REMEMBERING A FRIEND

It was September, 1978.  Benton Street Baptist Church in Kitchener, welcomed a new pastor, Rev. James Reese to their staff.  On that same Sunday, the church that is now Eastwood Christian Fellowship welcomed me as their new pastor.  That is how long I have known the friend that I lost when Pastor Jim died on July 5, just two weeks ago.  Whereas Jim Reese stayed on at Benton St Baptist for 25 years first as Associate Pastor, then Senior Pastor, then Associate once again before retiring, I stayed at Eastwood only 5 years before moving to serve in western Canada, before returning to Ontario again in 1993.  Our paths soon crossed after our arrival in Kitchener, as we had fellowship in ministerial gatherings, and planning inter church functions such as the Barry Moore crusade in “The Aud” in Kitchener.

While I was out west, I returned to Kitchener  and area often for vacations and other reasons.  The church of choice to attend was of course Benton St. Baptist.  How could there be any other? – a church that is a beacon of faith in this area, and the church that was on the radio with the sonorous voice of Jim Reese preaching, and sometimes singing and even playing the trombone – occasionally in the same service. (Benton’s evening service was broadcast live on a local radio station for over 50 years).  Although the congregational singing was accompanied by the powerful strains of Benton’s pipe organ, I have seen Jim Reese abruptly leave the platform in the middle of a hymn, only to return moments later with his trombone to help the organ and the piano! At other times we would arrive at a service to see his trombone parked beside the pulpit, and we knew it would be an interesting and delightful service.  I had this talented pastor in several of my pulpits. In my previous church in Hamilton, Jim Reese preached at my installation, and again at my farewell 13 years later.  And in my present church, he stood in the pulpit and sang and spoke words of encouragement at my installation just a few months ago.  Now those were all public events, seen and heard by many.

But a pastor does not only shepherd the flock at large, he gives individual spiritual attention, guidance and encouragement  to the sheep when they are hurting or when they need guidance.  But whom does the pastor turn to when he needs this kind of care?  Jim Reese was that shepherd or pastor to myself and our family. Although I wasn’t always a member of the church that he led, my family and I did consider him to be a shepherd and pastor us.  When my brother Norbert and Janine were married, Jim and I jointly officiated.  When Eric, their first born arrived, Jim and I did the baby dedication together.    About 20 years ago I spent about a month in the hospital in Burlington.  Although I didn’t request it, he unexpectedly appeared at my bedside. It was a day when there was a freezing rain storm in Ontario, and I asked him why he would risk being out in traffic to travel from Kitchener to Burlington. He replied, “the bond of friendship is very deep, my brother!”

When our family experienced the sad and painful illness and death of our mother in 2010, and our father in 2015, Jim Reese was the “shepherd” at the bedside of our parents, and at our side as a family as well.  In fact when my father passed away in the middle of the night, Jim Reese come to the hospice to see us.  He sat with us, wept with us, comforted us, quietly sang to us, and stayed with us until the funeral home came to take Dad away.  The hospice where Dad died  has a very nice practice of escorting a deceased person through the front door, with a procession in which all staff members who are present take part.  There was Pastor Jim, leading the procession, with us a family and the staff following the stretcher.  Before we reached the door, Pastor Jim paused at the place where Dad had fallen and broken his back a week earlier, and he prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for the salvation that Dad had in Jesus, and which he was now enjoying in the Lord’s presence.  Anyone listening to the prayer would have heard the good news of salvation and how they could obtain it if they cared to.  With Jim’s help, I was able to jointly officiate at the funeral of both of my parents.

But my pastor-friend Jim was also a gracious colleague and a mentor.  Over the years I have observed him, and also adopted some of his practices.  Like for example the practice of praying for colleagues on Saturday night.  Years ago, he told me about his practice of praying for colleagues and missionaries on Saturday evening and he assured me that I was on his “list”.  Part of of my Saturday evening ritual now is to think of pray for my fellow pastors who would be serving the Lord the next day.  We also exchanged and shared ideas from time to time.  “What are you preaching on these days?” was a frequent question.

While I was ministering in Calgary, I had invited him to spend a week at our church with “Deeper Life Meetings” as we used to call them. How delighted our people were to see and hear someone who could preach, sing, and play the trombone all in the same service!  We saw a number of decisions for Christ in those days.  During that week, my phone rang late in the evening.  It was Dr. Ted Rendal, then the President of Prairie Bible Institute in Three Hills, Alberta.  He had heard that Jim Reese was in Calgary, and had tracked him down to me.  They were having a missions conference at Prairie, and he was wondering if it were at all possible for Jim to come and sing at one of the daytime services.  I said I would ask, and Jim joyfully agreed.  As we drove from Calgary to Three Hills, Jim sat beside me with his briefcase on his knees.  He shuffled through sheets of music, trying to decide which ones he would sing.  He would hum, and sometimes sing a portion of a song.  It was much nicer than having the radio on!

