People behaving Badly - and a God who never gives up on Them

This Sunday’s Old Testament reading is the story of Hagar and Ishmael. And it is a tragic, awful, embarrassing story to own as my faith history:
Sarah, the wife of Abraham, chases Abraham’s first-born son out of the house so that he does not inherit anything from his father.
This is more than just jealousy – it is an effective death penalty: They live in a desert, and without a family to protect them, they will die of exposure. And the worst of it all is that Abraham gives in to his wife’s jealousy. (Go read it in Genesis 21)

And it is quite possible that if this family had placed more trust in the promise of God, then both Abraham’s sons could have grown up together. And together become the leaders of the people of God.... and the rift between Jew and Muslim might never have happened.

But it was not to be.
Sarah’s jealousy of Hagar, and her desire for her son to be the only son of Abraham, caused her to drive the two into the desert.
And so Hagar and Ishmael became outcasts.

It shouldn’t have happened,
it didn’t need to happen,
but it did.
And we have it in the Bible, staring us in the face, bearing witness to the failure of our ancestors to treat each other with the most basic level of human decency.

But I wonder how many of you have ever heard a sermon on Hagar an Ishmael?
I wouldn’t expect many of us, because this is not just a dark story, it is not just a story of our Abraham and our Sarah behaving so badly, it is also the story of the beginnings of Islam. And we have evidence right here before us as Christians and as Jews that Ishmael and his descendants were under God’s care from the very beginning and part of God’s plan.

I think we haven’t really known what we should do with that information and so we’ve just not talked about it very much. Because so much of the prevailing wisdom of Western society makes Muslim people out to be evil. The way stories and Movies are told have shifted ground: The bad guys used to be the Germans; then they were the Russian Communists; now – they are Muslim fundamentalists. But the children of Ishmael are the people of God.

As are every other kind of people who have been chased out into the wilderness. The aliens, and the orphans, and the gays, and the street people, and the refugees from Zimbabwe/Congo/Somalia are all loved by God: The story of Hagar and Ishmael is a story that warns us against our jealous rejection of other people.

In fact, the more I read the Bible the more I think that the Bible should come with a longer title, something like, “The Holy Bible: the story of people behaving badly and the God who never gives up on them.”

I am indebted the Rev. Sara Buteux, First Congregational Church of Hadley, for her rendition of the story of Hagar. She got me going.

Charity is not Romantic

This is the fourth week that we are hosting displaced people in our church hall.
And that which began with chaotic good humour has now become a more considered act of charity. We have invented systems for feeding people, clothing them, and housing them. We have learned how to estimate the food requirements, and how much soap and toilet paper will get used each day. But the congregation is getting tired – what some call “donor fatigue”.

The refugees have also adapted. They began as a disorientated collection of individuals. The only thing that they had in common was an experience of rejection and loss of both property and dignity. Four weeks later they have begun to recover some independence. Many leave our premises during the day to go to work. And the women report each morning to the office to discuss catering arrangements and other housekeeping needs. But the newly forming community is showing rifts.

The family units provide leadership in terms of cooking the food, and organizing community life. But there is a large group of young men who go out in the late afternoon and do not return until late at night. They often show signs of having been drinking – and on their arrival they demand food. This has caused tensions, and I suspect has led to some of our guests choosing to move out.

Today two family units moved out.
And tomorrow there will be unhappiness, because the cooks have now gone, as has Baba Abel, who acted as the glue to hold the community together.

So pray for us tomorrow.

Blessing

He is two. Big eyes set into a broad forehead, framed with short curly black hair. And for almost two weeks he has burst into tears every time he sees me. I do not pretend to know why. Other than the knowledge that his mother fled a mob of people intent on burning her home down. And he was traumatised by her fear, and the screams of the people, and the sudden insertion into the strange world of a church hall.

His name is Blessing. After a few days of living with us he cheered up, and began to play with a car given to him by Kyle, another two year old from my congregation. Kyle is from the same Nguni ancestry as Blessing, but with parents who did not flee from Zimbabwe.

