We’re better off but at what cost?
Sacred Heart, the Catholic church in Rongotea, Manawatu¯ , had its nativity play. As the parishioners sang Christmas carols, the children, dressed in costume, took turns to carry a statue representing a character from the nativity of Jesus. After placing it on a table, they moved to the front of the church to recreate the scene in a living tableau of the same scene.
The nativity play has been going on for as long as I can remember and certainly since before I was born. In recent years, it’s been harder to muster a full complement of actors, however. In some years, adults have had to stand in to bridge the gap.
Last year, I had to play the wise man Melchior, who bought the gift of gold. Thirty-one at the time, I felt pretty silly. I was asked to do it by my grandmother, however, and I would never refuse her anything.
Fortunately, we had enough children to cover all the bases this year. My oldest boy was down to play a shepherd, but he somehow conned his way into being St Joseph. His cousin played Our Lady.
The baby Jesus was played by a doll, which removed the need to source a newborn baby, at least.
A struggle for numbers has become something of a recurring theme for our country church. Until very late in the piece, it looked as if we wouldn’t have mass there on Christmas Day, which would have been the first time in more than a century that this had happened. We received a last-minute stay from the bishop, however, who generously agreed to add another mass to his busy schedule. I am grateful for this.
One of the downsides about belonging to a small community is that you’re constantly scrambling for enough people to fill the jobs. Every absence is felt.
The upside is that this gives you a real sense of personal investment and satisfaction in seeing the thing continue to survive. That sense of purpose really helps knit the parishioners together.
Although the community is wonderful, the interior of Sacred Heart isn’t exactly a marvel of design. The interior has suffered from a certain iconoclasm in the past few decades. The native timber floors and sanctuary have been covered by blue carpet and softboard, respectively. The old wooden pews were removed and replaced with padded office meeting room chairs.
One thing that has remained, though, are the stained glass windows. There are 14 in all, one for each of the apostles plus Joseph and Mary. Gold lettering under each of them bears the legend of the person or family who paid for them.
Many of those surnames can be counted among the parishioners today. There are fewer and fewer each year, though, and so their profile grows greyer each year. The older generation is not being replaced by the new. Death, infirmity and relocation all being realities of life, therefore, the numbers will continue to dwindle.
Of course, nobody can be forced to go to church on Sunday and that is a good thing for a modern, tolerant society. Nobody can be forced to join Rotary either. The same goes for rugby clubs, political parties and all manner of voluntary associations.
And here there are grounds to be concerned. The free market and consumerism have brought us many great and wonderful things. In absolute terms, the average New Zealander has probably never had it better. Even those on the lower rungs of income are likely to have access to conveniences and entertainments unimaginable in decades gone by.
But nothing is ever wholly good or bad. Individualism has freed us to pursue our own goals and priorities, but it has devastated civil society. It may be hard to count the cost of this, but I suspect we will feel it before too long.
I was on TVNZ political show Qanda a couple of Sundays ago and one of the topics discussed was Finance Minister Grant Robertson’s ‘‘wellness’’ approach to next year’s Budget, which aims to incorporate measures of emotional and mental wellbeing into the assessment of Government aims and priorities. Host Corin Dann pressed Robertson on what the Government could do to help people suffering, for example, from loneliness.
The finance minister offered the example of teaching elderly people to use the internet to reconnect with the community.
I found the example curious because, of everything I let get in the way of truly connecting with people, my relationship with the internet is probably the worst culprit.
A while ago, my iphone started sending me weekly alerts summarising how much I had been looking at its screen. As it happens, these alerts always come while I am at church and I try to resist checking it until proceedings are over. I must confess that I usually fail.
At least I’m in the right place to feel guilty about it. For as long as we can keep it going.
One of the downsides about belonging to a small community is that you’re constantly scrambling for enough people to fill the jobs. Every absence is felt.