Sunday, December 21, 2014

lyrics for living 2 (a thrill of hope)

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth ... to sit in a pew stuffed with my kids, giving O Holy Night a real rip together. But it ain't gonna happen this year.

The divas line up to sing this song, don't they? Go to youtube. They are all there. Mariah. Whitney. Celine. Gladys. Kelly. Christina. Carrie. Charlotte. Susan ... even NSync :). I guess they love the possibilities which the swelling melody provides to showcase their voices. Every year facebook is abuzz with the latest recording of this song. This year it seems to be Home Free that is all the rage - but when that guy gives his little smile at 2.28 and then again at 2.40, it almost makes me want to throw-up somewhere. What on earth was he thinking? Not too much about the words methinks.

I've watched about twenty versions of this song. There is something sad about divas singing 'fall on your knees' when they have no intention of doing so. There is something cynical about using a song designed to show-off Jesus as a way to show-off your own voice. Plus they have a way of playing with the lyrics: changing words ('weary soul' instead of 'weary world'); deleting words (where did 'Christ is the Lord' go?); and even avoiding entire verses. About four out of five recordings omit this verse:

Truly he taught us to love one another.
His law is love and his gospel is peace.
Chains shall he break for the slave is our brother
    and in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we
    let all within us praise his holy name.

This hymn gained some momentum during the American Civil War, 150+ years ago. I guess 'chains shall he break for the slave is our brother' becomes a bit unfashionable today, doesn't it? But this is the very 'lyric for living' on which I want to focus.

Firstly, slavery is still alive and wrecking lives - so let's guard how we think.

But I want to probe further. In the author's day the slave was at the other end of the scale, be it a socio-economic one, an education one - or, a freedom one. The glorious subversion in this verse is its affirmation that such a person - as far from the nuclear family as you can be - is drawn into that very family. As a brother. A sister. An uncle. An aunt.

Today the person at the other end of such scales is almost always a poor person.

We know that poverty is not so much the absence of wealth, but the absence of opportunity. But a visit to Mother (Teresa) House in Kolkata earlier this month thickened my understanding of poverty even further. She identified with 'the unloved, the unwanted, the unclaimed'. The poor. Did you know that in the morgues of Delhi, 10 bodies arrive each day who are unclaimed - presumably because they are unwanted and unloved? Just one such body in a morgue in a year in New Zealand would make a screaming headline.

This leads to a further thickening of definition. Is poverty linked to the absence of mediated attention? [Please tell me if there is a better phrase]. One of the shameful scars which will continue to identify 2014 is the way the world woke up to the Ebola virus only when it infected a person who was not poor (and who was white...!) and so who had the 'power' to attract the attention of the media. Poverty thrives in places where the media headline and image does not go. We need to do a better job of finding those places - through committed friendships and attentive learning, for starters - and not leave the media to control the direction and flow of our compassion.

On receiving his Nobel Prize earlier this month, Kailash Satyarthi - a Hindu from India, committed to freeing children from slavery - gave a brilliant speech. Here is an extract:

You and I live in the age of rapid globalisation. We are connected through high-speed Internet. We exchange goods and services in a single global market. Each day, thousands of flights connect us to every corner of the globe.
But there is one serious disconnect. It is the lack of compassion. Let us inculcate and transform the individuals' compassion into a global movement. Let us globalise compassion. Not passive compassion, but transformative compassion that leads to justice, equality, and freedom.
Mahatma Gandhi said, "If we are to teach real peace in this world... we shall have to begin with the children.” I humbly add, let us unite the world through the compassion for our children.
Whose children are they who stitch footballs, yet have never played with one? They are our children. Whose children are they who mine stones and minerals? They are our children. Whose children are they who harvest cocoa, yet do not know the taste of a chocolate? They are all our children.
I am glad that he has said this. But I do feel a sadness, even a shame again. I wish that followers of Jesus were universally synonymous with this kind of talk. I am no Kailash. My sense of call has not driven me to identify as he has done. But ever since that tsunami struck ten years ago this week, I have been convinced that this 'globalising of compassion' is what the world needs and what the Lord requires of us. I have written and spoken about it - frequently. The best way to globalise compassion is to think in terms of a global family, as this hymn suggests.

Not many of us can identify with the 'unloved, the unwanted, the unclaimed' like Mother Theresa did - but we can all identify more fully with those who do. [NB: for example, we came across one such possibility while in Kolkata]. And closer to home, there will be the 'unloved, the unwanted, the unclaimed' whom we can transform into our brother or sister, our uncle or auntie - even our child.

Look carefully this Christmas. How can the family be extended? Give it a go and be part of spreading 'a thrill of hope (in which) a weary world rejoices'.

I struggled to find a recording of this song that I like. While not everything about this version draws me, the power and passion in David Phelps' voice and the sense I get that he believes what he is singing makes it my choice.

That is a refreshing change from the divas, let me tell you.

nice chatting


Saturday, December 13, 2014

home again

It was fun for Barby and I to go back 'home' to North India - and to introduce it to our friends of many years, Jan & Bill Dewar and Stephen & Bonnie Bond, whom we first met almost 30 years ago when we started in pastoral ministry in Invercargill.

We find that there is so much to love up there in the north...

the people
The waiters in the restaurants; the drivers of the taxis; the guides at the monuments... When I was young these people tended to be annoying - but now it is all about enjoying them. My pathetic Hindi goes to work as I discover a naam (name), a gaon (village), a bibi/buchha (wife and family) etc. On and on it goes until I run out of vocabulary, or the syntax gets too complicated - or Barby comes to my rescue. I love watching their faces open up and the smiles spread across their faces, with the pahari (mountain) people to the fore. Here is Shyam taking such delight in showing us the only assymetrical piece of imperfection in the Taj Mahal.

the scenery
Not only are the people beautiful, so also are the mountains. Whether it be the Himalayan foothills (on whose steep slopes we grew up);

or, the distant snow clad peaks, there are some views from which we never tire.

When it comes to scenery, I am particularly partial to the beauty of an ordered and colourful fruit stall amidst the chaotic dirtiness of an Old Delhi street.

the monuments
I align myself fully with historian-novelist William Dalrymple on this one. The eurocentrism in our education system means that we miss the historical and cultural marvels of a place like Delhi. Not so with me. Five hours after our friends arrived from New Zealand I had them at the Qutb Minar - for many decades the tallest building in the world (almost a millennium ago!). Me and the Qutb are great mates from way back.

We climbed a minaret at the Jama Masjid mosque, enjoying the view across to the Red Fort.

and, of course, the view towards the Feroshah Kotla cricket ground in the distance :).

the spelling
Again and again, I realise that their English is far better than my Hindi - but that doesn't stop me from enjoying their mistakes anymore than I let them enjoy me making my mistakes. And so when I discovered a left-wing eco-friendly vegetarian item on the menu, I smiled.

