Whose image?

What happens when we come to church? What happens when we walk in through this front door and sit ourselves down in this place? What do we bring with us? What do we leave outside?

In the last couple of years we have had news headline after story after opinion piece after editorial about the global financial crisis. News of civil war and natural disasters and plagues have continued to happen – sometimes as front page news, and sometimes not.  Do we leave those things behind when we come in here? What about our own problems and issues? Work, family, health, our children, our future? Do we leave them all neatly stacked at the door in order to come here and focus on other things? God things? Holy things?

Weaving connections: the sounds of St Pancras

Imprisoned in a cage of sound
Even the trivial seems profound.

John Betjeman "Uffington"

Railway stations are hardly the quietest places. I know very few people who seek out the railway platform for a little solitude. Which makes it somewhat ironic to find this quote inscribed near the feet of the great poet at St Pancras. And so my thoughts have turned to just how full our world is with noise in all its guises.

Traveling on the Tube in London, I was struck by the inescapable presence of the media; it is routine nowadays for free newspapers to be distributed to the mass of commuters arriving at the station. What is it then that so many folk are exposed to as they travel to and from work? It would be nice to think that the media is offering serious accounts of the world in which we live, together with some limited but informed commentary. Unfortunately, it seems that these 'newspapers' are merely an extension of the gossip magazines, with page after page of trivia dressed up as serious news. Does it really make a difference to our world whether or not we are dressed à la mode, or if some musical celebrity is overweight? Do we really need hundreds upon hundreds of pages fed to us daily, adding more and more noise to an overwhelmingly noisy world?

Without being unduly harsh, I sometimes wonder to what degree the church contributes to the cacophony of voices competing for our attention. And to what degree, within the life of the church, we focus upon the trivial rather than the profound.

Our second week in the UK was something of a "talkfest" (which is not to suggest that the first week was particularly silent). The International Conference on Fresh Expressions and Pioneering (ICFEP) was a line up of Fresh Expressions practitioners telling us how wonderful their product was. At times it seemed more "advertorial" than conference, and it seemed to add to the "noise" without necessarily adding much else. Perhaps I'm being unnecessarily critical, but we're hardly short of people in this world eager to tell us what to think and what to do and how to behave, and at times it all seems more like a "cage of sound" rather than a sacred space in which to hear the still, small voice of God.

One of the questions discussed at ICFEP was "What makes church 'church'?" Personally, I was somewhat dismayed at the shallowness of some of the responses. Is church nothing more than gathering together on a Sunday? Regardless of how "holy" or "special" that may be, Sunday worship hardly constitutes the church! Equally, evangelism seems to be a pretty inadequate description for the life Jesus led, which suggests it's also an inadequate definition of the body of Christ.

On the other hand, the previous week was full of living demonstrations of what it means to be the church. In Ashford and St Paul's Way and the Bromley by Bow Centre there were concrete reminders that the church is not about noise, but about the bringing in of the kingdom of God. Where Christ is present, there is healing and justice and life in all its fullness. When the body of Christ is present, then those qualities are also real in this world. And somehow these spaces, particularly Bromley by Bow, created sacred space, a space with less noise and more room for God.

Somehow we need to free ourselves of the clamour of voices competing for our attention and focus upon the life of One whose very existence was focused on making a difference in the lives of those encountered.

Where do we find church?
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

Weaving connections: the surprises of St Pancras

And in the shadowless, unclouded glare
Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where
A misty sea-line meets the wash of air.

John Betjeman "Cornish cliffs"

St Pancras is a surprising station. For a start, there is good coffee to be had while waiting for the train. Second, there are no rubbish bins to dispose of the empty cups! And surprisingly there is no litter. Apparently London has embraced the reality of living in a post-terrorist bombing society and adjusted accordingly.

