Being Sure

Sometimes I feel sure I am loved by God, and other times I have doubt. There are moments when I am sure that God loves me, and there are moments when tiredness, frustration, financial worry, and stress crowd out the peace and joy of the presence of God.

I do not doubt that Jesus came to live amongst us and offered his life as a “fragrant sacrifice” (Ephesians 5:2). But I do not always “feel” close to God. Scientists have shown that human feelings have to do with chemistry in our brains, and shows how useless it is for us to trust our feelings as a sign of the presence of God.

It is for this reason that Jesus points beyond feelings to the fruit of our lives. Jesus says that if we want to be sure of God’s presence in our lives we must look for signs of God activity (John 15:8). Our relationship with God is based on God’s goodness within us that transcends both our ups and downs. This is a goodness that is shown in the way we care for those who struggle with life; in the way we encourage those who have lost faith; in the way we practice generosity with people around us; and in the way we refuse to repay anger with anger, pain with pain and hate with hate.

This has nothing to do with me “feeling good”. This has to do with surrender: I surrender my tiredness, my irritability, my scepticism, to God – and God’s Spirit uses me to bless someone else. It is in these moments that I m sure of my faith: because in spite of my weaknesses, God’s blessing has been given to another person (1 Corinthians 1:23-31).

Paul Verryn

Paul is a friend of mine.
I have known him for the past 23 years. Back then we both were both Supervisors of Probationer Methodist Ministers – he in Johannesburg, and I in Cape Town. I would stay with him when I went to Johannesburg, either in Hillbrow (when it was not safe), or in his Soweto home.

Why not safe? Because he found himself caught up by the political currents that swirled around Winnie Mandela and her “soccer team”. Paul was followed by the security police. He was shot by a local township gangster who tried to take his car. He was vilified by white Methodists for his commitment to political change, and excoriated by black Methodists for challenging the inept and often lazy ministry exercised by some. He was fearless in challenging injustice and in championing those without a voice.

And I am appalled by the short memories of those in leadership of our country. Many of the current political leaders were helped by Paul when they were still youngsters in the townships. And many of the current Methodist leadership were taught by Paul when they were student ministers. He is not a saint. He is often stubborn, and irascible, and determined to have his own way. These were required weapons to cope with the ugly face of the Apartheid years. And these have become necessary tools in the face of entrenched xenophobic South Africans.

Clearly these are not helpful tools to deal with the intricacies of Church politics. In the holy huddles of Bishops and other church flunkies, blunt honesty and fearless comment are unwelcome. They muddy the carefully purified waters that are sprinkled on troubled brows. Many have bided their time and waited for the right moment to put him in his place. And now he is being charged in a church disciplinary committee with a technicality: he is accused of usurping the right of the Presiding Bishop to go to court on behalf of the Methodist Church; and of speaking to the press without the authority to do so. Grave crimes indeed!

My church is less concerned with the children than with the instigator of the court action. And these charges could have been brought months ago: Paul has spoken to the press for years and years without church complaint… but they are timed to do the most damage to his reputation.

Paul remains my friend. And I will pray for my church’s leadership.

Weeping.

I have not known how to speak about the disaster in Haiti. But have been deeply moved by two articles. I am asking you to read the following quotes:





On Oct. 17, 1989, a major earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 struck the Bay Area in Northern California. Sixty-three people were killed......
...........a major earthquake, also measuring a magnitude of 7.0, struck near Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The Red Cross estimates that between 45,000 and 50,000 people have died. This is not a natural disaster story. This is a poverty story. It’s a story about poorly constructed buildings, bad infrastructure and terrible public services. ( David Brooks )

Why have Haitian farmers been run out of business? Why is the Haitian soil stripped and the country plagued by mudslides? Why are Haitian girls sold into slavery? Why is 80% of the Haitian budget going to pay other countries? Why are the people there eating mud? Why is their government corrupt? Why are there hardly any jobs in Haiti? Why are there no supplies to build decent buildings? Why is it so hard for kids there to get education? Why are there no roads? And when we discover that the answers to many of those questions are unjust U.S. trade and military policies, it can be hard to swallow. We can brush it aside as just trying to pass blame and point fingers – and continue to give aid and remake the country in our image. Or we can own up to our collective sins and take responsibility for making amends.
( Julie Clawson )

Weep for those who have died.
Weep for those who survived and now have less than nothing.
And weep for those of us who have more than we need and cling stubbornly to our riches.
Weeping.

Abused

Her has brother died – and the family is relieved.

Last year the family had gathered for her mother’s birthday, and her brother got drunk and raped his sister. The other members of the family stayed in their rooms and ignored her cries for help. You see - he is a member of a gang and they were afraid.

He then ran away and she laid charges with the police – who eventually caught him. And the family lived in fear. They were afraid of the way this tore up the family. They were afraid of retaliation by his gang. And they were afraid that he would come out of prison on bail.

