Drawing from some ‘incidental’ moments from Jesus’ encounters with people in the Gospel of Luke, she spoke about the fact so much energy in our society is expressed in trying to be better, unique or interesting; a sign that so many of us actually feel quite ordinary.

And also how so many stories celebrated in church are of radical and dramatic life-changes, whereas our life and experiences of love to others is often unexciting and repetitive, indeed necessarily so.

She drew on the great quote from CS Lewis, from his sermon The Weight of Glory:

“There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal… next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses…”.

She concluded that no Christian act is ordinary. And that, paradoxically, it takes extraordinary wisdom to embrace the ordinary things of life with faithfulness.

It got me thinking about this fascinating internal desire to be, or appear, extraordinary.

The people whom history anoints as extraordinary do not seem to have sought ‘extrordinariness’ as an end in itself.

They’re generally the ones who have served a particular cause with such diligence and sacrifice as to have almost embodied the cause itself, often at huge personal cost.

It’s rarely about a quick or grand gesture, but rather a tenacity, a willingness to not be distracted by mere short-term opportunities for fame or glory. (Fame being quite a common, ordinary ambition).

Nelson Mandela is an obvious example. He didn’t spend 28 years building a platform, trying to become extraordinary. He spent it in jail, subsumed within the cause, a servant to it. That is quite extraordinary.

There’s not many things more tiring that someone trying to appear extraordinary.

The great paradox of the matter, however, is that any personal desire to be extraordinary is a self-defeating ambition.

There’s nothing more ordinary than a person seeking to be extraordinary.

And trying to be extraordinary means avoiding things which are ordinary, which generally leads to avoiding certain people because they are ordinary. A hideous ambition.

And when we reach out to embody our own preconceived idea of what extraordinary looks like, it often consisting of surprisingly cliche status symbols of some form or another.

Our culture is really quite predictable in mapping out all of these things, and our vision of ‘extraordinariness’ is generally guided by whatever popular culture says is success. It’s all pretty unbearably similar.

So often, trying to be extraordinary is actually an exercise in imitation, not creativity.

In the self conscious attempt to reach beyond, we blend.

And indeed the truly extraordinary things about a person is often hidden behind their desperate shiny attempts at appearing special.

CS Lewis has a great few lines on this too, perhaps his greatest passage ever:

Even in social life, you will never make a good impression on other people until you stop thinking about what sort of impression you are making. Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it. 

The principle runs through all life from top to bottom. Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favorites wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end: submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life. Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ, and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in. 

I recognised it straight away – it had belonged to my Dad, who coincidently passed away five years ago this week.

For years this tin sat on Dad’s office shelf, it was where he placed the money he was giving away to a variety of mission organisations.

I always knew Dad was generous, but only as I sorted through his papers after his death that I discovered exactly how much so, despite living the last two decades of his life on a pension.

This tin wasn’t for coins, it was for rolls of notes.

A variety of mission organisations, and even a Bible College were consistently blessed by Dad and Mum’s faithful giving.

This was always in addition to his regular tithe to his local church. From a very young age I recall Dad teaching about the importance of setting aside the first 10% for the church’s ministry, and then for other mission work, and then some for garage sales…!

With Bill Gates in town last week, many people commented on his generosity to the poor. But something inside us can easily add “…as he should, he’s wealthy enough”.

But as those within mission organisations and churches know, that while the big gifts make a profound difference, they are rare. Most organisations survive on the regular smaller giving of the many.

I’m reminded that a significant way of living a missional lifestyle is to give our money away. Not just because its the end of the financial year, but because it’s ethical, biblical and because it’s a thrilling way to live.

I don’t actually believe God’s calls most of us to poverty. But he doesn’t call the poor to poverty either.

And we can become slaves to money both by loving it too much, as well as having too little.

Why not set up a ‘little green tin’ on your online account, via up some regular direct debits?

Money is never your master if you just keep giving it away.

I’ve just returned from the ANZAC Day Dawn Service at the Blackwood Soldiers Memorial.

In Australia, this annual ritual commemorates those soldiers who lost their lives in war. It was, as usual, a packed affair, with the main intersection blocked off due to the several thousand people of all ages in attendance.

From 6pm last night, a series of young people form several local community service groups have kept vigil around the Memorial through the night.

During a debate at Mitcham Council the other night, I mentioned ANZAC Day as being a commemoration of what many Australians see as a sacred narrative at the heart of our history and identity.

