Margaret

I finished the roll of toilet paper and told myself I should really go get another roll and replenish the supply. But I just couldn't be bothered. Surely the person who uses the bathroom next will do it. I'll do it when it's necessary. Later...I just do it later.

I got home from uni and changed my shirt. I threw the dirty shirt into the wash basket, but it accidentally landed on the floor. I should really just pick it up. But that means bending over. It's not like the floor is so dirty anyway. I'll just do it later before i go to bed. Later...not right now.

I'm sitting next to someone who seems friendly enough. I should really tell this person about Jesus right now because I probably won't see them again. But I can't be bothered right about now. It's just takes too much effort to have to think about clever ways of explaining stuff. And I'm just going to get myself worked up. I mean I was supposed to have the night off. I'm off-duty. I'm tired. There will be others. There'll be other opportunities later. Another time, perhaps...

I recently went to a play put on by university students who were part of an Indian cultural society. A friend of mine was acting in the play as one of the main characters, so in a show of support I decided to go. I thought the play itself, which was based on the life of a famous Indian king, would be insightful. I knew little about Indian culture and history and perhaps this would help me engage better with the Indian community in the future. Though I had no one to go with, I decided to swallow my pride and just go by myself.

I entered the auditorium and found a seat next to the aisle near the back. The seating was unallocated, so I could have sat anywhere, but I wanted to be inconspicuous. I was trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I sat for about 20 minutes until the hall gradually filled with people. Eventually an older lady sat next to me. She was polite. We exchanged names and I found out that she was virtually in the same position as me. She was also flying solo tonight.

After a some chatting about surface issues, she randomly dropped a question on me. Have you ever been to "Event X". (For the purposes of anonymity let's say Event X is a large annual event held by a certain charismatic church.) Surprised that Maggie brought up a church related topic herself, I didn't really not what to make of it. I replied 'no' and we moved onto another topic. After a while, we lulled into an awkward silence, but luckily the show was finally beginning.

In the back of my mind there was still intermission to go through. I would have to make awkward conversation again. It would be okay, I still had another ten superficial conversational topics to get through before I was completely dry. But then I started thinking, why not talk about Jesus? I mean, she was the one who raised it. What on earth am I waiting for? Just do it. Think nike damn it.

And then I did the whole Woody Allen thing where I start rationalising it in my head. Why ruin a perfectly good night? We're both just here to watch the show. No need for any deep and meaningful conversations. I mean I'm not even that into talking right now. I'm tired. It's late. It'll be awkward. Why not just avoid the thing altogether? I mean if she's Christian already, then what's the point, yeah? Do I really have to? Etc, etc, etc. I was so distracted by my own thoughts that I practically couldn't even concentrate on what was happening in the play.

Anyway, intermission came. I got over myself. We had dinner (which was provided by the show organisers). We talked about church life. I talked about my church. She talked about her's. I talked about my reservations about charismatic churches. She tried to explain her position and she was pretty involved in the church. She kept inviting me to Event X. When things get tough, talk about Jesus. So I raised it and we talked about Jesus right up until intermission was over. Overall, it wasn't a super edifying conversation, but at least we talked about Jesus. That's can't be all bad.

People are so lazy these days that instead of typing out "can't be bothered" in full, we have invented the internet chat acronym "cbb". I once even overheard in conversation someone say verbatim "Sorry, I really C-B-B at the moment." When we off-put and delay action, most of the time it's inconsequential. So the washing is one day late, no big deal. But it's concerning when we can't even be bothered to tell others about the way of life. With our indifference, we skirt on the edges of devaluing the cross of Christ.

Shane

Posting is irregular now due to law school workload. Will try to post when I get a spare moment from slaying the law beast.

One of my rather eccentric law professors recently introduced me to the concept of 'sermon cricket'. He was telling us an anecdote from his days as a young boy in boarding school. "Oh the memories," he began as his eyes glazed over with that look of nostalgia. His school would hold compulsory weekly assemblies. Assembly would be like going to a church (or "going to chapel" as I have heard some boys describe). There would the usual hymns, followed by a long sermon by "some grey haired fellow" (my professor's words). Few of the boys payed much attention, and what my professor did to pass the time was to play 'sermon cricket'.