But what about the pepper called Anand facing charges of harassment from the salt? More smiles.

the transportation
Where do you start? How about a regal wave from a very English mode of transport?

I always feel the welcome of the Indian train. I didn't really need to be reminded, but the reminder couldn't be missed.

the leaders
Are there two more influential figures in the twentieth century than Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Teresa? Maybe. Maybe not. To visit the places commemorating their deaths is a must on any visit to India. Going to Gandhi Smriti (where he was assassinated), seeing the photos, reading the words and walking the final steps is always worthwhile. The poignancy of Nehru's speech catches me every time. In the darkening gloom of the evening, he announces to the nation that the 'light has gone out of our lives'.

Then there is the simple story-telling, with word and image, at Mother House in Kolkata.
"I want to be only all for Jesus, truly and not only by name and dress." (Mother Teresa) 

the memories
A lot of the memories return to my Dad. When I was about 11 he bought us a unique Christmas present. An annual pass to the swimming pool of a five star hotel (Oberoi Maidens) next door to where we lived. Every afternoon, for months...

But lots of other memories for Barby and I. Like the place where we said goodbye to each other at Woodstock School in November 1976, with five years of letter-writing to follow - with no phone calls or email...

We love being 'daughter of...' and 'son of...' much-loved and respected parents in this land. Nothing lightens our faces quite like coming across people who remember our folks. On a visit to Delhi Bible Fellowship one Sunday (where Barby's Dad was pastor and where I gave my heart to Jesus a zillion times under the ministry of his predecessor - an evangelist!), Stephen met a man who remembered Dad...

nice chatting


PS... and we are so grateful for great friends who have stuck with us over the years - and here they are on the steps leading up to the Jama Masjid in Old Delhi. Thanks for more memories.

Friday, December 12, 2014

nice chaating

I am a Dilly-wallah - or, a person from Delhi. [NB: 'Dilly' is the way the name sounds in Hindi]. Delhi was my home from the age of 10 right through until I was 17 - first over in Old Delhi (near Kashmere Gate) and then in New Delhi (in Jangpura Extension).

I love the city. The history and culture surprises and fascinates anyhow who draws near. Amidst the mess, there are places of rare beauty. Then there is the food - particularly, the street food and Delhi's famous chaat. We've just returned from a few days in Delhi, staying in Hotel Tara Palace in the heart of Old Delhi. An affordable hotel in an ideal location. 5min walk to Chandni Chowk; 10min to both the Red Fort and the Jama Masjid ... with chaat options abounding.

Aloo tikki is a favourite. Potato patties drenched in both mint and imli sauces. Yummy.

... with me then partaking thereof!

Another favourite is pani puri - or, gol guppa. On this occasion you tap-tap-tap on a small, hollow, crisp puri, creating a hole into which you spoon a mixture of vegetables - usually potato and a chickpea of some kind. A generous pouring of imli sauce follows. Then it is baptism by immersion into the green pepper water (pani) - filling the little puri to overflowing - before a quick and skillful transference of the entire entity into my open and willing mouth. This is repeated six times with one serving (for a cost of something less than one dollar).

In the words of the James Bond anthem of yesteryear - when it comes to chaat 'nobody does it better' than the Dilly-wallahs of Chandni Chowk.

nice chatting


PS. Barby's favourite chaat is called raj kachori. Similar ingredients but then the whole thing is swamped in dahi (yoghurt). We've been travelling in India with our good friends from Invercargill days thirty years ago (Bill & Jan Dewar and Bonnie & Stephen Bond). Here they are about to be transported to raj kachori heaven...

Tuesday, November 25, 2014 on the couch

Our first two children, Stephen and Alyssa (1987)

Our first two grandchildren, Micah and Amaliya (2014)

good looking


Monday, November 24, 2014

lyrics for living 1 (touched by a loving hand)

It was another disappointing Sunday, as far as the singing goes. 

In the morning we were treated to lyrics written by Sunday School theologians, mired in mild heresy, sung to awkward tunes which the worship band, so desperate to sing a new song, loved - but which kept the congregation silent.

In the evening we worked our way through dull and dense hymns, written by poet-theologians, but introduced by someone with minimal enthusiasm and sung to tunes with maximal dreariness. 

This so often seems to be the limited choice of options which greets the worshipper on a Sunday. Why?

OK. Let me reveal my hand. I looove hymns. The really good ones have a capacity to reach deep down into my soul and articulate longings they find there which I cannot put into words myself. The sheer resonance that then takes place moves me, often to tears. I confess I am not a fan of the more popular hymns that get sung. Great is Thy Faithfulness. How Great Thou Art. They are good, but I've grown a bit weary of them. Like the pretty kids in class, they always get picked. I am drawn to the ones that don't look so interesting, but are fascinating.

Years ago I wrote a series of reflections on hymns (Lyrics for Living), pitched at youth pastors in an effort to convince them of the value of hymns. I've decided to refresh and recycle them here. I'll start with my favourite verse in the entire hymnbook:
Down in the human heart, crushed by tempter. Feelings lie buried that grace can restore; Touched by a loving hand, wakened by kindness. Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.
Look at the strength of those verbs.
On the downside: crushed, buried, broken.
I remember a youth pastor coming to Carey Baptist College. He put a clay pot on the classroom desk and then smashed it once with a hammer. Gulp. Gasp. 'What will the cleaners say?' Splinters went everywhere, as he said, 'this is what our lives can be like'. Then he took out a second clay pot. He smashed it once - twice - three times. Again and again. More gulping. More gasping. 'This is what life is like for so many young people out there'. I will never, ever for get it.

On the upside: restore, touched, wakened
Look at grace doing its thing again. Amazing. But then what about that phrase, 'touched by a loving hand'. Whose hand? Divine? Human? Not sure - but what about the divine hand through the human hand. That is how I interpret it. You and I can get involved in the restoration and wakening of others. My daughter has just completed her medical elective in Bangladesh, among people with whom she could communicate so very little. But where word and speech shuts down, does that not create a greater opportunity for other senses to step forward - like the touch of a loving hand? I think so. She knows so.

I did go to youtube to find an extract of this hymn being sung. As expected, all was dull and dreary and I couldn't bring myself to provide a link here. Maybe my friend, Dale Campbell, can add this to his collection of good, old church songs

nice chatting 


Thursday, November 20, 2014

warning: content won't offend

They say I look like Paul Walker.

Well, that may be stretching it a bit. The 'they' is really only me. think I look like Paul Walker - and I could be wrong. Probably the only thing that Paul Walker and Paul Windsor share in common are the initials of our names. He is kinda a cool dude - or, should I say, he was kinda a cool dude ... because almost exactly one year ago, at just 40 years of age, Paul Walker was in a car that was going too fast and too furious. It crashed. He was killed.

The real world meets the reel world.

Paul Walker was a star of the Fast and Furious series of movies. Given this initialed likeness that we share, I've been known to watch the odd film from the series. Like the other night. Fast and Furious 6. Yes - you read that right ... 6. As in five earlier movies. Amazing.

