Sisterhood in Ministry

Today it is a month since I left the UK. Busy times in my work context: our Parish Administrator resigns, and a new one takes up the role; my vicar prepares for his 8-week stint away as an RNZN Reserve Chaplain (last morning in church today); 

[Nyasha, members of Vestry and I send off Michael with prayers and blessings.

Rebecca (his wife) holds Isabel, whilst Michael holds Sophie; there will only be old-fashioned posted letter contact between them for the 8 weeks that Michael is away training!  

No phone - he's not sure how he's going to cope!!]

our office extension crawls haltingly towards conclusion, only 3 months late, with attendant sawing and hammering; and, alongside sermon and bible study prep, I also have 24-hours of post-ordination training (where we look at Expectation of Ourselves in Ordained Ministry, raising some interesting questions in the process), and then this week a 3-day Women’s Hui - that’s a gathering, a meeting, you might even call it a conference!

It is billed as ‘Treasuring Women in Ministry’.  And how lucky I am that the venue chosen is St John’s College, a mere mile from my church.  It has been months in the planning, the first big gathering under the auspices of the Women’s Studies Centre.  It is also the first time that women are coming together from all three tikanga of the Church of Aotearoa, New Zealand and Polynesia.  What does that mean, I hear you ask? Well, to reflect the diversity of this small nation, and its place within the wider Province that includes Polynesia (the islands of Fiji, Samoa, Tonga and Cook Islands), the church comprises three tikanga, three ‘cultures/customs’.  So we have Tikanga Pakeha (technically European New Zealanders), Tikanga Maori, and Tikanga Polynesia, (each of which has its own Archbishop!).  Given the lack of diversity within the parish of St Philip’s, here in affluent St Heliers, I find that I am much looking forward to experiencing the wider church here on my doorstop. 

They come - from all over the province; women, lay and ordained.  Around 90 in all.  There are colourful dresses worn by members of Tikanga Polynesia, and that in spite of the cold winter weather.  Fa’asega (pronounced Farsenga) has flown in from Samoa (though the fact that 2 of her 4 children are currently living in Auckland may have added extra sway), with her traditional costume and essential flower in her hair.  She is a large woman with a huge heart and personality, child number 15 in a family of 17.  There is also a group of predominantly Maori women all wearing the same scarf, the traditional Maori colours of red, black and white; I learn that they all belong to Te Manawa o te Wheke (which means ‘the heart of the octopus’), part of the Hui Amorangi (the equivalent to our ‘diocese’) in the Rotorua area.  And what a lovely group they are!  I meet Peace, Libya, Phylis, Rahera, Minnie, Lyn and Edna, and am warmly gathered into their embrace from the outstart.

On the first day there is a lot of story-telling.  So much of life seems to be about history. Well, on this day we spend time together hearing herstory!  Four individual women share their life stories, their experiences, their ministries. Two of them are in their 80s, both still active in ministry, and one of them, Ngahinu Tricklebank (81), only retired from her paid employment for the diocese 4 months ago! Another speaker is Beverley Reeves, the widow of the late Sir Paul Reeves (former Archbishop and Governor-General of New Zealand).  Their stories are inspiring, encouraging and entertaining.  They have each encountered many difficulties and obstacles in life, not inconsiderable prejudice, too, both against gender and race. We are all moved.  As each speaker finishes their piece, the members of Te Manawa o te Wheke rise and serenade them with a waiata (a song).

[Numia thanks Annette Gilchrist (aged 87) for her story;

in front you can see the Hope Chest mentioned below]

I am taken aback by how much I need ‘treasuring’ – not for my ministry, but for myself as a human being.  I arrive in an emotionally vulnerable state, unsure why (though it is perhaps possible that I am grieving for those I have once again left behind in the UK).  I feel rather tearful.  So the warm embrace of complete strangers is a gentle balm.  At the end of each session we all walk 100 yds outside to the refectory for morning coffee/lunch/afternoon tea.  And each time I find that there is someone for me to walk with and talk with, and slowly I feel healing of sorrow I didn’t know I was feeling…..  I acknowledge here the kindness of Anne, Rochelle, Jean, Annette, and May.

