Lost

He lost his way in the middle of the sentence.

I was invited to attend a dinner tonight – along with seventy other people. And we were standing around the bar making “before dinner small talk”, when he struck up a conversation with me. After exchanging names we talked for about ten minutes. But the conversation never went anywhere, because it consisted of half completed sentences. He would begin a sentence and forget where he was going. He could not remember the names, places or events he wanted to describe. His memories have been locked up in a place he cannot find. And my heart bled for him.

Here is a man with an illustrious history behind him, but who is unable to maintain coherence in his present. His brain has become forgetful/foggy/distracted. And so we chatted together about nothing - literally. And I wished him well; and he thanked me for my good wishes; and he wandered off with a gentle smile.

And I deep down inside of me I prayed that I would never get lost like this.

Calling back the Past

I am sitting in a service at the Rusthof Methodist Church. I was the minister here from January1988 - December 1997. This congregation was established 100 years ago, but was torn apart by the forced removals of the Apartheid era. So today they celebrate their survival and growth here in 'the wilderness' of what was the Rusthof farm. This congregation has worshipped in this building for the past 40 years. Many tears were shed, much bitterness has been overcome, and this church flourishes long after the Apartheid government has been buried. I thank God for this resurrection from the ashes of the old past.

Living and Dying

He is dying.
He looks healthy and well – but after blood tests, scans, a biopsy, and surgical investigation, the doctors have told him that cancer has invaded his body to such an extent that there is nothing they can do. So he and I sat one afternoon last week and talked about his future. Then he summoned his family and friends to a meeting on Monday evening.

And about 25 people gathered in his garage. This is the place he plays darts, and drinks beer, and generally hangs out with his friends. And we talked together about life, and death, and about dying well. He told them about his illness. Then he asked his family and friends not to feel sorry for him, or to begin treating him differently. I invited them to help him die well – to go out with “all flags flying.” I suggested that they get hold of the movie “The Bucket List” and watch it. And I suggested that he draw up his own list of things he wants to do before he dies.

I facilitated a moment when his friends and family each expressed a wish for his life. Amongst these were wishes for strength and courage and joy. They also suggested that he needs to go fishing, hang out with his grandson, and let go of bitternesses and hurts from the past. We sang some hymns, I read Psalm 23, and we prayed for him.

Then we had tea together. His friends teased him that he was hiding the “good stuff” because the minister was present, and he promised to leave a will where he allocated all his financial debt amongst his children.

When I left his home I knew that he would die well.

The Baptism

The congregation mostly walks to church – and today is grey with rain. It began raining yesterday afternoon and has not stopped. And so the people dodge puddles as they arrive, wet and shaking umbrellas.


Today is a baptism service and the church soon fills up with family members, supporters and congregation. The band members trickle in and begin to tune their guitars - waiting for the keyboard player. I too am waiting for him, because I want this service to go well. Not only does he play the keyboard, but he owns the laptop which is connected to the projector for the words to the songs. But he does not appear so I allow the band to lead some community singing: which is really the old favourites that (hopefully) can be sung from memory.

I am in the vestry praying with the stewards when we get a message that one of the members of the congregation has had an epileptic fit. He is known to everyone – and so I lead the congregation in a prayer for him while various church members get him out of his seat and carry him to a side room where he recovers.
I read from John Chapter 4: the story of a Samaritan woman who engages a Jewish rabbi in conversation about religious division. (OK, OK, I know that there is much more in this passage – but I spoke about the way we use religion to perpetuate our religious divisions). I invited the people to discover God’s blessing that transcends the human barriers we erect. And I invited them to see the baptism of infants as a moment of God’s unconditional welcome.

Then I invited the parents to bring their children: there were four of them: dressed in their “Sunday best.” And amongst them was a little boy whose mother is lost in a haze of “tik” – but whose granny brought him so that we could pray for him and, in her words, “so that the church could know who he is.” And I baptised him, and prayed for him, and introduced him to the congregation.

As I watched the tears run down the cheeks of his granny, I knew we had done the right thing.

Prayer for Preparation to Study

O God
It is exam time again. And I want to do my best.
I believe that You gave me my mind and the ability to think; and that You gave me my memory and the ability to learn. I am grateful for all I have learned in the past, and I choose to trust You for all I am to learn today.
Open my mind Lord as I read my books and notes. Help me not to be distracted by the other things of life. Keep me from getting into a panic and help me to do justice to all my work and preparations.
O Jesus Christ may this be a worthy time that is faithful to you. I offer this time and prayer in your holy Name. Amen.

