I joined my family in Adelaide this week for my grandfather’s funeral. The funeral itself was relatively untraumatic. Actually it was a really nice ceremony; simple, solemn and dignified – just as he wanted.
The more emotional part of the week was spent in the shed Poppa had built behind the old family home. He was the sort of man who could never throw anything out. Everything was kept, squirrelled away in the shed because “It might come in handy one day.”
My father and I had the task of sorting through the contents of the shed to decide what should be kept, what should be passed to the church fete, and what should be (lovingly and respectfully) thrown out.
There were timber off-cuts from a hundred old home improvement projects (some completed, some not), scrap metal, old oil rags, unused photographic paper, dried up paint in every colour imaginable, empty oxygen tanks and at least twenty different kinds of spanner. We could have set up a museum exhibit entitled “Plastic and metal containers of the twentieth century” and still another entitled “The evolution of computer hardware from the nineteen eighties onward.”
But among the dust, we also found undeniable testament to a man who loved his family and treasured his memories of them; old boy scout handbooks, my aunt’s thirty year old stamp collection, various high school wood-work projects and at least five boxes full of souvenirs from family holidays all over the world. None of them were necessary, and they certainly weren’t useful. But they were important.
I’m looking up at my shelves as I write this, contemplating the amount of stuff I have in my room. I’ve only been in Sydney for just over a year, but I can already see considerable piles of evidence that I may have inherited more from my father’s side of the family than just grey hair and a taste for Barossa Valley reds. But I think the most conclusive proof that my grandfather lives on in his descendants came when I took my eight year old cousin into the shed to look for spare parts for her cubby house. When she requested that I dig out an oddly shaped wooden step ladder out from behind a stack of cardboard boxes, I asked her what she wanted to use it for.
“I don’t know,” she replied, “but it might come in handy one day.”
Far from home
Garry with 2 Rs
31 August 2008
21 August 2008
Falling off the Edge
Oh my freaking goodness. I am so mad right now, and feeling more than just a little vindicated (read; self righteous). I read this today:
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,24216087-1246,00.html
How the hell did this happen? Was there really no-one in his flock of thousands who stopped to think, "Wait a minute. This guy's full of crap."? Has modern Christianity really become such a triumph of blind compliance over intelligent consideration that all you have to do to influence thousands, possibly millions, is be loudly emotive enough to attract a crowd?
I've been to events held at Edge Church in Adelaide. I've never been to a Sunday service there, but from what I've heard it's one of those renegade congregations where being louder, bigger and newer is equated with being more Spirit-filled (mind you, that's only what I've heard).
If your flock is made up completely of "new" Christians, or Christians who spend their lives bouncing from one "new movement of the Spirit" to the other, then it only takes a certain amount of brazenness combined with sheer volume to make your message look fantastic, and therefore legitimate. Never mind reverence for the truth, humility or submitting to one another with respect and love.
My heart really goes out to anyone who's been affected by this guy. It absolutely breaks me in half to think of those who will be disillusioned with the Edge church and may end up walking away from Christianity altogether because they've discovered that they've been listening to a big fat liar instead of the word of God.
Jesus himself promised dire consequences for the bung shepherds who would lead his sheep astray. As I was reading this story, I had a U2 line coming straight into my head (this happens fairly often, due mainly to the amount of time I spend listening to them) "Instant Karma's gonna get him, if I don't get him first*". Oh, and what do you know? I'm off to Adelaide this week. Good thing I'll have my hands full.
Far from home
Garry with 2 Rs
*This sentiment does not constitute a threat of actual violence against Michael Guglielmucci
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,23599,24216087-1246,00.html
How the hell did this happen? Was there really no-one in his flock of thousands who stopped to think, "Wait a minute. This guy's full of crap."? Has modern Christianity really become such a triumph of blind compliance over intelligent consideration that all you have to do to influence thousands, possibly millions, is be loudly emotive enough to attract a crowd?
I've been to events held at Edge Church in Adelaide. I've never been to a Sunday service there, but from what I've heard it's one of those renegade congregations where being louder, bigger and newer is equated with being more Spirit-filled (mind you, that's only what I've heard).
