On Today's Political Discourse, and why we need a reboot.

In the choice between the taboo discussion topics of Politics, Sex and Religion, give me sex or religion long before politics...

"United we stand! Not you - you stand over there."

We're supposed to be living in a society which champions Tolerance and Diversity, or at least that's what one might reasonably conclude based on the amount of lip-service paid by its most dedicated advocates. And that would be a fair assessment in some ways. Sex? Most people will accept you can do what you want with whomever you want. Religion? Same, provided it doesn't infringe on others' civil liberties.

Politics? Well, no. That seems to be the one field exempt from requirements of diversity, tolerance and mutual respect. Consequently, while we claim to be living in one of the most tolerant societies, differing opinions within the political sphere seem more divided and opposed than ever.

Respectful discussion seems a thing of the past, especially on some platforms (Hello Facebook, G'day Twitter!). Neither nuance nor complexity, neither empathy or compassion can seemingly be conveyed efficiently in 140 characters or less, so they tend to be done away with. Four-letter-words and 'isms' are much easier to pack into a tweet, however. It makes engaging with politics a daunting and threatening prospect- not a grand strategy in a democracy if you want people to be able to come together to shape a community for the betterment of everyone. That's my understanding of democracy at least.

Ok, I'm not a political scientist. I try to stay well-informed, but my background is pharmacology and science, not the humanities. And I know, I've only had thirty odd years on the planet, but these are some thoughts which have been percolating since, brought to a head by some recent events. Specifically, the Rise of Donald Trump, the issue of Transgender Bathrooms, the Pulse Orlando tragedy and most recently the successful Brexit campaign.


Stumping the polls

Brexit took a lot of people by surprise. Myself included. I mean, it was close (52%:48%), but like the preceding British General Election, the outcome was opposite of what the polls predicted. It says a lot when canvassed opinion largely proves inaccurate. It demonstrates that there are a lot of people out there whose views on matters simply aren't taken into account, or perhaps even assumed.

This begs the question, how do we (particularly in the General Election) get it so wrong? Maybe our data sets aren't big enough, or representative enough. Maybe people make last-minute decisions.

I think those factors all play a part, but maybe some people are also afraid to answer honestly until they reach the security and anonymity of the polling booth on The Day. That's a personal theory, and I'll try to explain why.


A change in the climate of acceptable discourse

I'm no political science guru, but my understanding is that diversity of political opinion looks a bit like a bell curve: fairly high distribution between the centre-left and centre-right, fewer in the moderate categories, and then dwindling numbers as you make it out to the fringes of the far left and far right.

Those low numbers at the edges are a good thing, as history tells some sorry tales about extreme movements on both sides. Meanwhile, those of us among and between the moderates of each side have been happy to talk it out over ideas and accept the public consensus through a vote. It gets tense, it can get heated, people disagree, but that's ok. That's politics. That's life, actually. Or at least that's how I remember it (good grief, I'm now old enough to use that phrase sincerely).

A new problem as emerged. The rise of political correctness happened. Now that was a good thing back in its heyday. It highlighted issues, made people more thoughtful of one another, encouraged diversity, helped combat discrimination. All good things. At some point though, something changed.

Certain views and opinions, quite reasonable and deserving of open, considered discussion, became taboo. It wasn't enough anymore to love and respect your neighbour despite your differences. The Western liberal ideal of 'Live and let live' (you know, 'Tolerance') wasn't enough. If you held a differing (AKA 'wrong') opinion, there was a problem, and you had to be called out for the terrible human that you were.

Support traditional marriage? You're homophobic.
Concerned about immigration? You must be one of those racists.
Question climate science? Planet hater!
Worried about Islam? Islamophobe.
Subscribe to the idea of using a bathroom according to your biological sex which is now totally archaic despite being the social norm not twelve months ago? Transphobic.

Topics around which you would expect to be able to find reasonable, honest, respectful discussion have become taboo. Any form of dissent won't be tolerated. If you have genuine concerns that you want to discuss, you need to choose your audience carefully if you want to avoid being accused of being any kind of -phobe or -ist.

Sadly, a lot of people believe that shutting down discourse is just as good as educating and changing someone's opinion. Well no. It's pretty much the worst thing you can do if you genuinely seek reform.

It does two things. Firstly, it makes people too scared to air their views at the risk of becoming a social pariah. Secondly, it makes people dig in their heels, become more resilient and more reluctant to change.

When you shut down discourse, you shut down inquiry. A person who can't ask questions can't learn and will have no reason to change their beliefs or opinions. They will still hold these opinions, you just won't know about it.

Ordinary, reasonable people with honest and genuine concerns are cowed into silence, but they don't go away and nor do their opinions. They become a part of that silent majority which has been surprising the pollsters.


The rise of the Political Fringe

What happens then, when these constituents have no voices to represent them in government? Moderate politicians are also susceptible to this kind of public intimidation and many are unwilling to represent people and issues classified as 'unsavoury' by the mob, for they too fear for their own reputation and careers. These constituents must consequently look further to the fringes to find those who are prepared to speak; to the eccentric and possible extremists, whose egos care little about public perception.

These are the characters who emerge when more reasonable and moderate politicians have been alienated by society. Constituents feel driven to support them, even though they too may find some of their positions extreme, simply because nobody else will.

Enter...


...Donald Trump.

The political Left is aghast at the rise of a figure like Trump. His political successes in the US have left many bewildered at how he could rise so far on his controversial platforms.

To my mind, by silencing perfectly decent, moderate people (with genuine, honest concerns) and their representatives with intimidation and horrible allegations against their character, it is they who have driven these people further to the fringe to seek representation. Personally, I believe Donald Trump is a consequence of a decade of poor conduct by his political opponents. They have largely themselves to blame.


What's the solution?

Let people speak. Let people discuss. Let people express fears, ask questions, seek answers, find greater understanding. Alienating people does not change people for the better. As we've seen, it only divides people further, pushes them to the fringes and makes the situation worse. Here's how I see it:

- If you simply called someone transphobic for being worried about grown men in the same bathroom as their daughter, you are a part of this problem and are making it worse.