Of course, when in India I can watch in the full knowledge that all offensive material will have been deleted. The remote can remain remote. Sub-titles figure prominently because the F&F franchise follows the Stallonian school of smouldering looks, heavy glances - and minimal dialogue. So there is ample time to see how some words become a series of stars in the subtitles - while others get changed. But 'Jesus Christ' will remain Jesus Christ. Go figure.

One reviewer describes the earlier films like this: 'a street racing movie with dull, two-dimensional characters' ... but (the fifth film) was 'the start of something incredible and the sixth film continues to be just as awesome, fast paced, daring, action-packed and sexy.'  That sounds enticing?!

And let's not forget the excessive speed, the excessive violence, the excessive abuse, and the excessive destruction which Hollywood habitually sheds abroad with such evangelistic fervour. After the climactic images and sounds of that speed and violence and abuse and destruction, the movie arrives at its final denouement, a brief familial scene where peace hovers - and grace resounds.

The other night the screeching cars, the fist fights, the explosions, the 'dull two-dimensional characters' had almost combined to secure my slumberings - but now, as the cast shut their eyes for grace, I was awake ... and offended.

Still I feel the zealous jealousy for the living God rising up within me. How dare they make grateful prayer so sincere. How dare they address him as 'Father'. How dare they allow such destructive public lives to harbour such laudable personal spirituality. How dare they baptise such a godless movie with a godly sprinkle at the end. How dare they produce yet another movie in which Christianity is fused with the very worst of American culture - so that the rest of the world can watch on, as they do, and be so misled.

It may well be content that offends no one other than me. I hope not.

nice chatting


Sunday, November 16, 2014

living in two worlds

With the power China has - and the global attention it receives - maybe it is time to label Europe the 'Far West' and the USA the 'Far East'...

Our labels become dated so quickly, don't they? East and West? Developed and Developing? First World and Third World? Not many are helpful - and too many are embarassingly eurocentric. It is becoming common to speak of the Global North (formerly, the West) and the Global South (Asia-Africa-Latin America) ... although this still leaves my homeland of New Zealand as an annoying anomaly?!

Let's go with Global North and Global South. One of the privileges of my life is to have an identity inextricably entwined with both worlds. It is one of God's most gracious gifts to me. Born into a Global North heritage, but raised in the Global South and now returning to live there. I love having these two voices in my head. I love having my horizons filled with the contrasts and the paradoxes which these worlds provide (see this post, for an example).

This week I had my SAIACS students read some pages from a Philip Jenkins' book. It is about reading the Bible in the Global South. Then I asked them a question:
With a library stuffed with Global North scholars telling you how to handle the Bible, what is it that you appreciate most about your own (ie Global South) heritage of reading the Bible?
Silly, silly me. I asked the question 10 minutes before the end of class.
We could have gone all day. But here is what I captured on the whiteboard - in ten minutes.

Whiteboard writing is not my strength and so let me list them again here: A greater respect for sacred writings (ie., no Bibles left on the floor!); a greater zeal for evangelism; a greater willingness to take the Bible as it is; a greater sensitivity to cultural difference; a greater willingness to be different and stand against the flow; a greater expectation that a price is to be paid for being a Christian; a greater appreciation of being closer to the Biblical world; a greater understanding of identity being embedded in the collective and the communal...

As I yo-yo between North and South, I can only agree with them.
It was ten minutes of prophetic profundity.
[NB: Global South readings of the Bible do have their issues too, let me tell you...].

Let me press a bit further
In our latest newsletter, I made this general observation: "The simple, serious, sacrificial spirituality so often seen among SAIACS students stirs us." Now there are fakes in the Global South, just as there are fakes in the Global North. That is not the point. But still I would make a contrasting general observation about Global North spirituality, particularly among a similar student demographic. It so readily defaults to the opposite: the complex, the shallow, and the self-centered. It does. It just does. It glares back at me.

Let me be a bit more specific
Let's talk about the pictures of Jesus with which we operate at a conversational level - again, among a younger student population. I hung around Global North students for twenty years. The picture of Jesus? Too easily and too often it was a couple of images. (a) for males - a bit of a mate, but only far better; and for females, kinda like a boyfriend, but only far better. (b) a counsellor-therapist-healer. If you don't believe me, listen to the songs being sung :).

Here in the Global South, the same pictures are seen (afterall we sing the same songs). But there is one uncommon picture I hear so often. Again and again, this is how Jesus is addressed in prayers. It is said so tenderly, so sincerely. It is very moving - and refreshing. We have friends from NZ here at the moment and they came up with the exact same observation, quite independently (prompting this post). Jesus is referred to as 'Master'.

Let me tell you - a lot flows on down from understandings of Jesus as mate, boyfriend, counsellor, or master. They take very different trajectories and it doesn't take long for some to leave the biblical Jesus behind.

Am I being unfair?! Yes, maybe a little.
I am also trying to keep things stark in order to make a point.

The Global North church needs to shed its rescue-mentality, its saviour-complex with the Global South church. Sure, there are many needs here. But there are also people here to whom we need to listen, from whom we need to learn, and with whom we need to join. As we do so we'll find them to be like the local optometrist adjusting our lens so that we can see the world (and the truth) more clearly. And maybe they'll extend to us the privilege to do the same for them - but my advice is not to rush towards that expectation.

nice chatting


Sunday, November 02, 2014

the great and holy war

This book is a horror show. How is it possible that so few years can contain so much horror? Let's name a few of the ones which Philip Jenkins discusses in The Great and Holy War (OUP, 2014).

Horror #1   Not just the Great War, World War 1 was a holy war.
Christendom reigned in 'the three holy empires' (Russia, Germany and Austria-Hungary) of the time. Throw in the British, the Americans, French Catholicism and you have 'the majority of the world's Christians engaged in a holy war that claimed more than ten million lives (5).' Later other nations joined in - but initially this was a monumental intra-Christendom scrap.

The propaganda and the rationale for the war was framed within religious, mystical, apocalyptic, messianic, and millenarian language. 'A holy war ideology became social orthodoxy' (92), as 'a faith-based militarism' took over. Imagery like the offensive depiction of the Emmaus Rd story (see below) seeped into the public consciousness.

A disturbing application of the
Emmaus Rd story to two soldiers...
Horror #2   The pointless brutality of it all
The 'war was a monument to human stupidity' (193) - and it was savage, so savage. It is known for it's trench warfare where men were 'trapped in a seemingly eternal vortex of slaughter and squalor' (43).

Take Verdun, for example - 'a battle of many undesirable superlatives' (55). It was fought on a narrow front of 15 miles, with 800,000 people dead. Or, the Somme: '600,000 Allied casualties gained six miles of French ground' (56). JR Tolkien was at this front for four months and the experience inspired the 'dead marshes' scene in The Lord of the Rings. Or, Passchendaele: 'the whole campaign cost at least 500,000 casualities on both sides and achieved a gain in land of five miles ... (or about) two inches per fatality' (168).

