Parish Ministry

Details

Written by: Allan Chappel

While walking home from church after we’d sung Horatius Bonar’s hymn ‘I heard the voice of Jesus say’, I was thinking what a shame it was that he hadn’t written more than three verses. The obvious next thought was, ‘Stop complaining and have a go!’ It turned out to be much harder than I realised, and I doubt the end result is all that good. But it might prompt a better versifier to have a go.

Four extra verses for ‘I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say’
Tune: Kingsfold
Based on John 6:35-40; 10:2-4, 11, 27-29; 11:25-26; and 14:2-6

4. I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I am the living bread,
I’ve come to bring the world new life; its cost is my blood shed.
I give it free to all who come, and drive no one away.”
My endless hunger’s ended now: I feast on him each day.

5. I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Your shepherd I will be.
Because I give my life for you, you’ll live eternally.”
He searched and found me, called my name; I’m safe inside his pen.
He knows me, leads me, holds me fast: I won’t be lost again.

6. I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I have new life to give.
My resurrection conquers death, and guarantees you’ll live;
My rising means a bright new world, where death no more holds sway.”
He’s now my life, my hope; the dawn of everlasting day.

7. I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I’ll make a place for you
inside my Father’s spacious house, where life is always new.
When this life’s done, I’ll come for you, and take you home with me.”
I want no other guide or home; no better place to be.

And here is my second and only other attempt, which resulted from walking home after singing ‘Abide with me’ at church. I thought, ‘But nobody “abides” these days!’

‘Abide with me’ updated
Tune: Eventide

1. Stay with me, Lord, when daylight fades away
And death’s dark night arrives to end the day.
All other helpers fail, too weak like me;
Help of the helpless, Lord, remain with me.

2. Like grass that withers, earthly life is brief;
Its joys soon gone, with death a cruel thief.
Change and decay mark all that I can see—
But I’ll stand firm if you remain with me.

3. Through all my days I need you at my side,
as my protector and my constant guide.
Because my sin brings harm and misery,
Transform me, Lord, as you remain with me.

4. You hold me fast to bring me through my fears;
Your tender touch will heal my wounds and tears.
Death comes defeated, deprived of victory;
Life cannot end while you remain with me.

5. Hold up your cross before my dying eyes:
Pledge of eternal glory when I rise.
In life and death, my true security,
My lasting joy, that you remain with me.

Allan was raised and converted in WA, and has served as a pastor, AFES worker, and theological teacher in WA, the UK, Malaysia, and back in Perth. * The lyrics in this article are © 2025 Allan Chapple.

If you would like to use them, please contact him using This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Details

Written by: Ben Underwood

Evangelicals have been great hymn writers, and our hymn books are full of treasures, and often there is a hymn for whatever occasion arises. But sometimes you can’t find one, or you have an itch to write one yourself. I’m no musician, so I can’t compose a tune, but I can take a hymn tune I like and write a new hymn to fit the tune and to fit the occasion. I began by writing hymns for our Maundy Thursday service, since a) there did not seem to be many good existing hymns in the hymn books I have for this annual focus on the Last Supper, and b) the service tends to be a smaller one and so I’m not inflicting my amateur efforts on too many people. Using a well-known tune makes it simple to just place the hymn in the service and let everyone have a go at it.

When I preached through Romans 8 I had the urge to write a hymn that reflected that wonderful chapter of Scripture. I wrote one that expanded to 5 verses, but the beauty was that you could sing a shortened version with whichever middle verse(s) were most appropriate to the sermon text that Sunday (vv 1, 2 and 5 week one; vv 1,3 and 5 week 2 etc). I got in the groove and wrote another whole hymn for Romans 8:18-27.

This time I shyly inflicted the new hymns on the Sunday congregation. Some people noticed my name attached to the lyrics and said encouraging things about the hymn to me, how they enjoyed the words and the way they resounded the scripture text and the sermon themes.

Anyway, now I’m mentioning these efforts here, in case a) you find these hymn words useful yourself, and b) in case it is time for more new evangelical hymn writing to bubble up. None of this is to deprecate the many excellent modern church songs we so enjoy, but there’s lots to love about the hymn tunes we know well (or would be well served to learn).

That said, there’s an awful danger of producing bad hymns. Bad grammar, bad rhymes, a bad fit between the stresses in the language of the lyrics and the rhythm of the tune, bad theology, bad poetry: why torture your poor church? If you wish to have a go, don’t imagine that a few polite compliments after the service are an endorsement of real talent. Take your time and write and re-write.

Reflect on, shape, craft, tweak and polish your hymns, and ideally, take thoughtful criticism as a needful part of the process if you are going to do this more than once or twice. I gave what I thought were my better efforts to the Essentials editors, and here follow lyrics they think are at least fit to print here as grist for your mill. All the defects of these hymns remain mine!

