Friar's Balsam

Getting on with it

2011-11-24T02:31:00.001+09:00

My life at Otago has settled into a pattern - walk down to the university in the morning. Sit at my desk, read, drink coffee, read, eat a sandwich for lunch, read more, drink coffee, read, catch the bus back up hill. Very easy. So - I do have a desk. Or at least 9 candidates have the use of 4 desks but being peaceful people we can resolve a resource shortage amicably. The juggling act revolves round not everyone being on campus all at once.

Our office (and the MA students who have the adjoining office) until we move "soon" is in the Music Department studios. Formerly the Radio New Zealand studios in Albany Street the building has now been taken over by the university as part of its great eastwards campus expansion.

These studios are for Contemporary Music Performance. Down the corridor from us is a "Vocal Room". But so far it's been a very quiet room. Maybe it only sings in the evenings. There is also a "Contemporary Rock Waiting Room." I wouldn't have thought of contemporary rock as prepared to sit down and wait. If it waits too long it won't be contemporary.

Nearly on stream

2011-11-16T16:10:00.001+09:00

I have the magic ID card and can use the library. This is progress. But it still takes a few days to get security access loaded onto my card. And then I will get a desk. In the meantime I'm sitting in the library and reading. Currently Marc Gopin's Holy War, Holy Peace: How Religion can bring Peace to the Middle East.

Getting enrolled

2011-11-14T17:32:00.001+09:00

Things have changed since 1975-1977 when I was last enrolled as a fulltime student at Otago. Now it's computerised. But the computer that produces the ID cards can't do that today since the computer which enrolled me only talks to it at night time. Tomorrow the ID card machine will know me. And then other things will start happening - library access for a start.

Dunedin in the spring is full of rhododendrons and other blossom. My daily walk down through the botanic gardens takes me through these and many more.

Back to School

2011-11-12T18:27:00.001+09:00

I've returned to student life at my alma mater, Otago University. I heard yesterday that I've been admitted as a candidate for PhD - to write a thesis on some aspect of contemporary Franciscan peace making. Otago University has NZ's only peace and conflict studies centre. It's great to be back here. The university is much bigger, but still with many recognisable views and paths, each with memories.
Researching and writing a PhD thesis seems a massive mountain - I've no idea where the track through and over that mountain will lead.

Milano

2011-05-12T23:49:00.000+09:00

Thursday 12 May, 9 am

Arrived in Milan yesterday en route to Assisi. This is where most of the long haul flights come in – and Singapore to Milan at 12 hours is certainly long haul. Made the most of the in flight entertainment concert channel to watch opera. The Valencia Gotterdamerung (I saw their Rheingold also inflight a few months previously) hi-tech, video screens, Wotan as a currency trader – but a very traditional Brunnhilde built along traditional lines. Then the Salzburg Festival of about 5 years ago Don Giovanni – modern dress, running round in the woods, hiding behind trees. Brunnhilde couldn’t have managed that (either the running round or the hiding behind trees) but the Mozart cast, and managed to keep singing at the same time. And finally about half of Lulu – also from the Salzburg festival – before landing in Milan.

First impressions. Who are these elegantly dressed, coiffured and made up people standing round the arrivals area at 6am? The airline employees of course. Second impression – in Italy there’s always something closed for repairs, or “work in progress” and the exit I was heading for from the terminal was such a case.

Arrived at the hotel I had made an internet reservation for (51 Euros a night) – but once I started cluttering up their “elegant and spacious lobby” with my luggage they told me I was staying at another hotel run by the same company, fortunately just round the corner. So here I am in the “Hotel Club” in my “simple yet elegant” room, being just that – simple and elegant. But no matter how hard I try to be elegant I remain among the worst dressed in Milan. Tourists can be spotted from a long distance.

Sightseeing – the usual things for me. The Duomo – and the climb to the roof. The lift? No thanks, I’ll take the stairs, they’re cheaper. A sprinkling of churches. Two big saints (Ambose =Ambrogio and Charles Borromeo) and a sprinkling of smaller ones.

And then La Scala. The 12 Euro gallery seats are sold on the day of the performance. First – at 1pm you queue for the opportunity to have your name added to a list. The first 140 or so are lucky, others might be if there are cancellations. The second test is then to return at 5:30pm and join the crowd while the names on the list are bellowed out. If you manage to hear your name over the traffic and general chaos you then elbow your way to the front – “scusi! scusi!”, collect a slip of paper, and then join the queue for the box office and after that opens you wait to hear your number called, then finally you are admitted to the box office where for 12 Euro you receive an actual ticket. Those who just missed out hang about because after all this there might still be a few tickets remaining.

Two women had – according to those just in front of me – pushed their way into the 1 pm queue, resulting a dramatic argument for five minutes or so. What passion to bring to the desire to see opera! It was splendid enough theatre joining these queues and if I had been unlucky and not got a ticket I would not have been disappointed too much. The performance was Turandot – a lively performance with inventive staging and an almost constantly moving set. The cheap gallery seats are small and cramped and I was squashed between a rather wide man on one side and a pillar on the other. Suffering from jet lag I was near sleep at times but the long intervals were a chance to stretch and drink coffee.

Now on the fast train to Florence before taking the slow train from there to Assisi.

India - the final leg

2011-04-29T23:00:00.000+09:00

Bangalore Airport, Friday 29 April, 6:30 pm.

Am now waiting for my international connection on Singapore Airlines to take me back to Australia. Well – I’m waiting for the check-in to open at 8pm, for an 11pm departure. My fellow travellers, Peter and Gabriel, insisted on seeing me off from Delhi airport even though they then needed to go back into New Delhi for their overnight train to Varanasi before heading to Nepal. I’m sure they pleased not to be carrying my bag anymore, and I am certainly grateful that they did. How could I travel more lightly? Did I really need the 4 sets of hot-weather clothing and the 2 sets of cold-weather clothing? I wore them, and appreciated having clean clothes every day. Did I need the camera tripod? It helped me take some good low light mountain shots, but I could have improvised. Did I need the travelling set of medicines? Some of them were useful.

Our final morning we had breakfast in one of the kinds of places frequented by back-packers all over the world, and with much the same sort of international breakfast menu. We then wandered the narrow lanes in Paharganj, too narrow even for an auto-rickshaw, as store-keepers were opening for the day and small single-room neighbourhood temples were offering the morning puja. We looked in one and I was struck by the atmosphere of calm cleanness. The priest did his best to explain who the deities enshrined there were, while a woman gently and lovingly washed one of the statues.

Thursday’s arrival was uneventful. The security in Leh included yet a further frisking while leaving the terminal for boarding the plane. We also had to identify our luggage piece by piece and match it with luggage receipts before it was loaded onto the plane. I was entertaining a number of disasters, none of which eventuated. When Korean friend made the plane reservation there was confusion over my name, and so my ticket had me as CHRISTOPHER /MR. And in the confusion of checking in in Leh my much lugged about bag, labelled in my name, was checked in on one of the Koreans’ tickets. When surrounded by soldiers toting automatic weapons it’s easy to imagine what might go wrong.

The flight out was spectacular as we zig-zagged our reverse path out through the mountains.

Travel from Delhi Airport to New Delhi Station was in the air-conditioned comfort of the newly opened airport express. A lot of Delhi seems to be under construction, as if preparing for some major international event. Well – if it wasn’t finished in time for the Commonwealth Games last year, then perhaps it will be ready for whatever’s next. Emerging from the metro station there was a total absence of taxi touts. Where are they all we said to each other. We walked a bit further and suddenly they appeared. We eventually haggled our way through a succession of auto-rickshaw drivers, practicing the technique of walking away and waiting for them to follow with reduced offers. Delivered in Paharganj we found a hotel, haggled over the rate, dropped our baggage and went out exploring. The National Gandhi Museum is not one of the major tourist attractions, but its simplicity and its devotion to preserving the teaching of Gandhi were a powerful evocation of his spirit. It preserved not only his teaching, but also seemingly every item ever used by him. Dentures, sandals, nail-clippers, ear-wax removers and two of his teeth were just some. But the powerful witness was given by the blood-stained clothing he was wearing at the time of his assassination. Nearby, at Raj Ghat, was the place of his cremation.

We then decided to walk to the Red Fort. On the map it didn’t seem far, but it was near 45 minutes of walking alongside a busy highway. Even the taxi and auto-rickshaw drivers gave up on us, realising how these crazy foreigners were intent on demonstrating that it was not only mad dogs and Englishmen who would go out in the midday sun, but also Koreans and New Zealander.

The narrow lanes of Chandni Chowk, west of the Lahore Gate of the Red Fort, are crowded with markets. The section we explored was the place for dental instruments, fireworks and ball-bearings. The nearby Jama Masjid is a huge mosque, beautifully built by the Shah Jahan in the 17th century. Nearby is a Jain temple, with a bird hospital. (Perhaps we too could establish one at one of our friaries?). The Red Fort is large but nowhere near as impressive as Agra’s Red Fort (also the same Shah Jahan – of Taj Mahal fame). On a hot day we could imagine life here when the many water-ways and fountains were operating, and the shah and his family could bath in rose-scented water. Such thoughts prompted the desire for iced-coffee, and after a frantic auto-rickshaw drive to Connaught Place we eventually found just that, before an easy walk back to the hotel in Paharganj (the word “hotel” perhaps suggests something like the Hilton with crisp cotton sheets, spacious lounges and lobbies, obsequious staff – none of which describe the Hotel Arupat, although it was perfectly clean and adequate, and also popular with many of the backpackers who wash up in Delhi.

Leh to Delhi

2011-04-28T10:53:00.000+09:00

Thursday 28th, 7am

We went to Leh airport yesterday morning for our Air India flight back to Delhi, but the flight was cancelled because of a pilot strike. We were re-scheduled on Jet Airways the following day. An extra day in Leh rather than the noise and chaos of Delhi was no loss. Now we are waiting for our departure, already delayed from 7:25 to about 8:00 am. Check-in was pure chaos, mixed with intensive security screening (2 separate x-ray checks, 3 personal scans and frisks), bureaucracy (each scanned bag individually tagged, numbered and written by hand in a register) and a check-in procedure which took about 10 minutes for each of the three people in our party. Jet Airways had a poster for their staff, but in full view of passengers, exhorting their staff to make eye contact with “guests” since “eye contact exudes warmth and sincerity”. How about trying warmth and sincerity itself? And what’s wrong with us being called passengers?

The last day in Leh was a gentle wandering round the markets. Lunch at a multi-ethnic restaurant with a menu including Tibetan, Nepalese, Indian, Korean, Chinese, Italian, Russian and Israeli food. The proprietor was Nepalese, and his uncle married to a Korean woman. Always ready to try Korean food as it takes shape in different countries I ordered sujebi (it’s a soup of small dough strips or shapes), which came with the hottest kimchi I’ve ever encountered – made with a locally grown radish, cabbage and ginger).

We seem to be ready for boarding.

Leh - final day

2011-04-27T01:10:00.000+09:00

Tuesday 26 April

The final full day in Leh – and stricken down by a touch of Delhi belly (or whatever the local equivalent is) I have been resting all day. It’s spring here and people are preparing for summer crops; digging out gardens, watering the soil. Store keepers are cleaning and painting their premises, preparing for the summer influx of tourists. But I prefer it like this, quiet and with most of the tourist traps closed. But next time I should have warmer clothing.

The skies have been perfectly clear, dark clean blue, bright sun. This afternoon some cloud came in and a sudden gust of wind blew up a dust storm.

The first day it was a struggle to climb up to my second storey guesthouse room but with 24 hours rest I was able to get about and by yesterday morning sufficiently acclimatised to be able to start walking and even climbing without getting short of breath. Leh is on the side of a hill, and so any walking involves going up and coming down. We had an early morning climb to the Shanti Stupa, built by Japanese monks as part of a movement for world peace; then after wandering round the market took a taxi up to the vertiginous heights of Namgyal Tsemo Gompa and then a slide down the mountain to the Leh Palace.

People here are certainly fit and clamber round as agilely as mountain goats.

The “Oriental Guest House” is a friendly place, run by a large family who spend the day pottering round – cleaning, preparing the garden, carrying children, cooking. And a grandfather who occupies himself sitting in the sun, spinning his prayer wheel and generally keeping an eye on things. It sprawls over three traditional style houses. We are in the cheap rooms – about $5 per night with shared bathroom promising running hot and cold but more usually dribbling warm and very cold. But that’s no hardship when you can lie in bed and look out at the Himalayas. In any case, water is scarce here and we shouldn’t waste it. In the same ecological spirit we are offered the use of a traiditional Ladakhi toilet – a hole in the floor, falling into a chamber below – open to the outside and from where the farmers take their manure.

From here we fly tomorrow to Delhi, back to noise and chaos.

Leh

2011-04-24T19:58:00.000+09:00

Sunday April 24th, 4pm.

We flew into Leh from Delhi, crossing increasingly jagged mountain peaks and making a landing which required zigzagging over mountain passes. Here it’s 3500 metres above sea level – the highest I’ve ever been except in a pressurised aeroplane of course. Spend the first day resting is what the books tell you and they are right. Even the effort of walking up 2 storeys to get to my room in the guest house is more than enough exertion and leaves me short-breathed. There’s a lot to see just by walking round here but for now the magnificent views from my window of the Himalayas are plenty enough and call for no more exertion than keeping my eyes open.

Leh is a popular back-packers destination in the summer season, but now, in early spring, the streets are deserted, and most of the restaurants and guest houses still “closed for winter”. It’s easy to greet the other tourists you see in the streets since the same faces keep coming round.

Time to rest again.

Agra - Delhi

2011-04-24T06:41:00.000+09:00

Sunday 24 April, 3am

(and I’m totally confused where I should be liturgically here – perhaps halfway between those who do evening vigils of the resurrection and those, such as at Stroud, who do dawn ones.)

Our arrival in Agra at midday the usual confusion of railways – touts, beggars, grannies with bundles of luggage, railway officials. We decided to change plans and hire a taxi for the day to take us round the planned itinerary of lunch, Taj Mahal and Agra Fort, then drive us on to Delhi airport, rather than muck about with individual taxis, a late night bus, and the uncertainty of getting an honest taxi drived to deliver us safely from the Delhi terminal to the airport. Our taxi driver included the inevitable craft markets for inlaid marble and hand-woven rugs. Sadly we disappointed everyone, and certainly our driver who I am sure gets a commission on those sales.

A change of driver and car gave us air-conditioning for the 4 hour, 30 minute ride to the airport. He dropped us off at the domestic terminal – we were catching a domestic flight after all – and sped off into the distance before the security guards told us that we were in the wrong terminal. Kingfisher domestic flights go from the new international terminal. Obvious really. It’s 6km away but fortunately there was a free shuttle bus – even at 1am. So we are now checked in to the 5:20 flight right up to the far north of India, to Leh in the Ladakh region. It’ll be refreshing to be out of the 40C temperatures of the last few days; but I hope I have enough for the chilly nights.

Agra – well every tourist in India washes up at the Taj Mahal sooner or later and it really is worth the hassle of heat, tour guides insisting that without them you’re totally wasting your time, postcard sellers, and the purveyors of the ultimately unlike scene – the Taj in snow. It really is magnificent and nothing like the former public conveniences in downtown Wellington, nicknamed the Taj. Photos to come later when I get a better internet connection.

And the Agra Fort, especially round twilight, was a memorable end to the day’s sightseeing. It would have been more remarkable if the water still flowed in the fountains and cisterns, but easy enough to imagine the beauties of its former days. And of course it gives a splendid sunset view of the Taj.

In a few hours I’ll be at an altitude of 3500 metres and resting and acclimatising to the thin air, no doubt marvelling that this also is part of the same India I’ve been seeing the past few days.

Somewhere in the State of Uttar Pradesh

2011-04-23T14:13:00.000+09:00

Saturday 23 April, 10:30am.

Nearing the end of another 20 hour rail journey – this one from Mumbai to Agra. The usual chaos of families, children, vendors, ticket inspectors. The landscape is mostly flat and rocky with little green life apart from some spindly bushes and a few trees. Mountain ranges in the distance and the occasional village, cattle sheltering from the heat under the trees.