Horror #3   The influenza pandemic
It just so happened that an influenza spread around the world at the same time... 'The Great War itself killed perhaps ten million in four years. In just one year, from around mid-1918 through mid-1919, the Spanish pandemic killed at least 50 million, and some estimates put the death toll at twice that ... (possibly) 10 percent of the world's young adults at that time (182).' And so the influenza killed twice as many people in four months as the AIDS epidemic killed in twenty years.

Horror #4   'Russia's martyrdom' (200-206)
Again, at just the same time, the Bolsheviks, with an 'anti-crusade' fury, instigate 'a full scale religious civil war (201)' in Russia. 'Within a decade ... one of the world's great churches was uprooted and most of its leaders were dead or in exile ... the Russian church neither died nor faded away gently, but was violently killed (200).' As part of this, the Bolsheviks seized land and churches and even turned many a monastery into a gulag - or, concentration camp.

Horror #5   The Armenian genocide (287-314)
Today 'the Middle East is a Muslim East ... (but) for most of the past millennium that division would have seemed absurd (288).' Take a city you've probably never heard about: Diyarbakir, in Turkey near the Syrian border. For centuries it was one of the most 'prestigious centers of the Christian world' (290) - and then, just one hundred years ago, it was part of a genocide in which 'the oldest Christian world perished' (308). Who speaks of this today? Where in today's Christian world will it be remembered with a centenary in 2015?  Even Hitler himself, as he gathered a rationale for his own genocidal aspirations, once asked, 'Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?' (287) ... And so, let's see - "If they didn't remember the Armenians, they probably won't remember the Jews." Is that how the logic goes? In the end we remembered the Jews and forgot the Armenians.

The night before the Aussies and Kiwis landed in Gallipolli is when it started. The rulers of the 600 year old Ottoman empire were feeling increasingly insecure. They were concerned that Christian-European countries would infiltrate their lands (I guess this is what Gallipolli looked like to them), gain a foothold alongside the Christian minorities and incite an agitation that would cause the empire to collapse from within. 'European powers hoped to use Christian minorities within the Ottoman world as the basis for expanding their hegemony (292).' And so on the 24th April, the Turkish regime arrested 250 key Armenian cultural and intellectual leaders 'in an act that today is commemorated as the formal start of the genocide' (298). The purge was on.  Village after village 'cleansed'. Forced marches. Deportation. As is customary with rodents today, the 'extermination of a race' had begun. Make no mistake about it. The 'genocidal fury' in this regime 'targeted Christians as Christians (303).' [NB: the word 'genocide' was invented in 1943 to describe this horror show].

I'm a good Kiwi. I'll commemorate Gallipolli's centenary in 25 April 2015.[NB: my mother's uncle is one who died there]. But my sense of identity is wrapped up far more with a global church than it is with a specific nation and so the 25th will get what is left over from a lamenting heart on the 24th when the centenary of the rodent-like extermination of the oldest Christian world will be remembered.

A scene from Ravished Armenia, a movie that tells the story of a Christian girl
(Aurora Mardiganian) who survived the genocide. Christian women being crucified.
Horror #6   The abuse of 'subject' peoples
Eventually, 'the western front became a world front ... savagery was unleashed across Africa, Asia, and Oceania: it was a war of jungles, oceans, and steppes as much as Flanders fields (270).' For example, one million Indians fought for the British - with 75,000 deaths. Throw in the influenza epidemic, which the war helped to spread, and 'India alone might have lost 20 million people, or 5 percent of its total population (272)' over these years. Europe's war became the world's war.

But subject peoples watched and wondered - and were emboldened by it all. 'Those from below would not always remain in the humble places that the empires assigned them (285).' And so 'while the great powers were making exalted claims for their own divine missions, so the world's underdogs were also seeking their own place in history and framing their claims in supernatural or spiritual terms (270).' A new nationalism and a desire for self-determination was on the way...

But alongside the horrors, let's not miss Jenkins' evocative subtitle: How World War 1 changed religion forever. 'The war created our reality' (28). Christianity, Judaism, and Islam changed.

Islam?  'The war created the Islamic world as we know it today (334).' In 1914 there were just three independent Islamic states in the world: the Ottoman Empire, Persia and Afghanistan (with a total of about 35-40 million). But then within the British Empire, there were 75 million Muslims; in the Dutch East Indies there were 40 million Muslims etc. Far more Muslims lived in these empires - but they were 'politically weak ... with little sense of global unity (336).'  But imperial domination slowly stirred them up. There were revolts here and there, now and then - and 'most of the revolts of these years grew directly out of wartime agitation (350).' While the Great War marked 'the end of the caliphate' (with the fall of the Ottoman Empire), 'the shape of modern Islam owes much to the Great War, and especially to the resulting upsurge of activist movements and the creation of autonomous states (366).'

Judaism? While the great and holy war was fought primarily by so-called Christian peoples, it was a time when both Zionism (among the winners) and anti-Semitism (among the losers) flourished. Indeed 'the Zionist dream fueled the anti-Semitic nightmare' (254) ... and therein lies a taproot or two for the holocaust a generation later.

Christianity? I won't find it too difficult anymore to understand why Europe has become so secular. And yet in the very same years that severe losses were taking place in Russia and the Middle East, new gains were taking place in Africa (314-331) as the religious world was being turned upside down. And yes, it still annoys me that history curricula in New Zealand choose to go back one thousand years to find an example of a crusade (by Christians) when there are two such crusades in the most recent one hundred years (against Christians) that could also be chosen.
Studying the densely packed events of the Great War, it is often easy to forget just what a shockingly brief span of time they covered: just four years for formal hostilities, with several more years of chaos following - but still less than a decade in all. And yet, as we have seen, the world changed totally in that time (374) ... Not only did the First World War show how calamity can transform the world, but it also suggested how long it takes for the results to become apparent. Observing a revolution is quite different from comprehending it. Only now, after a century, are we beginning to understand just how utterly that war destroyed one religious world and created another (377).
nice chatting


I gained a new appreciation for Karl Barth from this story. My conservative evangelical training of yesteryear focused on how he did not go far enough in his break from liberalism and remained a naughty neo-orthodox theologian. But gee-whiz, this 'daring intellectual from a tiny (Swiss) parish' (221) was in his 20s when he started writing about his horror over this horror show. Eventually he articulated 'a sweeping reassessment of Christian faith ... a radical quest to rediscover sources of divine authority (218).' He reminds us that the default position for Christians is to stand against the prevailing cultural tide, rather than riding it - and not to clothe the church in the aspirations of the state. An inspiration for us all.

Saturday, October 25, 2014

text and context

With the SAIACS MTh class in 2013
Requiring MTh students to take a course in homiletics/preaching? It is most unusual. But that is what happens here at SAIACS (Bangalore). Twenty five students. Their theses go in on the Friday (yesterday). Then this module starts on the Monday. A bit of a challenge for the instructor - but that privilege is all mine.