The rules of 'sermon cricket' are as follows. Runs are scored whenever the preacher says a particular word. One run for 'Jesus', 'God' or the 'Holy Spirit'. Two runs for 'grace', 'salvation' and 'faith'. Four runs for 'sin', 'judgement' (or other derivatives). Six runs for some obscure words like 'propitiation', 'incarnation', etc. You lose a wicket whenever the word 'apostle' or 'follower' is used. The run-scoring words could of course be altered depending on the sermon series. It would take 4 weeks to get through any whole match, since each side would need to have 2 innings each.

For the most part, this kept my professor entertained for 6 years of schooling. He took much pride in explaining to us the details of the game. The moral of the story, or its application for us law students, was of course that lawyers must learn to use legal jargon to preserve the mystification and elitism of the legal profession. We score 6 runs (or marks) whenever we use words that no one else has ever heard of, like 'otiose' (see the irony?).

Suffice to say, I took very little away from that lecture, apart from pondering the question of whether Christians use way too much jargon. Here is an example, whenever I explain the gospel to someone, I can hardly escape using the word 'grace'. But when I say that God is gracious, am I just making the other person think of dancing ballerinas? This will be particularly at issue when conversing with non-english background speakers. Paticularly with non-Christians, I think much more care needs to be taken when explaining concepts such as salvation, sacrifice, forgiveness, faith and even the jargon of all jargons 'propitiation' or 'penal substitution theory', which has become a flash word at the university Christian society/group I am part of.

Here's a conversation I had about cricket and jargon:

I was coming home from uni and it was late in the afternoon. I had skipped lunch because of a meeting. I was ridiculously famished so out of desperation wandered into a pub to get some quick 'pub grub'. This pub was not your average indie city bar with alternative music, quirky seats, patrons dressed in smart-casual vests and leather shoes, and people drink 'red corvettes' and 'brazilian peach hoo-has' (or some other bizarre cocktail concoction). Rather, this was your traditional pub, where they serve beer and bangers and mash. The patrons wear singlet-tops and work boots. There are several TVs all set to various sport stations. On this particular day the cricket was on. I was watching it as I ate my pepper steak.

There was a guy sitting nearby, eating fish and chips and also watching the cricket. We made light conversation at first. Who do you think will win, Australia or New Zealand? Probably New Zealand, he said. Not optimistic? Don't want to get my hopes up. That Daniel Vettori guy is pretty good, I said. Yeah most women say that, he replied. I asked him whether he played cricket. He said sometimes, more when he was young, but he didn't have the fitness or time for it now. It's also diffcult to find enough people to play with, he said.

Bingo, perfect segueway opportunity. I started telling Shane that some of the blokes at my church started a weekly touch football/cricket social on weekends. I wasn't sure of the specifics, but he was welcome to join if he wanted to. He said he would think about it. Then he asked me where my church was, what kind of things we do there and how involved I was. Eventually, he got around to telling me that he didn't have much to do with God or church. He knew about Christianity from school, he knew the Christmas story and the Easter story roughly and about some guy called Jesus, but wasn't particularly interested in it. If there were a God, he supposed he would find out later when he died. He asked me what I thought about God.

So there I was, presented with a golden opportunity to proclaim the gospel then and there. I started explaining. I had the 'Two Ways to Live' framework in my head as I attempted to communicate some central truths. As I continued to talk about terms like sin, judgement, grace and salvation, I quickly realised that some of what I was saying was going over his head and I was boring him. You can always tell when the other person loses interest when they stop making eye contact and start glancing around (to the TV screen to check the cricket score). The conversation was going downhill fast.

I tried a different track. I asked him to tell me what he thought Christians believed. The suggestion was unwelcomed. Shane said he he couldn't do that. It'd be probably all wrong, he said. And explaining it to a Christian would probably be embarrassing. He said it would be like, someone who didn't know much cricket explaining how an LBW works to a committed cricket fan. I cut him a deal. I confessed to not knowing much about cricket. I would attempt to explain to him what I thought an LBW was and he'd explain to me what he thought Christians believed. It was a trade off. So there I was was saying something about if the ball hadn't hit the batsmen, it would have hit the wicket (in less clear terms than that). Shane corrected me several times. Then Shane explained Christianity, and I corrected him by clarifying what Christians actually thought. There were a lot of laughs as we both struggled to describe concepts that were difficult to us.

Soon we both finished eating. I departed, thanking him for the conversation. I left him with some of my church's contact details and bid him farewell. I left the pub and walked home jovially, thinking that conversation wasn't so otiose after all. At the very least, I learnt that LBW actually stands for 'leg before wicket'.

