast mine effectively within Waihi itself. It's a nice wee town and has an interesting museum about the mining industry which has recently restarted. The mine is vast and makes the enormous mining trucks that take 15 minutes to reach the bottom and consume 100 litres of diesel an hour (!!!) look like Tonka toys. A great short stop. The hilight for me in the museum was the video about the moving of the Cornish pump house 296 metres away from falling into the mine.
The pump house has become for Waihi, a symbol of their mining past and present. When application was submitted to reopen the mine a sub-clause was added that said that the mining needed to move the pump house. Watching the video about what they did, an amazing feat of engineering – stabilising and then moving an already standing structure, was jaw-dropping. Google it and see if there is a video about it. It is worth a few minutes of your time to watch. And there the pump house now stands at the top of town, upright, turned and moved to safety.
We drove into Waihi Beach with grey clouds rolling in and found our site, just over the road from the most amazing beach. The site is a place where Kiwis have holidayed since the 1950s, but instead of having a Butlins feel about it, it feels experienced, lived in, like your favourite pair of shoes. Relaxed and yet knows what it is about. I ca hear the waves on the beach as I write, with a chorus of crickets.
Today has, aside from the dolphin encounter, been about seeing the past transformed in the present for the future, if you get what I mean. The Pump house, part of Waihi's past has, through it's move, been transformed in the present into and for the future. This is also the central message of Holy Week. God in Jesus says again – I love you. I want to be with you. Will you be with me? And through the cross, God takes into himself our past and present, and through the abject horror of Christ's death, transforms our present into and for His future.
Ding! Ding! Next stop Auckland!
Napier and the essence of Salvation
We stayed in Napier last night having gone there when the cloud was so bad on the volacanoes. We had some very special views of Ruapehu on the way across the desert.
That in itself was amazing – the desert road. It was very windy indeed. The landscape reminded me a lot of Exmoor or the North Yorks moors. The sort of place where life should not exist but somehow clings on. The the thing that was startling was the strength of the wind which carved gullies into the ground revealing the layers of volcanic ash and sand over centuries – like miniature canyons. Amazing.
We made our way down out of the hills into the Esk Valley which brought back all sorts of memories for A and me. We drove out of Napier one Sunday after church when we were here on honeymoon to taste wine. We had a lovely lunch at Church Road and finally ended up at Esk Valley vineyard on our way back in to Napier. We loved the wine then, so as we made our way down the valley we spotted the vineyard and the cellar door and decided to go and taste for old times sake – and came away with a bottle of 2008 Chardonnay and 2009 Chenin Blanc to add to our stash of Cloudy Bay and St Clair wines!
The site in Napier was great and empty and big inc it's own restaurant (v slow service which was surprising bearing in mind that there were only 15 covers!)
We spent the morning and early afternoon of today - 25th March – soaking up the sun, the history and the architecture. A word about the latter 2.
Old Napier was hit by a earthquake in the 20s or 30s (sorry for my ignorance) which pretty much destroyed the town. It was rebuilt in the fashion of the day in Art Deco style. Resultantly, the past, but the very present, has been preserved as if in amber, in the very trendy style of the day.
We spent our day enjoying palm tree lined streets and, whilst ignoring most of the shop fronts, we looked up to the buildings above. The sun shone, the sea laced wind blew. We had a great lunch in a local caf. Of all the places we have visited in NZ, Al and I both agreed we could live there.
Off the stinky smells and otherworldly sights of Rotarua for 3 days via Hukka Falls and Lady Knox Geyser – mud pools, hungi, champagne pools here we come.
Hoping also to go to church for Palm Sunday. I have found it so hard not being at a church. Not attending worship had been part of my stripping away and seeing with fresh eyes. But not having been has been feeling like I have been dumped. I am missing being with the One I love and who loves me and taking my place within the Body of Christ, the Bride, wherever she may be. I find myself emotional and teary thinking about her and how I miss her. I am aware that we are being borne in prayer, but not sharing in the Eucharist since the first Sunday in Lent has been my desert road and unimaginably hard. It miss it like a lover. I miss her – the church – like a lover. How I long to be embraced by God and her on Sunday.