Over the weekend Blessing managed to get his fingers caught between a closing door and the door jamb. A visit to the clinic across the road put two stitches into the wound and a white bandage around the painful fingers.
So tonight I went to see how he is doing – and for the first time he smiled at me without tears.

Perhaps he is cried out of tears for now.

The Teacher

He is a teacher in Khayelitsha. This is a contract post, renewed each term, employed by the school’s governing body. But now he is uncertain of his post – because he is a Zimbabwean.

He is uncertain: not because he is teaching illegally. He has a work permit from the South African government. The uncertainty is not because he is unqualified, because he has a teacher’s diploma, and many years of experience. The uncertainty is because he knows that he is not welcome.

He lives in my church hall with his wife and son. And he gets up early to catch two trains and a taxi to school. But as he travels he wonders who is going to accost him and ask him to say something. It is in speaking that he reveals his nationality. He bears the same colour skin, and the same Nguni features as those who travel with him. But his inadequate Xhosa language skills reveal his nationality.

He failed the test yesterday: and was robbed of his cellphone and wallet. Many passers by saw him being robbed, but did nothing. He is convinced that people see foreigners as “fair game” for robbery. The township will protect its own against theft, but will not rally to protect the alien.

He left for work in the pouring rain this morning. “I am glad for the rain” he said. “There will be less people walking on the road”.

Leadership

Barack Hussein Obama, born August 4, 1961, is the junior United States Senator from Illinois and the nominee of the Democratic Party in the 2008 presidential election. He is a graduate of Columbia University and Harvard Law School. Obama worked as a community organizer, served as a law school professor, and practiced as a civil rights attorney before serving in the Illinois Senate and the U.S. Senate.

This is a long way from the time when black people in America had to drink from separate drinking fountains, eat at separate lunch counters, ride at the back of buses, watch movies only from the balconies of theatres, and could not vote This is familiar territory for our own country but unfamiliar to the most powerful nation on earth: one American commentator has noted that “Race is the issue that changed us, shaped us, determined our path, and even defined the meaning of our faith. Now a black man is running for president of the United States. Amazing grace.”

Let us pray for a world where race, nationality, or gender is not the method used to determine the value of a person. And let us pray for leaders who have the courage to stand for the truth, irrespective of the cost to their popularity or personal enrichment.

Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality of those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change. - Robert F. Kennedy, in a speech in Cape Town, South Africa, June 6, 1966

George Herbert

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert (April 3, 1593 – March 1, 1633) was a Welsh poet, orator and a priest. As a student at Trinity College, Cambridge, England, George Herbert excelled in languages and music. In 1618 he was appointed Reader in Rhetoric at Cambridge and in 1620 he was elected to the post of "public orator", whose duties would be served by poetic skill. He held this position until 1628. He went to college with the intention of becoming a priest, but his scholarship attracted the attention of King James I. Herbert served in parliament for two years. In 1630, in his late thirties he gave up his secular ambitions and took holy orders in the Church of England, spending the rest of his life as a rector of the little parish of St. Andrew Bemerton, near Salisbury. He was noted for unfailing care for his parishioners, bringing the sacraments to them when they were ill, and providing food and clothing for those in need. Throughout his life he wrote religious poems characterized by a precision of language, a metrical versatility, and an ingenious use of imagery or conceits that was favored by the metaphysical school of poets.
Suffering from poor health, Herbert died of tuberculosis only three years after taking holy orders. On his deathbed, he gave the manuscript of The Temple to Nicholas Ferrar, the founder of a semi-monastic Anglican religious community at Little Gidding - telling him to publish the poems if he thought they might "turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul", and otherwise, to burn them. In less than 50 years, The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations had gone through thirteen printings.

There is another, contemporary, George Herbert. I wonder how history will remember him – deeply considered religious scruples......spirit moving poetry.... compassion for the poor....giving up secular ambitions to serve God......hmmm?

fuel price rises ... again

Cheers Ben

Ben came to us last Sunday evening.
He is a Zimbabwean who had run from a crowd of township youths intent on beating him up. And had landed up with us, having heard via the grapevine that there were displaced people with us. He is articulate, funny, and deeply religious. He led the Thursday evening prayers, and offered to preach on Sunday.

