Category: Uncategorized

I confess, I’ve been consorting with another man for the past five months. We have a standing assignation most Sundays. He’s fairly miraculous. With a good dose of intelligence. Does well in a fight too – you should see him take on the tax collectors. The Romans gave him a bit of a scare, but he sure showed them three days later. Forget RDJ and Iron Man. Resurrection Man.

Which prompted me to think: how’s a husband to cope? It’s a question I’ve been asked a few times. How is the Big T and my new relationship with Resurrection Man?

Let’s be clear, If it wasn’t for the Big T, the Resurrection Man and I would never have made first base. Big T was the one who reminded me about Peter being asked three times when I first had that dream. Through my wobbly moments when I’ve been ready to chuck in the towel, he has gently dropped in his own brand of wisdom. His own less than positive experience growing up didn’t prevent him from observing the positive in mine.

The joke is, almost 18 months ago, Big T mentioned a few times that he wouldn’t mind going back to church. Out of the two of us, he accepted God and Jesus – whilst I still observed them through a religious hangover. So, whenever he mentioned church, I would be Switzerland. I am blessed that, rather than being equally non-committal with me, he quietly held the space for me to figure it out.

I believe Resurrection Man has actually helped our marriage. Not that it was in any serious strife before, but there has certainly been some edge smoothing. We are both products of divorce, so had every reason to avoid the institution of marriage based on what we had observed as children. Whilst neither of us articulated it, the unspoken part of our marriage has been that divorce – especially having two children – is not an option. Even when our backs are against the matrimonial wall, when it could be easier to scramble over it in a short-sighted bid for freedom, a small, insistent voice says to us both, “Hold Goddammit. Stick.”

I think we all, in our relationships, fall short of 1 Corinthians 13 4-6: Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;

Yet Resurrection Man has reminded me of the beauty in my husband. The grace of a big bloke who loves whole-heartedly, unashamedly, and has fought demons to become the man I am so incredibly proud of today. The everyday irritations and resentments dissolve when examined from the perspective of Resurrection Man. How can I not embrace the joy in my own relationship when faced with the outpouring of love that Resurrection Man offers? Blessed with His love and sacrifice, I can do nothing else.

One of the greatest surprises since I first walked into the SAP’s church in May, is how the structure of getting along to a service most weekends pays dividends. Not because there’s a tally, but due to the support of being around a family of people who have one rather significant thing in common with you.

I use the word family because, without fear or favour, that’s what happens when you begin to attend a church regularly. You get yourself another family. Which, for little Ms Independence here, took some getting used to. Welcome me, talk to me, but for heaven’s sake, don’t care for me!

But they do. Any church doing a decent job will be brimming with a friendly congregation who welcome and, should you decide to settle in, nurture you on your Christian journey. When I don’t make it along? I miss it. The structure is a bit like watering my seedling of faith each week. Without fail, my brain comes away with something new to ponder and explore, whilst my soul not only lifts in homecoming, it also gets to come out and play with all of its mates.

Back in that job interview, I didn’t understand how attending church regularly – or any place of worship – would have an impact upon Christian faith. Yet to keep my body healthy I choose good habits, such as running daily, eating healthy food, drinking green tea and water…and understand that as I do, my body thanks me with vitality and energy. It’s the same with faith. Hebrews 10:25: ‘Some people have gotten out of the habit of meeting for worship. But we must not do that. We should keep on encouraging each other.’ Attending church weekly strengthens my spiritual core just as a four-minute plank each day strengthens my muscular core.

Spiritual Planking By The Sea

So, escaping Sydney recently, I found myself camping in a secluded spot on the south coast over a weekend. Unable to attend my church (SAP, please note the use of the possessive determiner. I’m palpitating, but I used it. Go me!) I thought I’d play the tourist and attend another Anglican service nearby. A small part of me was interested in seeing ‘how it was done’ in another church, but for the most it was maintaining good habits. Spiritual planking.