But the bigger surprise is the artwork to be found on the upper concourse. Down below the crowds scurry on their way to somewhere important, but up above it is much calmer, almost peaceful. There are two notable statues which draw the attention of passersby; one is of Sir John Betjeman, the renowned poet and benefactor of St Pancras Station. The other is "The meeting place" by Paul Day. It's a modern piece, completed in 2008, and it tells an interesting story. The two central figures embrace as they are drawn together: the meeting. Below, running right around the plinth, is an intriguing and mysterious series of other meetings, other gatherings of humanity in all its rawness and vitality.

I know that others have reflected upon this slightly mysterious but engaging artwork, but there is so much that captures my imagination. Significantly, the reliefs are not romanticised. My personal favourite is another embrace: in a crowded carriage, a woman wraps her arms around her lover, but over his shoulder her concentration is on her mobile phone. What a marvellous metaphor for our age! So often we are present to one another, but only partially present. So much else clutches at our sleeves, demanding our attention. I wonder at the difference between the two embraces: in one, attention to the other is total; in the second, questions immediately arise about fidelity.

Surely our Christian vocation is to give ourselves completely to the other.* I know how difficult I find this to do, but my experience of God nevertheless asks it of me. The other is created in the image and likeness of God. There is no one who is not worthy of our undivided attention. Of course, the problem is not the worthiness or otherwise of the other, but my own limited attention span.

And if we embrace the truth contained in the lovers' embrace, that the other requires our presence, then there are so many ways we are called to respond. Further along from the mobile phone woman is another figure: isolated at the foot of a staircase, a dog her only companion, she appears to be a "bag lady". But she too is a child of God. It may be so much easier to give our complete attention to someone young and beautiful but our God is not so easily distracted from the serious business of love.

Andrew Mawson might ask, "What opportunities are we given?" It's a good question, in part because it recognises that we are dependent upon the gift of opportunities.

John Betjeman stands a little distance away. Head thrown back, he gazes into... What? Into the future, perhaps? What opportunities does the future hold for us as people who believe in the God of surprises?


* I know I'm supposed to say, "give ourselves completely to God", but I'm thinking specifically here about our this-worldly encounters where God is present in the other.

Weaving connections: Janine's thoughts #4

Juggling mess, hope and trust

Churches, even traditional ones, do exist in messy places.
As a bunch of Tasmanians in a crowd, reportedly, of 1 million, we found ourselves in a very strange place. The Notting Hill Carnival was an explosion of noise, colour, movement and, above all, people. It was a celebration of West Indian music, food and culture. Some of the colourful floats were sponsored by local businesses, but many were clearly the efforts of community groups, including at least one church.

We allowed ourselves to be taken along with the crowd (sometimes you had no choice!) and stopped,looked, listened and felt. At one point we stepped out of the crowd and into the relative quietness of the local Anglican church. A small band of elderly people were providing refreshment and an oasis of calm. This servant people were also ready with brooms, buckets and mops to clean up after this giant party was over.

The differences, in both style and service, of this church with the South Ashford Baptist Church were superficially large, but at the core of their sense of mission much less so. Service to the community was at the core of both places.  Both had elements of servanthood that were expressions of their life of faith. The degree to which the party goers in Notting Hill or the families of Ashford recognise the role of the church in the services provided is not entirely clear. The biggest difference between the two situations seems to be, not so much the nature and size of the service provided (an annual clean-up and a multi-faceted children's service don't have that much in common), but the level of engagement of the congregation with that service.

Even there, I am not clear about the form of engagement for each congregation.

The Notting Hill group were prepared to get into clearing up the mess left behind by the, mostly young, people, but were they engaging in the messiness of the lives of those young people? The Ashford congregation supported the service and trusted the leadership of The Willow Centre to continue to provide the service. The points of engagement were not entirely clear. To what degree did the congregation touch the lives of the families attending the centre?