We'll buttress our theological convictions together, as we take the text seriously on the way to the sermon. The content and purpose of the text will determine the content and purpose of the sermon. There will be no compromise on this. Each one will demonstrate this ability by preaching a sermon in class.

But that is not all that we will do together. We will also take the context seriously. While it won't determine the content or purpose of the sermon, we will be listening carefully to it and looking for ways to build bridges to it.

So, in small departmental teams, students will work with a general topic. They will add a specificity to it by drawing in a perspective from within the borders of their departmental focus (New Testament, Missiology, History of Religion, Theology etc) and creating a question. They will orient that perspective directly towards preaching, the preacher and the sermon. In this way, three worlds will be integrated (hopefully): South Asia, their specialisation, and homiletics. In the aftermath of the rigour of thesis-writing, the focus will be on an oral presentation to the class.

And the general topics in 2014?
This year I have decided not to include the three issues which surface most frequently in this context - caste, corruption and sexual violence - and push them into other areas. Here they are:
Rural India and orality
(Narendra) Modi and oratory 
Hindutva and persecution
Gurus and pastoral leadership
TV - Hindu and Christian
Karma and providence
Prosperity and hope
Shame and freedom
Garbage and stewardship
Bhakti and worship

Should be fun. One thing is for sure.
I am set to learn a bit over the next month.

nice chatting


Sunday, October 19, 2014

preaching matters

Yes - another book on preaching, pitched primarily for people making a start.
(I've tried to surf this recent wave for readers - herehere, here, and here!).

Jonathan Lamb's Preaching Matters (IVP, 2014) has arrived.

I read the book in one sitting - or, one lying, to be accurate - early one jet-lagged morning in Kingston, Jamaica. Not sure I've ever done that with a non-novel before. Maybe they should add that endorsement to the dozen others that fill the first four pages!

Jonathan Lamb was Langham Preaching's first director and pioneer, under whose guidance the work touched sixty countries in just ten years, ex nihilo and with limited resources. Amazing. As his successor, it often leaves me breathless. Jonathan is now CEO and Ambassador-at-Large for Keswick Ministries globally.

There are a number of distinctives which help this book stand out from the crowd...
1. Jonathan distills such a wide array of reading and experience into simple, clear and brief description. This is what held me through the early hours as I read, just as it is the often overlooked combination that keeps people awake during sermons. Simple. Clear. Brief. For me, it means this book lines up alongside Darrell Johnson's The Glory of Preaching as one to use for required reading in more formal college/seminary courses. It is that good.

2. The use of Nehemiah 8.1-12 to provide an unobtrusive, gentle structure to the book is a bit different and it works well.

3. As a little aside...  Just before we shifted here to India, I taught a final preaching course, something that had been part of my annual rhythm for two decades. It was a master's course and so experienced pastors comprised the core, many of whom I had taught in their undergraduate days. Overall, it was a disappointing experience. As a teacher of preaching, I left NZ with my tail between my legs. Their confidence in the word seem to have eroded. Intimidated by a very difficult mission context, they seemed to be humming and hahing theologically. Deep conviction no longer seemed to hold them. As I listened to them preach, it seemed that the very sin I had pleaded with them to avoid all those years earlier was now holding them - namely, scanning the horizon for the (technique-filled) waves coming from off-shore, finding and riding the next big one, only to find that it crashes into nothingness on the shoreline - just like all the other ones before it. I chastened them but, more significantly, I chastened myself and have made changes in what and why and how I teach preaching as a result.

Techniques have their place. Of course they do (see below). But our confidence, our hope, does not lie in mastering the latest magical technique. It lies in the transforming power of the gospel which comes to us as word, written and living. The secret is found in being mastered by convictions - for a lifetime. In the opening pages (19-61), Jonathan weaves his way through truths and passages to identify some of these convictions, starting with:
Preaching matters, because it is a God-ordained means of encountering Christ (16).
If a preacher does not have this conviction holding them through thick and thin, they should consider another vocation. Later, Jonathan adds:
Too often, the Bible doesn't set the agenda; it is simply the background music (22).
If a preacher is not willing to work hard at letting the Bible set the agenda of the sermon, again they should consider another vocation. It is that big a deal.

4. Speaking of techniques(!), Jonathan then heads in this very direction (62-108). As he does so, the approach of Langham Preaching is overheard on every page. This is intentional, as the book is partly motivated by a desire to get a basic resource into the hands of those we train worldwide. In a nice touch, Jonathan dedicates his book 'to the courageous preachers of the Majority World from whom I have gained so much inspiration.' Then he takes the reader step-by-step through the process of moving from text to sermon in pursuit of a sermon that is faithful, clear, and relevant. So practical and so useful. The Appendix even gathers some of the worksheets that are being used worldwide.

With Jonathan at one of my favourite places on earth
- St Bathans in Central Otago (New Zealand)
Reading Jonathan's book provoked another trajectory of thought. There is an irony here. The quotation which I hear attributed to John Stott more frequently than any other is his phrase 'double listening'. In fulfilling our callings - including the call to preach - we need to listen to word and world, text and context. Or, changing the metaphor to the title of Stott's definitive book on preaching, our callings involve 'bridge-building' - particularly in the call to preach.

But here is the irony. Those who stand in this Stottian tradition - particularly the British and Australians with whom I have chatted and trained and whose books I have read - don't seem to me, in practice, to take listening to the world as seriously as the Stott quotation suggests they should. Does not double-listening suggest that in the course of the sermon we need to be biblical exegetes, but also cultural exegetes? Does not double-listening suggest that in the course of the sermon we need to instill the true biblical story and worldview, but always alongside the need to expose the false stories and worldviews of those with whom we live and move and have our being in wider society? Does not double listening suggest that in the course of the sermon a preacher is a skilled biblical theologian - but also, at the very least, an amateur sociologist? Have we listened carefully enough to Stott's call to be double-listeners?

These are some of the questions on my mind, as I read Jonathan's book and as I pick up the reins of  leadership from him. Don't get me wrong. The pursuit of relevance in the sermon is given priority (109-121), as is careful application (150-157). A foundational session on 'making the connection' inhabits the basic Langham training. It's great. But I do wonder aloud, for those who stand in the Stottian tradition, whether this area needs further strengthening - even methodologising. What are the techniques to use? Just as there will be steps to take and skills to learn in handling the word well, will there not also be steps to take and skills to learn in handling the world well? I think so. But my hunch is that well-convictioned preachers don't want to go there because they think to do so will diminish the preaching of the word in some way. It ain't necessarily so. Either we go there, learning new steps and skills, or we pull back from the claim to be double-listening, bridge-building preachers.

nice chatting


Saturday, October 18, 2014

on caste and more

It's one month ago now. Two conversations. One in which I participated. One which I heard about second-hand a couple of hours later. But there they are - both running around my mind ever since ... and annoying me. So it is back to the purge-by-posting strategy.