Ichiro

Apologies for the lack of posting this past month (and more). I have been in Japan for some weeks, freezing my butt off in sub-zero temperatures. I returned to Sydney today and having a difficult time adjusting from -20°C (near Mt Fuji summit) to 25°C. I am terribly behind my goal as a result, but I'm trying not to get too caught up in the numbers. Here is a story from my Japanese adventures. It is longer than usual, which means it is very long indeed.

I saw a film several years ago. The story is about a 13-year old child prodigy violinist, who lives with his father in a provincial town. Recognising his son's gift, the self-sacrificing father sells all their belongings to journey to the city. The father hopes the city's violin master, who is holding auditions to find his new apprentice, will take in his son. The pair endures much. The ingenuous father has his cap stolen, where he hides the majority of their money. The son rebels by selling his own violin to purchase a fur coat for his much older crush. Eventually, the son is accepted by the violin master, however, in order to take up the apprenticeship he must choose to leave behind his father and the provincial life he has always known to live in the city. And as much as this final decision is a choice between his father and his ambition, the decision is just as much a choice between traditional values and modern aspiration. The son, torn between the two, is struggling like the rest of society to find a comfortable balance between aesthetic ideals of the old world and material temptations of the new.

Perhaps this is how I would describe Japan. A struggle between tradition and modernity.

It is a quite a unique experience. One day I would be walking down the streets of Gion in Kyoto, glimpsing maiko (apprentice geisha) rushing to their appointments. I'd enjoy an authentic kaiseki meal (similar to degustation) in a guesthouse, or perhaps a lesson in how to perform a tea ceremony. Another day I would be caught in the middle of a giant pedestrian crossing with a thousand other commuters in downtown Shibuya (in Tokyo). Here bright lights and mega-screens seem to dominate. A j-pop boy-band called Arashi (Storm) is all the rage. Straight from the boy-band factory, like modern day Monkees, their billboards fill the skyline. Middle-aged businessmen congregate in the Pachinko parlours (slot machines).

Statistics would suggest that only 1 to 2 percent of Japan considers themselves Christian, with only 0.44 percent considered being evangelical. The majority of Japanese subscribe to both Shintoism (around 90%) and Buddhism (around 80%). However, to most young Japanese people it would seem more to be a cultural practice than a religion following. Interestingly enough, according to a Japanese guide, more than 50% of engaged couples opt to have their wedding ceremony at Christian churches (they like the Western style). This will often be their only contact with a church ever.

Unsurprisingly, evangelising in Japan is difficult. People are polite and to raise the topic of religion seemed all too often inappropriate. Before I left Australia, I talked with a Christian who had been in Japan and they gave me some general advice. They said in order to give face one should never be too controversial or provocative. Avoid speaking with people older than yourself about religion, as it can come off as disrespectful. Avoid speaking with people of the opposite gender about religion, as that can sometimes be taken the wrong way. Gee, I thought, that certainly narrows the field. There was the added difficulty of speaking the language. I went to Japan with only a handful of very basic Japanese phrases, more than half of them probably being food terminology (e.g. sashimi). But even then, going into restaurants I had to point to wax models to order dinner.

I tried to be clever about this. I had a cunning plan. Pretending to be an ignorant traveller, I would ask the nice hotel concierge or receptionist if she (in my mind it was always a woman) knew if there were any Christian churches in the local area. This would lead to a conversation about all sorts of Christian related things. But being the Baldrick that I am, my cunning plan didn't work as I had anticipated. The one time I got up the courage to ask the receptionist, who was actually a grumpy sort of fellow, he promptly told me he didn't know and he doubted there were any churches in the area. I was left to proverbially 'sod off' back to my room.

My next cunning plan was to converse with foreign travellers. If they spoke English, at least that would give us some common ground. I had my chances, though I capitalised on none (allowing social etiquette to get the better of me). There was a pair of Australian girls who stayed on the same floor as us. A bloke from New Jersey who I did my laundry with. A group of Europeans who had turned the tiny downstairs hotel lobby into a pub crawl (as it was the only room in the whole place where smoking was permitted). But alas, I was always too afraid. Soon enough I let my busy travel schedule consume my time and I no longer felt bothered by the lack of conversations. Every morning I would tell myself it was okay because I was on this thing called a holiday. Self-justification is easy on the ears.

