anglican taonga pentecost 2015

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PENTECOST

2015TAIZÉ ON TOUR : : LOSING FAITH IN HISTORY : : DEALING WITH DEATH

F L A X R O O T S M I N I S T R Y

– and Whaea Daisy of Paeroa

Beverley Shore BennettThe beauty of holinesscaptured in glass

T H E A R T S

Rosemary Dewerse’s reason to believeWe all will be received in Graceland

M I S S I O N

The teacher, the preacher

ANGLICAN TAONGA PENTECOST 2015

I N M E M O R I A M

We don’t do obituaries in Taonga.Not unless our subject is someone unusually significant.

An archbishop, for example – preferably one who has beefed up their CV with a stint, say, as Governor General.

Or someone who is unusually significant to us.

Chris Church, who died on April 22, after living with cancer for seven years, easily makes that cut.

Brian Thomas founded the mag in 1997. That’s the story readers may know.But it’s not the story Brian himself tells. He says he co-founded the mag, with

Chris, his wife. Because she was the one who got it into

people’s hands. Her work in distributing the mag, says Bishop John Bluck – who chaired the Communications Commission for many years – “was crucial to its success.”

Back in 1997, when it all began, Brian was the Vicar of Geraldine, and the vicarage study became the first Taonga HQ.

The mag was printed in Rangiora in those days. When an issue was ready Brian would head north in his old Datsun ute – and crawl back so heavy-laden with magazine cartons that his back springs were flattened out.

That’s when Chris would take over, firing out packages of the mag to parishes and subscribers throughout the province.

Later, when Chris and Brian were back in Christchurch, and Brian was ministering part-time at St Mary’s Merivale, Chris assembled a volunteer mag packing team – many of whom were on walking sticks.

They’d gather around trestle tables in the church hall, and stuff those mags into pre-addressed envelopes.

Chris would then round off the operation with a slap-up afternoon tea – and if the elderly parishioners didn’t exactly chuck their walking sticks into the shrubbery after that, well, they certainly left with a spring in their step. Buoyed up knowing they’d played a part in giving Anglicans in these islands a new sense of themselves.

Chris kept up that distribution and admin work long after she’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer. And at the end of last year, she gracefully handed over a system that

Chris also had a rare talent for building friendship.

I remember once when Chris and Brian were in Auckland, and Chris and my wife Terri were strolling through Parnell.

Chris ducked into a gift shop – and emerged with two identical bangles, each engraved with the words: “LIVE… as though heaven is on earth.”

She gave one to Terri, and slipped the other one on herself. Later, when those bangles became tarnished, she insisted on having them chrome-plated.

For years, Terri’s wrist had clanked with a tangle of bangles.

Nowadays, she wears but one. The one inscribed: “LIVE… as though

heaven is on earth.”

* * * * *

That bangle makes me think about another kind of circle – the Taonga family circle.

And I think about one of the classics of country music, which was revived by one of Chris and Brian’s favourite singers, Joan Baez:

Lord, I told the undertakerUndertaker, please drive slowFor this body you are haulin'Lord, I hate to see her go

Will the circle be unbroken?By and by, Lord, by and byThere's a better home awaitingIn the sky, Lord, in the sky

Rest in peace, Chris. Till we see you again, by and by.

– Lloyd Ashton


Chris Church and the family circle

was simply purring along.She spent so much of herself on that work

because she believed in Taonga. “It tells me,” she said, “who I am as an

Anglican in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia.”

Ivan Hatherly has handled the printing of Taonga mag since the beginning – and he’s worked closely with Chris for 18 years.

“I can tell you right now,” says Ivan, “what Chris put into that magazine – with and without Brian’s help – is immense.”

* * * * *

At Chris’ funeral – in Christchurch’s transitional cathedral, on April 28 – they spoke eloquently of her creativity, her zest for life, her style, her calmness, her unceasing good cheer and her ability, as John Bluck put it in his eulogy to “put you at ease, even when her own reality was full of pain.

“I’ve been told,” he said, “that when Chris and Brian made those interminable visits to the hospital together, people would think Brian was the patient, not Chris.”

Above all, though, Chris was the very essence of hospitality.

I remember, for instance, September 11, 2010 – the day after the first of the Christchurch earthquakes.

Archbishop David Moxon and I arranged to fly down that day: He to provide solace, me to tell the story.

I smile at the memory of Archbishop David urging me to take bottled water, so we didn’t put unnecessary demands on our Christchurch hosts – who were, inevitably, Chris and Brian.

Well, Ilam – where they live – wasn’t as badly hit as some places. Sure, Chris and Brian’s chimney was in a heap on the front lawn. They had no power, either. Nothing that could unhorse Chris’s hospitality, though.

She simply set about preparing gourmet meals on a barbecue.

And the Archbishop took his rest on a sofa bed in the little backyard garage where Brian edited Taonga – a cosy cell henceforth to be known as “The Archbishop’s Suite.”

Many times since, I too have taken my well-fed rest in The Archbishop’s Suite.

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Chris Church


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Anglican TaongaPENTECOST 2015

Anglican Taonga is published by General Synod and distributed to all ministry units and agencies of the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia – Te Haahi Mihinare ki Aotearoa ki Niu Tireni ki nga Moutere o Te Moana Nui a Kiwa.

Editor Julanne Clarke-Morris786 Cumberland StreetOtepoti – Dunedin 9016Ph 03 [email protected]

Contributing Editor/ Web EditorBrian ThomasPh 03 351 [email protected]

Design Marcus Thomas [email protected]

DistributionAleshia LawsonTaonga Distribution ManagerPO Box 6431, Dunedin [email protected]

AdvertisingBrian WatkinsPh 06 875-8488021 072-9892 [email protected]

Media OfficerLloyd AshtonPh 09 521-4439021 [email protected].

REGULAR

16 Social Justice: Jolyon White unmasks migrant worker abuse

18 Theology: Tim Meadowcroft asks whose laws to follow

28 Ministry: Max Whitaker shines a spotlight on deacons

30 Spirituality: Kelvin Wright enters into silence with God

38 Environment: Phillip Donnell questions Earth’s downfall

42 Film: John Bluck on the slopes with a family under siege

43 The Far Side: Imogen de la Bere watches the Brits raise King Richard III

Features

Contents 8 12 18

20 24 32


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Alister Hendery’s new book: Earthed in Hope – Dying, Death and Funerals, a Pakeha Anglican Perspective was launched in Wellington

earlier this year. It is the fruit of a life that has specialised in death.

Over the course of 35 years in ministry, Alister has taken more than 1500 funerals – both as a priest and celebrant. He has also worked as a counsellor specialising in grief and loss.

Death is even a feature of Alister’s chosen sport.

A few years ago, he took up powerlifting. The demands of wrestling with a loaded

Olympic bar saw him through the more intense periods of writing his book, he says.

He found too, that one of the sport’s three lifts became his favourite:

The deadlift. “I’m often asked,” he says, “whether I find

such a concentration on death depressing. “On the contrary. It’s life-giving, it adds a

sense of immediacy to life, teaching me to treasure the present moment and to rely on the grace of God – believing, as I do, that the life I have and the life I will know after death is a gift from the One who created me and who loves me.”

If appearances are anything to go by, that’s not mere talk, either.

Because Alister Hendery has an impish grin, a twinkle in his eye, and a ready wit.

Alister decided to write his book because he was appalled by the “acute lack of any serious writing about funeral ministry” in New Zealand.

He wanted to do something about that, to offer resources for funeral ministry – but also to kick-start conversations about death and bereavement.

Because death, he says, is a subject we don’t talk about nearly enough.

It has been marginalised, even in the church.

“I go to Anglican funerals,” he says, “where the word ‘death’ is not used.

“The church has been seduced by a societal obsession with the beauty of youth.

“Of course youth matters. But not at the price of ignoring the elderly, and putting things like ministry to the dying and the dead into a second tier.”

That lack of deliberate reflection about death and dying is all the more serious, he says, because the Kiwi Zeitgeist has changed.

“How we approach death, how we mark it, what we believe about it, what we do with our dead, has changed radically over the past four decades – and funeral ministry is caught

F U N E R A L M I N I S T R Y

Alister is not picking a fight with celebrants. After all, he’s been one himself.“The church could learn from good

celebrants,” he says, “about personalising and expressing the uniqueness of this death.

“What celebrants can’t do, is draw on the richness of the church’s tradition. And the strength of hope that we have, as we look beyond this death.

The celebrant funeral, he says “is often almost entirely retrospective.

“It’s for the living. But the church says: ‘No. It’s not just for the living. It’s for the dead, too.’ We acknowledge the retrospective – but we say there is a prospective dimension. There is a hope.

“That is still the gift the church has. But what the church needs to do, is to learn to speak the language of the people around it.”

Alister Hendery was ordained in 1980. He’s now 61.“Because my life on earth is now more

memory than future,” he writes, “I am increasingly mindful of my mortality.

Having officiated at hundreds of funerals, he now practises a discipline:

“As I leave a funeral, I take a moment to be still, and in that stillness I say to myself:

“One day this will be me.“One day, I shall not walk away from this

place.“Should I forget this, the liturgies of the

church remind me of my mortality and the need to prepare for death – my death.”

And the last words of his book are a quote from what he considers to be an “utterly brilliant resource” – the New Zealand Prayer Book:

There is nothing in death or life,In the world as it isOr in the world as it shall be,Nothing in all creationThat can separate us from the love of GodIn Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39).

Earthed in Hope (with foreword by Archbishop Philip Richardson) is available from: www.pgpl.co.nz. Print copies are $40.00 plus P&P, and eBooks: Kindle, ePub or PDF, are $25.00.

up in this windstorm of cultural change.”While the church has moved inexorably

from the centre to the periphery of our culture, he says we haven't seen the opportunity that lies at our feet.

"2016 marks the beginning of the demise of the baby boomer generation.

"The funeral industry is positioning itself for this development, but is the church readying itself with as much energy and commitment?"

We haven’t grasped, says Alister, that funeral ministry is “at the edge of our connection with society.

“It’s the place where the gospel and contemporary culture most keenly interact.

“Because it’s the area, as the Prayer Book says, that touches us most deeply.”

Alister began research for his book in 2010.

Within a year, Pike River and the first of the Christchurch quakes had happened.

“Suddenly, with Pike River, you had what one commentator has described as the first expression of public grieving on the social networks.

“I was able to download literally thousands of postings, and a picture very quickly emerged.

“And I can tell you that neo-Platonism, the belief in an immortal soul, is alive and well. People are reverting to ancient images of the ferryman crossing the Styx.

“There is no concept of the Judaic-Christian belief in the resurrection of the body. It simply is not out there.”

'You never find closure'

In the wake of Pike River, Alister got tired of hearing the word closure being bandied around.

It comes, he says, from a 1970s model of grief. “The idea that if you achieve certain goals, people will be able to move on.”

“But human beings just don’t work like that. Grief is a time of utter chaos. And we each grieve uniquely. It can’t be stylised in the form that the media present it.

“You never find closure to grief.“It’s always a part of you.“We look for change. Radical change.“But that’s not closure. I would go so far as

to say that whole psychological linear model is feeding people a lie.”

“I was watching a movie one day, and suddenly my eyes filled with tears. And it was a grief 30 years old.

“It was almost as though it had tapped me on the shoulder and said: ‘Just pay attention’.

“I didn’t need to go to a therapist. It said: ‘Just notice me. I’m still here in your life.’

Page 8

Lloyd Ashton asked Alister Hendery what we should be offering to Kiwis dealing with a death.

One day, I shall not walk away from this place.

Earthed in

Hope


There is no concept of the resurrection of the body.It is simply not there.

Page 8


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(“I want to come alongside the students, and help bubble things up from below. Because some are already passionate about quite sacrificial missional endeavours.”)

And Rosemary is one who will be doing her darndest to make the Decade of Mission a success, too.

On her mum Mabel’s maternal side, there were more mission supporters than you could poke a stick at.

“When I was a kid,” she recalls, “I loved to read missionary biographies. I guess the thing that really inspired me were the sacrifices that people made for something they believed was truly good.

“They didn’t always get it right. But maybe that’s partly why it was fascinating for me to end up in Kyrgyzstan and be challenged by my Kyrgyz friends about commitment to the gospel.”

Kyrgyzstan? We’ll get to that in a minute, too.

* * * * *

While she was studying at Canterbury, Rosemary had her first taste of overseas mission.

She did a twelve-week stint on Mindoro, in the Philippines, and four cyclones tore through the island while she was there. People died. Rosemary was learning, first-hand, that mission is not for the weak-kneed.

She couldn’t get enough of it.While she was at varsity, Rosemary also

caught the eye of Roelant Dewerse. He was an engineering student – and

he’s got a mission whakapapa, too.

Page 12

Joining the dots

In fact, when Roelant and Rosemary tied the knot, he was the first member of his family for three generations to marry someone born in the same country.

Roelant’s mum Daphne is a Kiwi who, when she was 22, headed off to the Belgian Congo as a missionary nurse.

Roelant’s dad Marcel, meanwhile, is a Belgian engineer who worked on the Congolese railways.

They met, married, had Roelant’s older sister – and when their area slid into civil war, they were given two hours to flee.

* * * * *

Rosemary and Roelant married in 1996, and in 2000 they went to England, where Rosemary did her masters at the London School of Theology.

In 2002 they went to Kyrgyzstan.And if you hadn’t heard of Kyrgyzstan

before, well, neither had Rosemary. Kyrgyzstan, she learned, is on the

northwest border of China. “I wanted to do something in

theological education,” says Rosemary. “And as an ex-communist country, Kyrgyzstan had no problem with me, as a woman, being involved in such a role.”

Rosemary taught in a seminary where all her students were first generation Christians. Their faith had cost them everything.

“To be Kyrgyz,” explains Rosemary, “is to be Muslim.

“One of my students… her family would pound on the college gates demanding her back.

“The principal of the college – who was

a New Zealander – asked her: ‘What do you want me to do?’ and she

replied: ‘I want to stay a Christian.’ “So he would stand at the gate and

tell them: ‘No, you need to respect your daughter’s decision.’

“The Kyrgyz Christians were remarkable people, they needed a lot of careful support, and I felt deeply challenged by their courage.”

* * * * *

Rosemary and Roelant returned to New Zealand in 2004, and in December that year their daughter Mereem (in Kyrgyz, that means: “the merciful love of a mother for her child”) was born.

When Mereem was one, the Dewerse family returned to Kyrgyzstan, and Rosemary taught at that same seminary for six months. In 2007, with Jean-Luc having now arrived, Rosemary embarked on her doctorate.I

t’s 1987, and we’re bouncing along Waikaka Valley in Southland, on a bus bound for Gore High School. The boisterous crew on board are belting out Call me Al from Paul Simon’s

Graceland.Simon had revived his career with

Graceland – which Rolling Stone magazine chose as one of its ‘Greatest Albums of All Time’.

Paul Simon showed his genius at melding musical cultures on that record.

So you have him singing his compositions, which showcase the startling gifts of black musicians in Apartheid-era South Africa, and for many of us, Graceland became our introduction to World Music.

Anyway. Back to those rollicking high schoolers.

Most of them were from farming families.

But one of the most talented singers on that bus wasn’t cut from that cloth.

Rosemary Garrity’s dad, Max, was the Presbyterian Minister in Waikaka Valley.

Rosemary had been born in Rotorua, and spent her childhood in Christchurch. She went on from Waikaka Valley to university in Christchurch – where she hauled in both a music and an arts degree – and then headed north to Hamilton Girls’ High, where she taught music and English.

* * * * *

So music is part of Rosemary’s DNA.So is mission.Rosemary Dewerse – we’ll introduce the

source of that surname in a minute – is the first Mission Educator for St John’s College.

She’s been charged with lifting the profile of mission amongst the ordinands

Facing page: Dr Rosemary Dewerse, St John’s College, 2015.

Left: Roelant, Rosemary and Mereem in Kyrgyzstan, 2006.

Above: From the Dewerse family album – and ancient caravanserai on the old Silk Road, Kyrgyzstan.

M I S S I O N

Page 13

For Dr Rosemary Dewerse, mission has always been about more than

academic theory.