The first conversation was with a bunch of Christian university graduates. It was about the ongoing presence of caste in Indian society, including the church. Caste had reasonable vocational origins, but now it is a way to keep people separate and then to value some much more than others. A student related to me that when his denomination gathers for it's annual assembly, they divide up according to caste. What?! Haven't these guys heard about Ephesians 2, Galatians 3 - and a bunch of other passages?

It makes me combust. It just does. But when we are about to combust, it is always good to pause, stop the flow of oxygen, and ask 'why'. Self-awareness is always a friend. For me, it is more than a biblical-theological issue. I can see this. As I approach leadership and community and mission, 1 Corinthians 12 may have taken on creedal proportions - but there is more to it than this.

As a child, stuff happened that makes me sensitive to nonbelongingness. It will always be that way. I am from New Zealand. We are so flat and egalitarian. Hierarchy is hated. We have a thing called the 'tall poppy syndrome'. As soon as someone grows too tall and excellent, standing out from the mediocre crowd, we have ways and means to cut down that poppy - or just wither it into lifelessness by a welter of sarcasm. Plus I now work in a UK-based organisation and I see a bit of caste in this class-y society. The era of Downtown Abbey did not rid it of all vestiges of the upstairs:downstairs way of life. I feel it - just as my Dad felt it when he went to work in the UK at my age, three decades ago. Self-awareness? These are some of the factors that light-up my combustible contribution into any conversation on caste.

But then there was a second conversation. I didn't hear it myself. Barby, my wife, heard it and related it to me. Again, a Christian graduate student. She has lived life in multiple places around the world. One simple observation. 'You guys in the West spend a lot of money on leisure.'

Boom. Hmm. Wow. Ugh. Ouch. As you can see, a highly articulate conversation has been triggered inside me.

Is she saying that leisure is wrong? I fantasize about sneaking a week here and there with Barby in some oddly exotic place. Is that wrong? I don't think so. Next month we are having our first 'longer-than-one-week' holiday in four years. Do I feel guilty? Of course not. Truth be told, I feel guilty that it has taken this long a time! Leisure. Rest. Lying fallow. These are good things.

What this woman couldn't understand is the amount of money we spend on leisure - and, I guess, this reflects the huge space it occupies in our imaginations and dreams, our goals and priorities. What I hear her saying is that 'in a world where there is so much need and inequity, how do you justify spending so much money not just on legitimate things like an education and a home - but on your leisure?

Is she onto something here? Of course she is. What is wrong with my self-awareness that I can't see this as clearly as she does? While I've been combusting over Ephesians 2 and Galatians 3, she has been reading much of Luke's gospel and a whole lot of the prophets. And out she comes with disturbing stuff, exposing blindspots in my reading of the Bible and my following of Jesus.

Nah - I don't really want to purge-by-posting. Filling, not flushing, is what I want. I want to get close enough to people like this that they tell me stuff that annoys me, triggering conflictual conversations in my head that help me be more faithful to the gospel with my life. I am asking the Spirit to help me combust as much over leisure's overspending as I do over caste's undervaluing.

nice chatting


Saturday, October 11, 2014

words and word

Using a tap to turn off a waterfall in the monsoon. That is how these twin books felt like to me. The authors are trying to contain trends that have swept through society and church and already taken control. It is too late - surely?!

Maybe. But I am happy to help them turn off that tap. This stuff is too important.

In Marilyn Chandler McEntyre's Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies, the author argues that 'the stewardship of words is akin to stewardship of other resources' (146). The ecological crisis is not the only crisis which we face. Words are in big trouble. 'Language can be depleted, polluted, contaminated, eroded, and filled with artificial stimulants' (1).

Or, switching the analogy a little, we have a problem with 'junk texts' that is similar to the one we have with junk food. 'A steady diet of drivel weakens us' (82). As with eating well, 'we (need to) savor and linger over words; we (need to) taste with delight and take in slowly' (83). If we don't do so, it will be more of the same where 'we say more and more about less and less to more and more people' (230).

As you can imagine, cultural artefacts like news bulletins and talk shows are among those that feel the heat. But the book is not a negative diatribe. Far from it. It is constructive - and this comes through in a couple of ways. One is that McEntyre writes beautifully, adorning her argument with appealing prose. The medium provides a message! Listen to this piece on recovering wit in the face of the contemporary reliance on sarcasm:
Wit doesn't argue with sophists, simpletons and demagogues. It waves them on their downward path with a quip. They don't even know they've been had. Wit withers with a smile; it never wrangles; it prefers fine-pointed instruments to bludgeons, and uses them to more effect ... Wit lands lightly and leaves quickly, never explains a punchline or takes too long to deliver one ... Wit awakens the willing and ready and leaves sluggards to their sleep. It doesn't proselytize or preach, but it does speak truth to power, expose the hypocrite and incites its victims to the distressing self-awareness they may have sought to avoid (207-208).
The second constructive feature is seen in the very backbone of the book itself. The twelve chapters are twelve 'stewardship strategies' ('practices that may help to retrieve, revive and renew our precious language resources', 10): love words; tell the truth; don't tolerate lies; read well, stay in conversation; share stories; love the long sentence; practice poetry; attend to translation; play; pray; and cherish silence.

By the way, McEntyre loves Jane Austen ('whose dual legacy of precision and restraint is a gift to us all', 48) - but it is another woman about whom she speaks that I'd love to be like: 'a woman rich in experience who held her own opinions vigorously and was curious about those of others' (90).

In Kevin DeYoung's Taking God at His Word, the author claims that 'the word of God is more than enough to accomplish the work of God in the people of God' (24). As I replay my past - particularly the years serving the church in New Zealand - I wonder how many people with whom I have walked over the years believe this statement? Some... But it is the ol' Chesterton quotation which more readily comes to mind. Many consider the word to have 'been tried and found wanting' - when the reality is that 'it has been wanted and not really tried'. That is how I see it.

I've enjoyed DeYoung before (here, with a follow-up here). He is chatty and accessible. There is a neat contemporary engagement, while still being anchored in great convictions. Probably more conservative theologically than many readers of this blog - but that is exactly why you should engage him :). Take a risk. Quit the diet of reading only the reassuring echoes of what you already believe!