Although I considered Jim to be far advanced not only in age but in pastoral experience, I never had the feeling of being “talked down” to.  Not only did he never seek to showcase his great talents and ability, there was also a deep sense of humility.

For example, when I was between ministries for a short while, I worked at the funeral home that was diagonally across from Benton St. Baptist Church.  From my office window, I could see the church, and the parking spaces for staff.  One day I observed Jim Reese pull up, and he crossed the street to the funeral home. He was coming to see me.  We sat and chatted, and then he turned to a particular problem that he was facing because he once again had the full load of ministry while the senior Pastor, Bob Parks, was on sabbatical.  After outlining the issue, he surprised me with the question, “do you have any wisdom for me?”  Well, I didn’t, and I told him that the question was better asked the other way around, but since neither of us had the needed wisdom, we turned to God in prayer.

The one thing that stands out to me the most when I think about Jim Reese, is his amazing positive spirit.  I never saw him “down”, though I’m sure he had his moments of trial also.  His letters and emails were always signed, “Joyfully in Christ”.  I’m sure that he now enjoys the fullness of that joy.

MOTHERS DAY THOUGHTS

This Sunday is Mother’s Day and I plan to do something I haven’t done for the past decade or so, and that is preach a Mothers Day sermon.   My mother died in January 2010, and for two years before that she was very ill, a difficult time for us as a family.  So when Mother’s Day came around for the past 10 or so years, it was just too emotional, so I either reminded the congregation that Mother’s Day really isn’t a biblical holiday (which it isn’t!) and continued whatever series I was preaching on at the time or I would delegate the Mother’s Day sermon to an associate or intern (who needed the practice).

Over the years, I had been through most of the godly mothers mentioned in the Bible.  One colleague suggested that we try preaching about Jezebel as a negative role model, but I never dared to do that!  While I certainly will mention my mother on Sunday, the message will not be about her.  But in order to honour her, I will write about her here.

My mother grew up in a German settlement in Romania called “Siebenbürgen” (Seven Fortresses).  She grew up in a blended home with a step-father, after her father was out of the family picture for some reason.  Mom left home at the age of 14.  During the Second World War, the Russians invaded and later annexed Romania, and deported many people into slave labour to Russia.  Although Mom didn’t talk very much about those times, I did hear some of her stories about hard labour in road construction.  Unbelievable conditions for a teenager.  It left scars that remained with her for life, both emotionally and physically.

At some point Mom arrived in what was later to become East Germany. Friends took her to a Baptist church, where mom found the Lord Jesus as her personal saviour.  Some of the friendships formed in the youth group lasted the rest of her life. We had a Christmas nativity set that was a gift from one of those friends.  Sometimes when mom asked me to mail a letter for her, she would tell me about the person to whom the letter was going, and what that person meant to her.

After the war had ended, Mom was able to flee to West Germany and ended up in Munich, where she met my father, and where I was born after they had married. For a brief time we moved to the Black Forest and lived in a flat in the same building as my paternal grandparents – three generations under one roof.  But this was only a transitional time until the preparation for our immigration to Canada was complete.  We landed in Halifax in 1956 and lived first in Windsor, where my younger sister, Gudrun was born.  Our pastor, Rev. John Goetze, who had married my parents in Munich, found some work more suited for Dad in Kitchener, and we moved here in 1958 where we have been at home ever since.  My younger brother Norbert was born here.

Our first home in Kitchener was within walking distance of Victoria Park, and mom took us there often to play.  I don’t know if the wading pool that is there now is the same one that we used, but it was great fun.  To this very day Park Street goes straight through the Victoria Park, and so at mom’s funeral we decided to route the procession to the church through there.

My mother was a stay-at-home mom.  While Dad worked long hours to make ends meet, our mother managed the household and the raising of us 3 not-always-so-good kids mainly by herself.  Mom never drove a car, yet she managed the family’s shopping all by herself. She knew the transit system very well, and I’m sure she would be amazed by our soon to launch LRT.  When we were old enough, she took us kids along to the market, and we helped carry the goodies home.  As a reward we usually received some type of a treat from the bakery.