- If you called someone 'Omar Mateen' (the Orlando Shooter) or homophobic for simply supporting traditional marriage, you are a part of this problem and are making it worse.

- If you said that the Brexit vote was simply a vote driven by racism, xenophobia and stupidity, you are a part of the problem and are making things worse.

Stop it.

What's needed is respectful discourse, no matter the topic. Appreciate that people have different values and reach different conclusions for different reasons. If you want to change someone's opinion, try to actually understand their position and how they arrived there, then develop an argument and engage them. But be ready to be challenged, because who knows - their own perspective may even bring you greater clarity on an issue, and open your own mind to new possibilities.


Look, at the end of the day all I want to see is people actually respecting one another. We are all in this together after all, whether we like it or not.

Final thought: sometimes the best way to start changing someone's mind is not to speak, but to listen.

SG


***

I was going to share some thoughts on the influence of Social Media and the loss of nuance upon this larger phenomenon, but frankly this was long enough for any person to suffer through and I dare say others have had the same insights and articulated them better elsewhere.
I still might approach this later but basically: YouTube, Twitter and (to a lesser extent) FaceBook are huge ideological echo-chambers from which, let's face it, it's healthy to take a break every now and then.

UK Blog #3 - Reliving the tale of Sweeney Todd

There's a lot to London. This much, I know.

If London was an Orange, I've been flitting around one single pip, and I haven't even seen it all.

This morning started in Leicester Square, where I picked up my 'London Pass', a prepaid card which costs a bunch but gets you into a whole heap of attractions for free. If you're coming to London (Pete & Mel) check it out because it will save you loads if you intend to do a lot of the typical touristy things.

London Pass in hand, I stumbled upon an M&Ms World. Yes, that's exactly what it sounds like. Imagine the Apple store, but dedicated to M&Ms. You can get custom M&Ms with whatever you want printed on them. For a pretty penny of course, but still! Talk about first world extravagance. I didn't spend any cash there, though I'll admit the had some damn funky M&Ms pyjama pants!

The M&Ms channel the Beatles

Following that, I headed in the direction of Fleet Street because I had a mission to accomplish. It was a lovely walk, passing Waterloo Bridge, the Australian High Commission, Covent Court Markets at Jubilee Hall (amazing food stalls!).

An Australian Marvel ... and the Australian High Commission

Covent Markets, I could have grazed here for days

Good to see the English give credit where credit is due.

And, well, this just seemed funny!

\
From there, I continued until I hit Fleet Street. Being a musical theatre nerd, I was determined to show my love for Sondheim and Sweeney Todd, so I found a Barber Shop and had a haircut - I specifically refrained from getting my hair cut before I came - and then went and found a pie to have for lunch. It's lame, it's very macabre humour, but hey! It's me! Here's proof:

Ok, so it's not very pretty, but neither was the musical, so lay off, okay?

After that, I saw a sign pointing to St Paul's Cathedral, so I set off for same. I am so glad I did because I hadn't necessarily thought to do it. Divine providence perhaps? At any rate, it was such an incredible experience. I could have spent hours there.

St Paul's Cathedral, bathed in the afternoon sun.

The cathedral itself is incredible, and indescribable. The architecture is mind-blowing and seeing it on the television cannot do justice to the immense size, and detail of the structure and its design.

Anybody who has played Assassin's Creed II will have a taste of it (the design, to me at least, appeared quite similar to the Italian cathedrals recreated in the computer game). Believe me though, they're much harder to climb. Even using stairs! Let me explain.

I had the opportunity to climb up to the galleries. The first (internal) Whispering Gallery circles the dome of the cathedral at a height of 30m/257 stairs. From there, you can continue up to the (external) Stone Gallery, a further 23m/119 stairs. If you do this though, you have to continue up to the top gallery because the stairways are very narrow, and one-way only. It's do or die. The top (also external) Golden Gallery is a total of 85m/528 stairs up from the cathedral floor. Now, I'm neither one for stairs nor heights, but I couldn't pass this opportunity up. I started freaking out halfway up to the Golden Gallery, as the stairway structure becomes similar to scaffolding. But I made it to the top! Want proof? Here you go:

"You are here."
Indeed I was!

Oh, and some more proof.

The 360-degree views are amazing, but yes, it's windy up there. And freezing. Quite freezing.

528 stairs later (this time with gravity on my side), I was back on the cathedral floor, where I continued down into the Crypt.

Now, call me dark and dreary and macabre and all that, but I could have stayed down there for days. The Crypt houses the remains of many, but notably Arthur, Duke of Wellington. Now I am not one for relics, which seems to feature a lot in catholicism, but you can't but be moved by the experience.

Within the crypt there is a chapel called the Order of the British Empire Chapel. It is dark and serene. Now, God's omnipresence aside, it was so peaceful to sit in the chapel, read my favourite Psalm and pray.

I was also inspired musically - how could one not be? - and instantly regretted not bringing any manuscript with me. I need to buy some so I can jot down my ideas soon!

Alas I have no photos of the inside of the cathedral as they don't allow you to take photography, but I bought a guidebook so I could help with the memories.

After this remarkable journey, I grabbed a coffee. Well, I grabbed a Starbucks, but as bad as it sounds, it was the nicest coffee I've bought since I've been here. Finding a decent coffee will clearly be a journey in itself!

Then I caught a tube to South Kensington, to head to the Royal Albert Hall where Mel and I are seeing Cirque du Soleil's Quidam, with a couple of her friends. On the way to the RAH though I stopped at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Incredible. I had an hour to spend in there but you could spend days in there and probably not see everything properly. And this is just one museum out of... stacks.

Ah well. Hopefully there'll be time to go back.

For now though, I'm in the RAH cafe, waiting for Mel and Co to arrive.

This is where I sign out. Let me pause and say thank you to all those who have been commenting on these posts, either here or on FB. Thank you for enjoying my journey with me and encouraging me to keep writing. I am loving sharing everything with you as it gives me a chance to reflect.

Grace and peace!
SG

PS. This was this afternoon's functional status of the tube, just to vex those fans of CityRail!

