Pofadder is N!gha

On the way home we spent a night at Pofadder – a town South Africans use to typify a sleepy backwater. It is certainly small: two tar roads, a kaffee, a church, and a hotel. But this is a town with a big history of resistance to the European colonial invaders.

This fresh water spring was home of the Koranna people, who emerged from fragments of various Khoi-Khoi groupings who had found safety along the Orange River. While they were held in low esteem by the European colonisers of the Cape - Rev Edward Terry described them as “beasts in the skin of men” while J. Campbell described the Koranna as lazy beings who only hunted, slept and danced.....(which could describe most university students today) - they put up a spirited resistence to those who invaded their traditional lands.*

In 1875 a mission station was established amongst the Koranna by the Reverend Christiaan Schroder, who named it Pofadder, after their local chief. In 1918 a town was laid out at the Koranna springs and called Theronsville. But local memory prevailed, the name Pofadder stuck, and it was later officially changed back to the name of the old mission. The mission is now a Roman Catholic Church that runs a blockmaking enterprise, a chicken farm and a dairy, giving employment to the poor

Today it is a great place to stop over. The hotel has self catering cottages that provide a welcome break from the endlessly straight roads through the Kalahari/Bushmanland plains. And the people are warm and welcoming – even when we arrived in the middle of a crucial rugby match (Stormers vs Brumbies) . And I am told that in the flower season this is a great place from which to explore the beauty of the Namaqualand flowers. So a return visit in August is definitely on the cards.

And if you asre wondering what the logo on the cap means: n!gha is a khoi-khoi word for “great/wonderful/cool – as in “this is n!gha food” or “that is a n!gha car” – and contrary to the South African perception, Pofadder is n!gha.




Footnote * (The escalating conflict between the colonising white farmers and the Koranna led to a commando of about 300 mounted burghers attacking the Koranna entrenched on one of the Orange River islands. Cupido Pofadder negotiated a treaty that agreed that he would protect his part of the river which bordered on the district of Calvinia in exchange for ammunition to enable him to do so. He would also be recognised as chief of all the Koranna living in the region. But this treaty was short lived, as drought forced the Koranna to attempt to regain their traditional land from white farmers. Klaas Pofadder succeeded his brother Cupido as chief and thought to arm his people by pretending to distance himself from the rebels. The terms of the treaty 1870 were still being met and in January of 1879 Pofadder was given 20 lbs lead, 5 lbs gunpowder and 4 guns. Unfortunately for the colonial authorities, two days later Pofadder returned to the rebel side. The inevitability of superior fire power led to Pofadder being gunned down by a commando of farmers).

backhome

Our family went camping in the Kalahari desert. This involved
- sitting around a fire at night, under a warm star-filled sky, listening to the sounds of animals calling just outside of the firelight.
- grinding our slow way over day-lighted corrugated gravel roads in search of those animals
- tents and 4x4 vehicles
- stories told amidst laughter, friendships deepened, and family bonds treasured.

And I return home content to be part of God's world.

Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park

We are going away for 10 days to the Kgalagadi Park, Northern Cape, South Africa





This is one of Africa's great parks. The Kalahari Gemsbok National Park (South Africa) and Gemsbok National Park (Botswana) have been formed into a transfrontier park of over 3,6 million ha. This is a rugged wildlife sanctuary with 3 rest camps & abundance of game.

The Empress has no Clothes

She suspended him from practicing medicine for a month for daring to throw her photograph in a dustbin. She is a political flunky, while he is a medical doctor. To add insult to injury she called the police to arrest him for damaging government property.

While this might sound like some banana republic, it raises issues about respect for a superior, personal dignity, and the place of ego…….
Dr Mark Baylock, the chief medical officer of Manguzi Hospital, trashed the official photograph of the provincial Minister of Health, Peggy Nkonyeni, when she told a meeting at his hospital that rural doctors “do not care about people. It is all about profit”. She was responding to the news that he had raised donor funding to supply rural women with free AZT to prevent them passing on the HIV virus to their babies. Nkonyeni, of course, was only following the official line of her national health minister, who does not believe that HIV/AIDS is a virus, and advocates the use of garlic, beetroot and the African potato as effective ways of preventing the illness. (The only thing she needs to add to this is banana - to truly become a banana republic Minister!).

The difficult issue at stake is how to manage grievance processes. Dr Baylock showed clear disrespect for his superior – and probably from her perspective she might have been tempted to colour this in racial and gender terms. From the point of view of Dr Baylock, his frustration is understandable: he could choose to work much more comfortably in private practice without the political interference. But he has chosen to commit himself to the rural poor, and probably finds it hard to be criticised for his dedication.

So is her picture more important than a month’s worth of health for rural people?
I doubt it. I believe that more sensible ways of resolving the issue could be found. But then, powerful people are often less than sensible. It is often the practice of political leadership to have their pictures placed prominently in public. And it is not long before these pictures take on an aura that is larger than the person. And suddenly I begin to understand the motivation for the commandment that speaks about “Worship no god but me … Do not make for yourselves images of anything in heaven or on earth or in the water under the earth”

Pray for all those dedicated doctors who choose to honour their patients with self-sacrificing service.

The way the truth the life...

This past Sunday’s Gospel reading included the following text:
Joh 14:6 Jesus answered him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one goes to the Father except by me”.

So what do I do with this verse?







1. Did Jesus mean to say that all other religious beliefs are false and that only Christians get to God? Some Christians think this is so, and have been known to say things like “Christians are saved and all other beliefs / lack of beliefs are not” or “Christians need to get the world saved because otherwise you will not know God, and then you go to hell”.
2. Did Jesus mean that while all people have some kind of understanding of God, Christian people have a unique understanding of God as Father.
3. Did Jesus ever say this at all? Is it not perhaps words attributed to Jesus by the writer of John’s Gospel at a time of vigorous religious debate and search for a Christian identity between Hellenistic Christians, Jewish Christians, Gnostics and other competing religious positions? These words are thus used to reassure the Johannine readers that they are on the right track.

Personally I believe that Jesus would never have said something that sounds like people can be “shut out” of God’s presence if they do not know the right formulas or observe the correct form of religion (in fact Jesus criticised the spiritual leaders of his day for doing such a thing). It is far more likely that this is a reminder of Jesus’ teaching that it is possible to discover a personal/ intimate relationship with our creator akin to a father-child relationship.

Sadly – many Christian people have not understood this and have used this text as a way of suggesting that only Christians are the beloved of God. I recently discovered a preacher by the name of Angus Buchan who gathered 40 000 Christian men on his farm this past weekend to reinforce the idea that they were right. In the words of Buchan : “I believe in the resurrection of both the saved and the lost: they that are saved - unto resurrection of life – and they that are lost - unto resurrection of damnation”. Pity about the homosexuals, and the Buddhists, the alternately religious.... and whoever else does not fit this White Anglo-Saxon Protestant brand of faith.

The loving Grace of God is not constrained to a particular brand or format. Let God be God. And let us be open to be led by God’s Spirit wherever the journey takes us.

On Being a Pastor

Last night I had an appointment for a marriage counselling session ... but the couple never arrived.

So I dropped in on the meeting of the Women’s Auxiliary.
It is a pastoral thing: go to see the ladies once in a while, keep them happy, and they will not complain too much when I do or say things they might not find comfortable – like the stuff we do with street people, or my support for gay and lesbian people.

So I dropped in and discovered my friend Peter showing pictures of his epic motorcycle trips: one across America on Route 66, and his adventure from Cape Town to Lusaka on an old BMW, and his recent trip from Holland to Czechoslovakia. And I thoroughly enjoyed Peter’s narrative – which can only be described as eclectic. He showed photographs of small town gaols alongside diners and pubs. He juxtaposed WW Two Concentration camps with cheerful beer full bikers’ gatherings. And I realised that this is really the nature of life: an unplanned adventure, where we try our best to survive each day without falling off, and we attempt to grasp a moment of happiness amidst the struggle to keep going.