A hymn for Maundy Thursday

Tune: Hanover (O Worship the King, All Glorious Above)

1. Our Lord took the bread
and broke it in two.
He gave us his word:
‘My body, for you.’
This sign of the life he gave up on the tree
I eat in remembrance that he died for me.

2. Then taking the cup,
he spoke of his blood:
the new covenant
between us and God:
our faults cast away and remembered no more;
his mercy to sinners condemned by his law.

3. Together we share
the loaf that is one;
together we drink
the cup of the Son.
Till he comes in glory, his death we proclaim:
O Lord, how you’ve loved us, all praise to your Name!

Hymn for Romans 8

Tune: Morning Light (Stand Up Stand Up for Jesus)

1. Set free from sin and death by
your risen Son our king,
with joy we lift our hearts up
as with glad tongues we sing
of weakness given strength through
the Spirit’s living breath,
and progress in the warfare
with darkness, sin and death.

2. Let hard hearts now be softened;
recall our stray desire;
make real your reign of goodness,
our righteousness inspire!
According to the Spirit
direct our lifelong way
in what is true and holy
as day succeeds to day.

3. O God, who raised Christ Jesus,
we would your children be!
Grant us your Holy Spirit;
receive us tenderly.
In all our present sufferings,
our bondage to decay,
light hope for unseen glories;
our inward groans allay.

4. For all you call, who love you,
you work in all for good;
how gracious is your purpose,
Christ’s gift of brotherhood!
Our Jesus shall be first of
a glorious family;
the end of a salvation
ordained eternally.

5. The Son through whom we conquer
now speaks for us above;
nor trouble, sword, nor danger
can keep from us his love.
Nor height, nor depth, nor powers
unsay his blood-bought word;
we stand inseparate from
God’s love in Christ our Lord!

Hymn for Romans 8:18-27

Tune: Woodlands (Tell Out My Soul)
1. ‘Let there be light!’ rang out God’s first command
Then day and night were named and by God’s hand
Sky, land and seas were filled with what he made
His glory in life’s teeming kinds displayed.

2. But now she groans in bondage to decay
The ground is cursed; and for our sin must stay
In labour pains, her state bound up with ours
Until God’s final purpose fully flowers.

3. O haste the day, when creatures are redeemed
Freed by the grace that through one man has streamed
which overflows from every child of God
To make life whole and break death’s cruel rod.

4. When Jesus Christ shall bring his liberty
To winged bird, to graceful, ancient tree
Then life shall live, and beauty overwhelm
All shall be new in God’s created realm.

5. Until that time, O Spirit, when we pray,
Cry out for us who walk this earthly way
Direct our hearts into the hope we share
With eager, longing creatures everywhere.

A Hymn for St Edmund’s Day

Tune: St Denio (Immortal, invisible God only wise)

I became rector of a church that observed its patronal festival, with certain hymns sung on the day. I wanted to write a better option. St Edmund was a royal martyr, whose death is rich in legend and scant in history. This hymn involves martyrs and royalty, and thus seeks to have a figure like St Edmund in the background, although unnamed.

1. Brute powers be warned that you must bow the knee:
One king is exalted by heaven’s decree!
The Son’s rule shall reach the horizon’s far rim
and blessed are those who take refuge in him.

2. All we who in Jesus taste God’s truth and grace
are called to bear witness, in trials to keep faith.
Both poor folk and kings have loved Christ more than life
and known him to stand by their side through their strife.

3. All struggle and clash will give way to Christ’s peace
when he keeps his word to the great and the least
and vindicates those who stake all on his love
and gifts them the white robes of Zion above.

4. Should those who surround us press us to deny;
Lord, fill us with courage their cause to defy,
that in resurrection our place may be found
with those royal martyrs whom Jesus will crown.

A Hymn for Exodus 20

Tune: Moscow/Italian Hymn (Lord, your almighty word) Compare Exodus 19-20, Psalm 15, Hebrews 12

1. Once the great God of might
came down on Sinai’s height
and spoke ten words:
holy commandments for
Israel to know his law,
led by his thunderous roar,
‘I am the Lord’

2. Who on God’s mount can dwell?
Those who do all things well,
fearing the Lord:
who take the faithful part,
dead to the tempter’s art,
who with the pure of heart
draw near to God.

3. What hope for us who fall,
who do not heed God’s call
and dread his voice?
Praise Christ whose sprinkled blood
reconciles us to God;
we hear that better word,
‘Welcome, beloved.’

4. As we, amidst the throng,
soar on angelic song
to Zion’s hill,
give us Christ’s holiness,
which is our needful dress
in the rejoicing press
‘round you, O Lord.

A Hymn for Trinity Sunday

Tune: Ebenezer.

1. ‘Holy, holy, holy, Lord of hosts!’
cry the seraphim on high.
Burning in bright exultation
they the Father magnify.
Uncreated, unbegotten,
depthless fount of deity,
seated on your throne in heaven,
in your love remember me.