UK Blog #2 - Welcome to London

Wow, so here we go. I'm sitting in a cafe in Leicester Square drinking some pretty bad coffee, and waiting for a nice, hot greasy breakfast to arrive. While I'm here I'm reflecting on my first full day in London, which was yesterday. Well, yesterday in London time. I don't have the brain power to figure out when the hell it was if you're anywhere else.

Bad coffee at Leicester Sq.

I stepped off the plain and cleared Immigration and Customs with relative ease. I guess they like Australians, because despite the fact that the guy behind the desk looked clinically depressed, I made it through with relative ease.

Today's Lesson: Border security officers aren't especially chatty.

Then Mel's beautiful smiling face was waiting for me at the arrival gate and we took a tube (YES, I TOOK A TUBE) to Westminster. Incidentally, the Underground trains aren't anywhere near the size of the Sydney trains. They're cute. Like little red, white and blue caterpillars.

Off at Westminster, we step out of the station and Mel asks me the time. Of course, I go to look at my phone but there's BIG BEN staring me in the face, proudly declaring that it's 10.10pm. A couple of photos of Benny, the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye, then a short (FREEZING) stroll to Tower Bridge, past tower of London, and we had back to Mel's. What an exhilarating night! Seeing all these things in real life, and even all the regular buildings, some of which are so old and beautiful. This is bliss.

Waking up on my first day in London, I'd planned to take it easy (it was my jet-lag recovery day but I wasn't feeling jet-lagged at all! - thank you lorazepam and melatonin) and just go for a wander to a nearby cafe, drink a coffee (perfect because it was raining).

Alas, I had a bit of a freak out at the idea of being in this big, scary city all alone (Mel was at work) so I used my 'recovery day' and the rain as an excuse to stay home. Ah well.

Fortunately, Mel convinced me to come with her to her Bible Study group's social that night (curry and board games - so good). It was a mixed bunch to say the least! Mel and I, two other Aussies (from Perth), two from Northern Ireland, two from South Africa and even a young lady from Tajikistan! All the accents in the room were wonderful, and suffice it to say, it made playing 'Articulate' a bit of a challenge.

The most memorable character of the evening was the South African named Wik. Having worked as an interpreter previously, his English (not to mention his vocab) was astounding. I thought he was English for a while, because his accent was so thorough and proper (think of Hugh Grant in nearly any movie he's ever been in, except with confidence and having lived in SA for twelve months).

All gorgeous people; hoping to see them again at church on Sunday.

Oh, and on the way home we stopped at an ATM and I made my first cash withdrawal and put my hands on a twenty-pound note. How 'bout that!

Anyway, today is Day 2, and I left the house with Mel so that I would actually get out. We parted at the train station and now I have stranded myself in Leicester - nothing for it now but to explore for the rest of the day. Oh, and tonight we are going to see Cirque du Soleil's 'Quidam', which is being performed at the Royal Albert Hall. The Royal Albert Hall!!! Bam!

Let's do this.
SG

UK Blog #1: Goodbye Sydney, Hello Heathrow

You have to be at the airport by 4am for a 6am flight - what do you do?
Well, don't bother going to bed the night before. May as well use that time to pre-prepare your body clock to London time. If you're going to London, that is. If you're not, well, you may as well go back to bed.

So instead I stayed awake and caught a taxi into the International Airport at the most ungodly hour of 3.30am. I didn't think anybody could be perky and chatty at that hour, but nevertheless my taxi driver was full of it. Perk, that is. He came to Australia from Afghanistan twenty-eight years ago, arriving here about the same time I did. In my mind that makes him as Australian as I am. I got to hear his story about how his economics degree wasn't recognised, so he started working as an accountant, with some taxi shifts on the side. Now he works full time as a taxi driver, inspiring mirth into those who'd rather be asleep at that time of the morning. So thank you, friend. You set a good tone for my holiday.

My first experience going through customs and security was uneventful. Well, that said they did point the finger of judgement at my 110g tube of toothpaste. I don't know what they were afraid I was going to do with it - break into the cockpit and give the flight crew a good scrubbin', I guess. Still, to prove I wasn't a terrorist in the fight against tartar, I surrendered my Colgate guessing it would prove rather inconsequential to everyone except Mel, who I'll be meeting (and possibly revolting) in London. This proved to be wrong - more on that soon.

Let me stop here and share some lessons learnt thus far:

1. Don't wait to get hard foreign currency at the airport if you're flying out at stupid o'clock in the morning. The currency exchange places are all closed.
2. Nothing else is open either.
3. Don't try and smuggle your 56-piece swiss army knife aboard an international flight, or any other flight. Still not sure what happened to that young lady, God rest her soul.

Back to the story, where I'm sitting on my A380 (seat 56K) which boasted a cabin crew of 19, with a whopping 15 languages under their belt. Breakfast was served not long after take-off, though since I was trying to adjust to London time (nearing bedtime), I didn't see any problem in having a red wine with my omelette, baked beans and hash browns for breakfast. Though I admit my pallet is still reviling its abuse, the wine did wash down the sleeping tablets rather nicely, and I slept until lunchtime.

Lunchtime came around, in the form of a lamb tangine, which was super good! Unfortunately, something in it didn't quite agree with me, and I spent the rest of the flight periodically dashing to the bathroom to throw up said tangine (photos withheld). Perhaps this was my body's (or my conscience's, or God's) way of telling me not to drink red wine with breakfast. Injury was added to with the insult of not having my toothpaste anymore, so I was able to relive the taste of the delightful tangine all the way to Dubai, some several hours away. I had no problem with the idea of travelling by myself, though I will say that when you're sick and you're all by yourself, it does heighten the sense of vulnerability you feel.

On approach, I got a couple of nice photos of the UAE coastline. Nothing spectacular, unless you're me, in which case it's the first land you've seen in your life that isn't Australia. It was delightful seeing some of the architecture of the houses while we landed, and though the CBD is a far way away, I did see a glimpse of the Burj Khafti from inside the airport.

Which is where I sit now. Thankfully I don't feel crook anymore. I've found my gate (B13 for those interested, probably only my father) and am sitting here drinking a coffee and eating a blueberry muffin. The coffee was purchased from a rather safe looking cafe, which looked like it had a proper barista making proper coffee. I don't need to tell you it's a disappointment, though all credit - it's better than what I was expecting. Probably shouldn't have gotten a large though...