Like Audrey Bell. Who came to the meeting tonight to say farewell to her friends. She has been attending this monthly meeting for more than forty years. These are the women who accompanied her through the years of child-rearing. These are the women who got her through the unexpected death of her husband. And these are the friends who filled the loneliness of the years since then. But now she is old, and can no longer live on her own. So she has sold her home...as has her older brother, and a cousin. And they are moving together to a gated complex further than is possible for her to drive herself to this church.

She explained it all to me like this: “I never wanted to go to an old age home. But now we have created our own” And she chuckled. And we drank tea together. And I kissed her goodbye.

A Reflection on God and Government

We all have watched the elections of Zimbabwe with amazement and disbelief. The people of Zimbabwe have clearly rejected ZanuPF as a vehicle for their political wishes. But President Robert Mugabe and the generals of the military and police are finding it very difficult to let go of power.

This is nothing new. Throughout history people have tried to keep political power. We read in the Bible of Saul who would not give up being King of Israel when David was anointed by God’s prophet; and of many succeeding kings of Judah and Israel who tried to hang onto political power. The words of Jeremiah are pertinent to political leaders of every age: “The Lord spoke to you when you were prosperous, but you refused to listen. This is what you have done all your life;(therefore) your leaders will be blown away by the wind…because of all the evil you have done.” (Jeremiah 22:21)

Robert Mugabe take note. And also all others who seek to cling to power.

The New Bike

Yesterday morning I rode my bike out to Tulbach for a wedding. Approximately 180km into the countryside to a pretty farm chapel set amidst vineyards and rose bushes.

The couple were “friends of a friend” and I had agreed to officiate at their wedding. They came to the marriage preparation classes I run and I enjoyed getting to know them, and knew that I would enjoy the morning. The guests had booked in to local accommodation for the weekend, and had already spent Friday night getting acquainted. So they arrived in a relaxed mood – with all day to spend in celebration and laughter.

And I thoroughly enjoyed the wedding, with really good voices singing a duet, a wonderful silver trumpet for the Trumpet Voluntary, and a lovely couple getting married. All of which contributed towards my mood as I left Tulbach to return home.

So there I was: riding my BMW GS1150 from Tulbach towards Bain’s Kloof at an easy 120kmph, with “Stairway to Heaven” ringing in my headphones. It was a sunny midday sky, with the prospect of a tight twisty pass over to the sleepy Boland town of Wellington... this was definitely as good as it gets.

Farewell to the Tiger

Here is a photograph of my Triumph Tiger.

We spent many, many happy hours together in and around Cape Town, transporting children to and from school, visiting congregation members, and riding with the Iron John Bike Club.

We also had some epic trips further afield:

• We visited Port Elizabeth, winding up the beautiful garden route – choosing to do the Grootrivier and Blaaukraans River passes instead of the bridge overpasses. I spent a wonderful week with my dear friend Charmaine, and then rode back down Route 62, enjoying the hospitality of Cherrill on the way.

• We spent one mad winter’s day riding 1000km from Cape Town to Kimberly. My friend Alex and I took our respective Tigers to his family farm. We left Cape Town in the dark and braved the misty cold of the Hex River Valley and the chilly Karroo wind. When we returned a week later we decided to accept the warm Beaufort West hospitality of my colleague Rod. The following morning we rode a consistent 160kmph to Cape Town with the rising sun at our backs.

• We visited two Buffalo Rallies, joining thousands of other roaring, swearing, drinking, posturing bikers. And amidst the thousands of Japanese and German bikes there were a few unique British bikes: my Tiger proudly strutting its stuff.

So I bid farewell. And this is all that is left of the bike. This will make my bank manager very happy, because my credit card has suffered a painful financial hole since I have purchased my BMW GS 1150.



And a new biking chapter begins for me.

.... the Enemy

Steven is an old Xhosa man who lives on the streets.
He used to live and work as a well respected member of the community. But alcohol has taken its toll on his life. His wrecked body carries the odors of hard drinking and vagrant living. He is without many of his teeth, has rheumy eyes, and a gaunt skeletal frame.

I sat down next to Steven after praying a general prayer for those gathered for the weekly Tuesday morning coffee and bread gathering. “Thank you for the prayer” he said, “it gets me through the week. When I do not come, I am unlucky in the week.” And so we struck up a conversation, and I learned about his family. His daughter is married and living in comfort in Gauteng. His extended family own land in the Eastern Cape. They are all involved in the Methodist Church - which is the brand that I belong to+.

“But Christians are the enemy” he continues. “They do not like drinking, and will not speak to me because I drink. And their pastor has banned me from their church”. And so Steven has abandoned his family and his roots, and lives in Cape Town.

And comes to my church every Tuesday for a prayer.

Thank God It's Friday

...if you, God Almighty, won't stand up and act like God, well, then we'll have to get organized and do it for you. It'll teach 'em a lesson.
So when they attacked us we attacked them. Bomb Baghdad. That'll teach them. Evil for evil; it's all they understand. We'll teach them the joy of democracy, the preciousness of human life, the value of a free market, if we have to obliterate every grain of sand in their desert to do it. It'll teach 'em a lesson.
But then, when we had done our worst, you looked down from your bloody cross where we had nailed you and with your last breath worked your justice, saying, "Father forgive 'em. It'll teach them a lesson."
Your lessons are hard as nails.
Amen.
William Willimon from
"Thank God It's Friday"

Come mourn awhile with me

Maundy Thursday: a time for mourning
………….. a time for sober reflection and prayer

China is insisting on carrying the Olympic torch onto Tibet’s Mount Everest. Tibet responded with the largest anti-China protests in almost two decades, sparking riots in Lhasa, demonstrations in nearby ethnic Tibetan provinces, and daily pro-Tibet protests around the world.

The protests began on Monday, March 10 when five hundred monks from the Drepung monastery defied Chinese authorities to march into Tibet's capital, Lhasa. This marked the 49th anniversary of a quashed rebellion against communist rule. Monks from the Lhasa-area Sera and Gamden monasteries also protested. Thousands of Chinese security personnel responded by firing tear gas to try to disperse more than 600 monks from the Sera monastery.

Last Friday (March 14) About 300-400 residents and monks took to the streets in Lhasa. Violence saw shops and cars set on fire. The Chinese authorities sealed off Drepung, Sera and Gamden monasteries, and protests spread to ethnic Tibetan areas in Sichuan and Gansu provinces. Tibetans hurled petrol bombs and set a police station and market on fire in Sichuan's Aba region. In Gansu's Machu town a crowd of 300-400 carried pictures of the Dalai Lama, in defiance of authorities.

Since then the Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao dismissed calls for a boycott of Beijing Olympics, and accused Dalai Lama of inciting unrest to sabotage the Olympics. China has turned foreigners back from areas close to Tibet and Olympic organisers vow the Olympic torch will travel to Tibet despite the riots.

Mourn with me the loss of life.
Mourn with me China’s brutal oppression of Tibet.
And pray for justice – so that there might be peace.

whatamess

Five years ago the United States of America invaded Iraq.
This was not sanctioned by the United Nations, and was opposed by many, many nations in the world. But because the USA is the strongest nation on earth it can do as it likes - so George Bush ignored world opinion, and unleased untold misery on the Iraqi people: so far it is estimated that 80 000 civilians have died. The USA does not keep official figures, and this estimate is probably much higher. The USA does keep figures of the deaths of American soldiers, which are just under 4 000.

Even more troubling is the way one bad decision has unleashed so many more bad possibilities:
- The Times of London reportes that it is estimated that this war has cost $400 billion.... imagine how useful this could have been in healthcare, building houses or educating people.
- The abuse by the US troops at the Abu Ghraib prison has fuelled an equally vicious response towards prisoners captured by the militant insurgents.
- Muslim and Christin people have been severly polarised.