If your flock is made up completely of "new" Christians, or Christians who spend their lives bouncing from one "new movement of the Spirit" to the other, then it only takes a certain amount of brazenness combined with sheer volume to make your message look fantastic, and therefore legitimate. Never mind reverence for the truth, humility or submitting to one another with respect and love.
My heart really goes out to anyone who's been affected by this guy. It absolutely breaks me in half to think of those who will be disillusioned with the Edge church and may end up walking away from Christianity altogether because they've discovered that they've been listening to a big fat liar instead of the word of God.
Jesus himself promised dire consequences for the bung shepherds who would lead his sheep astray. As I was reading this story, I had a U2 line coming straight into my head (this happens fairly often, due mainly to the amount of time I spend listening to them) "Instant Karma's gonna get him, if I don't get him first*". Oh, and what do you know? I'm off to Adelaide this week. Good thing I'll have my hands full.
Far from home
Garry with 2 Rs
*This sentiment does not constitute a threat of actual violence against Michael Guglielmucci
01 August 2008
Bass Desires
I've been undergoing something of an identity crisis lately. It centres around the fact that the church I'm going to has an abundance of highly skilled pianists available, and a small number of significantly lower skilled bass players. I'm only too happy to help out where I can, so I'm on bass two weeks out of four, which is great, but having people know I can play the bass and not know that I play the piano is playing havoc with my established order of social interaction.
It came to a head last night while I was chatting with my pastor. He was talking about how he often sees me up there playing, and wonders (tongue in cheek) why the piano or the saxophone always get the solo. "You never get to see a good bass solo," he said. I casually replied that bass players don't need solos because they're big enough posers as it is. He laughed and said "Yes. Maybe it's better that you stay up the back." I realised in horror that having so frequently seen me playing the bass at church, and never having seen me playing keys, those at the church who don't know me so well have got it into their heads that I'm some kind of ... bass player.
I mean obviously I'm a bass player if we're defining bass player as "one who plays the bass," but anyone who has had any involvement with any band ever will understand that the term "bass player" communicates a lot more than just "the one with the bass guitar". It communicates a certain personality, a certain social status, a certain gravitational effect on members of the opposite sex (no-one knows why, by the way) and a certain predisposition towards being a complete poser. And I really don't identify with any of those. Well... maybe the poser bit, but even that's a completely different genre of posing.
Most people who play the bass don't actually fall under this classification, since it is reserved chiefly for people whose first instrument is the bass guitar, or who made the jump from guitar to bass early enough for it to count as a first instrument. Having the bass guitar as one's musical background has some sort of mystical affect on a person's approach to other instruments, music in general, and basically life, the universe and everything.
True bass players are a fascinating, if simple, sub-species. It's not that they're necessarily good-looking, charming, witty, sensitive or literate (although they can be). Bass players don't acquire any inherent traits to which we may attribute their automatic popularity the moment they first pick up a guitar. It's just a fundamental property of the universe. The sky is blue, light is fast, water flows downhill and bass players are popular. That's just how it is. Your average after-church conversation with a bass player goes something like this:
"Hey Matty. I really liked your playing tonight." (All bass players are called Matt, Chris, or Adam. Again, no-one knows why)
"Hey, thanks (insert name here). We had a really great time up there tonight."
(Giggling incessantly) "So... how's your weekend been?"
"Pretty cool, I guess. I was down the beach yesterday for a surf, then I had work in the afternoon."
"Where do you work?"
"I have a part time job at the uni giving guitar lessons to supermodels."
"Wow... that must be so interesting and rewarding."
"Yeah, it's a pretty sweet deal. Not as sweet as you though." (cheeky wink)
"Oh, that's so nice" (collapses in a fit of unrestrainable giggling).
Whereas your average after-church conversation with Garry cunningly disguised as a bass player goes something like this:
"Hi Garry. I really liked your playing tonight."
"Thanks. We had a good time"
"So... how's your weekend been?"
"Fairly relaxing actually. I got some match preparation in yesterday, and caught up with some old linguist friends from uni for lunch this afternoon."
"Match preparation? What do you play?"
"Chess. I've got an open tournament game on Tuesday night"
"Chess? Linguistics? Wait a minute!"
"What?"
"You're not really cool and dreamy at all, are you?"
"What?"
"GUARDS! GUARDS! Seize this imposter, and cast him into outer darkness, where there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth."
