Category: Addresses and Articles (page 2 of 2)

The loss of seven young lives in the Mangatepopo Stream in April 2008 raised many questions about why such tragedies occur, and how we cope with them when they do. 

The stories and pictures shook us to the core. Six student lives and the life of a young teacher lost in a raging torrent of water that subsided as quickly as it arose. We all felt the pain, knowing they could have been our kids or our schoolmates. Tragically for the families of Elim Christian College in Auckland, they were.

With all the questions this tragedy has raised, there were some extra ones insofar as Elim is a school with a Christian foundation. Why did God allow this to happen? Was it God’s will? Why did God not intervene? What difference does faith make in the midst of such a loss? Does a belief in life after death ease the pain?

Christian responses vary, but I believe that as human beings we are all subject to the changes and chances of life on earth. Whether Christians or atheists, humanists or agnostics, illness and tragedy, good fortune and bad, are our common lot. Some bad things we bring upon ourselves, and some we inflict on others, but random strikes such as at Mangatepopo are part of natural forces which impact upon us all.

Similar questions arose at the time of the Asian tsunami in 2004. Was it a sign of judgment? Was God angry with the people? Not in my book. My God is a God of love who does not visit judgment or punishment upon the human family.

So while we cannot blame God for the loss, yet we may still feel very angry and want to rage at the elements, or bang figuratively on the gates of heaven. This is healthy, and has good biblical precedent. In the Old Testament, Job suffers huge family losses and curses the day of his birth. His comforters suggest there must be some hidden sin God is punishing him for. But Job knows God better than this, and after much anguish and reflection accepts there is no answer to the cause of his suffering, and renews his trust in God.

The questions of how this tragedy could happen to people so young, so talented, so loving and loved, remain. The words of the poet Rainer Maria Rilke suggest that we should …try to love the questions themselves. Don’t search for the answers… Perhaps then, someday in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer. At one level not knowing the answers can be distressing, but at a deeper level there is a mystery about life and death which is something else. In mystery there is a warmth and an assurance that does not depend on understanding.

Faith, then, is not a guarantee of protection from life’s disasters, but it is an assurance that God is with us as we go through them. Theologian Matthew Fox has written that when we are faced with tragedy and loss, the only way out is through, but God is with us as we encounter the dark.

The pictures from Elim College spoke also of another aspect of faith, and that is the reality of love. Staff, students and families held each other as they shed their tears, and felt the love that each offers the other in coping with a shared grief. Love is in the warm and caring presence of friends, and of strangers also who come out of the woodwork to stand with us at such times. Nor is such love just for a day, or a week, but it continues in the long periods of pain that follow the loss of those closest to us.

Christian faith sees human love as an expression of the greater and all-encompassing love of God. The spirituality of the ancient Celts was not lived out in the rituals of churches and cathedrals, in prayer books or in creeds. Theirs was an awareness that perceived God as the spirit of love and of life that flowed through the whole of creation. In times when we are most alone, and the darkness is darkest, to open ourselves to that spirit, or wairua, and allow God’s love to flow through us and sustain us, can bring glimmers of light and hope for the days ahead.

The Mangatepopo tragedy also raised questions about life after death. Christians have different ways of understanding life beyond the grave. Many years ago I came across the words of an American theologian, Henry Nelson Wieman, who spoke of life after death in terms of “hope without prediction”. He meant by this that it was not possible for us as humans to predict the details of what lay the other side of death, and that it was idle to speculate.

But Wieman was firm in his conviction of Christian hope which is not just a vague kind of wish, but a robust confidence in the presence of God who transcends the boundary between life and death. As St Paul writes, “in life and in death we are the Lord’s”.

Celtic spirituality has a similar understanding. On the windswept island of Iona, St Columba founded a monastery in the 4^th century which became the centre of Celtic Christianity. In 1938 the Rev George MacLeod, a Scottish minister, founded the Iona community. In one of his prayers, MacLeod wrote that “only a veil, thin as gossamer, divides us from our loved ones”. Faith has this sense of a continuing communion with those who have gone before us.