While my visit was brief, the privilege of helping out in the active movement session for young mothers and their toddlers was great. It was messy, noisy and unpredictable but a humbling experience. Being alongside, even briefly, E and his mum and the other mums and young children allowed me the smallest glimpse of the larger vision held by the leaders of The Willow Centre. We embark on such missions and sometimes God grants us glimpses of where we are called to go. While the congregation grieved, to some degree for a mission that had moved beyond them, they had embarked on that journey in trust and still trusted that more would be granted. The yearning for the almost, but not yet mission was palpable. Trust was held by the congregation but it was thinning. Yet I was reminded that God leads us to God's mission already out there in the world. That hope and trust have already gone before us was strongly embodied in E trustingly holding the hand of a stranger as we all danced and sang together.

What a grace moment!

Weaving connections: whirlwind or haven?

It's been a couple of days now since our last encounter with Whirlwind Andrew, a couple of days with space to reflect upon all that we saw and experienced at St Paul's Way, the Bromley by Bow Centre, and the House of Lords.



Our first meeting with Reverend Lord Andrew Mawson was in a crowd outside the Tube station at Mile End; our last in the café at Bromley by Bow. I'm pleased it was there because it was at the Centre that all we had seen and done came together - perhaps not into a cohesive whole, but at least into something with understandable shape and significant meaning. It was at B by B that theology gave birth to mission, and there that mission transformed an established church into something new and vital.



When Andrew first arrived the B by B congregation was (as described by him) twelve little old ladies in a church apparently so far into decline that death appeared to be lurking in the wings. Twenty-six years later a small suite of tired old buildings is now a thriving centre for the local community. There are artists and a nursery school, a busy medical centre and a community vegetable garden, a children's playground and a number of small enterprises plus sundry other activities, all working together for the benefit of all.

The place that is Bromley by Bow is not a wealthy area, yet it has in its midst a wealth of resources and opportunities which collectively transform people's lives.



When I think about the lives of people living in the Kingborough region, I recognise that their story is not B by B's story; and yet, of all the things we have witnessed and experienced on this trip, it is the B by B story which speaks most clearly to me of what is possible when people allow God the time and space in which to work in their lives.

Here is a short list of learnings to ponder:
1. It all begins with God. What has been achieved at B by B may look like the work of Whirlwind Andrew, but it's not. Everything that Andrew has had to work with was either already there or else arrived at an opportune moment. Yes, Andrew has been very actively involved in but it is God who has been creator, architect and builder of it all.
2. Everything is based upon a simple theological understanding of what it means to be human: every person is created in the image and likeness of God; every person shares the Divine creativity; every person embodies in some way the presence of the Divine.
3. God is already present and living and at work in every human situation; our mission is to see and hear and feel what it is that God is doing and join in with that.
4. The whole world is filled with people in need; we cannot do everything, so we must focus upon the opportunities we are given to make a difference.
5. Too often we recognise our human limitations and set our sights far too low; rather, we must embrace the truth of God's Divine abilities and we must raise our sights far, far higher to embrace the extraordinary opportunities which come our way.
6. It takes time. The Bromley by Bow Centre that we experienced has been twenty-six years in the making.
7. Failure is a necessary part of success. Not everything has worked at B by B. However, Andrew's attitude is that each failure is a learning experience. Fear of failure is a failure too: a failure to risk following the way of Jesus.



For those of us at Kingston, each of these points speaks directly to our situation. And if we truly believe that it is God who is at work in our lives and the life of our community, then faithfulness is following the opportunities God provides.

Finally, the thing which has impacted me most profoundly about the Bromley by Bow Centre is that what has been created there is an oasis in the middle of a wilderness. It is not just the church which is sacred space, but the whole complex is a haven. The beauty of art and gardens and playgrounds and greenery now speaks of the very incarnation of God. The very thing which our community of faith hungers to offer our wider community is exemplified in B by B. The haven we long for is possible.

Weaving connections: Janine's thoughts #3

Eucharist Service at St Martin-in-the-Fields

While we may have experienced a traditional Anglican liturgy, we also discovered not so traditional forms of pastoral care and outreach.