Our mother was a woman of child-like faith.  She taught us to pray even before we started school. A German “Kinderbibel” (Children’s Bible) had stories that she would read to us at night.  Discipline was administered swiftly as needed with a wooden spoon. Mom did not believe in “wait until your Dad comes home”. She preferred to solve the problem on the spot!

Mother managed to raise us without the amenities of daycare, nor the other parenting resources available today.  With little formal education beyond grade school, and never having studied psychology, she had an unbelievable wisdom, and like all mothers, eyes in the back of her head.  You just couldn’t outsmart her even though we tried our best.

As soon as we were old enough, we did the usual things that children do on Mother’s Day.  We  made or later bought cards, made gifts, bought flowers, made Sunday Afternoon Coffee and Cake on Mother’s Day.  Mom accepted all of this graciously, although she drew the line at breakfast in bed. She just didn’t want that and we were never allowed to do that.  I also know that she silently wished that all that attention would be spread throughout the year.

Everybody thinks they had the best mom, and we were no different.  But we also know that our mother was not perfect.  As we work through our grief, those things that were imperfect also surface.  I often struggled with why we cannot simply forget those things.  But I am comforted, that Mom is now surrounded by the presence of Jesus, because of the same grace that covers my own shortcomings, even when I wasn’t the perfect son.

 

 

 

WHEN CHURCHES BURN DOWN

The fire at the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris France is the news story of the week.  I would think that all Christians, whether they be Catholic or Protestant, would be saddened by the destruction of an active place of worship.  This one is more than 800 years old.  The website of the cathedral says that the building is  “above all “the House of God and the abode of men” because this building is full of human and Christian experience.  It also is a place of history and culture, and an architectural monument.  Personally I have not been to Notre Dame, but I have visited other European cathedrals, and I can say that all of them are places of great beauty.  For those of us who are Christian, we marvel that places like that were originally built to the glory of God.  Damage or destruction to such a building is without a doubt a great loss.  But it is a loss that needs to be seen in perspective.

As usual, the media coverage of an event of this nature is over the top.  For days we have heard words like “tragedy”, “mourning”, “sorrow” and the solidarity of Catholics all over the world with vigils and special masses. One newspaper article that I read used the headline of a “global unifier”.   Say what?

Yes, I admit it is all very sad.  But something that the journalists and other writers don’t mention is the fact that a fire cannot destroy what a church really is.  When Jesus said, I will build MY church, and the gates of Hades (hell) will not overcome it (Matthew 16:18), He was not talking about a building of wood, stone, or stained glass”.  He was talking about a spiritual entity, comprised of redeemed human beings that lasts eternally.  The Bible also uses the term “church” to describe a local assembly of believers, but never in the Bible does the term refer to a building.  In fact, the early Christians met for centuries without ever having a building of their own. They met in large assemblies in public places, and in smaller groups in homes, and even in burial places as the catacombs when they needed to be in hiding.

Sometimes people refer to church buildings as “the House of God”, as if to say that God lives there. But Scripture tells us “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by human hands.” (Acts 17:24) Certainly it is right and proper to construct buildings in which people meet to worship God, but when such buildings are not available, God can still be worshipped.

In fact I am reminded of another church fire in my home town of Kitchener. One day in 1963, as I was walking home from school at lunch time, the sky over Kitchener was black with smoke.  When I got home, the radio was playing and mother told us that Benton Street Baptist Church was on fire.  As we later found out, a 15 year old arsonist had entered the unlocked church, and lit a curtain which set the church ablaze.  He returned to the scene of the fire to watch the church burn and was apprehended there.  It turned out that he originally had intended to torch St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, but painters working inside that church chased him away, so he walked a block to the Baptist church.  The building burned to the ground and was a total loss, except for an addition that had been built in the 1950’s that still exists today. The fire was so intense that the fire department had to soak nearby buildings with water to protect them from the shower of sparks as the burning steeple came crashing down.

Did that stop the Benton Street congregation?  In those days, the weekly Sunday evening service was broadcast live from the church over a radio station in Kitchener.  After the fire (which happened on a Tuesday if I am correct), many people tuned their radios to the station on the following Sunday evening to see if Benton “is still there”. They were not disappointed: the Sunday evening service was on as usual, but the signal was coming from the auditorium of a local High School where the congregation worshipped until the new church was built on the same site as the old. A fire can destroy a building, but not a true church.