2. ‘Worthy, worthy, worthy is the Lamb!’
flights of angels ever sing,
‘to have power, wisdom, honour.’
Let his praises ever ring!
Word and image of the Father,
Son from all eternity;
slain that we might have salvation,
in your grace remember me.

3. Glory, glory, glory, glory be;
glory be to God above.
By his Spirit he has set us free—
poured into our lives his love!
From the Father’s heart proceeding;
gift of Christ the Risen Son;
seal and sign of our adoption,
dwell in us and make us one!

4. Hail eternal, living Trinity,
Father, Son and Holy Ghost;
consubstantial mutuality,
hymned by all the heavenly host!
Shine your light into our darkness,
from the depths your people raise,
so that, rid of mortal weakness,
we may ever sing your praise.

Ben Underwood is Rector of St Edmund’s Wembley, WA

* The lyrics in this article are © 2025 Ben Underwood. If you would like to use them, please contact him using This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Details

Written by: Miriam Dale

I remember our little plastic Christmas tree, no taller than me as a child, looking increasingly scrawny as it lost another branch or two each year. The tinsel was never replaced either, and slowly the bushy sparkle turned tatty, as blu-tac pulled away the strands and the fishing wire showed through. We had a single honeycomb-tissue Santa, who was folded away with a paperclip each year until we extracted him, slightly embarrassed of himself, and expanded his red paper belly. In a reach for some unknown heritage, we also made clove-oranges, pressing the little spikes into the peel till my thumbs were sore, and tying them with a red ribbon. But Mum always insisted on a prominent Nativity scene, each year re-building a little cave out of brown paper or a cardboard box. In it she set the wooden figurines, carefully released from their bubble wrap, and topped it with two ceramic angels, the right one glued back together after it broke in a non-satanic fall.

Each Christmas Eve we put one of Dad’s socks (we wanted the biggest options) at the end of our beds for ‘Santa’ to fill, though I had known that myth’s true identity ever since my brother told me to ‘wait up and see, it’s just Dad!’. The gift giver was irrelevant to me, I craved that bulging bundle of little pencils and bubble blowers, insisting on ‘stockings!’ until at last, in my early teens, Dad grew tired of waiting for us to fall asleep. I woke to no stocking, and after frantically patting around in my bedding, tiptoed into my sleeping parents’ room to see them on their dresser. We let the charade go after that.

Alongside those memories are those of Christmas church services, late at night, with a single candle handed out to each congregant. The twist of paper or plastic cup around the candle base didn’t quite keep all the hot wax from landing on my fingers, and the pews felt uncomfortable and cold, but there was a sacred moment when the flame was passed from person to person, candle to candle, and then we stepped out into the cold winter air with a bright little blaze, reminding us to take our Hope home with us. These were memories we made at home or with our little faith community, but to our neighbours in this non- Christian country (and as yet untouched by secular Santa) it was just another day.

When I moved to Australia, I was determined to give myself over completely to the joy of a communal Christmas. For nearly a decade I insisted on buying a real Christmas tree – even after finding a dead redback in one of them! I still play Michael Bublé, put up store-bought stockings with my housemates, decorate the house with a vengeance and even make the Christmas cake I reviled as a child. From early December until early January (but no longer – my mother told me I could either put the tree up at the start of Advent or keep it up till the 12 days of Christmas were over, but not both), my home feels different.

Last year (having succumbed to the ease of a plastic tree again), I had friends over for one of my new traditions, a ‘tree-trimming’ party. Each friend is invited to bring a decoration, and we eat gingerbread and mince pies and drink mulled wine or hot chai at odds with the summer evening. One friend, a Turkish Muslim lass in Australia for study, asked about the Nativity, and I was excited for her chance to hear the Gospel. We told her the story; she listened with interest then pointed to one of the Santa decorations on the tree.

“What about Santa? Where does he come from?”

Confronted with such tendrils of secular syncretism, it can be tempting to strip Christmas back completely. Should I be throwing my plastic tree out the window, and resigning Michael Bublé to his fate in an op-shop CD shelf somewhere? Is this a cleanse-the-temple moment? Am I blocking the route to the Holy of Holies with pigeons for sale? Am I cluttering the path to Jesus with baubles and tinsel?

Sometimes, I fear the answer is ‘Yes’.

If the amorphous ‘spirit of Christmas’ could mean anything, then it means nothing. Cinnamon candles, ‘seasonal’ foods, chocolate Advent calendars, mistle-kisses and tinny carols and the ever-earlier sale of cheap décor in our supermarkets … I might find them great fun, but perhaps it is all just a capitalist scheme?

And yet… I don’t want to throw the Christ-infant out with the cinnamon-scented bathwater.

The so-called magic of Christmas, as glorified in each new round of delightfully pulpy Netflix Christmas movies, is appealing for a reason. It speaks to the wonder and mystery of childhood, and our urge to rediscover that excitement as adults. And that yearning, for innocence and wonder, curiosity and awe and excitement, is a God-given desire:

“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” - Matthew 18:4.