From conversation over very good coffee I learnt that this physically dispersed congregation has an unusual bulge of 20s-30s. This group, in particular, use social media to keep in touch, check on members' wellbeing, organise events and remind each other of upcoming activities, such as the walk they were heading off on that morning after church.

We discussed leadership training, since many of the younger people were engaged in the organisational life of the church as well as its pastoral and worship life. It seems that opportunities are given to people by regular leadership training sessions. These sessions are not theoretical exercises, but are opportunities to provide specific skills for specific leadership tasks within the life of the church.

These people are employed in the city in a number of ways, some that connect with the mission and life of the church. One young lady is employed by an organisation that facilitates community renewal lead and supported by groupings of local businesses. While not specifically a church program, Business Improvement Districts is about re-vitalising specific areas to improve the lives of those that live and work there. Businesses commit to join together to financially support a program in their area for at least five years.  A current program, for example, aims to actively improve the health and well-being of employees in the  Southwark area.

Programs such as these help those of us inside churches to become aware of the realities of the world that is rapidly changing around us.

Weaving connections: a church at both ends of the road

What we have seen since Kent has been provocative, challenging, comforting and inspiring. We have spent the last three days in the company of the pocket dynamo that is the Reverend Lord Andrew Mawson.

After the first day I have to say that I wasn't quite sure what to think. We had spent our time in Tower Hamlets, a place of depressed housing estates separated by St Paul's Way. At one end of the street, a Roman Catholic church; at the other, a Church of England. What was immediately apparent was the level of building activity going on in this street: new high-rise apartments, plus the finishing touches to a brand new school, and a new health centre. Much, if not all, of this activity has sprung from the creative relationships Andrew Mawson has formed in this street. The vital new school replaces the old with its culture of mediocrity; the doctors' surgery is staffed by enthusiastic and committed practitioners; the local pharmacist Atul Patel, together with Andrew, has been a driving force for change.

There is much happening in St Paul's Way which is inspiring. At the same time there are questions, particularly in relation to the role of the churches. What have they contributed to this radical change? At first glance, very little indeed. To this point, the Catholics have stood by and watched. The Anglicans have at least joined in the conversation but their church doors (proudly bannered "The Gate of Heaven") remain closed and uninviting and rubbish adorns their porch and their footpath. Inside, their church is quite spectacular, although somewhat dark and confused. But why should anyone from the local community enter their doors (if they can find a way in) when this church has yet to join with the community in its renewal?

Where Andrew began his conversation with us was where I had hoped he would - theology. "The Word became flesh and lived among us." Incarnation is the fundamental truth behind the desire to make a difference in this place - to become a living sign of the reality that God dwells among us in human form.

Andrew's second point is that God chose to address the macro problems of this world in the most micro way possible. Jesus came as one person to enter into relationships with other people. The stories he told and the acts he performed were all about simple interactions between real human beings. And from those micro miracles, the example of how to address the macro needs of the world was given. St Paul's Way is full of simple human encounters which have the potential to change the world of Tower Hamlets.

Weaving connections: the Willow Centre and Saint Paul's Way

Yesterday and today have proven to be quite confronting - the former because it raised questions about the nature of the link between a congregation and its mission, the latter because... well, let's just say I discovered some tender spots I didn't know I had.

Ashford in Kent was once a market town until after WWII; then England's post-war economic needs meant the establishment of industries and a surge in population. Which was fine until the industries disappeared leaving a significant population unemployed and unemployable. Today's Ashford carries the burden of generations of disadvantage. A local Baptist church and its visionary leader began a process which has led to the establishment of the Willow Centre, a creative building hosting imaginative government-funded programs for families with children under five. Much of our day was spent understanding the context and nature of those programmes and witnessing the powerful benefits of the Willow Centre's work.

Why then the unease? Because the last part of our day was spent, not with the Willow Centre staff, but with the current pastor and members of the congregation. What immediately became apparent was the level of disconnection between the Centre and the congregation which gave birth to it. Now the degree of "ownership" of the Church's mission is highly questionable. Why? Well there are any number of possible reasons.