As Rosemary and her family sought to put their faith into practice, they’ve been to the ends of the earth – and, in fact, Rosemary didn’t think she’d ever return to live in Aotearoa New Zealand.

But as Lloyd Ashton has been finding out, an epiphany in the Australian Outback changed everything for her…

Rosemary was learning, first-hand, that mission is not for the weak-kneed.

ANGLICAN TAONGA PENTECOST 2015 ANGLICAN TAONGA PENTECOST 2015


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Historians tell the truth about the past. Or at least many people think they do.

New Zealand's most influential writer of nineteenth century history, William Pember Reeves said so in his

1902 volume, State Experiments in Australia and New Zealand.

Reeves assured readers that he wrote without prejudice, steering clear of controversial arguments and partisan politics. Instead, he claimed, he was serving the unbiased student ‘by collecting and classifying facts.’

Previously, histories were often written from either a Catholic or a Protestant perspective. Reeves, by contrast, claimed that he was simply telling the truth – a common attempt among historians, philosophers and scientists in the late nineteenth century.

Today, most scholars agree those researchers did well to get beyond the Catholic-Protestant biases that had stalked European history-writing since the Protestant Reformation.

But as they pulled history clear of opposing church factions, some scholars let the churches slip out of sight. Social and political ideas inspired by faith often fell by the wayside too.

Recently, scholars have stopped giving modern secular viewpoints an automatic pass, and have started to ask questions.

Does secular mean friendly, neutral, or hostile to religion? Do modern secular historians have a ‘view from nowhere’?

If we go back to Reeves with a critical eye, does his claim of neutral reporting ring true? Or should we approach his claims as a Tui beer ad would:

Yeah, right?Reeves, to be fair, could write with respect about

people of faith. He described the Rev Thomas Burns – the Scottish Free Church founder of Otago – as ‘a minister of sterling worth.’

At key points, however, his secular nationalist slant led him to write prose that would condescend or dismiss English Anglicans, Maori, Irish Catholics, evangelical activists and women.

His political career offers clues to how and why he wrote history the way he did.

Born in 1856 to an English Anglican Christchurch family, Reeves forged a meteoric political career. By the 1890s, he was Minister of Justice, Education and Labour in the Liberal national government.

...missionaries and Maori were consigned to the margins.

New Zealand historian John Stenhouse says our written history hasn't given faith a fair go – for more than a hundred years.

But religion didn't fall from its pages by accident, he says.

John takes us back to the beginning, to meet William Pember Reeves, whose popular histories reset the scene –with the church off centre stage.

Losing sight of

faith


Does secular mean friendly, neutral, or hostile to religion?

As a Fabian socialist, Reeves aspired to build a nation that cast off class and church divides from the Old World.

His strong state would guarantee that settlers of any class or church could own a home, farm, or piece of land and hold safe, secure work.

Through equal chances for all, Reeves aimed to build a harmonious and cohesive secular society. This shining vision of the new nation had wide appeal.

By 1898, during his time as New Zealand Agent-General in London, Reeves claimed that his ideal country had been born.

That year, in his stylish short history titled The Long White Cloud: Ao Tea Roa, Reeves claimed that New Zealand had overcome class, religious and racial divisions better than anywhere in the world — a flattering story.

But had the state really defused old tensions so well? Did it treat all of its citizens equally? Did Reeves, even?

Maori were one group who had already paid a high price for the Liberals' political plans, as large-scale state purchases further alienated lands.

Earlier, in the 1830s-40s, a cohort of missionaries, led by Henry Williams, had squared off against the state on the issue of Maori land – and urged Maori not to sell.

Dismissing church support for Maori as 'political mischief,’ Reeves blamed the colony’s troubles on

‘the attempt of missionaries and officials at home, to act as though a handful of savages .... could be allowed to keep a fertile and healthy Archipelago larger than Great Britain.’

H I S T O R Y


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T H E O L O G Y

of the statue and the foretelling of Nebuchadnezzar’s madness. In these cases, Daniel works within the system to bring wisdom to the king. He acts as chief of the magicians – a thoroughly Babylonian role.

In court conflicts like the fiery furnace or the lions’ den, the Jewish characters hold visible positions of power – and have made enemies who want to bring them down.

In each conflict, plotters use the heroes' faith against them.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego come under fire over whose gods must be worshipped. Daniel, over whose law will prevail – that of Daniel’s God, or the Persian and Median gods. On both occasions, the faithful Jews stake everything to stand against the empire.

Today, following Jesus within our own cultures involves both dynamics.

Looking to Daniel, we need not fear being deeply involved in the concerns and daily lives of those around us. The God-given wisdom of God can play itself out anywhere.

But trigger points appear that can place our ultimate allegiance at stake. These are moments of difference, and often of courage and danger.

In some settings, the difference between a Daniel-style conflict or contest is obvious.

More often, the first and most complex question is this: What issues call for a 'line in the sand'? Where should we contextualise our approach to the culture around us?

And where do we stand and challenge the values or priorities of that culture – in the name of the God whom Daniel worshipped?

The Rev Dr Tim Meadowcroft is a senior lecturer in theology at Laidlaw College in Auckland.

[email protected]

Page 18

Christianity is a faith that translates.

We translate literally, making sure to share the Bible's truth through new

languages. Our faith translates in other ways too.

Unlike religions confined by their first people or place, the gospel can speak through local cultures.

Jesus belongs to no single culture, and yet belongs to all. When Christ resides with a people, he also wears their clothes.

This drive to translate flows from the doctrine of the incarnation – the understanding that God has taken on human garb in the person of Jesus.

A useful word for this phenomenon – that Jesus is not held captive by any culture, but belongs to all – is the word contextualization. It speaks of what happens when Jesus is revealed through different cultures, and highlights that it is not an easy process.

Occasionally, the church must humbly recognise that God has always been at work within a culture. At other times, a culture stands against Jesus – so the church must oppose it too.

Scripture shows us how Jesus' forbear Daniel grappled with similar limits. His challenge was to remain faithful to Yahweh, while living within the Babylonian and Persian imperial courts.

Daniel's struggle appears in stories that pit him against the empire, alongside his friends Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. These well-known episodes begin when the four young Jews are training as Babylonian wise men. They bravely risk the king's anger – by refusing to eat his rations. Nobody is quite sure why, but whatever their reasons, as faithful Jews they needed a point of difference from their surrounds.

Faced with the four-metalled statue with its head of gold; the fiery furnace; Nebuchadnezzar's seven times' grazing with the animals, the writing on the wall and the lions’ den, Daniel and his friends must continue to ask: whose God will they serve? As fully functioning members of court, when should they live within its rules, or, stand against them?

If we examine these stories closely, we find two types of scenario: "court contests” and “court conflicts.”

In a contest, the Jewish hero emerges from obscurity to solve a problem, and is promoted to a high position of responsibility: as in the interpretation

Tim Meadowcroft agrees no culture has a monopoly on the wisdom of God.

But when he reads the book of Daniel, he's also sure that doesn't mean anything goes.

At times, a culture stands against Jesus,so the church must oppose it too.


Daniel's choiceFaced with

trigger points can

appear that place

our ultimate

allegiance at stake...


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M I S S I O N

the last thing my husband read in church before he died'."

Beverley hadn't seen that coming."I was absolutely devastated – and

thrilled," she said. "It transformed the whole process."

Ed Hitchcock loved that window too. He was Holy Trinity's warden after the quakes and tried save it from demolition – "But people thought that wall was too difficult to work on safely."

Still he didn't let it go, without grabbing a quick shot for keeps.

And his snap is precious now – it's the only record Beverley has left.

* * * * *

I was absolutely devastated,– and thrilled.

Few artists can equal Beverley Shore Bennett for her impact on New Zealand Christian art.

More than 300 of her stained glass works emblazon state

buildings, school and hospital chapels, cathedrals and parish churches across Aotearoa.

And not only Anglican, but Presbyterian, Methodist and Catholic churches are all home to the saintly realms that shine from her panes.

Art historian Dr Fiona Ciaran names Beverley as a major figure in the halcyon days of New Zealand stained glass.1

But as well as being its champion, she also flouted the rules.

Beverley's windows added rays of light, tossing waves, or banks of Pentecostal flame, that strayed beyond traditional designs – into large fields of abstract colour.

"Her style was more fluid and lyrical than the previous British designers," Fiona Ciaran says.

"She made a profound contribution to 20th-century stained glass."

Seventeen of Beverley's windows fill the nave and light the West end of St. John's Cathedral, Waiapu.2 Christ Church Cathedral Nelson hosts Beverley's great rose window and St Paul's Cathedral, Wellington features 23 windows of her design.

Each one is dear to her, but Beverley's favourite window is gone – lost now in the Canterbury earthquakes.

Nine of her windows went down with Holy Trinity, Avonside – just as her Mary collapsed with St Luke's in the City, and her Mary and Martha fell with St John's Latimer Square.

Though designed more than 40 years ago, the Avonside window is one she won't forget.

Born in 1928, the elder child of Edith Carter and Martin Shore, Beverley was turned on to art from the word go.

"It began as a baby – I just couldn't stop drawing. It was a compulsion."

Beverley's mother was a keen Anglican, so the family were firm members of St Mary's Anglican Church in Karori, where she was schooled in the language of faith.

Art ran in the family too. Beverley's grandfather Charles Carter was a stained glass artist in pioneer Wellington.

"My parents were very pro my going ahead with art."

Beverley had one sister, Deirdre, who was 18 months younger.

They were close, though sometimes

It stands out, for how it came about.Most often, churches would write to

Beverley to ask for a design. She would reply with a drawing based

on their request, scaled at 1:10. When the "yes" came, Beverley would project and draft the design onto a life-sized template – called a cartoon – on her studio wall.

Then it went to the glass studio, where colleagues like Roy Miller, Paul Hutchins or Stephen Belanger-Taylor chose and cut the glass, then traced in her designs.

Beverley worked closely with the studio artists as they translated her ideas. She remembers visiting a window in progress at Miller's Studio in Dunedin.

"They had a whole wall of glass – like a library, or a filing cabinet," she said, "and could pull out the sheets to check colours as they worked.

"Some of it was antique slab glass, hand-blown into moulds. I loved that, because of its little irregularities – the warps and bubbles were a delight."

But at Holy Trinity Avonside, the beauty of the glass wasn't the main appeal.

For the only time in all those commissions, the vicar (the Rev Merlin Davies) invited Beverley to visit the church where her work would go. The donor was a widow, Gladys Isaacs, and the window would be in memory of her late husband, James.

Leading Beverley into the church, the vicar suggested she sit awhile, to soak in the atmosphere.

As she did, Beverley pictured the vision of Revelation, centred on the Lamb, surrounded by wild-winged angels and apocalyptic beasts.

"When Gladys saw it she gasped: 'How did you know? The vision of Revelation was

Page 33

A light to lightenTaonga Editor Julanne Clarke-Morris takes a trip along the Kapiti

Coast to meet Beverley Shore Bennett, whose striking designs illuminate houses of God from Auckland to Otago.

the gentle isles

Stephen Bélanger-Taylor adds final touches to Beverley's light of Christ.

Beverley in the Waikanae studio with her girls' portraits: L-R daughters Sylvia, Prue and Diana.

Top: Fallen but not forgotten – Lamb of Revelation was made for the Church of the Most Holy Trinity, Avonside.Above: St Paul presides over Beverley's rampant seas in Wellington Cathedral's Holm memorial window.


T H E A R T S


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stepping aside from the AOG to become the chairperson of the Tamatera vestry.

For Mark – who has Te Atiawa whakapapa, and who is a Maori warden in Waihi – those Tuesday sessions scratch an itch never before satisfied:

“I want to learn how to korero on the marae,” he explains. “I’ve been to a few classes over the last 10 years – but never been able to grasp it.

“So I thought: what better way to learn to korero than through the Word of God. That’s what keeps me going back. I like the way Peter teaches, and everything he is teaching me is the Word of God.”

* * * * *

Peter Wensor is tuturu Mihinare. Anglican to the core. He’ll never change.

“It’s a truth that was imparted to me by my grandparents,” he says. “It’s a way of living, and aspiring to live. I have no doubts. This way of living is viable, and it’s a true way of living.”

What’s more, the Mihinaretanga that Peter absorbed when he was growing up in Awarua – that’s 14km south of Kaikohe – connects with Mark and Tukoro’s hunger for the Scriptures.

Peter was brought up by his grandparents, Reihana and Kapuatere (nee Eramiha) Poa.

“They could conduct services – they’d hold prayer meetings in their home – and

Quote here...

From the street, St Francis Ohauiti looks for all the world like an old garden shed. The only outside hint that you may encounter God the Father, the

Son, and the Holy Ghost within – and not rakes, garden hoes and motor mowers – are two lichen-encrusted wooden crosses affixed to the tips of the gables.

St Francis Ohauiti (that’s in Tauranga) began life in 1933, as the base for Miss Joyce Birley, of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (SPG).

She was a voluntary missionary to the Diocese of Waiapu, and she kept her hand to the plough, doing outreach to local Maori, until she was 78.

Sometime after Miss Birley retired in 1971, they built a church hall down the back of the section, and Peter Wensor, who is a Mission Enabler for Te Manawa o te Wheke, bunks down in a side room of that hall.

Eyebrows have been raised about that, he says.

“Someone once said to me: isn’t that substandard, Peter?

“And I just laughed and said: ‘No. It’s really substantial.’

Peter (who has Ngapuhi and Ngati Mahia ties) describes himself as “a teacher turned preacher.” He quit his career in primary and secondary teaching in 2000 and became a student again, aged 49, at St John’s College.

He didn’t do too badly, either – because he’s now the Rev Dr Peter Wensor.

He scored that Mission Enabler’s job, with particular responsibility for Pare Hauraki, Tauranga and Te Puke, in 2014.

So, on Tuesdays, you’ll find him teaching Noho Minitatanga – ministry training classes – at St John’s Tamatera, which is a 1932 vintage whare karakia on the Hauraki Plains, on the southern outskirts of Paeroa.

And on Thursdays, you’ll find him at St

they had no great need to call upon clergy, other than to marry and bury people, and to celebrate communion, perhaps once every two months.

“So the Word became really important to them, as well as the continual worship and praise of the Anglican Church.”

Peter was mentored into priestly ministry in that Awarua setting. As a 13-year-old, for example, he was a ‘bag-boy’, who’d lug around the visiting priest’s gear.

Peter learned then never to give up on Anglicanism: “My grandmother used to say to us, her grandchildren – ‘If you ever want to go to another denomination, just do one thing. Please look deeply into your Anglican roots.’’

* * * * *

One of the other regulars at Tamatera is Daisy te Moananui.

Unlike Tukoro and Mark, Whaea Daisy (who has Tainui links) isn’t needing any help with te reo.

She’s a language teacher herself. For 25 years, she was a host at Nga Iwi FM, the Hauraki Plains iwi radio station – and last

Francis, Ohauiti where he also teaches local clergy – and where, like Tamatera, he presides at Sunday services at least once a month.

* * * * *

“I see my task,” Peter explains, “as ensuring that if I had to move away, that there wouldn’t be a hole.

“These clergy represent Te Hahi Mihinare, and Bishop Ngarahu Katene. It’s my task to ensure they do so with dignity and integrity.

“I say to these ministry teams: if someone closes their eyes on the marae, they should be able to tell the service is being led by an Anglican priest. They should be able to hear it, and to feel it. If they close their eyes, people should know.”

The remarkable thing about this unashamed advocacy of Mihinaretanga – with its frequent references to the Prayer Book, and to the Scriptures – is that it draws folk.

Take Tukoro Kauhau, for instance. Tukoro is the street evangelist whose story we told in the last issue.

There’s Mark Snow, too. For years, Mark and his wife Bobbie have been shepherding their mokopuna – 22 at last count – to the Waihi Assembly of God.

And now here Mark is, not only taking part in these Tuesday sessions – but

Page 24 Page 25

and the WhaeaThe Teacher, the Preacher

Late last year Lloyd Ashton hit the road to check out a whare karakia in Paeroa.

He’s been back twice more to feel the wairua in the little Mihinare churches in Paeroa and Tauranga, and to sample the lives of parishioners in those places.