It is good and right to treat Christmas as special!

From the first moment that YHWH breathed life into the nostrils of Adam, He has invited mankind to join Him in His creative acts. To name animals, to tend a garden, to raise a family, all invite a creative awe and curiosity. Made in the image of God, the Holy Spirit creates and so do we: In Creation, we see the first act of a Creative God (Genesis 1:1), and it was Good – God delights in the act and product of creation (Genesis 1:31)! He invites Adam’s involvement with naming – this creativity is an act of co- creation with God (Genesis 2:19). Jacob weaves Joseph’s robe (Genesis 37:3), Moses sings (Exodus 15:1-18), Miriam dances and leads the women in music and dancing (Exodus 15:20-22). Later, Exodus: God specifically chooses Bezalel and gives Him creative gifts required to do God’s work (Exodus 31). David, the man after God’s own heart, a king who shamelessly danced and sang and wrote (1 Samuel 16:22, 2 Samuel 6:14, Psalm 3, 4, 6 and more). The Psalms were largely written for corporate worship, to imbue God’s people with a knowledge of His character and their identity. Then came Solomon, the king whose great wisdom also permitted him to build a place of worship for God (1 Kings 5-6). The book of Job, a different genre to its companion texts, is a poetic tale which explores the knowledge of God and man. In grief, the people of God returned to music with Lamentations; in love, they turned to Song of Songs. Isaiah the prophet uses oracles in a poetic style.

The New Testament includes many references to poems and Psalms, parables and poetic prose. In 1 Corinthians 14:26 Paul highlights hymns as gifts from God, and in Revelation, John uses creative apocalyptic writing to give hope to a weary church.

God also calls us to remember. In sacrifices and altars, in festivals and celebrations, God tells and reminds His people who and Whose they are. Noah builds an altar immediately after the Ark (Gen 8:20), Abraham sacrifices a ram to God in Genesis 22, and Jacob builds an altar after an angelic vision. God specifically directs His people to celebrate and remember Him in festivals through Genesis, Exodus and Leviticus. Esther calls her people to gather in prayer and then in celebration, to remember their God and who He is.

These festivals and practices, these cultural ‘forms’ of spiritual or religious exercises, also tell us where we come from and why we are here. We are called to practice curiosity and wonder. One of the most foundational and frequent reminders, of course, is Sabbath: a day every week to remember that we are made in the image of God, that we are defined not by what we do, or produce, or have, but by whose we are. And yet …

“One Sabbath Jesus was going through the grain fields, and as his disciples walked along, they began to pick some heads of grain.The Pharisees said to him, “Look, why are they doing what is unlawful on the Sabbath?”

He answered,“Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry and in need?In the days of Abiathar the high priest,he entered the house of God and ate the consecrated bread, which is lawful only for priests to eat.And he also gave some to his companions.” Then he said to them,“The Sabbath was made for man,not man for the Sabbath.So the Son of Manis Lord even of the Sabbath.” Mark 2:27-27

There is an opportunity here, for Christians to reclaim the practices of Advent, as Jesus reclaimed the Sabbath. Because there is one key element that Christmas kitsch - as much as I might delight in it - is missing. Jesus, valuing humans more than practices, refused to allow the Sabbath to be a time of just papering over the brokenness in the world. While the bright celebration of Christmas has translated well into consumerism, it is the remembering, waiting, grieving, and yearning for transformation of Christmas that our world desperately needs. As Rachel weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted, we have permission, a framework, to weep for the brokenness of the world, and to dwell in the question to which the birth of Jesus is the sublime and mind-blowing answer.

Advent, the taking of time to reflect, remember, to taste of sorrow and joy, offers us space to remember who and whose we are, and why Christmas matters. So how do we practice the season of Advent? And where does the creativity and awe - implicit in the traditions God gave the Israelites - fit in? Some churches hold tightly to an annual Advent structure, others disregard it completely, continuing independent sermon series right up till Christmas Day. Some invite families or children to light Advent candles, others avoid the fire hazard of a small child waving a live flame around a wreath! Do we use a chocolate calendar? Light a candle? Set liturgical readings? Red-and-green ‘ugly’ jumpers?

In any situation, Advent offers us the same potential of celebration and risk that any spiritual form or practice does; will it draw us towards Christ or away from Him? Do we use it to remember, or to distract and condemn? Derek Brotherson, author of Contextualisation or Syncretism? The Use of Other-faith Worship Forms in the Bible and in Insider Movements, puts the question this way: does the worship form help or distract from true worship? He is of course examining the use of other-faith forms in a Christian context, but that same question could be applied to a secularised version of Christian tradition. I am not here to paint chocolate calendars, Michael Bublé, or Santa figurines as ungodly forms of Christian traditions. Culturally relevant celebrations – with food, dancing, and wine – were a part of Jesus’ context and could absolutely be a part of ours. As mentioned, I adore Christmas kitsch.