Which brings me back to the Notre Dame fire.  While the rubble is still cooling off, the President of France declared that the cathedral will be re-built. And lo and behold, all kinds of money is turning up. Led by three of France’s wealthiest families, donations have started to pour in, so far more than 700 million dollars. Well and good some would say, but the question must also be asked, why these donations, which will not impoverish any of the benefactors, come as late as they do.  Fine to re-build an historic monument or even a “sacred space” but what about supporting what a church really stands for – the spread of the Gospel, the support of the poor to mention only a few things.  While France is predominately Roman Catholic country, only 11% of the people actually attend mass.  (Here in Canada, our record is not much better with only 29% of the population attending worship in any church, Protestant or Catholic).

We seem to be more enamoured with beautiful buildings and cultural monuments, than we are devoted to the cause of Christianity that these buildings represent.  In both North America and Europe, church buildings are emptying, and when the small congregations that inhabit them can no longer afford their upkeep, the buildings are either demolished or sold and re-purposed.

An example is a Lutheran church in the city of Hamburg in Horn, a working class district of the city.  In 2002 the church was “deconsecrated” because only 20 people were in attendance in a space that had room for 500.  The building stood vacant for almost 10 years, before a Muslim congregation purchased it. The church is in the process of being converted to a mosque.  The outside will remain much the same, but the golden cross atop the steeple has been removed and replaced with Arabic lettering that spells “Allah”.

Suddenly there was an outcry by the public living near the structure. The former pastor of the congregation expressed the grief of people who live there,  whose children had been baptized, confirmed, and married in the church. The local branch of the conservative Christian Democratic Union party called for the conversion to be halted. Another local pastor suggested that it would have been better simply to demolish the building. However the man heading up the church to mosque conversion said that the legacy of decline contributed to his ambivalence about moving into the church. “We wish that churches would become more full,” he said. “We don’t want to Islamize or take over churches.”

May those who have ears, hear.

BACK TO WORK

Last week I started a new/old job. Once again (in fact for the sixth time in my life) , I become the pastor of a local church, and last Sunday I preached there, not as a guest speaker, but as their pastor. Next Sunday, Feb 10, I will be officially installed at the Christian Fellowship Church in Waterloo and I will exchange ministry covenants with them.

On July 1, 2016, after 13 years of service in one church, and after over 40 years of  pastoral ministry, I began what I thought would be the beginning of the final chapter of my life – the time of blissful retirement. I have to admit that I looked forward to that.  I was tired and fully spent, wondering if I had anything left to give.  I enjoyed the prospect of being fully in control of my time – doing the things that I enjoy, and not having to do anything that I didn’t.  As far as ministry was concerned, I remembered the words of my mentor when I was a student intern, “it takes a lot of grace to begin ministry, and even more grace to know when to quit.”  Well I thought that moment had come.

The joy of ministry had never really left me.  I was determined to be involved by helping out in some way. I covered for pastors on vacation and took funerals when families who didn’t have a pastor called on me.  I volunteered to teach at a Bible School in Kenya for two 3 month terms in 2017 and 2018.  Last winter, spring and summer, I preached in a church that didn’t have a pastor.  People would say on their way out on Sundays, “could we call you out of retirement?”  I remember smiling and saying, “it would take a lot more than your call to get me to quit retirement.”  At the time my preparations for the trip to Africa were in full swing, and I was greatly looking forward to my assignment there.

And that is where the journey to the Christian Fellowship Church in Waterloo began.  While the months in Kenya were very busy, there was also much quiet time and room for prayer and contemplation.  It was there that I faced the question of what I would be doing when I return to Canada.  I had to ask myself whether I could justify NOT helping where there is a need that I could meet with the gifts that God has given me, and the health that He so graciously restored to me after last year’s cancer scare.  So the dialogue continued and the rest, as they say, is history.  The church has graciously consented that I serve them on a three-quarter time basis, a requirement that I requested to help me not to relapse into my workaholic tendencies.

So what about retirement?  The traditional age is 65.  In certain jobs that  age  is mandatory and people are forced to retire, even though they are able and willing to continue working.  Some face a pressure, that if they continue working, they are somehow taking work away from younger, less fortunate people who don’t have a job.  Then again, the financial realities of some make 65 unrealistic.  The previous Canadian government had started to push the retirement age to 67, something that the present government reversed.

And then there is the “Freedom 55” movement which refers to people whose ambition is to be financially independent by age 55 so that they can take an early retirement package.  While I don’t see anything wrong with that in principle, I have watched all too many people shift their lives,  spiritually and otherwise, into neutral when they retire too early.  A life of play and pleasure rather than hard work, or perhaps, in the best case scenario,  a life of humanitarian service, or work that is a labour of love.