What’s more, he’s found that folk whom you wouldn’t normally expect to come within coo-ee of Te Hahi Mihinare – well, they can’t seem to stay away…

He’s tuturu Mihinare.Anglican to the core. He’ll never change.

A few of the congregation at St Francis Ohauiti.

Above: Mark and Bobbie Snow outside the wharenui at Ngati Waihinui marae, Waihi. Both Mark and Bobbie are Maori wardens in the town.

Right: Rev Dr Peter Wensor – Mission Enabler for Te Manawa o Te Wheke.


ANGLICAN TAONGA PENTECOST 2015ANGLICAN TAONGA PENTECOST 2015

04Taizé on tourMonastic pilgrims touch down in Christchurch and Wellington

08Dealing with deathAlister Hendery offers new hope to those who mourn

10The housing crisisLisa Woolley asks why so many Kiwis are homeless

12Rosemary DewerseMeet the woman leading St John's College into mission

20Losing faith in Kiwi historyJohn Stenhouse searches for the church in our nation's story

24Ministry at the flax roots Being Mihinare in Manawa o Te Wheke

32Beverley Shore BennettRevealing God's light through her designs

For the latest on the Anglican world, check out our website:

http://anglicantaonga.org.nzCover: Deacon Daisy Te Moananui on the front porch of her Paeroa home, with Mindy. See Pg.24 for more details.


Y O U T H

When a trio of white-cowled Taizé brothers moved through Aotearoa this February, young Kiwis flocked to the monastic silence and prayer they were offering.

To the untrained eye, these humble monks don't look like the standard-bearers for a revolution in youth ministry.

But Lloyd Ashton and Spanky Moore found out that that is exactly what they are.

Forget the rockbandsThey were being invited to a feast fit for a King.


Page 5

Helena Fischer is on the threshold of a career as a psychologist. Before she plunges into professional life back home in Germany,

however, she’s doing her OE.When I met her in February, she’d

fetched up in Otaki, and was picking strawberries.

Helena grew up in a secular home. But during her years at Konstanz University (on the shore of Lake Constance, bordering Switzerland) she’d been introduced to Taizé worship.

Helena had come to treasure those weekly services.

They’d become an anchor for her. And by the time she was in the Otaki

strawberry patch, she was feeling a bit adrift.

So she hopped on the internet, hoping to find a Taizé service within cooee of Otaki.

Which, when you think about it, is about as far from Konstanz as you can get.

But Helena hit the jackpot. Because she discovered that the Prior

of the Taizé community, Br Alois, and two of the Taizé brothers were about to be welcomed at Rangiatea, the famous Maori church in Otaki, before spending the night (of February 9) at the Ngatiawa River Monastery behind Waikanae.

The following evening, they were to be the main attraction at a ‘young adults pilgrimage’ in Wellington itself.

Helena didn’t hang back. She plunged in to all those events. Her craving for worship in the Taizé

way, satisfied, at the “ends of the earth.”

* * * * *

Invitations to the Taizé morning at Ngatiawa were sent to all the Anglican and Catholic schools around Wellington.

“Come one, come all,” they said, in effect. “Join with the Taizé bros. Listen to them. Share with them. These guys are the reigning champions of youth ministry… and you’re in for a treat. ”

Not one school could come, though. Instead, they sent apologies. They all

gave courteous reasons why a Ngatiawa visit right then wasn’t their top priority.

So the only visitors to the Chapel of Tarore that morning, in fact, were the halt and the lame – folk from L’Arche

Kapiti – the Christian community for people “with and without disabilities” in Paraparaumu.

And their quiet presence – some had to be helped into the chapel – lifted the wairua of the occasion.

Afterwards, Bishop Justin Duckworth found himself reflecting on the only Gospel text he says he’ll be preaching in 2015: Luke 14: 15-24.

A man prepared a great feast and sent out many invitations. When the banquet was ready, he sent his servant to tell the guests: ‘Come, the banquet is ready.’ But they all began making excuses…

The schools had dipped out on something precious, Bishop Justin felt.

Because they had not discerned that they were being invited to a feast fit for a King.

* * * * *

That same evening, about 400 folk – the majority of them in their early 20s – turned up at St Paul’s Cathedral Wellington for a service of Taizé evening prayer led by Brother Alois, and the two other brothers, Ghislain and Matthew.

It must have got to those young people, too.

Because towards the end of the service, when the brothers invited them to pray around an icon of the cross … many came and knelt, their foreheads on the tiles, while the chants: Jesus, remember me; Stay with me; In manus tuas (Into your hands, Father, I commend my spirit) and I am sure I shall see (Psalm 27: 13) washed over them.

Their veneration, their adoration, was tangible.

The Taizé brothers wouldn’t have been surprised by that.

Because every summer around 60,000 young people flock to Taizé. These guys know what works in youth ministry.

So why were they here in Aotearoa New Zealand? Well, throughout 2015, the Taizé community is celebrating the 75th anniversary of its beginnings and the centenary of the birth of its founder, Br Roger Schutz.

The brothers are also in the final stages of a three-year ‘pilgrimage of trust’, which has already taken them to Africa, Asia, and the Americas.

* * * * *

Page 5

The brothers who came here are a sign of the reconciliation they stand for.

Brother Alois, who is German, and Brother Ghislain, who is from Belgium, are Catholics – while Brother Matthew grew up in an Anglican home in Yorkshire.

“I went off to University,” he says, “to live a wild life.”

Instead, he fell in with Christians who headed off to Taizé during their holidays.

Matthew was stirred by what he experienced, so he returned, with a burning question:

“Those words of Jesus; ‘Come and follow me’...

“Did he just say that 2000 years ago? Or does he still mean it today?

“I also knew that Jesus had prayed (John’s Gospel, Chapter 17) for the unity of his disciples.

“In that second visit, I understood that the brothers were from different churches.

“That was like a light being switched on for me – a sign of authenticity, and a sign that yes, He still does say: Come and follow me.

Brother Matthew’s epiphany was 28 years ago.

“Jesus doesn’t say: ‘Come and follow me for ten minutes’”, he explained.

After they’d finished their visit to New Zealand, Brothers Alois and Ghislain returned to Taizé.

Br Matthew took the long way home. En route, he visited the Taizé fraternity

in Bangladesh, from where he sent us the photo overleaf.

Lloyd Ashton is this Church's Media Officer.

Brs Alois (left) Ghislain and Matthew at the end of the service in St Paul’s Cathedral.

The Taize service at St Paul’s; Helena Fischer is sitting immediately behind Br Ghislain, who is at the right of the Taize brothers.


Page 6

Look, I understand that it can seem like we get mixed signals when it comes to understanding what connects faith with young people

in the church: More coffee machines, less hymns.

No wait - more liturgy, less guitars. Louder music, but also more time for silent reflection…

But in this pick-n-mix world of worship – as always, God confounds.

And Taizé-style prayer is a perfect example of God’s Spirit moving amongst young people in a way many of us wouldn’t have expected.

Anyone who came and took part in the visit of the Taizé brothers to Christchurch at the Transitional Cathedral would agree. It was one of those sacred evenings.

The 300 or more who were there were a mix of people who had experienced a Taizé pilgrimage first hand in their younger

years some decades ago, and youth and young adults who mostly hadn’t heard of the place until now.

Bishop Victoria is one who has spent time there. So she teamed up with Wellington's Bishop Justin to ask the brothers to stop off in Aotearoa.

Rachel Smith, a young adult from the parish of Sumner/Redcliffs, knew what she was in for. During her OE last year, she spent 6 months volunteering at the Taizé community and that experience changed her life.

“I ended up in Taizé on the recommendation of my youth pastor at the time.

It was cheap ($15 a night including three meals), it was near Paris, and it ticked the 'Christian input on my OE' box nicely."

Rachel initially signed in for two weeks at Taizé, but on day four of her stay, she realised she wanted to come back longer-term. Two months later, she did just that.

"It has to be a pretty special place that sees you cleaning toilets and changing bed sheets for six months and being paid nothing for it," she says.

While at Taizé, Rachel lived in communion with young adults from all over the world, sharing meals, working and praying together every day.

"For all of us, our time in Taizé was an incredibly significant and formative time.

"The words of the Taizé chants became the language of my relationship with God.”

So what is it about Taizé that makes an impact on so many young people, so

profoundly?Well, obviously God’s grace is at work in

a special way there. And there’s no doubt that removing

young people from a fast paced, hyper-individualised world and allowing them to experience a joyful community of prayer and humility – in an otherwise sleepy French village – is a huge part of it too.

But as the brothers will tell you, there is something simple at the heart of what attracts people to Taizé.

There, a group of men and women dedicate their lives to loving and caring for young people, with all their questions and dramas, and creating an environment where they can meet God.

After the brothers' visit, I realised at once, that Taizé is a unique movement – but that it needn’t be.

I found myself asking, "What is it that stops us from doing the same down under?"

As the Christchurch evening came to a close, you could see that people had been profoundly touched: moist eyes, a stillness of spirit.

Lines formed from those keen to meet the brothers one-on-one, while others stayed seated in prayer, soaking up a lingering sacred moment.

And it didn’t take long for whispers of a Kiwi Taizé pilgrimage in 2016 to become official plans.

The Rev Spanky Moore is Senior Ecumenical Chaplain at the University of Canterbury.

Y O U T H

Inse

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to: G

rant

Ben

nett

The words of the chants became the language of my relationship with God.

Stillness in the SpiritBrother Matthew, centre, visiting the village of Mirzapur in Jamalpur district, Bangladesh. Br Guillaume is in the foreground, he has been serving there for 35 years.

Inset: Bishop Victoria welcomes the brothers to Christchurch's Transitional Cathedral.


Page 7Page 7Page 7

This year, Suva’s Pacific Theological College is celebrating half a century of providing homegrown theological

education. Half a century: That’s runs on the board,

by any count. And it certainly counts for the many

Pacific churches the College (PTC) has served over that period.

On March 6 more than 500 friends of the college joined students and staff in a celebration Eucharist, followed by a cultural festival hosted by ten Pacific groups.

The President of Fiji, Brigadier-General Ratu Epeli Nailatikau, was among those who came along. He said PTC had an enviable track record of forming leaders in a time of change and development.

College graduates had contributed to nation building, he said, through their “ability to think critically and to respond to pastoral and social justice issues.”

While PTC is Fiji's oldest degree-granting tertiary institution, the College's geographical reach is far wider than just the Fiji Islands.

PTC has trained preachers, pastors, theologians and church leaders from right across the Pacific region: from Maohi Nui (in French Polynesia) to Papua New Guinea, Aotearoa New Zealand to Pohnpei…which is in the Federated States of Micronesia – and therefore about as far north of Honiara in the Solomon Islands as Fiji is from Auckland.

The Principal of PTC these days is the Rev Prof Dr Uili Feleterika Nokise – Fele

Nokise for short – and he says that while PTC still equips academic theologians, it also acts as a hub for research and practical training.

The 'God’s Pacific People' programme, for example, tackles issues in mission. Social development and justice issues, for example, such as the need to end violence against women.

PTC also trains off-campus students in peace-building, conflict resolution, in leadership development and management skills.

Fele Nokise has been at PTC for 13 years. Many times in that period he’s seen churches call the college’s brightest scholars back home, which can be a problem, because that means potential PTC teaching staff are lost.

PTC was founded by Anglican, Congregationalist, Reformed and Methodist churches in 1965. And right from the start there’s been a focus on ecumenical learning, in the context of Pacific community life.

Archbishop Winston Halapua himself was among the first students. He enrolled at PTC 47 years ago – and he told the March 6 gathering that Pacific peoples need the kind of unity that PTC provides.

Fele Nokise is also proud of the way PTC is raising the standard of Pacific women's theological education. Today one third of College teaching staff are women, and eight post-graduate female students are enrolled in 2015, including three in PhD programmes.

Dr Nokise acknowledges there are

P A S I F I K A


50 years onTheology in the Pacific:

problems with funding, but says this is in part due to the College's own success. Because some Pacific denominations have begun to offer their own Bachelor of Divinity courses – often with PTC-trained teachers– thereby eroding the PTC roll.

But for Fele Nokise, the bigger question is this: Will Pacific churches want highly trained leaders, with ecumenical, Pacific-centred academic qualifications 50 years from now?

– Julanne Clarke-Morris

Top: Principal Rev Prof Dr Fele Nokise sits between (left) Rev Dr Tevita Banivanua, Fiji and Rotuma Methodist President, and (right) President of Fiji, Ratu Epeli Nailatikau.

Above: Fele Nokise conducts his choir of PTC staff and students.


F U N E R A L M I N I S T R Y

Page 8

Lloyd Ashton asked Alister Hendery what we should be offering to Kiwis dealing with a death.

Earthed in

Hope


There is no concept of the resurrection of the body.It is simply not there.

Page 8


Page 9

Alister Hendery’s new book: Earthed in Hope – Dying, Death and Funerals, a Pakeha Anglican Perspective was launched in Wellington

earlier this year. It is the fruit of a life that has specialised in death.

Over the course of 35 years in ministry, Alister has taken more than 1500 funerals – both as a priest and celebrant. He has also worked as a counsellor specialising in grief and loss.

Death is even a feature of Alister’s chosen sport.

A few years ago, he took up powerlifting. The demands of wrestling with a loaded

Olympic bar saw him through the more intense periods of writing his book, he says.

He found too, that one of the sport’s three lifts became his favourite:

The deadlift. “I’m often asked,” he says, “whether I find

such a concentration on death depressing. “On the contrary. It’s life-giving, it adds a

sense of immediacy to life, teaching me to treasure the present moment and to rely on the grace of God – believing, as I do, that the life I have and the life I will know after death is a gift from the One who created me and who loves me.”

If appearances are anything to go by, that’s not mere talk, either.

Because Alister Hendery has an impish grin, a twinkle in his eye, and a ready wit.

Alister decided to write his book because he was appalled by the “acute lack of any serious writing about funeral ministry” in New Zealand.

He wanted to do something about that, to offer resources for funeral ministry – but also to kick-start conversations about death and bereavement.

Because death, he says, is a subject we don’t talk about nearly enough.

It has been marginalised, even in the church.

“I go to Anglican funerals,” he says, “where the word ‘death’ is not used.

“The church has been seduced by a societal obsession with the beauty of youth.

“Of course youth matters. But not at the price of ignoring the elderly, and putting things like ministry to the dying and the dead into a second tier.”

That lack of deliberate reflection about death and dying is all the more serious, he says, because the Kiwi Zeitgeist has changed.

“How we approach death, how we mark it, what we believe about it, what we do with our dead, has changed radically over the past four decades – and funeral ministry is caught

Alister is not picking a fight with celebrants. After all, he’s been one himself.“The church could learn from good

celebrants,” he says, “about personalising and expressing the uniqueness of this death.

“What celebrants can’t do, is draw on the richness of the church’s tradition. And the strength of hope that we have, as we look beyond this death.

The celebrant funeral, he says “is often almost entirely retrospective.

“It’s for the living. But the church says: ‘No. It’s not just for the living. It’s for the dead, too.’ We acknowledge the retrospective – but we say there is a prospective dimension. There is a hope.

“That is still the gift the church has. But what the church needs to do, is to learn to speak the language of the people around it.”

Alister Hendery was ordained in 1980. He’s now 61.“Because my life on earth is now more

memory than future,” he writes, “I am increasingly mindful of my mortality.

Having officiated at hundreds of funerals, he now practises a discipline:

“As I leave a funeral, I take a moment to be still, and in that stillness I say to myself:

“One day this will be me.“One day, I shall not walk away from this

place.“Should I forget this, the liturgies of the

church remind me of my mortality and the need to prepare for death – my death.”

And the last words of his book are a quote from what he considers to be an “utterly brilliant resource” – the New Zealand Prayer Book:

There is nothing in death or life,In the world as it isOr in the world as it shall be,Nothing in all creationThat can separate us from the love of GodIn Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 8:38-39).

Earthed in Hope (with foreword by Archbishop Philip Richardson) is available from: www.pgpl.co.nz. Print copies are $40.00 plus P&P, and eBooks: Kindle, ePub or PDF, are $25.00.

up in this windstorm of cultural change.”While the church has moved inexorably

from the centre to the periphery of our culture, he says we haven't seen the opportunity that lies at our feet.