We made it to Rotarua fine via Hukka Falls (stunning), the Lady Knox geyser (very special and worth seeing bearing in mind how close to it we were. We also saw the first mud pools of our visit, and they, according to Peter, STINK!
We then went on to Wai O Tapu thermal wonderland. An excellent if not smelly visit and a great introduction to the technicolour geothermal world of yellows (sulphur), reds (iron or arsenic), and many other shades. We had an amazing time in both places and I was amazed at the power of the natural world but also aware that somewhere beneath my feet was some very hot rock! The park was lovely and the native bush was very special indeed. The sun shone, it was hot although that could be as much to do with the geothermal stuff around us.
Finally made our way into Rotarua, having prepared the boys for 'the smell' and there was nothing! Not a whiff! Weird eh? We got here by the skin of our teeth as the fuel light had been on for a while. Our site is small but central and we were able, having enjoyed a swim, to walk 15 mins into the cetre to find an evening meal.
On the way, found the local church, St Luke's and may well worship there on Sunday – just 10 minutes walk up the road which is great.
The kids have been stars today too – long may that continue!
Whilst in Rotorua we spent the day at Te Puia which is effectively a Maori cultural institution. There are carving and weaving schools at there to continue to teach and pass on these two vital elements of Maori cultural identity.
We were part of a guided tour round the compound, for a better word. This began at the gate of he meeting house. We witnessed the 'challenge' where a fern leaf is placed on the ground some distance away by a Maori warrior. The 'chief' of our tribe then stood at a distance whilst the warrior did some ritual 'posturing' – the only way I ca describe it, I guess trying to show us how brave a strong his tribe were. When that was over, our chief went over and picked up the leaf and we were welcomed in song into the meeting house.
Inside the house, having removed our shoes, we were treated to songs, poi twirling, and a haka. All very moving and surprisingly loud! Found myself deeply moved by the simple melodies and beautiful harmonies of the singing and how similar (and it must be because the peoples must be related in some way) to other Polynesian music I have heard before.
The Haka, or war dance, is performed by the All Blacks before a rugby match, but was done before battle traditionally. Lots of bulging eyes, stamping of feet, slapping of chests and protruding of tongues (which signified to their enemies that they would soon pass beyond the tongue into the warrior's belly – all figuratively speaking of course!) It's pretty scary stuff actually, and son 3 was transfixed with pleasure and fear and gripped my hand extra tight. Afterwards he said of it, 'that nearly hurt my feelings!' Mine too Peter, mine too..
Lunch, which came to us late so free drinks and ice cream yay, was a Hangi. Cooked underground on a fire in some way, but consisted of sweet potato, squash, baked potato, cabbage, herbed breadcrumbs and chicken and it was delish.
The rest of the time a Te Puia was taken up with a guided tour seeing the weaving and carving schools, and the amazing geothermal stuff – more mud, more geysers, more pools, more stink. We left via the shop about 4pm! A fantastic and really worthwhile day out.
Sunday – we went to church! I have already commented how hard I have found it not going, and maybe that has been my desert experience and I would like to reflect on it more, but we went to St Luke's.
A modern, 1970s building, organ, music group, contemporary stained glass, chairs, and the most fabulous wooden altar table built from massive bits of wood – looked almost like railway sleepers. Congregation of mixed ages, stages, bodily ability, the bulletin telling us they were a child friendly church and it all felt very familiar.
We were welcomed warmly at the door by the vicar who remembered our names when it came to the eucharist...
The hymns were familiar to us (Ride on, ride on in majesty for example) and the NZ liturgy is familiar but different enough to draw us in. Some bits of CW have obviously nicked and then adapted the NZ liturgy.
We had all 3 readings and a psalm. The address was basically an overview of what the events of Holy Week mean. A couple of nice illustrations which I will have to try and recall. There was a simple childrens talk which ivolved re-enacting of the Gospel using flax fronds – a nice inculturation – processing round the church.