Such convictions do not quickly or easily remove the raw pain of the loss of those we love dearly. But in the midst of grief there is assurance expressed in the oft-quoted words of the 14^th century English mystic, Julian of Norwich: “All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well”. For Julian these were not words of superficial comfort, and had no sense of an overnight quick fix. Rather they express a trust that in the fullness of time new life can rise out of death, and hope overcome despair.

To Discuss

1. What great losses have you experienced in life, and what feelings have you had at such times?
2. What faith perspectives have helped you in the midst of grief?

“A devil for the detail”

5:00AM Saturday June 09, 2007
By Carroll du Chateau 

Bishop Richard Randerson is turning his back on the big lights of Auckland for the home comforts of Haitaitai.

Every morning at 7.30 a small group gathers at the Holy Trinity Cathedral chapel. It’s a simple service, just the Gospel, confession, offertory and communion. The chapel, with its simple wooden cross (no figure of Christ) behind the altar, is small and cosy, compared with the cavernous cathedral outside. Lit by a small suspended lamp and two fat altar candles, it offers pews, padded kneelers and plush carpet. But the most interesting thing on this chilly winter morning is the evident piety of the officiating priest, the Anglican Dean of Auckland Richard Randerson.

There is no sign of the “agnosticism” Bishop Randerson has been explaining over the past few months. He skips the affirmation of faith but, this is the service of a believer: “Go to love and serve the Lord,” he says as the worshippers depart.

Later, in his rather spartan office, the bishop says that despite his many scholarly articles people still do not understand his position on faith. Sitting there in a brown v-necked Rodd & Gunn jersey over his purple cassock, and wearing a pair of shoes cleaned so many times the black leather wrinkles like parchment, Bishop Randerson explains he used the word “agnostic” only when debating the theories of evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins. He was asked if he could scientifically prove that God exists. And he says, “you can’t prove God by science.”On the other hand, the bishop believes passionately in God “as in the person known as Jesus Christ. I endorse that 100 per cent. That’s what my whole life has been about.”

It is Bishop Randerson’s careful theology, his dedication to truth and bridging the gap between science and religion that has led him into controversy over and over again. He does not accept the literal meaning of the virgin birth – and many of the other stories of the Old Testament.

“It can be very upsetting for people who think, ‘well that’s the truth: it’s a gynaecological miracle that I believe in’,” explains Bishop Randerson. “Yet often in the process of that [belief] they are missing what that story is about – which is that the divine and the human meet perfectly in Jesus. The miracle can distract people from the deeper understanding.”

Similarly with the story of Adam and Eve, which he explains away as one of many “symbolic stories” attached to the Bible. “Adam in Hebrew means humankind,” he says. “Eve means life. When we’re talking about Adam and Eve, we’re talking about the generic meaning of life. They’re generic stories about the truths of human life.”

He has also stuck his neck on the chopping block over gay marriage (he would welcome it if the church did).

The bishop’s modern ideas may have an appeal. Holy Trinity still draws 150 to Sunday communion and around 80 to evensong. Although the controversy over their leader’s agnosticism may have upset some of his flock, many more “on the margins” got engaged in the argument.

Bishop Randerson’s attitudes, delivered in a warm, measured voice, may make the Anglican Church far more acceptable to the educated than insistence on literal, blind faith. As he says, bringing the church into the scientific era has been his life’s work. “That’s what it’s all about – that’s what I’ve had a passion to do … There are many people who’ll say ‘if I’ve got to believe that Jesus was literally born from a virgin I have to rubbish the whole Christian thing just on the basis of that’.”

Richard Randerson grew up in Takapuna in the 1950s when it was Sunday school for all. His father, Brian, a branch manager with the BNZ and son of a Presbyterian minister, was confirmed in the Anglican church after he married so the children would have both parents in the same faith. The “very bright” Ngaio, was a stay-at-home mum. Their other two sons went into banking and law. Tony Randerson is the senior judge of the High Court.

Richard was 17 and in his last year at Takapuna Grammar when he signed up for the priesthood. Randerson majored in Greek and Latin at Otago then went on to three years at St John’s College in Meadowbank. By then many of his colleagues had already come off those rails. “Of the 15 who applied just over half made it to ordination.”