Baptism

There are sixteen families living in this City Council concrete block: four apartments across and four levels up. Graffiti, children underfoot, dogs, minibus taxis with loud hip-hop music, and young men sitting on the pavement.


She lives on the ground floor, corner apartment. Warily eyeing the dog of nondescript origin, I carefully open the property’s gate and walk down the short cement block pathway. She is sitting in a worn chair at the door, managing three toddlers who busily clamber around her furniture. They are her grandchildren. She cares for them, assisted by state welfare grants. Her youngest daughter finished school two years ago and has yet to find a job. She is not a mother, and helps to care for the three toddlers. Her sisters live elsewhere and struggle with their addictions.

I am here to talk about the youngest addition to the family. His mother is addicted to “tik” (Methamphetamine, also known as “speed” or “crystal meth”) and her only interest in life is satisfying her craving. She used to live with her mother, but exasperated with the constant theft of her possessions, granny kicked her daughter out, but kept the grandchild. And now wants to “do the right thing” for her grandchild: she wants him baptised.

And I will do this – because baptism is not a reward for good behaviour, or a way of getting people into heaven, or a way of showing that someone has been especially righteous. Baptism is a sign of the Grace of God: a grace that says to a struggling grandmother that she is not alone. God is with her as she raises this child.

This coming Sunday the welcome of God’s community will freely embrace her and her grandchild. We will sing songs, and pray for her, and assure her of the love of God. Perhaps you can pause on Sunday and pray for her too.

I Will Not Die An Unlived Life

I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
Of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
To allow my living to open me
To make me less afraid,
More accessible,
To loosen my heart
Until it becomes a wing,
A torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significant
To live
So that which came to me as seed
Goes to the next as blossom,
Goes on as fruit.

Written by by Dawna Markova.
Dr. Markova is a psychotherapist, a researcher, and a consultant to leaders of organizations from education to health care to corporations. She is an author and a storyteller, a parent and grandmother.

I (too) Have a Dream

Well here is the good news for today:
Mat 5:3 " Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.



Jesus spoke this in a context where religious people believed that healthy, wealthy, emotionally stable people were the result of God’s blessing. And poor, sick, struggling people were suffering the curse of God.

But Jesus turned this upside down. He insisted that those who are spiritually poor, and those who mourn, and those who broken can know the blessing of God in their lives – irrespective of their social location (Read Matthew 5: 1-12). Matthew’s Gospel tells us that Jesus called a community together and asked them to re-imagine their religion, and see a community where people are made whole:
 Where those who mourn are comforted.
 Where those who are humiliated discover the promises of God
 Where those who are persecuted find a place in God’s family
 And where those who suffer from the slander and gossip will be loved by the people of God.

Sadly many religious people still confuse wealth, and health, and happiness with the blessing of God. As a consequence there are people who hide their brokenness in the company of Christians. So they fix a smile on their face and leave their problems at the door and fake it with the familiar exchange of greetings: “How are you? I am fine!” Or the even more bizarre reply: “I am blessed.” Eugene Petersen’s paraphrase The Message puts it this way:
Mat 5:3 You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope.

So I dream of a world without this kind of religion.

I dream of a Christian community where there is no judgement, no gossip, and no humiliation. I dream of a Church where there is no exclusion based on doctrine, ethnicity, gender, or sexual preference. I long for a spirituality that has no desire for numerical superiority, no pursuit of wealth, and no grand legacy to be established.

Not only do I invite broken people to come to God - but I dream that we should become a community of healing: a place where broken people can be made whole.








 

Prayer for a Loved One writing Examinations:

The academic year in South Africa is drawing to a close. Thousands of high school matriculants and college students begin preparations for their final examinations. And we begin to worry about them.

I offer the following prayer as an alternative to worry:


Dear Lord.
I pray for ………………(someone I love) who is writing exams. I believe that You made this person, and that you love him/her even more than I do.
Please bless him/her with concentration and clarity of thought. Help him/her to do the very best with the task that has been given. May she/he think clearly, remember the work that has been covered, and give an honest account of all that has been learned.
Thank you that I can trust you to be with him/her in the examination. And so help me to stop worrying about this exam.
Amen.