His trauma was deep – having first run away from political persecution in Zimbabwe, and now having run from Xenophobic hatred in Cape Town. Each of our “guests” fills in a registration form, which asks them to tell their story. He needed two full pages to get it all out of his system.

From this form we discovered that he is a diabetic, and requires a special diet and medication. So we sent him to the clinic around the corner to check his insulin levels. The clinic nurse kept him for the day, as stress was causing his levels to fluctuate dangerously. Finally, the contacts of my circuit treasurer got him into hospital: this allowed him to jump the queue and receive emergency treatment. Having spent the night on a drip, he was discharged from hospital – with the well-meant admonition not to allow himself to get so stressed again.

He came to me yesterday to say goodbye. One of his work colleaguea has invited him to say in his home. And he shared a prayer with me, thanking God for the blessings of the past week. Truth be told – I am blessed for his brief encounter with us.

For Reflection

Nothing is so important as human life, as the human person. Above all, the person of the poor and the oppressed... Jesus says that whatever is done to them he takes as done to him. That bloodshed, those deaths are beyond all politics: They touch the very heart of God.
- Oscar Romero
March 16, 1980


Did not your father eat and drink
and do justice and righteousness?
Then it was well with him.
He judged the cause of the poor and needy;
then it was well.
Is not this to know me?
says the Lord.
But your eyes and heart
are only on your dishonest gain,
for shedding innocent blood,
and for practicing oppression and violence.
- Jeremiah 22:15-17

A Day in a Life

I love my life.
And I have very interesting days. Such as today:
It began with a visit to the Women’s Auxiliary. They meet every week... 50-70 of them. Average age of 75. This is a place where old ladies can find friendship and support as they face the frightening prospect of getting older, often alone. Today I wanted to thank them for their wonderful support with the displaced people living in my church hall.

Then I met with the team who are continuing to care for the Zimbabwean people in the hall. We need more blankets, and toothbrushes, and toothpaste, and deodorant, and soap, and one of the refugees’ sugar diabetes is out of control and needs to go to the clinic... and so it goes on. I am grateful to Lynn for her organisational skill.

I left for Cavendish to have coffee with other colleagues facing the same crisis. Which was a moment of respite in the midst of the unrelenting pressure. I have been going since last week, first with our annual Synod, then with preparations for Sunday services, and then just as I was looking forward to a break came the crisis of displaced people – and there is no end in sight. I normally take a Friday off, but the husband of a member of the church has died and wants the funeral on Friday Morning. And it sounds totally lame to say “Sorry for your loss – but not on Friday”

Then off to hospital to visit the sick father of one of my church leaders. I really enjoyed the ride, because it was a hospital right outside of my pastoral jurisdiction. So I got on the bike and had 30 minutes of 120 kmph to clear my head. Outside the hospital a white couple with a baby tried to persuade me to part with some money because “black people have taken all the work”. And having opted out of this one, I got to see a man who is desperately afraid that he might be very ill, but covering his fear with gracious thanks for me coming to see him. I stopped off with his son and daughter in law on my way home – to reassure them of God’s love for them.

Lunch with my three daughters, who are all at home on study leave. I enjoy their company, and their discovering of life as young women. And this is time to catch up.

At 3pm I visited a lady of 91 who has recently lost her husband, and is recovering from a back operation. She does not want to move out of her home to a complex for the aged, and is now worrying that she will not be able to cope on her own. I prayed for her... and will link her with a member of the congregation who is of a similar age and has also recently lost her husband.

Then back to the church to have supper with the Zimbabwean community. I had invited my senior leadership to join me, and we tried to show some love and support for people who have been severely traumatised. I sat next to a young man whose father works for CokeaCola in Zimbabwe, and whose older sister is a student minister in the Methodist Church in Harare. He was a driver in his father’s company, but was sent by the family to South Africa to earn more money so that his sister can complete her studies. And now he lives in my church hall.

After supper I met with my leadership to deal with financial issues. Times are tough – petrol, food and interest rates all combine to reduce the income of our churches. And I do not always know how to keep solvent. I refuse to preach guilt-inducing sermons about money and God’s tithes.