Even he had a crisis of faith. He was in his mid-20s, a couple of years into his first official placement at Papakura and newly married to high school teacher Jackie. The youth revolution that had been stirring in the US when he was ordained in 1964, was now raging in New Zealand, and the church was suddenly uncool. “People were leaving in droves,” he says. ” I had to do some major wrestling to find my way.”

That rethinking brought him to the wider life of the church in society. In 1968 Randerson won a scholarship to do his Masters In Theology at the Union Theological Seminary in New York, followed by a year with the City Ministry. It was the time of Black Power, Vietnam and youth revolt. Next came a year as industrial chaplain at Teesside, in Britain, where Rebecca (now 37) was born, before being called home to direct first, the Industrial Mission for Auckland City, followed by 12 years as inner-city vicar at St Peter’s in Wellington.

It was an interesting life. The family lived in a succession of parish houses. Randerson was an involved father. He took Jeremy (born 1976) to his first day at school and took his turn on the Playcentre roster.

By the mid-1990s, Randerson – who had been the Anglican Social Responsibility Commissioner for four years – was known for his opinions on the new-right government policies of the time. He had written two books criticising monetarist policies and was often in the media. “The ‘new’ virtues of individualism and self-help resulted in an erosion of community responsibility and compassion for people on the margins of society,” he growled.

Even now, he says, an over-emphasis on individual effort – “you deserve it, work hard, play hard” – is working against a sense of community – as evidenced in the Muliaga case. “I think society is way out of kilter.”

His values, ethics and financial judgment propelled Randerson to Australia for six years as Assistant Bishop in Canberra. Next came his appointment at Holy Trinity twinned, two years later, with the assistant Bishop post.

Then came a major seminar on climate change at Holy Trinity and last month Bishop Randerson was a core member of the third Asia/Pacific Regional Interfaith Dialogue, which he points out with a wry smile, “was not about watering down Christianity with a dollop of Islam” but grew out of the need for keeping communities peaceful.

“It started with the bombings in Bali and attacks on the Australian Embassy in Jakarta. And Helen Clark called on different religious groups to work together to build peace within our own communities.”

As he sees it, achieving the starry-eyed diverse communities our politicians want may not come easy. “This is the big issue of the 21st century. If we see our identity threatened we get anxious, then upset, then angry.” And no, he does not believe we should assimilate other peoples’ values at the expense of our own. “We need to learn to be a culturally diverse community while recognising that we live in New Zealand under a common law.”

As for the prayer before Parliament, the man who wants to usher people into Christianity rather than exclude anyone, believes we should keep the prayer but omit the specific reference to Jesus at the end.

Possibly because he goes into immense detail, the media constantly get Randerson wrong. “There have been five mistakes about me in the Herald this year,” he says. And another glaring one in Metro magazine which accuses him of introducing a Hindu altar cloth to the cathedral altar. Not so, says Randerson. “That cloth is in Christchurch cathedral – and commissioned by their dean.”

NOW, AS he heads into the last few weeks of his ministry, Bishop Randerson is quietly happy with his achievements, not even slightly frustrated that he never made archbishop – and seriously regretful that he won’t be in the driving seat when Christianity becomes hot again.

Later this month he and Jackie head to their second, personally owned house in Haitaitai so they can be near their children and grandchildren: Rebecca is now a Johnsonville GP and mother of two; Jo, a successful writer/actor and former Winston Churchill Fellow; Jeremy, actor and co-owner of the Foxton Fizz soft-drink company.

In retirement he will probably write his reflections on the past 50 years – documenting the huge changes in church and society.

“I actually think it’s a great time for the church right now,” he says. “For the 40 years since I was ordained, people have been distancing themselves from Christianity. Now people are looking for values – what gives life meaning and purpose – and revisiting some of the great spiritual dimensions. If we can connect with the wider community it’s not an opportunity we want to miss.”