"Sembra una vespa!" *

Vespa is both Latin and Italian for 'wasp' — a name derived from both the high-pitched noise of the two-stroke engine, and adopted as a name for the vehicle in reference to its body shape: the thicker rear part connected to the front part by a narrow waist, and the steering rod resembled antennae.



After World War 2 Enrico Piaggio decided to answer Italy's urgent need for cheap and easy mass transport. He built a two wheeled vehicle that was built on a spar-frame with a handlebar gear change, and the engine mounted directly on to the rear wheel. Unlike the motorcycle, the front protection "shield" kept the rider dry and clean and it had a pass-through leg area to cope with women’s skirts. The front fork, like an aircraft's landing gear, allowed for easy wheel changing and the internal mesh transmission eliminated the standard motorcycle chain.

Voilà – a Vespa.

• "It resembles a wasp!"

Him again

Remember Joe ?
After I threw him off our property, he has been trying to get his life together.
He is sober. He has asked to work in the garden at my home.
Last Saturday we had a church leader’s gathering, and he washed the cars of the leaders – free.

But then on Sunday he blew it.

He was arrested at a local chain store for secreting a bottle of the store’s alcohol on his person as he walked out the store. And the security guard caught him; and Joe told them that he was very sorry; and that he was getting it to help a friend; and that he worked for the Methodist Church under the supervision of our caretaker.

And because the store manager knows our church, and knows many of the members: he let Joe off with a warning.
And I am mad......
Joe has abused the reputation of our church to get out of a tight spot.
And I was at the point of giving him his room back.

And…I am mad because Joe reminds me of how often I am like him: I try to get out of a tight spot with God by pretending that I have integrity… or at the very least that I associate with people of integrity.

Because deep down I know that I am frail. I fall short of my best intentions. I am afraid when I should be courageous. I get impatient when I should be kind. I am grumpy when I ought to love. I am intolerate of failures in others while giving myself plenty of latitude. I really am a very imperfect human being.

And for all these reasons I will continue with Joe.

Earth - the movie

Tonight I saw this Disney documentary about our planet.
It is a moving and beautifully shot film. There are stunning photographs of ice, and of waterfalls, and of mammals, and of birds – even ducklings falling out of a tree! The photographs of elephants dancing in the water, or of the baboons delicately picking their way through the marshes are stunning. But the poignancy for me was the reminder that all life comes at a cost. One life’s survival is derived from another’s death.


The wolf lives because the baby moose dies; the lions get to live because they overcome an elephant; the great white shark’s amazing aerobatics come at the expense of a seal. And most of all… the quality of human life comes at the cost of the life of our planet.

I use electricity and bury its nuclear waste on the West Coast for my children’s children to deal with; I love my petrol driven vehicles, and try not to think of how the wasteful byproducts are dealt with; I use plastic wrapping/bottles/containers and wonder if it all goes away. And the planet is getting warmer, and less able to absorb this abuse. It struck me that if each person took responsibility for changing just one planet-damaging activity, then all of us together could make a difference. So I am determined to find my personal contribution, and will let you know.

I also reflected moodily that my life is nourished by death – the death of other beings on this planet: I ask a fish to die so that I can live; or demand the chicken/cow/sheep/pig surrender life for my braai, or my burger. And this feels uncomfortable. I would never directly take the life of any of these beings, because it would feel wrong. I even squirmed when I saw the cheetah take down a buck, because I do not enjoy seeing a “kill.” But I readily admit that thus far in my life I have relied on professional killers to do it for me, and have tried not to think about it when I eat. So it is time to change. I am resolved to learn how to diminish my need to take a life in order to stay alive. I do not know where this will lead me, but I want to try.

Beginning a Looong Road

Today I feel inspired. I have been running at the foot of the majestic Langeberg Mountains, close to the Breede River, on a farm between Bonnievale and Swellendam. Today is day three of my journey towards the 2010 Comrades Marathon. This 90km race takes place on 30 May next year. It is the 85th running of this race between Pietermaritzburg and Durban, and will be my thirteenth run. I wish all my runs could be as satisfying as today.... And I know that the memory of today will be the inspiration for tomorrow.

