BUSH CHURCH REFLECTIONS

Seems to me that at this time of the year we have a tendency to reflect on the past twelve months, and especially as Christmas approached to wonder how life became so frantic and complicated and sometimes so stressed, and ponder how we can do things differently as we head into a new year so life can be somewhat more manageable and a lot more enjoyable.

I can understand why so many ordinary Aussies would never darken the doorway of a church building, but for our little community church, and there was only about 20 of us today, this morning’s service headed bush, held in a style in which anyone would have felt comfortable. Bit of singing, simple prayers then we were all invited to go off into the bush for a time on our own to see if we could find something which spoke to us about what this Christmas season has meant to us, or simply where we’re at in our own personal journey.

It was fascinating as people came back to share what they had found how the ordinary things which usually go unnoticed had an impact on us as we took the time to stop, look and listen. For some the magnificence of the surrounding mountains and landscape were a reminder of God’s creative power, a rock found in the ashes of a discarded fire a reminder that as we ‘go through the fire’, as we hang on in hard times, what is solid at the very centre of our being remains solid and is not burnt away.

The changing shapes of the clouds and even the shadows of the clouds moving on the dark green of the mountainside, a reminder of how things constantly change, but also how things are being renewed. A dead stick symbolised one person’s journey of late, but at the same time how the humble dandelion seeds drift off and take root showed how their life had and was still being used in positive ways, and that living one day at a time and seeing what God had in store for each day was a liberating experience.

For me, before we had even been invited to venture into the bush, the gall on a nearby tree caught my attention. It was one of three on this gnarly old acacia tree. A lot of the lower branches were dead, and what was beyond the gall on each branch had also died, but the withered leaves were still there, and the tree itself was still very much alive.

Diseases on plants are usually very obvious, and if not treated end up consuming and killing them. The gall spoke to me of the diseased parts of my own life, but they’re not obvious. They’re those things which we tend to hide, both big and small, things we think or say or do or don’t say and don’t do, which gradually eat away at us and prevent us from growing into what we truly can become. What was great to see though was that there was still life in the old tree, and likewise for us, out of personal setbacks, attacks or tragedies which could consume us if we let them, new life and new hope can still come.

Sharing experiences and stories gave me a new found respect and love for those around me, a great way to spend time with each other and with the creator.