"2016 marks the beginning of the demise of the baby boomer generation.

"The funeral industry is positioning itself for this development, but is the church readying itself with as much energy and commitment?"

We haven’t grasped, says Alister, that funeral ministry is “at the edge of our connection with society.

“It’s the place where the gospel and contemporary culture most keenly interact.

“Because it’s the area, as the Prayer Book says, that touches us most deeply.”

Alister began research for his book in 2010.

Within a year, Pike River and the first of the Christchurch quakes had happened.

“Suddenly, with Pike River, you had what one commentator has described as the first expression of public grieving on the social networks.

“I was able to download literally thousands of postings, and a picture very quickly emerged.

“And I can tell you that neo-Platonism, the belief in an immortal soul, is alive and well. People are reverting to ancient images of the ferryman crossing the Styx.

“There is no concept of the Judaic-Christian belief in the resurrection of the body. It simply is not out there.”

'You never find closure'

In the wake of Pike River, Alister got tired of hearing the word closure being bandied around.

It comes, he says, from a 1970s model of grief. “The idea that if you achieve certain goals, people will be able to move on.”

“But human beings just don’t work like that. Grief is a time of utter chaos. And we each grieve uniquely. It can’t be stylised in the form that the media present it.

“You never find closure to grief.“It’s always a part of you.“We look for change. Radical change.“But that’s not closure. I would go so far as

to say that whole psychological linear model is feeding people a lie.”

“I was watching a movie one day, and suddenly my eyes filled with tears. And it was a grief 30 years old.

“It was almost as though it had tapped me on the shoulder and said: ‘Just pay attention’.

“I didn’t need to go to a therapist. It said: ‘Just notice me. I’m still here in your life.’

One day, I shall not walk away from this place.


NZ Council of Christian Social Services President Lisa Woolley has

uncovered sobering facts about homelessness in this country.

Right now, she can tell us, thousands of Kiwis are living in dire conditions.

But with the right plan of action, Lisa says, the housing crisis is not beyond repair.

Today, an estimated 34,000 people are homeless in this country. And another 5,000 are on the waiting list for social housing – due to urgent or high

need. Churches and our social service wings

are already working to respond. We provide night shelters, refuge services, emergency housing, community and pensioner housing, and offer support to rough sleepers and those living on the street.

But agencies and communities still often report that people have nowhere to go – and so are sleeping in cars, on couches, or in garages. Through the social housing programme at my workplace, Auckland's VisionWest Trust, I have seen people's lives transformed by getting into a healthy home. When families find safe, affordable

and secure housing with appropriate supports, they gain a sense of stability and wellbeing.

Recently, I have been privileged to speak with formerly homeless people about their lives. Once in a home, they can begin to imagine a better life, and start working to get there. Many seek opportunities for their children, train for new employment, and some aspire to own their own homes.

One interviewee shared their family's change in outlook, “ ... I don’t live in fear anymore. I know it's cheap rent... so I don’t worry about getting evicted.

"…I was like really highly stressed... now I have more hope. I can concentrate on finishing my studies and look at the future and be a better parent for my child.”

Page 10

S O C I A L J U S T I C E


homeNowhere to call


Page 11Page 11

France 18%). Lifting the NZ figure to only 10% would add 65,000 more subsidised houses to the market. Another 5,000 homes in the next 2-3 years would make a huge difference. But thousands more need to follow.

The government's Social Housing Reform aims only to provide a capped number of subsidised homes.

Its Income-Related Rent Subsidy (IRRS), however, is already effective in reducing poverty. Under the IRRS, the householder pays rent, but only up to 25% of their income – and the state covers the rest.

But because the government has decided to limit IRRS to 65,000 households, it won't be enough to fix the problem. We need to build housing for people who will not be able to rent in the private market.

30,000 more affordable rental properties would soften the hard edge of the crisis in Auckland, Christchurch, Hamilton and Wellington, with some more in tough renting zones like Nelson and Northland.

Advocates wanted Today, people of faith in this country are

called to be allies for those being forced to live without homes.

People renting in the private sector need advocates. As church communities, we can offer this by calling on councils and central government to make quality, affordable housing a priority.

Alongside, not instead Despite our duty to others' well being,

Christian and community-provided housing doesn't mean government can step back from its role of providing social housing for those in need. Our task is to work alongside the state to ensure that everyone is adequately housed.

To do that, we need to understand access to housing as a human right. Article 25 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that all people have the right to a standard of living adequate for health and wellbeing – including housing.

Today there are European countries that have put the right to a home into their statutes, so it can be enforced by law.

International research proves that making housing a legal right makes it harder to exclude vulnerable people.1

But New Zealand does not have this policy.

So people just have to 'make do'. This leads to overcrowded dwellings, people living in caravan parks, cars, unsafe situations or on the streets.

If we are unhappy that people are homeless here, and see it as a serious problem, then churches, iwi, and community organisations should help government build a strategy to combat the problem. What we need is to provide a pathway out of homelessness.

But only a rights-based legal framework will cut down the risk of policies being about-turned with every government change.

Thousands of houses Less than 20% of this country's

450,000 rental properties comprise social housing. Yet more than half rely on the government's Accommodation Supplement to top up their rent bill.

Around 290,000 households receive the supplement, and the Ministry of Social Development estimates that almost half still can't pay their rent each week. That's because the rents are not affordable – which researchers say should be less than 30% of household income after tax.

At 5% of total housing, social housing in NZ is also well below other first-world countries. The UK and France have at least three times the social housing (UK 17%,

We can advocate for new laws that will increase minimum standards, via a housing warrant of fitness, and for better tenancy laws that offer security to tenants.

Church members who are landlords could make a difference too, by showing willingness to support a fairer deal. To find out more about the housing crisis, visit the following websites:

New Zealand Council of Christian Social Services www.nzccss.org.nz

NZ Coalition to End Homelessness http://nzceh.org.nz

Community Housing Aotearoa http://communityhousing.org.nz

By Lisa Woolley // with research support from Paul Barber.

Lisa Woolley is NZCCSS president and CEO of Vision West Community Trust. Paul Barber is a policy analyst for NZCCSS.

[email protected], [email protected]

Note1. Fitzpatrick, S. & Watts B. (2010). “The Right to Housing” for Homeless People. In O’Sullivan, E., Busch-Geertsema, V., Quilgars, D., & Please, N. (Eds.), Homelessness Research In Europe. (pp 105-122), Brussels: FEANTSEA

We need to offer a pathway out of homelessness.


Families are forced into overcrowded or substandard buildings.


Page 12

Joining the dots I

t’s 1987, and we’re bouncing along Waikaka Valley in Southland, on a bus bound for Gore High School. The boisterous crew on board are belting out Call me Al from Paul Simon’s

Graceland.Simon had revived his career with

Graceland – which Rolling Stone magazine chose as one of its ‘Greatest Albums of All Time’.

Paul Simon showed his genius at melding musical cultures on that record.

So you have him singing his compositions, which showcase the startling gifts of black musicians in Apartheid-era South Africa, and for many of us, Graceland became our introduction to World Music.

Anyway. Back to those rollicking high schoolers.

Most of them were from farming families.

But one of the most talented singers on that bus wasn’t cut from that cloth.

Rosemary Garrity’s dad, Max, was the Presbyterian Minister in Waikaka Valley.

Rosemary had been born in Rotorua, and spent her childhood in Christchurch. She went on from Waikaka Valley to university in Christchurch – where she hauled in both a music and an arts degree – and then headed north to Hamilton Girls’ High, where she taught music and English.

* * * * *

So music is part of Rosemary’s DNA.So is mission.Rosemary Dewerse – we’ll introduce the

source of that surname in a minute – is the first Mission Educator for St John’s College.

She’s been charged with lifting the profile of mission amongst the ordinands

M I S S I O N

For Dr Rosemary Dewerse, mission has always been about more than

academic theory.

As Rosemary and her family sought to put their faith into practice, they’ve been to the ends of the earth – and, in fact, Rosemary didn’t think she’d ever return to live in Aotearoa New Zealand.

But as Lloyd Ashton has been finding out, an epiphany in the Australian Outback changed everything for her…



Page 13

(“I want to come alongside the students, and help bubble things up from below. Because some are already passionate about quite sacrificial missional endeavours.”)

And Rosemary is one who will be doing her darndest to make the Decade of Mission a success, too.

On her mum Mabel’s maternal side, there were more mission supporters than you could poke a stick at.

“When I was a kid,” she recalls, “I loved to read missionary biographies. I guess the thing that really inspired me were the sacrifices that people made for something they believed was truly good.

“They didn’t always get it right. But maybe that’s partly why it was fascinating for me to end up in Kyrgyzstan and be challenged by my Kyrgyz friends about commitment to the gospel.”

Kyrgyzstan? We’ll get to that in a minute, too.

* * * * *

While she was studying at Canterbury, Rosemary had her first taste of overseas mission.

She did a twelve-week stint on Mindoro, in the Philippines, and four cyclones tore through the island while she was there. People died. Rosemary was learning, first-hand, that mission is not for the weak-kneed.

She couldn’t get enough of it.While she was at varsity, Rosemary also

caught the eye of Roelant Dewerse. He was an engineering student – and

he’s got a mission whakapapa, too.

In fact, when Roelant and Rosemary tied the knot, he was the first member of his family for three generations to marry someone born in the same country.

Roelant’s mum Daphne is a Kiwi who, when she was 22, headed off to the Belgian Congo as a missionary nurse.

Roelant’s dad Marcel, meanwhile, is a Belgian engineer who worked on the Congolese railways.

They met, married, had Roelant’s older sister – and when their area slid into civil war, they were given two hours to flee.

* * * * *

Rosemary and Roelant married in 1996, and in 2000 they went to England, where Rosemary did her masters at the London School of Theology.

In 2002 they went to Kyrgyzstan.And if you hadn’t heard of Kyrgyzstan

before, well, neither had Rosemary. Kyrgyzstan, she learned, is on the

northwest border of China. “I wanted to do something in

theological education,” says Rosemary. “And as an ex-communist country, Kyrgyzstan had no problem with me, as a woman, being involved in such a role.”

Rosemary taught in a seminary where all her students were first generation Christians. Their faith had cost them everything.

“To be Kyrgyz,” explains Rosemary, “is to be Muslim.

“One of my students… her family would pound on the college gates demanding her back.

“The principal of the college – who was

a New Zealander – asked her: ‘What do you want me to do?’ and she

replied: ‘I want to stay a Christian.’ “So he would stand at the gate and

tell them: ‘No, you need to respect your daughter’s decision.’

“The Kyrgyz Christians were remarkable people, they needed a lot of careful support, and I felt deeply challenged by their courage.”

* * * * *

Rosemary and Roelant returned to New Zealand in 2004, and in December that year their daughter Mereem (in Kyrgyz, that means: “the merciful love of a mother for her child”) was born.

When Mereem was one, the Dewerse family returned to Kyrgyzstan, and Rosemary taught at that same seminary for six months. In 2007, with Jean-Luc having now arrived, Rosemary embarked on her doctorate.

Facing page: Dr Rosemary Dewerse, St John’s College, 2015.

Left: Roelant, Rosemary and Mereem in Kyrgyzstan, 2006.

From the Dewerse family album: – an ancient caravanserai on the old Silk Road, Kyrgyzstan.

Page 13

Rosemary was learning, first-hand, that mission is not for the weak-kneed.



“What would it take to realise truly inter-cultural theological education?” asks her thesis.

“We need to go beyond the multicultural,” she explains. “We need to get to a place where we’re learning from each other’s insights into God’s ways, where there’s space for every voice to be heard.”

* * * * *

With her PhD in hand, but wondering where she now fitted into the world, Rosemary (who worshipped with Roelant at St Paul’s, Te Atatu) took herself off to the 2011 Common Life Missions Conference.

That’s where she heard Beverly Moana Hall-Smith outline Manawa o Te Wheke’s vision for their Holden’s Bay Taapapa. Rosemary felt prompted to ask: ‘Could I help?’ Within a week she had a job.

During her time there, Rosemary designed a paper which required students to reflect on the lives of some of the saints who had lived and died in Manawa o Te Wheke.

“I got inspired by Wiremu Tamihana; Tarore and Ngakuku; Heni te Kirikaramu; Kereopa and Te Manihera and Ihaia te Ahu.”

So much so, that Rosemary turned those stories into a book: Nga Kai-rui I te Rongopai: The seed sowers of the Gospel.

Rosemary’s time at Manawa o Te Wheke ended, though, when the dollars for her position ran out.

So in 2012 she took a job in Adelaide, at the Uniting College for Leadership and Theology, as their Director of Mission and Co-ordinator of Post Graduate Studies.

* * * * *

On the postgrad side, Rosemary looked after 80 students (including a number of Kiwis) half of whom were pursuing doctorates through Flinders University, and

40 of whom were on a ministry pathway through the Adelaide College of Divinity.

“It was about exploring missional leadership, really, for today’s church,” says Rosemary. “The job was a great fit for me – because mission wasn't stuck off in a back room.”

One of the pangs Rosemary felt about leaving Manawa o Te Wheke was a fear of losing touch with indigenous things.

She needn’t have worried. Because in Rosemary’s first week on the job, she bumped into Denise Champion, who is one of the leaders of the Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress.

Denise – henceforth, ‘Aunty Denise’ to Rosemary – belongs to the Adnyamathanha nation. And as they hung out together, Rosemary discovered that Aunty Denise yearned to write theological reflections around her people’s dreaming stories.

Rosemary, who by now knew a thing of two about publishing, offered to help.

But if you think Denise would be instantly falling over herself with gratitude – well, you’d be mistaken.

Because an anthropologist had earlier “helped” by publishing a book of stories which the Adnyamathanha people had been telling forever.

That anthropologist had then insisted that if the people later retold the stories in the way they’d told them in her book, well, naturally, they should furnish her with royalties...

“So Aunty Denise said to me: ‘Wait a minute. What kind of control would you have?’

“I was like: ‘OK. Let’s make sure I have none. That I’m not on the copyright.’”

For the next two years, Rosemary sat at the feet of Denise Champion. Together they wrote: Yarta Wandatha – which means: ‘The land is talking, the people are talking’.

* * * * *

“Through the trust that Aunty Denise gave me,” explains Rosemary, “I was finding my soul in Australia – which is big for a Kiwi, because we’re fiercely non-Australian.

“I think engaging in mission is really that simple. It’s about listening. Listening really well. Listening long, and patiently.

“And being curious – genuinely curious – and building relationships. That takes time.

“Often we think: ‘We know it all.’ But culture keeps changing, and we haven’t acknowledged that we are out of our depth. So we haven’t responded in a life-giving way.

“Not in a way that is free to go where the Spirit is blowing.

“We actually need to learn to listen to God – and to be patient with God.

“Because actually, this is God’s story – and we get invited to help make it happen.”

“The job was a great fit for me – because mission wasn't stuck off in a back room.”

Page 14

P E O P L E


Above: Rosemary with Aunty Denise Champion.

Facing page: A scene from Rosemary’s travels – local kids at play on an Oodnadatta claypan.

Inset: Roelant, Rosemary, Mereem and Jean-Luc in Adelaide.


Page 15

* * * * *

Rosemary loved her work in Adelaide. But maybe what she loved best was

‘walking on country’ with her students.She did that on the South Australian

coast, at the invitation of the Ngarrindjeri people, and on Aunty Denise’s country in the Flinders Ranges.

“The aim of those trips,” she says, “was to sit at the feet of Aboriginal peoples, and to begin to grow a relationship. They were very gracious hosts.”

It was while she was in the Flinders Ranges with Aunty Denise – red earth, 43 degrees, with the scent of eucalyptus hanging in the air – that Rosemary wrestled with her next challenge.

She’d had a three-year contract at the Uniting College, hoped she could stay longer – but that wasn’t to be.

Rosemary heard about the St John’s College post – and when Roelant saw the ad he told her: “That’s your job, Rosemary.”

Rosemary, however, was torn. She didn’t think she’d get the job anyway.

“And then, while I was ‘walking on country’ with Aunty Denise, I looked at the ground and realised: ‘This is not my landscape. These are not the colours of my home.’