But then they heard the news that he was ill – in fact he was fading away. She had herself tested for HIV/Aids, which showed negative. Her sisters asked her to drop the charges because of his illness. And then last week they arrived with a church pastor to pressurise her into withdrawing the charges. She was accused of having a “cold heart” and of “not acting like a Christian.” But she stood her ground. He had entered a ‘not guilty’ plea in court and until he admitted guilt she would not speak to them . In desperation she finally threatened to bring her own pastor (me) to take them on.

Last Friday her brother died in prison. Since then her mother and sisters have apologised to her for their actions: and she knows it was because they feared him. Since then she has been assaulted with a brick by a member of his gang. And now her mother wants her to be a pall-bearer at his funeral tomorrow.
So today she feels conflicted.

I have no answers for her. I listen….I pray with her…..and I assure her of God’s love for her.

La Chaim

I have just watched the sun settle into the Atlantic Ocean.

Jenny, my friend Rick , and I drove our motorcycles over Constantia Neck, through Hout Bay and up Chapman’s Peak Drive. Just past the toll booths we found a picnic spot and parked our bikes. We sat under the towering buttresses of the Twelve Apostles that range back from Table Mountain and savoured the warm afternoon, with its still air and view over a calm sea. We talked, and drank cold drinks, and relaxed.

And I was aware of the conflicted reality – that I am privileged to be in this moment of tranquillity, while others half a world away are desperately trying to reclaim their lives from the rubble of an earthquake.
I have no answers. But am grateful for my life.

God with us

I hung out with God today.

At 6:30 am I rode my motorcycle from my home through the oak trees of Constantia, over the winding mountain pass, and down into Hout bay. I encountered God in the crisp early morning air, the beauty of the new sunlight on the mountains, and the sparkle of the sea. I joined 1 000 runners in a road running race between Camps Bay and Houtbay and encountered God in the encouragement given me by both spectators and fellow runners. I met God in the joy of sharing a family breakfast in Dunes restaurant. We laughed together, watched dolphins frolicking in the waves, and were proud of Granny (my 85yrs old mother-in-law) who completed the 5km fun run.
This afternoon our family went for a picnic at Kirstenbosch. We were entertained by Freshly Ground (a local band) and encountered God in the music, the awe-inspiring setting, and the friendly camaraderie of about 5 000 other picnickers. So I come to the end of a perfect day – a day infused with the presence of God.

Today I did not find God in a Church.

Most Sundays I spend inside of Church buildings. I normally have three Sunday services, sometimes four. My Sundays are consumed with the people who meet inside the buildings. And I love them dearly and find great joy in being with them. I also appreciate how the weekly routine of worship keeps me spiritually grounded. But today I was reminded that God is not trapped inside of a Church building. I was reminded that there are many more people outside of the church buildings than there are inside. These are not unspiritual people – they are just people who do not find church helpful in their spirituality. Instead they run, they cycle, they climb mountains, they go to the beach, and they share breakfast as families and friends.
Today I was reminded that I dare not reduce my reality to my church. The church is an important part of my life – but there is another world outside of the fellowship of my church. And I am reminded of John Wesley who insisted that “the world is my parish.”

Christmas everyday

I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day. We try to crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year. As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year.
- David Grayson
American author and journalist (1870-1946)

New Year’s Eve

“There is a bullet with my name on it.”
This was a common thought during my days in the South African Defence Force. On border patrol there was no point in wearing a helmet because no matter what I do - “There is a bullet with my name on it.” I have since found that many people use a similar thought to express the idea that no matter what we do we have no control of our fate. “God has already decided my fate.”

I do not believe this.
I believe that God has dreams and plans for my life, but that God has given me the freedom to choose to participate in them – or not.


Today I stand at the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. I will therefore admit to the moments in 2009 when I failed to participate in God’s dream for my life. Some of this was because I became too busy, and did not allow space for reflection. And some of this was because although I knew what God expected of me, I did not want to surrender my lust, greed, and inner selfishness.

And tomorrow I will again choose to seek God’s will each moment of each day in 2010. When I get up each morning of the New Year I will place my day at God’s disposal. Then I will choose to live the day as richly and as generously as possible. And when it is over I will thank God for the experiences of the day and make peace with my mistakes.

May the Peace of God be with all of us.

Virginity, Sex and Christmas

markpenrith read my previous post Scandal and asked me the following question:

"Does, Now I do not know how Mary got pregnant. I do not believe that pregnancies can be manufactured from thin air. mean you don’t believe in the virgin birth?"


I believe that God – the Almighty Creator – is capable of creating life out of nothing. This means that God can use a virgin to give birth to Jesus. I am not alone in this, as there are millions of Christians who believe this too. But Christians are not alone in this belief: Parthenogenesis - the Greek word for virgin birth – is a common requirement in ancient mythology for the birth of kings or gods.

For me the more important question is why we need to believe that Jesus was “born of the Virgin Mary”. The original Greek for what we now choose to translate into English as “virgin” does not insist that this be a woman who has not known sexual activity – these texts can also be translated as a “young woman.” In fact the early Christian community new nothing of Mary being a virgin. This was the work of Augustine of Hippo, who formulated a theology that equated the absence of sex with goodness. He suggested that those who abstain from sexual activity are pure, and are therefore closer to God.