Vincent

He lives in the city but chooses to cycle the obscure semi-desert roads of the Karoo. Vincent catches the train to Laingsburg, unloads his bicycle and sets off for Ladismith through Seweweekspoort. This was where I met him last Sunday. On a previous trip he had befriended my hosts, Geoff and Jette. So he phoned them and arranged to come for lunch. He duly arrived, having covered the 60 kilometres from town since sunrise. I met a retired airways manager, who lives in Observatory, Cape Town. He went to France in the '70's as a conscientious objector to military service, where he lived until Nelson Mandela became President. He has cycled all over Europe, and now chooses to explore South Africa from a bicycle saddle. He has no car, speaks with warmth of his French-speaking Congolese neighbourhood in Cape Town, and volunteers as a receptionist at FAMSA (a community counselling service). Vincent makes friends as he rides, and has a wealth of stories to tell...'with eyes that watch the world and can't forget.'

Road Trip

Today I climb on my BMW GS11:50 and head for Vleiland.

This is a farming community about 300km from home. Head up the N1 to Laingsburg and turn right along a dusty road towards Seweweekspoort (tr: 7 weeks pass). Just before the cutting in the mountains is a lovely fertile valley watered by the Huis River.



Three years ago my friends Jeff and Jette Vye abandoned the city to farm tea and vegetables, and have invited me to stay with them for the weekend.

I have twice been to visit this valley: each time to take a church service for the community. 10 farmers bought the old Dutch Reformed church, and they take turns in leading a fortnightly Sunday service. Some of them can do this: one studied at the Stellenbosch theological seminary before his father’s death called him to take over the family farm. Another is the son of a Dutch Reformed Minister. (Of the latter – Jeff says that it feels like he reads his father’s old sermons when he takes the service). But when it is Jeff’s turn he asks me to come.

The farmers are a mixed group of people, some of old faming stock, and some like Jeff having escaped the busy city life. They and their workers all crowd into the church, forming this fascinating, mostly Afrikaans, congregation. The pianist is hard of hearing, so she takes the bit between her teeth and sets off at her own tempo, dragging the singers behind her. And there is a whiff of Saturday night’s revelry that fuels the lusty singing.

The last time I was there I encountered a wizened old man who announced that he had brought his son to be married. He explained that his son was 40 years old and had lived with a woman for 20 years and he was so glad that I was there to see that they “did the right thing”. He was bitterly disappointed when I pointed out that I did not have my marriage documents with me. So I promised to return.

Tomorrow there will be a wedding. And I will take the Sunday service. And I am grateful to be part of the life of this community.

Joe

I have written of him before. He is his own worst enemy.

Joe is a kind, gentle man who speaks quietly, and is a thoroughly nice man…. When sober.


Sadly, 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.
He longs to stop.
But this disease eats at him. Sober he says that he needs help – only to reject the help when the alcohol kicks in. And, once again, he is self destructing.

We have housed him in a room at our church in exchange for odd-jobs around the premises. But he has gradually stopped doing anything. He has a girl friend with a monthly pension. And Joe has been visiting her for liquid comfort. Yesterday I found the two of them drinking on our church premises. On top of this he managed to find the food that was prepared for a church function and finish it off on the two of them. And when I challenged him he explained that he did not steal it, he only “took it”. And he explained that his girlfriend needed somewhere to sit because she felt unsafe. And that they were not drinking – and the bottles in the room were a co-incidence.

So I blew my gasket and ordered them off the premises.
And now Joe is sitting on the corner across from the church glaring at us.
Within a day or two this will turn to self-pity, and then despair. And finally he will arrive with deep sorrow and heart-felt apologies to ask for his room back.

And, because he is a 58 year old man, 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.

Who do people say that I am

Mark 8:27 - 33

This has been quite a week for gossip!
The South African 800 meter athletics champion, Caster Semenya, has had her dignity stripped from her by gossip. But this is what human beings do: we gossip! Today’s Gospel story is all about reputation and gossip.
Mar 8:27 Then Jesus and his disciples went away to the villages near Caesarea Philippi. On the way he asked them, "Tell me, who do people say I am?"