DeYoung opens with Psalm 119 because it shows us 'what to believe about the word of God, what to feel about the word of God, and what to do about the word of God' (16). The rest of the book provides the 'building blocks' which enable us to share those Psalm 119 convictions. It is a collection of warmed-over sermons on selected passages in the Bible - 2 Peter 1, Hebrews 1, Deuteronomy 30, Acts 17, 1 Corinthians 2, John 10, and 2 Timothy 3 - from which emerges the useful acronym, SCAN. Sufficiency, Clarity, Authority, and Necessity.
If authority is the liberal problem, clarity the postmodern problem, and necessity the problem for atheists and agnostics, then sufficiency is the attribute most quickly doubted by rank-and-file churchgoing Christians (45).
Amen. The church does need a sharp jolt in its theology of word, beginning with its sufficiency. It is one of the larger blindspots today. I now commence every homiletics/preaching course with this topic. What is the point of going any further, if this is not first in place? Listening to sermons from preachers with a deficient theology of word can be so tedious. They should be considering another vocation methinks. Then, recalling the post which I consider to be the most important one which I have tried to write over the years, DeYoung observes that 'the Bible is only impractical for the immature, and only irrelevant for the fools who believe that most everything is new under the sun' (122).
If we learn to read the Bible down (into our hearts), across (the plot line of Scripture), out (to the end of the story), and up (to the glory of God in the face of Christ), we will find that every bit of the Bible is profitable for us (54).
My own high view of Scripture has often been challenged by others along the way. DeYoung addresses three of the leading challenges: (a) starting with what the Bible says about the Bible leads to a circular argument (23-25); (b) being such a bibliolater when I should get my eyes back on the person of Christ (102-110); and (c) affirming all of Scripture to have authority, discarding the populist red-letter approach (117-120).

I like this book - a lot. I'm trying to find a way for it to worm its way into the required reading of my classes - and it is a leading candidate to be the next book I give to each one of my kids. There can be no higher praise.

nice chatting


Sunday, September 28, 2014

real presence at पचपन

I am 55 today. In Hindi, 55 is the catchy little alliterative, puchpun (पचपन). My mum enjoys ticking off her children as they pass through this age and stage. Just one more to go, Mum.

I have moved past the expectation of real presents on my birthdays (although my son Joseph did send me a much-appreciated basketball this month). No - with this post I want to bear witness to the real presence of Christ in my life, surprising me at times beyond my expectation.

I've trawled the memory bank for episodes in which God has drawn near in Christ and in the power of the Holy Spirit touched my life.

Episode One: A Sunday morning in Lagos (Nigeria)
It is almost twenty years ago. My first sustained visit to a non-Western country since my childhood in India. No direct flights from the USA in those days. New York's JFK airport had a big sign, prominently placed: 'Avoid Lagos Airport'. I arrived at the aforementioned Lagos airport before dawn. Humid. Eerie lighting. Fans whirling inches from my head. Guns everywhere. Custom officials viewing the contents of my bag like self-service at a lunch buffet. After three long flights, it was getting to me. The words of the woman next to me on the flight - 'thank-you for coming to my country to tell people about Jesus' - no longer seemed so thrilling.

The first conference in Ibadan went OK. Then, during the weekend, the thought of flying on my own to a little place in the jungle called Owerri became too much for me. I freaked out. Timid little me got a big dose of the fears and panics. Just as well I didn't know that there would be no one to meet me at the airport. Just as well I didn't know that soon after my arrival at the guesthouse, while I was left to rest and everyone else went into town for provisions, more big guns would arrive at the door and take away my passport. Just as well I didn't know that I would sit in transit in Port Harcourt airport reading a newspaper shouting headlines about the most unsafe airports in Africa - with #1 and #2 being ... you guessed it, Lagos and Port Harcourt.

But I was in better shape by that time. I had woken early on that Sunday morning in Lagos. Fear is a dependable alarm clock, I find. My mind was playing games. I resolved that I would not be getting on that plane. I would remain in Lagos. No Owerri for me. Then I heard it. Quietly at first. Then stronger and stronger. It was a dawn church service. I recognised the tune being sung. Then I picked out the words. Before I knew it I was singing along. 'Because He lives I can face tomorrow. Because He lives all fear is gone'. The real presence of Christ breathed peace into my life and gave me the power to pack my bags.

Episode Two: Multiple mornings in Auckland (New Zealand)
If you speak to my peers, in my late teens I was a huge advocate for global mission. One year we ran a World Christian group at university. The next year it was in our church. Once I counted a couple of dozen people for whom God's call overseas journeyed through one of those groups. I fully expected to be one of them. But it was not to be. God had other plans. After theological training and marriage to Barby, we were to spend 25 years focused on the church in New Zealand.

But midway through Year #20 something happened. I was taking my morning walk to get a newspaper from the Mobil Station on the corner of Dominion Rd and Mt Albert Rd. I was in good spirits. It was the day after Christmas. On the day before Christmas news came through that Nigel Pollock had agreed to come to NZ to head-up our TSCF/IFES work. Having been on the search group, I was elated. But now, on the day after Christmas, the headlines carried tragedy. Boxing Day 2004. The tsunami broke my heart. It just did. For many early mornings after that, in my little walk-in closet of an office perched in our home, I found myself weeping. It still affects me. I was retelling this story in Sri Lanka just last month and the moisture readily returned.

This molten moment matured into a refreshed call into global mission. I see this more clearly now. It was the turning point. Those who knew me best could see it happening as well. I knew not when or where things would change. But the real presence of Christ in my life was softening and redirecting me. As it turned out, my time as principal at Carey Baptist College still had five more years to run. And so, like Mary, I was left to ponder things in my heart, fed now by different authors ('Bless you, Philip Jenkins and Lamin Sanneh'). When the time came for a new direction, I was surprised by the quickness with which everything happened. I shouldn't have been.

Episode Three: A Sunday evening in Bangalore (India)
Just over four years now. On this very SAIACS campus where I sit now. I had come for a long weekend (to speak at graduation) on my way to Assam to explore the feasibility of Langham Preaching commencing in Northeast India. But trouble had surfaced while I was in Vanuatu in the preceding week - with a tooth. The dentist in Auckland had no light to shed on the problem.

Off I went to India. Painkillers were popped like jellybeans. I made it through the Graduation Ceremony, speaking about how God's amazing grace is not just evident at conversion. It tracks with us through all of life. On the Sunday morning I had offered to preach in a local church. I still don't know where and I have no idea what I spoke about. Over lunch I confessed things to a couple of SAIACS staff who were hosting me. I was in trouble ... and I was leaving for Assam early in the morning. I had never been to Assam before, but I was sure I didn't want to visit a dentist there.

These SAIACS people immediately got onto their mobile phones. Eventually a dentist near to SAIACS was located in Chennai (some hours away), but returning later that Sunday. Would you believe it? He agreed to open up his Agape (!) Clinic for me on a Sunday night. In 120 minutes he completed an entire root canal procedure. Never before had such skilled hands - quick, decisive, gentle - entered my mouth. Meanwhile the principal of SAIACS, Ian Payne, sat in reception and waited for me all that time. Amazing grace tracking with us through all of life? I spoke about it one night and then on the next night, I experienced it as the real presence of Christ touched my life through his people.

Episode Four: A long weekend in Auckland - and Sydney
My precious Dad breathed his last breath on a Wednesday morning, just as the Hallelujah Chorus reached its crescendo on the tape recorder by his bed. Or, so I am told - because I did not get there in time to be with him. But his pain-filled ordeal was over - finally. Apart from the grief that gripped me, it created a huge dilemma. I was meant to be in the Blue Mountains (near Sydney) for Fri-Sat-Sun, speaking at the Reach Out Mission Conference. What do I do?