Our palm crosses were not palm, but flax. Again a right and appropriate Kiwi-isation of the Gospel. A nice touch.
But sweet sacrament divine! The grace and mercy of God has never tasted so imbued with the light and life of heaven in bread and wine. We received in the round – family around the family table for the family meal. Beautiful.
I was overcome by the presence of God and felt enveloped by His love. I cannot explain the whole experience but I was in tears or on the verge of tears for the majority of the service. I felt profoundly and divinely loved.
Later on we experienced the opposite – what we could only describe as spiritual attack. We had lunch in a local cafe and wandered over the road to have an ice cream. We were sitting outside on a bench enjoying the sun when out of nowhere came a young Maori lad in skate gear, who looked directly at us, eyeballing us, and then from a large pocket produced a bottle of red wine which he brandished and then smashed on the edge of a nearby bin.
Alex, Ben and Peter had some superficial cuts from the glass and all of us were a bit shaken up by the whole experience. What a waste of wine! But at a spiritual level, I take the experience almost as a warning of some sort. A reminder that as we revel in the love of God, especially this Holy Week, the darkness of sin lurks around and within us all and from what we all need redemption from.
That in itself was amazing – the desert road. It was very windy indeed. The landscape reminded me a lot of Exmoor or the North Yorks moors. The sort of place where life should not exist but somehow clings on. The the thing that was startling was the strength of the wind which carved gullies into the ground revealing the layers of volcanic ash and sand over centuries – like miniature canyons. Amazing.
We made our way down out of the hills into the Esk Valley which brought back all sorts of memories for A and me. We drove out of Napier one Sunday after church when we were here on honeymoon to taste wine. We had a lovely lunch at Church Road and finally ended up at Esk Valley vineyard on our way back in to Napier. We loved the wine then, so as we made our way down the valley we spotted the vineyard and the cellar door and decided to go and taste for old times sake – and came away with a bottle of 2008 Chardonnay and 2009 Chenin Blanc to add to our stash of Cloudy Bay and St Clair wines!
The site in Napier was great and empty and big inc it's own restaurant (v slow service which was surprising bearing in mind that there were only 15 covers!)
We spent the morning and early afternoon of today - 25th March – soaking up the sun, the history and the architecture. A word about the latter 2.
Old Napier was hit by a earthquake in the 20s or 30s (sorry for my ignorance) which pretty much destroyed the town. It was rebuilt in the fashion of the day in Art Deco style. Resultantly, the past, but the very present, has been preserved as if in amber, in the very trendy style of the day.
We spent our day enjoying palm tree lined streets and, whilst ignoring most of the shop fronts, we looked up to the buildings above. The sun shone, the sea laced wind blew. We had a great lunch in a local caf. Of all the places we have visited in NZ, Al and I both agreed we could live there.
Off the stinky smells and otherworldly sights of Rotarua for 3 days via Hukka Falls and Lady Knox Geyser – mud pools, hungi, champagne pools here we come.
Hoping also to go to church for Palm Sunday. I have found it so hard not being at a church. Not attending worship had been part of my stripping away and seeing with fresh eyes. But not having been has been feeling like I have been dumped. I am missing being with the One I love and who loves me and taking my place within the Body of Christ, the Bride, wherever she may be. I find myself emotional and teary thinking about her and how I miss her. I am aware that we are being borne in prayer, but not sharing in the Eucharist since the first Sunday in Lent has been my desert road and unimaginably hard. It miss it like a lover. I miss her – the church – like a lover. How I long to be embraced by God and her on Sunday.
We made it to Rotarua fine via Hukka Falls (stunning), the Lady Knox geyser (very special and worth seeing bearing in mind how close to it we were. We also saw the first mud pools of our visit, and they, according to Peter, STINK!