Soon, now that I've found my gate, I'll get up and wander the shops. Advice given to me was to load USD onto a card to use in Dubai, though my cafe only listed prices in AED; a currency I don't have on my card. Wondering if it pulled it out of my USD or if I'll be hit with some whopping penalty fee later on. Needless to say, I'm hesitant to buy anything unless I can pay USD for it.

Ah well, there's nothing for it. I'm going to go for a shop and see if I can't accidentally spend my entire holiday budget in bank fees.

****

So the highlight of my Dutyfree shopping spree in Dubai was the Bounty chocolate milk I found. Chocolate coconut milk. So good. Why is this not in Australia?

I also discovered that in Dubai, you can buy all sorts of medications off the shelf. All I needed was Panadol, but had I needed contraceptive pills, steroid creams, Seretide inhalers, there it was all their for my self-medicating convenience! Hooray!

But I just stuck with the Panadol.

The Dubai to Heathrow leg of the trip was comparably shorter, and nicer. Some Big Bang Theory, and a couple of movies later we were on approach. I finally got around to seeing the movie 'Gravity' with Sandra Bullock. Great movie, though possibly not the best choice as an inflight movie. Nevertheless gravity was working in our favour as we started flying over England.

It was an exhilarating feeling, flying over Europe from Dubai, passing over Kuwait, Iraq, Constantinople, Germany. I saw snow-capped peaks from the air! Until it was dark. Then it was just random collections of lights and I had to guess which places they were. Still, all that excitement couldn't beat seeing the lights of the coast of England through the window as we crossed the English Channel.

While my ancestors came to Aus from various regions of the UK four or five generations ago, there was still a vague sense of 'coming home' excitement which accompanied my arrival. And I do feel a sense of being 'at home' here.

It's nice.

SG

My deal with society

Hello Society.

I propose we strike a deal. It's become apparent over the past few weeks that your state of affairs has, in my humble opinion, taken a turn for the worst.

It seems we live in an age where politics is no longer constructive - parties claw and snipe at each other like rabid dogs, and sadly a lot of that trickles down into the rest of us. I thought we'd seen the depth of the state of things when a PM could be sexualised with some awful dinner menu, but there was worse yet to come.

The lowest point (to date) was when a political commentator's face was photo-shopped to a man raping a dog and broadcast to the entire nation, a pleasure I had the privilege of paying for with my taxes.

I'd hoped that reason, taste and propriety would take a stand and all would be put right - or at least, wrong would be acknowledged. But alas, even the victim's own son would not defend his father's dignity. Quite the opposite.

The fact is, and please don't be offended, that I am happy to part ways. I think we've said what needs to be said to one another.

I'm sure we both agree, however, that there needs to be some level of relationship kept intact - not for any children of course, but for the sake of keeping up appearances. Because I know how much you value appearance.

So here's my proposal.

I will get up, go to work and continue doing my part for my own little corner of the world. I will be paid, and I will in turn pay my taxes. Apart from that, I see little need for us to engage, and I hope you'll agree. I'm sure it will save us both a lot of time and angst!

I hope you don't see this as a cop-out. Maybe it is, but I'm okay with that. Some are built for the more robust relationships, but not me. I tire easily, and probably let things get to me more than they should, which is exhausting.

At any rate, we've had some good times, and I do want to wish you all the best. For now, however, I'm checking out.

Peace.

Avoiding the inevitable

Tonight I realised (realised, read 'admitted') why I sit here night after night on Facebook for a good half hour or so before finally trying to go to sleep.

I am avoiding facing tomorrow.

I am anxious about tomorrow.

There's a lot that could happen; a lot that will happen. Undoubtedly, potential for a lot to go wrong.

And the sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I'll have to face it. So logically, if I don't go to sleep, I won't have to face it, right?

If only that were true. It works for a little while, but eventually tomorrow will be here, and I'll have to face it but without as much sleep.

I'm not sure why I'm worried about tomorrow. It should be pretty straightforward:

• Coffee with a mate
• 4 hours of lectures with a monotonic lecturer (potential for catch-up on sleep, there)
• 1 hour of Aural training (I genuinely love these classes)
• Dinner with my pastor
• Music rehearsal with a friend

Easy. So why am I anxious?

I'm not sure, but even this blog post is another avoidance tactic. I guess it's time to sleep on it.

Something I've learned from an atheist friend

Atheists and non-atheists are very different. That’s obvious. While we may share some views about life and morality, the foundations which underpin these views are very different.

Likewise when it comes to how we find meaning and purpose in our life. We all long to ascribe some form a greater ‘Meaning’ to the 80 years or so with which we are given.

Speaking as a theist (specifically a Christian), I have often struggled to grasp how the atheist manages to find this Meaning. If we are all, in fact, merely time and chance acting on matter, destined to return to the dust and nothing more, then everything (both in the individual and global perspective) can be of no consequence.  If everything is of no consequence, then why would one invest oneself in others? The benefits to either party are brief – whether they are forgotten and irrelevant in 1 year, 10 years, or 100 years, they will be forgotten.

The Bible paints a different picture. It says that everything is relevant, and everything has eternal consequence.

Which party would you expect to be the more charitable, generous, less-self-seeking? The one whose belief system holds that there may not be any greater meaning beyond death, or the one who is convinced that there is?

Recently, I have had the pleasure of making friends with an atheist whose charitable endeavours, compassion and good-will would bring shame to many Christians (myself included). While our views on many things differ significantly, what has stuck me is altruistic nature.

This isn’t because I think atheists cannot be altrustic – I don’t. The question it does raise for me however, is why do many Christians seem to lack the altruism and zeal for ‘making the most of life’ that seem present in many atheists/agnostics? 

I found this question perplexing, but Timothy Keller (in his book The Reason for God, 2009, p.19) makes a rather succinct point which helps explain this.