And the end is not yet in sight. No one pretends anymore that life will return to normal anytime soon. And the worst of it is that George Bush refuses to admit to making a mistake. Even more appalling is the fact that he suggests that God is somehow on the side of the USA.

God is weeping.

Irish Bishops move St. Patrick's Day

Today is declared St Patrick’s day.... by some religious people. The rest of the Irish world goes on as usual. Here is the press release:

“Ireland's bishops have shifted the feast day because St Patricks Day (March 17, 2008) falls on the second day of Holy Week. The liturgical norms would require the feast day to be moved to the earliest available date after Easter, which would be April 1. But church officials said the Vatican approved the March 15 date in order to minimize conflict with the scheduled civic events.
While religious celebrations honouring St. Patrick are affected, secular authorities stressed this would not change secular festivities. The St. Patrick's Festival Committee in Dublin confirmed that the St Patrick’s parade would be March 17 as usual. In addition, Monday, March 17, will remain an official day off of work in Ireland”.

And I found this illustrative of how society has appropriated religious festivals and used them for socio-economic purposes: Easter, Christmas, St Patrick... it is all one and the same. Why allow religious scruples to interfere with making money (or making merry)? Holy Week, a time for reflection and spiritual preparation, is just an inconvenience to the important business of making money off the back of St Patrick. In the same way more and more shops invite us to come on Easter Sunday to spend our money on their Easter specials.

I remain convinced that religious people can mark their convictions by resisting the temptation to be consumers on our holy days. It is enough that we worship at the altar of mammon most days of the week. I invite us to mark a shift in our allegiance by not shopping on Holy Days.

A Living Community

I work in Brenda Road - but many other people live on it.

Peter, Dave and Joe spend their days directing traffic on the corner of Brenda Rd and Cranmere Rd. They laugh and joke with the customers of Standard Bank, and make sure that no dodgy character hang about. For example, a few months ago a group of strangers tried to take over the corner, and I was called in to persuade them to move on. These men, marked with prison tattoos, tried arguing that it was their constitutional right to freedom of movement, but the bank did not take kindly to having them sitting across from their front door. And they were persuaded to move on.
For the last few weeks Peter and Dave have come to the Sunday early morning service. They want to reform their lives, and are asking me to pray for them.

Miela, Bennie, Charmaine and Prevan live on the intersection between Brenda Rd and Gabriel Rd. They spread the matrasses each nigh outside the Television repair shop and light a fire to cook their food. Miela and Bennie begin the day sober, and become progressively more drunk, and abusive as the day wears on. By the evening they shout for "Pastor Pete" to get them food, interspersed with "joumasepoes" and "fokoffbennie" and other endearments. They do not want to reform their lives - but I care for them anyway.
This morning was washing day.... thought that I would share the picture.

THE PLEASURE OF DOING NOTHING USEFUL

John 11:1 A man named Lazarus, who lived in Bethany, became sick. Bethany was the town where Mary and her sister Martha lived.... The sisters sent Jesus a message: "Lord, your dear friend is sick."... Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus... Yet when he received the news that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was for two more days...Then he said to the disciples, "Let us go back to Judea."

This one of the passages traditionally read in the weeks leading up to Easter. Amongst the many, many ideas this story has generated is this one gem that struck me as I prepared for my sermon yesterday: we need to discover the pleasure of doing nothing useful.

Lazarus gets sick. We know nothing about his illness: but is obviously serious enough for his worried sisters to ask Jesus to come to their aid. But by the time Jesus arrives Lazarus has died. So far so good. The bit that intrigues me, however, is verse 6: which tells us that Jesus “stayed where he was for two more days”. I find this curious, because at first glance it seem like the callous disregard of a stranger to the family.... “I’ll come when I’m good and ready”. But this completely out of keeping with Jesus’ character, which is consistently one of compassion for those who struggle in life. And so my question was “Why did Jesus not rush over to comfort the family – and maybe perform a healing miracle?”

The answer is not in the text. So we must draw an inference from the context. John 10 tells us that Jesus escaped certain death twice in the days leading up to this “Lazarus incident.” I have the impression of an exhausted rabbi, who not only has taught extensively, but has faced life threatening opposition. And now he is hit with another crisis – the life threatening illness of his friend Lazarus. And Jesus does what he has done on other occasions such as this: he takes time out to recover. This is seen for example after feeding 5000 people Jesus goes off by himself to recover (John6:15); and after hearing the news of John the Baptist’s death Jesus chooses to escape the crowds to be alone (Mark 6:31). So John tells us the Jesus takes two days off before going to Mary and Martha.

And here is the wisdom that struck me: we all need times of quietness in order to help us life effectively. It is a fool that thinks she is so indispensable that she cannot take a rest. If Jesus needed a two day break, then how much more do we not need to take time off from our busy-ness. The problem of course is our culture that persuades us that doing nothing is sinful: we are taught that sloth is one of the seven deadly sins, and “the devil finds work for idle hands”. So we keep busy, often to the detriment of being effective.

So my invitation to us – for the sake of our souls – is to discover the pleasure of doing nothing useful.

Silence

I am going into silence for three days. This is an opportunity to listen – rather than to talk. Because I am so skilled at talking it becomes my Achilles heel…. And I require the discipline of stillness to become aware of a life bigger than my own. I will be at the Springfield Convent Retreat Centre, accompanied by my colleague Dave Newton.


“A gentle, loving, inner peace and silence is here and now in this moment. It has always been this way. It is always here. It is right here within you and all around you, a stillness, an apparent void, a seeming nothingness out of which everything arises, exists, and eventually returns”.

Pray for me.

Leap of Faith

Today women are allowed to ask men to marry.

It is thought that this tradition was started in 5th century Ireland when St. Bridget complained to St. Patrick about the unfairness of a woman having to wait for a man to propose. According to legend, St. Patrick said the yearning females could propose on the 29th of February. And what if the man refused? Well in 1288 Scotland passed a law that any man who declined a proposal in a leap year must pay a fine. The fine could range from a kiss to payment for a silk dress or a pair of gloves.

So ladies – take you courage in hand and choose what my university professor called “a leap of faith”. But this professor was not referring to the 29th of February. She pointed out that all of life ought to be an act of faith. Getting up in the morning required the capacity to have hope. Getting through the day is energised by choosing to believe. Her point was that life cannot be lived rationally. Reason alone is insufficient motivation to get through the day. We all need to practice faith in order to live life to the fullest. And a day such as today opens the possibility of an “unreasonable” leap-year’s risk.

In fact life is at its richest when we risk everything to follow a sense of Divine Calling. A life lived in response to such a Calling is unreasonable, but (as I suggested yesterday) a life lived in response to a Calling will cope with anything thrown at it.

Oh by the way:
Yesterdays post never suggested that my friends who have left the Methodist Church live without call... or that God’s Call is only to be found within the ordained ministry. Many of my friends have heard a Divine Call to leave the Church – and have obediently chosen to follow God into other activities of life. I salute their courage and continue to appreciate them as very dear friends. I wrote yesterday’s post in answer to someone who asked why I had not yet left the church. As with everything in life – it is all about Calling. I am a Methodist Minister for as long as God calls me to be one. If God calls me to be something else – I will take the leap of faith.

Old Fart

I feel like a dinosaur.
Wayne Burrows, Wade Britton, Rick Matthews, Ray Dibden, Neville vd Walt, Geoff Ryan, Cedric Muller, Eric Jurgensen, Alan Brews, Charles Villa Vicencio, Errol Grey, Mike Chapman, Pieter Greyling, Yvette Edwards, Vic Smith, Kevin Light, Mike Crommelyn ... names of friends of mine who used to be colleagues. They resigned from being Methodist Ministers and have gone on to other things. And sometimes I feel like a dinosaur because I have stuck around.