For a start one might question the degree to which the vision for the Centre was the pastor's rather than the community of faith's. At the same time, the Uniting Church's experience of what happens when our agencies receive money to provide government programmes might be seen to be true in their situation too. And finally there is the vexed question of how wedded we become to our "projects" - when does it become time to let things go to be managed by someone else, how do we released missional activities with our blessing? The last part of our day failed to provide answers to these questions; in fact, I think it just heightened my sense of unease about this one (albeit a very important one) part of what is overall an excellent articulation of God's desire for the poor and disadvantaged.

(More to come, particularly on the very real but often unexamined nature of the link between faith and works.)

Weaving connections: Janine's thoughts # 2

It became clear after our visit with Robin Gill that there are yet more tensions to be juggled. At one level there is the clear evidence from observation and from Robin's detailed research that church attendance is and has been, over many more years than most realise, in decline. While this may seem a given, Robin's research findings helped put flesh on the bones of what we thought we knew.

This brings us to another level of knowing to be juggled, the knowledge of long standing members of our congregations who remember full pews and full Sunday Schools. Their memories are not invalid, but in a longer term view provided by Robin's research, decline has been there, at least in Australia, all along.

Facing this decline is what Weaving Connections is about. It was almost comforting to realize that we Christians may not alone in this. During one wakeful night I listened to Part 1 of a BBC radio play called The Attractive Young Rabbi. My interest was piqued as I listened to the struggles of an aging rabbi who, while recognising that attendance at his synagogue was constantly diminishing, was unable to come to grips with both addressing this decline and the realities of life in the twenty-first century. The tension in this situation was heightened with the arrival of an attractive, young, female rabbi who opened a synagogue nearby in the local high street.

This seems to have more than a few similarities to situations we are grappling with in our churches. It is all too easy to mock the old rabbi's inability to notice and effectively respond to the changing world that seems to have left him behind, but we all seek the safety of what is known and familiar and equally struggle when reality has to be faced. Part 2 continues next week and I'm not promising that I'll be awake at 2 in the morning to hear it.

Weaving connections: Janine's thoughts #1

Tradition seems to dominate much of what we have seen and experienced in the first few days of arriving in England, but what is the value of tradition as such if it does not touch the lives of people today? Awe, splendour, breathtaking are just a few of the words that describe St Paul's, Westminster Abbey, Canterbury Cathedral; even the central Methodist church is imposing in its size and location. Dominance, power, glory are all found in these buildings and co-exist with beauty, history embodied and a sense of the transcendent.

I try to get my head into the space and time of those that planned and constructed these magnificent buildings. I am left with the feeling that their intention to reflect the glory of God is seen in these soaring buildings, but while they all have a central role in the life of  England, and for some, the world, I wonder what lasting effect they have on the millions who pour in as tourists.

So far then, I am beginning to try and hold on to, at times, competing ideas about the life of faith that has been, is now and could be - tensions, contradictions, shifting points of view all juggle in my head.

At one level tension between what has gone and what is now doesn't really exist, since the compelling power of the religious institutions that are represented by the buildings we see no longer holds sway. A tension, however, does lie behind the questions we ask and the future we seek.


Janine Romaszko

Weaving connections: the interface between church and community

How do we understand the interface between church and community? What do people see when they see the church?

Westminster Abbey on a Thursday morning was swarming with people, most (like me) armed with a camera. The question is, "Were they seeing the church?"

We understand the difference between "Church as the Body of Christ" and "church as a building", but we only have that understanding because we are on the inside. And what does it take to get to be on the inside?

For a start there are a significant number of cultural barriers to be crossed - in one of my photos there stands a verger in robes and a security guard. With the former, I'm struck by the trappings of a church from a previous era. How foreign to people in their everyday 21C lives. And I want to ask about the purpose of the guard: Who or what is he there to protect?