Day 2, having established a safe and caring environment together, we tackle some more challenging issues – Urban Mission (‘Justice through Service’), Controversial Issues in Women’s Health (primarily Abortion and its after-effects), and the question of sexuality (LGBT) and the troubled reception of same within the church.  In our diverse small groups we find just how much common ground we share, and wonder how it can be that outside these four walls there so often appears to be nothing but division and undermining within church matters.

I miss the morning of Day 3 (a long-standing commitment to a tennis match) and arrive in time for the conclusion of the envisioning for the role/place of women in the church in the next decade or so – led by our (female) Dean of Auckland Cathedral.  Do we want to be ‘men in skirts’ in order to take our place at the top table? How can we find new ways of gaining recognition for the valuable ministry of women, lay and ordained?  How can we ensure that the unity of purpose and shared concerns that we now know exists across the three Tikanga continues once we leave the Hui and return to our normal lives?

We close, fittingly, with our Hope Chest.  On arrival each of us has placed in it something special to us.  Now three of these are chosen as further ‘stories’ of hope.  One of them is mine.  I have brought Penelope, my Kiwi, a birthday gift knitted for me by American Julie and received by post back in February.  Penelope is a symbol both of friendship and of this new life that Roy and I are sharing with new communities out here.  My story seems to resonate with the group who nod and smile in encouragement.  

['Penelope']

Annette Cater (who's only 31, Michael's contemporary, and is from the rather beleaguered Christchurch), is leading the session; she gives us each a slip of card and asks us to write on one side the name of someone who has meant something special to us over the days of the Hui (I choose May), and on the other side a prayer/thought/prophecy in one sentence.  We each read these out in our giant circle before Annette gives us a taonga (treasure) made by her.  Each is different. Mine is a brooch with a picture of a woman and the word ‘Daughter’ (Mark 5), on it.  Wow.

[I'm at the back, in the middle in pink; Fa'asega is in the front on the right;

you can just make out the coloured scarves worn by members of

Te Manawa o te Wheke]

It is time to leave.  Lots of goodbyes to say.  I swap details with various people including Shona who, I discover, lives in Orakei along Tamaki Drive and who is available for midweek coffee. 'What's your email address?' I ask.  'It's shona@ihug.co.nz,' she replies.  I can't quite believe it.  What an address - ihug!  I do indeed.  What an affirmation.  

I come home and look at my little glass square that Mandy gave me as I left last year.  'Big hug', it says.

I feel treasured all over again…….

A weekend in San Francisco

I break the long journey back to NZ by stopping off in San Francisco for 2 nights.  There are 3 reasons why this is a good idea: it means that I only have to endure separate flight lengths of 12 and 13 hrs, rather than the usual combined 25; it gives me a chance to visit a city unfamiliar to me but considered charming; but above all, it means that I get to see American Julie again!

Blog readers will remember that Julie was my dear friend and playmate in St Heliers, right up to Christmas Day when she had to leave and return to the US (through lack of a work visa).  We have been skyping regularly, but at last a chance to see each other properly again.

The journey begins auspiciously at Heathrow when I find myself unexpectedly bumped up to Virgin Upper Class, for ‘being helpful’.  The fact that most of the flight takes place in daylight doesn’t stop me from turning my couch into a proper bed and lying down – because I CAN!  I should fly like this more often J

Julie meets me at the airport and we drive through the city, chattering away happily, seeking our 1930s art deco motel near the ocean, aptly named Ocean Park Motel.  

Another good sign – astonishingly the nearby streets are lined with pohutukawa, the Christmas tree that grows in abundance in New Zealand’s north island, and especially all along St Heliers Bay.  And moreover it is in bloom, June being summer in California.  How strange and yet how familiar….

[A flowering pohutukawa]

After a shower I venture forth for supper with Julie’s son (Tevis), and her daughter (Sarah Harriet) and daughter’s fiancé (Marcos).  These are names that have long been familiar to me; now the faces become so, too.  Tevis drives.  I experience some very steep roads until my obvious discomfort causes Tevis to find alternative less stressful routes.