I often think of leaving.
I am disappointed by the poor national leadership of this church; I am embarrassed by the theological nonsense spoken by some of my colleagues; I am deeply saddened by the immoral behaviour of some ministers/leaders/preachers; I mourn the unthoughtful churchiness of many of our members; and I long for more Christians to be passionate about justice and righteousness and spiritual integrity. I notice how many really good people have left the confines of organized religion - not only the colleagues mentioned above, but the many, many church members who have moved out. And I know that God has continued to bless the work they do. And I have often thought of leaving too.

But I stay.
I stay because I am convinced that a small bit of yeast can make a difference to the loaf of bread – and I choose to be the yeast in this church. This is not from some sense of self-importance. No, it is rather from a conviction that God has called me to be here. So even though I feel like a dinosaur, I will stay... because this is a calling.

Wht are Scooter Drivers such berks?

I spent a couple of hours today at a bike repair shop having the brake pads and back tyre of my Triumph Tiger replaced. Which gave me ample opportunity to observe the stupidity of scooter drivers. Here is my gripe – they think they ride in a different world from motorbike riders.

They do not wear protective clothing, and show scant regard to head protection. One arrived to collect his repaired Vespa wearing shorts, a T-shirt and slipslops. He then placed a small pisspot helmet on his head, and declined to strap it on. No gloves in sight. He revved his scooter into the traffic as if he was immune to injury. Another arrived wearing a spaghetti-strap top, tiny shorts and sandals.... no problem with this except that she was riding a chinesesomething two wheeled vehicle. Again, no gloves, and a helmet that looked like it was bought in a toy store. The final example of idiocy was the dude who rode past wearing a vest, shorts and MX boots – no gloves and a helmet that must have been rescued from a trash can.

The rule of the road is always dress for safety:
Do not ride without gloves; wear a decent helmet; wear a padded jacket; preferably choose padded pants (I know, I know, I often do not wear these); and wear boots. These are simply not negotiable. But scooter drivers seem to think that because scooters are not the same category as motorcycles, they do not need to dress for safety.

Oh yes – there are many, many motorbike riders who also ride as if they are invincible to tar burns and smashed limbs. Sliding across the road on your butt or chest causes a huge amount of heat to be generated. This means that skin and cotton will melt when in contact with the road surface. Let us support the culture of dressing for safety by wearing all the right clothes all of the time. “It is better to sweat than to bleed”.

Shopping in the Neighbourhood

I was feeling very mellow, having just completed a 10km run and shower. As I stood outside the local supermarket in pursuit of a Saturday newspaper, I saw Piet braaing wors under the Brazilian pepper tree. And I just knew this was for me.

Drawn by the inviting smell of barbecued sausage drifting off the coals glowing in the brazier, I placed my order. Piet took a length of sausage out of his coolbag and placed it on the fire. “I do not sell cold wors” he said. “This is freshly braaid”. He greeted a lady approaching his stand, and assured her that her order was ready. With which he handed me a pair of tongs. “Keep turning it while I attend to her.” While he handed her a prepared order of two rolls with sausage I turned my breakfast on the coals.

Piet told me that he had retired from the mines in Potchefstroom ten years ago and now lived in Southfield – just down the road from me. He supplements his meagre pension with this weekly sausage stall. “I have made many friends” he added, as passing pedestrians greeted him. One lady, with purple “blue-rinse” hair complained bitterly that she had given him her address and he had not come to tea with her. He good naturedly greeted her, and suggested that she ask his wife to tea too.

I took my sausage off the coals and wrapped a roll around it, along with some tomato and onion mix. And enjoyed being part of the life on a local street.

Dying Well

I buried a good man today.
I was his minister 20 years ago. He sold cool drinks at the church fete; his dry sense of humour got me though the insecure first months in a new congregation; I officiated at his son’s wedding. And then I moved on to other congregations, and we lost touch.

Until a few years ago when his wife joined my congregation. I asked how he was and she said he was fine – but that he no longer wanted to attend church. And I said that this was OK, and that God did not love him any less. Then last year I heard from a number of people that I should “go and pray with him because he has liver cancer”. But Pierre himself had not asked me. So I prayed for him, but did not intrude on his life.

Towards then end of last year he asked me to come and visit him. And I rekindled our friendship. His sense of humour was as welcome as ever; his spirituality was deeply peaceful; he knew that he was dying and was thankful for a life well-lived. He told me that he had stopped going to church at the time of a heart operation. He described the rudeness of people who had visited him in the hospital ward and attempted to “convert” him. He spoke of his hurt at the way they had insulted his faith, and his character. And he resolved not to return to church. He described how he felt closest to God in nature, and of how he loved to sit in the silence of a game park and thank God for his life.

We were able to speak about dying well, of the love of God for him, and of taking leave of his family and friends. We celebrated his wedding anniversary with his family and friends. His sons cared for their dying father in ways appropriate to their characters. I prayed with him and his wife each day at lunch time. I was privileged to be with the family when he died last Thursday evening. And God was with him – and with his family.

Today we celebrated a life well lived.
Pierre Snyders: Go with God.

Ten Reasons Why Men Should Not Be Ordained

Wasp Jerky posted this a while back, and I thought it was pretty funny, so I'm re-posting it here. Women have been subjected to similar reasoning for why they can't be ordained. Enjoy.

10. A man's place is in the army.

9. For men who have children, their duties might distract them from the responsibilities of being a parent.

8. Their physical build indicates that men are more suited to tasks such as chopping down trees and wrestling mountain lions. It would be "unnatural" for them to do other forms of work.

7. Man was created before woman. It is therefore obvious that man was a prototype. Thus, they represent an experiment, rather than the crowning achievement of creation.

6. Men are too emotional to be priests or pastors. This is easily demonstrated by their conduct at football games and watching basketball tournaments.

5. Some men are handsome; they will distract women worshipers.

4. To be ordained pastor is to nurture the congregation. But this is not a traditional male role. Rather, throughout history, women have been considered to be not only more skilled than men at nurturing, but also more frequently attracted to it. This makes them the obvious choice for ordination.

3. Men are overly prone to violence. No really manly man wants to settle disputes by any means other than by fighting about it. Thus, they would be poor role models, as well as being dangerously unstable in positions of leadership.

2. Men can still be involved in church activities, even without being ordained. They can sweep paths, repair the church roof, and maybe even lead the singing on Father's Day. By confining themselves to such traditional male roles, they can still be vitally important in the life of the Church.

1. In the New Testament account, the person who betrayed Jesus was a man. Thus, his lack of faith and ensuing punishment stands as a symbol of the subordinated position that all men should take

Joe

He is his own worst enemy.
The navy gave him his trade, and an opportunity to escape his alcoholic father. The mines gave him lots of money and an opportunity to house and care for his family. Now the streets are his home, giving him little other than sporadic income from parking cars, and shared bottles of wine.

Joe is a kind, gentle man who speaks quietly, and invariably describes himself as feeling “just great”. He has painted the facia boards and gutters of my home with care and diligence. Right now he is cleaning leaves from the driveway, and will cut the back lawn, paying attention to the edges with precision. He is a thoroughly nice man.

A lovely man, who has twice been divorced, has three adult daughters and six grandchildren – none of whom have seen him since 1992. This was when he boarded a train from Johannesburg to Cape Town. He left ‘to escape his drinking problem’, only to discover that it followed him here. Joe is a binge drinker. He can go for months on end without drinking. But when the urge hits him he keeps drinking until he has destroyed all that he has so painstakingly built up over the previous months of sobriety. Two years ago my colleague Lynn found him a job, and we housed him on our church premises. This lasted for 9 months, until the alcoholic urge bit, and his drunken irresponsibility lost him his job and his accommodation.

He longs to stop.
But this disease eats at him. Sober, he will give us money to keep for him – only to return drunk and demand that we return his money. Sober he says that he needs help – only to reject the help when the alcohol kicks in. And because he is a 58 year old man, I give him his money and his freedom. I will not patronise him by thinking that I know what is best for his life. I do not agree with the choices he makes, but I cannot prevent him from exercising his choice of lifestyle.

I will not stop giving him my friendship and support. And I will continue praying for him.
Perhaps you might pray too.