Mumbai was busy and chaotic and our time there too short except to see a little of the Colaba district – around the Gate of India and the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel. Our plans to have coffee there were thwarted by the news that the coffee shop didn’t open until 4:30pm Or at least that’s what they told this rag-tag group of backpackers. The leafy streets behind there are full of decaying imperial splendour – 4 or 5 storey houses now rotting back into the ground.

In 2 hours we arrive in Agra and join the queue to see the Taj Mahal.

Bengaluru to Pune

2011-04-21T23:12:00.002+09:00

Where to start writing in the few minutes available online? Travel by bus, crowded, noisy, chaotic, from Krishnagiri to Hasur, then another bus (the same) to Bengaluru. A chaotic auto-rickshaw journey to some market area to eat lunch, then another auto-rickshaw trip - the three of us crowded in the back along with luggage (principally mine) - to the railway station where we boarded our nearly 24 hour journey from Bengaluru to Pune.

We were in air conditioned class fortunately - although at times in the evening when the air con was excessive I was grateful for the layers of clothing in my luggage. Accommodation was in a curtained-off 6-berth compartment, one of many along one side of the corridor. Arranging the bunks a feat of co-ordination as the other 3 passengers (travelling with huge suitcases which first had to be lifted down from the top bunks) plus ourselves lifted up the backs of the seats and hooked them into position to form the middle level of bunks. Getting up in the morning an equal feat. And without everyone ready to get up at the same time and rearrange bunks into seat backs a lot of waiting about. Still - in a 24 hour journey there's nothing much else to do other than wait for the coffee or the chai vendor to come along.

Arrived in Pune at midday and now settled at the Christa Prema Seva Ashram - the buildings formerly occupied by the Christa Seva Sangh which was instrumental in forming one of the strands of SSF.

Time for dinner and to go offline.

Passage to/in India

2011-04-19T12:41:00.000+09:00

Not so much my passage to India, because that was by plane, and, inside a plane, indistinguishable from the passage to anywhere else, but the beginning of a passage in India. What began as a suggestion that I visit a Korean friend currently working in a children’s home in Krishnagiri in Tamil Nadu State will be a journey from here to the far north of India. The itinerary looks exhausting. Some of the “accommodation” will be on overnight trains or buses; but at least we’ve booked sleepers and are not travelling on the roof.

I arrived last night in Bengaluru (Bangalore) and was met by Hee Kyung who then took me back to the Trinity Children’s Home in Krishnagiri. Our driver wove his way between container trucks, regarding any more than a metre’s clearance as wasted space. At one stage when he was tired of doing that on his own side of the motorway he popped over to the other side to do it with the oncoming traffic. We arrived at about 2:30 am and I finally got some horizontal sleep, until being woken by all the sounds of neighbourhood life from about 5am. Our own establishment made its contribution with loud gospel choruses through loudspeakers at 6am, followed by the exercise music which used to be played loudly in Korean schools, offices, factories, villages - pretty well everywhere – when I first stated living in Korea in 1995, but which I hadn’t heard for a few years. I felt I should have been out in the yard doing jumping and stretching to the shouted out “one two three four” of the exercise instructor on the recording.

This is Holy Week and instead of the usual community religious exercises I’ll be on trains, or sightseeing, saying my offices as best as I can while on the go. I miss the experience of being in community this week, but will be forming a different sort of community with Hee Kyung and another of his fellow missionaries from here. I told the brothers at Stroud I would be like St Clare who, when prevented by illness from being present at Christmas midnight mass one year saw it all as it happened in a vision and was able to tell the sisters what they had experienced. (For which she is patron saint of television). So in my mind’s eye I will see them at Stroud going about the daily office and the liturgies of the Triduum.

Hee Kyung (or Peter as he has adopted as his name in India) has been a friend for a long time. He was one of my students when I was teaching English at Sungkonghoe University in Seoul, and since graduating from there in social welfare has entered a Presbyterian seminary and is taking a year in India as a mission placement. We’ll be joined for our travels by another of his fellow workers from here, Gabriel.

We depart tomorrow – and about 24 hours later arrive in Pune.

Canterbury again

2010-05-17T14:06:00.003+09:00

After several days catching up on important things such as uploading the last 6 months of photos to my flickr album and getting over jet lag I am ready to go up the hill to the Franciscan Study Centre to see if they have a supervisor available for my dissertation. The topic generally is the Franciscan identity of SSF. Exploring the question of how we get to be franciscan without following the official Rule written by Francis.

Research in several areas: reading popular English language Franciscan literature of the early 20th century to understand the perceived image of Francis; reading minutes and early documents of SSF and its predecessors - especially Christa Seva Sangha in Pune; and listening again to some oral history interviews with some older brothers.

In Flight Movies

2010-05-13T21:42:00.003+09:00

"The Last Train". Great acting. Does it get to the real Tolstoy or not? But for me the point is the tension between the man with the vision, and the movement founded on his ideas - or rather the imagined construct of those. The icon they made of Tolstoy - and very different from the reality he was. The tension between greatness and those inspired by greatness.

"The Guns of Navarrone". Never to late to see great movies of the past. Among the many achievements is Richard Harris acting an Australian airman with what is arguably the worst ever attempt at an Australian accent in film history. Not bad. Bloody strewth mate.

Blogger in Transit

2010-05-13T21:14:00.002+09:00

Friar's Balsam is in transit. An indeterminate state of existence. Actually Changi Airport en route to London and thence Canterbury.

Random thoughts in transit.

The subway trains in Seoul have arctic levels of air conditioning in the summer. So much that you need extra clothing to keep warm in them at times. However as a special concession they have a few cars in each set with slightly less cold. They are marked with a snowflake logo. The ones which are less cold. Does that make sense?

The toilets in T3 at Changi are very clean and well appointed. The urinals have a small picture of a bee on them at the spot to aim for. Why a bee? The Latin for bee is apis. (As in apiary). I wonder if the public decency police of Singapore know they are using such language :)

And I have found nirvana. It's advertised in today's Straight's Times, Home section , page B24, sandwiched between "In Memoriam" and "Money Markets". The Nirvana Memorial Garden in Singapore is a 6-star columbarium "possessing the characteristics of serenity and elegance", not to mention oozing more gold plate and crystal chandeliers than any hotel lobby you ever saw. And who wouldn't want a columbarium with such excellent fengshui as to bring "great fortune, propserity and abundance to descendents."? What is more, by buying a niche or two in advance, not only can you "pre-plan for the afterlife", but it's a great investment because "demand will exceed supply."

So my time in transit is filled with such thoughts.

My next thought is to the inevitable use of the subjunctive in airport boarding announcements. "At this stage we would ask passengers with small children or needing special assistance to board first." Would we? But will we? It's a flight to London so the passengers will queue and follow instructions. There's no use bothering with such annoucements on flights to Seoul.

Back in Canterbury

2009-05-12T14:34:00.003+09:00

The Friary (and Master's Lodge)

Night time view from my room

And in the daytime, from my room

My 14th Century attic room!

Am back in Canterbury for another term at the Franciscan Study Centre and staying at the friary in the city centre. And once again kick starting this blog.

The study is two papers: Writings of Francis; and Franciscanism in the Contemporary World. So far so good although there are essays to write for each and a lot of reading. I'm the only student in both classes so there is no back row to hide in and no one else to make intelligent comments when my brain is mush.

The friary has, since last time here, moved down the Stour River to the Master's Lodge of Eastbridge Hospital (Austin is the Master - hence our living in the Master's Lodge)

SSJE in Korea

2009-03-18T16:11:00.002+09:00

My present community in Korea is actually the third time there have been Anglican male religious in Korea.

The first was in the early mission days in the 1890s when new and largely unformed members of the Society of the Sacred Mission struggled to maintain some form of community life despite the needs of an overstretched mission field. The lay brothers mostly left - both Korea and SSM - while the priest brothers mostly remained in Korea but left SSM. An exception was Fr Henry Drake who remained in SSM and later returned to Korea when Mark Trollope (ex SSM) was bishop.

The Society of St John the Evangelist in Cambridge, MA, was also involved. Recent correspondence with Fr David Allen SSJE has reminded me of this history and he has supplied the following information.

Fr. Walter Perry Morse, SSJE, died March 23, 1976, in Cambridge, MA, in the 84th year of his life, having been flown by medical evacuation from Taipei, Taiwan, 9 days earlier.

He and Fr. McDonald SSJE were both in Korea 1922 to 1924. Fr. McDonald took his life vows in 1924 in Korea while he was still there.

Fr. Morse was also in Korea 1930 to 33, then in Japan 1934 to 37, and in China 1937-41, when he fled over the Himalayas. He returned to China in 1945, but soon had to move to Tibet, where he stayed until 1952. After a short return to the USA he went to Taiwan where he remained, except for short visits to the SSJE houses in Japan, until he was evacuated in 1976.

Fr. Raymond Thomas McDonald, SSJE, died July 27, 1973, in Boston, MA, in the 80th year of his life. He was in Korea from 1922 to 1924, but he carried an abiding love for Korea in his heart. During his final illness, using a Korean dictionary, he taught some Korean to a close friend so that they could recite the Lord's Prayer together in Korean when she visited him. After he left Korea most of his ministry was in the USA, a few years in San Francisco when the SSJE was in charge of the Church of the Advent of Christ the King, the rest of it was in Boston, and finally in Cambridge until he was hospitalized in 1972 in Boston.

===================
Thanks to Fr Allen (who had a substantial part of his ministry in Japan and who still keeps an interest in Asia) for the information and for reminding me and others of this layer of history, which is now in some way part of the foundation for what has come later.

Gifts

2009-03-18T15:14:00.002+09:00

Gift giving and receiving is very much part of life in Korea.

Last week I gave the dentist and his staff some candles I had made. (He is giving me a generous discount - since he's an ex-Anglican). On the way back to the friary I filled the car with diesel and the service station gave its usual gift of a small pack of tissues. I stopped at the post office to post some letters and they had a gift for me - two tubes of gift wrapped toothpaste.

The heating oil people give us either a larger box of tissues (usually diesel scented since they've been sitting round in the cab of the tanker) or some refill packs of washing up liquid.

At the festival seasons gift-wrapped sets of cans of spam are popular gifts. (Spam - the canned meat - remember it? It's very popular in Korea)

Gift-giving can merge into bribery easily. Not the kind of gifts we receive - I cannot be bribed for a pack of smelly tissues~ but politicians and businessmen and others with power easily and frequently exchange gifts with the stated purpose of thanking someone, or expressing friendship, but usually with the real hope of receiving some favour.

silly teeshirts

2009-02-10T19:56:00.002+09:00

Korea is a country of teeshirts with fairly random collections of English words on them.

Seen today in Chuncheon: "Do you like hurt? Love drug 21 makeup"

And "Swedish pleasure".

Back in Korea - and Messiaen's birds

2009-01-08T22:13:00.002+09:00

Back in Korea and still feeling the effects of suddenly moving from mid-summer to mid-winter.

Trying to re-establish my life here, pick up whatever routines are helpful, and not get saddled with things I'd rather avoid. Just starting up life here after nearly 5 months away. Some things have changed (there's a new postulant with us) and some things haven't (the friary is still operating on the summer timetable for some reason).

From my reading:

A review in the Church Times by Peter McGeary (5 Sep 2008) of a book about listening makes the point:

This year is the centenary of the birth of the composer Olivier Messiaen, whose music is peppered with the tunes of countless birds. I am told that much of his birdsong music could not now be written, because the tunes are no longer sung: mainly because of the noise that human beings have created, the birds cannot hear one another; so they cannot learn their songs from one another. The variety of their song is being diminished, because they learn by listening, and if they cannot hear, they cannot learn.

Christmas in Stroud and flying to Nelson

2008-12-29T17:34:00.003+09:00

Christmas at Stroud was easy and relaxing. The crib (above) is made in PNG bush house style with Australian animals made from bottle brush. No angel or star on top but a koala.

Then over to NZ for time with family in Nelson - and particularly for my father's 80th birthday (photo above).

Other than that not much to write.

Finishing in the library

2008-12-24T04:05:00.002+09:00

Am finishing the current batch of work today. The next can wait till I return here in September.

Came across a book of prayers Praying Through the Christian Year by D. W. Cleverley Ford. No old fashioned stuffy piety here.

From a prayer when a car doesn't start:

Lord, I am frustrated,
I went to the garage
and the car wouldn't start.
Such a silly thing,
such a small thing,
but it knocked me off balance
all the day long.

I could give you a summary of St Paul's theology.
I could offer a fair outline of Church doctrine
and something about Aquinas, Erasmus and Calvin, too.

But of what use are all these trappings of religion
when my car won't start
and I am out of gear?

Sensible Evelyn Underhill

2008-12-18T19:40:00.002+09:00

That great Anglican spiritual guide Evelyn Underhill may have been an expert on mysticism but she was also very practical. In The Mount of Purification (our edition here is the Longmans' 1960 reprint) she writes about the three chief factors in developing the life of prayer in the parish. The first is a parish priest who prays:

The priest who prays often in his own church, for whom it is a spiritual home, a place where he meets God, is the only one who has any chance of persuading his people to pray in their church. True devotion can only be taught by the direct method.

The second factor is:

the parish church, considered not as a convenient place for Sunday worship, but as a House of Prayer, a home of the Spirit, a place set apart for the exclusive purpose of communion with God; and therefore an abiding witness to His reality, His attraction, His demand.

The third is:

the formation of the praying group. I do not mean by this a hot-housy association of pious ladies, whose extreme exhibition of fervour too often tends to put everyone else off. This should be avoided at all costs. But there is surely no parish where it is quite impossible to find a few people, preferably quite simple and ordinary people, who care for their religion, and, if asked to do a bit of real spiritual work for it will respond.

She was one of the spiritual giants of the earlier 20th century.

more from the library

2008-12-17T20:01:00.002+09:00

And today - from the "other" Brother Roger - Br Roger Castle of the Community of the Resurrection in his book of aphorisms about prayer So Easy to Love (London: Longmans Green, 1957). [nearly as old as me!]

Do not bother about the past; it is past. And leave what is to come to God. The present moment is your concern. See that it is a part of the splendid orderliness of God.

The present moment is always an infallible indication of what God wants you to do now. It is possible he may only want you to be undecided. (p. 26)

We must be soaked in the Gospel. You should have a copy of at least one of the gospels in your pocket or in your bag. You can read the Penguin Four Gospels anywhere, and no one will know what you are doing. (p. 34)

What clear forthright advice. (The Penguin Four Gospels is an interesting translation by classicist E.V. Rieu - published 1953).

from Alan Jones "Soul Making"

2008-12-17T04:22:00.003+09:00

From Alan Jones' book Soul Making: the Desert Way of Spirituality (San Francisco: Harper, 1989), 84.

Christianity is a shocking religion, although many of its adherents have managed to protect themselves from its terrible impact. Tears, an awareness of one's psychic fragility, and a deep sense of peace and joy are not the most obvious marks of believers today. Yet the shock of Christianity remains: the shock of its materialism and its particularity; the shock of its calling us to a messy and untidy intimacy. It claims that the flesh matters. It insists that history (the particularity of time and place) matters. Above all it claims that, in the end, nothing else but love matters.

Traherne & Taylor

2008-12-15T19:20:00.002+09:00

Today's gleanings from the library are two voices from the 17th century:

The opening paragraph of Thomas Traherne's Centuries (in the 1958 OUP edition)

An Empty Book is like an Infants Soul, in which any Thing may be Written. It is Capable of all Things, but containeth Nothing. I hav a Mind to fill this with Profitable Wonders. And since Love made you put it into my Hands I will fill it with those Truths you Love, without Knowing them: and with those Things which, if it be Possible, shall shew my Lov; To you, in Communicating most Enriching Truths; to Truth, in Exalting Her Beauties in such a Soul.

And from Jeremy Taylor' s The Rule and Exercises of Holy Living:

As those meats are to be avoided which tempt our stomachs beyond our hunger, so also should prudent persons decline all those spectacles, relations, theatres, loud noises and outcries, which concern us not, and are beside our natural or moral interest. Our senses should not, like petulant and wanton girls, wander into markets and theatres without just employment; but when they are sent abroad by reason, return quickly with their errand, and remain modestly at home under their guide till they be sent again.
(Langford Press, 1970, p. 60)

Lilburn on rhythm

2008-12-14T21:13:00.002+09:00

Philip Norman in his excellent book on NZ composer Douglas Lilburn quotes him as saying:

...the patterns of our landscape and seacoasts, the changing of our seasons and the flow of light and colour about us, that all these things show patterns of movement and characteristic rhythms. And these things in a subtle way affect our manner of living and I believe that they impress themselves on our minds in a way that will ultimately give rise to forms of musical expression.