The next day greets us with classic San Fran fog!  We head to a nearby diner for breakfast.  I feel as if I have walked onto the set for a 1950s American film (Peggy Sue got Married ...). 

[Julie enjoying breakfast at Bruce's Diner]

I order the pecan and honey pancake – it is delicious; the coffee jug keeps coming round.  And so our day of exploring begins.  First stop, naturally, the Golden Gate bridge.  Obligingly the mist lifts just enough for a photo opportunity.

We drive on through the Presidio, a vast wooded area formerly used by the US military, where beautiful buildings have been sensibly re-allocated to other uses, including not-for-profit businesses.

We pass a huge military cemetery (one of several that day) before stopping to admire the Palace of Fine Arts, originally built for the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition and recently completely renovated.  It stands at the edge of an ornamental lake, surrounded by gorgeous houses.

Next stop, Fisherman’s Wharf.  In the distance, Alcatraz, sitting inoffensively atop its rocky island. 

[You can just make out Alcatraz in the distance]

By now the sky is blue; it is warm out of the wind.  The Wharf is home to several historic vessels moored fetchingly in view. 

  

Several buildings ashore also reflect the maritime theme, including the National Maritime Museum (formerly the bath house at the ‘Aquatic Park’), complete with its vivid 1930s mural by artist Hilaire Hiler.

We drive on and descend the famous Lombard Street, a steep road unusually designed with a series of sharply-tacking corners, in-filled with flower beds – speed limit 5mph.  I was too busy taking photographs to mind the angle of descent!

[Looking back up Lombard St once we'd safely negotiated the curves; 

others are following suit]

On to the 1933 art deco Coit Tower, atop Telegraph Hill.  More murals, and some wonderful views of the Bay Bridge and city. 

 [Coit Tower]

[One of the many murals inside the Tower, depicting typical Californian scenes]

[Bay Bridge]

[That's Lombard Street in the distance; you can just see the Golden Gate bridge 

shrouded in mist]

By now the memory of my pancake is no longer enough to sustain me and we head to the Ferry Building for a light lunch.  The inside is packed full of enticing food shops of all varieties (including 'the best cheese shop in the world’).  

[The Ferry Building, with one of the older trams stationed in front]

It’s lucky we buy after we’ve eaten lunch!  But we get the makings of a picnic for the next day.

I’m almost on sensory overload.  So many things to see.  I’m particularly loving the variety of different architecture.  We drive through Chinatown, Japantown and down to Golden Gate Park, where we tiredly wander through the Japanese Tea Garden before heading back to our motel to freshen up for supper.

[The Japanese Tea Garden]

San Francisco’s history can be roughly divided into three parts: firstly the early settlers, initially Native Americans and later others, who appreciated the wonderful natural harbour it has; then those who came as a result of the Gold Rush in the late 1840s, many of whom came from other nations that continue to make their mark in the city today; and finally the rebuilding of the city after the devastating earthquake of 1906, when it’s estimated that 80% of the infrastructure was destroyed.  Much of the city conforms to the favoured grid construction, everything pretty much at right angles to everything else.  That seems to help the trams which continue to flourish, climbing even the steepest roads (though not with me aboard!).  The city has a charm that is rare in many cities today, with quirky, attractive houses colourfully-painted that line streets often liberally planted with trees.  There is much breathing space in this city.  And a lot of telegraph wires that hang precariously above the roads – something we rarely see in Britain today.

[Down near our motel, the telegraph wires are a constant feature]

I awake to less fog, more blue sky, and another pancake at our local diner. 

It is Sunday morning.  The Diamond Jubilee festivities are well underway back in Britain (where it is already late afternoon).  Julie surfs the TV til she finds the River Pageant on CNN, and we watch the sodden but joyful scene from our motel room. 

We decide to attend church at the Episcopalian Grace cathedral.  The building was modelled on Notre Dame, as you can see!  

[Grace Cathedral, on California Street]

We witness the baptism of 11 separate children, conducted in a vast semicircle round the font at the back.  It is a real feat of choreography and organisation; impressive but perhaps not very personal...