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

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

So while I can be awed by the idea of God impregnating Mary, I can be as awed by the idea that God took the seed and egg in the womb of Mary and created Jesus from it. The latter idea certainly gives me hope for the power of God to take what could have been a “scandal of this world” and to transform it into a “triumph of heaven.” This then gives me courage to believe that God can take my own frail, deeply flawed life and turn it into something useful and good.

Scandal

Joseph, a respected member of the town, with a well-established carpentry business, discovers that his fiancée Mary is pregnant. She has been living under the strict supervision of her parents and he knows that he is not the father of the child. And he had asked the village mothers to examine her before they got engaged to ensure that she was a virgin.

And as the women gathered to draw water at the well they all passed on the gossip, which was quickly relayed as soon as the women got back home. The whole village knew.

I have often wondered what Joseph’s parents must have thought of Mary. Imagine this: Your son gets engaged, and then you hear that she is pregnant. So you storm into your son’s room and ask him – "Don’t you know how to be careful?" And he says to you: “It isn’t me.” What would the next words be? Probably something like:
“Get rid of the slut immediately.”

We have dressed up the Christmas story with so much holy language that we have lost the impact of it. Mary is about to have an illegitimate child….in a culture that did not just skinder – they stoned women for such things.

Now I do not know how Mary got pregnant. I do not believe that pregnancies can be manufactured from thin air. But I do see God taking what was a disaster and turning it into a blessing.

We are told in Matthew Chapter 1 that Mary’s scandalous illegitimate child was to be called Jesus – which means “God saves”. Matthew then points us back to the Old Testament, and says that the birth of this baby is a sign that God is with us. The shame has been turned into good news. This is the way God works with us. God can take a scandal and turn it into something useful.

We do not have to be perfect before God notices us.
God is with us in our scandal.
God is with us at the places that we feel ashamed.
God is with us when the whole community rejects us.
God is with us even when we know we have failed.
This is the good news of Christmas – even when we feel rejected by everybody – God does not reject us!
If God could love Mary, and use her scandal as a blessing to the world – then how much more will God not turn our scandals into blessings.

The Wedding

My friends Ecclesia and Amanda were married on Tuesday night.
I have known them for the past 5 years, and have shared the very difficult journey that allowed them to acknowledge the love they have for one another.


I grew up in a society does not easily cope with two women who love one another.
More particularly – I grew up in a Christian community that never thought about people of the same gender who love one another. And so right now my church (the Methodist Church) is really struggling with the fact that Ecclesia, who is a Methodist Minister, has chosen to get married to a woman. Her Superintendent minister has asked for her to be suspended, and has laid a disciplinary charge against her in our church courts.

I understand the thinking of her Superintendent. He believes that he is defending the truth, and therefore needs to protect our church from people who do not conform to the traditional teaching. This is familiar to me: It was this thinking that prevented people of different racial groups getting married in our church in South Africa’s past. It was also this that prevented divorced people from being married in our church. But we changed: God convicted us to move beyond the limits of the racially segregated marriages proposed by the Apartheid government. And God helped us to become more Grace-filled in our approach to divorced people who wish to marry for a second time.

I have discovered a God who challenged me to outgrow my prejudices. And for this reason I am convinced that my church needs to change our position on same-sex marriages. I would rather see us encouraging people to live in committed relationships, than see the secretive behavior manifested by gay and lesbian Christian people. I believe that the uncommitted relationships (and often promiscuous sexuality)of Gay Christian people are a result of our failure to ask them to commit to marriage.

I therefore wish Amanda and Ecclesia God’s blessings as they begin a new life together.

No Words

Hi Pete,
Just checking all is well, you have not been blogging for a while and I have missed you!!
Love in Christ,
Stephen

Dear Stephen
I am so tired. Not physical tiredness – I am running 5km per day at the moment and am beginning to feel fitter again. I am also eating well, and am generally sleeping at night.

No - I am emotionally tired.
I have had seven funerals in seven weeks. And it has wiped me out. I meet with the families; I plan the service in a way that has personal meaning for the family; and I try to say something that both celebrates the life of the one who has died, and that offers courage to those who continue with life. And I have run out of words.

But I have to find the words:
Because outside of the funerals life goes on: I have to come up with words for Sundays, and for Christmas, and for New Year. And for the 4 week teaching series in January that needs to be printed now before the Christmas shut-down of businesses.

So I have nothing to say in a blog right now.

Except that I am very, very grateful for the friends like you who ask me how I am. And who pray for me. And who write from time to time to give me courage.

God Bless
Pete



(Stephen’s only fault is that he supports England’s sports teams. Naturally as a South African I support the World Champion Springbok Rugby team, and the world Number 1 Protea cricket team, and world ranked golfers like Ernie Els and Retief Goosen, and surfski world champion Dawid Mocke).

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.