A quick JFGI on the phone told me that the closest Anglican was a short ten-minute drive away. The website had a picture (beautiful sandstone) and the address, like most small country/coastal towns, was Church Street. Easy. 0945 start, so I had plenty of time to get a surf in beforehand too.

I failed to allow extra time for the difference between my Sydney metro driving and the more sedate rural approach.  Getting stuck behind a Sunday driver on a loose gravel road turned the short ten minute drive into slightly longer. As a journo I don’t do late well. Siri found me Church Street, I spotted a sandstone church and skidded into the car park via a nifty side entrance with a minute to spare. Hustled inside. Grabbed a beautifully printed service handout, chose a pew and looked around.

Ah, this was more familiar to my childhood in England. Some lovely stained glass windows. And, ouch, those wooden kneelers. Lots of ornate gold work. And, hang on, various religious statues? I glanced around some more. Noticed that people were genuflecting and making signs of the cross as they entered. Didn’t remember that from C of E…or my newer Anglican experience. I looked more closely at the alter. Was that a thurible? A slightly uneasy feeling started in the pit of my stomach. I flipped over the service handout to check the name of the church pastor.

No pastor. Father Michael. In my haste, and use of the side-entrance, I’d failed to spot I’d come to a Roman Catholic Church service. I glanced backwards wondering if I could make a subtle escape. Just as Father Michael, in his robes, carrying the tools of his trade, with his posse (I’m not sure of all their job titles) made a rather splendid entrance and marched down the aisle.

Okaaay.  Les Mills Body Attack, here I come.

How many churches can a small country town have? 

Six it turns out. Mostly on Church Street. To plead my defence I’ve collected some pictorial evidence. Without any signage to give you clues, which out of these would you pick as the Anglican church?

The SAP probably did some specialist subject to do with religious architecture at Bible College, so he is in all likelihood yelling at the screen now: “Pick B, pick B!”

But I’m afraid I ended up in A. Which was an education. At least I didn’t have leather pants on this time.

This blog post has been inspired by a phone call a few weeks back. In the midst of stirring her spaghetti bol sauce, one of my closest friends was compelled to pick up the phone and ask, quite urgently, “So, do you think you found God?”

Hmm. Along with ‘born-again’, ‘finding God’ is another phrase I get jittery over. I always think, “Well, yes, He was just behind the sofa” or some other equally droll internal witticism.

This friend has been in my life for almost 15 years. She event-managed our wedding and went onto become a celebrant; a sweet irony as she played a significant role during a rocky patch in getting Tony and I on the path to matrimony.

So the question surprised me, because I thought she’d seen that I’d always had a connection with spirit/universe/God, given she had taken an interest in my new age paths and would often turn over angel cards and runes with me, whilst polishing off a few glasses of something bubbly!

But, then again, I’d always stopped short of using the word ‘God’ and had certainly never been comfortable with ‘Jesus Christ’ until I had busted my religious hangover.

So my answer to her, after a day of reflection, was whilst I’d never ‘lost’ God, I could never see Him clearly. It was a foggy relationship that had become clouded through new age terms of universe and spirit. Muddied up in my ‘thought creates‘ approach that made me the mistress of my universe. Alongside my childhood ‘religion’ stereotypes, God just seemed too far away.

Yet, after His insistent conversations with me at 3am, during my earliest emails with the SAP, I did decide: “Spiritually what I’ve been doing to date hasn’t been working that well for me. So what if there is something in God AND Jesus together?”

Whilst I slowly unpacked my Christianity baggage, I gave myself a small, quiet test. Rather than talk to ‘spirit’ and ‘the universe’, and just ‘God’, I began to talk to both God AND Jesus.

This was a massive internal shift — and certainly not due to me reaching a true sense of belief at that stage! I have to be thankful that God humoured me with my ‘test’. Because, bugger me, it worked! Even while my head was playing catch up on gospels, miracles and resurrection, He was kind enough to answer my quirky prayers in such a way that I had to accept viewing God was far, far easier with Jesus as the lens.