Afterwards we drive through the Civic Center, with its French-looking City Hall,

and see (astonishingly again) a work of art by the same Korean artist (Choi Jeong Hwa) whose work graces the entrance to the Auckland Art Gallery - yet another unexpected link with this adventure :-)

We venture on into the less salubrious Mission area, where the music becomes distinctly more Latino. Julie has planned that we eat our picnic at Twin Peaks.  That seems a good idea – until I realise that the roads are climbing ever steeper and I’m having to shut my eyes more often, and suddenly this no longer seems like a good idea at all but more like a nightmare!  We begin our descent and instead eat our sour dough bread and heavenly cheeses overlooking the eastern city, the San Francisco Bay glinting in the distance.

We have talked and talked, laughed and shared for hours and hours, and now we both know that soon we will need to say goodbye again…  We slip back through now-familiar streets until we meet up once more with Sarah Harriet and Marcos, who will be making the journey back to Sacramento with Julie once they have dropped me at the airport.  The sun has shone, the sky stayed blue.  It has been a particularly wonderful way to bridge leaving the UK and returning to NZ. 

Au revoir, Julie.  Merci mille fois.

A bientot, j’espere J

[PS  I have no idea why some of the writing in this blog appears in white outline]

'Overseas'

Is there such a thing as blog etiquette? Am I allowed to blog out of sequence?

The reason I ask is because for the past 7 weeks I have not been in New Zealand.  I’ve spent most of it in the UK, as many of you will know because I’ve been able to see you or speak to you, or you’ve seen postings on Facebook!  Hence the lack of any blogging.  And hence my question.  You see, I know that there are still several things I’ve yet to blog about from Feb/March, but I’d like to reflect on these past few weeks whilst they’re still fresh in my mind….  Hope that’s OK.

It is a strange experience, returning after 7½ months away.  The house gently folds itself around me, as if to say, ‘ah, you’re back at last’.  I notice how much stuff there is everywhere after our pared down living in St Heliers.  I wander from room to room letting each one claim me anew.  It is all immediately so familiar and beloved.  Thanks to Peter, our wonderful neighbour, all is in good order.  The Aga is already on (ah, the bliss of the Aga…) and after a quick trip to Tesco in Tiptree, I’m all set.

Then it’s catch-up time.  The first hugs and hellos (with neighbours Peter and Dianne), in Fred’s store (Marion and Linda), the butcher’s (Ian and Jo), the church (everyone!).  It’s exciting and joyful.  But more than that, it all feels so natural, as if I’ve not been away at all.  I find myself recalling long-ago scenes from Dallas, when a whole series without Bobby Ewing is explained as ‘just a bad dream’.  Has life in New Zealand been just a dream?  Is it real?  Well, of course it's real (and I have the blogs to prove it, don't I?) but that feeling continues throughout the weeks, until I begin to accept that both are real and are in effect parallel lives that can co-exist comfortably, and that is just the way it is.

The emotional impact of seeing so many beloved faces is both joyful and tiring.  Then there are the numerous jobs that need doing – house and garden husbandry, admin, servicing of cars/boiler, plumbing requirements.  The days slip by.  Reunions with family feature high on the agenda.  First night back with sister Anna and David, and of course Louisa; first weekend with Philly and Louisa.  Then it’s more friends - tennis with the gang, Anna, Gill and Bev (great fun); coffee with Mandy; a spa day with Anne Harvey (we talk for 7 hours); a day in London at the NMM, which includes lunch with the Queen (we don’t get to talk at all); a day in Colchester catching up with vicar friends Gill, Jeremy and Rosie, and Janine; an evening at vicar school, with the other gang, including both Jane Williams (wife of Rowan, one of my former lecturers) and Bishop Stephen (who reminds me that I’m only ‘on loan’ to St Philip’s). Both of these, I discover, will be coming out to Auckland in October as part of the worldwide Anglican Consultative Council! There’s a treat in store - for them and for me...

And then Roy is home, and somehow the pace goes up a gear.  The next 10 days pass in a whirl - lunches, dinners, trips to London, hedge-cutting, fence-painting, and for me a Deacons' evening and the chance to visit Rob Kean's two churches over near Braintree, in the floods! 