I got a lift home with my colleague David, to find his wife’s vehicle parked outside of the house. She was meant to have fetched their children from my home, where my daughters were caring for them until she finished work. As we got out of the car we saw why she was still there – the front tyre of her car was flat.

And it began to rain.
So David and I changed the tyre in the rain. And when they had left, I sat down with the family, who were finishing the end of a TV programme.
Now to bed.... amazed at the privilege of living such a rich and varied life.

The story continues...

We continue to care for people...
The School teacher returned to his school classroom yesterday – and left when a pupil pulled a gun on him. So he returned to us with another Zimbabwean teacher from the school. When I asked in amazement why he returned to the school, he answered that he was anxious to receive his month’s salary.

We now discover that the group of four men we had housed all have families. So another 13 people have just arrived – wives and children who had been in hiding. When asked who they had not come with the men, they answer that they were too afraid. “We did not know what the people in the city would do to us”.

And I am deeply moved by the compassion and care of my congregation: one 84 year old lady arrived last night with four lamb chops and some rice. She explained that she had planned this as her lunch for the next few meals, but decided that the displaced people needed them more than she did. Another arrived with her children’s toys – even a beloved Thomas the Tank Engine – because there are children who need to know that they are loved. And then there is the amazing time and care from Lynn and Lorna who work in the church office: sourcing everything from nappies to cell phone chargers (because people had fled without taking their electrical chargers with them).

Pray that the Province and the City might set aside their petty political squabbling. They must come up with a joint plan that will help us all find a way forward. Because all we can be is a temporary emergency shelter. The macro re-integration of people, or repatriation of people is beyond us.

Internal Refugees

And so they roll in…
People seeking refuge from the violence.
Violence against them because they are not like us. My church (along with many, many other churches throughout Cape Town, and South Africa), has opened its doors to provide shelter. We took an initial 4 young Zimbabwean men. They had been trapped on Cape Town station on Friday afternoon, being warned not to return home to Khayetlisha. Eventually there were hundreds like them who spent the night on the station platforms. They are now asleep in a room upstairs in my church hall.

Then they began to trickle in… word of mouth telling people that we have shelter. The church halls further up the road are all full to capacity. And in desperation the people are moving further down the Peninsula. They come, desperately tired, carrying their worldly possessions in a plastic bag. They have only the clothes they stand in. No toiletries, no possessions, no nothing. One tells how he was told by his (South African) neighbour: “Go. You came with nothing. Now leave with nothing”.

One is a school teacher, registered at a school in Khayaletsha. His pupils chased him out of his classroom – along with eight other “foreign” teachers. Another drove into Khayelitsha to fetch his family and was stoned. So he fled, and asked me to allow him to phone his family to see if they are safe. They are for the moment.

A touching moment – when Dave and Joe, the resident street people, offer to keep guard on the main door to the hall. They are making sandwiches, carrying tea, and putting out the bedding. “Welcome to my home” says Joe.

Pray for us.

Weeping

Along with most of my fellow South Africans I am deeply disturbed by the xenophobic attacks currently sweeping our nation. The responses I have read and heard over the last few days have expressed anger, disbelief, fear, outrage, despair and deep concern. Perhaps what confuses and hurts me the most is that something like 70% of South Africans are reputed to be Christians. I don't understand how something like this can happen in a country where faith is so prevalent. Although, historically the people who call themselves by the name of Jesus have done things like this far too often. All I can pray is: 'God forgive us, and teach us what it means to love the world - including the stranger, the different and even those we fear - as you do. And may your Spirit of peace flood this nation'. Please join with the people of this beautiful country as we pray for God's intervention

I lifted this from the blog of my colleague John at sacredise who says what I want to say - only better

“GET THE FOREIGNERS OUT OF OUR COUNTRY?”

The numbers of organized attacks against foreign nationals in South Africa are increasing. Media reports tell how residents of Alexandria and of Diepsloot went on a rampage against foreigners, who were forced to flee after they were assaulted, robbed and their houses torched. A few months back in the Eastern and Western Cape, Ethiopians and Somalis were being chased out of their homes and their spaza shops.