Gary Bouma, in his excellent study of Australian spirituality Australian Soul: Religion and Spirituality in the Twenty-first Century notes the continual growth of participation in ANZAC Day as an example of the search for meaning within the lives of Australians.

The explicit values of mateship, solidarity and sacrifice are are the heart of this ritual, which he notes are signs that Australians are looking for a unifying story, and this one, deeply rooted in our history, provides the meaning we search for in our lives.

In doing so, he notes that within our contemporary society today, the religious and spiritual is often reflected in a ‘set of activities which produce hope’.

He suggests this as an example of the vital point of participation in people’s search for meaning and ritual in their identity.

He identifies this kind of remembrance event as being a set of activities, ‘…rituals, dawn services, the blare of the bugle, getting together with friends…The very activity of engaging in these events promotes hope, gets a person going and provides something to look forward to’.

This fits with my observation of the excitement amongst young people who participate in such a service, it is the experience primarily that they hunger for, to access the meaning. Asking young adults about ANZAC Day, they talk of wanting to one day visit Gallipoli, just to ‘be there on that day, to have experienced it’.

The place of experience and activity to provoke meaning is profoundly central to understanding the spiritual temperature of Australia.

Bouma further notes, ‘Meanings alone are much less likely to achieve the end of movement into the future resolution of conflict, expression of grief, joy, deliverance or whatever’.

People seek out meaning through participation in a set of activities that produce hope.

Do you weep, Mrs Thatcher, do you weep?
Do you wake, Mrs Thatcher, in your sleep? 
Do you weep like a sad willow? 
On your Marks and Spencer’s pillow? 
Are your tears molten steel? 
Do you weep? Do you wake with ‘Three million’ on your brain? 
Are you sorry that they’ll never work again? 
When you’re dressing in your blue, do you see the waiting queue? 
Do you weep, Mrs Thatcher, do you weep?

The greatest thing about the terrible poetry is the line that follows,

“I think my poem is extremely brilliant. It is the kind of poem which could bring a Government to its knees”

The seriousness of the delusion is magical. Like much of character-drive English humour, which unfolds with nuance, the biggest laughs are in the subtlest detail.

The importance of Adrian Mole in my pubescent literary formation just can’t be underestimated, and may be best captured by a quote by comedian David Walliams: ”The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole was our Bible. It was probably the biggest phenomena of my youth after Star Wars, and Star Wars was bigger than God”

Adrian Mole is a magnificent embodiment of English teenage anxious ambition. A skinny rebel with Noddy wallpaper.

The very first time I read the Secret Diary, probably in late primary school, I didn’t even realise it was comedic.  He was this truthful, awkward nerd who loved reading and took things incredibly seriously. He worried about the important things I worried about.

Part of the brilliance of Adrian Mole as a character is the humorous naiveté of his worldview. As I grew older I found multiple re-reads increasingly funny. So many of his worries and judgements (which I shared) are mistaken readings of adult life.

And things DO seem incredibly worrisome and serious at that age. But while other characters in a similar vein – think Kevin Arnold in The Wonder Years – have a sense of settled popularity and ‘everyboy’ about them, Mole by contrast, sees himself as true outsider, albeit too riddled with anxiety and personal tidiness to ever do anything conventionally rebellious about it.

He feels the weight of dutiful responsibility beyond his years which is never asked of him, such as checking his baby sister’s breathing, and faithfully supporting, though hating, a lonely geriatric (and washing his bacon and egg dishes with no soap and cold water), without question. He generally sees himself as the one who must do the right things in the midst of an irresponsible world.

He also sees himself as a major intellectual, falling for the quite common mistake of perceiving his own subjective judgements on modern life as unique and insightful critique. His love of books and poetry betrays his idealistic view of his own literary prowess. He has, of course, an unfinished mammoth novel in him titled ‘Lo, the Flat Hills of my Homeland’.

It was also an education, indeed it is from Adrian that I first learnt about Margaret Thatcher, the Fawklands War and Malcom Muggeridge.

But the unique angle taken by author Sue Townsend is that whilst utilising the theme of viewing and judging the adult world through the eyes of a teenager, she makes the protagonist a conservative, not-very-clever nerd, rather than a rebel.

