Awhi atu awhi mai

Being church and being caring people – those two surely go together.

A common reason for being part of church is the caring for one another and for others. We all have something going on that means we value a little bit, or a big bit, of TLC. Lately it's seemed even more in focus, with the effects of age and various illnesses affecting quite a number in our parish family.

How does one care well for one another? What makes for good pastoral care, that is the question.

And it's a very important question. Because we don't want the environment that goes with the old adage about “do-gooders”: you can spot a “do-gooder” by the hunted look on those he or she is doing good for!

“Pastoral care” is the church's own special term. It's genuinely “pastoral” being connected in meaning with the essence of being a good shepherd, which some of us know in literal terms and all of us can imagine. Psalm 23 gives a good run-down: providing for, pointing in the right direction, sheltering, supporting, helping celebrate the positives, just being there.

A shepherd tends the flock, attends to their needs, which in turn is done by paying attention.

That is surely the key to caring well for others and not being more of a nuisance than a support.

Back with the shepherd: perhaps you can produce a so-so flock of sheep by following a set routine of food provision and disease protection. Okay maybe, but probably not if there's a really bad drought and you're not noticing that the grass is running out before the set time. The good farmer is attentive to what's actually happening adjusting provision and care accordingly. A no brainer as they say.

Likewise caring for a friend who is unwell. We need to be attentive to what is happening and therefore sensitive to what will really be caring for our friend. Each person is different and the more we know a person, the more we get to sense what they will appreciate. And we can ask. Simply ask: what would be helpful, what could we do to show that we care.

This is definitely a two-way thing: caring is not something I do to another person, but is the particular character of the relationship between us when we are giving support one to the other. A two-way thing means it works best when we communicate, when we are enabled to say honestly what helps and what doesn't.

When we're really sick, we are allowed to ask not to be disturbed. Many, many times I've shared a particular thought with someone whose illness is terminal and they've settled in at home where family can care for them and friends can visit. You don't have to be the gracious host – to stay alert or keep a conversation going when you don't want to. You are allowed to close your eyes, which can be a gentle hint that it is time for the visit to end. There are some rules of thumb I use for visiting like this, in particular keeping it short. The main thing is to ask, to sound the person out on what is best for them, let them be open about it, and thereby let them stay in control of something when a lot else isn't in their control any more.

I think it's similar when recovering from illness. You don't have to be the gracious host, meaning you don't have to answer the door, or the telephone, if what you need right at that moment is to rest. All friends ask of you is that you give good hints of what helps – what helps you know you're not alone in your feeling miserable

Two sides to the relationship called caring. Awhi atu awhi mai.

Shalom, Robyn

Looking to the future together

Ngā mihi nui ki a koutou katoa o te parihi o Kaeo-Kerikeri Union, o ngā hāpori o Whangaroa me Kerikeri hoki.

The prospect of continuing on as your minister has got me pondering seriously, as well as revelling in the delight of being able to stay. It's good not to have to start again. But I know there need to be new starts here, and important changes for us to make to ensure we are a sustainable mission venture. I will definitely not be cruising to retirement!

When we left Methven nearly ten years ago, I didn't want to leave, but parishes have often felt it best to have a change of minister. Some in the parish would be ready for change even if others would rather not.

Five years ago at the first extension of my appointment I imagined getting to this point in time and knowing it would be best to move on. Even though we wouldn't want to leave and many strong relationships in parish and community would have been built up, it would be right to go. It would save the debate and the awkwardness, the mixed feelings with some wanting me to stay and some ready for a change. And, if the wider community really wanted me to stay, my choosing to go could save the “bad look” of the parish saying “no”.

Of course, five years ago I imagined that the new facility in Kerikeri would be completed and bedded in as a great community venue and home for our services.

Because that hadn't happened, the circumstances required a rethink. Hence my first expressing some time back in the privacy of church meetings a commitment to stay on for the long haul, if I was wanted. As we looked at the challenges of both the finances and the need to break new ground in the kind of facility we were building, it seemed only fair to commit to the hard work of making it work.

The decision to stay on – and for the parish to keep me on – until 2019 therefore needs to be a catalyst to re-think expectations. In some ways it needs to be as if a new minister were starting. There's benefit in the fact that we've got to know each other pretty well, and we can build on what seems to me a good level of trust and shared vision, so it's much easier than starting totally afresh.

The biggest risk is that we expect only continuation of what we are familiar with.

These extra years are our chance to find the way to turn into congregations that are viable for the long term. We are not competing with other churches who attract the numbers to belonging and believing. If that's what we were, we would be best to heed Jesus' call to unity and merge with them. We remain a separate strand in the fabric because we can offer the gospel where it's not getting to now.

Our viability depends on our point of difference as a church: connecting in a unique way to people outside the walls of traditional church.

Traditional church is a group of members who meet together, pray, sing, and socialise together, and care for one another and for others. Many reading this have long experienced church like this and find it very important in their lives.

When we see church only in this way, there is a real concern that, unless we get more to join the group, our aging church family will get smaller and smaller and eventually die away. The only known option to survival therefore seems to be to get more members of the group.

Now, I didn't say “club”, but that is one of the dangers of seeing church only in this way. It is what we have inherited from the years in the mid 20th century when church was a social success, before it became just one among many social activities of choice.

Now the world is different. Church can be caring family AND it can reclaim what it is supposed to be – disciples (followers) of Jesus working together on what he started. For the church to survive it must, before all else, stay true to its mission of being Christ for the world around it.

Be the body of Christ first and later we'll find ourselves needing to count the numbers who want to connect to the body (to make sure there is room for them).

My challenge to us is to be a warm and caring body of people whose “welcome” means two things: feel free to join in with who we are and what we do together AND make yourself at home at our place, make our place your place.

If our life together is such that we offer space for people to grow, regardless of creed or culture or anything else that usually divides us, then people will want to join in.

In the words of Sir Hemi (James) Henare of Otiria:

Tāwhiti rawa tōu haerenga ake te kore haere tonu. Nui rawa ōu mahi te kore mahi nui tonu.

We have come too far not to go further. We have done too much not to do more.

Shalom, Robyn