Xenophobia is of course not new. Ever since the beginning of time people have banded together in clans and cultures. We do this for mutual support and protection, and we clothe this in communal terminology such as English manners, or Afrikaner culture, or Xhosa traditional ways. While this is useful for social cohesion, it becomes evil when used as a tool to harm people who are outside of the cultural grouping.

The children of Israel were often tempted to exclude people who were not Jewish – but they were reprimanded: “If an alien who resides among you wants to celebrate the Passover…he may draw near to celebrate it” (Exodus 12:48). In fact they were expressly told that aliens had equal rights before the law: “There shall be one law for the native and for the alien who resides among you” (Exodus 12: 49).

Jesus insists that hospitality to the foreigner is an essential part of being his follower: “I was a stranger and you welcomed me…just as you did it for one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Matthew 25: 38-40). It is the Christian way to welcome the aliens/refugees/strangers into our midst. And when we are unwilling to do so we demonstrate that we have not understood Jesus who changed us from being strangers and aliens, into citizens of the household of God (Ep 2:19).

Those people who want to throw foreign national out of our country are sinning against God. And they will be held to account for their selfish disregard towards the sanctity of human life. Let us hear the instruction of Romans 12:13 to “extend hospitality to strangers” and show the love of Jesus to all who are aliens and foreigners.

The Price of a life?

Yesterday a father and his four year old daughter died under the wheels of a bus in India – because of two rupees. Sanischar Tapto (40), a tribal labourer, and his four-year-old daughter Sunita wanted to travel home from Orissa's Jharsuguda district to their home in Sundergarh. But he only had Rs 8 instead of Rs 10 required for the bus tickets The angry conductor pushed both father and daughter out of the moving bus. They landed under the wheels of the bus and were crushed to death.

Sahadev Nayak a passenger of the bus said, “When the man said he has no more money, some fellow passengers also offered to pay two rupees on his behalf to the conductor. But the conductor did not listen and pushed them."

These lives need to be treasured: pray for Sanischar and Sunita to be with God – and pray for that conductor, whose moment of madness will irrevocable change many lives.

Nature's Pain

It has been a bad month for our planet:
• Cyclone Nargis struck Burma in Southeast Asia and has claimed 32,000 lives, with an additional 30,000 missing and perhaps as many as one million homeless.
• An earthquake struck south-west China and killed more than 12 000 people (some guess up to 50 000), leaving many others trapped in the rubble. People are living out in the open without shelter and food.

And we are tempted to say: “but where was God?” or “Why did God allow this to happen?” As if there are easy, simple answers!

The scientists tell us that earthquakes, and storms are occurring all the time at sea, but they only occasionally emerge from the sea onto the land. It is this that drove the people of the Old Testament to admit our human frailty:
Psalm 8:3 When I look at the sky, which you have made, at the moon and the stars, which you set in their places--- what are human beings, that you think of them; mere mortals, that you care for them?
Perhaps we need to accept that we live on a fragile planet where storms and earthquakes are just part of the natural cycle... a cycle that we do not control.

But at the same time Psalm 8 speaks of a God who chooses to entrust this planet into human care. Psa 8:6 You appointed them rulers over everything you made; you placed them over all creation. This does not answer the questions of why bad things happen – but it does point out that when things go wrong, we are given the task of helping to care and to clean up.

So let us pray for those who suffer from the storms of nature; and offer help where we can; and commit ourselves to caring for this fragile planet.

Getting out of the Ghetto

Pentecost Sunday is celebrated by Christians throughout the world - but Pentecost did not begin as a Christian festival.

Pentecost was originally an Old Testament festival called the Feast of Weeks or Shavuot. This was a Spring festival that took place 50 days after Passover – therefore the Greek Pente for 50. This was a thanksgiving for the "first fruits" of the early harvest. It was a moment when the community affirmed their trust in God as the provider of Life. And this was done in two ways:
1. People brought the first fruits of the harvest to the Temple. This was an act of trust: you brought the first of the harvest – as an act of trust that there would be a completed harvest.
2. You did not harvest the whole field: the edges were left for the widows and orphans. These signs of generosity spoke about a generous God who gives the harvest.