Something similar is used more obviously in the 80′s sitcom Family Ties where teenager Alex P Keating (Michael J Fox) is more politically conservative than his ex-hippy boomer parents. For Adrian, it’s in contrast to his 40 yo, Female Eunich-reading mother who is always encouraging him to get a trendy haircut, as in this classic passage:

“I think my mother is cracking up, she is behaving more strangely than usual. She came into my bedroom to change my sheets and when I objected to her dropping cigarette ash on my Fawklands Campaign map she said ‘For God’s sake Adrian, this room is a bloody shrine! Why don’t you leave your clothes on the floor like normal teenagers?’

I said I like things to be neat and tidy but she said ‘You’re a bloody obsessive’, and left.

When he does briefly try to be cool, joining a local gang before then leaving home, he leaves a note for the gang leader, Barry Kent which reads:

‘Baz – I’ve blown town. The pigs will be looking for me. Try and put ‘em off the scent will you?’

I love that he even though he adopts street language, he can’t help including the correct apostrophe.

But overall, Adrian Mole is a celebration of ordinariness. The flat, plain, domestic atmosphere of suburban life is unrelenting. There is no fantasy, no magical alternative world. Indeed as Mole grows older, in the (admittedly lesser) later books, reality only smacks harder.

The brilliance of the Adrian Mole series is not only the description of this reality, but his own mocking of those who push against it in superficial ways. Although he does acknowledge a shinier world in other homes, where people have new 10-speed bikes, and cool names like Jason.

And so there is certainly a sadness to the whole context, a collective suburban sigh, against which Adrian believes he may be a lone poetic reed.

In this vein, the Secret Diary is closer the The Office (UK) than Harry Potter, but while seemingly having the anxiety of a younger David Brent, and being similarly desperate for fame, he is more genuinely bookish and would look down on Brent’s desperate ways, seeing himself on a higher intellectual plane. He has a fair bit of  Gareth about him too, if you substitute the army for a library.

It’s the lack of self-awareness that unites them all, not being able to see what everyone else can. Not getting the memo. This is paralysing at school, and social death at work.

That sense of missing out, but thinking everyone else has it wrong is a common experience, and one with which I resonated with Adrian Mole.

One of the hardest quests in life is to find the truth. Comedy can be our friend in this endeavour, along with Jesus Christ himself, pricking balloons, speaking directly to us.

And that’s why we’re totally with Adrian. It’s so funny, and it’s so real.

For whilst my bedroom wall was plastered Dermott Brereton and Poison; it was Adrian Mole who was closer than a brother. Someone else not great at sport, who loved reading, and felt a strange overdeveloped sense of responsibility.

The Secret Diary takes us into these precious, precise thoughts and observations, and on every single page it’s still absolute, hilarious, gold.

I’ve found many arehelped by the following words from the third paragraph of the Uniting Church Basis of Union, which reads:

The Church as the fellowship of the Holy Spirit confesses Jesus as Lord over its own life; it also confesses that Jesus is Head over all things, the beginning of a new creation, of a new humanity. God in Christ has given to all people in the Church the Holy Spirit as a pledge and foretaste of that coming reconciliation and renewal which is the end in view for the whole creation. The Church’s call is to serve that end: to be a fellowship of reconciliation, a body within which the diverse gifts of its members are used for the building up of the whole, an instrument through which Christ may work and bear witness to himself. The Church lives between the time of Christ’s death and resurrection and the final consummation of all things which Christ will bring; the Church is a pilgrim people, always on the way towards a promised goal; here the Church does not have a continuing city but seeks one to come. On the way Christ feeds the Church with Word and Sacraments, and it has the gift of the Spirit in order that it may not lose the way.

I actually believe the Basis of Union could be a helpful guiding document for many churches. It’s writing was deeply influenced by the missional and ecumenical movement. More of that anon.

You can read the full document here.

I actually love listening to scripture, being swept into the whole grand narrative; and hearing verses afresh brings thoughts to mind which are yet to jump out at the eyes.

I often find my thoughts wander off into reflection on a passage or word, and what it means for my life, or how rich the thought is, or how difficult to hear.

Suddenly I’ll realise I’ve missed a whole section pondering that last part – but I think that may be the point.

You can always jump back and relisten, but activating new thoughts, chewing questions, awakening ideas, that’s how one wrestles with truth.

And of course, most of the original audience for the Old and New Testaments would have engaged with it aurally, albeit in a communal group. It’s a wonderful experience.

First thing is to choose a translation or paraphrase. On paper I generally use the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV), but also often use the English Standard Version (ESV) and the New International Version (NIV).