"What? Hey! Unhand me, you fiends!"
Okay, so our church doesn't actually have guards. Furthermore, I am aware that the above descriptions of conversations are probably sexist. Get over it. For the record, obviously female bass players do exist, but they're rare, since most girls' first instrument is the flute, violin or piano. They don't attract the same amount of attention as male bass players do because they are usually already going out with the drummer. And I'm not implying that all church-going girls are as predictable as the one in the conversations. Just the ones that hang off bass players. And you can't blame them for that. Telling them not to would be like asking the sun not to rise in the morning. It's not an optional occurrence; it just happens that way.
Far from home
Garry with 2 Rs
It came to a head last night while I was chatting with my pastor. He was talking about how he often sees me up there playing, and wonders (tongue in cheek) why the piano or the saxophone always get the solo. "You never get to see a good bass solo," he said. I casually replied that bass players don't need solos because they're big enough posers as it is. He laughed and said "Yes. Maybe it's better that you stay up the back." I realised in horror that having so frequently seen me playing the bass at church, and never having seen me playing keys, those at the church who don't know me so well have got it into their heads that I'm some kind of ... bass player.
I mean obviously I'm a bass player if we're defining bass player as "one who plays the bass," but anyone who has had any involvement with any band ever will understand that the term "bass player" communicates a lot more than just "the one with the bass guitar". It communicates a certain personality, a certain social status, a certain gravitational effect on members of the opposite sex (no-one knows why, by the way) and a certain predisposition towards being a complete poser. And I really don't identify with any of those. Well... maybe the poser bit, but even that's a completely different genre of posing.
Most people who play the bass don't actually fall under this classification, since it is reserved chiefly for people whose first instrument is the bass guitar, or who made the jump from guitar to bass early enough for it to count as a first instrument. Having the bass guitar as one's musical background has some sort of mystical affect on a person's approach to other instruments, music in general, and basically life, the universe and everything.
True bass players are a fascinating, if simple, sub-species. It's not that they're necessarily good-looking, charming, witty, sensitive or literate (although they can be). Bass players don't acquire any inherent traits to which we may attribute their automatic popularity the moment they first pick up a guitar. It's just a fundamental property of the universe. The sky is blue, light is fast, water flows downhill and bass players are popular. That's just how it is. Your average after-church conversation with a bass player goes something like this:
"Hey Matty. I really liked your playing tonight." (All bass players are called Matt, Chris, or Adam. Again, no-one knows why)
"Hey, thanks (insert name here). We had a really great time up there tonight."
(Giggling incessantly) "So... how's your weekend been?"
"Pretty cool, I guess. I was down the beach yesterday for a surf, then I had work in the afternoon."
"Where do you work?"
"I have a part time job at the uni giving guitar lessons to supermodels."
"Wow... that must be so interesting and rewarding."
"Yeah, it's a pretty sweet deal. Not as sweet as you though." (cheeky wink)
"Oh, that's so nice" (collapses in a fit of unrestrainable giggling).
Whereas your average after-church conversation with Garry cunningly disguised as a bass player goes something like this:
"Hi Garry. I really liked your playing tonight."
"Thanks. We had a good time"
"So... how's your weekend been?"
"Fairly relaxing actually. I got some match preparation in yesterday, and caught up with some old linguist friends from uni for lunch this afternoon."
"Match preparation? What do you play?"
"Chess. I've got an open tournament game on Tuesday night"
"Chess? Linguistics? Wait a minute!"
"What?"
"You're not really cool and dreamy at all, are you?"
"What?"
"GUARDS! GUARDS! Seize this imposter, and cast him into outer darkness, where there will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth."
"What? Hey! Unhand me, you fiends!"
Okay, so our church doesn't actually have guards. Furthermore, I am aware that the above descriptions of conversations are probably sexist. Get over it. For the record, obviously female bass players do exist, but they're rare, since most girls' first instrument is the flute, violin or piano. They don't attract the same amount of attention as male bass players do because they are usually already going out with the drummer. And I'm not implying that all church-going girls are as predictable as the one in the conversations. Just the ones that hang off bass players. And you can't blame them for that. Telling them not to would be like asking the sun not to rise in the morning. It's not an optional occurrence; it just happens that way.
Far from home
Garry with 2 Rs
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