By the time of Jesus, Pentecost had gradually lost its association with agriculture - and became a celebration of Jewish religious history and the gift of the Torah (the "Law") on Mount Sinai. This was the moment when God gave Moses the 10 Commandments – and the people became a nation under God.

With time the people of God had forgotten to use Pentecost as a witness to the generosity of God – and had instead allowed this to become a time of religious pride: which sometimes led to poor people (like the widows and the orphans) being excluded, because they did not have the education or the money for the religious rituals. So here was a festival that should have spoken about God’s generosity, being subverted to become a time of pride in the achievement of a nation.

I do not believe that it was accidental that the Holy Spirit’s blessing should come on the festival of Shavuot. Here we see a renewal of the festival of Pentecost... this is a moment when God comes to this festival and reminds people of things that they have forgotten.

Acts Chapter 2 uses very specific language to describe this event: The Spirit of God brings renewal in a number of different ways:
1. A wind: this is an ancient sign called Ruach in the Old Testament: which can be translated as “Wind” – and also as “Breath” and as “Spirit”. So we see God deciding to breathe new breath into Pentecost / blow a fresh wind through the cobwebs of a stale religious ritual and bring fresh air.
2. A fire: again this is an ancient sign of the presence of God: Moses knew that he stood in God’s presence because he saw a fire burning a bush, or saw a pillar of fire leading the people. So we see God sending his fire - perhaps a fire that could melt cold, hardened hearts that have forgotten Pentecost as a time of generosity to the poor.
3. Many tongues spoken: this is a reminder that God is not the exclusive property of one culture: here is the reminder that God comes for people of all the languages of the earth.

So we celebrate Pentecost.... along with millions of other Christian people .... and along with millions of God’s people from before the time of Jesus.
I am inviting us to discover the wind, and the fire and the tongues of the Pentecostal renewal as it is described in the book of Acts:

1. Wind
Hear the invitation to allow the Spirit of God to blow the religious cobwebs away:
It is so easy to become like the people of God in the time of Jesus – easy to take on the form of religion that has lost the life renewing joy of religion.... where our beliefs have become religious habits.
We can become religious experts that are not open to the promptings of a God who takes us into new places.

Use today to ask: “I wonder where God is prompting me to change?”

2. Fire
Hear the invitation to allow the Spirit of God to soften our hearts.
Again it is so easy to become like the people of God in the time of Jesus – easy for us to be religious people without loving hearts.

Use today to ask “I wonder where the Spirit of God needs to soften my hard heart”

3. Tongue
Hear the invitation to allow the Spirit of God to gather together a variety of tongues. We live in a suburb that speaks many different languages: and the Spirit of God calls us to reach out to all who live here – English, Afrikaans, Xhosa, Portugese, Shona......

Use today to ask: “I wonder what language the Spirit asks me to encounter”

In Conclusion
In north Yorkshire in England is a place called Robin Hood’s Bay:
An ancient church lies on the brow of the hill above the village.
It was built at a time that smugglers wrecked ships on the coast.
It was built at a time when the church owned the whole hill.
And I wondered if the smugglers ever got into church?

If they did I know exactly where they sat: because
Inside the church the wealthy people bought boxes of seats for their families:
And right at the back are two rows marked as “sinner’s seats”.

Today the church stands empty....
Except that right at the back hangs a cobweb laden object from the roof: it is a funeral wreath from the funeral of a virgin.
Symbolic of the need for the wind of the holy spirit to blow away the cobwebs and bring new life...
- to bring a church that welcomes all people – even those who do not have the money to pay pew rent
- to bring a church that does not need a funeral wreath to remember a time when there were young people.

Hear in this our own warning:
• Beware the moment when we fret about who sits in what pew on a Sunday, or who has use of what hall in the week – the wind of God’s Spirit might just blow us out of our seats and put other people here.
• Beware the day that our church organisations and our church rituals are more important than the people who are to be found in and around our buildings: the fire of the Spirit might just melt our cold hearts.... and send us to people we do not yet know.
• Beware the day we think that we are a one language, one culture church... the power of the Spirit might just give us many other tongues instead.

So let me invite us to be open to the moving of the Spirit in our lives, in the life of our church, and in the world where the church has died.

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.