Skip to main content

Winter


After a long mild autumn the Winter has arrived and seems intent on making up for lost time. We had five consecutive days of heavy rain with floods in all the usual places where, in aeons past, bogs and lakes used to live and now want to return to check out the old family home. Then, in the high country at least, there was some snow. On Monday, a day off after a busy weekend, I drove up to Naseby to try and find some, and was not disappointed. There was snow knee deep beside the road all the way through the Pig Root and fog and hoar frost. In the fog free bits the sun shone brightly out of an inky sky onto a vast white landscape: my very favourite kind of weather, cold, clear, sharp, huge, still. This is the Maniototo; Middle Earth; Tolkien landscapes that need no photoshopping in order to flabbergast the punters.

There was a stop or two for photos, and a swift trip down a back road into Naseby for lunch in a quaint little cafe. I learned that the new car can handle with panache a)black ice b)dirt roads and c) snow. I drove home rested and pleased with the day, to digest the lessons of the weekend and to face the conversations of this week.

Our diocese is not without its challenges. If we are to grow into the future, there are changes to be made in the way we organise our common life together and these must be implemented soon. We have one or two complicated pastoral and organisational problems which clamour for my attention. We have vacancies to be filled. We need to find a new generation of leaders. The weight of it all sits heavily at times, but the good will and optimism of the people I met in Winton on Sunday is what fuels me. That, and a few precious hours spent alone in the vast and timeless land

Comments

How I would love to see that landscape. Punter is not a term we use in my part of the world. I looked it up in some urban dictionaries but it there were a number of definitions. I think our word "poseur" gets closest perhaps?

Also fascinating to me being on the other side of the world because summer began in earnest in South Texas last week.
Bill said…
Don't let the Church weigh heavy on you, remember that it is God's church not ours, very often we confuse the too. Things will get done and put in order in due time, just make sure that you are doing the "bishop things" that keep your mind alive. You sound like a very inspirational bishop, I wish we had you here in the US!!!!!!!
Alden Smith said…
"I drove home rested and pleased with the day"

No you didn't, you came home pleased that you had been out of sight in the middle of nowhere, broadsiding on the shingle roads, doing burnouts and handbrake turns - panache? a euphenism for trashing the crap out of Suburu - and good on you I say.
Kelvin Wright said…
Punter is a term meaning customer or prospect, as in someone who is going to take a punt (ie bet) on the deal you have to offer.
The church does weigh heavy on me, which is a good thing. If I wasn't worried about it there would be no incentive to make the changes that are absolutely necessary. Yes, it is God's church but God has committed it to my temporary stewardship, which is what ordination is all about, isn't it?
And Alden, I can honestly say I didn't do any handbrake turns. I'd be very reluctant to try that in any SUV, especially one I don't personally own; and as speeding tickets go directly to my office, I take special care to avoid them wherever possible.And is wasn't the sort of day for whizzing past the landscape. I dawdled through most of it. It is, I suppose, just possible that on some of the back roads I may have been marginally over the speed limit once or twice.
Lee said…
This country never ceases to stun me with its beauty. I've been here two years but, due to the responsibilities of having young kids, have seen far less of it than I hoped.

We're only a tiny speck of islands on the world, but there's more than enough loveliness here to last me a lifetime of bliss and wonder. And I never cease being thankful for it :-)

Popular posts from this blog

Camino, by David Whyte

This poem captures it perfectly Camino. The way forward, the way between things, the way already walked before you, the path disappearing and re-appearing even as the ground gave way beneath you, the grief apparent only in the moment of forgetting, then the river, the mountain, the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting you over the rain filled pass when your legs had given up, and after, it would be dusk and the half-lit villages in evening light; other people's homes glimpsed through lighted windows and inside, other people's lives; your own home you had left crowding your memory as you looked to see a child playing or a mother moving from one side of a room to another, your eyes wet with the keen cold wind of Navarre. But your loss brought you here to walk under one name and one name only, and to find the guise under which all loss can live; remember you were given that name every day along the way, remember you were greeted as such, and you neede

The Matter With Things. 2

  Last night I finished reading Iain McGilchrist's The Matter With Things, Our Brains, our Delusions and the Unmaking of the World , the biggest book I have ever read, in all senses of the word "biggest". Back in 2017 I wrote about books which had been important to me , and, however I would recompile that list now, The Matter With Things would go straight to the top. Really. It's that good. I've read every word: no skipping or coming to and realising that my eyes have been glazed over for the past ten minutes. It's taken me a couple of months to engage  with its 1300 or so pages of text, and, as well, there are another couple of hundred pages of  appendices and bibliography (well, OK, I haven't read the bibliography). At the end of the book proper there is an epilogue which is a "so what" chapter in which McGilchrist speculates about the implications of his hemispheric theory for the world in the immediate future. This epilogue is preceded by a

En Hakkore

In the hills up behind Ranfurly there used to be a town, Hamilton, which at one stage was home to 5,000 people. All that remains of it now is a graveyard, fenced off and baking in the lonely brown hills. Near it, in the 1930s a large Sanitorium was built for the treatment of tuberculosis and other respiratory ailments. It was a substantial complex of buildings with wards, a nurses hostel, impressive houses for the manager and superintendent and all the utility buildings needed for such a large operation. The treatment offered consisted of isolation, views and weather. Patients were exposed to the air, the tons of it which whistled past, often at great speed, the warmth of the sun and the cold. They were housed in small cubicles opening onto huge glassed verandas where they cooked in the summer and froze in the winter and often, what with the wholesome food and the exercise, got better. When advances in antibiotics rendered the Sanitorium obsolete it was turned into a Borstal and the

Turn Sideways Into The Light

David Whyte speaks in his audio series What To Remember When Waking of the myth of the Tuatha De Danann. They were a mythical race from Ireland's past who were tall, magical, mystical people devoted to beauty and artistry. When another more brutal people, the Milesians invaded Ireland the Tuatha De Danann fought them off in two battles, but were faced with a third, decisive battle against overwhelming odds. So, lined up in battle formation and facing almost certain defeat, the Tuatha De Danann turned sideways into the light and disappeared. Whyte's retelling is, to put it mildly, a gloss, but I am quite taken with the phrase and with the phenomenon it describes. Turning sideways into the light is the realisation that there are some encounters that are damaging to all involved in them: no one wins a war. Faced with such an exchange, to turn sideways into the light is to seek another, more whole form of relationship. It is to reject the ground rules of the conversation as they

Prayer as Relationship

  This is a reconstruction of the talk I gave, last night, at the 3 in 1 group at St Michael's Church, Anderson's Bay, Dunedin.  We have all had unhelpful experiences of prayer . I remember the clergy colleague who would sometimes correct the theology of my sermons 5 minutes later, when he led the intercessions; or the prayer groups when you dreaded THAT person speaking, because you knew they would speak for a quarter of an hour and list everything they knew to be wrong with the world. I've heard prayer used to share gossip, or to preach sermons, or to make announcements. I've seen prayer used to shame, or to control or to boast. In all these instances I have to ask "who, exactly is being addressed here?" and find myself asking again what, exactly, is prayer anyway?  I know what it's not. Prayer is not telling God what God should do with the universe. Neither is it barking into a silence in which nothing is ever heard. Prayer is not exercising some positio