Anzacs and other random bits and pieces

We don't have poppy day. That is reserved for the 11th hour of the 11th of the 11th. In countries that remember that day anyway. We have Anzac Day.
The national identities of New Zealand and that large island we sometimes call the West Island were born on those messy Turkish killing fields. It seems we realised that we were not just servants of the Empire but people of our own something or other.
So I wore a poppy at church Sunday. I am not sure it did anything for my presentation. Maybe the red blob kept some of our sleepy ones awake. The powerpoint would have helped too as the text was mainly purple. We will see if the masses become witness as a result of the message. Oh yes you can have a look there if you want - at http://robinpalmer.wordpress.com/.
A journalist has thrown a cat amongst the proverbial Anzacs this week by asserting that the Australians overstate the national identity thing - and another alleges that the Australian soldiers were all a lazy bunch of thieves. They do pick interesting times for battle don't they - in the week we remember those who have sacrificed their lives for others. Now that Anzac Day has arrived the mud slinging is over. While some programmes on TV make too much of the development of national identity (apparently even the Irish got on for a while with a common Turkish enemy but then reverted to killing each other across a religious divide thereafter), many give credit where it is due to the many brave men who gave up their lives.
Thinking about their courage - how badly trained we are for the battles we face. Being a pastor and all that, I've noticed how domesticated the Lord's army has become. We don't know the rules of engagement very well in the spiritual battle we face. How easily we fit God's agenda into a controllable spot in our lives ruled by the dollar and other demanding powers. Even sports teams practice more than our dear parishioners read their bibles or get together to share and encourage one another. Having been in an army, I think I have some idea of the distinction I am making.
Having had that little moan, I am delighted to have had a holiday today. And full marks to my bank who fixed the problem that many had today (as did I) when my stipend did not arrive in my account. They put in some extra hours to sort it, so to speak. Yay for ASB. It's a very Anzaccy bank really - being the local manifestation of the Commonwealth Bank (of Australia). How connected we still are across the famous ditch.
Stipend? you ask. What is that? That's the fancy term for the living allowance pastors receive as they serve in the army of God. It always reminds me of horse racing somehow. The stipendiary steward is a very important person in that industry. They have the power to inspect stables AND check that horses are not doped! Apart from making sure that everything there is done with integrity. I wonder if pastors do that in some way? Nah, probably an unrelated business altogether.
So this weekend I will not wear a poppy at church. Won't even be there as I have a weekend off - which is intended to refresh the pastor by enabling him - in the minds of some parishioners anyway - to sneak off to some other church to get new and fresh ideas - hints and tips etc. Funny thought really - when community should be that which sustains you. How odd that pastors build community and in some places are compelled to move away when they retire.
I digress of course. But that's exactly what happens in these so called "blog" entries. We reflect on peculiar things and then post our inner confusion on a virtual notice board to see how many countries are represented in our list of "hits".
This Anzac day then - a grateful thought for those who sacrificed their lives for our peace and security - and for those who serve still today.
In the words of Laurence Binyon:
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
We will remember them!