So, my answer to my friend: I didn’t find God. I found Jesus (by the dashboard light, perhaps?) And yes, that line makes me jittery too. The language is so not me!

But regardless of how the PR pro in me shudders at the associated stereotypes with such messaging, Jesus’ humanity gave me something I could identify with.  I had to make friends with him (thank you Doctor and The Medics) because otherwise God – that ‘spirit in the sky’ – was too remote to grasp.

In Mark’s gospel, Jesus rebukes his disciples for turning children away.

Mark 10, 14-15 Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the Kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.

The words, “such as these” are significant. You don’t have to be child to receive the Kingdom of God, but you have to be child-like. Nor does it mean ‘innocent’ as a child, because child or not, there’s the whole ‘missing the mark‘ thing by our simply being human. It means dependence, just as children are dependent on their parents.

So, The Bible was telling me, an almost 43 year old woman, who has travelled across the globe, built up and run her own businesses, to be dependent on someone other than myself?

I had a bit of a problem with that. A psych told me very seriously a few years back that I rate abnormally highly on the emotional independence scale. Which has been useful in some situations (leaving home, relocating to the other side of the world, making stuff happen without requiring a committee-size amount of input) but not so good when it comes to personal relationships. Whether it’s a human 1:1 relationship or one with Jesus and God.

You don’t need a psych degree to figure out why: I ended up being responsible for my own emotional support from a young age. In my worldview, being dependent on another led to my Mum attempting suicide when I was six, and her inability to leave an abusive (second) marriage until I told her we absolutely had to pack our bags. All tough lessons to learn before your 13th birthday. Much safer, my id decided, to be independent of anyone.

We also live in a world that values independence. It’s a skill we’re told our children need. To take more control of our lives and not be reliant on others to accomplish our goals. We can do this life on our own, on our terms. So verses such as Proverbs 3:5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding challenged me hugely.

Yet, in hindsight, I think God dealt me the last few years in preparation for my unpacking Christianity. Post my business GFC-crash, life was not like anything I had dreamt. I had to learn to deal with debt, swallow pride, and ask for help. Large lessons indeed for someone whose very personality was forged out of a fear of dependence. I learnt that swallowing pride did not choke me. That I did not emerge weakened by being dependent. And whilst I personally dislike the use of the phrase ‘born again’ (which makes me somewhat heretical given Jesus used the phrase in John’s Gospel: Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God), I identify with the notion of renewal and rebirth.

The SAP used a big word in a sermon a while back. Sanctification. And I’ll need to throw another one in to explain it. Justification. Here goes (another possible off-piste moment):

Justification happens the moment you place your faith in Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross. Instantaneous. Which is possibly why SAP uses the analogy of downloading a new operating system. Thank goodness for NBN. Imagine if all us lost souls were waiting on dial-up?

So, imagine it a bit like putting in your Apple ID, except this time your password is ‘faith in Jesus’ sacrifice’.  Then you get free access to the eternal ‘app store’ in heaven. It’s a gift, which is received by faith alone. No works are necessary whatsoever to obtain justification. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a gift, freely given. Therefore, we are ‘justified’ by having faith.

After justification, comes sanctification. Which is ongoing. Like having those rough edges smoothed out, day after day. God’s Holy Spirit working in you to produce more of a godly character and life. And, to clear up any lingering ‘sinning again and again‘ concerns, the idea isn’t to be passive in this. Instead it’s about being actively involved in working to be more godly. Sucking the marrow out of a grace-filled life with great joy.

The combination of both justification and sanctification means you don’t get to rest on yesterday’s victory, but neither are you paralysed by yesterday’s failure. The two result in your renewal. Being ‘born-again’.

So dependency doesn’t make me less. It makes me more. Active, engaged. And the ‘Holy Spirit in action’ part of sanctification? Best skin product ever. Seriously. I’m pretty sure I stuff mine up by surviving on five hours sleep writing these blogs, but there is just something about the skin of someone who’s grasped faith, spirit and grace. Perhaps L’Oreal can put Jesus as the new face for its “Because You’re Worth It” campaign? (I had to go with Gandalf, sorry SAP).