And then we must not forget those who made great contributions to their community and their country at an age where others are traditionally retired.   Ronald Reagan, who had a colourful series of careers as an actor, then a motivational speaker and finally politician, including governor of California, was 70 years old when he became President of the United States and he served two terms.  Some of Canada’s Prime Ministers were also advanced in age when they were elected to office: John Diefenbaker was 62 when he was first elected in 1957; Lester Pearson was 66 in 1963.  Canada’s longest serving Prime Minister, William Lyon MacKenzie King was first elected  in 1921 at age 47, and was 74 when he left office in 1948.  Winston Churchill began his second term as British Prime Minister in 1951 at the age of 77.

These (and others) have shown that age does not preclude anyone from great accomplishments.  As a society that worships those with youthful energy, we need to remember that.   Years ago, when as a young man I was installed into one of my pastorates, an older, retired pastor gave a word of greeting.  He lamented the fact that seasoned ministers, after decades of gathering experience often are obliged to put down their work at a time when they are more equipped than ever to make meaningful contributions to the work of the church.  At the time, I did not think much of his comments, but now, after I am at the approximate age of that pastor, I know what he meant.

By this I do not want to suggest that as an old(er) pastor I have more to offer than someone younger.  If someone younger or more qualified were to appear, I would like to think that I would have the grace to step aside. And some day, there will come a time when I will step down, and step aside for good.  I’m just not ready to do that yet.

AFRICA SEEN THROUGH CANADIAN EYES

Actually it is Kenya I want to write about. Not everything about Kenya applies to all Africa, but some things do.  I have been there a total of three times in 2015, 2017, and 2018.  The last two visits were spent at a Bible College for a three month term as a volunteer teacher of Pastoral Theology and Biblical Preaching.  I make no pretence to be an expert on Africa, but I write about my impressions as I experienced them, and some things I have researched a little more to understand them better.

1.  Religion in Kenya. In the 2009 census, 84.8% of the population identified itself as Christian.  Of these, 23.3% are Roman Catholic, and the rest are Protestant churches which include The Anglican Church of Kenya, The Africa Inland Church (AIC), Presbyterian, Reformed, Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran, and Pentecostal churches.  Other groups that fall neither into the Roman Catholic or Protestant groups include the New Apostolic Church, Seventh Day Adventist Church, Jehovah’s Witnesses, United Pentecostal and Branhamism.  The Islamic faith was identified by 9.7% of the population. Only 2.5% said that they identified with “no” religion or faith. As you drive through the cities or the countryside,  you will notice the many churches of various sizes.  Architecturally some are impressive, but most are very primitive metal edifices.  Many are simply “store-front” operations.  I am told that it is not difficult in Kenya to start a new church of whatever description, which  raises the suspicion that many exist simply to make money. Many of these churches, arising like mushrooms out of the ground are led by men (or women) with  no academic credentials, and few qualifications other than being able to market their brand of religion as the “one true” faith.

The school that I worked at is a denominational school of the Africa Inland Church (AIC), which was founded by the Africa Inland Mission (AIM).  It is an evangelical denomination with a Presbyterian form of church government: local churches are led by pastors and elders; each church is represented in a regional presbytery known as the “District Council”, overseen by a bishop, and there is a national council for the national church, and led by a “presiding” bishop.

But it isn’t as simple as that. Most of the above mentioned religions were brought into Africa in general and therefore to Kenya, from elsewhere, either by various churches or missions organizations. There is also an indigenous religion, also known as “Traditional African Religion” which is often mixed in with either the Christian or Islamic religion. African society is still very tribal. People fiercely hold on to their tribal background and heritage, and often with it the religion of that tribe.  While describing indigenous religion is beyond the scope of this blog post, suffice it to say that it involves the belief in a supreme being, along with many other lessor deities.  The supreme being is thought to be unapproachable and disinterested in the affairs of human life.  So one consults a myriad of lessor deities and spirits, including the spirits of deceased ancestors.  Because Africans generally revere their ancestors, some will resort to the religious practice of those ancestors when in difficulty, and many see no contradiction in practising the Christian, or some other religion together with their tradition religion. This of course ignores Christianity’s claims of one exclusive God, who tolerates no other gods before or beside him. Christian churches who proclaim the God of the Bible are often faced with the challenge of dealing with or helping people who have opened themselves to other spirits.