“That was deeply ironic, because I was finding home amongst those people.

“My yearning had always been to overseas. But the pull home became very strong. I needed to be back here.”

* * * * *

Rosemary can tell a story against herself. Like the one about meeting an Aboriginal artist, just after she’d arrived in Adelaide, who showed her one of his paintings.

“So I said to him: ‘Uncle Nelson: What’s with the dots?’

“He looked at me. He was trying to gauge what I could cope with, I think.

“And then he said: ‘Well, Rosemary, when you have an out-of-body experience, that’s what you see.’

At that point, Rosemary joined the dots. “These paintings,” she realised, “are

made from an eagle’s eye-view. They see from above.”

It’s not just a matter of elevated perspective, either.

“They see through things. They know stuff about geology and geography… that we would only know if we flew in a helicopter or drilled into the earth.

“But who prioritises that kind of knowledge? Or celebrates that kind of education?”

* * * * *

As we said at the outset, Rosemary is a musician. She’s a pianist. What’s more, she’d love to see the arts, performing and visual, swept up in the embrace of the Decade of Mission.

As a parting shot, then, I ask her to name a couple of special songs.

At first, she’s reluctant.Go on anyway, I tell her. “I just love World Music… surprise,

surprise.”Give me a ‘for instance’?“People are going to go: ‘What? Which

decade does she belong to? “But I like Paul Simon’s music. “I went to his concert here in January. To

hear him play Call me Al live was pretty cool. “He didn’t perform that to a beat box,

either. “He had real musicians, who came

from the countries where their instruments came from.

“For Paul Simon to do that authentically, he had to sit at the feet of others, and earn the right to play music that wasn’t his tradition. Those people became his friends.

“That intrigues me. “Because it’s not such a far-away

metaphor from what we are trying to do in mission.”

– Lloyd Ashton

Caption...

Page 15

ANGLICAN TAONGA EASTERTIDE 2015

So I said to him: ‘Uncle Nelson: What’s with the dots?’



S O C I A L J U S T I C E

Jolyon White shares a toolkit of questions that can help figure out where migrant worker abuse is happening – and how to stop it.

These days all the cool kids are uncovering cases of migrant worker exploitation.

At the Canterbury Social Justice Unit, we have fielded

calls from rural parishes, door-knocking campaigners, and even a youth group.

They have been coming in thick and fast – there were two calls in January. That might not sound like a torrent to you, but that is a busy time in our office over the summer, when it is just too hot for social justice.

Mostly we set the satisfying glow of our hipster Mac Air computers to show National Geographic images of icebergs, beaches and cool drinks and try not to move too quickly.

But with screensavers down one day, I thought I should write an article called, Concerned that Migrant Worker Exploitation or Slavery Might Be Happening Near You? Here are some good

questions to ask, to find out if it really is – or not.

My subheading wasn't catchy enough to run, though it is still true enough: ‘There are also a few things it would really help you to know about Immigration NZ policy.’

But first, start with these three questions – to rule out the extreme end of the spectrum.

“Do you have control of your own passport?”

“What would happen if you tried to leave your job?”

“Are you free to come and go as you like?”

If the answer to the above is “No,” or “I couldn’t,” then write down the time and location you had the conversation – and call the police. Then, report the case to the Ministry of Business, Innovation and Employment (MBIE).

Thankfully, such a serious scenario is unlikely. Few cases that severe surface in

If the answer is 'No,' write down the time and location – and call the police.

Shackled on our shores


Page 16


Page 17

New Zealand.Sadly though, other harsh conditions

are common for overseas workers here.To secure a job in New Zealand, many

overseas builders, bricklayers or farm workers may be forced to pay up to $15,000 to a recruiting agency– before they get on the plane. The 15K they sign over will most likely take the form of a debt – often with their property back home cited as collateral.

While the overseas recruiter is seldom from the New Zealand employer's company, the net result is the same. By the time these debt-laden workers arrive, they have become – in effect – bonded labour, with no freedom to leave their jobs.

But the large recruitment sum is not all that shackles migrant workers to unscrupulous employers' bad deals. To work in Aotearoa, people arriving from other countries need a work visa – and that will only be issued for a specific job.

So, if new migrants find they are expected to work for 16 hours a day, but are paid for 6, or are told to work 7 days a week, they do not feel safe to complain. The rules look simple on paper – if you leave the job on your visa, you lose the right to stay.

So the worker who complains knows they risk being sent home – to crippling debt, and loss of property used to secure their loan.

Here are some questions to ask a friend or parishioner who may be caught in this debt trap.

“Did you pay a lot of money to get this job?”

“Have you signed over title to property back home?”

“What would happen if you lost this job and had to return home?”

“Are you being paid directly into your own bank account, or into the account of a recruiting agency back home?”

“Are you being paid for all the hours you work?”

If you hear the story third hand, it also pays to ask, “when did all this happen?”

We recently heard a terrible story that upset everyone who phoned in with it. We soon found out that the situation was over a year old, and the abusive company had already gone out of business.

A quick look at NZ Immigration policy shows that unfair treatment is harder to get away with in some industries than in others.

For example, temporary agricultural workers who arrive for seasonal work like fruit picking are generally well-protected, with good auditing of employers.

The fishing industry is now under new laws that cover overseas recruitment practice – though time will tell if those laws are enforced.

But no such recruitment laws apply in other New Zealand sectors, including dairy farming, or work connected with the Canterbury rebuild.

So for now, MBIE's Labour and Immigration researchers rely on a general provision in the Immigration Act, that says only 'good employers' can hire overseas staff.

The challenge for MBIE is to define clear legal terms for 'good' or 'bad' employers. So that, for example, employers who show scant concern for how their workers are recruited overseas, may soon be defined as 'bad'.

The law sounds vague, but MBIE genuinely wants to protect people from abuse. That means the Immigration service will take seriously your concerns about a friend's situation.

The good news is, Immigration NZ is more interested in stopping bad employers, than in sending people home. And immigration officers are allowed to exercise discretion in genuine cases of abuse – though this is not a stated policy.

So if someone you know is too scared to speak out – you can reassure them there are options that don't include being sent home. If Immigration NZ gives assurance on a specific case they can help shift a worker's visa over to a fairer job or even give them time to find new work.

In each case, it takes someone to ask, but that is not hard to do.

As well as supporting the worker, and enabling them to get out of a bad situation, contacting MBIE also helps blacklist a bad employer.

That is well worth the time it takes to make a phone call.

If you uncover a problem, and cannot get past the MBIE helpdesk (on 0800 20

90 20) feel free to contact the Canterbury Social Justice Unit on 03 341 3399.

And, particularly now that the weather is cooler, we would be glad to help.

The Rev Jolyon White is Director of the Canterbury Social Justice Unit and Social Justice Enabler for the Diocese of Christchurch.

[email protected]

– no such laws apply to workers on dairy farms or in the Canterbury rebuild.

Workers risk being sent home, to crippling debts and loss of property.

Page 17



T H E O L O G Y

Page 18

Tim Meadowcroft agrees no culture has a monopoly on the wisdom of God.

But when he reads the book of Daniel, he's also sure that doesn't mean anything goes.

At times, a culture stands against Jesus,so the church must oppose it too.




Page 19

of the statue and the foretelling of Nebuchadnezzar’s madness. In these cases, Daniel works within the system to bring wisdom to the king. He acts as chief of the magicians – a thoroughly Babylonian role.

In court conflicts like the fiery furnace or the lions’ den, the Jewish characters hold visible positions of power – and have made enemies who want to bring them down.

In each conflict, plotters use the heroes' faith against them.

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego come under fire over whose gods must be worshipped. Daniel, over whose law will prevail – that of Daniel’s God, or the Persian and Median gods. On both occasions, the faithful Jews stake everything to stand against the empire.

Today, following Jesus within our own cultures involves both dynamics.

Looking to Daniel, we need not fear being deeply involved in the concerns and daily lives of those around us. The God-given wisdom of God can play itself out anywhere.

But trigger points appear that can place our ultimate allegiance at stake. These are moments of difference, and often of courage and danger.

In some settings, the difference between a Daniel-style conflict or contest is obvious.

More often, the first and most complex question is this: What issues call for a 'line in the sand'? Where should we contextualise our approach to the culture around us?

And where do we stand and challenge the values or priorities of that culture – in the name of the God whom Daniel worshipped?

The Rev Dr Tim Meadowcroft is a senior lecturer in theology at Laidlaw College in Auckland.

[email protected]

Christianity is a faith that translates.

We translate literally, making sure to share the Bible's truth through new

languages. Our faith translates in other ways too.

Unlike religions confined by their first people or place, the gospel can speak through local cultures.

Jesus belongs to no single culture, and yet belongs to all. When Christ resides with a people, he also wears their clothes.

This drive to translate flows from the doctrine of the incarnation – the understanding that God has taken on human garb in the person of Jesus.

A useful word for this phenomenon – that Jesus is not held captive by any culture, but belongs to all – is the word contextualization. It speaks of what happens when Jesus is revealed through different cultures, and highlights that it is not an easy process.

Occasionally, the church must humbly recognise that God has always been at work within a culture. At other times, a culture stands against Jesus – so the church must oppose it too.

Scripture shows us how Jesus' forbear Daniel grappled with similar limits. His challenge was to remain faithful to Yahweh, while living within the Babylonian and Persian imperial courts.

Daniel's struggle appears in stories that pit him against the empire, alongside his friends Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. These well-known episodes begin when the four young Jews are training as Babylonian wise men. They bravely risk the king's anger – by refusing to eat his rations. Nobody is quite sure why, but whatever their reasons, as faithful Jews they needed a point of difference from their surrounds.

Faced with the four-metalled statue with its head of gold; the fiery furnace; Nebuchadnezzar's seven times' grazing with the animals, the writing on the wall and the lions’ den, Daniel and his friends must continue to ask: whose God will they serve? As fully functioning members of court, when should they live within its rules, or, stand against them?

If we examine these stories closely, we find two types of scenario: "court contests” and “court conflicts.”

In a contest, the Jewish hero emerges from obscurity to solve a problem, and is promoted to a high position of responsibility: as in the interpretation


trigger points can

appear that place

our ultimate

allegiance at stake...


Page 20

...missionaries and Maori were consigned to the margins.

Losing sight of

faith


H I S T O R Y


Page 21

Historians tell the truth about the past. Or at least many people think they do.

New Zealand's most influential writer of nineteenth century history, William Pember Reeves said so in his

1902 volume, State Experiments in Australia and New Zealand.

Reeves assured readers that he wrote without prejudice, steering clear of controversial arguments and partisan politics. Instead, he claimed, he was serving the unbiased student ‘by collecting and classifying facts.’

Previously, histories were often written from either a Catholic or a Protestant perspective. Reeves, by contrast, claimed that he was simply telling the truth – a common attempt among historians, philosophers and scientists in the late nineteenth century.

Today, most scholars agree those researchers did well to get beyond the Catholic-Protestant biases that had stalked European history-writing since the Protestant Reformation.

But as they pulled history clear of opposing church factions, some scholars let the churches slip out of sight. Social and political ideas inspired by faith often fell by the wayside too.

Recently, scholars have stopped giving modern secular viewpoints an automatic pass, and have started to ask questions.

Does secular mean friendly, neutral, or hostile to religion? Do modern secular historians have a ‘view from nowhere’?

If we go back to Reeves with a critical eye, does his claim of neutral reporting ring true? Or should we approach his claims as a Tui beer ad would:

Yeah, right?Reeves, to be fair, could write with respect about

people of faith. He described the Rev Thomas Burns – the Scottish Free Church founder of Otago – as ‘a minister of sterling worth.’

At key points, however, his secular nationalist slant led him to write prose that would condescend or dismiss English Anglicans, Maori, Irish Catholics, evangelical activists and women.

His political career offers clues to how and why he wrote history the way he did.

Born in 1856 to an English Anglican Christchurch family, Reeves forged a meteoric political career. By the 1890s, he was Minister of Justice, Education and Labour in the Liberal national government.

New Zealand historian John Stenhouse says our written history hasn't given faith a fair go – for more than a hundred years.

But religion didn't fall from its pages by accident, he says.

John takes us back to the beginning, to meet William Pember Reeves, whose popular histories reset the scene –with the church off centre stage.

Losing sight of

Does secular mean friendly, neutral, or hostile to religion?

As a Fabian socialist, Reeves aspired to build a nation that cast off class and church divides from the Old World.

His strong state would guarantee that settlers of any class or church could own a home, farm, or piece of land and hold safe, secure work.

Through equal chances for all, Reeves aimed to build a harmonious and cohesive secular society. This shining vision of the new nation had wide appeal.

By 1898, during his time as New Zealand Agent-General in London, Reeves claimed that his ideal country had been born.

That year, in his stylish short history titled The Long White Cloud: Ao Tea Roa, Reeves claimed that New Zealand had overcome class, religious and racial divisions better than anywhere in the world — a flattering story.

But had the state really defused old tensions so well? Did it treat all of its citizens equally? Did Reeves, even?

Maori were one group who had already paid a high price for the Liberals' political plans, as large-scale state purchases further alienated lands.

Earlier, in the 1830s-40s, a cohort of missionaries, led by Henry Williams, had squared off against the state on the issue of Maori land – and urged Maori not to sell.

Dismissing church support for Maori as 'political mischief,’ Reeves blamed the colony’s troubles on

‘the attempt of missionaries and officials at home, to act as though a handful of savages .... could be allowed to keep a fertile and healthy Archipelago larger than Great Britain.’

For more information visit: www.stjohnscollege.ac.nz Phone: 09 521 2725Email: [email protected].

ANGLICAN

2015 STUDIES

at St John’s Theological College

DIPLOMAS IN ANGLICAN STUDIESNZQA accredited at Levels 5 and 6

for Ministry and Mission inBiblical StudiesTheologyFaith in History and ContextMinistry and Mission in Context

Siding with the state and New Zealand Company at this key point, Reeves dismissed missionaries and humanitarians as fanatics, irrationally defending the land rights of a 'doomed' race.

He made no attempt to understand why missionaries defended Maori, or why Christian chiefs forged links with church leaders. Instead, Reeves consigned both groups to the margins, as obstacles to progress.

As Minister of Education and Justice, Reeves clashed with a wide range of

religious groups during the 1890s, which received short shrift in his histories.

He dismissed Roman Catholic requests for state aid to their private schools as ‘fanatical,’ and refused to make concessions. This angered Irish Catholics (many of whom were working class), who felt treated as second-class citizens.

Reeves also disliked evangelical Protestants, in part because they supported prohibition and Bible-in-schools.

Although Reeves and the women in his

family supported votes for women, his disdain for evangelicals' political influence blotted his account of the suffrage campaign.

Reeves gave male politicians virtually all the credit for women's suffrage in 1893, and wrote that women could, at best, ‘mount the platform and make fluttering, half-audible little speeches,’

which audiences greeted with the ‘kindly curiosity and amused

suspension of the critical faculties, which are bestowed on clever children nervously reciting poems at school gatherings.’

The condescending caricature tells us more about Reeves than about the evangelical women themselves.

But Reeves' words were in line with comment in newspapers like Truth – written by and for the red-blooded bloke – that attacked ‘wowser’ women and ‘parsons.’

Today, we can see that Reeves' secular nationalist politics shaped and coloured the way he wrote history.

His writing often condescended or dismissed church groups whose concerns threatened his ideal new nation.

So next time you wonder why Kiwis sometimes appear anti-religious, don't forget that it may have started with Reeves.

But don't hand it all to him, because while Reeves was one of the first to sideline religion in the nation's story, he certainly wasn't the last.

In the next issue, we'll look at what happened when 20th century histories followed the lines that Reeves had laid down.

Dr John Stenhouse is Associate Professor of History at

the University of Otago.

[email protected]

Reeves gave male politicians virtually all the credit for women's suffrage...


Sunshine held together by water –that's how Galileo described wine, and it's Linda Papuni's favourite definition of the product her life

revolves around these days. Not so much drinking it, as the mysteries of making it, and growing the grapes.

With a medal winning first vintage behind her, Linda is on her way to becoming one of this country's very few Maori woman winemakers, and certainly the first Anglican one.

