An Almost-Too-Late Newsletter

Part I

Kingfisher (John Ruskin, 1871

I’d hoped to write the first instalment of this wee newsletter before my departure to Cape Horn. Of course, I underestimated the number of things that had to be done before I left and, more significantly, the impact that pre-departure anxiety would have on my internet-addled, multi-tabbed attention span. Plus, as many of my friends and teachers would reiterate

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I wrote that paragraph at the end of November. And then I blinked. Now, there’s only three more weeks of the Fellowship to go!

Despite what the radio silence may indicate, I am extremely grateful for all the support I have received; prayers, donations, inquiries, well-wishes…
It's a fact that’s hard to admit, let alone publicise, but I’ll fight through the million potential caveats, cringes, nuances, and niggles to say that I feel truly blessed to be here.

So, as I fight the Auckland-into-winter chill (I’m a smouldering ash tray and rickety typewriter away from being a Graham Greene character), I’ll try to collect some thoughts about the journey so far.

Life

First of all, Cape Horn is beautiful. We were treated to a summer of beautiful sunsets, and a good chunk of my first month here was spent watching a nest of thrushes grow up from disgusting mini-Smeagols into cute little birds. There were just outside my bedroom window, but my potato of a phone camera meant I never got a picture.
C'est la vie.
However, as an inveterate metaphor-maker, I drew so much joy from watching my four friends Gregory (of Nyssa), Gregory (of Nazianzus), Athanasius (arch Arias-hater), and Chardonnay (just ‘cos) grow up.
They left with saying goodbye, but that’s okay; they’re old enough to make their own decisions.

I’m fine with it. Really.

There are nine Fellas in total. We gelled very quickly after meeting, and it’s been an absolute pleasure doing life together (if you’ll permit me the time-worn Christianese). Crucially, there has been a lot of patience, grace and good humour as we’ve bought our experiences, perspectives, and – in some cases – baggage to the various all-of-life questions that constitute the Fellowship.

The banter’s been good, too, which is important. Essential, even.

In between the sessions and conversations, I feel like I’ve truly rediscovered reading, and have filled a lot of my spare time with novels, audiobooks, and comics. The space that I’ve had here has allowed my imagination to roam; my mind feels uncluttered for the first time in quite a while. I know that’s a bit flowery, but it’s been wonderful.

Beyond that, it’s been an absolute privilege to spend more time with the Venn team, whom I’ve know for a while. The community here at Cape Horn has meant that my fellow Fellows and I have been able to get to know the Venn crew as friends-and-family folk, not (just) incredible teachers. In this conext, the Fellowship’s holistic (ugh, overused word), formational approach comes to the fore: we aren’t just being given information, but shown ways to live.

The Course

One of the (many) pitfalls of putting off a newsletter for this long is trying to figure out to summarise 6+ months of learning (four ‘Modules’ of content)...
Let’s have a go, shall we?

Module I

The first Module was composed of four streams: The Creed, A Story of Aotearoa, Church, Humanity and Time, and Spiritual Disciplines.

Our unit on The Creed was a section-by-section exploration of one of the most important codifying documents of our faith: The Nicene Creed (or Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing) . I really appreciated being more fully introduced to some of the Church Fathers ( reading St. Athanasius’ On the Incarnation was a particular highlight) and learning about the devotion and debates that have defined and refined our God-talk.
“Devotion” and "debates” are key words here. As a modern (post-modern?) protestant, I had (until recently) viewed the Creed as a pseudo-political imposition: a who’s-in-who’s-out framework. However, when reading (some of) the work that went into the Creed’s consolidation, one begins to appreciate the Fathers’ fervor. The Creed is not a bureaucratic blueprint, or an imperial imposition. It helps us to speak of God. It gives us, the Church, a table where we can meet together amid all of the debates that make family life difficult. That doesn’t mean that the Creed is an easy document, but it is an encouraging kind of challenge.

A Story of Aotearoa was deeply affecting.
It was a privilege to hear from both Alistair Reese and Neihana Reihana about the complexities, tragedies, and hopes that make up the story of the Gospel in this country. As someone who is only just beginning to appreciate our history on a less-superficial level, I have found sitting with the story to be deeply challenging in a very good way. Aotearoa, New Zealand is a nation only just begining to publically contend with huge, tangled threads of it’s history. As it stands, I don’t feel there’s much more that I can say. I have more learning to do.