2. Culture in Kenya.  North American feminists would not feel at home in Kenya.  Women have a very distinct place in African society, which becomes visible at the very latest when a woman wishes to marry.  While men and women date and fall in love in romantic relationships, if they wish to marry, the man needs to deal with the family of his intended bride and negotiate a bridal price which he must pay to the bride’s father and or family (the bridal price is often divided among relatives of the bride).   I was shocked to learn that this happens even in Christian families and weddings.  Seeing that through North American eyes, even I as a man am appalled by this reduction of a woman to a chattel that belongs to her father until marriage, when “ownership” is transferred to the husband. The women that I have talked to about this however don’t see it that way.  “This is the way we have always done it.”  Again, the issue is too complex to discuss here, but doing something because it has always been done that way is a poor reason for doing anything.  Despite this inequality, I was surprised to learn that while the church proclaims the biblical truth of the equality of men and women in Christ, and have managed to push back by allowing women to be pastors, it has not managed to change this bizarre wedding ritual.

Another cultural difference is polygamy.  It is legal for a man to have more than one wife at the same time, but  a woman cannot be married to more than one man. Having several wives, is a status symbol for men.  I was interested to learn that members of parliament in Kenya were demanding expense allowances for their additional wives or mistresses.  The Christian church however holds to the biblical value of one man and one woman for life.  However when polygamous men become Christians and join the church, they are asked to support their several wives but they are not allowed to marry additional ones. However, such men do not qualify for leadership in the church..

3. Politics. I am a political “junkie” and politics is my favourite spectator sport.  During my time in the previous year (2017) I experienced the “re-do” of the presidential election.  The incumbent president Oruhu Kenyatta had been re-elected, however the opposition challenged the outcome in court, claiming that the election had been rigged.  The Supreme Court of Kenya noted that there were in fact “irregularities” and declared the election null and void, requiring that Kenyans go back to the polls within 60 days.  That fell into the middle of our fall term at the Missionary College.  Kenyans are passionate about their politics, even to the point of violence. While there are political parties, tribal relations also come into play as to whom Kenyans will support and vote for.  Most citizens see themselves best served if the government is run by someone of “their” tribe, or one of us as it were. Many will stop at nothing to make that happen, even things like setting fire to polling booths to prevent people from voting.  Often there is more passion than reason in Kenyan politics.  For example, although the opposition had claimed that the outcome of the election was not valid, they opposed the do over election, saying that it is was not being properly run either. They urged people not to vote, and in many cases prevented voters from doing so, resulting in no returns sent in from many ridings.  Then of course, they refused to accept the new result, which again declared Kenyatta and his party the winners. So back to court they went, but this time the Supreme Court declared the second election to be valid.  Coming back to Canada, as I watch the bizarre things that happen in our Canadian federal and our Ontario provincial government, I still think I would rather live in Canada than Kenya when it comes to politics.

4. Every Day Life in Kenya.  This is what I have been asked about most often. Let me begin by saying that if you have money (and that is the key thing) you can buy anything in Kenya that you can get here in Canada. I’ll just mention the grocery store: when I went shopping I saw very little difference, except that some things were  in shorter supply, i.e. there was not as much variety.  But I was able to buy pretty much whatever I needed or wanted, in some cases even the same brand as at home.  It’s hard to say whether things are more expensive (gasoline or “petrol” as they call it definitely costs more), and other things cost less than they do here.  The currency in Kenya is the Kenya Shilling (kSH or KES).  Presently $1 CDN is worth 75.50 kSH).  I was able to use my Canadian Bank card to obtain Kenya Shillings in cash, or my VISA card to pay for things.

There were other things about every day life that seemed odd, or at least getting used to (such as traffic drives on the left side of the road, and cars have steering wheels on the right, roads can be terrible, electricity is a different voltage to name just a few).  On the other hand that very thing of electricity was a sign that we live in a global village.  My electronic devices that I had with me from home, all work on either our Canadian voltage and the African 240V. All I needed was an adaptor so the plugs would fit. However the frequent power outages were annoying!

There is one other thing about every day life that I found challenging, and that is having a different skin colour than everyone else. At the school where I taught I was the only white man on the campus, (until two more visitors came for graduation).  Most of the time that was not a problem. Nobody made me feel uncomfortable because I was different.  But I was annoyed by the misconception that white people from North America have lots of money.  I was hit up for money more than once and asked if I could “bless someone” with a financial gift.  One person asked me to bring him an iPhone from Canada. He was shocked to learn what that would cost, and had assumed they are easy to get “in your country”.  Some found it incomprehensible when I told them how hard we work for our money, and that while some people in North America are wealthy, most of us, especially those of us in ministry are not.

