I really don’t expect that there will be anything profound in this post. It’s just an attempt to process what happened in our city yesterday. I don’t even know what I’m going to say yet. I’m just going to start writing.
Based on how we’re feeling as a family, and on those I’ve been able to contact so far, we’re all feeling shell-shocked and angry. We’re shell-shocked in the way that anyone would be after their city experiences a terror attack (let alone in Christchurch, a peaceful and friendly place if ever there was one), but perhaps even a tiny bit more shocked because we know what it is for sudden trauma to come upon our whole city and to make us feel like our lives have changed in an instant. It’s been eight years since the earthquake, and now this. What the heck? Continue reading
I had a strange experience a couple of weeks ago.
Warning: This is long – probably a longer response than the original piece really deserves. But sometimes we Christians have to push back with some careful, strong and detailed thought – lest we be accused of being illogical, stupid, fearful, or unable to stand our ground in the marketplace of ideas.
As the parents of young children, my wife and I are always on the lookout for ‘safe’ entertainment options: movies, books or music that the kids can enjoy without being hit by F-bombs, explosions or sexual innuendo. With a little research, and a little faith in the Netflix ‘Kids’ option, we can keep them fairly well protected. But we’ve come to realise that parental supervision needs to go deeper than online filters and G-ratings. In fact, the real danger might not be the stuff that hits you over the head. It might be the subtle messages that are embedded in our ‘safe’ entertainment options, the worldview that lies underneath everything and shapes how we think. And there’s one phrase that sums up the gospel according to Hollywood and captures our culture’s prevailing worldview: Follow Your Heart.
Having recently hit the big 4-0, I’m starting to have more and more days where I embrace my inner grouchy old curmudgeon. Picture me with arms flailing wildly as I yell at pesky kids to get offa my lawn. Moaning about the noisy students next door, wondering whether 9.30 is too early to call the Council to complain about the music, and wishing at least they’d play some Springsteen or U2 instead of the endless doof-doof. But every now and then I catch myself thinking that way and wonder, ‘When did this happen? How did this happen?’ I’d rather hoped to stave off being a cantankerous middle-aged git for a few more years yet. And I’d rather hoped to avoid slightly stuffy old man expressions like ‘I’d rather hoped’.
Few things can be more confusing or frustrating for Christians than unanswered prayer, especially when we’re sure there are good, obvious reasons for God to grant our requests.
Dearest Zoë,