Which brings us back to the debate over agnosticism. As the dean says, it sparked a huge response from people on the edge of the church. “They were saying, thank God someone’s saying something intelligent and that makes sense about spirituality.”

THE TREATY OF WAITANGI: UNITY BUILT ON DIVERSITY

The speech to the Orewa Rotary Club in 2004 by Dr Don Brash, leader of the National Party at the time, triggered a major public debate and temporarily catapulted the party up in the polls. But Dr Brash’s views had the potential to undo much that was good in race relationships, as this article which appeared in the New Zealand Herald on Waitangi Day 2004 outlines.

On the wall at Ngai Tahu headquarters in Christchurch hangs a document of formal apology by the New Zealand Government for the wrongful alienation of Ngai Tahu land in the 19^th century. The document is signed by Jenny Shipley, Prime Minister of the day.

The apology followed a finding by the Waitangi Tribunal that the claim by Ngai Tahu to the greater part of South Island was legitimate. But with that acknowledged, Ngai Tahu said they recognised the place of the many other settlers who had come subsequently to New Zealand, and did not want all of the land for themselves.

Instead an agreement was reached whereby the Crown allocated $170 million to Ngai Tahu, money which has been invested for the provision of health, education, housing and the general well-being of the tribe. Ngai Tahu were also affirmed as the guardians of 130 species of native flora and fauna, and of sacred sites such as Aoraki/Mt Cook. The mountain was deeded back to Ngai Tahu, who then formally returned it to the nation.

A basic dynamic of human relationships underlies this process. When a wrong has been done the wrong-doer is called on to acknowledge and repent of the wrong, and to make appropriate reparation. The act of repentance in turn frees the wronged party to act generously and, in a spirit of reconciliation, a new partnership is established.

We understand this dynamic at a personal level, but to see it as equally valid at the collective level between different groups, nations and races is a more recent insight. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in post-apartheid South Africa is based on this same understanding. In Australia the 1997 report on the stolen aboriginal generations significantly raised the awareness of Australians, although it took ten years and a change of government for an official apology to be offered.

While National Party leader Don Brash said in his speech to the Orewa Rotary Club that he would continue the process of settlements under the Waitangi tribunal, his comments are destructive of much that is good. His pledge to do away with many Maori structures and institutions, and restore unitary systems of administration, takes us back 50 years to a time when New Zealanders harboured the romantic notion that this country was a model to the world of racial harmony.

It is easy enough to point to excesses by individuals within Treaty processes, but what race or institution is free of corruption or excess? To add emotive terms like ‘grievance industry’, ‘deeply corrupt’ or ‘pecuniary gain’ panders to populism at the cost of substantial progress made in recent years by both Labour and National governments.

Dr Brash’s words are a sad contrast to those of Ngati Whatua chairman Sir Hugh Kawharu who, in speaking of Bastion Point, said that Maori title to land bestows mana, and mana requires sharing with all. Sir Hugh says that the concept of exclusive possession of land was alien to Maori before 1840. Today as a nation we have a choice between a spirit of sharing and trust, as outlined by Sir Hugh, or one that undermines the Treaty and leads to alienation and division.

At the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840 Governor Hobson said to each chief: “He iwi tahi tatou” (we are all one people). The words are capable of different meanings. They could mean, as Dr Brash interprets, that all race-based differences should be abandoned, and everyone treated the same. In reality, they mean something else.

Article 1 of the Treaty (acknowledging the kawanatanga/governorship of Queen Victoria) and Article 3 (according British citizenship to Maori) support a concept of one nation/one citizenship. But Article 2 acknowledges a special oversight (rangatiratanga/chieftainship) by Maori over their lands, fisheries and forests.

The Treaty thus offers a vision of unity between two peoples, but does not obliterate the differences. Instead it requires a careful dialogue between the parties to ensure the promises of Article 2 are achieved. The interplay between kawanatanga (Article 1) and rangatiratanga (Article 2) is complex, but successful dialogue is leading to win-win situations such as that between the Crown and Ngai Tahu.