Finding New Balance

I describe myself as a runner... but truth be told I ran very little in 2007.
I began running many years ago and set a number of goals for myself:
• I wanted to run a sub 3 hour marathon: and ran 2h57.
• I wanted to run an 84 minute half marathon and ran 84.04.
• I wanted to run 20 Two Oceans Marathons (a 56km run around the Cape Peninsula) and ran 21.
• And I wanted to run a clock-full of medals for the 90 km Comrades Marathon, and the clock is complete.

And somehow the will to get up in the morning to train evaporated. And the less I ran, the less I wanted to run. I lay in on those cold, wet winter mornings. I skipped the time trial sessions on a Tuesday afternoon, and I began to ignore the road races. Last year I only ran two races – the Bay to Bay relay (two legs of 15km each) and the Two Oceans half Marathon.

But turning Fifty last October was something of a wake-up call for me. I realised that I was deteriorating: I was overwhelmed by work, tense, grumpy, and generally sleeping badly. This culminated in a ripping head banging session with my Bishop, and me generally telling the institution to get knotted (but less politely put). I knew that I had lost my balance.

So I got back on the road.
And it was extremely hard. I found the five km route very far, and resorted to walking up the mountain at the 3 km marker (OK it is a bridge over the railway line). Every time I passed the grave yard at 4 km I made the same lame joke to myself that “I want to die right now”. I am also 10 kg over my running weight. And my knees hurt. And the old scuffed running shoes I use are past their sell-by date. But I was definitely not going to trudge along the road in shiny new shoes looking like a runner but puffing like a straggler.

And so I persevered. I have hauled these sore legs out of bed and got my feet into the damn shoes. I have cajoled this tired body into the road outside the house. And I have driven my protesting body along the railway line, left past the small business site, up and over the railway line, right past the derelict hotel, and up Victoria Street past the grave yard and home again. And on 30 January I did it at 6 mins per km without stopping.

Well today I wore a new pair of shoes. And they are wonderful – New Balance 1061. My knees did not hurt, I ran up and over the bridge, and I did not see even a single grave stone. Cliff Richard sang something about “40 Days to get back...”. Well today there are 39 days to go. Pray for me that I might be able to get back some semblance of fitness. Race day is on Easter Saturday, when I plan to run the 21km race. And then to keep running 5km a day through the winter so that I am fit for the Foot of Africa 21km in October. Who knows – perhaps I will try a longer run in 2009.

More importantly – pray that I might keep my balance in life. I need to Read, to Reflect on life, to wRite, to Ride my bike...and TO RUN.

Dust to Dust

Beverley has a flat, where some street people store their clothes. Peter stays with her. He guards the cars that park on the road shared by my church and the bank. And Peter and Beverly were friends with Sam.

Sam was born in the Transkei 53 years ago. After matriculating he headed for Cape Town, where he met his wife and made a living doing various jobs. Sam drank alcohol – lots of it. So much so that he lost many jobs. And he lost contact with his family because he did not want them to know of his predicament. When his wife died a few years ago he lost interest. He moved out of his rented accommodation and took up residence in a garage. Sam began drinking with Peter. And Beverley gave him a plate of food each evening. Then on 17 January, Sam’s heart stopped working. Beverley was devastated: “He cannot have a pauper’s funeral” she insisted. So she begged money from his current employer. And from me. And from anyone else who would listen. And put together enough to have Sam cremated.

Yesterday we held a service on the back lawn of my church....me, Beverley and Peter. They reminisced on his life. And I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving. And we sprinkled his ashes on the lawn and around the trees. And I pronounced a blessing.

Soyisile Sam Joni: be at Peace.

Oppression of the Aliens and Outcasts

Last night police raided the Central Methodist Church in Johannesburg and arrested 'illegal aliens' from Zimbabwe who were staying in the Church. Bishop Paul Verryn confirmed that the police raids were conducted without a warrant and that their raids caused damage to Church property and chaos among the refugees.

So here is a Zimbabwean perspective:
Pamela said...
I am a Zimbabwean legally in South Africa and it breaks my heart. We have been reduced to beggars. We are constantly referred to as "aliens". In that church there were fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, children who have done nothing wrong but to seek refuge in the house of the Lord. Nothing was being done in secret everyone knew of the existence of Zimbabwean refuges at the Methodist Church. By taking this action the South African Police have shown the stand of the government on the mess that Zimbabwe has been reduced to. They are in denial of the suffering of the people. The church is under a biblical mandate to feed the hungry and shelter the homeless. It is a mandate from God and I don't care that the government may not subscribe to the authority of God but I and a whole lot of other people do. What has been done is to stomp upon holy ground rip people out of their place of safety and throw them right back into danger of starvation and potential violence. The state has trespassed big time. Let me address the issue from a language that the state understands. We speak of the Bible they speak of the Constitution as the supreme law of the land. Their supreme document states that Citizens have the right to religion. Christian religion demands shelter and food for those in need. The church was exercising its right under the Constitution, its mandate from God and the urge of any sound human heart to help and the response of the state is to damage property and sanctity. It is a disgrace.

This sounds so familiar - just like the Apartheid world that I grew up in.

The Evangelical Preacher

I found this at the SCP site (see the link on the RH of this blog):

Given, a man with moderate intellect, a moral standard not higher than the average, some rhetorical affluence and great glibness of speech, what is the career in which, without aid of birth or money, he may most easily attain power and reputation...?

...in which a smattering of science and learning will pass for profound instruction, where platitudes will be accepted as wisdom, bigoted narrowness as holy zeal, unctuous egoism as God-given piety? Let such a man become an evangelical preacher; he will then find it possible to reconcile small ability with great ambition, superficial knowledge with the prestige of erudition, a middling morale with a high reputation of sanctity.

Pleasant to the clerical flesh... is the arrival of Sunday!... He has an immense advantage over all other public speakers. The platform orator is subject to the criticism of hisses and groans. Counsel for the plaintiff expects the retort of counsel for the defendant. The honorable gentleman on one side of the House is liable to have his facts and figures shown up by his honorable friend on the opposite side.... the preacher is completely master of the situation: no one may hiss, no one may depart. Like the writer of imaginary conversations, he may put what imbecilities he pleases into the mouths of his antagonists, and swell with triumph when he has refuted them. He may riot in gratuitous assertions, confident that no man will contradict him; he may exercise perfect free-will in logic, and invent illustrative experience; he may give an evangelical edition of history with the inconvenient facts omitted;-all this he may do with impunity, certain that those of his hearers who are not sympathizing are not listening.

~George Eliot, Westminster Review, 1855

No Power

Being Church

A small part of the Church of Jesus met tonight.
They are all colleagues in the pastoral ministry: Pam and her two sisters; Dave and his family; Gerhardt and Olive; Andrew and his daughters; and my family. We sat outside and made a fire and cooked some meat; and the teenage children played with Dave’s little ones on the back lawn of my home.

We talked about life: the problems of power failures, and of financial worries; and the pastoral problems we are dealing with. We laughed together about the things that make us afraid, and gave each other courage for the week ahead. We ended the evening with a song, and prayed for one another.

And this was a great way to be church.

vox populi, vox Dei

The election of leaders is a fascinating exercise of popular will: the Americans are preparing for Presidential elections with the expectation that the eventual winner will be welcomed by a “nation under God”. Closer to home the ANC has just has just elected a President, and we are asked to support him because he has been democratically elected. Implicit in such elections is an assumption that because this is democratic, it must be good. And to some, good equates to divine approval. Certainly Churches have led the way in this kind of thinking: we affirm bishops/ priests/pastors as having being called by God when the majority vote selects them for an ecclesiastical office.

But here is my point: Democracy is not the same as the Will of God.

This idea rests upon the fallacy that the vast majority of people cannot be wrong: the people have spoken, therefore God has spoken. It is helpful to be reprimanded by a voice from the past:
In 798 Alcuin wrote the following to Charlemagne:
And those people should not be listened to who keep saying the voice of the people is the voice of God, since the turbulence of the crowd is always close to madness.

