Kirsten Bolinger

‘Kourumbung’ is the Aboriginal name given to the once battle grounds that we now know as Cooranbong.

According to the Lake Macquarie Library Archives, Aborigines often used the ‘Kourumbung’ site for tribal clashes that surfaced over possession of available land.

The name Cooranbong comes from “Kour-an-bong,” meaning, rocky bottom creek or water over rocks, which makes sense considering the abundance of creeks in our local area. Early spellings include ‘Kuringbong’ (1834), ‘Coorumbung’ (1841) and ‘Corumbong’ (1879); however the name Cooranbong was officially adopted in 1866 with the opening of the post office.

Cooranbong was no different to the rest of the country at that time, with the majority of its early settlers holding the occupation of convict labourer, but these convicts quickly turned into dairy farmers and timber trade workers. Timber became the bread and butter of the growing little economy and during the 1880’s the population reached 700.

When the Sydney to Newcastle railway was built in the 1880’s the line passed five kilometers east of the Cooranbong town centre. This was devastating to the local economy and the population dropped to 206 people by 1891.

This economic depression continued until the Seventh-day Adventist Church came marching in and bought 1,500 acres on the northern bank of Dora Creek for the whopping price of three dollars an acre.

As you most likely know, they went on to establish Avondale College in 1897 and Sanitarium Health Food Company in 1909.

Our little ‘Kourumbung’ began with strife and has struggled to survive through the years but, much like its name, whenever it gets rocky, the water just keeps on flowing.

Josh Zyderveld
Sweat runs down my face as the smell of vomit wafts up from the ground in front of me. Bodies surround me as I gyrate like a madman, my muscles burning in almost psychotic fervor. Throbbing bass and screaming tweeters assault my ears and force my heartbeat to pound in time. My sense of identity is lost in chaotic communion with the energy of those around me.

The occasion is last Sunday night, and the event is The Cat Empire, live. Like most of you reading, I’ve loved this band since the first time I heard the line:

‘She knelt down beside me
Said ‘Can I share your pillow?’
I rolled over and I said
‘well hchello hchello…’.

My favorite song of the Empire tells us that “Music is the language of us all”. So how is it then, that in a world of a million religions, a billion gods, and infinite opinions, we can all be turned on by a well timed hook; a well placed beat; or a funky riff?

I grew up listening to John Denver on a big double tape-deck, and Paul Simon spinning on an old vinyl player. When puberty hit this turned into a Techno obsession, fueled by pioneers like Pee Wee Ferris and The Prodigy. In time this morphed into a rock, roots and funk fanaticism focused on Pearl Jam, Incubus, Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals, and The John Butler Trio. Since opening my ears to world music, and becoming a more chilled individual, I’ve discovered artists like Krishna Das, Sonosync and Wild Marmalade. In all my years I’ve spent thousands of hours with hundreds of different bands titillating my sonic frequencies. I’ve left many nightclubs to be stunned by a burning light and the realization that a new day had dawned. I’ve stood in scorching sun and pouring rain, immersed in clouds of dust, and sweat filled mist. My ears have rung like a flatline on a heart rate monitor, and my mind has throbbed with an agonizing, subsonic heart beat.

Throughout it all, the entirety of this auditory exploration, one truth has remained: If you have lungs to sing, and a few simple chords, you know that “Music is the language of us all”.

Guest writer: Mark Tipple

Something’s been bugging me lately about calling myself a Christian. I mean, how can I give myself a title with the word “Christ” being the central part of it when my behaviour and lifestyle never really match up to His. Also, if I weren’t “Christian”, people would forgive the bad things I say and do and sort of, well, just accept me for who I am.

Ever since I became a Christian in 2007, when it all clicked for me, I’ve noticed people observing things I did, how it weighed up and whether I was worthy to make the cut as a Christian. Whether it was playing rugby on the Sabbath or crude jokes I would make, I felt people judging, put simply, if I was a good enough Christian. What this created in me was a similar pattern. Because I felt judged, I began to judge.

I’ve been asked whether or not certain things are bad such as sport on Sabbath, drinking and sexual relations before marriage. It made me realise what we deem as bad is sometimes more cultural than it is biblical. People will sleep with their partners because it’s too hard not to but they won’t drink or go clubbing. Some will slay themselves on ye olde ales on a Friday night but are convicted that sport on Saturdays is a condemnable offence. They will turn away at the sight of shaved ham yet ham it up for the cameras while being sloshed at Fanny’s!

Sin is from Satan and we can’t put God and Satan on the same throne in our hearts. We are not saved by our works yet they are a result of us being saved. I praise God for the fact that “all are justified freely by His grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus”, and that He will always be the most satisfying activity we can hope to experience on earth. In this age of sex, drugs and haystacks, there stands Jesus, redeeming and freeing.

This man is worth loving, worth dedicating a life to and worth dropping sin for. There is no hierarchy of people or sin in His eyes. Which gives us the freedom from judgment of others, the freedom not to have to play judge and freedom into this universal Love that poured itself out for us on a cross a few years back.

Enjoy it.