Linda's life was immersed in ministry through her earlier careers in banking, social service (she chaired the Waiapu Social Services Board) and church administration (personal assistant to Archbishop Brown Turei) and as wife of Jack Papuni, regional ministry convenor in Waiapu Diocese and then Kaihautu for Te Amorangi o Tairawhiti.

Now that pilgrimage has taken a new turn and she's pouring what she believes is her God given energy and enthusiasm into a vocation that builds on everything that's gone before. Some of that has been rough, in the form of personal and family tragedies and ill health.

"The best and the worst has happened to us, but God has blessed me with a strong heart that will not give up physically, emotionally or spiritually.

"It is not able to give up. My mum said

I would be a forthright woman, never frightened of the fire. I think she was right."

That same energy she has poured into the church, is helping her meet the challenges of the vineyard, with the help of a green-fingered family history behind her.

"Before I am a vigneron I'm a viticulturist. I love the vineyard and the unpredictability of the weather, the pests and diseases, the lavishing of hard work and great care on the vines, the challenge to produce the very best."

Her first vintage is evidence of that. In October, Linda's 2014 Gewurztraminer under her new label Rawhiti won a bronze medal and was runner up in the student category of Bayley's Hawkes Bay A&P Wine Awards, one of only three wines to be awarded medals in this highly contested national category. She followed that with a silver medal in the EIT Food Art Wine Show 2014.

The success capped a roller coaster first year at the Eastern Institute of Technology's Gisborne campus where she has just completed the certificate in grape growing and wine making, and about to begin the two-year diploma course.

She loves the place. "Doing a grape harvest is the most

emotional, stunning experience. Everyone has to do a harvest at some stage in their life."

Those who know Linda won't be surprised at all this and nor would her family.

Her whakapapa is, well, complicated. There's German and Danish of the Viking

P E O P L E

John Bluck catches up with an Anglican in training for a different kind of harvest.


Miracle in the vineyardkind, Ngati Tuwharetoa and Ngati Porou. Her three times great grandfather Rutene Te Uamairangi (a kingite warrior) is the subject of a famous Goldie painting, and her paternal great great grandfather was an Anglican lay reader who built the church at Nukuhau in Taupo.

They would all be pleased to receive a bottle from the first 60 dozen Rawhiti, with its "bouquet and flavours of Turkish delight, lychee and rose petal to delight the senses." according to the label, to say nothing of the "marmalade, spices and a hint of almond contributing to a rich and sustained finish."

The finish of this story though is a long way off. There is more hard work and study ahead for Linda but she's ready for it.

"Life is good, the sun is shining, the mokos are great, the garden is productive. What more could you ask for?"

Bishop John Bluck is a writer living in Northland. His work is available on www. blucksbooks.com

Life is good. The sun is shining, the mokos are great and the garden is productive.

Linda Papuni.


Quote here...

From the street, St Francis Ohauiti looks for all the world like an old garden shed. The only outside hint that you may encounter God the Father, the

Son, and the Holy Ghost within – and not rakes, garden hoes and motor mowers – are two lichen-encrusted wooden crosses affixed to the tips of the gables.

St Francis Ohauiti (that’s in Tauranga) began life in 1933, as the base for Miss Joyce Birley, of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (SPG).

She was a voluntary missionary to the Diocese of Waiapu, and she kept her hand to the plough, doing outreach to local Maori, until she was 78.

Sometime after Miss Birley retired in 1971, they built a church hall down the back of the section, and Peter Wensor, who is a Mission Enabler for Te Manawa o te Wheke, bunks down in a side room of that hall.

Eyebrows have been raised about that, he says.

“Someone once said to me: isn’t that substandard, Peter?

“And I just laughed and said: ‘No. It’s really substantial.’

Peter (who has Ngapuhi and Ngati Mahia ties) describes himself as “a teacher turned preacher.” He quit his career in primary and secondary teaching in 2000 and became a student again, aged 49, at St John’s College.

He didn’t do too badly, either – because he’s now the Rev Dr Peter Wensor.

He scored that Mission Enabler’s job, with particular responsibility for Pare Hauraki, Tauranga and Te Puke, in 2014.

So, on Tuesdays, you’ll find him teaching Noho Minitatanga – ministry training classes – at St John’s Tamatera, which is a 1932 vintage whare karakia on the Hauraki Plains, on the southern outskirts of Paeroa.

And on Thursdays, you’ll find him at St

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and the WhaeaThe Teacher, the Preacher

Late last year Lloyd Ashton hit the road to check out a whare karakia in Paeroa.

He’s been back twice more to feel the wairua in the little Mihinare churches in Paeroa and Tauranga, and to sample the lives of parishioners in those places.

What’s more, he’s found that folk whom you wouldn’t normally expect to come within coo-ee of Te Hahi Mihinare – well, they can’t seem to stay away…

L-R; outside St Francis Ohauiti: Tess Lawson, Karen Kururangi, Ani Kururangi, Kevin Taylor and Peter Wensor.




Page 25

stepping aside from the AOG to become the chairperson of the Tamatera vestry.

For Mark – who has Te Atiawa whakapapa, and who is a Maori warden in Waihi – those Tuesday sessions scratch an itch never before satisfied:

“I want to learn how to korero on the marae,” he explains. “I’ve been to a few classes over the last 10 years – but never been able to grasp it.

“So I thought: what better way to learn to korero than through the Word of God. That’s what keeps me going back. I like the way Peter teaches, and everything he is teaching me is the Word of God.”

* * * * *

Peter Wensor is tuturu Mihinare. Anglican to the core. He’ll never change.

“It’s a truth that was imparted to me by my grandparents,” he says. “It’s a way of living, and aspiring to live. I have no doubts. This way of living is viable, and it’s a true way of living.”

What’s more, the Mihinaretanga that Peter absorbed when he was growing up in Awarua – that’s 14km south of Kaikohe – connects with Mark and Tukoro’s hunger for the Scriptures.

Peter was brought up by his grandparents, Reihana and Kapuatere (nee Eramiha) Poa.

“They could conduct services – they’d hold prayer meetings in their home – and

they had no great need to call upon clergy, other than to marry and bury people, and to celebrate communion, perhaps once every two months.

“So the Word became really important to them, as well as the continual worship and praise of the Anglican Church.”

Peter was mentored into priestly ministry in that Awarua setting. As a 13-year-old, for example, he was a ‘bag-boy’, who’d lug around the visiting priest’s gear.

Peter learned then never to give up on Anglicanism: “My grandmother used to say to us, her grandchildren – ‘If you ever want to go to another denomination, just do one thing. Please look deeply into your Anglican roots.’’

* * * * *

One of the other regulars at Tamatera is Daisy te Moananui.

Unlike Tukoro and Mark, Whaea Daisy (who has Tainui links) isn’t needing any help with te reo.

She’s a language teacher herself. For 25 years, she was a host at Nga Iwi FM, the Hauraki Plains iwi radio station – and last

Francis, Ohauiti where he also teaches local clergy – and where, like Tamatera, he presides at Sunday services at least once a month.

* * * * *

“I see my task,” Peter explains, “as ensuring that if I had to move away, that there wouldn’t be a hole.

“These clergy represent Te Hahi Mihinare, and Bishop Ngarahu Katene. It’s my task to ensure they do so with dignity and integrity.

“I say to these ministry teams: if someone closes their eyes on the marae, they should be able to tell the service is being led by an Anglican priest. They should be able to hear it, and to feel it. If they close their eyes, people should know.”

The remarkable thing about this unashamed advocacy of Mihinaretanga – with its frequent references to the Prayer Book, and to the Scriptures – is that it draws folk.

Take Tukoro Kauhau, for instance. Tukoro is the street evangelist whose story we told in the last issue.

There’s Mark Snow, too. For years, Mark and his wife Bobbie have been shepherding their mokopuna – 22 at last count – to the Waihi Assembly of God.

And now here Mark is, not only taking part in these Tuesday sessions – but

Page 25

He’s tuturu Mihinare.Anglican to the core. He’ll never change.

Above: Mark and Bobbie Snow outside the wharenui at Ngati Waihinui marae, Waihi. Both Mark and Bobbie are Maori wardens in the town.

Right: Rev Dr Peter Wensor – Mission Enabler for Te Manawa o Te Wheke.



year she was ordained a Deacon. But that doesn’t begin to reveal how

important Whaea Daisy is to Paeroa’s wellbeing. She’s the Pied Piper of Paeroa, in fact. One who leads the town’s kids to nowhere but good.

If you turn up to her little whare around school knock-off time, you’ll see a home

almost overrun by small-sized humanity: “Good day!” she says to some tot: “Hello! Can Nan have a kiss, please? I want a big hug!”

Daisy has 35 mokopuna, and 28 great-grandchildren – but really, she says, “the whole town is my mokopuna. They all call me Nan.”

Whaea Daisy came to the Lord in 1978, in Auckland, through Muri Thompson and Gray Theodore’s witness.

Her late husband George made a commitment shortly after that – and in 1980 Daisy had a dream which compelled her to move to Paeroa, which is where George’s whanau came from. George, who was deaconed himself at Tamatera, died in 1988.

Daisy ministers at countless tangi, and to countless other needs. Any hour of the day or night cars pull up outside her whare. She’ll be out walking, and cars pull in to the sidewalk beside her, too: ‘Whaea: we need you to come to this

house right now.’ Daisy never shrinks from those

demands. She launches into an old refrain to

explain how she copes: ‘I need Thee every hour’…

Daisy has no difficulty turning up to those Tuesday Tamatera sessions, either.

Partly, she says, because things are changing there. There’s nothing surer – that place is going to grow. So don’t be despising the day of small beginnings.

People already sense the wairua that will make that growth possible. The day I visited Tamatera, for example, one of Daisy’s mokopuna ducked in to give her a message.

And as she came inside, she proclaimed to nobody in particular:

“I love coming in here!”

Lloyd Ashton is this Church's Media Officer.

So don’t be despising the day of small beginnings.



Page 26

Clockwise from top left: Whaea Daisy Te Moananui; Peter Wensor teaching Noho Minitatanga at

Tamatera; Some of the Tamatera gang: L-R: Iriaka Wensor, Tukoro Kauhau, Daisy Te Moananui (foreground), Peter Wensor, Lillian Barrett and Mark Snow; Tukoro Kauhau makes a point at Tamatera.


Page 27Page 27Page 27

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M I N I S T R Y

Max Whitaker meets Laurie Hopping – a deacon who suspects his ancient order of

the church might hold a key to the future.

We sat and talked, we prayed, we cried....then we got up and milked the cows.

W herever Laurie Hopping goes, he brings along his rural hospitality. When we first met, we barely

exchanged two words, before he invited me back to the homestead.

Laurie and wife Diane's flat is a big change from their former home – a converted woolshed, surrounded by quiet Waikato pastures. These days, they live in a busy Auckland suburban sprawl, hemmed in by dozens of other students.

My first faux pas was at the table: "So, when will you be priested?" I asked.

That less than welcome question has pursued Laurie for twelve years – the length of his time as a vocational deacon in the Anglican Church.

It stems, he says, from a widespread bewilderment about who deacons are and what they do.

"Often a deacon is considered no

different to a layperson, except that he or she is ordained.

"In most cases you are a square peg in a round hole,” he says.

Deacons confuse churchgoers nearly as much as anyone else, says Laurie.

"We are seen as priests with a different title," he says, "so people expect we can do all that priests can do."

"They sometimes get quite upset when you say, ‘my order in the church will not allow me to do that.’”

That's why, when crisis hit the dairy farming community where Laurie served, he had some explaining to do.

A young farm worker had died unexpectedly in an accident, and his parents turned to the man of God they already knew – their deacon. But when a priest was called in to take their son's funeral, Laurie stepped off centre stage.

"It was hard for them to understand," he says, "why the person who had been


Page 28

On the boundaries


Page 29

outside the mainstream.The NZ Prayer Book ordination rite

hands deacons a special responsibility, 'to ensure that those in need are cared for with Christ-like compassion and humility.'

But Laurie sees another hurdle to recognition, for the more than 60 deacons who serve in Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia today.

Too many clergy, he says, have only been "stepping stone" deacons, so never appreciated the unique role.

That means for many priests, “a deacon is about as useful as tits on a bull.” says Laurie.

As a result, he says, parishes seldom make best use of deacons, or even factor them into ministry plans.

Worse still, some see deacons as stunted priests who cannot commit to the ranks of the "fully ordained."

Meanwhile deacons serve our Church in prisons, hospitals and out on the streets. They especially attend those on the edges of life – the elderly, the dying, and the very young.

Most deacons hold jobs outside their

the face of the church to them, would have to move aside."

Earlier, when Laurie had arrived at the grieving family's home, he had easily fitted in,

"When I got there, we sat and talked, we prayed, we cried."

"Then we got up and milked the cows. And came inside and did it all again.” Over the following weeks, Laurie

continued to keep pace with the family as they coped with their loss.

Deacons work best like that, says Laurie, in the midst of everyday life. Of course they have church roles too: to read, preach and assist in the Eucharist. But a deacon's reason for being is outside the church walls – offering care to anyone in need.

Deacons can offer that gift to the church, he says, from lives that are singled out for community-facing ministry.

Under a bushelDeacons seldom see the limelight in

the church, perhaps because they walk

ministry hours and are rarely paid for their diaconal work.

Looking aheadWith falling attendance and costs for

church buildings on the rise, says Laurie, this generation of priests will have to learn new ways.

But he doubts that better-trained priests will be enough to confront our uncertain future. For that, he says, we'd be better to train more deacons – to share God's love beyond the church doors.

“I'd say if you want to run a parish, become a priest,” says Laurie,

"but if you want to take the gospel to the margins, then become a deacon.”

“If we had one or two deacons in every parish, working alongside the parish priest, spreading God's word to those on the fringes, ... we would have to build more churches instead of closing them.”

Max Whitaker is a studying for a PhD in New Testament and at St John's College in Auckland.

[email protected]

C h i l d re n– the heart of all we do.

10 Beatty Street, Otahuhu 1062 | p: 09 276 3729 | e: [email protected] | www.atwc.org.nz

Deacon Laurie Hopping: making pastoral sense.

Stand up and be counted: Kiwi deacons at the 2015 national ministry school.


Page 29

If you want to take the gospelto the margins, become a deacon.

On the boundaries


by Thomas Merton, such as the medieval spiritual classic The Cloud of Unknowing and from back further still, the Rule of St. Benedict and the third-century Desert Fathers.

Each month St Benedict’s Snowmass has an intensive centering prayer retreat, and in March this year I travelled to Colorado to take part in one.

Built in the 1950s, St. Benedict’s sits in a valley sacred to Native Americans, so it enters into a sense of holiness in that place that is centuries old – and contributes to it.

The monastery proper sits in the curve of the boomerang-shaped valley, while the magnificent mid-1990s retreat house rests at the head of the valley, about a kilometre away.

On the first evening, our group of 25 gathered for introductions.

I was the only one to join from outside the USA, four of us were men.

After we learned the fire drills and meal procedures, we entered grand silence, which meant we were expected to be absolutely silent – and not even make eye contact – for the next ten days.

Despite my misgivings, I found it surprisingly easy.

The monks kept their own rhythm of prayer that we were invited to immerse ourselves in.

Each morning in time for 4.30am, I walked quarter of an hour through the snow to the monastery chapel where the

brothers began their day with vigil. The chapel was starkly beautiful and

this service of readings and plainsong was conducted in darkness.

Afterwards I walked back up the hill for the day's first session – two 30-minute silences of centering prayer, separated by a five minute walk.

Then it was back through the snow for mass in the chapel and 1km back to silent breakfast.

At mid-morning we gathered for two hours more centering prayer, and later at 4pm for a further hour-long session. The day ended with vespers in the chapel at 7pm.

There were no lectures or conferences, but a small team of very wise, holy women were present – to assist us if the retreat process raised a deep issue in anyone.

The meals were vegetarian, plentiful and delicious. The buildings were warm and comfortable, and though there was no comfort food, the coffee was always brewing.

The Retreat Centre had no cellphone coverage and no connection to the internet, which imposed its own brand of fasting.