Well this is a longer post than usual, but even so I feel like have merely scratched the surface.  If anyone has questions, just send them my way and I will do what I can to answer.

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ADVENT?

In my living room is an Advent wreath. It is a suspended from a table-top stand made by my father.  In years past the red ribbons suspended a wreath made of genuine evergreen branches.  The red candles would be lit beginning on the first Sunday of Advent, with one more on each of the four Sundays of Advent. As kids the Advent wreath fascinated us. It was a count down until Christmas, and the more candles were burning, the closer the big day was. I can remember that as a family we would sing “Advent” carols (not Christmas carols!) – at least not until the fourth Sunday.  This was all done in German, and the Advent carols came from a songbook called the “Singvögelein” (song bird) which was the songbook we used in Sunday School.

Advent means “Arrival”.  As kids the arrival that concerned us was Dec 24 and 25. As we matured, we learned that the Advent season represented the waiting time for Messiah’s appearance, and is a time of preparation for the celebration of the incarnation.  Since we live in New Testament times, Advent also reminds us of Jesus’ Second Coming, not as a babe in the manger, but in power and glory, and that we must be prepared for that event.

As kids we also each received an Advent calendar.  It had 24 doors on it, one for each day starting December 1.  Behind the door, when it was opened, a Bible verse, or a picture (or nowadays chocolate!) would be visible.  The door that was marked “24” was usually a double door behind which the nativity scene was visible.

In early church history, in other words in pre-reformation times, Advent was a solemn time of fasting and spiritual examination.  The fast was in anticipation of the feasting that took place at Christmas time.

Evangelical Christians have generally not paid much attention to Advent, but fortunately, that is changing.  In the church that I attend, we light an Advent candle on each Sunday of Advent.  I was glad to note that one of our pastors gave us an explanation of the meaning of Advent, as well as the meaning of that particular Sunday, as the Advent Sundays represent Hope–Peace–Joy–Love respectively.  Some churches change that order.  In liturgical churches each candle has a distinctive colour, although red is the choice of colour for some.  In our church the candles are blue.  I’m not sure why that colour was chosen, but blue does happen to be the new liturgical colour for Advent, to distinguish it from the purple or violet of lent.  Usually there is a somewhat larger white candle in the middle, which is lit either Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day.

As one raised in the free-church tradition, I never felt a need to be bound to the rigours of the liturgical calendar.  In other words rather than be restricted to preaching about the meaning of each particular Sunday, I felt free to preach whatever Scripture I was inspired to choose for a particular Sunday.  However the calendar is not without usefulness.  Observing Advent for example, helps me to build in my own life the joy of celebrating the Birth of Christ. The same applies to lent, the weeks that lead up to Easter.

At a time when Christmas music surrounds us from mid November, it might be useful to learn to anticipate and hope once again. In our home in which i grew up, the Christmas tree did not appear until about December 23 or so. We also did not throw it out to the curb on December 26 like many still do. It stayed up until mid January, or at least until the feast of the Epiphany was over.

Whatever your tradition might be, for today I will say Happy Advent.  But not yet Merry Christmas.  That comes later.

 

Lynching in Kenya

Spending time in Kenya for the third time has been as much a learning experience for me as it has been a time of  teaching.  Of course being here for only a few months does not in any way make me an expert, but mine is much more the view of an outsider looking in.

Some things that I have seen have impressed me, either positively or negatively. One of the latter things is the high rate of crime, the corruption even among law enforcement, and finally, just recently, the phenomenon of lynching – unlawfully taking someone’s life amidst some misguided form of “mob justice”.  It happened last weekend at a nearby university, but apparently it isn’t newsworthy; at least I saw no mention of it except on social media.

Dr Robert Guy McKee has written an interesting report based on his study of what he calls a “human rights scandal”. In his paper he makes the following seven assertions about modern day lynchings in Kenya, that lynchings  (1) are common, (2) are cruel, (3) are committed for numerous alleged reasons—mostly for alleged crimes—but very rarely for reasons related either to race or to sexual orientation or gender identity, (4) are rarely prosecuted, (5) appear to have inequitable access to basic resources as one contributing cause, (6) are a major human rights scandal, and (7) will, until they become the exception rather than the rule, hinder Kenya’s development in the twenty-first century.Now lynching is not unfamiliar to North Americans.  The sad so called “frontier justice” of the 18th and 19th century are a dark chapter in our history. 