Christianity not only leads its members to believe people of other faiths have goodness and wisdom to offer, it also leads them to expect that many will live lives morally superior to their own. Most people in our culture believe that, if there is a God, we can relate to him and go to heaven through leading a good life. Let's call this the 'moral improvement' view. Christianity teaches the very opposte. In the Christian understanding, Jesus does not tell us how to live so we can merit salvation. Rather, he comes to forgive and save us through his life and death in our place. God's grace does not come to people who morally outperform others, but to those who admit their failure to perform and who acknowledge their need for Saviour.

Christians, then should expect to find non-believers who are much nicer, kinder, wiser and better than they are. Why? Christians believers are not accepted by God because of their oral performance, wisdom or virtue, but because of Christ's work on their behalf.

That said, does that mean Christians like me don't need to be altruistic, or standing up for the poor and down-trodden? Not at all! Rather, I think that any such acts for Christians, instead of coming from an idea of spiritual or moral atonement, come from a heart responding in thanks to The greatest altruistic act in history - Jesus giving His life for us on the Cross.

So I want to thank my friend for his (unwitting) gift to me. I hope there are other lessons I'll be able to learn from him, but I hope and pray even more that he will one day know that God loves him, and he'll do even more amazing things for others because the amazing things that God has done for him.

God doesn't want me to be Happy

Every now and again you're struck by an inconvenient truth. This one hit me a few years ago, but like many of life's harder lessons, I need to be reminded of it time and time again.

The lesson is this:

God doesn't want me to be happy.

Well, to clarify, God's primary purpose for my life is not my happiness.

Like many things in Christianity, this message runs counter-cultural to the 'me-focused' world of today. Most of our contemporaries would say if something isn't making you happy - a job, a relationship, a marriage etc - leave it and find something that does.

Recently I am finding myself having to make a very difficult personal decision. I have two options.

The first is pursuing something which I feel might make me happy, and we're talking a long-term happiness thing - not the fleeting 'wow I've just eaten half a block of chocolate' happiness.
Unfortunately, it still concerns what is (in my head at least) a theological grey area in terms of morality. Certainly, I feel I can't pursue this with a clear conscience before God.

The second option is the safer option - God will have no objection, but I'll be saying goodbye to that particular chance for happiness. Not only that, but there will be a number of long-term negative emotions which will accompany the decision.

I know which decision I would like to make (duh!) but I am reminded that God's chief concern isn't for our Happiness, but for our Holiness.

I believe He grieves our pain with us, certainly, but what He seeks most is for us to conform to the image of Christ and his righteousness. So, I guess that means that the 'But this will make you happy' argument isn't enough to justify a decision you can't make on a clear conscience.

Besides, God does promises that the road that leads to Life is narrow, and the gate is small. Perhaps this suggests that the right decisions will be the harder ones?

Or, to put it another way, as one of my best friends articulated in an email to me,

...if we’re being refined like gold, then it’s got to be hot.

 I still have a lot of thinking to do, but I thought this was a milestone worth sharing.

Encouragement, but at what cost?

'Encouragement' is a word that Christians throw around a lot. And I mean a lot.

Like with respect to  many terms or expressions in 'pop-Christianese', I think half of those who use it understand it half as sure as they think they do, and sure enough the other half probably use it twice as often as they ought.

Encouragement itself is not a bad thing. Certainly, it would be great if there were less talking about it and more 'doing it'. Unfortunately though, I think we need to be mindful of where it comes from.

I wonder if anyone has ever said to you, brimming with enthusiasm, 'I'm just so encouraged by how God is working in your life.' Maybe it's come after you got the you were chasing, or in response to how you've been serving in the church.

That's great, and definitely reason to take hope in God's goodness toward that particular individual.

But sometimes, this isn't always the case. Sometimes the encouragement we glean from others comes at great personal cost to them. It may have come out of a long-term emotional battle, or from making what they felt was the right decision in a tough situation even though it nearly killed them inside to do it.

Having struggled with depression for a long time, it's certainly been a roller-coaster of ups and downs. And God has certainly blessed me with opportunities to love and serve others through it all. Along the way, when sharing my story with loving, well-meaning Christians, I have oft encountered the remark,

"Wow, I am just so encouraged by how God is working in your life."

And hey, that's great. I am glad that you can be inspired and all - motivated on to a greater purpose and greater good, maybe even riding an emotional wave as you go - but where has that come from?

You haven't had to endure the internal angst which has lead up to that point, or possibly the heartbreak that follows. Why should I have to endure this pain so that others can be encouraged?

I realise I sound very self-centred, and I think at some level I am, though I want to suggest that encouragement shouldn't end there. Maybe the person whose story has encouraged you needs encouragement back, so that they themselves can keep striving towards that greater good and purpose with you.

--UPDATE--

Sorry folks, I should point out that this isn't in response or directed at any person or persons in particular. It's something that has been percolating in my head for a number of months, finally put to paper. Please don't look for any hidden subtext.

Misery has loved company

It's true. And today marks the last 'Eternal Hope' meeting at Moore College. All of the students have finished their exams for the year, and many are starting to head off this weekend.

While I still have a month to go at AIM, I'm taking this opportunity to reflect on the past year and the blessing that EH has been to my time here at college.

EH, for any new readers among us, is a group I established here at college based on a ministry of the same name that runs at my church.

The idea was to create a meeting place for college residents to get together to share struggles, battles with loneliness, difficult life events, and anything else which might be burdening the heart. Amidst the facade of 'having it all together' (which sadly is all to common in Christian environments), it was a place where people could be real with each other - weep with those who weep.

Today, we are getting together over coffee for a time of thanksgiving and prayer, and we have a lot to be thankful to God for, such as:

• The strength to meet and love one another through the hard times
• The strength to serve one another, and vision to look out for each other
• Opportunities to pray for each other, and the larger college community
• The reassurance that we are loved by our Christian brothers and sisters (and by God), no matter where we're at
  

I want to say thank you to everyone who has prayed for us as a group - I hope that in your prayers you'll also rejoice with us in the progress and successes that individual members have had throughout the year.

It has been a huge privilege to meet with this amazing group of people, and I want to thank each one of them for there courageousness to be vulnerable, their humility in letting us serve them, and their grace in responding in love to each and every person in the group. I am so grateful for each one of them, and for how they have made the group what it is today.