My favourite part of Module I was Church, Humanity, and Time. We were given a tour of key figures, events, and concepts stretching from the late Roman Empire through the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, the Reformation, and “Modernity” (that slippery fish!). I’m the kind of person that devours contextual information; I loved tracing the development of our defining stories and drawing these threads together. Our teachers drew vivid pictures of the worlds that these ideas and arguments developed in: it wasn’t just theoretical, it felt immersive. Each session felt like an invitation to try to understand other worlds, and challenged us to encounter them on their own terms.

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The first Module passed in a blink. After Christmas break, we were off to the Venn Summer Conference. It was my third and I’ve taken different things from the experience each time. The conference captures some of the essence of the fellowship: great teaching, lively conversations, and deep prayer. After two years of yo-yoing in and out of lockdown, it felt like a privilege to be with a large group of excellent people!

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Module II

Module II involved two units: Political Visions and Public Policy, and Jesus Christ for Us Today.

Political Visions and Public Policy was taught by two members of the Maxim Institute, who gave us an overview of some of the major political movements and ideas (including liberalism, Marxism/socialism, and conservatism) that frame our conversations today. Given how loaded political terms are in national conversations (and at our dinner tables), I found it very useful to have these terms defined, debated, and my preconceptions challenged.
To paraphrase one of our teachers: asking better questions is key to better conversations. I hope to remember this as we, the so-called “Team of Five Million”, contemplate Parliament’s burnt-out lawn.

Alongside the animating ideas, we studied particular examples of on-the-ground issues, such as poverty and family stability. We had the privilege of visiting the community support group Te Whakaora Tangata, and seeing the work being done to enliven and strengthen local communities; this was a definite highlight. It was so encouraging to see the work that can be done in the face of big, potentially overwhelming issues.

Jesus Christ for Us Today was a deep-dive into the names and offices (i.e roles or functions) of God’s Son. Building on the language of the Creed, we examined how Jesus is presented in Passion narratives (the Gospels’ retelling of His last week alive - His death, Resurrection, and Ascension).  Our guiding questions: what does it mean to “name” Jesus? Once we acknowledge who He is, how are we to live?

Previously, I hadn’t considered the Ascension in much detail. Now, I can’t get the image of the Incarnate, scarred, human-and-divine body out of my mind. This, coupled with the High Priestly Prayer (and further fleshed-out in the Book of Hebrews), has prodded me further along my prayer journey.
I’m begining to comprehend prayer as standing with Jesus while He approaches the Father on my behalf.  Understood this way, prayer feels more like conversation (to me.)

Our main guide through the unit, other than our teachers, was Josef Ratzinger (better known as Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI). His book Jesus of Nazareth: Holy Week provided a framework for re-reading the very familiar stories. The chapters we studied are some of my favourite pieces we’ve read during the Fellowship. I was quite taken by Ratzinger’s combination of clarity, creativity, and contemplation (couldn’t resist the alliteration – not sorry). It’s a mode of theology that encourages devotional (not “just” academic) reading; formidable, but not rarefied.   

Throughout both modules, we were introduced to some of the spiritual disciplines which have enlivened the Christian Tradition for a very long time. These disciplines include ritual silence, meditating on scripture, Lectio Divina, and fasting. As someone who has been attending an Anglican church (and, before Venn, working at an Anglican chaplaincy), I have been familiar with Lectio for a while. However, I have begun to undertake the practice with a deeper understanding of what it means for reading to become an act of prayer

Looking Ahead

I haven’t talked about Module III yet, but I’m aware that this write-up may be entering TL;DR territory. My Module III write-up is 90% complete, so you won’t have long to wait. Promise.
In the meantime, I would appreciate prayer as I prepare to return to Wellington, continue looking for a job, and wonder (and worry) about the future.

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Thanks for reading, friends. Thank you for your support.
Beyond Venn, I will be using this platform as a space for other writing, so do stay subscribed! I also have a small tip jar if you’d like to buy me a coffee :)