Norman continues:

Rhythm, according to Lilburn, was the key to music as it determined the 'shape and vitality of any melodic line', and 'in its larger sense of movement or flow it is in the basis of musical form'.

and today from Ireland

2008-12-13T17:49:00.002+09:00

From a book about Irish monasticism, some Celtic nature poetry:

I have a bothy in the wood--
none knows it save the Lord, my God;
one wall an ash, the other hazel,
and a great fern makes the door.

The doorposts are made of heather,
the lintel of honeysuckle;
and wild forest all around
yields mast for well-fed swine.

This size my hut: the smallest thing,
homestead amid well-trod paths;
a woman (but blackbird clothed and seeming)
warbles sweetly from its gable.

This little sweet humble place
holds tenure of the teeming woods;
maybe you will come to see?--
but alone I like quite happy.

thought for the day from John Powell

2008-12-13T05:04:00.002+09:00

At the top of the library pile was John Powell's "Through Seasons of the Heart" - a compilation of his writings arranged for daily use. From December 12:

We know God in knowing Jesus. Jesus is the Word that was with God from all eternity, the Word that is God: Jesus. St. Paul calls Jesus "the visible image of our invisible God." (Colossians 1:15) Theologians have called Jesus our "window into God."

More Mozart

2008-12-11T16:59:00.002+09:00

First book off the rank this morning was De Mello's The Prayer of the Frog. He writes:

A young composer once came to consult Mozart on how to develop his talent.

"I would advise you to start with simple things," Mozart said. "Songs, for example."

"But you were composing symphonies when you were a child!" the man protested.

"True enough. But then I didn't have to go to anyone for advice on how to develop my talent."

Mozart, Merton and Barth's Dream

2008-12-10T18:43:00.003+09:00

A new plan from today, seeing I am browsing dozens of books every day for cataloguing the library, but not really reading much, is to quote from something which has grabbed my attention each day. Today is the anniversary of Thomas Merton's death in 1968, and now the day set aside for commemorating him in the Anglican Church of New Zealand.

It was a relief when the piles of turgid Columba Marmion (although I see he's been extensively reprinted recently; perhaps if he didn't smell so musty he'd be a more attractive read) gave way to Merton late this afternoon. First was "Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander." with its opening passage about Karl Barth's dream:

Merton writes:

Karl Barth had a dream about Mozart.

Barth had always been piqued by the Catholicism of Mozart, and by Mozart's rejection of Protestantism. For Mozart said that "Protestantism was all in the head" and that "Protestantism did not know the meaning of the Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi."

Barth, in his dream, was appointed to examine Mozart in theology. He wanted to make the examination as favorable as possible, and in his questions he alluded pointedly to Mozart's masses.

But Mozart did not answer a word.

I was deeply moved by Barth's account of this dream and almost wanted to write him a letter about it. The dream concerns his salvation, and Barth perhaps is striving to admit that he will be saved more by Mozart in himself than by his theology.

Each day, for years, Barth played Mozart every morning before going to work on his dogma, unconsciously seeking to awaken, perhaps, the hidden sophianic Mozart in himself, the central wisdom that comes with the divine and cosmic music and is saved by love, yes, even by eros. While the other, theological self, seemingly more concerned with love, grasps at a more stern, cerebral agape: a love that, after all, is not in our own heart but only in God and revealed only to our head.

Barth says, also significantly, that "it is a child, even a 'divine' child, who speaks in Mozart's music to us." Some, he says, considered Mozart always a child in practical affairs (but Burckhardt "earnestly took exception" to this view). At the same time, Mozart, the child prodigy, "was never allowed to be a child in the literal meaning of that word." He gave his first concert at the age of six.

Yet he was always a child "in the higher meaning of that word."

Fear not, Karl Barth! Trust in the divine mercy. Though you have grown up to become a theologian, Christ remains a child in you. Your books and mine matter less than we might think! There is in us a Mozart who will be our salvation.

For me one of the revelations of the divine in Mozart is what's going on in the background, in the "accompanying" parts - for they are never routine space filling formulae, but filled with flashes of divine inspiration.

life at the hermitage

2008-11-28T04:18:00.002+09:00

After six weeks of Franciscan based programmes in NZ I am now in Australia, at the Hermitage of St Bernardine until Christmas. My main work is to start re-cataloguing the hermitage library. So I have reverted to (some) of my former life and skills, except this time sitting in front of a computer to do it. After about three weeks I'm nearly through up to the end of the scripture section - 220s for those who know their Dewey numbers. But there's still a lot to go. It's satisfying work, calling for great focus and concentration. So that's not a bad thing to be doing at a hermitage!

The satisfaction is in seeing completed books once again on the shelves, and knowing that this time they can be found, unlike the previous cataloguing which was very hit and miss.

So - I have some of my former life - but not all of it. And without library colleagues to have tea breaks with there is none of the opportunity to gossip about exciting Dewey numbers.

Next phase in my itinerant life will be a few months in Korea early in 2009.

blogger returns

2008-10-14T15:08:00.006+09:00

It's been a long time since the last entry but this friar has been busy with many things. A First Order Chapter at Stroud in Australia in August/September. Now for 6 weeks in New Zealand conducting Franciscan programmes in parishes, schools and leading some retreats. But oddly enough a few people have said that they read this blog so it's time to start writing again.

I won't write about everything since the last blog. It's too much!

Earlier this week I was taken by my host in Temuka, Andrew Starky, on a drive up to Lake Pukaki. This is the lake at the other end of New Zealand's highest peak, Mt Cook. A few photos from round there:

near Fairlie - a town at the eastern end of the Mackenzie country - an inland sheep farming district.

Approaching Tekapo. Tussock ground with the Southern Alps in the background.

Church of the Good Shepherd, Lake Tekapo

Lake Alexandrina

Lake Pukaki, with Mt Cook on a perfectly clear day (and it's not like this everyday). Mt Cook is the triangular one in the centre, standing a bit on its own. The lake really is that blue - it's caused by small particles of stone carried in the water.

The Vanishing Dogs

2008-07-25T16:02:00.002+09:00

Last Saturday was Chobok - the beginning of the hottest part of summer. It's a day, traditionally, for eating special food for summer. So far though it hasn't really been hot - just lots of rain and a typhoon. I took the bus to visit a friend a few hours away, settled on cold noodles for lunch - not particularly a summery food, but it's refreshing. And it kept on raining. Returned by bus in the rain.

The next day walking our dog past the neighbouring farms it was amazingly quiet. All their dogs had vanished since Friday. The most traditional food for eating in this early summer season is ... yes. That's why it was so quiet.

Summer in the Friary

2008-07-16T08:47:00.002+09:00

A hot summer's day here. Humid. Wall paper sagging and damp floor humidity.

Do we do good things for the environment?

Yesterday backing the car up the driveway I ran over a large green frog. Spectacularly.

Last night while moving some papers on the floor of my room a large centipede ran out, and scuttled under through a gap of several millimetres under the wardrobe. This is just in the very position where I put down my mat for sleeping. Not wishing to wake up with a centipede crawling over me, I sprayed fly spray under the wardrobe. Fly spray doesn't kill centipedes; just makes them groggy and cross. It staggered out but I was ready with a fly swat. Fly swats are very ineffective also against centipedes. Eventually it was dead, by which time the greater silence had been well and truly shattered.

(Centipedes have been around since the Silurian age. No wonder they're hard to kill.)

This morning one of the toilets was blocked, so I had the joy of unblocking it with a plunger bearing the proud slogan, "With as slogan of 'Clean Environment' we wish to be a good citizen to the Human Life."

more cold tongue - another sermon

2008-06-25T20:08:00.001+09:00

Sermon preached at Seoul Cathedral, English Language Mission – 22 June, 2008.

OS 12: Mt 10.24-39.

²⁴‘A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master; ²⁵it is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher, and the slave like the master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household!

²⁶ ‘So have no fear of them; for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. ²⁷What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. ²⁸Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. ²⁹Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground unperceived by your Father. ³⁰And even the hairs of your head are all counted. ³¹So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.

³² ‘Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; ³³but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven.

³⁴ ‘Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. ³⁵For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; ³⁶and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household.

³⁷Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; ³⁸and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. ³⁹Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

Reading the bible can be a dangerous thing. Perhaps a Bible should come with safety manual; or maybe a manufacturer’s disclaimer! One of the points in that manual should be that single verses cannot be taken out of context! The problem is that because the Bible is a sacred scripture, and we hear it read in a special context in worship, that we can unthinkingly imagine that every word in it is of equal value. This approach can lead us to regarding the Bible as a collection of verses, each of which has an instruction or message for us. And these verses are somewhat like trees; we can get so preoccupied with the individual trees that we cannot see the whole forest.

Today we just heard the words of Our Lord as recorded in Matthew’s gospel, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” (10:34). How can we deal with that? Do we conclude that the way of Christ is not one of peace? That those who follow Jesus should carry swords? Or do we then look at other things said by Jesus, such as, “Blessed are the peace-makers”, and then say that as the Bible contains things which contradict each other that it’s either unreliable or totally untrue?

The problem comes when we think we can take every word in the Bible out of its context and that somehow there is the word of God.

Another problem is in the way we read words in a context that gives them authority. A bible carries a layer of authority because of what it is and because of the way in which we read it. An instruction manual has a sort of authority too, but if, for example, if I just bought a toaster and page one of the manual said it was only for 110 volts, and page 2 of the manual said it was only for 220 volts then I might ask myself how could I believe anything in the manual at all. (Or perhaps we could start two rival groups here – the “220 volt” group and the “110 volt” group; and each would denounce the other as being false; until perhaps one day we tried to plug the toaster into the mains to see what happens!)

And yet another problem in interpretation is how we understand words such as “you” or “we.” We hear these read out in a bible passage, and often without thinking we take them as applying to us. But it makes a difference if “you” means “the disciples”, or “a crowd”, or “the Pharisees”. Perhaps we can apply them to ourselves as well, but we need to be careful before making that jump because by interpreting the meaning of the original passage in that way we could be making some change in its meaning.

Let’s return to the gospel passage first. Actually this whole chapter of Matthew, part of which we heard from last week, is about the instructions Jesus gave to his first missionaries, the twelve disciples. If we read chapter 10 we can see the authority Jesus gave them, who they were, where they were to go, how they were to go out, some of the problems they might encounter and how they were to deal with those problems. That’s the immediate context of this passage. Instructions to the twelve disciples.

Part of the wider context is the situation in which the gospels were being written. Division had arisen between Christian and Jew. At the time Matthew’s gospel was being compiled Christians of Jewish origin were being excluded from the synagogues. To be a Christian could put you on a collision course with your family or friends.

The disciples’ mission, we are told in Matthew 10.5 was to the “lost sheep of the house of Israel.” The task of their mission was to proclaim that the kingdom of heaven was near; and to show this by curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing lepers and casting out demons. (Mt 10.8).

These were all fundamentally signs of healing. They were signs that what had been broken though illness, or disease, or death, or demonic possession was to be restored—made whole. Brokenness was not part of the kingdom of heaven. Wholeness was. In fact the kingdom could be described as a kingdom of peace. The Hebrew word “shalom” carries that meaning of wholeness, more than just “peace”. Peace is not just the absence of conflict—rather it’s an active wholeness.

So, returning to this problem verse, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword,” and placing it in its context of instructions to the twelve disciples for their work of mission of proclaiming the good news of the coming of God’s kingdom of peace, I think we can see that this verse is not telling Christians to get out with swords and start fighting.

We can often get a clue in interpreting the gospels by looking at the parallel passages in the other gospels, and in this case Luke has a parallel. He says, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” (Lk 12.51). We can see that for Luke the sword is a symbol of division, rather than an instrument of war.

This also fits with the verses which follow in today’s gospel. Family members will be divided, one against the other; and Jesus sets the challenge for his followers of loving him more than family members. Remember the time in which this gospel was being compiled. Christians were being excluded from Jewish circles. To be a follower of Christ required a radical decision and could result in separation from family.

Overall the context of this chapter is about the proclamation of the Kingdom of Heaven, and that kingdom is one of peace and wholeness. It is a kingdom which radically rejects the way of violence. Peacemaking in a context of violence only provokes more violence from the forces of authority; but to be people of peace and healing is the only way to be people of the kingdom of heaven. The disciples should not be surprised if the powers of violence oppose the Prince of Peace and his message, but Jesus reassures them not to be afraid, God cares for them and will protect them.

It is not that Jesus, and the message of the Kingdom, provokes violence. It is rather that his life, as an innocent and forgiving victim, and his preaching of the message of God’s kingdom, challenge the status quo and uncover the networks of power and oppression. He uncovers the violence and division which is already present.

To broaden the context now to this present age and ourselves.

We also are called to continue the mission of Jesus and to be people who proclaim the nearness of God’s kingdom. We also live in a society of deep divisions; a world much in need of good news and of healing. The instructions to the twelve disciples also can inspire us with a vision of how to live as people who proclaim the kingdom of God.

The disciples were told as they went about their mission to “acknowledge Jesus before others.” (10.32). How can we continue that today? Who is the Jesus we acknowledge? The gospels show us Jesus who is an innocent victim, Jesus who doesn’t take revenge, Jesus who breaks the circles of violence, Jesus who forgives his murderers and persecutors and betrayers. Ultimately Jesus dies for us, and in so doing, breaks the power of death.

The decision to be a follower of Jesus is the decision to follow this way; and that calls for rejecting the way of violence and for standing against the powers of destruction. But following Jesus is yet more than that. It is more than opposing the ways of destruction and violence; it is working to transform them with love and forgiveness.

The image of beating swords into ploughshares and spears into pruning hooks in the prophecies of Isaiah and Micah is a striking example of such transformation. There are movements today, for example in areas which have had high levels of militarization, for transforming former weapons into instruments of peace. An example is from Liberia where a Christian group makes crosses from empty shell and bullet casings. Other groups take old guns and make sculptures from them.

However, more important than transforming the hardware of violence, is transforming the thoughts and impulses and all that leads to violence. The hardware of violence is easy to notice; it’s something “out there”; but the inner thoughts of violence are not; they are internal and normally hidden, and so are, in a way, more dangerous. They can trip us up when we least expect it.

Transforming hidden thoughts of violence can seem impossible but we have the example of Christ, the innocent victim, who occupied the place of destruction, who overcame the power of death. The forces of violence need not frighten us. Christ has gone ahead, has drawn the sting of death and pioneered the way of salvation.

In the Anglican Church these days we have many concerns, to put it mildly! People have many fears about the future. The challenge we face, I think, is not so much about structures or decisions about boundaries, but rather how to be followers of Christ, who broke down boundaries, who called sinners to fellowship with him, who forgave his murderers, and who challenged all his followers to live by this same radical love.

And now, we prepare to gather round the altar for this meal of fellowship with our Lord and with one another, and to proclaim the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus. We remember that we follow the Son of Man, who lived the way of God’s Kingdom; a way of peace and reconciliation. We carry such wonderful good news, news which is so good that we cannot keep it to ourselves but must share it with others.

May God, whose kingdom we proclaim, be with us.

May Jesus, the healer and reconciler, lead us.

May the Holy Spirit ever inspire us to be people of the gospel of peace.

Trip to the South-East

2008-06-16T10:07:00.008+09:00

Last week a few days away in the south east (mainly Kyeongsando) with John Kater (recently retired from CDSP, Berkeley and visiting professor at Sungkonghoe University for the last semester; travelling with Jeremiah Yang, vice-president of SKHU. Staying with Benedictine Sisters at Yangsan, near Pusan.

the garden of the sisters' convent near Yangsan.

With Sisters Martha and Michaela visiting Tongdosa.

At one of the smaller hermitages near Tongdosa.

Pots of lotus in the temple gardens at Tongdosa.

Monks working hard in the gardens

Lotus blossoms at a small hermitage near Tongdosa.

A typical East Coast scene. A fishing village with tourist facilities built on top of it.