We then went on to Wai O Tapu thermal wonderland. An excellent if not smelly visit and a great introduction to the technicolour geothermal world of yellows (sulphur), reds (iron or arsenic), and many other shades. We had an amazing time in both places and I was amazed at the power of the natural world but also aware that somewhere beneath my feet was some very hot rock! The park was lovely and the native bush was very special indeed. The sun shone, it was hot although that could be as much to do with the geothermal stuff around us.
Finally made our way into Rotarua, having prepared the boys for 'the smell' and there was nothing! Not a whiff! Weird eh? We got here by the skin of our teeth as the fuel light had been on for a while. Our site is small but central and we were able, having enjoyed a swim, to walk 15 mins into the cetre to find an evening meal.
On the way, found the local church, St Luke's and may well worship there on Sunday – just 10 minutes walk up the road which is great.
The kids have been stars today too – long may that continue!
Whilst in Rotorua we spent the day at Te Puia which is effectively a Maori cultural institution. There are carving and weaving schools at there to continue to teach and pass on these two vital elements of Maori cultural identity.
We were part of a guided tour round the compound, for a better word. This began at the gate of he meeting house. We witnessed the 'challenge' where a fern leaf is placed on the ground some distance away by a Maori warrior. The 'chief' of our tribe then stood at a distance whilst the warrior did some ritual 'posturing' – the only way I ca describe it, I guess trying to show us how brave a strong his tribe were. When that was over, our chief went over and picked up the leaf and we were welcomed in song into the meeting house.
Inside the house, having removed our shoes, we were treated to songs, poi twirling, and a haka. All very moving and surprisingly loud! Found myself deeply moved by the simple melodies and beautiful harmonies of the singing and how similar (and it must be because the peoples must be related in some way) to other Polynesian music I have heard before.
The Haka, or war dance, is performed by the All Blacks before a rugby match, but was done before battle traditionally. Lots of bulging eyes, stamping of feet, slapping of chests and protruding of tongues (which signified to their enemies that they would soon pass beyond the tongue into the warrior's belly – all figuratively speaking of course!) It's pretty scary stuff actually, and son 3 was transfixed with pleasure and fear and gripped my hand extra tight. Afterwards he said of it, 'that nearly hurt my feelings!' Mine too Peter, mine too..
Lunch, which came to us late so free drinks and ice cream yay, was a Hangi. Cooked underground on a fire in some way, but consisted of sweet potato, squash, baked potato, cabbage, herbed breadcrumbs and chicken and it was delish.
The rest of the time a Te Puia was taken up with a guided tour seeing the weaving and carving schools, and the amazing geothermal stuff – more mud, more geysers, more pools, more stink. We left via the shop about 4pm! A fantastic and really worthwhile day out.
Sunday – we went to church! I have already commented how hard I have found it not going, and maybe that has been my desert experience and I would like to reflect on it more, but we went to St Luke's.
A modern, 1970s building, organ, music group, contemporary stained glass, chairs, and the most fabulous wooden altar table built from massive bits of wood – looked almost like railway sleepers. Congregation of mixed ages, stages, bodily ability, the bulletin telling us they were a child friendly church and it all felt very familiar.
We were welcomed warmly at the door by the vicar who remembered our names when it came to the eucharist...
The hymns were familiar to us (Ride on, ride on in majesty for example) and the NZ liturgy is familiar but different enough to draw us in. Some bits of CW have obviously nicked and then adapted the NZ liturgy.
We had all 3 readings and a psalm. The address was basically an overview of what the events of Holy Week mean. A couple of nice illustrations which I will have to try and recall. There was a simple childrens talk which ivolved re-enacting of the Gospel using flax fronds – a nice inculturation – processing round the church.
Our palm crosses were not palm, but flax. Again a right and appropriate Kiwi-isation of the Gospel. A nice touch.
But sweet sacrament divine! The grace and mercy of God has never tasted so imbued with the light and life of heaven in bread and wine. We received in the round – family around the family table for the family meal. Beautiful.
I was overcome by the presence of God and felt enveloped by His love. I cannot explain the whole experience but I was in tears or on the verge of tears for the majority of the service. I felt profoundly and divinely loved.