However, as I think back on my Muslim friend, I can see how some of my delight in the ‘Christmas spirit’ can distract or get in the way of her understanding of Jesus. And as I watch the latest ‘Christmas movies’, I can see how an idolisation of happiness can diminish that which brings us happiness in the first place. Even more, I can see they take away from the room Christ makes for grief, for lament, and for comfort and healing. As domestic violence and divorce rates peak at Christmas, it is that grief, lament, comfort and healing which is the most important part of the ‘Christmas Spirit’. But we are human – and the season before Christmas has become increasingly shrill! So, we forget truth, and we need help remembering who and Whose we are. This is where our practices, our religious forms, our aesthetics, come in. Seasonal food or clothes or music tell us there is something special about this time! The God who created creativity invites us to use it to know Him.

The practice of lighting a candle, when it creates pause for reflection and silence, an image of light in the darkness, can be a powerful form. The same can be said for music, art and poetry which helps us to sit in the stasis - the uncomfortable waiting and longing of Christmas. The Centre for Christianity, Culture and the Arts, out of Biola University, puts out a seasonal daily email for Advent and Lent, with a poem, an artwork, and a piece of music to tie into a daily devotion. I find these devotions ground me as a I travel or rush around in the lead up to Christmas.

Several years ago, my mother ordered a children’s book of ‘Jesse Tree’ colouring sheets. Each page had a passage and a symbol to represent a point in the Biblical narrative, one for each day of Advent. A rainbow for Noah, a sheath of wheat for Ruth, a sceptre for Esther… Mum asked me to colour them in, and as a 30-year-old, I loved it! Then we cut them out and laminated them and made them into decorations for our tree. Each day of Advent, we read the passage and hung the relevant ornament. The Christmas we count down towards is the culmination of a long gospel history. It is the longed-for coming (present-continuous) of Hope. And when we take the time to remember that longing and that resolution - in creative practices, in aesthetics, in awe and vulnerability – we teach ourselves and those around us what it means, each day and each year anew.

Miriam Dale is a poet and educator who has been playing with words, rhythm, and the big questions of life for over a decade. From growing up in the Middle East as an MK she now works with Interserve.

Details

Written by: Laura Cerbus

I have found my familiarity with Scripture to be a double edged sword. Not in the sense, as the saying goes, that familiarity breeds contempt, but in the sense that the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge means when he speaks of the  “film of familiarity.” A film, or thin veil, can cover my eyes  and my ears so that I “have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear  not, and [a heart] that neither feel[s] or understand[s].”

This film of familiarity makes it easy to read without really  noticing—or, to read in a way that reinforces what I  already believe or imagine or desire, rather than allowing  the Scriptures to transform me. I look in the mirror of  God’s word, but a quick glance, one that assumes I already  know what I will find, causes me to miss what it was  reflecting back to me. I have no expectations that what I  will encounter in the text may be different than I expect.

One such text, I suspect for many, are the stories of  Advent-tide. Part of our cultural as well as our religious  traditions, these stories are easily obscured by our  familiarity with them. When we are captive to this kind of  familiarity, we need something to wipe away the film, to  clear our eyes and ears so that we can encounter the text  in new ways. The surprise encounter can do this work,  jolting us out of inattention to awareness.

In the moment of surprise, we are confronted with a  reality that is different from what we had believed or  thought to be true. In response, we must choose whether  to alter or revise our ways of thinking.

Art, particularly artistic representations of the stories of  Scripture, can be a valuable means of aesthetic surprise.

Art can confront its audience with a way of imagining the  text that challenges their assumptions or ideas. One example, for me, is the painting of Noah’s ark by  sixteenth century artist Simon de Myle. My encounter with  it gave me a jolt of surprise. And although not obviously a  painting that represents the stories of Advent, it prompted  reflection and shifted the way I imagine anticipation for  the coming of Christ.

At first glance, the busy scene is familiar. The moment  portrayed is one after the flood waters recede and the ark  comes to rest on Mount Ararat. Birds swarm in the sky  over the ark, animals make their way down the ramp, and  more animals cover the dry land around the ark, no doubt  stretching their legs and enjoying relief from their long  confinement. Several human figures do the same.  And then—as I take a closer look—I see several animals  splayed out on the ground. They are not sleeping, but  dead. And then, to my horror, I realise that one, a horse, is  prey: the painting shows the moment that a lion bites into  its stomach.  

The surprise comes from the shocking difference between  de Myle’s portrayal of this moment and the many other  portrayals I have seen. Here, there is no idyllic harmony,  no optimism for an earth cleansed after the flood.  Immediately—some creatures are still embarking—one  animal preys on another.