In the last week of the Japan trip we stayed mostly in Tokyo and my travel companions delighted in the prospect of shopping for consecutive days on end. I had my moments of shopping madness, purchasing a collection of the most bizarre items - wooden 'victory paddles', ear picks, dog-coats, anime merch. But for the most part, flashy shoes and outfits interested me very little. So escaping my friends, I took refuge in any nearby museums. This worked out well in museum districts like Ueno, but often I would struggle to find any points of interest in heavy shopping districts. In pure desperation one particular day, I stumbled upon the Salt and Tobacco Museum. There were three floors devoted to tobacco (a massive bong collection took up half a floor) and one floor devoted to salt. Of all places to have a conversation, this somewhat obscure and bizarre museum was where I met Ichiro.

I am told Ichiro is a common name in Japan for men. It is of course not the person's real name. I chose the name because it bears an uncanny resemblance to the name of the main character in a popular anime series. (A prize to the person who can name the character and the series.) We met at the top floor of the museum, which was hosting a special temporary exhibit on Japan-Mexico relations over history. There was a small section of the display that described early Catholic missionaries (or Kirishitan bateren as they were known) in Japan from Spain, New Spain (before Mexican independence) and Portugal in the 16th and 17th centuries. Ichiro knew a lot about the subject.

I started by asking him whether he thought the past experience of Christian missionaries in Japan has an impact on the way contemporary Japanese people view Christianity today. Ichiro started by describing some of the history of Portugal and Spain. He spoke good English, considering he was native Japanese. Portugal and Spain, he said, as with most European powers at the time, were seeking to expand their spheres of influence by colonising most parts the world for trade and power. Japan was a place both nations wanted to extend to. By sending missionaries, it was a political way of indirectly exerting influence over Japan.

Catholicism grew quickly, and eventually the shoguns felt threatened by the possibility of European invasion or colonisation. The missionaries were soon an uncomfortable presence, which undermined traditional Japanese sensibilities. By the Tokugawa (Edo) period, Japan had retreated into isolationism (sakoku). Catholicism was banned and missionaries expelled. Most that stayed became martyrs. External trade was mostly curtailed. Ichiro's opinion was that it was a highly political decision, and he felt that the religious persecution did not stem from any hatred towards the Christian or Catholic faith, more a disdain for Western imperialism. His words were, "it is unfortunate that politics and religion always mix". Though he admitted that a lot of it was tied up in trying to reclaim a cultural identity that Christianity seemed to subvert.

It wasn't until the Meiji Restoration that Japan was forced by American gunboat diplomacy to once again reopen her doors. Ichiro tried to explain to me how this history might have fostered some resistance to external intrusions and foreign distrust. Overtime, such distrust has subdued, but not disappeared. He tried to say in so many words that perhaps this is why Western religion has not really taken off in Japan. Traditional culture and national identity or uniqueness, to which Shintoism plays a significant part, is important to the Japanese people. This is why Ichiro thinks Christianity does not really appeal to Japanese people. "It seems foreign and different to the things we know, like an interruption. Many people stick to Shintoism and Buddhism as part of their identity. But it is not a serious religious practice."

I asked Ichiro if he had a religion. He said he was not religious, but he would partake in cultural festivals, often involving quasi-Shinto and quasi-Buddhist practices such as visiting shrines and ancestral worship.

I asked him if he saw a future for Christianity in Japan. He was doubtful. He said, unlike China where there has been much growth in Christian numbers, Japan has not seen much of that. He related the growth of Christianity in China to a result of China's westernisation and modernisation. As more Western influence has seeped into China, more have turned to Christianity as they have become aware of its existence. But Japan, he said, has modernised and westernised already. People are aware of what Christianity is, they just don't find it so compelling.

The conversation about Christianity ended there. The museum was shortly closing as a courtesy message was coming over on the PA system. I departed having thanked Ichiro for the conversation and insights. I shook his hand and we went our separate ways.

I left the building a little bit more worn. I was saddened (or perhaps dismayed is a better word) by what Ichiro told me. I thought what he said was partially true about the state of Christianity in Japan. And as I walked along the street as the sun went down, I felt alone. Even though the street was filled with locals and even though the shopkeepers were shouting at me to come into their store ("dozo, dozo"), I felt alone for the first time in two weeks.

I continued walking to the place my companions and I had agreed to meet. I was early. I stood oddly in the middle of the station entrance waiting for my friends to return. I was in the way of everyone and so I moved to a more isolated corner. I looked out into the crowd of faces before me, none of which gave me a second glance. They were all eager to get to their destination. They held clear plastic umbrellas in their hands and a mobile-music device in their pockets. They had few distractions apart from the occasional need to stop at a red-light crossing. And as I watched wave after wave go by, for some reason unknown I was filled with a sense of hope. I grimaced wryly, knowing the challenge had been set.