Later on we experienced the opposite – what we could only describe as spiritual attack. We had lunch in a local cafe and wandered over the road to have an ice cream. We were sitting outside on a bench enjoying the sun when out of nowhere came a young Maori lad in skate gear, who looked directly at us, eyeballing us, and then from a large pocket produced a bottle of red wine which he brandished and then smashed on the edge of a nearby bin.
Alex, Ben and Peter had some superficial cuts from the glass and all of us were a bit shaken up by the whole experience. What a waste of wine! But at a spiritual level, I take the experience almost as a warning of some sort. A reminder that as we revel in the love of God, especially this Holy Week, the darkness of sin lurks around and within us all and from what we all need redemption from.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Wellington to Ohakune (or Onahakalulu as we called it!)
I have mentioned about the visit to see +Richard in my last post but I wanted to also spoend some time reflecting on the rest of our day the following day.
Boy was it windy! I know that Wellington is famed for it's wind but not like this! YIKES! We got blown from our campsite in Lower Hutt to the bus stop to take a bus into the cetre of the city. We were heading for the Te Papa Museum.
The museum is sub-titled 'Our Place' and it is in more way than one. It is 'our place' in that it is the museum of New Zealand, but it is far from being a museum just about New Zealand. It is 'our place' because it is aimed at everyone and anyone can engage with the exhibits as there are many things to touch, operate, look at for both young and old. It is 'our place' as it places the history of the Maori peoples at the heart of the exhibits, but also places their history in the wider context of the history of the peoples of the Pacific Islands and beyond, and places their history with the history of the arriving population largely from Europe within the wider history of New Zeland's place within the history of the world.
It is an unusual museum also in the sense that instead of the exhibition halls being filled with dinosaurs or art, the exhibition halls seem to be themed for example – seismology, with dinosaurs, with the history of technology – the invention of the theodolite. The other thing that seemed to be good was the regular placing of children-centered 'discovery zones.' One enabled kids the draw Maori patterns, to have a go at drumming, to dress up, to do some computer work all staffed too.
We learned much about Maori history but their place within the history of the Pacific Islanders who geneticists think they can trace back to the peoples of South East Asia, but no one ca say with certainty where or when. We saw meeting houses, art, clothing, ocean going boats, jewelry etc. This was all juxtaposed and interspersed with art, and design etc from contemporary NZ.
We learned much about NZ wildlife, both past and present and also saw the world's largest squid and the video of how it was caught, landed, examined and donated to the museum.
We learned about earthquakes and plate tectonics and the volcanic erruption of Mt. Ruapehu in 1995/96. We stood in an earthquake simulator, and how to earthquake proof your house – no mention of house to keep one's camper van safe as the site we are on as I write this, is in sight of the sleeping monster.
We spent far more of the day there than I anticipated, and yet even so, I was ready to go but sad to leave. We barely scratched the surface of what one could see and do in the museum but I can hereby declare it is, as my Dad would say – for me, one of the finest museums around and a must do on anyone's NZ list. I took over 40 photos there alone. Will post them to FB when I can.
The other thing we did was the cable car, more like a very sedate fenicular railway. a lovely run up the hill to the v windswept botanical gardens and Carter Observatory. We got a great view down over the city, appreciated a pretty old sun dial calender and clock, looked at the outside (closed for rewfurb) of the observatory, a very small mooch around the gardens and then a journey down. We would have walked down through the botanics if it had not been so windy.
The search for food, abortive I have to say, took us via the outside of the Beehive – New Zealand's intregueing parliament building. Well worth seeing and another time I would like to do the tour round the inside.
Finally, after some time we caught the bus back to the site and the kids had beans on toast and went bed.
The next day we left early and drove to Ohakune which is just on the edge of the Tongeriro National Park. The drive was dull once we left Wellington. The roads were long and straight, a bit of a novelty compared to previous journies, but you know how straight and dull the driving must be when you start commenting on the livestock in the fields or on the occasional bend when it arrived!