On further reflection I think that these dead animals are,  likely, casualties of the flood. De Myle has confronted his  observer’s imaginations not only with the company of  animals spared on the ark, but also those left to  destruction. It is a sobering surprise—a moment in which  I realise how often these animals are absent from the  retelling of this story, and how often we neglect the  relationship between animal and human worlds, in which  human sin, demonstrated clearly in Noah’s celebratory  drunkenness, has consequences for the entire creation.

Through the skill and creativity of de Myle, I have been  struck, surprised—and as a result, my imagination is  challenged, and I see a familiar text in a new way. Particularly during this Advent season, as I imagine the  world which “Long lay...in sin and error pining,” do I  imagine the animals, too, longing for Christ’s coming? Do  I imagine them to be also crying out, “Come, Lord Jesus,” as they wait for the final end to the curse that has bound  them to humanity’s corruption?

Too easily we limit the scope of Christ’s redemptive work  to ourselves, to humanity. However, as Paul insists, “the  whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of  childbirth” (Rom. 8:22). This includes the animals, as de  Myle’s imagined scene communicates. They, too, suffer  under the curse, and they, too, find redemption through  Christ the ark (Rom. 8:21).

I think of the many nativity scenes that include field and  stable animals. Cows, horses, goats, sheep, sometimes  others, are present, although none of the Gospel  narratives mention them. In those scenes, peace reigns, as  “ox and ass before him bow.” It is easy to forget, though, that although Christ’s coming heralded this peace, it is not  yet accomplished. We still wait, all creation still waits, for  its consummation.

In one sense, the waiting of the Advent season precludes  surprise: we remember Christ’s first coming, and we  expect his second. But for the characters of the Advent  and Christmas stories, surprise plays an important role.

Mary is amazed at the announcement that Gabriel brings  her; the shepherds are astonished at the chorus of angels  that illuminates their sleepy night watch. Herod, too, is  caught off guard at the news of the Magi that a king has  been born right under his nose. Jesus’s birth, particularly  the means and circumstances, confronted these characters  with incredible news that they had not expected.

Yet, surprise does not compel. The news of Jesus’s birth  comes to each one with the weight of the unexpected, and  their responses vary. For Herod, the surprise further  entrenches him in his pride and spiritual blindness. Others, however, express an openness to what they had not  anticipated.

Aesthetic surprise works in the same way. De Myle’s  painting does not force the observer into one,  predetermined or correct response. Nor can we  manufacture surprise. It is a gift of grace that comes  unbidden and undeserved. Yet we can, especially at  Advent, prepare ourselves to receive such a gift.

Consider seeking out art for the Advent season as a way to  reimagine the stories that may have become obscured by a  “film of familiarity.” Jane Williams’ book The Art of  Advent provides a painting and a reflection for each day  from Advent to Epiphany. Biola University offers an  Advent devotional resource that combines art, Scripture,  and a written devotion.

Here, attentiveness is more important than novelty. It is  the Spirit, after all, who enables us to encounter texts in  new and fresh ways. In all of our reading, both of visual  and of written texts, we should cultivate hearts that are  humbly expectant, ready to yield to God and believe that who he is and what he is doing cannot be plumbed.

Laura Cerbus is a teacher, writer, and PhD candidate in Theology at Trinity College Theological School.  During her time in Melbourne she has been involved in the Evangelical Women in Academia group. Her  desire is to help students delight in texts of literature, Scripture, and theology, in order to  develop wonder and awe at the beauty, goodness, and truth of God’s world and of God himself.

Details

Written by: Chris Porter

“What to do with the humble parish?” Why do we seem to be so entrenched within ideas of “my parish” or “their church?” Why do parishioners identify as more “members of the Parish of St Aethelredstone” rather than as “Anglican,” and why may they identify with their parish in opposition to say the Parish of St Cuthbertstonwick? [names changed to protect the guilty everywhere] Setting aside the ecclesiological and pastoral specifics of Anglican parishes, I want to consider here the sociological challenges of the parish, for these sociological challenges lie at the heart of a wide variety of present questions for our church. While the questions of parish boundaries, church mergers, church planting, minster models, evangelism, normativity, and diversity, all have theological, ecclesiological, and pastoral dimensions, their sociological aspects are often left uninterrogated. Therefore, here I want to consider these social aspects and how they may contribute to our understanding of parish life.

For all of the other services of the parish one of the most significant is the social group which is formed around the parish, one for which those within the parish—and those attending from outside—find their identity. Parishioners are not merely “Jane” or “John,” but “Jane member of Parish X.” The formation of these social identities around the parish structure are sociologically one of its greatest strengths—and I would also argue its greatest weakness.

Leaving aside specifically Christian aspects of the parish, and the appropriate benefits of public worship etc—as these will logically continue with or without parish boundaries—we may consider the great benefits of social groups to be also applicable to the social group of the parish. Individuals who identify with a social group are more likely to engage with the work of that group—in this case the work of the parish—which in turn is more  likely to impact on their own personal identity and sense of belonging within the social group—the church.