Positive thinking indeed - to the extent that pigs might fly.

This seems to be a clove of garlic - a sculpture at a roadside stop on the Jungang Expressway heading north to Chuncheon.

In

115,000 won to fill a tank with diesel. (About 110 USD, 58 GBP, 147 NZD). Diesel is now about 2,000 won a litre, up from 900 won a litre about 5 years ago.

President Lee already has the signs up advertising his hometown in the conservative belt of the southeast, near Pohang.

The mountain pass (I forgot the name) on one of the roads running westwards from the East Coast.

learning to fly

2008-05-11T23:07:00.002+09:00

I am learning to fly. Not in imitation of a bird, but on Microsoft Flight Simulator. So far I am very good at taking off, can change direction (but not to where I want to) am not so good at flying in straight lines, but occasionally manage to land on the runway and not on the terminal building.

I am trying to get my (cyber) pilot's license but it's depressingly like the driver's license test I was doing a year ago. Except that each time I fail I can just start again and I am spared having to wait another week!

T-Shirts

2008-05-05T21:39:00.002+09:00

Koreans love wearing t-shirts with English words on them. Seen a few days ago by City Hall a young couple, presumably on a date. His shirt bore the words: "You'd be better off without me".

Now, this expression usually means "I'd be better off without you", but the speaker tries to soften the blow by putting it round the other way.

I've been entertaining some of the possible scenarios here:

(1) Neither of them understands what it means - it's just cute English words to decorate a shirt.

(2) He is wearing it as a hint for her. She hasn't taken the hint because (a) she doesn't understand what the shirt is saying, or, (b) she does understand it but she thinks he can't - therefore she's taking no notice of it. He is thinking women are very hard to understand.

(3) She gave it to him as a hint. The hint backfired because he doesn't understand it. He is just so happy to have a t-shirt his girlfriend gave him. Perhaps he can understand it a little but construes it with an opposite meaning. She is going quietly mad over the whole stupid business.

(4) Most positively, they both understand it, but their relationship is strong enough to take it all as a joke, or maybe as an ironic comment on modern life.

(5) Perhaps "You'd be better off without me" is the name of a rock group.

fixing the water

2008-04-28T14:39:00.002+09:00

The water supply is more or less fixed. It wasn't installed properly originally because the builder didn't know what he was doing, and in any case was trying to do things on the cheap. So we've had to get it fixed. It's better but still not a proper repair since it will inevitably fail again next winter when the pipes freeze. Why not get it fixed properly? That would be too easy really.

blogger returns

2008-04-21T14:42:00.002+09:00

Yes - I am back in Korea after nearly five months away. I've unpacked my bag for the last time and sorted out the pile of stuff it carried round the world. There are still three packets coming from England by surface post.

Back at the friary I've been organising my work for the next few months.

Apart from my share of the housework and dealing with the usual crises (the latest is the friary water supply and we are reaping the consequences of a system which was cobbled together on the cheap by the retreat house construction company) my goals are:

study: more of the Franciscan stuff and in particular the hurdles which are set by the Univeristy of Wales, Lampeter for its MA students - a short essay and an encyclopaedia article. And also reviving my nearly defunct Latin study.

SSF stuff: preparation for the First Order Chapters in Stroud in August/September.

Other things: writing blog entries (of course); putting photos online (maybe in Flickr); continuing teaching myself to fly (in Microsoft Flight Simulator - not in real planes) and maybe even managing a complete flight one day.

cold tongue

2008-04-21T14:34:00.002+09:00

Someone once said that old sermons are cold tongue. So in that spirit here's some cold tongue which was once hot - or at least slightly warm - two Sundays ago at St Peters Eastern Hill in Melbourne.

3rd Sunday of Easter - (April 6th, 2008)

Gospel: Luke 24. 13-35.

Over the past two weeks we’ve been hearing the various gospel accounts of the resurrection. These accounts are like witnesses, each showing us one of the ways in which the disciples came to know the risen Christ.

This morning’s gospel is often called “The Road to Emmaus”, but let’s think of it as “The Stranger on the Road”.

Who was this stranger on the road? We of course know the answer to that. We know how the story turns out and so we read it backwards as it were, as being those whose eyes have already opened. But try to imagine we are those whose eyes have not been opened. We are like those disciples on the road to Emmaus who did not recognize Jesus. Why? We can imagine that fear, ignorance and unbelief “kept their eyes from recognizing him.” But more deeply, perhaps, this shows the difficulty of ever recognizing Christ, except in brief moments. God is, for us, so often a hidden God.

So who is this stranger? Our knowledge of the end of this story tells us that of course it is Jesus. We know that he has somehow come back from death, and is here on the road. Just like old times, except that he is harder to recognise.

The theologian James Allison has pointed out something so obvious that we perhaps don’t see it. This man on the road, he says, is a dead man walking. To quote from his book, Faith beyond Resentment:

“I think it very important that we don't make the separation which we are accustomed to when talking about the risen Jesus, imagining that he is alive, and for that reason, not dead. No, what is fascinating about the doctrine of the resurrection is that it is the whole human life of Jesus, including his death, which is risen. The life of God, since it is totally outside the order of human life and human death, doesn't cancel death, as if it were a sickness which is to be cured, but takes it up, assumes it. Luke offers us a vision of a risen Jesus who has not ceased to be a dead man, and who, starting from his living-out-being-a-crucified-man, teaches and empowers his disciples by his presence.”

To put that in other words, Christ’s resurrection was not some cancellation of his death or an undoing of his suffering. It was not a spiritualised otherworldy experience, nor was it the act of a deus ex machina coming down out of the skies to fix everything up at the last moment. The resurrection was the transformation, and the rising to new life, of the crucified corpse of the man Jesus of Nazareth; the man who had been killed by the power of the Roman Empire for daring to say that God his Father was the ultimate authority, and for asserting the primacy of God’s kingdom over Empire and especially over the corrupt collusion of that Empire with the Temple.

He was killed, and three days later, his body although still carrying its wounds was filled with life, and once again walking and talking. What did he talk about? Revenge on his persecutors? An armed rising against those who had executed him? The eternal damnation of those who killed him? Punishment for those who had betrayed him? None of these.

To borrow another key word from James Allison, the risen Christ was free from resentment. The innocent victim became the innocent victor and, totally free from resentment, he now was teaching his disciples, opening the scriptures so that they too could live with the same lack of resentment.

And what is a life free of resentment? It is a life of grace, a life which no longer needs to protect itself against the powers of death. Christ has drawn the sting of death. We no longer need erect barriers, or live in fear. How is this possible? Christ’s resurrection was nearly 2000 years ago. But what did God raise in resurrecting Christ? It was human flesh and bone, the same stuff of which we are made. Christ was raised so that we too might be raised to eternal life. That is God’s supreme gift of grace to us.

Resentment and the way of vengeance and the endless circles of violence – these are the forces of death which Christ has overcome. Resurrection is so much more than a happy ending to a sad story or the vindication of the innocent victim. Resurrection is not just Christ being alive again. It is the undoing of the powers of destruction.

But let us return to that road, and the stranger walking on it. The disciples cannot recognize Christ. Their hearts are broken as they pour out their grief. They had hoped that Jesus, a mighty prophet, would have been “the one to redeem Israel.” Not only has he seemed to fail in this, not only has he died, but he has been killed by the very powers he challenged. Their grief both cripples and blinds them. It is now three days since his death – in Jewish thought three days was the longest period that a soul might still inhabit or wait around a body – and they are further disturbed, rather than reassured, by the news of the empty tomb.

Jesus begins to teach them, as he must have already done many times, drawing on Moses and the prophets – the books of Law and Prophecy – which were counted as the Hebrew Scriptures. But still they do not see.

How can we see Christ? For if we see his body, our preconceptions of who he is and of his mission will cloud our vision. We will see not Christ, but rather our own projection of who we imagine him to be. The disciples had heard the teaching of the stranger on the road, but still they were confused and disquieted. Their projection of who and what a Messiah should be was that of a political Messiah who would use force to redeem Israel, lead it back to independence from Roman control, and restore it to the imagined glories of the days of King David.

Their projection had blinded them and left them without life. Their view of how things should be just couldn’t accommodate what had happened, and so in their confusion they couldn’t see the truth in front of them. Jesus had suffered and was killed, and this wasn’t in their vision of what should happen to a Messiah. Other people’s gods didn’t suffer. They were powerful, and if you were lucky your god would be more powerful than the others. The God those disciples were still struggling to know was a God who allowed himself to be weak and to suffer. This is the foolishness of the Cross.

When we cannot see that “the Christ must suffer”, and that God not only permits this, but that is it fundamentally at the heart of God, then we are blind. When we cannot accept human suffering because it seems a sign of imperfection, then we too are blind. And when we ignore the suffering of others we also are blind because we cannot see God.

And why this suffering? Surely suffering is negative and destructive. Certainly it can be, and often is, but it’s important to see it in a wider context – that of love – which gives it a meaning which it would not otherwise have. In and through love, suffering can be transformed and made redemptive.

But Cleopas and his companion are still blind. Perhaps for company, or out of friendship they invite Jesus, “Stay with us, for night is at hand.” And now sign and symbol and action bring those disciples to the realization which words and rational explanation could not do. He took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. And then their eyes were opened.

This bread is more than just bread. It is the very life of Christ. Christ takes it, in thankfulness acknowledges God’s blessing in it, breaks it and gives it up for others. And here is the moment of recognition.

The commentary for today in the excellent website www.preachingpeace.org , uses a shocking phrase to express what is going on here.

“True cognition of Jesus takes place when we as a Christian community gather round our sacred victim and acknowledge what we are doing, the symbolic ritual activity of mob cannibalism. This is the Eucharist. This is where, even as we re-enact the murder of Jesus, we are told we are forgiven. If we would do this to Jesus, we would certainly do it to others. And we do, and knowing this, we can also choose to no longer participate in processes that lead to death. We become aware that we are the Forgiven Ones. We have come under the reign of Life. We become the Forgiving Ones. And this is the joy of Eastertide.”

At the very heart of the Eucharist is service and self-emptying. It is Christ’s giving of himself, and his invitation to us to join him in this self-emptying. The Eucharist cannot be reduced to a private moment alone with God. It is a thanksgiving meal for the whole Christian community in which we draw strength from the presence of Christ among us, and are fed for the journey. Not just fed for our comfort, or to relieve our hunger, but fed with the bread of justice and love which drives us out into the world to proclaim the Kingdom of God.

Luke’s account of the last supper links the eating of that supper with the fulfilment of God’s kingdom. That kingdom is recognizing that God is present in this world, transforming it, overcoming injustice, and leading us as his forgiven and forgiving people, living in grace and free from resentment.

That is our Good News.

“It is true, the Lord is risen and has appeared to Simon.”

May we know the love of the Father,
the Risen Life of the Son,
and be led by the Spirit.

Amen.

Travels

2008-03-28T05:22:00.001+09:00

Ages have passed since my last blog entry. That doesn't mean I've been doing nothing. Rather it means I've been doing too much.

My time at Canterbury finished up with a bit of a rush to get my papers completed and handed in. After that I had a few days in London. I'm now in New Zealand and am about to fly to Australia.

So what's been happening? A reunion of my 7th form class from Nayland College (as the final year at secondary school in NZ used to be called). And now I'm in Auckland about to check SSF records at the diocesan archives.

travels in the UK

2008-01-23T02:24:00.000+09:00

Last weekend I took a few days off study to visit friaries in London and Dorset (particularly to interview the older members) and to Ringwood in the New Forest to meet some cousins.

The English weather was is it always seems to be these days - wet and windy.

Here a few photos.

Salisbury Cathedral

With cousins Nick, Peter and Carol, and Jeannie (Peter's wife)
Carol with Gambit walking in a rather boggy heath

Hilfield Friary in Dorset

The Friary of the Divine Compassion in Plaistow, London

Brothers Donald and Arnold, two of the older ones I interviewed

Canterbury

2008-01-11T00:00:00.001+09:00

After the various adventures of rail travel in Poland it was good to have a few extra days back in Prague. Camels on the feast of the Epiphany were a bonus. As was the snow which freshly fell that morning. And then at the Anglican church, totally by chance, I ran into an acquaintance from Australia - he's a member of a youth community in Canberra which has visited the hermitage at Stroud several times when I've been there. So I had some company for the final day of sightseeing. Mostly at the (former) convent of Agnes of Prague - the Poor Clare sister, and contemporary of St Clare and recipient of several letters from her. The convent is now an art gallery for medieval Czech art and certainly worth visiting.

Boarding a little plane from Prague to Vienna

Not a very interesting shot really

St Christopher - in the Agnes of Prague Convent

The former convent church

Some of the devotional works in the former convent

The camels arriving at the friary

The friary in the snow

Friars and postulants

There must be millions of photos of scenes like this in Prague

It was a surprise to run into someone I know from Australia at St Clement's Anglican Church in Prague. Toby is part of a youth community which has been to our NSW hermitage for programmes to reflect on community life and spirituality.

The following day, totally without problem, I travelled to London and then to Canterbury. I'm now at the friary and beginning my studies for this term. So far I've been collecting a pile of books to read - and very impressive they look - but haven't opened them yet.

Wroclaw to Praha

2008-01-06T17:16:00.001+09:00

Where my journey started - Wroclaw Station

Not much happening inside the station

My plan was an overnight rail journey from Wroclaw in Poland to Prague - then to catch my flight to England. It started well enough with the first train - from Wroclaw to Katowice. I then had 30 minutes in Katowice before the 23:52 train to Prague. First observation - Katowice railway station does not display any information for departures on the departure board until that train is ready to depart. So you stand and look at the board and then sprint to your platform. There's no opportunity to check in advance which train you are needing to catch. I asked and people said that probably my train was late, just wait a bit. A 23:54 train to Wien appeared on the board and a rapid sprint of travellers left me standing alone. Ask at information. But no English there. Ask at a ticket counter. The same - she just said "Wien, Praha, Budapest". The realisation sank in that I should have been on that 23:54 train to Wien - that it was in fact the same as the 23:52 to Prague.

The display board - see the 23:54 to Wien? That's where I should have been.

This is not what you want to happen in a foreign city, in the middle of winter, at midnight. Fortunately there was an internet cafe in the station and I was able to check on timetables and see that there was a 5.15 am train I could catch. I wouldn't be able to make my flight from Prague though. I thought of other possibilities such as flying to Prague, but there are no
flights from Katowice to Prague.

Resigned to an overnight wait in the station I was about to make myself relatively comfortable in the only slightly above arctic temperature of the cafe when lots of police appeared. There was a bomb scare and we had to evacuate the building. Two hours of waiting in the plaza in front of the station was a unique experience.

The station plaza in a slightly livelier moment

Finally we were allowed back in. No bomb had been found. After several hours of waiting in the circle of hell which is a railway station cafe in the middle of winter I was able to board the first of the three trains to get me back to Prague.

Again - not an easy procedure. The timetable showed the train as going to Ostrova - where I could connect with my next train. But the information boards showed that it was going only as far as Bohumin. This was a deliberate lie. It really was going to Ostrova - and stopping at every
station on the way - all 26 of them.

The plus side of early morning rail travel is watching the sun rise

Warm and on a comfortable train at last

At Ostrova I was able to make some phone calls to alter my flight reservation without too great a penalty fee - and eventually, two other trains and then a metro and tram ride later I was back at the Capuchin Friary in Prague in time to see the camels arrive.

They were sent by the Spanish Embassy and brought their three riders and gifts to where Joseph, Mary and a real baby were standing waiting in front of the friary walls. (January 5th - the eve of the feast of the Epiphany).

Today (Sunday Jan 6th) it's snowing. I'm waiting here until Monday morning when I can catch my flight to London.

Praha to Wroclaw

2008-01-03T06:48:00.001+09:00

Travelling on the train eastwards across the Czech Republic and then later this afternoon crossing the border into Poland before changing at Katowice to head north to my destination of Wroclaw. The border crossing is an invisible event since yesterday when border checks ceased.

The countryside is a mix of flat or gently rolling farm land, empty of crops in the winter, and hills and forest. Recent snows have blanketed most if it in white.