Crowds elect people who are popular. But popular is not the same as good. This has been ably demonstrated in the democratic election of leaders such as Adolf Hitler, or Robert Mugabe. In fact, the all-sovereign American people often choose mediocrity over excellence, and vice over virtue in their Presidential elections; and we have just witnessed the populist elections of the ANC doing little better at choosing honest, Godly leadership.

Democracy is a tool that allows the people to choose the leader they want. But it cannot deliver moral, virtuous leadership. A democratically elected leader is always in danger of being held captive by the shifting mood of those who elected her, and so will submit to the will of the people – not the will of God. And the will of the people is notoriously fickle, choosing that which serves self-interest over that which is good.

But at the same time, while the voice of the many is seldom wise and good, it is irresistible. You might as well try to stop the tide of the sea as to resist the vox populi. It is for this reason that people of faith and moral conviction must participate in public debate and social engagement. The people of a nation must be enabled to reflect on the ethical and moral choices of the day. And it is this engagement that opens up space for the voice of God to be discovered. This is not some arbitrary pronouncement from a sacred text, but rather is found in the challenge to find ways for a nation to live with compassion for the widows and orphans, justice for the oppressed, and a sharing of resources with the poor.

Let us not confuse the voice of the people with the voice of God. The voice of God always challenges the voice of the people so as to create a society of justice, truth and compassion.

Light and Dark

South Africa is caught in a cycle of power cuts.
Put simply: we do not have enough power to run out country, and so are experiencing rolling blackouts as different sections of the country take turns to be without power for two hours (or more) at a time.


Ten years ago the new democratically elected Government became distracted by the upgrading of our military capacity, and ignored the power needs of the economy. And so now we sit with armaments we do not need, and without power stations that we do need. And the country is suffering: businesses sit idle; traffic is tied in knots without lights at intersections; computers, life-support machines, laboratory equipment.... crash; and new investment in our country is drying up.

The lessons of history are never learned: once again people have chosen to spend scarce resources on weapons that take life, rather than on the resources that sustain life. When will we learn that true peace is not found through the barrel of a gun? I am convinced that a secure South Africa is not militarily achievable: our security lies with transparently accountable government, led by people who are morally and spiritually true.

Pray for us.... that we might find light at the end of our darkness.

The Old Can Rock

He is 60 yrs old, has dodgy hair, is short, portly and has stubby fingers…. And he held a 50 000 crowd inside of Newlands stadium for 190 minutes of rock ‘n roll, honky-tonk piano, and some amazing keyboard improvisation.

Born Reginald Kenneth Dwight on 25 March 1947, he changed into Elton John, and as they say “the rest is history”. We gathered in the grounds of the famous Newlands cricket grounds, with the setting sun gradually purpling Table Mountain behind us. Elton John, sartorially elegant on the giant screens, took his place behind the piano. And the magic began.

I happen to have lived through much of his musical career – so loved every minute of it. My children less so. They knew the songs of the second half of the evening, and joined me as we danced and sang along to the words of Crocodile Rock, Candle in the Wind, and Circle of Life.

And he inspired me: here was a man filled with passion for his craft: someone committed to excellence; someone who refuses to allow age to diminish his skills; someone who did not need naked girls or fireworks and lights to cover his inadequate musical ability. He is a consummate musician who provided a satisfying evening’s entertainment.

And I look forward to turning sixty – because I have seen that the old can rock.

Friends

I am blessed with friends.
Tonight I went out for supper with some of them.
We were celebrating Kevin’s birthday – and he chose to go to a Thai restaurant.

We ate our way through chicken seasoned with ginger, or honey, or cashew nuts; and honeyed ribs, and duck, and vegetables that were sprinkled with cinnamon, and hints of cloves and garlic and spices, and chilli. Kevin concluded his meal with the sago pudding, while others sampled the chocolate mousse or the rice pudding. And we ended the night with gourmet coffee made by Kevin’s own fancy coffee machine.

And I hung out with Jenny (my best friend, who is also my wife), Lee, Gus and Heather, Kyle, and of course Kevin. Kevin is a raconteur of note. And kept the conversation going with us, and with the waiters, and with others who passed by our table. We heard stories of other memorable eating establishments, of weddings, of funerals, and of other good friends like Deon (“cuddlebuns” says Kevin) and Mandy. We celebrated life, and were glad to be able to do this together.

And I am grateful for the laughter. And deeply held values and beliefs. And the mutual accountability and love for one another.

Blessed

No doubt about it – I am blessed beyond my deserving.

I have a life partner: Jenny and I were married 25 years ago, and our relationship has not only survived – but we have grown and matured together. I do not ask for more.

I have three daughters: all of whom speak their own minds. Sometimes I do not agree with them, and in this disagreement have found space to learn new things. Often we agree, and in this have enjoyed our mutuality. I do not ask for more.

I have friends: they value me sufficiently to criticise me; and to encourage me; and to laugh with me; and to share life with me. They are generous with their time, their skills, their coffee and their hospitality. I do not ask for more.

I have vehicles: a 13 year old 4x4 truck that has allowed the whole family to cram inside for memorable trips to places such as Namibia, Botswana, Zambia. Tanzania and more. A 3 year old BMW 1150 motorcycle that gives many hours of happiness, some with Jenny and some on my own. (I used to have a 23 year old, little red Charade 900cc motor car. Now my daughters think this car belongs to them). I do not ask for more.

I have faith: This is not the kind of faith that demands that God shield me from the ups and downs of life. Just enough to believe that God will accompany me though whatever the future holds. I do not ask for more.

I am blessed.

Happy New Year

Rachel is weeping

When I began my preparations for preaching today: I thought “I have nothing more to say…..
Last week I preached three times on Sunday, twice on Monday, and again on Tuesday. I have said all that I am going to say about Christmas”.

Then I took a look at the New Testament passage set for today (Matthew 2: 13-23) and the more I read, and researched, and prayed – the more I discovered there was to learn. I thought that Herod killed all the babies in Bethlehem. I have always thought that this was a terrible way for God’s “Jesus project” to begin.

I have now discovered that there was no massacre – and that Matthew’s opening story is brilliant allegory, intended to introduce the purpose of Jesus’ coming. So here is the sermon I preached this morning: I have learned some new things: and will try to pass them on to you. Some of this is technical – please bear with me. Some of this might be new to you: it was new to me too. But all of this is good news: news that can help us as we prepare for 2008.

Today I have used two passages from scripture that use the same words: Jeremiah 31: 15-25 and Matthew 2: 13-23.

A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted, because they are not

These words are first used by the prophet Jeremiah to speak of the children who were carried off into exile. Then Matthew picks up the words of Jeremiah and uses them again: this time to speak about the birth of Jesus. This is a difficult verse, because if taken literally - Matthew seems to suggest that Jeremiah has predicted that Herod would kill the children of Bethlehem. However:
• Archeologists have dug up the graves of Bethlehem, and cannot find a grave full of babies.
• And the Roman historian Josephus, who hated Herod and recorded all his atrocities in great detail, says nothing about this event. So what is going on here?

This is one of those moments when we discover that we are reading a document that is written within a completely different culture, using a completely different philosophy of history and education.
Here is a moment when Matthew tries to teach us something about the reason why Jesus came. And he uses a story telling method called allegory: he tells one story that points to another story.
Matthew tells a story of a king who kills all the male babies – but one is spared who becomes the leader who helps the people escape, and who helps them establish a covenant relationship with God.
While you and I hear this as King Herod and Jesus – Matthew is actually pointing to another story…..

Any clues?
A king who killed the boy babies?
A baby who escapes by hiding in the bull rushes?
And people who are saved?
People who enter a covenant with God?

Matthew uses allegory to say: Jesus is the new Moses.
Just as Moses brought the first Covenant – so Jesus comes to bring a New Covenant.