Formally we can understand “social identity … as that part of the individuals’ self- concept which derives from their knowledge of their membership of a social group together with the value and emotional significance attached to that membership” (Tajfel, 1982: 2). As Christians we value this identity structure, especially as it is positively correlated with other social items such as belonging, behaviour change, self-value, etc. Indeed, as we can see with civil parishes, and other local social enterprises such as “Good-Karma” Facebook groups, this desire for social connection and engagement is also highly sought after and valued in our broader community.

However, it is this same desire for social engagement and identity which is perhaps also its greatest Achilles heel. For with strong identity structures, comes the challenge of what is technically termed as “positive distinctiveness.” That is the challenge for a social group to be sufficiently different from other competing social groups such that members feel attracted to and can identify with their specific social group over and above other groups. This is especially the case where those competing social groups are normatively and geographically close, and in these cases “positive distinctiveness” will often require exclusive claims about one’s own social group, and similarly denigrating claims regarding others nearby. For example, the members of the Parish of St Cuthbertstonwick may pride themselves on their liturgical style and support their own sense of belonging in that parish by referring the members of the Parish of St Aethelredstone as “Aethelredstoners” and generating negative appellations regarding their musical preferences.

This is further exacerbated in situations where near neighbours share the same normative belief and identity structures, as the demands of positive distinctiveness require sharper invective to create points of division. As Lewis Coser observed “A conflict is more passionate and more radical when it arises out of close relationships. The coexistence of union and opposition in such relations makes for the peculiar sharpness of the conflict. Enmity calls forth deeper and more violent reactions, the greater the involvement of the parties among whom it originates”

(1998, 71).

Is this a good argument then for the abolition of parish boundaries, to remove the competition for positive distinctiveness? While this may seem like a logical way of reducing these challenges and uniting the church around a single focus for distinctiveness, unfortunately it only leads to further competition. For as groups cease to have avenues for generating positive distinctiveness outside of the groups the natural place to derive distinctiveness is within the group. This is usually seen through internal perceptions that certain members are not sufficiently normative, or somehow abrogate what some members consider the “core” identity of the group, despite remaining within the group. Indeed, this can be clearly observed within the Good Karma Network phenomenon, as, a couple of years into the project, large numbers of these neighbourhood groups devolved into schismatic fractures over internal accusations of members not upholding the norms of the groups, and significant disagreement over what these norms are, and their relative importance. Similar examples are found in civil parishes— and especially their American counterpart, the Homeowner Association. Lest we think that the church is immune from such debates one need only look at the plethora of churches which have split over musical styles, modes of preaching, or a host of other disputed norms. Schisms and the exclusion of members as black sheep for not being normative enough are part and parcel of group existence.

So far this seems to be a fairly dismal view of parish life: conflict with or without boundaries. Are there any avenues out of this social quagmire? Perhaps somewhat ironically the same ecclesial inheritance that gave the Anglican church the parish structure has also provided a resource for addressing the impetus towards division for positive distinctiveness: episcopal structures. While evangelical Anglicanism tends toward a congregational—and parish— emphasis, the proven mechanism for defusing schism within groups is to direct social impetus towards finding social distinctiveness within larger groups, rather than the smaller immediate—local—group. Indeed, theologically, this is the purpose of the church universal.

How then can we leverage these oft-denigrated structures towards that bigger theological vision and social purpose? A significant part of this is the need for a distinctive vision for the larger structure to inhabit. What is the purpose of the episcopacy? What is a diocese for? But, as part of that vision for there to be positive distinctiveness of the whole, there must be a similar allowance of diversity within the subgroups which make up the superordinate, the parishes which constitute a diocese, the churches which contribute to the denomination—lest there be a devolution to solely finding distinctiveness in the local. Such that the Parishes of St Cuthbertstonwick and St Aethelredstone can engage in that same vision side by side. This vision setting and diversity of engagement can find a wide range of expressions and outcomes, and while it is well beyond the scope of this piece to provide a singular answer, we can find a series of biblical and historical examples for inspiration. Indeed, one example is given by Scott Goode’s examination of 1 Corinthians, where he finds Paul organising that nascent church around the framework of “Salvific Intentionality” that allows for both coherent missional imagination alongside diversity in the Corinthian community (review in this issue).

Ultimately the overriding question about the parish is not whether it stays or whether it goes, but rather what should we look to as a means to present an encompassing vision to unify the church around, with or without historical geographical and social boundaries?

Rev Dr Chris Porter is Post-Doctoral Research Fellow at Trinity College Theological School.