We decided that Dad would want me still to go. So between my Dad's death and my Dad's funeral I popped across the Tasman to give multiple messages at a mission conference. I did my best. I don't remember much, except feeling a little star-struck on the Saturday night because Reuben Morgan and his band from Hillsong led the service before I got up to give a mission message from the book of Ecclesiastes. Sunday morning it was straight home again, but given the unfriendly time zones, not reaching home until 6.00pm. And then ... the challenge of preaching at my Dad's funeral the next morning. What on earth was I thinking?

I went to bed almost straight away. Then from 2.00am until 10.00am I  experienced something as close to 2 Peter 1.21 as I am ever likely to experience: '... but prophets, though human, spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.' My mind, my heart - and my fingers - were 'carried along'. Romans 10 fell open with a message that captured my Dad so well, drawing us all into the orbit of the real presence of Christ - especially me.

It is good for me so to reflect and write.
I pray that my episodes can precipitate a few of your own.

nice chatting


[NB: Breakfast for a 55 year old birthday boy - pink guava, orange papaya and red pomegranate]

Friday, September 19, 2014

nilgiri tea plantations

I have fallen in love ... with tea plantations. Given that I am a teetotaller (as in totally-tea, I guess), one day I plan to eschew the pub-crawl in favour of a plantation-crawl around South Asia. Sri Lanka. Nilgiris. Darjeeling. Assam. Any takers?!

You don't think I am serious, do you?
You don't know me :).

nice looking


Monday, September 15, 2014

wounded tiger

The Bible says that God has planted eternity in our hearts. I've often wondered whether he has planted cricket in the human heart as well - but just like with eternity, it becomes a planting that is smothered and choked by other pursuits ... :).

I've always enjoyed the game of cricket. The rest of humanity is on a journey towards a similar enjoyment, but they just don't realise it yet. Ever since my Dad retold stories of his boyhood Aussie heroes on that flight from Brisbane to Sydney when I was a little boy, I've been captivated. I was never good enough to find great pleasure in playing the game. It is the stories and statistics that swirl around it that fascinate me. There is no other sport under the sun quite like it.

In more recent years, it is the social history that slips in with those stories that interests me. Ramachandra Guha did this so well with Indian cricket (reviewed here). Then when I spotted Peter Oborne's  Wounded Tiger among the new books at Blackwell's in Oxford, I was caressing it within seconds - and finishing it within days. A History of Cricket in Pakistan.

Oborne (chief political commentator for the Daily Telegraph) had me from the moment he wrote these words in the opening paragraph of his Preface.
Cricket writing about Pakistan has sometimes fallen into the wrong hands. It has been carried out by people who do not like Pakistan, are suspicious of Pakistanis, and have their own preconceptions. Autobiographies by England cricketers, with some exceptions are blind to the beauty of Pakistan and the warmth and generosity of its people (xvii).
Preach it, brother. And he does... Without loss of a critical objectivity, Oborne writes with such empathy (it is reminiscent of Lieven's Pakistan: A Hard Country, reviewed here). Believe it or not, the final chapter moistened the eye with its gentle tenderness. Entitled "White on Green" (the Pakistani flag mirrors the colours of a cricket field, with white flannel set against green grass), Oborne revisits some of the main protagonists in the story in their final - or, post-cricketing - days. Kardar, Saeed, Fazal, Hanif, Cornelius - and Imran. A grace shines in their latter years in these closing pages. This mingles with the author's self-reflection on his own journey in writing the book.
Like everyone who gets to know Pakistan at all well, I fell in love with the country, and always felt an intense excitement whenever I returned (506) ... [On his train trips on visits for research] - I would go to bed watching the sunset over Sindh and wake up to sunrise over the Punjab (505) ... [And then his final words] - (Cricket in Pakistan) is magical and marvelous. Nothing else expresses half so well the singularity, the genius, the occasional madness of the people of Pakistan, and their contribution to the world sporting community (509).
Enough for sentiment. Now for substance.

The book is structured with two pairs of sections: (a) the age of (AH) Kardar, 1947-1975 followed by the age of (Imran) Khan, 1976-1992; and then (b) the age of expansion (1992-2000, after winning the World Cup) followed by the age of isolation (2001-present, while 9/11 is in mind - it is the terrorist attack on the Sri Lankan team in Lahore in 2007 that sticks with me). Neatly done.

Here are a few highlights:

The birth of Pakistani cricket is told through the eyes of a 20 year old strike bowler, Fazal Mahmood. His heart set on being in the Indian team for a tour to Australia - and the opportunity to bowl at Don Bradman. He makes the squad and is told to report, some months later, 'to training camp at Poona on 15 August 1947'. [This is the very day of Indian independence, with Pakistan's day being the 14 August]. Fazal's hopes sank in the horrors of partition. Friends with 'a common inheritance' (40) became enemies by powers beyond their control. Hindus moved from west to east. Muslims moved from east to west. 'The whole of the Punjab was aflame amid the complete collapse of civilization' (12). It is just 35 miles from Amritsar to Lahore and, for decades, they were part of the 'same easygoing and tolerant Northern India culture' (78). After Partition, 'there were no Muslims in Amritsar and no Sikhs or Hindus in Lahore' (78). Fazal never made it to Poona.

While Indian cricket retained the cricketing infrastructure, Pakistani cricket needed to be born against this bloody backdrop. In time two Pakistani cricketing families came to the fore - the Burki clan in Lahore (offering many of the Khans, including Imran and his cousin Majid) and the Mohammed clan in Karachi (offering four brothers, Wazir, Hanif, Mushtaq, Sadiq) - but both families have their origins in the India of today. They are among the ones who moved home. The Mohammed family traveled by boat from Gujarat to Karachi and established their home in a vacated Hindu temple. One of the Mohammed brothers played in each of Pakistan's first 89 Tests. There is a delightful photo of three Burki sisters who each became mothers of Pakistani cricket captains.

But the story flows the other way as well. One of the early captains of India, Lala Amarnath, was a Hindu from Lahore. He had to leave. In the very first test between India and Pakistan, the two captains (Kardar and Amarnath) 'would have understood each other very well':
They had been brought up in the same same city, played as boys on the same streets, represented the same clubs, and tested their skills against the same players. They spoke the same language, ate the same food, and wore the same clothes. But for accident of religion and history, Amarnath and Kardar would have been on the same side (70).
Years later (1978), when Amarnath returned to Pakistan with the Indian team as a commentator, a Mercedes was waiting at the Lahore airport. The manager of the Indian team thought it was for him - but, no, it was for 'Lala-sahib' - being welcomed back to his hometown. Still today, at a national level there is conflict and tension across the border - but at a personal level there can be real affection.