What I came to understand as “church culture” would be my dominant living interactive scene since the day of my birth, and intensively so, as the offspring of those in long-term vocational, and pastoral ministry. This concentration has plenty of diversification, with significant movement across the theological traditions and ecclesiastical spectrum: firstly for me personally, but then also parentally. This extensive grounding through an assortment of sub-cultures, converging and diverging ideas, and into various sets of contingent practice provides intimate perspective on the various phases, issues, transitions, and traditions; coupled with an increasingly maturing insight gained through longer-term reflection, into this most important Body of God’s redemptive movement, which should prove definitive in every Christian’s lifetime and journey. I love the Church; and most times I really like it too. Every Christian should seek the best for this Body the Son of Man redeemed with His own. It holds Christ’s salvation-redemptive-codes, which remain the only answer for a lost and longing world. It is the present visible manifestation of the Kingdom of God. The right exercise of its true being verifiably declares the future has arrived, even in a world of spin and sin. We, that is, the-you-must-be-born-again-me-and-you, the Church, must stand up to the plate, declare the unsurpassed manifold wisdom of God, through the Gospel-encasing whole counsel of God, for as long as He chooses, because His will has no greater calling, and His mission has no greater existential expression, demanding our all.
*******
The King family, circa the late 1970s. I have a ball to keep me and my lack of fringe sedated. If you are wondering about the interesting parental attire, my parents spent nearly 25 years in vocational ministry with The Salvation Army. They then moved into the Open Brethren following their God-led decision to call time, and now Dad has spent nearing a handful of years pastoring a Presbyterian church, in smaller-town, New Zealand.
With Mother’s family; much-loved, Nana and Poppa; into the 1980s. These photos are less embarrassing for all involved than the sometimes awkward wonder years. I am doing my best to open my eyes in the intense Kiwi sunshine. My sister is making like a tree, in post-modern form, of course. Even then, it is pretty clear we were trend-setters (Typed with the serious-face font. And you can’t fake this font on a nasty dunk).
I had to include. Father’s coaching session with the Tongan National Rugby team while on mission in the late 1980s. This happened because the King heard about Dad’s playing history. I was happy to pocket a jersey from the 1987 Rugby World Cup, even though I was only in my early teens, and this jersey had the number 2 on the back. One size fits all. It was talented. It could double as my Tongan poncho, in a culturally non-appropriation-kinda-way.