I went to church with Tim and Viv and their family this morning and found an atypically informal setting – not quite a “beanbag church,” but one with sofas along the walls and two crescent arrangements of chairs.  This irregular and spacious arrangement meant that a person could move during the service without distracting the others – going to the bathroom, getting a drink (such as I did when a cough wouldn’t stop), or, for children, walking to or from parents.  The children had a play area, but not all played there.  Several sat through the sermon. 

They had no formal way of welcoming newcomers, who I suppose would be rare in a local church in the suburbs.  They also had no formal way of collecting the offering, except for pointing out that there was a tin box somewhere.  Now usually I believe a bit of formality goes a long way toward saying you care, but here it felt different.  They cared enough not to focus on mere perfection – the praise songs weren’t perfect shows and unlike many other places I’ve been I never got the impression anyone of them was performing.  Again, I run the risk of contradicting my usual soapbox statements in favor of the pursuit of excellence in a church service, and it’s hard to describe what it is that felt different.  Perhaps it was that the informality wasn’t forced, but a natural common denominator, down to the open floor for questions and comments on the sermon.  That I liked – and I think it worked primarily because (a) the congregation is used to it and (b) the speaker is physically close to the congregation. 

The speaker highlighted passion for God and a relationship with God as central, and once again I felt a bit alienated.  Passion, I tend to think, is not my forte.  “Intense, driving, or overmastering feeling or conviction” – not me.  I tend to associate passion with loud, agitated, irrational behavior, things I try to avoid because I don’t find them helpful.  I’m less emotive than most, too, so I feel left out by this insistence on passion.  I’d prefer zeal – without the fanaticism often inferred.  I’d prefer fervor – but just a little toned down. 

But maybe I need not feel so left out at all.  Maybe the root of passion, the Latin word for suffering, helps me out here.  I suffer when people laugh at Christian belief, when people dismiss it as outmoded and disproven, when people believe and spread rumors and half-truths and urban legends about it.  I suffer when people don’t care about getting it right, when they take poor decisions.  I may not get loud or agitated – I may often not react at all, stunned by the baldfaced nature of whatever statement was made – but if we must wear a badge of passion to be a rightful part of the righteous flock, then I can only claim it as a silent sufferer.  I hope that counts.  I want it to. 

Anyway, after church we went to St. Kilda for fish and chips and the girls got to play in the sand and loved it.  Tim and Viv are clearly my Cafe Credo down here. 

I walked back from their apartment and got a bit turned around after the Fitzroy gardens, but the CBD is hard to miss, and the lights of the Princess theatre serve as a great beacon for Little Bourke Street, where my hotel stands.  The bonus of getting off track was getting to see another cathedral in Melbourne.  Back at the hotel I copied my photos to the computer in order to finally post them below – starting with South Korea. 

But before I post them, I want to provide you with a link to AFL club songs.  These get blared from the speakers before the game and the winner’s tune gets blared again umpteen times after the game.  There’s also a brief history of AFL club songs on a related site. 

Jokduri-bong in Bukhansan National Park, my hiking destination. 

The way up.

This guy had an easier time getting up. 

A view of the Bukhansan National Park. 

Ignore the shirt – this picture was taken by a guy standing about two meters higher than me and gives a good idea of the grade.   

Seoul from the north. 

Part of my route down.  That rock is slippery even when dry. 

That’s where I stood not long ago: Jokduri-bong from the rear side. 

I don’t care what the joint looks like: if it serves cold drinks, I’ve having some. 

Some fowl from the Seoul Museum of Chicken Art. 

More wooden fowl. 

They’ve found out the best way of proclaiming that they know about the mistake and that it’s not really that important. 

A woodworker at Insadong, the Seoul shopping street (for tourists). 

Typical Insadong confusion. 

The Seoul Tower through my hotel window after a shower. 

Melbourne’s CBD across St. Albert’s Park Lake. 

Mother and child on the lake. 

The guy has an interesting shirt, too, but I doubt it can be read at this resolution. 

If you bend the ears like this, she looks like Snuffy!

One of the first views of the Great Ocean Road. 

The beach at Wye River. 

These signs stand at the exit of all parking areas. 

A sense of scale from the top of Gibson Steps.  Those are human footsteps below. 

Looking westward at the bottom of Gibson Steps. 

Looking at the same rocks from the Twelve Apostles. 

Looking back east from Loch Ard Gorge toward the Twelve Apostles. 

Another shot that gives an idea of Australian scale. 

The Twelve Apostles after sunset. 

The Twelve Apostles, again. 

Looking eastward again. 

Looking a little farther east, into the mist. 

A close-up westward. 

Yet closer up. 

Another sweetie.  Three teeth make a gorgeous smile when you’re really young (or really old). 

In the US, it would say “WRONG WAY.”  You decide which is worse…