A few months back, I thought I was dealing with an ego pricked by a job interview gone sour and Jesus was simply a research project I was looking to tick off my ‘to do’ list. On one level my head actually believed that. Even after these blogs, reflecting back upon that first phone call when the SAP told me he knew how this would end, I still didn’t see clearly what actually had happened. 

So I asked him. Seriously. Why did he say that to me? Clever reverse psychology? A baited-hook for the inquiring journalist?

His email reply was like receiving a mirror into my inbox. Nothing at all like I was expecting. Nothing prophetic. Nothing mystical. I read the email and my jaw dropped. No way. I hadn’t been that transparent. All I was doing was researching!  And then I had to laugh. And laugh some more.

How did the SAP know? Below, in a nutshell, is what he wrote. The italics are my thoughts upon reading.

SAP: You rang the church. People who aren’t at all interested in Jesus don’t usually ring churches.

Phil: No, but seriously, I was just researching.

SAP: You shared the experience waking up with the hymn going through your head.  People who aren’t all that interested in listening to God don’t often wake themselves up with hymns…so that told me two things: i) God was chasing you.  ii) You mightn’t have been listening much when you were awake – so He woke you up to get your attention.  Oh, and one more thing – God never loses a chase.

Phil: Well, erm, it wasn’t really a hymn as such. ‘Song of Bernadette’ is a song by Leonard Cohen.  And, yes, while it is based on Saint Bernadette, who reported eighteen visions of the Virgin Mary, it wasn’t like a big hymn…but then..hmm…well, ok. Never loses a chase? Never?

3) Augustine (one of the great early church theologians and a wild man before he met Jesus) said a lot of pretty fantastic things.  This is one: ‘You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts find no rest until they find their rest in you.’ I figured that you were looking for rest – you’d been looking in a fair few places – and finally God had put Jesus in front of you and you had to deal with Him.

Phil:  A fair few places? Well, possibly…shouldn’t have mentioned the runes. Or the alien-channelling spiritual church. Or the crystals…

4) You had googled the Christianity Explored (CE) Course – people who aren’t interested in Jesus don’t ask to do a course about Him…I’ve done CE with a heap of people over the years and while not all of them became Christians – rather a lot did.

Phil: No, but seriously, like I said, I was just researching. Kicking tyres. Like any good journo.

SAP: Finally, I reckon I ‘knew’ because of what I could hear and see God doing for probably quite some time through your life – that phone call was just one of the last pieces of the puzzle that needed to slot in for you to see Jesus.

Phil: (sighing) And it wasn’t even one of those complex million piece puzzles, either, was it?

SAP: Plus you told me the name of your daughter in that phone call…I thought that was a dead giveaway…

Phil: Smart-Alec

And the final piece, that lifts this chase from humour to the miraculous?  It slotted in just last night, without the need for any SAP commentary. Finally, I might just be getting this God and Jesus business. The Song of Bernadette? The one I hadn’t heard in decades? It wasn’t even the whole song. Just these specific four lines, over and over, waking me up in the wee hours:

So many hearts I find, broke like yours and mine
Torn by what we’ve done and can’t undo
I just want to hold you, won’t you let me hold you
Like Bernadette would do

Just like Francis Thompson’s poem, The Hound of Heaven. It was a call to stop running. To take rest. Be embraced. Accept grace. Which, yes, is the name of my daughter.

Evangelism today has become blurred in the mainstream. It is often perceived as an over-zealous and passionately ardent enthusiasm or support for a cause. So when I first heard ‘evangelism’ within the church context, I mentally took one step back. Evangelicals were a teensy-weensy bit scary. It conjured up images of shiny suited American tele-evangelists. Door-to-door types pushing pamphlets, asking zealously,  “Are you ready to be saved? Have you accepted Jesus into your life?”