Before setting off from Prague Station

scenery along the way

Transferring in Katowice Station was interesting. Poland seems older and dirtier than what I saw of the Czech Republic; and Katowice Station, in mid-winter with crowds of people fighting for seats on the trains, and when I myself have a cold, certainly feels like one of the less attractive places to be. I needed to go to the toilet so of course I needed money, Polish money. Finally I found an ATM which, even better, was working. But the notes it issued me with were too large for the toilet attendant. So I had to get some change. Bought a bottle of drink, grabbed the change, rushed to the toilet. And then later realised I had forgotten the bottle I had just bought. Then had to stand for 3 hours in the poorly heated corridor of the train.

My friend and former student, Chris Park, met me at the station. He works for LG (the Korean electronics company).

I think there are interesting things to see here but I've had a cold and have spent the day inside resting - looking at the view from his apartment (as in the picture below)

Firenze / Wien / Praha

2008-01-01T21:14:00.001+09:00

My last day in Florence was more restful. In the morning attended a mass in the Duomo. Started off by sitting in a good Anglican seat - second from the back - but we were called up to fill in the seats higher up. Landed up in the front row just a few metres from the high altar. Then more sightseeing - the Duomo museum and the Baptistery. Back to the hotel to rest. Vespers in
the Duomo - sung by their ancient canons - assisted by a small choir. Back to the hotel to pack.

Some last images from Florence

From my seat in the Duomo

Votive candles

The mosaic ceiling of the Baptistery

Statues in the Duomo museum

Florence fashion

Early morning to the airport by taxi - too early for the bus. Was ripped off by the taxi driver - the fare on the meter came to 31.50. I paid him with four ten euro notes because I only had about 75 cents in coins. He put the notes in with his pile of other notes. And then asked for the 1.50. I showed him my 75 cents. He took it and said thank you - and gave me no change. He
said I had only given him three ten-euro notes - and not four. He pulled out three notes from his pile and said that was what I had given him. It was impossible to prove anything. I guess it's one of their oldest tricks!

Arrived at the airport much earlier than I needed to be. But just as well since there was a problem with my luggage. It was 6 kg overweight. But no problem they said - just carry an extra bag with you as cabin luggage. Frantic rearrangement at the check in counter to remove my shampoo and other items which might be used to make a bomb and transfer them to my main bag. Then - while queuing for security I suddenly realise I'm still carrying in that bag my Swiss army knife. Obviously I am a terrorist! Back to the check in counter. Nothing else is possible but to check in my other bag. It's overweight but they don't charge.

You know you're travelling on Austrian Airlines because they play Strauss waltzes before takeoff.

Arrived in Prague and was met by my Capuchin friend, Serafin, and taken back to the 16th century friary where he lives - just above the old castle.

Have been walking round, sightseeing, fighting off the cold. Mass this morning in the cathedral. And more sightseeing to come this afternoon.

The old castle - the cluster of buildings around the cathedral

By night from across the river

St Vitus Cathedral, Prague

Crucifix on the Charles Bridge

With my friend Br Serafin outside his friary

Firenze 3

2007-12-30T17:25:00.001+09:00

A day of exercise.

some of the steps....

First - a climb up the cupola of the Duomo - all 463 steps. But what a view - including even the window of my room in the hotel!

see my hotel?

me again!

the roof of the Duomo and the bell tower

The view inside the cupola - looking down

and looking up - the fresco at close range

And back at ground level looking up

The "Gates of Paradise" on the Baptistery - and the hell of crowds everywhere!

Then to the Chiesa di Ognissanti - this church was originally a Franciscan church and its cloister has a number of frescoes of the life of Francis - set in renaissance Florence. The former refectory has one of the most famous last supper fresoces - by Ghirlandaio. (picture below)

Across the Arno to discover San Frediano already closed for the afternoon and the Basilica di Santa Maria del Carmine being closed. Cross the river again to the Basilica di San Lorenzo which was open. Admire the simple renaissance architecture.

Then back across the river to the Piazzale Michelangelo - the view is stunning. Finally to San Miniato al Monte to see some fairly unalterered romanesque architecture and to listen to the monks singing vespers.

San Miniato

Inside San Miniato

Evening view from San Miniato

An angel in the cemetery outside San Miniato

A couple in the cemetery - she died 1944, he in 1945.

The latest stylish fashions there too

One of the private chapels in the cemetery

Dinner and then a free concert of plainsong in nearby San Gaetano rounded off the day.

Italian cars - the Smart Car - it's almost square, you can park it any direction - it's the same

Charging your electric car at the street outlet

Just as well I didn't buy a Rolex from the man in the street!

Moving sculptures

Some of the police - there are many different police here - I'm not sure which these are.

Another view across the river

Firenze 2

2007-12-30T04:32:00.001+09:00

Another day of Culture... I fought my way through the crowds in the Uffizi - although I couldn't help but noticing once past the Botticelli room things speeded up - I think everyone gets gallery fatigue by then!

Art on the pavement

Then across the Ponte Vecchio and a stroll round Santo Spirito and San Frediano. Would have liked to see the churches there but it was the siesta time so everything was closed.

A winter afternoon at a fountain

Across the Arno

Back across the river to the Franciscan church, Santa Croce. The Bardi Chapel with its Giotto Franciscan frescoes and Franciscan dossal was one of the main reasons I came to Florence so it was good to see them without too many crowds in the way.

Santa Croce

Inside - the Bardi Chapel is just to the right of the scaffolding - you can also see the Stigmata fresco above the chapel arch.

What I came to see - the Franciscan dossal

San Bernardino - in the Santa Croce Museum

After that, too cultured out for any more, I wandered back through the streets to the hotel. Around 5 to 6pm is a good time to wander into the churches - except that it is usually too dark to see much in them. The Oratorians' Chiesa de San Firenze was open - although I really thought it was an official office building first. Then a wonderful surprise to find the church used by the Monastic Community of Jerusalem where a number of people had gathered for silent prayer and vespers.

After all that - time for a meal at McDonalds and back to this hotel.

Firenze - 1

2007-12-29T04:13:00.001+09:00

For a long time I've wanted to visit this city (I will call it by its Italian name, Firenze, rather than Florence since Koreans call it Firenze as well).

I'm staying in a cheap, but comfortable in a basic way, hotel around the corner from the main train station and from Santa Maria Novella. It is a room with a view although if you want to look out the windows you need to stand in the corner and open the shutters. But it is a stunning view of San Lorenzo in front of the Duomo.

From my room with a view - the large dome in the foreground is San Lorenzo - behind that is the Duomo - you can see the bell tower and part of its dome.

Across the Arno at sunset - looking to San Frediano

Santa Maria Novella - the Dominican basilica

You want to buy your own statue? This shop is full of them.

Tomorrow is an art marathon - the Uffizi.

Siena

2007-12-29T04:12:00.000+09:00

Siena is well known for many reasons. For me the first is its local boy, the 14th century Bernardino, later to achieve fame as a Franciscan preacher and promoter of devotion to the Holy Name. The second reason is the local girl, Catarina, also in the 14th century, who as a Dominican exerted considerable spiritual leadership. Other features are the fan-shaped piazza, Il Campo, in
front of the Palazzo Pubblico and the stunning civic architecture. There is of course too a Duomo which would grace any city. And for fans of horseracing there is a horserace like none other. Il Palio is a fierce contest of rivalry among the seventen contrade.

Il Campo
The Palazzo Pubblico and tower

The view from the top of the tower
Me on top of the tower

The interior of the Duomo

I was looking for traces of San Bernardino - the SSF hermitage in Stroud, NSW, is named after him. His symbol is the monogram of the name of Jesus in the form of a disc. He made this to unite warring factions and would preach while holding it. The symbol can be seen all over Siena today.

Basilica San Francesco

Inside San Francesco

There is more remaining of Catarina here. Her head is in a glass-fronted reliquary looking out at those who come to the chapel named for her in San Domenico church. There is also a finger.

The Dominicans and Franciscans both built enormous barns of churches. They were very much preaching halls but it is easy to see how the appeal of those two orders created tensions with secular clergy (the local parish clergy).

Sunset and San Domenico

Sunset from the Casa Santa Catarina

Aguri! Christmas greetings! Buon Natale!

Style - Fashion - come to Italy!

The cat sat on the car

The hotel where I stayed

Christmas in Assisi

2007-12-29T03:45:00.000+09:00

There are many ways of celebrating Christmas in Assisi. Over the past week or so people have been preparing the presepe - the Christmas cribs - usually set in whole villages of activity. There are large ones prepared by local organisations or churches and small ones in shop windows. There have been pre-Christmas concerts. But there isn't really any shopping rush. That's partly because most of the shops in Assisi are souvenir shops. Statutes of St Francis are not major items as Christmas presents. But it really felt very relaxed and quiet.

One of the presepe in Assisi

I went to San Damiano for Christmas midnight mass and was fortunate to get a seat. We filled that old church, the stones partly repaired by Francis, friars leading music in a very simple way. Afterwards we processed with candles (well - a lot of people in a small space is not a procession - more of a moving queue) to the friars' cloister for veneration of the Bambino (kissing its knee) before refreshments in the refectory.

Christmas Day was with the Anglican congregation at San Leonardo. Visitors boosted the numbers of the regular winter congregation - which otherwise can be quite small. And after that Gordon and Christine - two of the resident expats invited Br Tom and myself to join them and George and Beryl (who split their time each year between Australia and Italy) and a few others for Christmas dinner. It was only the second time in the last twelve years I hadn't been in Korea for Christmas. It was very nice not to be responsible for anything!

Tom, George, Beryl, Gordon and Christine

An unusual view of Assisi - from the "other side" - the Rocca Maggiore is at the top of the hill - and the tower below it, just above the road, has been converted into a house where Rosemary lives.

Assisi at twilight - there are still a few cranes around repairing the earthquake damage.

Assisi and Santa Maria degli Angeli

2007-12-22T18:04:00.001+09:00

Really just a few more photos rather than words here.

A panorama of Assisi from near Santa Maria degli Angeli

The Christmas crib - part of it - by San Francesco

Sunset
Santa Maria degli Angeli from near the railway station - not the best perspecive perhaps
The Little Portion inside the Basilica

The Anglican Christmas decorations in St Leonards - very restrained

Perugia

2007-12-22T18:04:00.000+09:00

Now that I have less than a week here I've been fired up to visit other
places. Perugia was a delight. In Franciscan history it is famed for its
past enmity with Assisi. But then rivalry and warfare between rival states
is part of Italian history. Perugia has many signs of its past, especially
in the historic centre. The enormous and lavishly decorated Palazzo dei
Priori still serves as the seat of local government - you walk through
medieval vaulted corridors to pay your rates. Two floors have been converted
into the world-class Galleria Nazionale Dell'Umbria containing a number of
Umbrian masterpieces. I found the first few galleries - 13th century - the
most rewarding. The galleries which follow are still excellent - but gallery
fatigue sets in after a while!

Perugia is built on the top of a hill. Sightseeing again is like mountain
climbing. To make it easier there are lifts and escalators. Ascending from
the bus terminal on the escalators you pass through the foundations built on
Etruscan ruins.

The following photos show some of the sights.

The interior of San Pietro

and the exterior

and the tower from further up the street

The pulpit built for San Bernardino on the facade of the Cathedral

The facade of the Oratory of San Bernardino - the panel in the lower centre shows the "bonfire of vanities" - after his preaching urged everyone to discard their vanities they threw them on a massive bonfire in the town square.

Christmas lights

A Christmas festival carousel

The Palazzo dei
Priori

One of the remaining medieval towers

Assisi - more snow and lots of winter

2007-12-19T22:08:00.001+09:00

The Piazza Santa Chiara

Since last Saturday even more snow fell - so that's another excuse to go out taking photographs of the scenery. It also has been cold. A strong wind on Monday. I spent most of Monday inside the Basilica of St Francis looking at the frescoes - except round midday when, apart from it being lunch time, I had got so cold from being inside I had to return to the friary to warm up.

Br Tom with Anglican church members in Assisi on a snowy morning

Tuesday I went to Spello, the next train stop down the valley from Assisi. There are many Roman remains, medieval churches and stunning renaissance artworks. Perhaps the most famous there are the Baglioni Chapel fresoces by Pintoricchio. A stroke of luck in that they were being filmed that morning and so were brightly lit. I didn't need to pay my Euros into the slot
machine to turn on the lights.

Ancient city gate in Spello

Italian motor vehicles in the historic centre of Spello

Instructions on what to do with your dog droppings!

Back in Assisi that night the Anglican congregation held its Nine Lessons and Carols, followed by mulled wine and mince pies. As I've spent every Christmas since 1994 (except one) in Korea where there is neither mulled wine nor mince pies I have a lot of catching up to do. I had heard there was to be a performance of Verdi's Requiem in the Upper Basilica with a number
of famous performers. I had also been told that I might be able to get admission without a ticket (which had all been sold out months ago). Went down to the basilica but discovered that the concert had been the previous night. So back to St Leonards to the Anglicans for more mince pies and mulled wine!

Assisi in the Snow

2007-12-16T00:02:00.000+09:00

It started snowing last night and has been continuing throughout the day. It's too warm for much snow to pile up much but there's enough for the children to run around in.

In the Piazza Santa Chiara

The fountain still plays - it's not that cold really!

The dome of San Rufino, with a covering of snow
The plain below

I'm writing this in the local internet cafe, a cup of espresso at hand, but driven mad by having the background of Vivaldi's Four Seasons - one of them at least - repeated many times. I'm also trying to make the most of a fast connection to download some large files - fighting for time against a failing battery since for some reason the mains connection isn't working.

All round me are the usual Saturday afternoon crowds hanging out here. Everyone shouting toi everyone else - and having mobile phone conversations at the same time. From time to time everyone stands up and some get their bags and I think they might all be about to go. But they just regroup and sit down again. There have been a few foreigners here - sitting quietly in the corners.

I've been trying to sort out some of travel connections - bus to Siena is easy enough - but train from Prague to Wroclaw is impossible to book from here or by the internet it seems. We hope the broadband connection at the friary will be fixed soon. But I doubt it will happen so easily.

Meanwhile the snow is still falling. At 4.20pm it's starting to get dark outside. Time to go back to the friary soon and start cooking dinner before vespers at Santa Chiara.

Santa Maria degli Angeli

2007-12-15T23:54:00.001+09:00

St Mary of the Angels was the church given by the Benedictines to Francis and his companions after they were evicted from the pig sties at Rivotorto. Also known as the Little Portion, the first friars lived round the old church in simple huts.

Later a much larger and elaborate (though by Italian standards fairly restrained) church was built over the top of the simple old one.

In the old cloisters beside the church are many evocative places, and modern works of art. This statue is of Francis and the cricket.

Rivotorto

2007-12-14T19:47:00.001+09:00

Assisi seen below from the road to Rivotorto

When Francis and his first companions returned from Rome with their initial rule of life having been approved they settled for a while in some disused farm buildings, until they were taken over by a farmer for his pigs. These buildings were much later reconstructed as the Tugurio in the church in Rivotorto.

My plan was to take the bus to Rivotoro, then walk up quiet country roads to San Damiano for vespers. First problem was that the bus terminated at Santa Maria degli Angeli station - because the road to Rivotorto was closed for a few days. So I walked. Then when I got to the church the Tugurio was closed for repair so I couldn't see it. Not a great loss really. There are some fine bronze statutes of Francis outside the church - Francis and the leper and Francis and the birds.

Francis and the birds - at Rivotorto

Francis and the Leper - Assisi is in the background

The quiet country roads up to San Damiano were not so quiet because the main road being closed they had a lot of extra heavy traffic.

From the road to San Damiano

But vespers at San Damiano was very beautiful, as almost any liturgy in that holy space could be.

Francis sits meditating outside San Damiano

Assisi Diary - Ponte San Giovanni and the Carceri

2007-12-13T18:12:00.001+09:00

All kinds of weather - on the road going up Mt Subasio - on the way to the Carceri

The Ponte San Giovanni, on the plains below Assisi and in the direction of Perugia, was the site of a violent battle in 1202. Assisians (including the young Francis) fought Perugians and Francis was taken prisoner.
Today it's the site of a shopping centre where everyone can peacefully shop together; except perhaps for fighting over the bargains and empty parking spaces.