It is this process which Dr Brash undermines with his dismissive comments on the Treaty, and his pledge to abandon many of the institutions designed to achieve justice and well-being for Maori. It is not a question of special rights and privileged treatment based on race. It is a matter of honouring promises made by our ancestors, and correcting injustices of the past in order to lay the groundwork for an equitable future.

Dr Brash is correct in saying that not only Maori are poor, but the fact is that Maori are disproportionately poor. Maori initiatives in crucial areas such as health and education do not mean neglecting the needs of non-Maori. Rather such initiatives acknowledge that policy-making for Maori by Maori will lead to better outcomes than if Maori are no more than a minority client-group in a one-size-fits-all structure dominated by Pakeha. Tailor-made Maori solutions can also prove more cost-effective than institutional ones.

It was precisely such an awareness that led to a constitutional change in the Anglican Church in 1991. The Church replaced a unitary system whereby Pakeha could always outvote Maori with one where any matter affecting both races must be mutually agreed. This arrangement ensures that what Maori judge appropriate for the advancement of mission among their own people is not subject to control by the rest of the Church. It is an exercise in self-determination, not ethnic privilege.

Dr Brash’s policies would have precisely the reverse effect. In abolishing Maori structures they would destroy not privilege but self-determination, and return Maori to a Pakeha-dominated colonialist framework.

The Treaty of Waitangi envisages a community which is diverse in composition, but able to work together to achieve outcomes that ensure the well-being of all peoples. True leadership is not that which obliterates racial awareness so that one race dominates another. True leadership is marked by the ability to develop structures that reflect diversity but blend for the common good.

To Discuss

1. Do you see the Treaty of Waitangi as a source of division within the nation, or does it have a positive role to play?
2. What would need to happen for the Treaty to be a source of positive outcomes in New Zealand?
3. What is your understanding of the three-tikanga (Maori, Pakeha, Pacific Island) model of governance adopted by the Anglican Church in 1991? Has this been helpful to the Church’s life? What might be done to enhance partnership across tikanga within the Church?

Indigenous rights, Co-governance, and the Church.

The following article by Richard Randerson was published in the NZ Listener in February 2022. It has implications for both Australia and New Zealand as signatories to the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

A  video link last year suggested that the recently published He Puapua Report (see below) is an exercise in separatism that will take Aotearoa New Zealand down a path to apartheid.

Against an apocalyptic background of darkened skies, lightning and thunder,  presenter Elliot Ikelei, a recent leader of the New Conservative Party, warns viewers of a looming political disaster that will engulf the nation.

He Puapua is a document with an 18-year window for public discussion to formulate proposals to mark (in 2040) the 200^th anniversary of the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi. He Puapua means a break, as in the breaking of waves, in this case the breaking of inequitable political and constitutional structures.

The He Puapua working group was set up to consider how to give effect to the 2007 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, signed by Australia in 2009 and by New Zealand in 2010. A letter of protest is in preparation urging a new government in 2023 to withdraw from the Declaration.

The Dominion Post (15 July 2021) wrote of He Puapua:  “the crux of it is this: outcomes for indigenous people improve when they are in charge of their own destiny”.

The principle of one person, one vote lies at the heart of democracy, but parliamentary democracies in the western world inevitably lead to majority white rule which preferences the majority. Like runners in a race, all have an equal right to enter but some are starting way behind the rest.

There can be no doubt of the need for greater equity in Aotearoa. Socio-economic indicators show that Maori and Pacific Islanders are at the bottom of the heap in housing, incomes, employment, health, education, imprisonment, longevity and inequality. The trends have worsened since 1985.  Inequality is the result of institutional racism whereby majorities are blind to the impact of institutions and the dominant culture on minorities.

He Puapia aims to “refocus on rangatiratanga (Maori self-determination)”…which could range “from “full independence at one end of the spectrum to participation in state government at the other”.  Central to the repot are “government’s priorities of well-being, inclusivity and pride in Aotearoa”.

The slow roll-out of Covid vaccinations for Maori and Pacific communities was greatly improved with the planning of the roll-outs being handed to indigenous leaders. The recent restructuring of District Health Boards, and the creation of a Maori Health Authority with equal standing, is likewise recognition of the principle that “by Maori for Maori” is likely to improve health outcomes.