Matthew tells us that the story of Jesus begins just like many other stories in the Bible: with a mother weeping over her child’s safety.
This is a verse of great pain:

Rachael weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted

This is one of the great themes that runs throughout the Bible:
Rachael is the wife of Jacob – the grandson of Abraham.
She dies in childbirth: giving birth to Benjamin.
And so a mother dies weeping, because she has lost the opportunity to raise her child.

Then the descendents of Rachael weep: this time it is Pharaoh who decides to kill the baby boys of the Egyptian slaves. You will remember that Moses was hidden in the reeds to escape death: but many more did not escape. And their mothers wept.

Again, in the time of Jeremiah, the descendents of Rachael weep when the children of Israel are conquered and taken off as captives. More mothers are in tears because their children are carried off – and they will not see them again.

And now Matthew tells us that mothers are weeping in Bethlehem because Herod seeks to kill any baby boy who would be a threat to his throne.
And Mary weeps as she flees in the night to escape Herod’s soldiers.

Rachael weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted

This is truly the terrible story of human history:
Mothers weep for lost children:
This is a history that goes beyond the Bible… and into the modern era:
this is a history of mothers weeping in
Nazi Germany
And Rwanda
And Northern Ireland
And Palestine
And Iraq
And Zimbabwe
And our own beloved South Africa:

Rachael weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted

Mothers weep
• because their children are abused, and raped, and killed.
• because their children run away, and go missing, and are abducted.
• because their children get HIV/Aids, and TB and Malaria.
• because their children are hurt, and disabled, and
scarred.

Rachael weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted

And perhaps there are some of us today who weep because our children have got lost:
• We might have lost the close relationship we wished to have with them
• We might have experienced the loss of the dreams we had for our children
• We might have lost children through drugs,
or through distance
or through death

Rachael weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted

and maybe some of us are grieving the loss of our own inner child:
• we lost the dreams of our childhood
• we have lost our capacity for wonder and curiosity in life
• and we have killed our childlike innocence

Rachael weeps for her children and refuses to be comforted

.

But Matthew says that there is good news: we do not have to weep forever.
He asks us to go to the words of the prophet Jeremiah: When the writers of the New Testament quote from the Old Testament they do not just refer to a single verse. They might quote a single verse, but the quotation is intended to point to an entire Old Testament passage. Therefore, when Matthew quotes Jeremiah about Rachel weeping in Ramah, he also has in mind the verses that follow

Jer 31:16 Stop your crying and wipe away your tears. All that you have done for your children will not go unrewarded; they will return from the enemy's land.
Jer 31:17 There is hope for your future; your children will come back home. I, the LORD, have spoken

.

Those who weep for their children’s future: the time has come to trust God. “Stop your crying and wipe away your tears”
And I hear a word for us today: Let us stop acting like God has no say in South Africa, or in our world. God’s prophet says: “There is hope for your future”

And for those who are afraid of the damage done in your life by the passing of the years:
Those who think that it is too late for new beginnings:
Those who say - “so gemaak, so gelaat staan”

Jer 31:31 The LORD says, "The time is coming when I will make a new covenant with the people of Israel and with the people of Judah.
Jer 31:32 It will not be like the old covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand and led them out of Egypt. Although I was like a husband to them, they did not keep that covenant.
Jer 31:33 The new covenant that I will make with the people of Israel will be this: I will put my law within them and write it on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people.
Jer 31:34 None of them will have to teach a neighbor to know the LORD, because all will know me, from the least to the greatest. I will forgive their sins and I will no longer remember their wrongs. I, the LORD, have spoken."

Those who weep because you are afraid of what you have lost: the time is here to renew your relationship with God.
This is the time to make New Year’s resolutions;
To dream new dreams
To dare to try to be a new person

I am pleading with you to resist the temptation to be cynical:
Dare to believe that God has forgiven all your sins:
And that you can have a new Covenant with God.

Not Helping

I help people.
I am a natural assistant: If you are stuck, ask me. If you need encouragement, come to me. If you want advice, my door is open. Oh I know that this is all about my needs – that altruism fills a space inside of me, and that the smile on the face of another is good for my own fragile self-worth. So I help people.

But I am unable to help Joe.
Joe lives on the street. He has spent some time in his life in the navy; and some time as a shaft sinker on a mine. But now he chooses to live on the street outside of my church. I have tried to help him. I found a place for him to stay off the streets. My colleague Lynn found a job for him. Which lasted for most of 2006: until just before Christmas...when the alcoholic lure of the festivities was too much for him. And he lost his job and his accommodation. I had hoped that he could make a new start in 2007. And again found him a place to stay. And employed him for various jobs around the church. When he is contrite and sober he works with great care and skill. And is gentle and kind. He had a wonderful work opportunity at the beginning of December, and on the basis of his work was offered further work in January. But Christmas fever has again seized his blood.

And here is where my helping nature tried to step in.
I knew that he was carrying a large amount of money around with him – money that would turn to liquid down his throat. So I offered to keep it for him. All of R500. And he gladly asked me to lock it in my safe. Then the day before Christmas he arrived, inebriated, and demanded his money. I tried to temporise. And eventually gave him R50.

But today I admitted my failure. Joe arrived on my doorstep and demanded all of his money. “If you do not give it to me I will go to the police” he stormed angrily. And even though I knew he would go directly from my house to the bottle store, and even though I know that he will be hungry and out of pocket by the weekend, I gave him his money. After all – it is his money.

But my need to be a helper is left deeply disturbed. I am unable to prevent Joe from being a drunk. I cannot exercise life-choices for him. And I cannot prevent the consequences of his actions....even when I can see that they are destructive. And in this I understand something of how God must feel about humanity’s freedom to choose. We are free to choose our actions – and trapped by their consequences. The good news of our faith is that God does not abandon us to “face the music” alone. God chooses to accompany us as we cope with the consequences of our actions. And God helps us to learn and grow from our experiences of life.

And so I will not give up on Joe. When he returns in the New Year and asks for work – I will help him.....again!

(More) Sex, Christmas and Virginity.

I have a traffic monitor on this blog. And I have noticed a surge in visits to this site.... all of them to something I wrote a year ago. I suspect that the title has been picked up by people doing a Google search. And that the person is probably disappointed when it does not yield a naked virgin, or a sexy Christmas fairy. But I thought it worth republishing the blog anyway: So here goes:


Christians have inherited a fear of sex from our church fathers (always the men!) who repented of their sexually profligate lives and chose celibacy. Augustine of Hippo formulated this into a theology that equated the absence of sex with goodness. He suggested that those who abstain from sexual activity are pure, and are therefore closer to God.

Which is why Mary the young women was transformed by the church into Mary the Virgin. Because, the theory says, the mother of God could not possibly have engaged in the defilement of sexual activity. Some even suggest that she never ever knew what sex was, and went to heaven in this “pure” state.

Which is fine as a quaint and interesting notion.
However, this becomes the foundation for far graver implications.
1. From this we live with the idea that for priests of God to be pure they need to be celibate. And this suppression of a natural God given human function has led to the distortion of sexual expression with choir boys and other vulnerable people.
2. The idea that abstinence from sex equates with purity has left many young people feeling defiled and guilty for their early sexual awakenings. No matter how hard they pray – they still think of sex, and therefore are defiled.

So please, this Christmas, let’s decide to ignore the dirty old men of our Christian history, and cease to call Mary a virgin. Surely a greater miracle would be for God to take the seed in her womb and create Jesus from it. This certainly gives me hope for the power of God to transform my life into something good.

Oh yes - lets celebrate sex as a good gift from God

JZ Rulz

Sounds like a gansta rap.

This is the story of a Zulu freedom fighter who emerges as an astute post-revolutionary politician aspiring to lead the country. Jacob Zuma has just been elected the leader of South Africa’s dominant political party.