Gerald

The first conversation of 2010 didn't happen until a couple of days into the new year. I'm behind already. I actually figure it takes longer to write up a conversation on the blog than actually have one. Perhaps I should cut down on length by enforcing a mandatory word limit?

The department store 'husband seat' has something of an iconic status. You will see them in most shopping malls and retail centres. It can be a plastic four-legged chair, a comfy leather lounge, or a backless ottoman stool - none of this matters. It all comes down to location. The 'husband seat' must be conveniently placed. Common examples include outside the shop just beyond the cashier, or adjacent to the store dressing rooms. Its purpose is to serve as a resting place for the loyal husband as he waits for the wife to finish shopping. In this way it has a very significant role. This one object says so many things about the very nature of human relationships.

I first learnt about 'husband seats' from my grandfather, everytime my grandmother decided he needed a new shirt. He told me that the best 'husband seats' are the ones close to the electronics section of the store. Close enough so that you could see the televisions, but not close enough to be caught watching one. My favourite spot used to be near the book section. This is how I read half of the Deltora Quest series as a child.

The 'husband seat' is where I encountered Gerald, who was an elderly man. He sat on the bench, watching his wife buy orthopedic shoes in a specialist pharmacy. I happened at the time to be wearing a pair of HomyPeds, so I said very casually, "Those shoes are very comfortable. I'm wearing some now." We started talking about past injuries we had with our feet. I told him I had fractured my right ankle. He said he had done his leg playing rugby when he was my age. I said I did my ACL twice over playing basketball. He said he did his arm falling down a flight of stairs. So we exchanged body injuries in a "I Say You Say' back and forth. He eventually prevailed as I had never had hip replacement.

Eventually I asked him if he lived in the area. It is a common set-up question I use. The answer will be yes or no, often followed by the person asking me the same question. To which I reply, "Yes, I live in the area, near the church on XYZ Street. Do you know the one?" It provides a convenient segueway into talking about the church. However, in this instance the set-up did not go so well. The conversation somewhat stalled momentarily, until Gerald broke the silence with an awkward question. He asked me why Christians always wear black.

What a strange question, I thought. Christians don't always wear black. I certainly don't always wear black going to church. But I had misunderstood, he was actually asking why Christian clergy always wear black shirts with clerical collars. I had never been asked this question, and I had never asked the question either. So I told Gerald I did not know the answer. My gut feeling was that the clerical collar was worn merely to denote that someone was a member of the clergy. The black shirt colour perhaps is a tradition, though I did not think that clergy were restricted to wearing black. (If you know more about this issue, feel free to comment.)

I asked Gerald whether clothing would have an impact on his opinion of Christians and whether it would discourage him from going to a church. He said he didn't go to church, so clothing or no clothing, it wouldn't make a difference. Hypothetically, he said he'd probably prefer pastors/clergy to dress more formally. He said, "When you go to church it's going to church, you gotta take it seriously."

I commented that I went to a contemporary evening church service where the pastor did not wear formal clothes, and the congregation mostly dressed casually. Shorts and flip-flop shoes were acceptable. I suggested in this way, perhaps the younger congregation would feel more at ease. Perhaps the pastor would seem more approachable.

Gerald laughed off the suggestion. Shaking his head, he joked that clergy members were trying to pass themselves off as "regulars" to unsuspecting congregation members in order to gain their confidence. It brought a smile to my face, as I quietly thought of clergy in contravention of s52 of the Trade Practices Act (misleading and deceptive conduct)?

I played the devil's advocate for a while, saying that there are even schools of thought that would argue for abandoning formal dress. They claim the formal clerical dress draws a distinct line between church clergy/leaders and lay members, and in this way creates a hierarchical power structure, another barrier for the congregation. Clergy who don the formal dress can even be accused of self-aggrandisement.

To this Gerald said, "Christians make too much hoo-ha about nothing." With this I agreed in part. He said, he didn't have a real objection to what people wear. His personal preference was formal, though he admitted it was probably because if he ever decided to go to church, he'd want to see that other people at least made an effort to dress properly (again another joke). Who ever said old people don't have a sense of humour.

Then Gerald said something profound. He said, "In all honesty, I don't think people who go to church make such a fuss about clothing. I mean, this Jesus probably doesn't care what you're wearing. It's the attitude with which you come to church - the motives of your heart."