God is always present, says Thomas Keating, but we are usually unaware – because we drown out the divine presence with the scripts running in our heads.

In centering prayer we aim to be still

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S P I R I T U A L I T Y

in Snowmass

In the 1960s and 1970s the Trappist Order in the United States underwent a major shift – from their well known asceticism, to a life based on contemplation.

Fr. Thomas Keating spearheaded this shift while Abbot of St. Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer Massachusetts.

When Fr. Thomas retired, he moved to St. Benedict’s in Snowmass, Colorado. There he developed a contemplative practice that would carry ancient Christian forms of silent prayer beyond the monasteries.

He called the new form Centering Prayer, which is now the most widely practised form of Christian meditation in the Western church.

Centering prayer draws on a number of older monastic traditions made known

We were expected to be silent, not even to make eye contact, – for ten days.

Kelvin Wright enters a silent realm of openness to God framed by a world of ice.

Silence



Page 31Page 31

and consent to God's action already at work in us, and in the world around us.

The silence is not about grand revelations or insights, though they occasionally occur. It is about opening ourselves to the one who loves us.

The ten days zipped past. When we ended silence on Wednesday night, I was disappointed that it was over. In a thousand quiet and subtle ways, God had met me and graciously gently led me on the way intended for me.

One highlight was a brief meeting with Thomas Keating – a great honour – but not the reason I was there.

My own spiritual practice developed a great deal, and I feel better equipped for the task which awaits me in the future: to promote and develop centering prayer in Aotearoa New Zealand.

As our time ended, many fellow retreatants were signing up for next March, but as much as I'd like to go back, travel costs mean I will not likely return to St. Benedict’s anytime soon.

I will, however, be running a 5-day taught retreat on centering prayer in my own diocese this October, and I hope to make a 10-day silent retreat available to our church in not too long.

The Rt Rev Dr Kelvin Wright is Bishop of Dunedin.

[email protected]



M I S S I O N

I was absolutely devastated,– and thrilled.

Few artists can equal Beverley Shore Bennett for her impact on New Zealand Christian art.

More than 300 of her stained glass works emblazon state

buildings, school and hospital chapels, cathedrals and parish churches across Aotearoa.

And not only Anglican, but Presbyterian, Methodist and Catholic churches are all home to the saintly realms that shine from her panes.

Art historian Dr Fiona Ciaran names Beverley as a major figure in the halcyon days of New Zealand stained glass.1

But as well as being its champion, she also flouted the rules.

Beverley's windows added rays of light, tossing waves, or banks of Pentecostal flame, that strayed beyond traditional designs – into large fields of abstract colour.

"Her style was more fluid and lyrical than the previous British designers," Fiona Ciaran says.

"She made a profound contribution to 20th-century stained glass."

Seventeen of Beverley's windows fill the nave and light the West end of St. John's Cathedral, Waiapu.2 Christ Church Cathedral Nelson hosts Beverley's great rose window and St Paul's Cathedral, Wellington features 23 windows of her design.

Each one is dear to her, but Beverley's favourite window is gone – lost now in the Canterbury earthquakes.

Nine of her windows went down with Holy Trinity, Avonside – just as her Mary collapsed with St Luke's in the City, and her Mary and Martha fell with St John's Latimer Square.

Though designed more than 40 years ago, the Avonside window is one she won't forget.

A light to lightenTaonga Editor Julanne Clarke-Morris takes a trip along the Kapiti

Coast to meet Beverley Shore Bennett, whose striking designs illuminate houses of God from Auckland to Otago.

the gentle isles


T H E A R T S

Page 32Page 32


Page 33

the last thing my husband read in church before he died'."

Beverley hadn't seen that coming."I was absolutely devastated – and

thrilled," she said. "It transformed the whole process."

Ed Hitchcock loved that window too. He was Holy Trinity's warden after the quakes and tried save it from demolition – "But people thought that wall was too difficult to work on safely."

Still he didn't let it go, without grabbing a quick shot for keeps.

And his snap is precious now – it's the only record Beverley has left.

* * * * *

Born in 1928, the elder child of Edith Carter and Martin Shore, Beverley was turned on to art from the word go.

"It began as a baby – I just couldn't stop drawing. It was a compulsion."

Beverley's mother was a keen Anglican, so the family were firm members of St Mary's Anglican Church in Karori, where she was schooled in the language of faith.

Art ran in the family too. Beverley's grandfather Charles Carter was a stained glass artist in pioneer Wellington.

"My parents were very pro my going ahead with art."

Beverley had one sister, Deirdre, who was 18 months younger.

They were close, though sometimes

It stands out, for how it came about.Most often, churches would write to

Beverley to ask for a design. She would reply with a drawing based

on their request, scaled at 1:10. When the "yes" came, Beverley would project and draft the design onto a life-sized template – called a cartoon – on her studio wall.

Then it went to the glass studio, where colleagues like Roy Miller, Paul Hutchins or Stephen Belanger-Taylor chose and cut the glass, then traced in her designs.

Beverley worked closely with the studio artists as they translated her ideas. She remembers visiting a window in progress at Miller's Studio in Dunedin.

"They had a whole wall of glass – like a library, or a filing cabinet," she said, "and could pull out the sheets to check colours as they worked.

"Some of it was antique slab glass, hand-blown into moulds. I loved that, because of its little irregularities – the warps and bubbles were a delight."

But at Holy Trinity Avonside, the beauty of the glass wasn't the main appeal.

For the only time in all those commissions, the vicar (the Rev Merlin Davies) invited Beverley to visit the church where her work would go. The donor was a widow, Gladys Isaacs, and the window would be in memory of her late husband, James.

Leading Beverley into the church, the vicar suggested she sit awhile, to soak in the atmosphere.

As she did, Beverley pictured the vision of Revelation, centred on the Lamb, surrounded by wild-winged angels and apocalyptic beasts.

"When Gladys saw it she gasped: 'How did you know? The vision of Revelation was

Page 33

Stephen Bélanger-Taylor adds final touches to Beverley's light of Christ.

Beverley in the Waikanae studio with her girls' portraits: L-R daughters Sylvia, Prue and Diana.

Top: Fallen but not forgotten – Lamb of Revelation was made for the Church of the Most Holy Trinity, Avonside.Above: St Paul presides over Beverley's rampant seas in Wellington Cathedral's Holm memorial window.


Page 33


I broke every rule in the book – the style was different to whatanyone else had done.

From the other end of the nave, Beverley could see Deirdre in the distance, talking with a member of cathedral staff.

"Then all of a sudden, this woman came running down the aisle, flung her arms around me, and gave me a big hug," Beverley said.

"She was thanking me for the windows – my sister must have let on. She was gorgeous about it – never jealous."

Beverley went to school at Samuel Marsden Collegiate between the ages of 6 and 17, where she was taught by Betty Rhind.3

But by the age of 15, school art was not satisfying her.

"I was bursting with energy. So mum and dad let me go up to night classes at the art school."

That meant teenaged Beverley would join a mixed class of adults – to draw nude models from life.

But she didn't flinch at that. She was too focused on the drawing to notice.

"It awes me to think that two nights a week I went on my own by bus and tram to the classes at the old National Museum in town – at night – and didn't get home till the last bus at 10pm.

"It was during the war, and the place was crawling with American servicemen. But never once did I have anything questionable happen. I never felt unsafe."

From 1946, Beverley went fulltime to Wellington's Technical College School of Art, where she studied portraiture with Frederick V. Ellis.

Beverley's class touched on glass design once, but Beverley's heart was set on painting and drawing. She wanted to be a portrait artist – and nothing was going to stand in her way.

Not even a charming young man from Karori named Peter Bennett.

"The poor man, I left him waiting for ages because of my art," she said. "I had promised myself I would go to England, to study properly."

And she did go in 1951, to the Byam School of Art with her sister Deirdre, there on her own OE.

Not put off by Beverley's departure, Peter Bennett swung a business trip to England with his father's importing firm, and in 1952 he turned up in London, at the wheel of a company car.

Many a jaunt round the English countryside followed – with Beverley and Peter, plus Deirdre – and their aunt – in the car.

"It was great fun – and all very proper."Beverley absorbed all she could from

her English tutors, especially from Head of School Brian Thomas. An accomplished painter, Thomas later became a fulltime glass designer, with windows in St Paul's Cathedral, London.

Beverley's hard work at Byam Shaw paid off, and in her final year two of her portraits went into the prestigious Royal Academy Exhibition of 1953.

Back home in late 1953, Beverley and Peter were married.

Beverley launched straight into a spate of portrait commissions. She remembers painting the Guide Association's formidable Ruth Herrick – who had been a military commander during the war – and Lady Pomare, "a very gracious person".

Beverley enjoyed painting each character, which could take eight hours over different sittings.

"Sometimes you really got to know the

A fresh take on ancient truths.

Flanked by her greatest supporter; Beverley with husband Peter Bennett in 1990.

T H E A R T S

Beverley worried that her art might get between them.

"The focus was always on me, you know, 'Clever, clever'. I was embarrassed that my sister was taking second place. But she was very gracious about it."

Once, as adults, the sisters visited St. John's Cathedral in Napier.

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Page 35Page 35

person," she said. "And their personality would come through in the painting. It was a lovely involvement."

Between 1954 and 1958, Peter and Beverley had three daughters – Diana, Sylvia and Prudence – and it was not long before they all found their way onto canvas too.

At church Beverley joined the Mother's Union (MU), and in 1964, she reset her career, by chance, with her design for the MU's newly donated cathedral font.

In 1969, the Holm family came to remind Dean Walter Hurst that the window they had donated funds for was overdue. It was intended to honour the founder of their Holm shipping company, Ferdinand Holm and his wife Mary, but had languished in the cathedral's coffers since 1928.

When the Holms rejected the dean's first window plan, he realised he was stuck. "Then an angel must have touched his shoulder," Beverley says, "so he thought of me – because of that little font."

Beverley was excited to give the window design a try.

"I had remembered the basics from FV Ellis . . ." she recalls. "But even so, I broke every rule in the book – the style was different to what anyone had ever done."

And it still looks fresh, 45 years on. The Holm window is awash with

thrashing waves of turquoise glass that swirl about St Paul as he stands steadfast in the storm. Three times the waters open – onto neat little portraits of ships – that illustrate the different era of boats that served the Holm shipping fleet.

Beverley's windows can often be read like that. Her blueprint for glass comes from the medieval windows of European cathedrals, which have often been called sermons in glass.

"Glass is about communication," Beverley said in 2005. "It should lead you to ponder, recollect and be inspired by the great Christian truths."

This is why Beverley fills her designs with theological code: thorns and thrones, crowns and chalices – the lamb, the pelican, the Chi Rho, the fish. Each symbol she uses draws on deep roots in Christian history.

Her work speaks in new ways too. Tucked along the walkway behind Wellington Cathedral's high altar, one small window reveals a koru-shaped frond leaning over a child in the womb, while

another shows a butterfly and its empty chrysalis – telling of the resurrection.

Despite her often bold designs, Beverley has never felt held back or hampered by controversy.

"It never crossed my mind I would be stopped from doing anything," she said. "I wanted to make the art, I did it – I didn't give it a thought."

Of course, no disapproving parent or unsympathetic husband has stood in her way.

"I have been very blessed. Peter was totally supportive of my art."

Beverley's most challenging work was not glass at all, but the colossal sanctuary hanging in Wellington Cathedral – known as its "dossal". That was a labour of love that took three years of designing, sewing and embroidery to finish.

After Beverley had spent hours at work in her studio, Peter would call her into the house – via the intercom he installed in her workspace.

"He didn't complain. He was very generous."

It is now 13 years since Peter died, and Beverley still lives in the Waikanae house they moved to when he retired.

Her studio that Peter had made is there too, though she doesn't spend so much time in it these days.

But Beverley has never stopped being an artist.

"You can't stop. You just get fired up," she says. "There is a spiritual quality to creativity, I am sure of it. You are taken over by that creativity.

"Mother Theresa once said she was a 'pencil in the hand of God'.

"That is my belief too. I have been an instrument of my art."

Notes

1. Fiona Ciaran refers to the period when Dunedin's Miller Studios ran a glass studio, as New Zealand's grand era of traditional stained glass.

2. The Waiapu windows were crafted by Stephen Belanger-Taylor.

3. Beverley's paintings of Betty Rhind and Lady Pomare are in the National Portrait Gallery collection.

4. Quoted from www.napiercathedral.org.nz/windows

Since 1974 Beverley Shore Bennett has been a Fellow of the British Society of Master Glass Painters and, since 1976, a Lay Canon for the arts at Wellington Cathedral. In 1980 she was awarded an MBE for her contribution to the arts.

Right: Christ in majesty watches over Christchurch's Church of St Mary the Virgin.


Page 35



C A R E I N T H E D I S A S T E R Z O N E

Ready for the storm

You're trying to get utterly distraught people to think they can respond with love.

When disaster hits, chaplains are the obvious choice of support for

communities in their care. But what happens when carers are also under fire?

Anne van Gend joined chaplains from across the motu this February, to hear the challenges of ministry in a disaster zone.

Bishop Victoria Matthews sent out a warning signal right from the start.

"Whether we are ready or not," she said, "Disasters happen."

And not only to people in other places.

For Bishop Victoria, who has served through the Canterbury quakes and their wake, the question is not how to control events – which we cannot – but rather, are we prepared for the unexpected?

Her words set in motion the training programme on The Role of Spirituality in Disasters – for school, hospital, prison and tertiary chaplains – at Hawke's Bay Hospital in Hastings, this February 26-28.

Bishop Victoria challenged her listeners to be prepared,

"Whether you build on rock or sand, the storm still comes.

"Not because God decides to punish sinful humanity, but because that is how the world is.

"We know that … or we should. So, are we ready?" she asked.

"Do we have the practical and spiritual tools to deal with it, when, – not if – it happens?"

The Rev’d Barbara Walker, who designed the 2015 programme – with the Interchurch Council for Hospital Chaplaincy – hoped it would be a call to action.

Instead of a weekend of theory, chaplains

learnt directly from their Canterbury peers – especially from their hard-won skills earnt during the quakes.

Canterbury pastoral staff shared how they had managed to care, even as the world tumbled about them.

Many of their stories came from beyond the news cameras' reach – from the core of crisis response in hospitals, prisons, schools and with police staff.

With each scenario that came to light, new tools surfaced that chaplains could add to emergency kits.

Chaplain at Christchurch Men's Prison, the Rev Maurice McLaughlin, warned pastoral carers not to badger leaders or officials for answers, when everyone was under pressure.

"Don’t harass the managers." he said. "Don’t ask for anything unless it’s a life and death thing."

"If you have to go to them, go with a solution to the problem you’re bringing."

Bishop Victoria cautioned the carers to make sure they were ready to help others.

"Do you keep petrol in your car?" she asked, "And cash in your wallet?"

"Is your phone charged at all times?" She especially urged care when listening

to people talk through fear and pain."Be careful of re-traumatising." she warned. Instead, she found it helpful to ask, “What

was your first thought?”

Chaplains Hilary Barlow and Pam Tizzard in the quake shaken neonatal unit.

Page 36


Page 37


Christians in

New Zealand

have no excuse.

We should be ready.

When that is the question, 99% of people will reply, “I thought of my family,”she said.

That calls for a positive repsonse, “Isn’t that wonderful. You thought of someone else.”

For Victoria, it is critical that we understand the emotional aftermath of a natural disaster.

For example, many people struggle with illogical guilt. At a gut level, they feel should have been able to stop the disaster from happening. But she believes everyone needs to keep moving.

"You’re trying to get utterly distraught people to begin thinking they can at least respond with love..." she said.

Former Christchurch Hospital chaplain, the Rev Pam Tizzard, reminded her colleagues to fortify themselves with well-built coping strategies – before a disaster hits.

"Be fully aware of your own vulnerability", she said.

"And don't forget that gratitude builds resilience."

Chaplain of St Margaret's College Christchurch, the Rev Peg Riley, suggested a way to overturn powerless feelings.

Though surrounded with tents as school buildings, harassed by aftershocks and grieving death and loss, Peg and her students chose to reach out to others – by

That becomes a kairos moment – when they are ripe for something new to be born.