But – doesn’t he have some very dodgy friends?
Yes. One of them in now in prison for soliciting bribes on behalf of Zuma, who (it is said) promised to supply government contracts to gift-bearing arms dealers. But then this is not unusual amongst politicians: gifts and favours were the lubricant to deals between American politicians and American oil barons in the election of George Bush Jr, and the whole Iraq fiasco. And Gordon Brown is discovering that the British Labour Party has solicited some dodgy funding in exchange for signing some official papers. So JZ is in good company.

But – might he not land up in court for the same charges?
Yes, the national prosecuting authority is planning to charge him. But he will be in good company: Silvio Berlusconi the former Prime Minister of Italy, and Jacques René Chirac the former President of France are both facing charges of fraud and corruption. This seems to be the way of modern politicians.

But didn’t he have an inappropriate sexual encounter?
Yes - with the much younger daughter of his best friend, who was entrusted into his care on his death bed. And again, he is not alone in his sexual peccadilloes. Just ask the former American President Bill Clinton or the former Israel President Moshe Katsav.

But – wasn’t he democratically elected as party leader?
Yes. This is true: as was Aldof Hitler democratically elected as leader of a German political party! Democracy is not the will of God. It is a human election tool that ensures that the most popular leader gets to be in charge. This does not ask the leader to be moral, or ethical, or visionary. It just asks the leader to be popular. JZ is popular.

And perhaps this is the core problem with modern politics: leaders are elected because of their ability to capture the popular appeal: this has very little to do with personal faith/morality/integrity, and everything to do with the public persona of sound bite, image, and a strategic use of opinion polls. I do not support Jacob Zuma as president of my country. But I do not think him different from the President/Prime Minister/Illustrious Leader of any other country in the world.

I believe that Christ followers need to engage political leadership at every level. We must offer our opinions, our prayers, and our participation. We dare not abdicate our public civic responsibility in favour of some “other world” that we think lies beyond death. This is the world given us by God. It is this world that we must engage....for Christ’s sake.

He who wears the Crown

Here is an exerpt from my sermon to my congregations today:

Right now South Africa’s dominant political party, the African National Congress, is meeting in Polokwane. And there will be elections for a party president – who might become the next President of the country. And the nation is asking who the right leader might be.
Isaiah 11: 1-10 describes a good leader as follows:

He will know the LORD's will and honor him,
and find pleasure in obeying him
He will rule his people with justice and integrity

A good leader is one who seeks God’s will rather than his – or her – own will...one who finds pleasure in obeying God....one who will rule with justice and integrity. Isaiah says the sign of this will be that “there will be peace in the land”. This peace is not just the absence of war: it is “shalom” – this is a peace that speak of healthy relationships, and a healthy society, and a healthy environment, and a healthy spirituality.

As Christians we believe that Jesus is the ultimate fulfilment of the words of Isaiah: to paraphrase Isaiah, Jesus “ knew the LORD's will and honored him, and found pleasure in obeying him" ..He was a living example of justice and integrity. Jesus is the standard against which we measure all leadership.

So where does this leave us?
When the ANC meetings in Polokwane are finished there will be a leader who might become our next president:
And we have a way of testing him as a leader (Unfortunately the ANC has committed itself to nominating a male leader):
We need to ask:
Is he a person of justice and integrity
Is he someone who delights in obeying the will of God –
Do we see signs of the character of Jesus in him?

If this is not so: then we need to begin praying for that man – that the Spirit of God will touch his life and change him.

Revisiting the Past

I swore that I would never return – and yet, yesterday, I went back...

The 1980’s were a politically turbulent time in the Western Cape Province of South Africa. I was the pastor of a small, white, rural (read politically conservative) congregation. These were very loving, caring people who sacrificed much for one another, and saw themselves as epitomising the love of Jesus to those less fortunate. But these dear people never paused to ask why the distribution of wealth was so sharply divided along racial lines: their prevailing culture just assumed that black was poor.

I tried to say to my congregation that responding to poverty demanded more than handouts and kindly feelings. I noted that much of the deprivation was politically engineered by Apartheid, and we needed to work at ways of empowering people to shape their own lives. I helped the Black Sash establish an Advice Office, and became its treasurer. I spent time encouraging the political activists in the area. And sheltered children caught up in the school riots, rubber bullets and tear gas. The congregation indulged me – until the day I was arrested by the security police. Then the heads nodded knowingly: “No smoke without a fire” said one at a church meeting; another said to my wife “I knew he was up to no good”... and a well meaning colleague of a sister denomination prayed in his Sunday Service that the Methodists would be “kept from the evils of the socialist gospel”.

And my congregation stopped paying. The money simply dried up. And people stopped coming to church. And the Bishop was forced to withdraw me from the church.. .and when I left I swore that I would never return. And yet, twenty-two years later, I went back...

The congregation was celebrating a 50th anniversary. I walked in to a church full of the variety that is South Africa: I saw white and black members holding hands and embracing one another. I saw worship led by a team that transcended culture. And heard of a variety of community empowerment programmes initiated by the church.

And I wept inside of myself:
• I wept for myself because most of the congregation do not know my history of struggle with that church.
• And I wept for those die-hard members from the past who came over and shook my hand as if nothing had happened. Either they are choosing to re-write the past, or – more probably – what was a cataclysmic moment of change for me was nothing more than a blip on the radar for them.
• But mostly I wept for joy because the Gospel of Jesus truly is subversive: that tightly knit, conservative, white enclave has been blown wide open. And the church has been changed.

Pray with me for many more such changes in the Christian Churches of South Africa.
And pray for me that I might let go of the hurts of history and grow in the ways of Grace.

Two Wheel Bliss

Two Bikes, Three Bays, Four Passes, and High Fives.

Jimmy and I climbed onto the bikes at 8 this morning: a Triumph Tiger and a BMW R1150 GS.

It was a bright sunny day with a touch of the south-east wind. We crested Kloof Neck to be greeted by a panoramic view of Camps Bay beneath us. The sea was glittering blue, and as we wound our way down the mountain we could feel the layers of cold air rising off the Atlantic Ocean. Then left along the sea-front towards Hout Bay. The long graceful curves of the road are exceptionally motorcycle friendly and it was wonderfully invigorating to lean either left or right into the corners. The drop into Hout Bay down Suikerbossie Pass was matched by the climb up Chapman’s Peak, where we stopped at the top to admire the view.

Then down the pass to Sun Valley, right to Ocean View, and left to Misty Cliffs. The road past Scarborough took us to the top of Red Hill, and the wide vista over False Bay. We twisted our way down Red Hill Pass and turned right into Simons Town, stopping at Jubilee Square for breakfast. Our strength renewed, we set off up Black Hill, and over Ou Kaapse Weg Pass to the Blue Route and home.

For those who are exceptionally bored you can check: I have mentioned two bikes, three bays, four passes. And if you are so bored that you actually counted – get a bike!

Chaotic Joy

They descend on us from all over our neighbourhood.

50 of them are between the ages of 16 and 25. They have been busy with their own lives/exams/malls/sport/movies for the past six months and we have seen very little of them. But when the word is out – they arrive with generous hearts and plenty of enthusiasm. They have signed up as volunteers for our annual December Holiday Club. They raise funds through washing cars, selling boerewors rolls, and assiduously scrounging donations.

Then there are the others: Anything up to 200 of them between the ages of 6 and 12. This is their first week of school holidays. Many come from single-parented homes, or homes where both parents are working. And their parents worry about how to care for their children during the day. And so we offer a week of free child-minding to our community.

Right now our buildings are screaming with children as they express joy and general enthusiasm. They cling to leaders like Velcro, copying the way the older leaders walk and talk. The leaders take away as much as they give: they learn life-skills in leadership, management of funds, accepting responsibility, and working as a team.

It is true that they trash our buildings, and enthusiastically tramp all over the gardens, and leave crisp packets and cooldrink cans lying in the sanctuary. But then it was Jesus who asked us to allow children to feel at home with him. And I know that God celebrates their chaotic joy.