My future here at Moore College remains unknown - I am waiting to see if there will be rooms for Uni Boarders next year. Regardless of wherever God may take me, and whether or not I will be a part of it next year, I hope you will pray with me that EH will continue at Moore College, and provide a safe shelter full of love, grace, compassion and kindness, all to the glory of God. SG

Finding that Joy (...down in my heart)

Last Sunday at church, my pastor started a new sermon series on Joy, and we ran with that theme last night at bible study.

He kicked off the study with a song - a remake of an old Christian 'classic' called
'I've got the Joy (Down in my Heart)'. Here's this new version that he played.




The group's reaction to the song was mixed: some said it made them want to cry. Others said they wanted to cut their wrists. (Personally, if anything was going to drive me to find relief in pain, it would be the original version, made famous by Sunday schools everywhere, and infamous by Rod and Todd Flanders on The Simpsons.)

I, on the other hand, loved it. It did make me want to cry, but in a cathartic way, because it seemed to articulate my own experience of Joy that the Bible talks about.

It's easy to have joy and rejoice in the good times, but there are many instances where the Bible speaks of Joy in the context of suffering. Despite trying times, Christians throughout the ages have rejoiced in God.

For many years, hampered in no small way by my own struggles with depression and other things, I doubted my identity in Christ, my assurance of Salvation as a Christian, because I never 'felt' this overwhelming joy that seemed to be a staple in the lives of other Christians. I understood the gospel, I understood that I had been rescued from my sin by Jesus, and that I was awaiting a grand inheritance in the life to come (Ephesians 1-2), but any positive feelings were often suppressed by my own experiences. Did this mean I hadn't really 'gotten' the gospel, and something was missing in me as a Christian?

Looking at this song, I think it clearly paints the message I am trying to remember every day. The writer has taken the original lyrics and melody which still hold their original meaning, but by placing them in a more solemn and harrowing harmonic context, we can re-examine and understand the lyrics in a whole new way. And gain an amazing appreciation for them as we do so!

The lyrics represent the truth of the Gospel. The harmonic context (of both versions of the song) represent one's circumstances: either bright and happy, or difficult and driving to despair.

The great thing is that no matter our circumstances, the truth of the Gospel and our assurance of salvation in Christ remain unchanged - and these give us reason to hope.

Who Jesus is, and who we are in Him, give us reason to have joy, and rejoice. Even if it takes all our strength to utter such simple words.

Because sometimes it does. And that's ok. God understands, and He loves us all the same. SG


I would love to hear others' thoughts about this song. Leave them in the comments below.

The Plight of Perfectionism

I'm a perfectionist. I have been for most of my life. Sometimes even bordering on OCD when it comes to certain things.

I've heard a few ideas on perfectionism, and the one that particularly intrigues me is one which suggests that rather than simply trying to be high achievers, we perfectionists are more focused on the fear of failure. That's certainly true of me: I am terrified of the thought of failing at something, and even though the high marks which often accompany perfectionism are gratifying, there is always the nagging thought which says, 'You should have done better.'

I am also a terrible procrastinator. I could organise my way out of any dilemma, but if procrastination were currency, I'd be metaphorically rolling in it.

Image courtesy of:

I once heard a helpful idea which tries to link the two - perfectionism and procrastination. Basically, a lot of procrastinators procrastinate because they are afraid of failing at whatever they keep putting off. Again, this is certainly true of me.

For instance, at the moment, I should be working on my composition assignment. I love music, and I love writing music, but because I'm so afraid that what I come up with is going to be potentially offensive on a cellular level, I am sitting here writing my ideas about procrastination instead.

Incidentally, this makes you, dear reader, complicit in my procrastination. Thanks for being a part of it.

In the past few months I've formed my own theory about why we procrastinate, and the different ways people work out there perfectionist tendencies. I'm sure these have been postulated before by others, but I've never heard them, and I've come up with these on my own, so I'm not going to cite anyone and I'm not going to feel guilty about it.

If one's perfectionism stems from fearing failure, I think people respond in either one of two ways:

1. We procrastinate - we put things off because we're terrified of doing a bad job. Usually, when we get to it we do it well, but it's often a rush-job and could have been ten times better.

OR

2. We obsess over it - we put so much time and effort into it that it consumes us. Take the pianist who, to you and me, is amazing, but is still so insecure about his performance that he practices hours and hours and hours a day. The result is that he is a virtuoso in his art (likely in everyone's opinion but his own), but is his joy in his art dampened by his tireless pursuit to flee failure?

I'm certainly in the first category. I'd like to be in the second, because at least I'd have something to show for my stress.

What about you? Do you procrastinate? Which category would you assign yourself to? Do you work out perfectionism in a different way? What strategies do you use to avoid procrastination?

Appreciate any thoughts and feedback - this procrastination is killing me.

Although not as much as my composition, which I suppose I'd better try to get back to.

SG

Breaking News: Harmony Lecturer maimed by Parallel Octave.

A Harmony Lecturer has been seriously injured, caught off guard by a stray Parallel Octave created by one of his students. Only Sub-dominant injuries were sustained, thanks to quick action by a number of students who were Passing Notes at the time.

The court is expected to hear that while there was no apparent Motive, the student ought to have Anticipated the move,  and should consequently receive a Suspension.

The student was believed to be under the influence of a Prolonged Tonic.

Are you as messed-up as I am?

Something that sucks

Well, Life sucks sometimes. And that's completely normal.

Unfortunately, that normality is one of the things that can suck.

For some of us, sometimes can become a lot of the time, which can in turn become most of the time. It's a progression familiar to anyone who's done the K10 Depression screening tool at the GP's office. Yet somehow, ticking the boxes and scoring high doesn't seem to capture the enormous difficulty in facing another day at work, or that assignment, that communal meal, or even that coffee date with your best friend.

Sometimes, just getting out of bed and eating something is an achievement worth celebrating.

We rarely celebrate however, because we often suffer alone. Looking around, we see a community of people who have their lives together, which seems obvious from the way they act. They're not tormented by the same struggles of life, death, career, relationships, marriages, broken relationships, broken marriages, irrational anxiety, depression, their relationship with God, their identity, their sexuality, the expectations they're trying to live up to, and the dysfunctional coping mechanisms they resort to as they try to hold it all together.