Since the 1970s the work of the Treaty of Waitangi Tribunal has been another example of partnership between Maori and the Crown. Investigation of the wrongful alienation of Maori land and taonga (treasures, resources) in the 19^th century has led to acknowledgment and apology by the Crown, a framework for compensation and the recognition of iwi as kaitiaki (guardians) of sacred sites and indigenous species. The recognition of wrong has been a key feature in enabling a spirit of reason and goodwill in the settlement process.

 He Puapua asks how we can make democracy work to provide a better outcome for all New Zealanders. There may be different strategies but no special privileges for one race over another. Rangatiratanga enables Maori to achieve better outcomes across the whole range of social and economic deficits. Restorative justice, under judicial oversight and with its emphasis on rehabilitation rather than retribution, likewise offers a better future to both victims and offenders, not just for Maori but for all citizens.

He Puapua lays down a challenge: as a nation do we want to be swayed by the apocalyptic visions of the fearful, or will we choose to build on our experiences of partnership and frame a better future for 2040 and beyond?

Footnote:  The Anglican Church in New Zealand adopted in 1992 a system of co-governance whereby Maori, Pakeha and Polynesia are three equal partners and the Pakeha majority can no longer outvote the other partners. General Synod decisions must not only pass in the houses of Bishops. Clergy and Laity, but must also be supported by the three tikanga (cultures) of Maori, Pakeha and Polynesia. Over 30 years this has led to better listening, better understanding, consensus decision-making and more equitable sharing of resources

Richard Randerson was assistant bishop in Canberra and Goulburn 1994-1999 and former Anglican social justice officer in New Zealand.

Reporting on the 1961 trial of Adolf Eichmann, one of the architects of the Holocaust, the Jewish philosopher Hannah Arendt (1906–1975) used the phrase “the banality of evil.” It is a shocking phrase to many because it flies in the face of our idea that evil is demonic, monstrous, and villainous, something that everybody immediately recognizes as grotesque and terrible. Arendt’s phrase actually helps explain how the Holocaust or Shoah (catastrophe) could happen. Somehow evil became commonplace.

In his introduction to Arendt’s book Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil, Israeli journalist Amos Elon writes:

[Arendt] concluded that Eichmann’s inability to speak coherently in court was connected with his incapacity to think, or to think from another person’s point of view. . . . He personified neither hatred or madness nor an insatiable thirst for blood, but something far worse, the faceless nature of Nazi evil itself . . . aimed at dismantling the human personality of its victims. The Nazis had succeeded in turning the legal order on its head, making the wrong and the malevolent the foundation of a new “righteousness.” In the Third Reich evil lost its distinctive characteristic by which most people had until then recognized it. The Nazis redefined it as a civil norm. . . . Within this upside-down world Eichmann . . . seemed not to have been aware of having done evil.

As both Thomas Aquinas and C.S. Lewis taught, for evil to succeed, it must disguise itself as good, which is apparently much easier to do than we imagine. What previous generations called “the devil” is still quite active, though disguised in the banality of evil. The devil isn’t going to appear in red with horns and a tail and entice us to follow him. When Paul talks about the devil, he uses words like “powers,” “principalities,” and “thrones” (see Colossians 1:16). These are almost certainly his premodern words for what we would now call corporations, institutions, nation-states, ideologies of supremacy, and organizations that demand our full allegiance and thus become idolatrous—not just “too big to fail,” but even too big to be criticized. Suddenly, the medieval notion of devils comes very close to home.

We must first convict evil in its glorified organizational form. When we idolize and refuse to hold such collective realities accountable, they usually become demonic in some way. We normally cannot see it until it is too late. Hannah Arendt wrote, “The sad truth of the matter is that most evil is done by people who never made up their minds to be or do either evil or good.” While evil may reside primarily in “corporate” form, the resistance to it begins with us as individuals. The rest of this week is dedicated to the stories and wisdom of individuals who made a clear decision to confront evil and hatred with goodness and love, even at the risk of their own lives.