It’s much the same in audio, however be sure to listen to a preview first to decide if you want with or without the background synth music. I recommend without.

A quick iTunes search brings up typical options, like this unabridged Listener’s NIV for $43.99 with a North American accented reader.

There’s also various podcasts offering passages for free, such as this ESV ‘Faith Comes by Hearing’ version.

Looking beyond iTunes, this guy seems to be doing a backyard job. His accent is British, but you seem to have to download each bit separately, and he reads fast!

One current recommendation would actually be this version produced by the UK Bible Society with different voices for characters, though quite well done.

Another option is to download the free ‘Youversion’ app, where you a can search and read scripture, then just push to the little speaker button in the bottom right hand corner and it reads to you. The voice seems to be a US/UK mashup – actually quite hard to pick, a bit like Russell Crowe these days. They offer both ESV and NIV.

If you are keen to hear Darth Vader read the New Testament, then this New Kings James Version read by James Earl Jones is available for $13.99.

Tempting also is this one with Johnny Cash doing the same.

It’s hard to find is an Australian voice, and I can’t helping thinking this would be a fantastic retirement project for Father Bob Maquire.

Anyone got some better options?

2 Timothy 1:11, For this gospel I was appointed a herald and an apostle and a teacher, and for this reason I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know the one in whom I have put my trust…

It’s part of a moving passage in Paul’s second letter to Timothy, and lays out what it means to boldly embrace one’s ministry vocation, no matter the cost.

One thing that caught my attention was the three roles Paul embraces for himself: Herald, Apostle, and Teacher.

Apostle and Teacher are two common NT words, both appearing in several places, including his ministry gifting matrix in Ephesians 4.

Both are quite well understood terms in contemporary ministry also, with particular recent attention focused on the Apostolic within the missional conversation (For example, see Alan Hirsch’s latest  The Permanent Revolution: Apostolic Imagination & Teaching for the 21st Century)

But what is a herald?

This Greek word for it, ‘keryx‘ only appears twice in the New Testament, the other being 1 Tim 2:7, where Paul advocates for the need to pray for people in such as ‘Kings and those in high positions so that we may lead a quiet and peaceful life in all godliness and dignity”,  because God our saviour “…desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth……. for this I was appointed a herald…”

Most translations alternate ‘herald’ with ‘preacher’ but it’s actually a word with three interesting nuances in the original Greek:

Firstly, a keryx was a person who brought a significant announcement from a king to the people. A bit like a town crier. 

Secondly, it was an emissary who, when two armies stood opposed ready for battle, would meet in the middle to discuss terms of peace or a truce, on the king’s behalf.

And thirdly, it refers to a kind of spruiker, who stands in a market and shouts out to people, beckoning them to consider the produce for sale.

In ancient Greek mythology, Keryx was actually the son of Hermes, the Messenger of the gods who, by the time of Homer, was seen as the patron of all keryx, able to move between humans and the divine as a kind of intercessor or envoy.

Hermes carried the caduceus, a staff with two serpents equally entwined under two wings, a common symbol of messengers, denoting negotiation and in particular commerce, where transactions and exchange  were facilitated.

The Roman derivative of Hermes, Mercury, likewise carried the same staff – continuing the commercial theme – for his name was derived from the latin Merx the roots of our words merchant, and merchandise.

In Athens in the bronze age, the office of keryx included various humble yet heroic tasks, and included announcing major public assemblies, and acting as messengers between both friends and enemies, requiring concentration, and prudent diplomatic skill.

In 396BC, these ‘Heralds’ were actually allowed to compete in the Olympic Games, in a category where points were awarded for audibility and enunciation.

With this richer understanding of the term, we start to see contours of Paul’s appropriation of the term which is lost if we settle just with the translation ‘preacher’ in the conventional sense we are used to. Not the least because the usual word for preacher (kerygma) is not used in either passage.

Rather, he is a Spruiker/Envoy of truth.

The term actually has a more widescreen connotation than either evangelist or preacher. It does seem to wrap in elements of both the prophet-evangelist. Communicating the gospel to the culture at large, not just a person.

For the audience of the keryx is either a crowd, or another monarch or power. A herald is one who can tell truth to power, or truth to a crowd – no easy thing.

It has the inference of a Significant, Compelling, Public Declaration.

It actually may be a helpful, energising term for those involved in ministry in the public square.