Finally we begin our proper ‘holiday’ with family.  To Robbie for 2 days, which includes Sunday roast with Mat and Liz over from Oklahoma.  Then to Center Parcs at Longleat, via lunch in Saltford to admire the results of Oliver and Gillian’s hard work in their now-carpeted and painted home, where we are joined by both our girls. 

It rains, a lot.  In fact, for a drought, it is remarkably wet for my first 5 weeks! Undaunted we throw ourselves into CP activities.  The rapids in the swimming pool remain a highlight (as do our BBQ with umbrellas and the Scrabble tournament), but probably the prize goes to the intrepid four who brave the Aerial Adventure: Louisa’s ‘I’m going to die!’ will ring long in my ears…..  

[About 100' up in the swaying trees: left to right, Gillian, Louisa, CP guy who coaxed Louisa on, and Oliver]

[A game of crazy 'medieval' golf, when it wasn't raining]

The holiday concludes with a family weekend in Tollesbury (via a 3-car trip to see Philly’s new house-share in north London – spacious!).  It’s lovely and funny and special, as always.

All too soon Roy flies back after an action-packed 17 days.  And then it’s time for Anna and me to embark together on our 3^rd annual trip to the west country.  Batcombe first stop, to see sister Sue, Oscar and Imogen (last seen by me in St Heliers just before Christmas); Budleigh Salterton follows, a night in an elegant Edwardian guest house; then to Dartmouth and an uproarious late night with Janet Raby; onto Cornwall, via a surprise lunch with Jo and Nigel Owen (well, we did turn up unexpectedly – I’m not sure who was more surprised…), and Devoran, with cousin Ally and Chris, where we feel so very much at home.  And the sun comes out!  The perfect setting for spending time with Cornish cousins.

So many people to see, so much catching up to do.  But it’s important to have time to slow down and relax, too.  For our last 2 nights we find an old-fashioned hotel on the north Devon coast, in Mortehoe.  It has an indoor swimming pool, and a stunning view of rugged coast and crashing surf. 

[The view from the balcony of our hotel, The Watersmeet, in Mortehoe]

We walk round Morte Point, stopping to watch stonechats and curlew, skylarks and a fat basking seal.  The sky is blue above, the church medieval, the pub not much younger.  Time at last slows down….

We drive back through rolling Devonian hills lush with Spring colours, singing along to the Beatles, and on through the counties that get ever busier until we return to Surrey, and a happy family supper with Louisa and David.

A week left and the goodbyes now begin.  A final weekend with the girls filled with hugs.  The sun blazes down both days and we sit in the garden and chat and laugh.  I preach at St Mary’s and feel the warmth of the Tollesbury church family embrace me again.  I want the clock to stop, and yet I know it must tick on.  Then it’s London again, this time to see Adrienne over lunch in the Royal Exchange; lunch in Marks Tey to say goodbye to Anne and  a last trip to Chelmsford to hug Mandy.  One last game of tennis, and somehow I squeeze in coffee with Carolyn and tea with Angela whilst also getting the boiler and car serviced.

And now it’s time to clean and pack, neither of which I have any desire to do, both of which are essential.  I make it bearable by walking round the sea wall before breakfast, drinking coffee at the Lighthouse with Marion, Sylvia and others, and then a rare treat – ringing handbells with my old friends in the church tower.  I seem to be getting through rather a lot of handkerchiefs…  The day concludes with a splendid last supper with Peter and Dianne, whose kindness and hospitality are legendary. 

The taxi comes at 0745 the next morning.  Peter is there to see me off; I need several more hankies. It has been very special to be home again.  It is unexpectedly hard to leave behind this life once more, even though the other life is full of good things too, even though I can’t wait to see Roy again … 

And so I leave, San Francisco next stop.  More of that in my next blog : )

Thank you to everyone who made my trip home so lovely – for all the hugs, shared meals, laughter, tears,  fellowship and encouragement. Apologies to all those I didn't get to see; perhaps this blog will give an idea of just how busy those weeks were. 

See you next year!