The Carceri, rather quaintly described in one of my guide books as a "sacred palace of retirement", is a hermitage built on the caves where Francis and his early companions used to go to for prayer and retreat. On a cold and windy winter's day it's almost free of visitors. There's the chapel built by Bernardine of Siena; below that is the cave used by Francis. In the grounds are other caves also used by the early friars. It's a beautiful place, nestled on the slopes of Mt Subasio, full of the spirit of prayer.

The Carceri hermitage
The chapel of St Bernardine

The cave of St Francis
Br Leo's cave
Part of a group of statues of Francis and his companions

The forest below the Carceri - one of the few moments the sun was shining

Assisi Diary

2007-12-08T19:16:00.000+09:00

The cross outside San Pietro at sunset

Inside San Stefano

The bells of San Stefano - the legend is that they starting ringing of their own accord when Francis died

One of the many fountains in the street

The fine weather has given way to rain, perhaps tomorrow will be better.

Today was the fire festival - a torch was carried up from the Basilica of St Francis to the Rocca Maggiore - the remains of the castle on the hill above Assisi and a great bonfire lit. People sang folk songs - lots of "la la la" choruses. Then I went back to the friary before the rain set in.

Tomorrow (Saturday Dec 8th) is the feast of the Immaculate Conception - a public holiday here.

Assisi Diary 3

2007-12-07T19:41:00.001+09:00

Today is the start of the Candle Festival. I'm not sure how this Candle Festival will be celebrated but tonight we had a medieval spactacle of dancers, drummers and folk music. Medieval folk music has only two different tunes and we heard them both. The dancers were good but of the four torch dancers, the torches of two of them went out half way through and dancing with a stick in your hand instead of a flaming torch looks a bit daft. After that, another night out at a local eatery. Once again I had to eat truffles.

Assisi Diary 2

2007-12-07T19:41:00.000+09:00

The SSF Friary in Assisi

The roof of San Rufino with the tower of Santa Chiara in the background

I'm gradually getting used to things here. The shops which close all afternoon. Vespers at Santa Chiara which suddenly starts 15 minutes earlier and includes a 30 minute sermon. The tour groups (and this being the off-season they are very reduced in number).

Two days ago Br James Anthony and I went to La Verna. This is, of course, for Franciscans well known as the place where Francis received the Stigmata. Public transport there is difficult so we hired a car from Perugia; a very stylish black Fiat Panda. (The cheapest model). Getting to Perugia first was an exercise in pushing through crowds of morning commuters and taking a
place on a slow commuter train from Assisi. Having picked up the car navigating out of Perugia was easy. I had already had advice that the best way was simply to follow any sign indicating "Roma". That will direct you to the nearest motorway - the only catch then is to go in the right direction once you've found it. We reached Pieve San Stefano easily enough, exited the motorway and took the hairpin road up the hill to La Verna.

The La Verna buildings

Looking out across the plain

I would have liked to stay there several days and not be just a day tripper. The mountain scenery is spectacular, and it's also possible to appreciate the roughness of the peak with its caves and fissures where Francis and other brothers came for prayer. The buildings make it hard to see the place of the stigmata but you can still appreciate the atmosphere of prayer.

Lunch in a country restaurant; then the drive back. Noticing that Gubbio was close we took a detour via that place - famous for Francis taming the wolf which had been terrorising the inhabitants. The size of the remaining walls and gates - and the rough mountain gorge behind and above - showed the danger from "beyond the walls". It is easy to imagine fear becoming
contagious in those narrow streets.

Returning from Perugia to Assisi was another learning experience as we realised that the tickets sold by the automatic ticket dispenser don't apply to every train and that some require a supplementary reservation. But by the time we had queued for the ticket counter the train had gone anyway and we were then waiting for the local commuter train anyway.

Yesterday a walk down the hill to San Damiano - the church "rebuilt" by Francis in response to God's call he heard from the cross there. A beautiful place, but again the tour groups. In front of us a large and noisy Italian group with a voluble guide - and behind us a group of nuns. Vespers in the chapel there rounded out the day.

The cloister at San Damiano

The interior of the church

Assisi Diary

2007-11-30T14:49:00.000+09:00

I arrived in Assisi two days ago after a too-busy attempt to see as much of Rome as possible. Here it's much quieter. There's a lot to see and a lot to take in but I have longer - nearly a month - so I am much more relaxed.

Today Br Thomas Anthony came back after a week away. It was good to welcome him back. Also today I learnt something about shops. They close about midday and then reopen maybe about 5pm. I had offered to cook but but 6pm the greengrocer was still not open and I was unable to cook. No problems. Just go out to dinner!

One of the favourite foods of the region is truffles - and so for the first time in my life I have enjoyed truffles - in two different ways. One in a creamy sauce with pasta, the other with mushrooms on bruschetta. I've also enjoyed coffee with grappa. So there are plenty of spiritual delights in this place...

No photos yet - the internet connection is too slow.

Roman Diary

2007-11-27T03:33:00.000+09:00

First - my time in Rome is not a holiday. For a true Roman holiday you of course need Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. Nor is it La Dolce Vita - although half of the local population look like extras from that other great Roman movie. I'm here for a few days on the way to Assisi and also just to see some of the sights. And on a small budget nothing is like in either of those movies!

In front of Il Vittoriano, a very elegantly dressed lady. Obviously not a tourist.

I arrived on Friday Nov 23rd, travel weary after about 30 hours since departing the friary in Korea. Italians are elegant, even after long flights. I could not possibly have been mistaken for one so I was surprised when a very elegant woman came to me while waiting for the train and spoke to me in Italian. When I obviously couldn't understand she switched immediately to perfect English and asked if I had the time. There are a number of answers to that. I spared her my wit at 7am and gave the straightforward answer.

How far had I come? The first advertising billboards visible from the airport train were Kia and Hyundai.

Police attempting to control the traffic

Famous dead people at the Capitoline Museum

Capitoline Museum

That day I wandered round the historic city centre - close to where I am staying. Lots of churches (admission is free). The Capitoline Museum and the Risorgimento Museum in the Il Vittoriano monument - full of Garibaldi relics - and those of other leaders of the national unification movement. No stranger than having relics of martyrs in churches.

The queue for St Peters

St Peters from across the Tiber
Handbag sellers outside the Vatican
The dress code - alas it was too cold for anything skimpy

You want a papal blessing? Only used once.

Baby Jesus for sale

More religious stuff

Saturday was my day for queuing. First - for the Vatican Museums - about 90 minutes standing. And then for St Peter's - only about 30 minutes. Crowds everywhere and St Peters with the atmosphere of a railway station. The museum hours are short in the winter - 10am to 1.30pm. It's impossible to manage. Beat the crowds and visit the collection (bits of it anyway) online.

Sunday I began with the relative sober surroundings of All Saints Anglican Church before fighting my way through rain-drenched crowds (having had to buy an umbrella from one of the Bangladeshi umbrella sellers who miraculously appear with umbrellas to sell the instant it starts raining) round the Spanish Steps. To the Palazzo Barberini - as much to see the building as the artworks in its gallery. A quick trip to St John's Lateran via one of the most unusual churches - St Mary of the Angels and the Martyrs - built inside the tepidarium of the Baths of Diocletian.

The city of cats

St Francis, outside St John's Lateran
The ceiling, St John's Lateran

Corridor from the papal apartments, St John's Lateran

Monday - yet more religious buildings. The Lateran Palace museum - buildings to show power and impress others! Again - the buildings perhaps even more interesting than their contents. Then out to the southern suburbs to the Appian Way and some of the catacombs and other historical sites. I was able to get to the Catacombs of St Callistus one minute before the final group before lunch. It was truly impressive to go underground and see the burial places of the Roman Christians. Also the Basilica of St Sebastian on the Appian Way (so far the only church I was able to be alone in). The next church along the Way is also the only church I ever saw with a question in its title - the Church of Domine quo Vadis? (Peter's question to Jesus on seeing him entering Rome - a city which Peter was attempting to flee from).

The Appian Way

The day's sightseeing was not yet over. Also in the southern suburbs is the massive Basilica of St Paul's Outside the Walls. Its size, ancient origins, and comparatively few visitors , made it a prayerful place.

St Pauls Outside the Walls

Feeling somewhat sated with medieval and renaissance architecture I headed further south to the EUR complex. Designed originally for an expo which was prevented by WWII the buildings are a fine example of early modernism. In any place I visit I'm always happy to find somewhere off the beaten track - and this is it.

One of the EUR buildings

Finally back to the central parts of Rome to the only major basilica I had yet to visit - St Mary Major - where I suddenly found a lengthy procession of priests, bishops and cardinals starting a festive mass. They were mostly from Philadelphia Archdiocese and were there, at the invitation of Cardinal Law, with Archbishop John Foley, also of Philadelphia, who had been made a cardinal a few days previously. Also there was Cardinal Justin Rigali, Archbishop of Philadelphia.
After that it was a humble slice of pizza and back to the Anglican Centre where I am staying.

Basilica of St Mary Major

The dome of the Jesuit church, Il Gesu
Everyone goes here!

What the well dressed cleric is wearing

Just to prove that I really have been there

flying again

2007-11-23T00:34:00.000+09:00

This time to Rome - the first part of a 5-month journey. Nervous about arriving in a strange city and negotiating public transport with luggage. I have my phrase book - and I realise from having learnt musical terms that I know lots of ways of talking about the speed of things.

I'm in transit in Singapore airport waiting for my flight.

I hope this journey will provide me with some interesting things to write about - and the time to do so.

Flying Friar

2007-10-29T22:08:00.000+09:00

The friar is flying again. After a hectic week with last minute preparations complicated by a hard disk failure and needing to restore everything I'm catching the plane to Brisbane for a provincial chapter. And 5 days later returning to Korea.

After that it's the peace conference - www.topik2007.org - and my duties on the staff of that.

And two days after that finishes I depart Korea for 5 months overseas - mostly for my Franciscan study in Canterbury.

So if there is anyone still checking here occasionally for news or photos there might be - and as I get occasion in travels I will try to write.

The book I am reading at the moment: "Riding the gentled ox home" http://www.cloverdalebooks.com/CloverdaleBooks/RidingGentledOx.html
by a kiwi friend of mine, Graeme Webb. He explores the Buddhist ox-herding pictures from a Christian perspective. Buy it!

Country Life

2007-10-18T07:54:00.000+09:00

These days the farmers are busy with harvesting the rice which has been ripening in full golden ears. Any flat surface, such as roads, is covered with freshly harvested rice drying in the daytime warmth. Last month, in late summer, early autumn, we had red peppers, also laid on the roads, drying in the hot dry air and farmers were planting crops of cabbage and radish. Soon, in early winter, these will be harvested and with the sauce made from the dried chillies and other ingredients made into the winter kimchi.

Other seasonal patterns surround us. As I write these words I am on the train into Seoul. Today it's full; autumn picnickers and mountain climbers and school groups on days out have taken all the seats. A crocodile line of elementary school students in identical black track pants, black and white striped tops and orange and yellow back packs has just taken over the aisle. Passengers sitting nearby are sharing snacks with the children. Those nearby me are very curious about what this foreigner with a laptop is writing about. In summer it was students during the summer vacation. The university students are busy with mid-semester exams this and next week so they are not to be seen. I'm pleased I made an advance reservation today, or else I would be standing for the 1 hour, 40 minute trip into Seoul.

Outbreak of Crime Strikes Village

2007-09-06T20:19:00.000+09:00

The small village of Hudong-ri, partway between the friary and Gangchon station was a haven of peace until recently. It boasted a sign advertising that it had been a "crime-less village" since a particular date - I think in 1991. That sign has now been removed. What ghastly infamy has been committed? Perhaps the crime was nothing other than the illegal removal of the sign? But what if it was more? The village is inhabited by a few dozen very old farmers.

Or what if the sign merely meant that no crime had been reported - and that in reality, behind the doors of the farmers' rude dwellings, were daily committed scenes of wild depravity?

Will it be safe to pass through the mean street (there's only one) of Hudong-ri again?

Travels to North Korea - retrospect

2007-08-21T17:40:00.000+09:00

Apart from the travelogue of the last three entries, what is really significant about such travel to Geumgangsan? Of course the scenery is spectacular. The hotel is comfortable (despite the absence of knives, see the previous entry) and really just like a South Korean tourist hotel. It's the bits in between which were most memorable for me. The bits we were not allowed to photograph. The drab, unpainted, open-window classrooms. The soldiers in their soviet-style hats in the guard posts at every junction. The farmers pretending not to see 10 bus-loads of waving South Koreans going down the road. The hotel compound, dropped in from the South, and as sealed off from the outside world as if a lunar base surrounded by vacuum.

Then the bizarre juxtapositions. Looking out the hotel window, where South Korean television is showing the news and South Korean beer is in the refrigerator, and seeing a squad of North Korean soldiers marching in formation.

The strange flashes of humour. This is communist water we are drinking. Those who fought the cold war would not approve of this. These people are communists. Recalling a time when that word alone was enough to send a shudder of fear down the spines of the "right" thinking.

Then to thinking, what do people here (i.e. the North) feel about opening up part of their fierce and proud independence to let us in with our American dollars? Is it a little like the "stately homes" of England, forced by financial circumstances to open up to the paying unwashed masses? If North Korea had a strong economy would they tolerate such tourism?

Of course we can say that all we are doing is seeing beautiful, and indeed the most renowned, scenery in all of Korea. But it's those parts in between the scenery and the hotel which are really the most fascinating. It feels strange, even voyeuristic, being this kind of tourist - pretending we are there only for the mountains, but with more than passing glances at the signs of a communist state in decline. As if visiting some ancient and decaying amusement park, where the interest is not so much in the rides but as in the crumbling edifice.

Travels to North Korea - day 3

2007-08-15T21:54:00.000+09:00

Saturday August 11 is our final day here and it stops raining at last.

In the morning the passing mist reveals some of the mountains lit by the rising sun. This was a moment worth waiting through days of rain and cloud for.

Breakfast is provided by the hotel. The Korean food is good but I settle on the comfort of Western: cornflakes, toast and jam. Coffee is not provided. (That's later and in the hotel lobby at two dollars a cup). There's nothing to spread the jam on the toast. I ask for a knife. (In Korean and in English and with my best miming). The waiter looks frightened and scuttles off. A second waiter comes. I repeat my request. The same response. A third one appears. He returns, 5 minutes later, with a knife. My Korean table-mates told me they had already tried to get a knife but were told to use their spoon instead. What's going on?

We quickly check out and depart on the final climb. Our bus is once again No. 1 in the convey. It helps that we have a high official in the Hyundai Asan company with us. About ten other buses follow us up a narrow mountain road with hairpin bends. The driver is good and very careful. (He is not South Korean but Chinese ethnic Korean). We continue walking up the road and see the damaged bridges on the path; concrete slabs pushed metres out of position by the force of the water and culverts blocked by boulders. Our track is also an overflow from the river, so once again it's wet feet.

Now we are once again in a situation remarkably similar to South Korean hiking. Too many people (about 10 bus loads) pushing past each other up and down narrow paths. There was a spectacular rock at the end of our course, except that it was covered in people.

Some of the wildlife!

After returning there's time for a quick lunch (neng-myeon - the cold noodle soup - a staple dish of the North). One of my favourites.

Group photo outside the restaurant where we had lunch - photo shooting is organised here - just stand on the white line!

Our buses line up in convoy order for the trip back across to the South. The hotel staff are lined up outside the hotel to wave us off. "Ready, one, two, three - WAVE" in a wonderfully spontaneous display.

The soldiers do not wave.

Soon we are back in the south, where although the soldiers do not wave either, they do look a lot friendlier.

We get our mobile phones back. How could we all have survived for so long without? The absence of silly phone talk is one of the good things in the North. Perhaps it's not so bad after all!

Travels to North Korea - day 2

2007-08-14T19:43:00.000+09:00

This is yet another day of rain. Our planned hiking course has to be abandoned. Floods a few days previously have washed out a lot of bridges and roads. (The news of this emerges into the western media somewhat later on August 14 - e.g. BBC News.) Instead we do a shorter course in the morning, walking up a mountain valley anxiously crossing rather dodgy looking bridges over a torrential stream. The track is also a watercourse and it's impossible to keep our feet dry. If the weather had been better we could have reached Guryong Waterfall - one of the most impressive waterfalls and a tourist "must-see" but we had to be content with the mountain torrent and other waterfalls.