The town of Okahune was a bit deserted but out of season and on a day when the volcanic peaks were covered in cloud, even the woman in the tourist info admitted that those who had arrived to walk had by in large gone on to Napier in the hope to come back when the weather improved.
Ohakune is 'famed' as the carrot capital of NZ – seems like a dodgy claim to me but I have a photo of the boys standing beneath the giant carrot on the edge of the town.
BBQ tonight. Uno played. Bed. Off to Napier tomorrow. Over 3000kms notched up so far!
Boy was it windy! I know that Wellington is famed for it's wind but not like this! YIKES! We got blown from our campsite in Lower Hutt to the bus stop to take a bus into the cetre of the city. We were heading for the Te Papa Museum.
The museum is sub-titled 'Our Place' and it is in more way than one. It is 'our place' in that it is the museum of New Zealand, but it is far from being a museum just about New Zealand. It is 'our place' because it is aimed at everyone and anyone can engage with the exhibits as there are many things to touch, operate, look at for both young and old. It is 'our place' as it places the history of the Maori peoples at the heart of the exhibits, but also places their history in the wider context of the history of the peoples of the Pacific Islands and beyond, and places their history with the history of the arriving population largely from Europe within the wider history of New Zeland's place within the history of the world.
It is an unusual museum also in the sense that instead of the exhibition halls being filled with dinosaurs or art, the exhibition halls seem to be themed for example – seismology, with dinosaurs, with the history of technology – the invention of the theodolite. The other thing that seemed to be good was the regular placing of children-centered 'discovery zones.' One enabled kids the draw Maori patterns, to have a go at drumming, to dress up, to do some computer work all staffed too.
We learned much about Maori history but their place within the history of the Pacific Islanders who geneticists think they can trace back to the peoples of South East Asia, but no one ca say with certainty where or when. We saw meeting houses, art, clothing, ocean going boats, jewelry etc. This was all juxtaposed and interspersed with art, and design etc from contemporary NZ.
We learned much about NZ wildlife, both past and present and also saw the world's largest squid and the video of how it was caught, landed, examined and donated to the museum.
We learned about earthquakes and plate tectonics and the volcanic erruption of Mt. Ruapehu in 1995/96. We stood in an earthquake simulator, and how to earthquake proof your house – no mention of house to keep one's camper van safe as the site we are on as I write this, is in sight of the sleeping monster.
We spent far more of the day there than I anticipated, and yet even so, I was ready to go but sad to leave. We barely scratched the surface of what one could see and do in the museum but I can hereby declare it is, as my Dad would say – for me, one of the finest museums around and a must do on anyone's NZ list. I took over 40 photos there alone. Will post them to FB when I can.
The other thing we did was the cable car, more like a very sedate fenicular railway. a lovely run up the hill to the v windswept botanical gardens and Carter Observatory. We got a great view down over the city, appreciated a pretty old sun dial calender and clock, looked at the outside (closed for rewfurb) of the observatory, a very small mooch around the gardens and then a journey down. We would have walked down through the botanics if it had not been so windy.
The search for food, abortive I have to say, took us via the outside of the Beehive – New Zealand's intregueing parliament building. Well worth seeing and another time I would like to do the tour round the inside.
Finally, after some time we caught the bus back to the site and the kids had beans on toast and went bed.
The next day we left early and drove to Ohakune which is just on the edge of the Tongeriro National Park. The drive was dull once we left Wellington. The roads were long and straight, a bit of a novelty compared to previous journies, but you know how straight and dull the driving must be when you start commenting on the livestock in the fields or on the occasional bend when it arrived!
The town of Okahune was a bit deserted but out of season and on a day when the volcanic peaks were covered in cloud, even the woman in the tourist info admitted that those who had arrived to walk had by in large gone on to Napier in the hope to come back when the weather improved.
Ohakune is 'famed' as the carrot capital of NZ – seems like a dodgy claim to me but I have a photo of the boys standing beneath the giant carrot on the edge of the town.
BBQ tonight. Uno played. Bed. Off to Napier tomorrow. Over 3000kms notched up so far!
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