In my own context, I might be able to claim freedom from either of these things, but I'm not convinced we are free either of incomprehensible symbols or protections designed to keep the world at bay. There may be comfort in the familiar and safety in our separation, but these things also diminish the possibility of relationship with the community around us.

Surrounding St Paul's is the commercial region of the City. The grand cathedral stands like a beacon on a hill. Its very architecture speaks of something profoundly different, but is it merely different or is it counter-cultural in ways that Christ would recognise as bringing in the kingdom of God?Interestingly (at least, to me), beside St Paul's is a modern glass clad building: the headquarters of the Salvation Army. Its ground floor windows carry scriptural quotations but is it any more "in the world, but not of the world" than the cathedral it stands over against?

Are either of these structures the face of the church Paul had in mind when he wrote, "Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers... Rejoice with those rejoice, weep with those who weep"?

After visiting St Paul's with its thousands of visitors we went to the the site of a different sort of pilgrimage: the Borough Market. Here people flock to experience the wealth of English foods. Apart from the inevitable tourists (like us), there were also many people taking their lunch break.

Weaving connections: a cathedral, a market, an art gallery, and a pub

A big day today with much to reflect upon. But... the problem with big days is they're very tiring and tomorrow is a very early start. So it's quick thoughts only.

What do a cathedral, a market, an art gallery and a pub all have in common? Among many possible answers is: people! In today's experiences it means lots of people. St Paul's was chockers with tourists (from a dizzying array of places); Borough Market was as busy as Salamanca, but it's only Thursday (oh, the food!); the Tate Modern draws a substantial crowd to view some wonderful artwork; and the Albert squished us all in for our "getting to know you dinner". And in each of these places people were consuming.

It's somewhat disturbing to stand awestruck in front of a Monet and then realize that others only pause long enough to have their photo taken in front of it before they're off to repeat the performance in front of the Kandinsky. Similarly, the hordes of foodies descending on the market stalls are there because it's a fashionable thing to do as much as for the food. But more disturbing is the extreme popularity of St Paul's. Why the long queues full of people of many faiths and no faith? What are they there to consume?

In the midst of the bustle and noise, it was reassuring to see some folk sitting quietly, absorbing more than just the magnificence of the architecture. But is God any more present in a cathedral than in the art gallery? Or in someone's kitchen? Is quiet contemplation more likely to lead to an experience of the divine just because it's in St Paul's?

I had an interesting chat with a priest who led one of the brief services held regularly while the crowds come and go. "Is there a regular congregation which gathers here?" The answer was unsurprising: Yes - small in number and made up of folk who travel from a wide variety of locations. Very little, if any, sense of connectedness with the community which surrounds St Paul's. It's extraordinary beautiful, but what is its connection with the mission of God?

What was far more interesting to me was an incidental (or should that be accidental?) observation at the market: Where do people go to eat their delicacies? We ate ours sitting on the kerb. But many others were making use of the surrounds of Southwark Cathedral conveniently located next door. And there it appeared that the local congregation had put out tables and chairs for no other reason than to be of service. Is this connectedness with the mission of God?

Weaving connections: arriving in London

The plane gets in on time: a grey 6 a.m. Immigration, luggage retrieval and customs all negotiated without hitch, and on to the Tube. Out the window is England - strangely familiar after nearly four decades; terrace houses, green parks, communal allotments all speaking of past and present. I find myself grinning in the press of early morning commuters and wonder what Janine and Rod might make of my expression so at odds with those on the way to the daily grind.

Brandishing our oyster cards we change at Green Park, then surface at Vauxhall. A turn to the right and, with bags trundling at our heels, we find ourselves on South Lambeth Road and walk to the Comfort Inn. And all before 8:30! Which is, of course, much too early to check in, so it's leave the bags and out again.

What awaits us? Will it all be new and foreign or, heaven forbid, horribly familiar? Where will we find those things which speak of our commonality with people everywhere? Where will we be out of step and out of touch? Most of all - what will God look like in this strange land?