Progressive, affirming, questing in Warrnambool, Victoria
God is my rock, my fortress, and my saviour; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. (Psalm 18:2)
“Prayers are tools not for doing or getting but for being and becoming.” (Eugene Peterson)
P: We moved across town when I was about maybe 10 years old. And I had no friends, and I had a Bible that I’d purchased with my own money. And I started reading it because I had no friends. Continue reading “30: My rock #Lent2021”
O Lord my God, I cried to you: and you have made me whole. O Lord, you have brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life. (Psalm 30:2-3)
Neither the Benedictine community as a whole nor its individual members are expected to be working feverishly… Instead there is contentment with the familiar, the ordinary, the monotonous… It is insisting on the acceptance of each element in the person, each member of the community, each activity of the day as valuable and significant in its own right… A vision of relatedness binds the parts together into the harmonious whole… The monk moves between praying and studying and working with his hands, going in turn from chapel to library to kitchen to farm…
I treasure your word in my heart. (Psalm 119:11)
I don’t have an excellent memory or attention span, so I never really thought I could remember large portions of Scripture. I was content with picking up verses here and there as I studied, read, or listened to sermons. And I thought it was pretty cool if the pastor happened to be reading through a passage and I could follow along from memory every few verses or so.
You shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother’s womb. I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking! Body and soul, I am marvellously made! (Psalm 139:13, MSG)
So this is my first time making a Lent Story. God is the spirit which helps a lot of people at the same time. Most of you would know me well. I am great at video games and that’s what I’m natural at. In this story, I was quite wise and knew what was right. I needed to follow my dreams and that. I like to be free. I want to have the privileges/rights everybody else my age has. But I am not allowed to make my Youtube videos public, I am not allowed to walk down the street by myself, I don’t really get to choose what my life is like, I didn’t often get to play after school and etc. But it’s not that bad and my life is quite good.
Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements—surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy? (Job 38:4-7)
It was an ordinary cloudy March day. I am glad to think that it was. I am glad to remember that there was nothing extraordinary about the weather, nor any unusualness of setting – no flush of spring or beauty of scenery – to induce what I saw. It was, on the contrary, almost a dingy day. The branches were bare and colorless, and the occasional half-melted piles of snow were a forlorn grey rather than white. Colorless little city sparrows flew and chirped in the trees, while human beings, in no way remarkable, passed along the porch.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in times of trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change. (Psalm 46:1-2a)
I’m sick of COVID. Sick of the talk, sick of the updates, the notifications on my phone that remind me there is a ‘pandemic across the state of Victoria’. I’m sick of hearing about the numbers, the national comparisons and just the general interruption of it all.
Your testimonies are my heritage forever, for they are the joy of my heart. (Psalm 119:111)
While I grew up enjoying diversity, I did not grow up knowing much about my heritage—and therefore I didn’t celebrate it. On one side of my family, the older generations encouraged us to get ‘Americanized,’ in hopes of better opportunities. To them, americanization equalled opportunity. For them, dreams were things that often went unrealized, for opportunities were not afforded to those from a country where poverty was as common as brown eyes and brown skin…
God brought me out into a spacious place. (Psalm 18:19)
When I walked the Cradle Mountain trail, many days were traipsing down and up forested mountains. Narrow paths dot-to-dotted between moss covered rocks, ancient trees closing their ranks overhead, majestic scrub on either side that hid vast ecosystems, hushed winds, and crowded out the sun. We were often compelled to speak in whisper – you couldn’t help but defer to the spirituality of it, the secrets of the depth and the density. I loved it, no doubt, and wouldn’t have been able to say I felt anything missing. But then.
“I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121:1-2)
I’m 15, and asking for my Dad to get well, and help doesn’t come. I really thought it would, up until the last second. Some people give my Dad some tapes to listen to in his Walkman. They go to a church that believes sickness is a manifestation of sin. The tapes break the Walkman and can’t be listened to. Mum buys him a Discman which means he can listen to the Beatles with a nice palliative care nurse named Shane.
JUBILEE ASKS: Does my little beetle have God in its heart? I love my job, and when I get a text from a parent forwarding a question like this, I love it even more. Jubilee, the answer is Yes! Absolutely yes: Your little beetle has God in its heart. And its beetling walk, in fact the fullness of its beetliness, is how it praises God.
Sanctuary 