One of the features of North Korea is the adulation accorded the Great Leader, Comrade Kim Il-sung and his son and successor, the Dear Leader, Comrade Kim Jong-Il. As we walked through the forest we passed a number of plaques recording the teachings of Kim Il-sung. There is a prolific industry in creating these plaques and in calligraphic carving into stone.

This was the first occasion we had to mix with our North Korean tour guides. One came and asked me in English if I spoke any of the North Korean language. Only a little of the South language I replied. (The language of South and North is the same but 50 years of separation and of ideological differences have created substantial variation). He asked me where I was from, I told him New Zealand and he replied that he was from Gangwon Province, North Korea. I also live in Gangwon Province I told him - the part of the Province in the South. (Our province is divided by the DMZ). It was a strange point of connection.

We then saw the re-construction site of the Shingyesa Temple. The original temple here, dating from 519 was destroyed in the Korean War, but is now being rebuilt with South Korean finance. Geumgansan is important in Korean Buddhist history and has many Buddhist sites, some still extant.

After walking round the temple construction site, our shoes, which had been wet but clean are now muddy as well.

We continue to Samilpo - a seaside lake - with a rather tatty concrete pavillion. The rock faces around are again inscribed, "Long Life to the Great Leader". The interesting thing about the travel is getting from one place to another by bus. We are not allowed to take photos along the way because we have to pass outside our special tourist-only areas and (almost) mix with the locals. Well - at least we can look from the bus and see the ubiquitous soldiers with their red flags ready to stop anything untoward. We also see propaganda billboards, villages and schools. Buildings are universally dull concrete with fading paint. Schools have small holes for windows but no glass. The local farmers ignore us completely.

Later that afternoon we see the harbour where South Korean tourism to the North began. The bus ride over the DMZ was not available then so everyone had to come in and out by ship and stay in a "floating hotel" moored in the harbour.

We finish in a luxuriously appointed spa enjoying a variety of indoor and outdoor hot and cold pools, a walk through a jade pebble pool and different saunas. After spending the day getting wetter and dirtier it was a relief to enjoy getting wet and clean.

And the farmers in the villages we saw perhaps had to draw water by buckets from the river and had only the dimmest of lights at night.

Travels to North Korea - day 1

2007-08-13T11:45:00.000+09:00

Thursday August 9th and I am about to have three days travel / sightseeing in North Korea. Ten years ago that statement would have been surprising since it was virtually impossible to do such a thing. However since 1998 Geumgangsan in North Korea has been available as a special tourist region for anyone.

We travel by bus from Seoul to Hwajinpo (in the far north-east of the South), where we complete our check-in. We surrender mobile phones and South Korean magazines and newspapers and are issued with a tourist pass to wear round our neck at all times. By now the rain is heavy and the previous patches of blue sky are completely left behind. After lunch we board our bus again and continue further north. We have free time so we stop to jump out of the bus and run through the rain to see the new Jejin railway station. (The next station after this is in North Korea). The station includes full facilities for immigration and quarantine checking. None of this has been used yet since the only train to run along this line was a single test run. Back in our bus we drive through rain, lashing more and more heavily, to the road border station where we complete departure checks.

Our bus and driver are now different. The bus is from the Geumgangsan tourist resort and the driver is a Korean Chinese. The tension mounts as we approach the DMZ. We wait at the gates on the south as the convoy of delivery trucks, fuel tankers, and construction machinery (all Hyundai) drive south. Running a hotel at Geumgangsan is like running one on the moon. Almost everything has to be trucked in and out. There's no reliable or sufficient electricity supply in the north so the daily convey includes diesel for the generators. The gates on the south remain open to let our convoy through to the north.

We are now in that 4 km wide strip, the Demilitarized Zone, across which some millions of soldiers point their guns to the enemy on the other side. But in between there is nothing except mine fields and an ecological paradise of undisturbed nature. Half way across we are now in the north side, and another 2 km is the guard post and gate and our first glimpse of North Korean soldier. Our tour leader encourages us to wave to him. The response here and every other time is a stone faced glare. What is he thinking I wonder?

We drive through a bizarre landscape of enormous granite boulders. Every hundred meters or so a solitary soldier stands on duty, immune to our waving. We now come to the northern side border check and go through the same procedure once again.

Back on the bus again it's only about 10 minutes before the Geumgangsan tourist complex and our hotel. We watch the acrobatic troupe perform. It's fast-paced, high-skilled, and there's not a moment when the performers drop their smiles. The banner unfurled part way through with the word "Hana" (One) and the shape of the Korean peninsula may be propaganda but it's all feel-good stuff.

The hotel is like a South Korean tourist hotel but with North Korean staff . The television channels available are South Korean only (the North uses a different system anyway). I had been looking forward to watching the Dear Leader and other propaganda forbidden in the south.

In the evening we eat dinner at a North Korean restaurant. The food is good, the liquor too although the decor rather dated.

And still it's raining.

The Blogger Returns

2007-08-13T11:42:00.000+09:00

After three months of inactivity the Friar is back in blog-land. I've been busy developing the website for the Worldwide Anglican Peace Conference to be held in Seoul in November. After weeks of struggle with that I haven't had any interest in blogging as well. However I'm back adn will try to start again.
Firstly with the news of a recent trip to Geumgangsan in North Korea.

Legal at Last

2007-05-30T17:12:00.000+09:00

Finally I am a legal driver of our van...
And also I can drive a
1. passenger car
2. High occupancy vehicle passenger capacity up to 15
3. Emergency vehicle with passenger capacity up to 12 (passenger & high occupancy vehicle only)
4. Loading capacity below 12t commercial vehicle
5. Construction machinery (road worthy fork lift under 3t)
6. Motorcycle

All of which will be very useful.

On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring

2007-05-28T17:29:00.000+09:00

Today we heard the first cuckoo at the friary - the cuckoo normally wakes up around late spring - early summer. Other seasonal signs include the first snake - this one was on the road a few days ago and I think I drove over it. I think this week I will bring the fans out of storage.

I have also started (again) regular exercise at the local village hall which has a room equipped for that. Fortunately there is never anyone else there so I can lie down and rest on the bench press without anyone noticing.

Joint Security Area

2007-05-17T20:45:00.000+09:00

Beautifully landscaped gardens and buildings constructed with no expense spared. Birds flying around. No visitors casually dropping in. It could be a luxury retreat were it not perhaps the main focal point for the division between North and South Korea.

The beautiful garden was the site of a shoot-out a number of years ago. The wild grasses not far away witnessed the "axe murder" incident. It's a place with its own strange rules and customs maintaining a careful balance of fear - a balance which a misunderstanding could tip over into conflict. It's not for no reason that visitors such as myself have to sign a waiver recognising that our safety can not be guaranteed in the event of "a hostile enemy act".

Not far from the Joint Security Area is Imjingak - one of the closest points to the North which visitors can freely visit. Here we can look at the railway (which a few years ago was extended to Dorasan Station) on which one day we might be able to travel through Russia to Europe or elsewhere in Asia. Imagine going by train from Seoul to Bangkok or Lhasa or Mumbai or London.

Flags and other items symbolise the heartfelt wish of so many for reunification.

The Red Light of Failure - again

2007-05-17T20:43:00.000+09:00

Yes - once again the red light flashed and the voice in the dashboard told me to come back next week . I won't for a while. I think I'll give up driving here and take the bus.

The Red Light of Failure

2007-05-07T19:13:00.000+09:00

And again the red light flashed and the disembodied voice from the dashboard told me to come back next week. I've got no idea why. This test is like playing a game when you don't know the rules and only know you've infringed one when you get disqualified. However they did produce an English guide to the test which does answer some of my questions.

I will try one more time. After that I decided it would be easier to get an International Driver's Permit from NZ since my NZ licence does permit me to drive 12 seater vehicles.

A further example of the gap between this ultra-rigorous artificial system and reality is in the taxi driver who drove me to the testing centre at 80km/h in a 60 zone, and then 120 in an 80 zone; who was unable to stop for a red light; and who was only able to avoid hitting the car in front when it stopped by making a sudden lane change without warning. This is nothing unusual of course. You study how to pass the test, you pass the test, and then you do what you want on the road.

Getting A "Driver's License" (sic) in Korea

2007-05-06T17:14:00.000+09:00

Our old friary van was replaced with a newer one (on loan from Seoul Diocese for three years). Very nice. Except that the new van has 12 seats rather than the 9 in the old van, although it's about the same size vehicle. This means that my Korean "Driver's License" [yes - that's what the card calls itself - I know the spelling is wrong] is not the right type for the new van. (My existing licence I originally received on the basis of having a New Zealand "Driver Licence"). And so now I have to pass a Korean driver's test.

And I failed.

After more than 35 years driving I failed the "course test". I would say that was because I didn't understand all the instructions and I had never driven the kind of small truck used for the test. Anyway - halfway through a red light flashed and a voice from a speaker in the car told me I'd failed and to come back next week.

The test is not so much a test of driving skills as a test of how well you can pass the test. That's a similar concept to most tests and exams here. They test your ability with the test but not at the underlying concepts, skills or knowledge. That's why everyone goes to academies to study the technique of passing exams.

Part of the driver's licence test here is that you automatically fail the test if you cross the centre line. That shows that the test has no relevance to what drivers do after getting their licence because I haven't yet seen one driver in our country area who can stay on their own side of the road.

So tomorrow I get another go at this highly artificial construct of driving round a course with flashing lights in the car, beeping sounds, but hopefully not the red light of failure!

The Blogger Returns

2007-05-01T20:56:00.000+09:00

About time too you might say. Well perhaps the half dozen of you who keep asking me when this blog will stop suggesting I'm still swanning round the world, probably in San Francisco. Since then the swanning round has continued (actually work and community commitments took me back to Australia after the USA) but now has ceased for about 6 months. So I'll be in Korea until the beginning of November before the next lot of travel.

So no more travelogues for a while. Who knows - I might write some reflections on life in Korea, here in the midst of the mountains and cherry blossoms.

San Francisco

2007-03-22T06:04:00.000+09:00

Everyone takes photos here: the Golden Gate Bridge, the harbour, its islands, streets going up into foggy hills, cable cars. These were taken at dusk in Berkeley, looking across Oakland to San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge across the bay.

The Lost Sons

2007-03-18T12:32:00.000+09:00

Sermon preached on Sunday 18 March 2007 (Lent 4) at St Peter’s Eastern Hill, Melbourne

(Luke 15:1-3,11b-32)

Just when we’d got used to the gloom and doom of Lent along comes a party. We were all determined to be miserable, but there’s a party for the missing son. Joy does keep breaking in, no matter how much we try to keep it out.

First, let’s notice the context of this passage. If we look immediately previously in Luke 15 we find that Jesus is talking to the tax-gatherers and other sinners. The Pharisees and scribes (teachers of the law) are grumbling that, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Luke then relates the story of the shepherd who had lost one of his one hundred sheep and who abandoned the ninety-nine in search of the lost one; and then the story of the woman who had lost one of her ten silver coins. Having found what was lost, they called their friends to rejoice with them in joy that what had been lost was now found. Surely the shepherd might have thought it expedient to lose one sheep for the sake of the other ninety-nine who would be in danger while he went away. But Jesus rejects the way of exclusion, of making victims and scapegoats. He shows that the dispensable one has become indispensable in God’s eyes.

This is not just a matter of showing that God’s goodness and mercy are greater than ours. Human society often maintains its collective identity by excluding those who are different and making victims of them. Jesus by taking on in himself for all time the role of victim, of outsider, has by pure love triumphed over evil. In Christ there is no outsider, no one is excluded. The ways of exclusion are a sham. And when the lost is found, that’s reason enough for a party.

And now Luke continues with the parable we heard in today’s Gospel reading.

“There was a man who had two sons.” He also had substantial property. What does the younger son demand? A share of the property which will come to him.

Let’s look at the two words which have been translated as property in this story. They are not the usual words used in the New Testament. The first word is in the son’s request in verse 12. What he asks for is his share of the father’s ousia. This word means substance or being. The same word is used in verse 13 when the younger son squanders his ousia in that foreign land. The father generously gives of his “substance” to his son; a love and generosity which is boundless. The younger son squanders his substance in a foreign land—he loses himself. The other word used for property is bios, which means “life”, and that is in verse 12, when the father divides his bios among his sons and again in verse 30 when the elder brother complains that the younger one has devoured his father’s bios. This parable is more than a story about a father giving away his property. Something much deeper is going on, something which touches on our identity as God’s beloved children and sharers in God’s life.

The younger son has demanded his share of what he would normally inherit. When would he normally expect to receive that? Of course, it would be after his father’s death. That younger son is saying to his father, “you are as good as dead”. In the culture of that day, and in the ears of the first hearers of the story, everyone would be scandalised. Old age and parents were to be respected and obeyed. The father agrees, rather than rebuke his son, and this too is surely profoundly shocking. He divides up the property. Notice something here – we are so much used to think about the younger son that we often miss this – the property is divided up “among them”. The older son gets his share too.

And so we follow the familiar trajectory of the story. The younger son and his life of wild living. His eventual poverty and loneliness, his going out to feed the pigs (and what a shudder of horror that would have brought to those who first heard the story), his decision to return back to his father and his carefully rehearsed speech. His father watching and waiting for his son’s return, and then running out to greet him. Yet more scandal. Respectable gentlemen, rich landowners, those who wear long robes, don’t go out running to greet someone who has publicly insulted them. Ordinary decent folk might have given the son a thin-lipped, “quick, come inside and hope the neighbours haven’t seen you”, but this father is no ordinary parent. The son is restored to full family membership; the robe reserved for honoured guests and great occasions; the ring which is the sign of authority; and the shoes on his feet because slaves don’t wear shoes.

And as for this party the father throws? This is not going to be a quiet family-only dinner. It’s a grand gesture and once again we are stepping over the bounds of decent behaviour. The party is for everyone, neighbours, the whole village. It’s about the restoration of a lost relationship.

But now it’s another one who is lost and the shadowy elder brother steps onto the stage. Suspicious of the party, rather than entering, he calls a servant to ask what’s going on. He gets angry, and fuming outside the party, lost in his own rage, it’s now up to the father once again to take the initiative and go out in search of the lost, pleading with him. What proper, dignified and authoritarian father would be reduced to pleading? Why can’t he order? This father seems powerless against his elder son who has now become the rude, disrespectful one. Look at the way he heaps insult on insult. He says he’s always been working for his father like a slave, and that his father never gave him anything good. He can’t bring himself to call his brother by the word, “brother” but as, “this son of yours”.

This parable is in some ways deeply troubling for the church and for theologians. Is the younger son really sorry for his sins? Some have said that he is not. They say he is sorry that he’s hungry, and he’s really just trying to bargain his way back into getting a more regular supply of food. But he doesn’t express proper sorrow for his sin as sin. This is, as I said, deeply troubling for some theologians. They say that this young man is not a good example for us of how to go about repentance.

I think that their point is precisely the reason why this parable is for us. It’s real and it reflects human reality. In the words of the American Episcopalian priest, preacher and teacher, the Rev. Dr. Barbara Brown Taylor:

Those of us who have done unforgivable things in our lives—who have broken solemn vows, betrayed sacred trusts, who have hurt the people we love so badly that we have knocked the wind right out of them—we know what it is like to watch those people struggle for breath, while we wait for the words we so richly deserve: “Damn you to hell forever.” When those words do not come, however, when the people who have suffered because of us rise up on one elbow and say, “I’m forgiving you for that”—well, that is when true repentance usually begins—not before the pardon but after it. (from a sermon preached on 15 March, 1999 at Calvary Episcopal Church, Memphis, Tennessee)

In other words grace goes before repentance. Or rather, in the context of this parable, grace begins when we “come to our senses” and start to make the journey home. We haven’t got everything sorted out. Perhaps we’re not sure what really it is we’re sorry for. All we know is that we are seeking healing. People who are broken by sin and despair can’t be expected to express themselves in theological clarity. They know something is wrong, and they want to get things right again. That is the important point because it is then that grace begins the long work of casting God’s light into their lives, exposing what is broken and opening it for healing. Forgiveness is not something to be purchased, but a gift from a generous God.

In other words atonement is about reconciliation, it’s not a transaction.