An encouragement to be bold; and reminders to be nuanced, prudent, accurate and clearly heard!

There is, of course, the sense that Paul is speaking of his entire catalytic ministry to the Gentiles. But those who find themselves having to speak often into public discourse, or speaking of faith in a larger dynamic context, including the media, may well find Paul’s vocational calling here affirming.

Last week in preparation for a talk with a non-profit, I conducted an online survey with questions related to values, life-pressures, identity, regrets and hopes.

I was keen to see if it confirmed some broader research, and if it caught any unusual perspectives.

The data covered a broad 25-40 age group, but I was specifically interested in the 30-35 age group, which is the first wave of Gen Y, hitting the average age of marriage and kids for the first time.

What are their reflections on life? How are they coping?

There was some very interesting responses, and a couple of surprises. I’ll share one that got my attention.

I asked quite a few questions on each issue in different ways. There were no suggested responses, just a blank space to answer:

What Do You Need To Help You Live Life More Fully?

Consider what your answer would be.

Another question one was a bit more specific: What area of life would you now most like to ‘fix’?

Again, what comes to mind for you?

Both of these questions had the same highest response – in fact it was a dominant theme running through the survey.

A clear and definite answer.

Want to know what it is?

Self-discipline and/or Self Control.

It’s a more concise version of a talk I’ve been asked to do several times now in quite diverse places.

You can get it here.

For those unfamiliar, McCaughey was a defining figure in the formation of the Uniting Church, personally drafting much of the Uniting Church’s foundational document, the Basis of Union, and then becoming its inaugural President.

For twenty years he was Master of Ormond College in Melbourne, beginning as Professor of Biblical Studies, having emigrated from Ireland with his wife and family in his thirties.

Then, in 1986, he was appointed Governor of Victoria.

His is a fascinating life, and I particularly noted among his many attributes the ability to articulate faith and values credibly into the Australian public square.

I’m struck by his eloquence, which was deeply informed by his avid love of poetry.

It’s also interesting to see how how much of his ecumenical energy was probably energised by his Irish roots. Although Martin doesn’t give a detailed exploration of the process of church union, we do pick up his significant role within it.

It is interesting also to note his friendship with missional thinkers such as Leslie Newbigin, and how they saw the ecumenical movement as a missional imperative.

He became something of an Australian renaissance-statesman, seemingly able to remain in step with the shifting intellectual life of Australia throughout the secularising 1970′s; and then delivering the Boyer Lectures in 1987.

As an educationalist, he saw philosophical and humanistic study as a vital compliment to science and technology, and believed all students should engage some level of literature and poetry as a means of understanding human nature and our social context.

In step with the ever more confident emerging Australian intellectual art and literature set, his view was that “we need them all” in order to grow a transformed and enriched Australian imagination, “without which we are unlikely to acquire a shared vision”.

The impact of his personality and ministry is considerable within the Australian and worldwide church, several decades of students, and the broader Australian intellectual life.

I strongly recommend it, especially for those unfamilar with the man, new to the Uniting Church (or indeed long part of it), or interested in Australian church history.

Here’s a few taster quotes and passages:

“In the Uniting Church we take excellent parish ministers away from ministering to congregations, put them behind a desk in offices and believe we shall thereby solve problems which can (actually) only be solved where Word and Sacrament and pastoral care are available for believing and unbelieving people”

“There is an art of living, and a great part of its practice depends upon respect; and respect itself is a part of true love”

On UCA regulations: “You could throw away half of them, and it wouldn’t matter which half” 

“…McCaughey’s caution in relation to matters of social justice; he was always concerned that such attitudes could slip, if not carefully managed, into moralism that lost sight of the gospel’s freedom”

In a letter to his wife, on lecturing as a young man: “I agree with you my technique is bad; I had forgotten how young I look and consequently how much people are likely to dislike my manner… the answer is to be as sincere as possible. And let the message itself do the shocking…”

“The aim of the church’s training of its ministry is not to equip men (sic) with an encyclopaedic knowledge… but to give men the skill of the craftsmen who loves his tools and knows how to use them”

(The Basis of Union)…did “not say anybody could do anything…What it said was everybody can do something”

“None of us deserve the prayers of others. We simply need them”

On Uniting Church Identity & ‘church patriotism’: “We have no identity, no distinctive marks… we have embarked on a course whereby we ask men and women to forget who they are, and remember whose they are”