Jesus is in Caesaria Phillipi, a Roman Town built by someone who worried about his image. Caesarea Philippi was a holiday resort on the Jordan River built by Philip the Tetrarch. This was a ruler who lived in the shadow of his father, King Herod the Great. Imagine growing up hearing everyone calling your father “The Great”. And then your father dies and you get to rule part of his kingdom – along with your two brothers. And as you try to settle in and take control you hear “Herod the Great” this, and Herod the Great” that. The last thing you want is that people remember you because of your father.
So how do you establish yourself?
Philip built a city, and named it after the most powerful man on earth: Tiberius Caesar. And then he linked his own name with Caesar and the city is called Caesaria Phillipi. This is a town built by someone who worried about his image. “What are they going to say about me? Well they can say that Caesar and I are in charge”.

I have the sense of Jesus and his disciples joking about Philip the Tetrach and his fragile ego. And then Jesus turns to his disciples and asks"Tell me, who do people say I am?" Here is Jesus asking his disciples: what do you think of me? And they fumble around for an answer:
- Is Jesus like John the Baptist: come to call the religious people back to God..
- Is Jesus like Elijah: come to reform the nation.
- Is Jesus like the prophets – come to speak a word from God.

Peter then gives an answer that probably surprises even himself: “You are the Messiah” This is considered a highlight of the Gospel story: Here at last is recognition. The penny has dropped/ the light bulb has come on. This is an “Aha” moment. “You are the saviour who has been promised”. And the whole of creation breathes a sigh of relief. The Messiah has come.

And it is at this point that everything comes crashing down for Peter. Just when he thought he knew Jesus – he discovered he did not. Because he heard Jesus speaking about suffering and struggle….
Mar 8:31 Then Jesus began to teach his disciples: "The Son of Man must suffer much and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the teachers of the Law. He will be put to death, but three days later he will rise to life."

And this did not fit his picture of Jesus. So Peter tried to correct Jesus: Because the Messiah that Peter wanted was not the Messiah that Jesus wanted. Jesus speaks of a Messiah who suffers but Peter wanted a Messiah who crushed the opposition.

Which takes us back to the question: Who do people say that I am? Which is the challenge of this story. We form a picture according to our expectations….We want Jesus according to our desires….We make Jesus in our own images. But Jesus refuses to be boxed!

Today’s reading invites us to be open to discover Jesus according to Jesus. So when we discover that Jesus is our ‘anointed one’ we also need to remember that Jesus is also the Messiah of my neighbour.

Jesus is the Messiah of white, blond haired, blue eyed people.
But he is also the Messiah of black, curly haired, African people.
And he is also the Messiah of Chinese people.

Jesus is the Messiah of Men
And he is also the Messiah of Women
And he is also the Messiah of Children

Jesus is the Messiah of couples
And he is the Messiah of single people

Jesus is the Messiah of heterosexual people
And he is the Messiah of Gay people
And he is the Messiah of people who are caught between genders.

I invite us to stop gossiping about each other: and become accepting of one another. And as we learn to welcome each and every person on our planet: we will learn a little bit more about our Saviour.

The only real picture of Jesus is when we see Jesus in other people – because each person reflects a bit of Jesus.

Remembering those who died

Chile 1973
2001 New York

Going to a Funeral

My friend Barry died tragically last week - aged 37. He set off for a morning’s exercise with his surfski, and was blown out to sea. I am going to Port Elizabeth today – for his funeral tomorrow morning.


I have discovered different reasons for being there:


I am going in support of those who mourn. While the presence of other people does not lessen the pain of sudden loss, no one should mourn alone. I too am mourning. So I am driving with three friends who loved Barry, and I need their company.

I am going because Barry’s death has reminded me of the fragility of life. I cope well enough with people dying who are older than me. But it is hard when people die who are younger than me. It reminds me of my own mortality. And of all the things I still want to do in life…. And of how often I defer them because I think the time is not yet right. Moments such as these remind me of the importance of living in the present.

I am going because I need ministry. I am normally the one who offers care when other people die. I visit the bereaved; I preside over funerals; I visit people in the lonely months when everyone else has got on with life. This seldom allows me to grieve, because I have to hold the show together for other people’s tears. But somehow the years have caught up with me – and I need space to grieve: I am in pain not just for Barry, but for the many other people I have loved and lost.

My friend Barry died yesterday.
And I am sad.
I am sad because he is so young.
I am sad because he has a young family who will grieve terribly.
And I am sad because he brought joy, challenge, integrity and laughter with him.