This is one of those articles I wish I’d written, since it’s entirely and precisely about me.

Next year I’m going to be spending part of my week with the Christian Union at Macquarie University. I’m excited.

But I need your support. Become a partner with me in the gospel.

Firstly, if you’re someone who prays, I’d very much value your prayers for me, my family, and those with whom I’ll be ministering.

Secondly, I’ve got to raise on the order of $23,500 for the part of my week I’m spending with this great bunch of people. That’s quite a bit of money. AFES staff workers, if you didn’t know, are supported by the generosity of churches and individuals. If you’re able to be one of those gracious people, with any amount of money, then please put it towards either the Macquarie University CU or to Sam Freney at the AFES site:

[Note: As at early December I am not yet on the 'Worker' list, so just go with Macquarie University CU. Don't worry, it will get to me.]

You can also download forms to do this off-line, or by direct debit.

Finally, if you’d like to be kept in the loop about what’s going on, then pop your details in the contact form below. (If you’re reading this in a newsreader you might need to visit the site in person for this to work properly.)

Thanks heaps to all of you who support us in varied ways. Really.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
“Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Alfred Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade is chilling reading. Depicting a charge of men on horseback bearing sabres into a valley filled with their enemy armed to the teeth with firepower, it shows an act of great foolishness during the Crimean War.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Someone had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Reading it in an Australian context, it sounds a lot like Gallipoli. During World War I, about one tenth of the total population enlisted in the armed forces. 15% of those men died, another 35% were gassed, injured, or captured. The charge of the ANZACS at Gallipoli is an event still imprinted on the Australian consciousness almost a century later.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

These soldiers, and many other men and women are remembered for their service. Anzac Day each year is an occasion of particular remembrance.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

The ANZACS died for others. (And, indeed, countless others in theatres of war throughout history.) They died for those they did not know. For a great number who they could never have met. Their deaths were in place of those they left behind.

So what makes the single death of the one man Jesus so special?

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

[Romans 5:6–8]

Unlike the ANZACS, Christ died for his enemies. Not for his friends, family, countrymen, but his enemies. But I must confess that I still, at times, struggle to see this as unique. As so completely particular to Jesus as to render every other death pale in comparison.

I think it’s because I don’t adequately feel the horror of sin.

I don’t properly see my former sinful self as so wholly separate from the holy, right, pure, good God. I was an enemy. An enemy so opposed to God that the bitterness between two men at war is no comparison.

Sin is ugly, twisted, horrific. But it comes so easily, so naturally, that I don’t feel its power. I don’t see the horror.

Even still, at just the right time, Christ died for me.

I came across this verse again in work on my project. I like.

… As a result, all the people greatly feared the LORD and Samuel.

[1 Samuel 12:18]

As a religious sports teacher, apparently. At least primarily.

This is generated from a MIT algorithm, Personas, that looks at the aggregate online identity of a given name. In other words, give it your moniker, and it will categorise everything it can find online about you to come with a profile.

Part of the deal (and the appeal) of the project is that it’s perhaps confusing to work out if you’re you, or someone else with the same name. Sam Freneys are relatively rare online, but outliers who aren’t me do exist (e.g. the Year-1 merit award winner from Bakewell Primary School in Darwin (PDF) — well done, Sam Freney!).

Chris – perhaps this is the solution to your ‘who is the real me’ question?

If you look closely, it’s one small, unassisted step for kiddo.

http://www.vimeo.com/6047908