That's an exhausting list. It was exhausting to write. And some of us are living a list similar to that every day.

With that list can come the constant feelings of isolation, loneliness and inadequacy (and even bigger issues such as depression and other mental illness). Our community can feel like an intimidating and alienating place, despite the fact that it is made up of wonderful people who, like us, more than likely don’t have it all together.

God knows this is a heavy burden to bear, and we long for a friend to help shoulder the load. But most of us will rarely ask for help. If a loved one has the good grace to enquire, we're more than prepared to dodge the real questions with a humourous remark or a furtive change of subject.

Sometimes it's because we think if we ignore our problems, they'll go away on their own. Most of the time we're afraid to be seen as weak. Messed-up. Too 'high-maintenance' for our friends to bother with. Even though we're usually not asking for answers or advice - just to be loved and cared for despite our brokenness, and reminded that we have a Hope what lies beyond this life.

Something that's good

For those of us living in the Christian community, we have amazing opportunities to love, share and pray for one another (not to mention those outside our walls). But we also have the opportunity to meet together and be reminded that we're not alone in our struggles, and that we can share our burdens in a safe environment, encourage each other from the word, pray for each other, and find out practical ways to help support each other.

Since I arrived in Sydney, I've been greatly blessed by a ministry at my church, which I'm hoping to replicate in the college residence where I live. The ministry is a great place where we:

• Meet together in an informal, confidential and non-judgmental environment
• Be refreshed and encouraged by God's Word
• Share as little or as much as we want
• Are prayed for
• Remember that we aren't alone in our earthly struggles
• Ask how we can practically love, support and serve one another.

I am hoping to replicate this ministry in the residential college where I live, very soon. For those of you who pray, please pray that it might be a blessing to those who need it, and that the residents would seek to love and serve one another within the group, but also (and more importantly) outside the group.

SG

Seven things to remember when moving to Sydney

A friend of mine moving from Townsville (North QLD) to Sydney recently asked me if I, having previously survived the move, had any tips for her. She has lived in Townsville all her life so it's a daunting prospect.

I shared with her some of the things I have learned in the process, and decided it would be worth blogging in case anybody else finds it of use.


1. Find a Christian support/social network quickly.

Depending on the number of people you know in Sydney (I knew a grand total of about four), this can be easy or hard. Try and lock yourself into a church sooner rather than later.

2. Don't look for the perfect church.

Because, a) you'll never find it, and b) you really are spoilt for choice down here. There are lots of quality churches and you could spend ages looking. In the end, I didn't visit all the recommendations on my list as it would have taken weeks. I found one I was happy with and stuck with it. Remember that you can always go looking again later if it turns out to be not what you thought.

3. Sydney isn't Townsville

Obvious, I know, but the atmosphere is very different down here. People are very busy and always doing things. Fortunately that's a culture thing, and you're free to move at your own pace. Don't let yourself get swept into the current if you're not ready.

4. Sydney people aren't Townsville people

A friend and mentor of mine mentioned to me before I moved down that Sydney people act like they've got it all together. We Queenslanders are usually more honest when life isn't going so well, but you don't hear this so much with the Sydney-ites. As a result, it's easy to feel like you're the only person in the entire city whose life is screwed up, but it's not true. I have also found it to be harder to form relationships where you can create that dynamic of sharing burdens, but leading by example is a good tactic here - if you're open and honest with people, they're more inclined to be open and honest with you.

5. Friendships take time

When I first moved to Townsville, it took about five years before I finally had very, very close friends, and of course they are what I miss most about Townsville. It can be a scary prospect when you consider that it might take another five years to grow those kind of friendships again, but you have to be patient.

6. Don't be afraid to reinvent yourself

If you've lived in somewhere all your life, you've probably lived under a whole heap of expectations from family, friends, the church, etc. These can be great things which help make you the person you are, but finding independence and moving to a new place can be a great opportunity to make changes and be who you want to be. The people you'll meet will have no prior impressions or expectations of you, so the only person you should aim to please is God.

7. Remember: Nothing is permanent

If you get down here, and it's not what you thought it would be, you can always go home. A lot of people might view this as a personal failing, but rather than thinking of it as 'You weren't right for Sydney', think 'Sydney wasn't right for you'. You will always have people back home who will love you and welcome you back with open arms. This is a healthy perspective to keep, and will hopefully alleviate some of the pressure of the move.



What do you think? What would you be afraid of if you had to make such a big move? What have you done that's helped? What would you do differently next time?

SG

The first audition is always the worst

      Oh please, let it be so.


I wonder if Elton John remembers his first audition. I wonder if it was messy, awkward and embarrassing, or if it sparkled with the confidence and self-assurance that it takes to wear whole outfits just as sparkly.

I had my first audition this week, and while it was an experience I'd sooner forget, I'm sure I'll remember it for a long time to come.

To cut a long story short, I was made to do an impromptu 'audition' to get into a Ensemble class for the semester (a class made up of small groups in different musical formats). Despite the fact that I'm a Composition major, and was hoping for the vocal ensemble (where I could comfortably blend in with some other baritones and sway in all the right places), they wanted to put me into a group with Contemporary Performance majors. But they had to check I was up to scratch.

Thus ensued my unprepared, unrehearsed, nerve-wracked piano and singing audition, and, after bumbling through a rather awkward recital of 'Georgia on my mind' on the keys, I was asked to sing something.

I. Had. Nothing.

Nothing.

Drawing blanks.

Good grief, this is so embarrassing! He must think I'm such a twerp.

"Um, what would you like me to sing?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Anything you want," said he.

Thanks for your help. 

"Like what?" I persisted, silently pleading with God for either divine inspiration or a fatal aneurysm.

"Well, what you normally sing. What do you sing when you have a gig on a Friday night?"

Are you serious? I've never had a gig in my life! At least none that somebody's enjoyed so much they felt they needed to pay me for it! "Oh. Ok. Um..."

Nothing.

In hindsight, I could have sung a Disney song. I've done a couple of those at weddings. Or a Casting Crowns song - I had some good feedback on those when I'd performed at special church services.