But here’s the weird thing. Remember that feeling you used to get in the pit of your stomach, waking up when you were a kid on Christmas morning? That excited sense of anticipation. My youngest describes it as smiles in her tummy. Well, as I quietly started to talk to God and Jesus about ‘stuff’, I would awake each morning with that feeling. Every single morning.

During the early months it was too precious to discuss. Whilst a small bit of me was scared of ridicule, most of me simply wasn’t ready to ‘fight the good fight’. I didn’t have any arguments to explain to people why my faith was unfurling, to articulate, as the SAP terms it, the ‘new operating system’ my soul had downloaded. I just knew it felt right, but like most operating systems, there were bugs to sort out.

One of the bugs was evangelism. The evangelical ‘spreading the news’ warred with my belief about free choice: it’s nobody else’s business what a person believes. It’s OK for God and Jesus to shove me (or drag me), but not anybody else.

But back to that fizzing feeling of anticipation. People would ask what I was so happy about. I would flippantly tell people I was on new meds. Or batten it down. Which was kind of like trying to shove Disney’s Genie back in the bottle.

That new teenage boyfriend feeling

Much as it’s probably blasphemous to liken learning about Jesus to being a teenager with a new boyfriend, it’s the closest analogy I can come up with to explain evangelism in a way that makes me feel comfortable. Teenage girls like to drop their boyfriend’s name into as many conversations as possible. It’s all about Martin/Daniel/Frankie/Bono. It was a massive shock to realise, internally, I was doing something similar with my own experience.

The joy just kept bubbling over. I was both amazed and horrified. I’d have these internal dialogues, “Don’t say anything, don’t say anything,” but then would find myself quietly offering a bereaved friend support with an invite to attend one of the quieter, reflective church services. Sharing the church kids club. Even suggesting appropriate marketing messages for one of the ministries. Hang on…

In the midst of another theological email to the SAP, the dots connected. Yikes. Even. Gel. iCal. Nothing like shiny suits and door knocking. As I wrote at the time, “I guess that serves me right for stereotyping what evangelising looks like! Laugh as much as you like. I can literally hear the angels in stitches.”

The SAP replied, “This is why Christianity spreads – people meet Jesus and realise that He’s worth talking about.”

But me? Really? FFS.

I was reminded the other day of a lucid dream I had the morning of Mum’s funeral. Although I didn’t realise at the time, it was the precursor to what has become a surprising embracing of faith and Christianity in my life (more on that later!)

You know those half-awake, half-asleep dreams that visit you as you drift towards consciousness? In it I saw Mum running with a crowd of young children through a field of wildflowers. Very peaceful but not especially significant if you’re a skeptic reading this. Mum was wheelchair bound and disabled by her neurological sarcoid for over 20 years. My brain had been processing some pretty heavy stuff in a short amount of time. Why wouldn’t it project a feel good bit of dopamine dreaming to ease the stress?

Until Tony woke, turning to me with the words, “I’ve just had the most beautiful dream of Veronica, running in a field with all these children.”

I couldn’t explain it, but the comfort I drew from what I believed was a message to both of us was profound. As were the lyrics in my head that would awake me playing at odd hours in the morning: “I have loved you for a thousand years, I will love you for a thousand more.”

Of course, when a loved one dies, you want comfort. You seek reassurance. But for us both to have the same dream? After Mum died, my yogic striving for non-attachment was at odds with the sorrow and grief. We are relational human beings, who only understand the depths and heights of our relationships because of what we feel. I couldn’t non-attach my way through grief.

I liked the idea of a ‘spiritual beyond’ where Mum ran free. It started me pondering the notions of heaven and God. But I needed to get to grips with my religious hangover (C of E school, old chap in a black dress at the front of the church, preaching about stuff that didn’t seem relevant to my 14 yo self). Plus, well, it’s not cool to be a Christian nowadays, is it? Far more trendy to be Buddhist, but there’s that non-attachment hiccup. Or I could really whack-out and look at Scientology.

So I did what all good seekers of truth do. One the eve of the anniversary of Mum’s death, I visited a psychic.