Travels to North Korea - day 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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).