Details

Written by: Tracy Lauersen

I led a parish in a country town in Victoria from 2018-2023. I loved it. It was a growing tree-change town an hour from Melbourne off the Monash motorway in Gippsland. Originally a wealthy dairy farming and regional hub, it was experiencing something of an identity change as the dairy farmers sold off and as young families bought up plots of land, city professionals sought an alternative lifestyle on hobby farms and retirees downsized from city dwellings to country digs with large gardens and chickens. The parish was over a hundred years old and there were some amazing old saints in their 80’s who had been in the church since their infancy. The parish had an 8am prayer book service, a 9.45am contemporary family service and an occasional evening youth service. There was a smallish youth group (12 or so) and quite a large children’s ministry. During my time as Rector, we worked on our parish vision and a five-year strategy, we weathered the lockdown years and worked to build up the youth and children’s ministry.

I doubt there are any readers of this edition of EFAC Essentials who don’t recognise the immense challenges facing both urban and country churches. The lockdown years of the COVID pandemic were hard going for most churches, but especially so for Victorian Churches. But even before the pandemic, church attendance was declining throughout Australia. Changing cultural forces, the sins of the church revealed in the Royal Commission into child sexual abuse in our institutions, opposition, disunity, and the slow pace of change in many of our churches have all contributed to falls in attendance, volunteers and in people willing to train for ministry. Yet there is hope! There is much hope. The country church I was leading had so many strengths and has a great future ahead of it. Below I offer six characteristics that I observed at the church or that I leant into as a leader that are suggestions regarding how country churches can flourish.

GOD MUST SHOW UP

God showed up in my country parish, but I make this point because as ministers we are truly dependent on God. We can do many things to make our churches grow, but we cannot succeed without God. We are dependent. Fortunately, we are encouraged by Scripture that our Lord loves the church and loves us. We need to remember this and let it guide us.

GOD’S PEOPLE MUST SHOW UP

We were blessed with a good core of regulars, including an awesome team of excellent musicians and cooks, and parents who were willing to teach Sunday school. It felt like a real partnership. A team. I did my utmost to make these people feel appreciated, with regular thank-yous and even engraved awards at our AGM. If you are blessed with volunteers, empower them. If you are blessed with teenagers, find jobs for them – we employed about 6 of our youth as casuals (as Sunday tech people and as cleaners). This helped us and gave them work experience and avoided them disappearing into casual work at the local fast-food joints on a Sunday.

YOU MUST HELP PEOPLE TO SEE GOD SHOWING UP

You may have heard about the famous “invisible gorilla” experiment at Harvard University in the 1990’s which demonstrated that we humans have a tendency to be blind to what we are not focusing on. Well, that hour on a Sunday morning is the hour to help people to refocus and to see God. Thomas Merton wrote in 1965

Life is this simple. We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time. This is not just a fable or a nice story. It is true. If we abandon ourselves to God and forget ourselves, we see it sometimes, and we see it maybe frequently. God manifests Himself everywhere, in everything — in people and in things and in nature and in events. It becomes very obvious that He is everywhere and in everything and we cannot be without Him. You cannot be without God. It’s impossible. It’s simply impossible. The only thing is that we don’t see it.

Author Richard Beck reminds us that “God is everywhere, but we don’t see that. There is a pervasive spiritual disenchantment which affects Christians as much as nonbelievers ..and.. poses the single greatest threat to faith and the church in our post-Christian world.” (Beck, Richard. Hunting Magic Eels, Fortress Press. Kindle Edition.) It is easy to lose our ability to see God, and the job of the parish priest includes helping God’s people to recover their sight. We shared testimonies at church on a Sunday of how people were seeing God in their everyday lives. It was transformative, and helped people connect with each other too.

ENJOY GOOD RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER MINISTERS IN YOUR TOWN

I found my Anglican deanery in the city had felt like an obligation – we met and then rushed back into the traffic and all our commitments. But in a country town, the pace is a bit slower and our Christian minister’s network was a bunch of supportive colleagues across denominations that I looked forward to catching up with. We ran a Christmas eve service together in the local park, did an Easter outreach together, helped each other out with things like baptism pools and aged-care services, and laughed at the antics of church life (and people) together over breakfast once a month. I really appreciated the help and friendship of those other ministers.

BE DILIGENT AND ACCOUNTABLE IN YOUR SERMON PREP

Whilst it is true that a good crowd makes a good speech fly, it’s a bit chicken and egg really. Without a good sermon, the good crowd won’t keep coming back for more. It may seem like an odd strategy, but I used to tell myself that the Prime Minister might show up on Sunday and I’d better not be ashamed of what I’d prepared!

SERVE THOSE NEW PEOPLE IN TOWN

I don’t have any research to draw on, but it seemed to me that new people in a country town were a bit more open to an invite to church/seasonal services, or to a playgroup or youth group. Perhaps because they didn’t have a lot of friends yet or wanted to find connections for their kids. In country towns, the church can play an important role in those life transitions like early parenthood. In our town, the council couldn’t keep up with programs for early childhood in particular, so it was a great opportunity for us to connect and to serve our community. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said “The Church is the Church only when it exists for others.”

Rev’d Tracy Lauersen, National Program Manager, Families & Culture of the Anglican Church of Australia