Nothing. Nada. My head was as blank as the expression on my face.

And so, grasping at the first and only thing I could think of, that's how I came to sing 'Advance Australia Fair' for my audition into a Contemporary Performance class.

What. A dork.

If the bloke assessing me was laughing on the inside he deserves a damn medal for keeping himself composed. I don't know what he would have found funnier: my unrehearsed, off-pitch singing or the fact that the nervous fiddling with my necklace as I sang probably looked remarkably like holding my hand to my chest in a dedicated show of patriotism.

Please, just let the ground open up and swallow me whole...

Strangely enough, instead of my enrolment being cancelled on the spot, I was accepted into the class.

(As a pianist, fortunately...)

So now, whenever I hear our beloved National Anthem, I know I'm going to remember my first ever audition in the big, bad music world. And cringe.

Oh hell. The Olympics are on this year.

I'd better steer clear of the swimming.

Pachelbel Rant

A friend of mine shared this on Facebook the other day.

While I may be a little late to the party on this one, as a cellist' I found it resonated with a certain tone of Truth.

To infinity and beyond

What an optimistic title to this blog.

That's so unlike me...

Still, it captures pretty well what this post is about.

If I had wings like this, perhaps I'd've done this sooner.

January 2012 marks the start of something new for me. I have pulled up my roots in Townsville, and am currently on my way south, as I relocate to Sydney.

I've had the pleasure of spending the last nine years in Townsville, having moved there straight after finishing high school to study and then work as a pharmacist. I will always look back on these years as a huge blessing - the beginnings of independence and getting to know myself as a person, and really coming to terms with the meaning and implications of my faith.

I'll always look back on these years with joy and thankfulness, not least of all because of the people who made it happen. I left a lot of friends behind, but took with me treasured memories. And I take comfort from the fact that, for those of us who are united together in Christ, there are no Goodbyes.

So so long, Townsville, and thanks for all the fish. You were great, but it is time for a sea-change. One can only stand their soul being ground away in the public service for so long before something snaps. And my something did snap. So it must be time to try pursue something I actually enjoy!

And so to Sydney it is, where I'm aiming to work part-time as a pharmacist while I go back to uni and study music (composition and music production, to be precise). Yes, I'm petrified, and yes; it's a far-fetched goal, possibly chasing after an even-further-fetched dream, and no; I have no idea what I'll possibly do with it at the end, but...

Well, actually, that's it. That's the truth of the matter. Still, it's worth a shot.

While studying, I'll have the pleasure of living at Moore Theological College, in the single men's residence. This, I must say, I am really looking forward to: Halls of Residence are petri dishes well suited for breeding (among other things) great friendships.

And since I'm taking my coffee machine, I'm hoping it'll give me a head start.

My New-Year Resolutions

So Happy New Year, and all that.

The start of 2012 means a lot of different things to different people. For me, the year ticking over means it's probably time for another blog post.

Don't get confused. This post shouldn't be misinterpreted as some kind of New Year's Resolution to start blogging more regularly. It's not. Though any rational individual might take comfort from this fact, as it means it's more likely to survive past the first twenty minutes of January.

I have made a few resolutions this year. When I started writing this blog post I had two. Now I have three. And no; 'blogging more regularly' didn't just sneak in there. Incidentally, I was also going to include 'Be Optimistic' on my list, but excluded it after I decided that was probably too optimistic.

My first resolution... Hang on I forgot. No, that's right. My first resolution is to

Read my Bible every day.


Even if it's just a chapter. Or a bit of a chapter. Or a portion of a bit of a chapter. The point is, I need to make more of an effort. Even if the resolution fails to reach optimum potency and I manage once a week, that'll still be an improvement on this past year, and I'm glad to report that at Luke Chapter 5, so far so good. I decided to start with Luke's Gospel as a refresher course on the God-man Jesus - His life, His teaching and the amazing thing He did for us on the cross at Calvary. The centre of the Christian faith (and my relationship with God) begins with Jesus, so my resolution probably should, too.

Resolution number two is to

Stop being so self-deprecating


I've always been my harshest critic, but rather than leading to self-improvement, it drives me to despair. Rather than being inspired by people who are better than me, my gut reaction is one of 'What's the point? Leave it to them.' And I give up. Not quite the ANZAC Spirit famed in Australian History. So I hope to change this, and let inspiration fuel me rather than cut me down. The truth is, there will always be people around you who are stronger, faster, smarter, more-talented, funnier, Godlier, charismatic and better-looking than you are (I'm stopping this endless list here as it's starting to get depressing), so if that gets you down, you're going to be disappointed for the long haul.

Finally, resolution number three is to

Get healthy healthier

Yes, I know this is frightfully generic and cliche, but I'm a pretty generic kind of guy. I managed to start some gym action late last year, which in turn made me feel guilty about what I was eating (let's face it: guilt is one HELL of a motivator). Continuing gym on my new budget may be a little tricky, so I'm going to adjust my plans a little. Food-wise, the goal is portion control, and since I'll be living in the Halls of Residence at Moore College this year, I'm expecting the incentive to be baked into the food. Exercise-wise, 30 minutes a day of SOMEthing that's not sitting around on my butt, grazing. (I may come from cattle-country, but the similarities have to stop somewhere.) If there are any other Moore students who might happen to be reading this, looking for an exercise-buddy, I'll motiviate you if you help motivate me (use of cattle-prods permissible only in extreme circumstances).

So that's the plan. 2012 is the start of a whole new life for me, so hopefully some (long-overdue) positive changes in areas of health, self-perception and God-life will be well-received, and make it through to 2013.

Or at least into February.

Tautologies are great, or they're not.

I discovered something the other day - I love tautologies.


You might never have heard of a tautology, but you probably hear the sneaky little suckers on a daily basis.


For example:

I'll see you when I see you.

That's a tautology, or as Google's Dictionary puts it, 

A statement that is true by necessity, or by virtue of its logical form.

Why do I like tautologies? Probably because they're little packets of truth, impervious to any attempt to disprove them.

What are some of your favourite tautologies? Share them in the Comments section. I might publish the best in my next post.

But don't hold your breath.

It'll happen when it happens.