There is so much more in this parable for our reflection. Let me suggest something, based on Henri Nouwen’s book, The Return of the Prodigal Son: a story of homecoming. (And available from the St Peter’s Book Room!) He said that he first saw himself as the younger son, the one who had sinned and who returned to the father, back in his own home and held in the warm embrace of the father’s loving hands. He delighted in knowing those hands holding him firmly, and at the same time caressing him in a warm embrace. Next he came to see himself as the older son. Righteous, obedient, hardworking, reliable—but also lost to human spontaneity, and more than a little jealous of those who seemed to be having all the fun. This son needed also to come to the father’s loving embrace to be healed. Finally, and to his surprise, he came to see that the task of his life was to become like the father: generous, loving and a sign of God’s mercy. This was the real and final challenge for him—to be like that father who, having giving away his “substance”, had nothing left of himself to lose.

I suggest you do as Nouwen did and in reflecting on the parable see yourself in each of the sons. Recognise the need each of the sons has for healing and for knowing forgiveness. Then see yourself as the father—for we are all called to be signs of God’s love. And in considering the father, remember the words we heard in today’s epistle, “we are ambassadors for Christ” (2 Cor 5: 20). An ambassador goes out on behalf of another, and so too do we; we are the ones who go out on behalf of Christ. If people will come to know Christ’s love and welcome and forgiveness in this place, it will be through our own words and actions.

To the glory of God almighty:
the Father who searches for us
the Son who travels with us even to far-off lands
and the Spirit who is the life of our home-coming.

Christopher John SSF

flying friar

2007-03-13T10:02:00.000+09:00

From the departure lounge at Newcastle Airport:

Yes - you are right. Blogging from a departure lounge is as pointless as those mobile phone conversations which go like, "Yes, I'm at the airport, yes, I've checked in, yes, I'm waiting to board the plane, yes, it's on time. yes, I'll call you when I get there."

Except I'm just enjoying this for the sake of doing it!

I'll be in Melbourne for the next six days, based at St Peter's Eastern Hills, where I'll be preaching on Sunday and generally just renewing our connections with the parish.
The parish is a

"place of soul-stirring liturgy, challenging preaching, fine music,
concern for issues of justice and peace - and it is a place of warm care

and welcome: a community gathered in the name of the Lord."

What a challenge to meet!

Return of the Lost Son

2007-03-13T04:17:00.000+09:00

I'm preaching on this text this Sunday and it has been fascinating to explore some of what the web has to offer.

A thought-provoking sermon by the Rev'd Dr Barbara Brown Taylor, Episcopalian priest, teacher, writer.

A collection of resources and links from the Girardian reflections on the lectionary website.

A sermon by Paul J. Nuechterlein, Delivered at Zion Lutheran Church - also from the Girardian reflections (If you haven't yet encountered the thought of René Girard and his mimetic theory you can learn more there - I find it a gives a whole new positive way of seeing Christ's death and resurrection in relation to the human desires for vengeance and exclusion.)

A sermon by Andrew Marr OSB from his community's website Seeking Peace - a Benedictine web site with articles on peace and spirituality.

Clip art from Crux Blanca (The Franciscans of the White Cross)

And finally a real old fashioned book with paper pages - Henri Nouwen's reflections on this parable and on Rembrandt's painting of it in the Hermitage Musuem, St Petersburg - it's the picture at the top of this posting.

There's also an immense amount of rubbish about this parable on the internet. Such as saying it's not really for Christians today because it doesn't illustrate true repentance. The young man just wanted to get back to somewhere there was dinner... You can find it all in Google.

I'll post my sermon next week.

awakening the dawn

2007-03-12T04:15:00.000+09:00

⁷My heart is steadfast, O God,
my heart is steadfast.
I will sing and make melody.
⁸ Awake, my soul!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will awake the dawn.
⁹I will give thanks to you, O Lord, among the peoples;
I will sing praises to you among the nations.
¹⁰For your steadfast love is as high as the heavens;
your faithfulness extends to the clouds. (from Psalm 57)

This week one of my duties at the hermitage is ringing the Angelus bell at dawn, midday and evening. I walk across in the darkness to the bell, pull the rope, 3, pause, 3, pause, 3, pause, 9. "The angel of the Lord brought tidings to Mary..." and calling to prayer not only the brothers, but a good part of the natural world around. Birds screech back at the bell. Cattle call out. "I will awaken the dawn."

dry land

2007-03-05T08:46:00.000+09:00

New South Wales in Australia has been hit by serious drought and in many parts there hasn't been any real rain for years. The land is parched and stock has nothing to graze on. It's one of the most serious problems in Australia, although as city dwellers can still get water out of a tap without thinking about it, there is not enough concern yet. But the city dams are drying up and as their water supplies diminish everyone is realising that is a problem which needs clear understanding and good solutions. Things which politicians are not famous for.

Kangaroos

2007-02-21T14:12:00.000+09:00

Around the hermitage are many wallabies. The two in this picture were disturbed from their breakfast as I walked past, and soon decided that I was too much of a threat and jumped off into the bush.

I know these are not the full size kangaroo but looking at them feeding here in the dawn and dusk has driven me to search out a half-remembered poem from school days, "Kangaroo" by D.H. Lawrence, written I think during his spell in Australia in 1923. I found the text in a fascinating online resource Poets' Graves, devoted as it says mainly to information on the location of famous poets' graves (mostly U.K.) Just the thing if you want to make a literary tour with a difference.

Kangaroo

by D.H. Lawrence

In the northern hemisphere

Life seems to leap at the air, or skim under the wind

Like stags on rocky ground, or pawing horses, or springy scut-tailed rabbits.

Or else rush horizontal to charge at the sky’s horizon,

Like bulls or bisons or wild pigs.

Or slip like water slippery towards its ends,

As foxes, stoats, and wolves, and prairie dogs.

Only mice, and moles, and rats, and badgers, and beavers, and perhaps bears

Seem belly-plumbed to the earth’s mid-navel.

Or frogs that when they leap come flop, and flop to the centre of the earth.

But the yellow antipodal Kangaroo, when she sits up

Who can unseat her, like a liquid drop that is heavy, and just touches earth.

The downward drip.

The down-urge.

So much denser than cold-blooded frogs.

Delicate mother Kangaroo

Sitting up there rabbit-wise, but huge, plumb-weighted,

And lifting her beautiful slender face, oh! so much more gently and finely-lined than a rabbit’s, or than a hare’s,

Lifting her face to nibble at a round white peppermint drop, which she loves, sensitive mother Kangaroo.

Her sensitive, long, pure-bred face.

Her full antipodal eyes, so dark,

So big and quiet and remote, having watched so many empty dawns in silent Australia.

Her little loose hands, and drooping Victorian shoulders.

And then her great weight below the waist, her vast pale belly

With a thin young yellow little paw hanging out, and straggle of a long thin ear, like ribbon,

Like a funny trimming to the middle of her belly, thin little dangle of an immature paw, and one thin ear.

Her belly, her big haunches

And in addition, the great muscular python-stretch of her tail.

There, she shan’t have any more peppermint drops.

So she wistfully, sensitively sniffs the air, and then turns, goes off in slow sad leaps

On the long flat skis of her legs,

Steered and propelled by that steel-strong snake of a tail.

Stops again, half turns, inquisitive to look back.

While something stirs quickly in her belly, and a lean little face comes out, as from a window,

Peaked and a bit dismayed,

Only to disappear again quickly away from the sight of the world, to snuggle down in the warmth,

Leaving the trail of a different paw hanging out.

Still she watches with eternal, cocked wistfulness !

How full her eyes are, like the full, fathomless, shining eyes of an Australian black-boy

Who has been lost so many centuries on the margins of existence !

She watches with insatiable wistfulness.

Untold centuries of watching for something to come,

For a new signal from life, in that silent lost land of the South.

Where nothing bites but insects and snakes and the sun, small life.

Where no bull roared, no cow ever lowed, no stag cried, no leopard screeched, no lion coughed, no dog barked,

But all was silent save for parrots occasionally, in the haunted blue bush.

Wistfully watching, with wonderful liquid eyes.

And all her weight, all her blood, dripping sack-wise down towards the earth’s centre,

And the live little one taking in its paw at the door of her belly.

Leap then, and come down on the line that draws to the earth’s deep, heavy centre.

Rain

2007-02-08T04:29:00.000+09:00

Here at the Hermitage after a sudden change in wind, dark clouds, and a thunder storm, we had a little rain last night. It's not enough to fill the tanks or the dams and hardly enough to revive the brown dry vegetation. But it feels and smells refreshing. Australia has extremes of weather. Rationally no one would chose here just on the basis of the climate. But the land has a beauty and intensity which is the result of the harsh environment.

Flying Friar

2007-02-06T18:25:00.000+09:00

Since January 21st I've been travelling. My hopes of regular blogging have vanished. It would be easy to write a travelogue but that sounds a bit dull.

Just a summary of my travels is that I was first in New Zealand where I visited family and community and old friends in Wellington, Nelson, Auckland and Hamilton.

With my sister, Jane, and nieces, Bridie and Maddie.

One of the fun meetings was with some of my old secondary school friends. We were all in the 7th Form at Nayland College, Nelson, in 1974. And as we assured each other, "You don't look a bit older!" As the day (and the wine) flew so did our memories.

Here we are: Christine, Ursula, Linda and me.

Since then I've been settled in Australia at the Hermitage in Stroud, N.S.W. I'll be here for a few months doing the sort of things one does in hermitages. Praying, eating, sleeping, welcoming guests, doing housework.

This is a beautiful place in the bush with mud brick buildings and a very peaceful atmosphere. I first came here in 1986 and have always found it has an atmosphere of prayer.

Perhaps I'll be inspired to write more frequently!

Learning Latin part 2

2007-01-18T17:02:00.000+09:00

Those sailors and the girls.
Unit 4 introduces me to adjectives (which like everything else in Latin take a multitude of disguises) and for those who were wondering about the sailors and girls (see previous post) I can report that:
O puellae pulchrae, in oppido vestro sunt nautae mali, et per cunctas vias ambulant.
- which for those of you who have not persevered as far as I have, can be translated as:
O fair girls, there are bad sailors in your city and they are walking through all the streets.
So now you know. (I think the sailors are bad in the moral sense, although they might be excellent navigators)

But I do recommend a fun and instructive website http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/latin/beginners/default.htm
it's the U.K. National Archives Latin tutorial site. Although it doesn't have bad sailors roaming the streets yet.

Learning Latin

2007-01-04T22:16:00.000+09:00

My ambition this year is to learn Latin so that I can read Franciscan sources in their original language. I think this will be a long way off. I've started with Lesson One in "Teach Yourself Latin". There are many grammar rules but the general rule is that every rule has at least three exceptions.

I love the short sentences we start with:
Ubi sunt nautae? (Where are the sailors?)
Nautae in taberna sunt. (The sailors are in the tavern)
In tabernis puellae non sunt. (The girls are not in the taverns)

Obviously someone is waiting for the ferry to depart but the sailors are nowhere to be seen. But why are they bothering going to girl-less taverns? I suspect these sailors will be very disappointed when they finally return to the ship. Or perhaps we shouldn't be thinking about these things. Certainly not about girls who might frequent taverns (with or without sailors).

Back in Korea

2006-12-22T15:15:00.000+09:00

This blog was going to be frequently written to but the last month has been busy. I finally got my work finished despite my best efforts at procrastination. (Thank you to those who invited me to come and clean their rooms as well - sorry I didn't make it!)

I'm back in Korea at the friary and getting ready for Christmas. The cards have gone out. I've made some decorated candles for the chapel and dinner table. Maybe we'll have four guests for Christmas dinner. Maybe eight. We'll know when they turn up or don't turn up.

On my way back here last week the news emerged that Brother Justus, an American brother in Papua New Guinea, suddenly died of pneumonia in the PNG Highlands. We have all been feeling this loss very much. He was a candidate for Minister General in the elections which we had just begun. We will need to begin these elections again in the new year.

I'm preparing for other work soon - 3 months in New Zealand and Australia. Then back to Korea. And finally back to England again for the next term of my study in advanced procrastination.

not writing essays

2006-11-13T06:52:00.000+09:00

I should be seriously writing an essay this week. But I am not.

Ten ways to avoid writing essays
(1) Clean room
(2) Cut finger nails
(3) Clean room again because of finger nails on floor
(4) Surf the internet vaguely and call it research
(5) Read lots of slightly related books - it is also research
(6) Tell others the bits of 13th century liturgical triva learnt in (5)
(7) Go for a walk to clear the mind after the hard work
(8) Have a nap
(9) Decide that tomorrow will definitely be a much better day for it
(10) Write a blog entry about not writing essays

Brighton

2006-11-06T07:08:00.000+09:00

A few days ago I visited NZ friends in the seaside town of Brighton. It's is a fascinating place with many reminders of the days when it was the place to be seen. King George IV had his Pavilion there. A simple seaside cottage with an Indian style exterior and Chinese interior as one needs to entertain the odd guests who would drop in during the summer season. Brighton Pier is also a grand survivor - recently restored - from the great days of seaside excursions.

There was a sunset straight out of the movies. A full moon rising in the dark blue sky opposite. Jet trails in the sky and the twinkling lights of the pier.

Being a mature student

2006-10-30T21:05:00.000+09:00

"Isn't it strange being a student at your age?" one of my former students in Korea asked me recently. At my age! Indeed.

Student life is certainly different for me this time round. But it's different for undergraduates as well. We went to classes, memorised enough to pass end of year exams, met for drinking and discussion, sometimes for discussion and drinking and occasionally just for drinking. We protested against the Vietnam War and NZ's involvement in supporting aprtheid in South Africa. And so on.

These days I go to classes, and then read and think, sometimes just read, try to write essays, and then spend far too much time on e-mails and blogging and wandering round in cyberspace.

Seriously though. I believe everyone should have some opportunity every ten years or so to take time out from their regular duties for some study on whatever they are passionate about.

cross cultural exchange?

2006-10-29T08:09:00.000+09:00

In the Victoria and Albert Museum in London there's a famous tiger. It's eating a British soldier. This is a mystery. Not why the tiger is eating a human - that is in the nature of a tiger. Nor particularly why it should be eating a British soldier. The mystery is in why (and by whom) this nearly lifesize wooden model was made about 200 years ago. Perhaps there's a partial explanation in that it belonged at one time to the Sultan Tipoo who was among the most anti-British of the Indian sultans.

However there is more to all this than carved wood. The tiger makes sounds - a growling sound - and the man makes a shrieking sound while jerking his left arm up and down. And it contains a small organ. You can find a small video file for downloading - plus more explanation.

I mention this as an example of cross cultural exchange. Sometimes one culture devours the other. Or in symbol someone tries to reverse the power of the dominant side.

Francis

2006-10-22T07:01:00.000+09:00

Whatever became of Francis, the poor simple man of Assisi? How did he get turned, by the Church and some at least of the brothers, into a saint enshrined in a grand basilica?

Jacques Dalarun in his "The misadventure of Francis" says of religious founders;
"What plays out around them, case by case, blow by blow, but in exemplary fashion, is a repeat of the fate of Christianity. On the one hand, teaching the Gospel versus the need to found a Church; on the other, the holy founder’s charism and immutable teaching versus the need for a foundation, an Order, to live these demands day after day. What a founder’s death really reveals, in a fragmentary way, is the difficulty, the paradox or challenge that constitutes the very life of a Christian society."

I like this writer - he has refreshing and original insights. Here's another:
“To understand Thomas of Celano, who writes in 1228, to understand all of Francis’s later hagiographers, we must certainly still read Paul Sabatier. But at the same time we should always keep in mind the work of one of Sabatier’s contemporaries, Marcel Proust. The key to the Franciscan legends, when we reach their essence, is not so much the dialectic between oral tradition and written version, as Raoul Manselli once believed. It is another dialectic, one that is irreconcilable, between facts and remembrance of the facts. This memory, unlike the Lamb, is never perfectly immaculate and spotless. It is a memory that confirms that ‘the true paradises are the paradises we have lost.’”
(the quote within the quote is from Remembrance of Things Past)

The Cathedral

2006-10-22T06:57:00.000+09:00

Canterbury - much as it has always looked - well for a thousand years or so. The cathedral dominates the skyline in this view from just below the Franciscan International Study Centre, near the University of Kent.