In that way, Susy has seen the “symptoms of stress” can become the “signs of reorganisation – as our innate human resilience helps rebuild shattered lives."

For carers anchored in God, it is essential to nurture this kind of re-creation, she said.

Now the conference is past, Barbara Walker hopes the wider church will take heed of the Canterbury experience.

"...(they) have been through a lot and learned a lot.

We as Christians in NZ have got no excuse. We should be ready.”

"If there were an earthquake tonight, how would the churches manage – with services, communion, funerals and no buildings? Where’s the back-up plan?

This week taught me we have to have our own houses in order, so that when disaster happens, we are able to help others.”

The Rev Anne van Gend is Director of the Anglican

Schools Office.

[email protected]

raising funds for fellow earthquake sufferers in Haiti.

Bishop Victoria recalled another example where giving to others had offered a way to cope.

"Sam Johnson and the Student Volunteer Army helped people believe they weren’t helpless." she said.

"There was something they could do. They were bigger than the earthquake.”

US psychologist Dr Susy Sanders brought the chaplains an international perspective, from her time in New York on the front line of care after 9/11.

But she also spoke from her international work with survivors of fires, landslides and tornadoes.

Despite what we expect, she said, people are resilient in all these situations – whether or not they realise it.

Disasters are also a spiritual event, because they shatter everyday assumptions.

When normal life is thrown into confusion we are forced to discover – to our dismay – that humans stand on this earth like "ticks on a rhino," she said.

Disasters compel people to start a painful rebuild of their lives based on that new understanding.

As this occurs, they are "emptied of the ordinary and mundane."

Bishop Victoria Matthews offers calm in the face of disruption.

Early response chaplaincy team: Darcy Haliday, Jim Patrick and Paul Makiha.

Page 37

What would churches do if disaster struck tonight?

Lakeview Images / Shutterstock.com


E N V I R O N M E N T

If Christians believe the world is passing away, then why concern ourselves with the ecological crisis?

The answer lies in what God wants us to leave behind, says Phillip Donnell.

Watching Tieke Falls from above the Waihaha, and marvelling at their beauty, a disturbing question came into my head, “Why would God do away with all of this?”

Some believers say that's what God intends – to destroy our material universe.

My grandfather was among them. A dispensational chart on his wall displayed a frightening image of the earth engulfed in flames. It always bothered me.

Will God destroy it all and start again? I wondered. Or, gradually make all things right – and offer me a part to play until God finally redeems the world?

How we answer those questions changes a good deal.

If God plans to destroy this world, then Christians could argue we needn't care for creation, or act as its faithful stewards. If the universe won't be round for long, then it makes no difference if we

destroy the rainforests or Arctic tundra, emit greenhouse gases, or fill our skies with acid rain.

If we view creation as temporary, or even evil, then what happens to it doesn't matter.

Centuries ago, the Gnostics viewed the physical world in those terms, and treated it with contempt.

But early Christian thinkers refuted those ideas.

Irenaeus, Jerome, Augustine, Gregory the Great and Thomas Aquinas all argued that when God made the universe, he declared that it was good. So what God has called good, cannot fall beneath our concern.

God directs anger onto sin and its ruinous consequences, not against the good creation.

Anglican scholar N.T Wright speaks of the resurrection as the moment God begins

if creation is temporary, or even evil, it doesn't matter what happens to it.

What on earth matters?

The cliffs of West Taupo stand at the lake's edge like the walls of Jericho. Only the occasional stream breaches the bluff face, to disgorge water into the lake

from the nearby Hahungaroa Range.


Page 39

would make.Could 2015 be the time that you and

your congregation resolve to take action?

Phillip Donnell is on the national team of Christian environmental organisation A Rocha Aotearoa New Zealand.

[email protected]

Notes

1. For fuller discussion of the arguments against the “replacement” view, please request my article Creation

Care: Is There Any Point? via the email above.

2. Quoted in these paragraphs: N.T. Wright from Surprised By Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection,

and the Mission of the Church, Harper Collins, 2007. pp. 99, 186-202 and Simply Christian Harper Collins, 2010. pp. 5,78, 80-85.

3. Klein, Naomi, This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs

The Climate, Alfred A Knopf, 2014.

Everything gives clues to what our God-given stewardship might mean.

2015 is the midway point of Klein's zero decade, she says, when climate change has become an existential crisis for the human species.

She reports that with CO2 emissions up more than 60% since 1990, the planet is heading for ecological meltdown.

We cannot avoid damage, reports Klein, but we can still lessen it. However, tinkering and tokenism are no longer enough.

She believes we need a massive mobilization at the grass roots, larger than any in history: to counter corporations, persuade politicians, and rapidly shift society away from fossil fuels.

Such a movement will need the broadest spectrum of allies.

Imagine if the church – the largest NGO in the world – took its commission to care for creation seriously? What a difference it

to restore creation – and put an end to sin.2

Christ’s rising inaugurates the new creation, says Wright, "right within the middle of the old one.”

He claims the Christian hope in a new heaven and earth has already come to life in Jesus, and the new earth will become our eternal home.

But if God intends to renew all of creation, then saving souls is not enough. The church must anticipate the eventual renewal of everything, and begin work for God’s kingdom here and now.

Wright urges Christians to be stewards and agents of new creation by "practising in the present, the tunes we shall sing in God’s new world."

Give us a clueNaomi Klein’s groundbreaking book

on the ecological crisis This Changes

tinkering and tokenism are no longer enough.

Portents of doom? Overlooking Lake Wakatipu.


In the aftermath

B O O K S

RUBBLE TO RESURRECTION: CHURCHES RESPOND IN THE CANTERBURY QUAKES

BY MELISSA PARSONS

DAYSTAR BOOKS, AUCKLAND 2014 HTTP://DAYSTARBOOKS.ORG $28.99

PETER LINEHAM

Anyone who has lived in Christchurch will have felt deep emotions as this orderly city was reduced to rubble,

flattened into bare land. Melissa Parsons, who lived through it,

had the excellent idea to document the earthquakes' impact on Christchurch churches, and to analyse their ministry in the quake-ravaged city.

Parsons is a skilled journalist who weaves a compelling story, and has accompanied her text with well-chosen illustrations.

Using interviews to gather information, she has written 24 chapters that catalogue church responses to the earthquake.

Of the 95 churches that gave interviews, 18 were Anglican. But all churches were

invited, and the book shares views from the Exclusive Brethren, Lutherans and numerous Pentecostal congregations.

The book's first section describes churches' support in the quake aftermath – for visitors, new migrants, children and the elderly – and documents the work of church emergency response centres.

The middle section deals with how the various church communities grieved and made sense of the tragedy.

And the final section addresses the challenges of the rebuild, exploring how Christian communities sought to understand the events and plan for the future. The book ends with a call to prayer.

The Christchurch earthquakes provoked many instances of heroism, struggle and grief and the author has taken great care to record Christian communities' diverse stories.

I am bemused by aspects of this book. Parsons describes how some people

interpreted the earthquakes through prophecy.

And she prescribes what churches will

need to be ready for an earthquake. I am not sure, however, that it helps to be told to have the patience of Job and the wisdom of Solomon.

This is a dense book with a journalistic style that constantly shifts focus.

The author offers her own reflections, but her voice is somewhat submerged in its welter of voices.

The earthquake has triggered extensive Christian commentary, and the bewilderingly diverse range of views shown here is characteristic of today’s church.

Dr Peter Lineham is Professor of History at Massey University's Auckland Campus. He is a specialist religious historian.

[email protected]


Page 40


Page 41

SLIPPING THE MOORINGS: A MEMOIR WEAVING FAITH WITH JUSTICE, ETHICS AND COMMUNITY

BY RICHARD RANDERSON

MATAI HOUSE, WELLINGTON [email protected], $30 PLUS P&P.

PETER LINEHAM

Richard Randerson’s memoirs are a delightful, elegant, and thoughtful account of his significant ministry

in the life of the Anglican Church in New Zealand.

The title, Slipping the Moorings, reflects the author's belief that people should risk pulling up the anchor, releasing the ropes, and venturing out to sea, or as he views it – the world – to go beyond the narrow constraints of the church. So how far does this volume reflect that?

While studying at Union Seminary in New York, Richard discovered the world of the black church in Harlem. Later in Britain, he learnt alongside the Teesside Industrial Mission, a ministry relating the church to factory workers. He then mirrored that ministry in 1970s Auckland, working through the newly-founded Interchurch Trade and Industry Mission.

As vicar of St Peter’s in Wellington from 1978-1990, Richard Randerson supported community ministries and backed peace and justice campaigns (which also rallied

CORACLE

BY PETER STUART

MAKARO PRESS, $25 WWW.MAKAROPRESS.CO.NZ

JOHN HEBENTON

Some years ago I worked with this book's author, Peter Stuart. He seemed

a matter of fact kind of person – more prone to write a “how to” book, than poetry, I thought. But then you shouldn't take anyone at face value.

Coracle is named after a small round boat made of wickerwork

covered in hide. These ancient craft transported the Celts along the coasts and waterways of Ireland, Scotland and Wales.

This coracle takes us on surprising journeys. Unlike the geography we know from the road, its poems from across the water put a different angle on the familiar, and give wonderful views of the new.

Cromwell won't be the same after reading Peter's poems. Nor will I pass by Lake Wanaka or Manapouri again – without a serious pause.

Coracle also takes us further afield, to places we might only

dream of. There, we meet Peter's Istanbul, Bilbao or Auschwitz.

Like an unhurried coracle, these poems enter into each place slowly and deeply. We get a glimpse of the essence beneath the surface, and of Peter’s response.

Many Celtic saints sailed in coracles without paddles – giving up control of their speed or direction. They did this to allow God's will to set their course. Some went straight to God through the deep waters of their faith, but others landed in new places, and found God waiting there. These poems guide us

on similarly unexpected journeys.This is a wonderful little collection. I laughed out loud. I sat in deep stillness.

Thank you Peter for this coracle, and for the insight that it carries.

The Rev John Hebenton TSSF is vicar of Gate Pa in Tauranga.

[email protected]

many politically-active NZ churchgoers during those years).

In 1990, as the country shifted rightwards to elect a National government, Richard became a pioneer leader of the Anglican Social Responsibility Commission.

As Assistant Bishop of Canberra and Golbourn in Australia from 1994-99, he directed the church's role in relations with the community. And in 2000, as Dean of Auckland's Holy Trinity Cathedral and then Assistant Bishop of Auckland, he attracted public attention for his outspoken positions on liberal causes, such as gay equality in the church and positive relationships with other religions. He became reputed as the agnostic dean.

These memoirs are a series of reflections on these key involvements of Richard Randerson's life, rather than a detailed autobiography.

He reflects deftly on the initiatives and debates associated with his name, and shares the inside story through many fascinating encounters (although, as a careful man, he exposes no secrets, and blackens no good reputations).

The book's title, however, is a misnomer. I don’t think Bishop Richard slipped the moorings.

In a way I wish he had. I would like to have heard a more urgent or prophetic voice from him.

But that is not Richard Randerson. Almost every position he has held has been a church

office. He has remained Anglican to the core. He may have been called the “agnostic

bishop,” but he espouses a tradition of liberal Anglicanism which presents the Christian standpoint as eminently reasonable.

He is cautious about taking affirmations too far, he seeks to address wider society, he speaks with good and clear reason and is ever a diplomat.

These are quintessential liberal Anglican values, and the book is a delightful account of what lies at his core.

Dr Peter Lineham is Professor of History at Massey University's Auckland Campus. He is a specialist religious historian.

[email protected]

Taking on the world

Ripples across the deep

B O O K S

Page 41


F I L M

under the weight of crisis, we can be thrown into a whirlpool of self-examination and recrimination. That may find a way out through forgiveness and letting go, or it may not.

Ostland's film lets us see what it might be like to live in this demanding territory.

Ostland is worth following. His earlier film “Play” follows a gang of North African teenagers bullying younger kids, ignored by the adults around them for fear of being called racist.

His latest movie won top honours in Sweden, but is proving too hard to handle in other film festivals. But as a meditation on sin and grace, it has the impact of an avalanche.

Bishop John Bluck is a writer living in Northland.

[email protected]

time, even in the best of relationships. As the epistle to the Romans says, “The good that we would, we do not.”

This film shows the terrifying consequences for a relationship when not 'doing good' becomes close up and personal. The only hint this unravelling marriage might be redeemable, is if the couple can manage their human flaws.

This is strong stuff for a film that is also funny, beautiful and satirical, as it explores familiar territory.

We watch friends of the couple in trouble trying to help them, with well-meant advice that serves only to pour fuel on the fire. We get caught between two different versions of the same event and follow the self-justifying of Tomas, as he tries to explain his failures as someone else’s fault. We know people like this, whose normal, nice behaviour collapses when an earthquake hits, or a sudden accident or illness. It can happen to any of us.

In a legal contract, the provision of force majeure gives exemption from liability in the case of an extraordinary event. But there is nothing in the marriage contract that offers us such immunity.

When relationships stagger

Most people’s marriages get by with scrapes and bumps, but this film

is about a marriage hit by an avalanche – during a ski station holiday in the French Alps. What happens will be familiar to any married couple that has faced the limits of mutual self-preservation.

Tomas and Ebba, with their two blonde children, are the model of a chic, successful couple. They go on holiday to make up for lost time in family relationships, and end up plunging into a nightmare of alienation, against the backdrop of beautifully groomed slopes and elegant accommodation.

The avalanche that threatens them doesn’t prove to be dangerous after all, but their instinctive reaction becomes their undoing. Only later does reconciliation look possible – when a dangerous driving scene leaves the family with an open-ended future.

The magic of Ostland’s films is that he lets us watch the story unfold – without nudging us into conclusions. He achieves that by minimal use of the camera: scenes are set up, characters walk in and out of frame, as he draws us into the drama and we make it our own.

Most of us have faced our own selfishness and instinct for self-preservation at some

New Swedish film 'Force Majeure' tells the story of a winter holiday thrown into confusion by a single moment of panic.

But as John Bluck soon finds out, the family at the centre of this drama has more to fear than falling mountainsides of snow

Caught in the ice storm


Page 42

F R O M T H E F A R S I D E

Imogen de la Bere watches as the Brits go mad for the love of an unearthed king.

Buried in Splendour

A great man, who met an ignominious death centuries ago, is celebrated in pomp and glory, and men in cloaks.

Solemn music, monks, incense, a huge celebration with processions, flowers and feasting.

No, not our Lord and Saviour, but Richard III, who, like an off-message mediaeval Christ, was raised from his miraculous grave, and became the nation’s hero.

Women threw white roses in the wake of his coffin, or clutched them to heaving breast. Tears were shed.

Amid the loving reruns of Richard’s funeral on TV, the re-enactment of Bosworth Field featured heavily.

Drawing on the European passion for dressing up in Absolutely Authentic mediaeval clobber, and for doing ceremonies perfectly – especially if horses are involved – it made for super TV. So many glossy flanks.

“Do you think it turned out the same way?” inquired my husband, innocently, watching the replica battle.

The body of the resurrected king left the replica battlefield. This time with the respect that Richardians feel appropriate. Chaps on fine horses, in full armour, who are probably actuaries in real life, escorted him thence.

And then he was in the cathedral, surrounded by more costumes. Embroidered copes, full wigs, academic gowns, starched ruffs and the vibrant ecclesiastical garb of foreign religious dignitaries – making a sort of halfway house between church and theatre.

And I wondered: Where does re-enactment stop and religion begin?

It is a real question. It is hard for us to celebrate the Easter

message without resorting to symbols and drama. The washing of the feet, lighting new fire, flowers and eggs – like re-enacted battles they help us mark an event. But then they become the event.

The Resurrection is hard. None of us understands it. We’d find it easier if Jesus, like Richard III, was firmly in a splendid tomb that we could touch and be blessed by.

But our faith has always been difficult. At its core is a real death with no

glamour, even when re-enacted. At its core is the message that death is not bones in a coffin, but that the real is beyond the physical.

Doesn’t make great TV.

Imogen de la Bere is a writer and director, living in England.

[email protected]


Page 43

not our Lord and Saviour, but Richard III – like an off-message mediaeval Christ...

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