While North American lynchings were usually carried out by hanging or shooting, in Africa the methods are even more cruel: stoning, beating to death, or dousing a victim with gasoline (“petrol” here) and setting them ablaze.  By whatever method, lynching is just wrong because it denies the victim all of the fundamental rights of justice: the right to due process, the right to face one’s accusers and challenge the evidence that the accusers bring, the right to offer one’s own evidence of one’s innocence etc.  In a lynching, the mob that carries it out are the de facto prosecutors, judge, and executioner.  Because that is not justice, I will refrain from the term “mob justice” and just say lynching.

What particularly disturbs me also, are the outrageous number of lynchings that take place.  Between August 1996 to August 2013 a total of 1,500 persons were reported lynched in Kenya, as many as 543 in one year !

More disturbing: the reported “reasons” for lynching. The victims are people who are accused (not proven!) to have committed some type of crime: in the case of the lynching last weekend, the victim was accused of theft.  Lynching is all about anger and revenge.  In cases where a family suffered the murder of someone, and it is felt that the criminal justice system did not apprehend or did not seem to deal with the perpetrator appropriately, the family and or friends take matters into their own hands.

In my mind, there are questions that I cannot answer.  One is, how this human rights scandal is possible in a country like Kenya, that likes to number itself among the civilized nations of the world.  Kenyans like to claim that 80% of the people are Christians.  That is a number that is most certainly grossly inflated, unless you define “Christian” in the loosest of terms.  But if you define the term Christian the way Jesus does, “my sheep hear my voice,  I know them and they follow me” (John 10:27) then this number is not accurate notwithstanding the number of churches on almost every corner.

My second question is why the criminal justice system in Kenya is not able to stamp out these blatant crimes, for indeed lynching, the unlawful taking of a human life, is a crime.  Politicians have denounced this practice, but still it prevails.  I have some possible answers to this second question, and one of them is the wide-spread corruption that runs through virtually all levels of society, including the politicians, and the criminal justice system.  There is a saying, that I have heard often repeated here: “Kenya is 80% Christian, but 90% corrupt”. There is something wrong with that picture, and I suspect that there is more than a grain of truth to the saying.  The President of Kenya has made it a priority to stamp out corruption, but I wonder how much of that tough talk is like what our own politicians in Canada do:  to appear that they are doing something, while in fact doing very little.

Those who take the teachings of Christ seriously, will want to heed what He said about anger, that is at the root of lynching: “But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell” (Matt. 5:22 NIV).  And certainly for the follower of Christ, revenge will not play a part in his life.  In Romans 12:19 Paul says,  Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord. 

“Dear Diary”


On my bookshelf at home 12,176 km away in Canada (that’s 7,573 miles for you non-metrics) is a thick volume that I read a few years ago.  It is the published diary of Ronald Reagan, apparently  written while he lived in the White House as President of the United States.  One page even is a facsimile of his handwriting.  I remember at the time that it seemed exciting to read about the day to day musings of a man who was the most powerful man in the world.  But I am a skeptic of sorts.  I wonder how much of it was edited.  Are these really the thoughts that someone shared with nobody else?  Or how much of it, if any, was expressly written for posterity, or shall we say consciously written to an unseen audience?

There are other diaries of famous people who are long gone, in fact some of them became famous posthumously because of their diary. One of the most famous of these is the Diary Of Anne Frank.  It was written by a young girl while she was hiding for two years with her family during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands.  Both she and her parents perished in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in 1945, but her diary survived and has been published in more than 60 languages.

Or in Canada we also have the published diaries of our longest serving Prime Minister, William Lyon MacKenzie King, covering several years.  Now his is a mixture of pedantic and outright boring stuff mixed with weird accounts of King’s conversations with his deceased mother and other occult séances that he was in the habit of attending.

I have kept a diary off and on throughout my life.  More off than on.  I started it in childhood, when we were taught that it was a good thing to do for self-discipline and other reasons that I don’t remember.  Those diaries are nowhere to be found.  In my adult life, I would start journaling, which is a little different from a diary.  Diaries are usually a daily affair, and can contain many details including what the weather was that day.  Journals tend to be a more expansive record of one’s thoughts.  In fact “journaling” is recommended for charting one’s spiritual progress, or one’s thought processes about a particular subject or decision that we are pondering.

Some people write a diary or journal as a deliberate legacy to leave behind for their children, or grandchildren.  While that might seem like a good idea, you will then probably be very selective about what you write there, and document only those things that you want your intended readers to know.  You will probably refrain from writing things that trouble you deeply, but would rather not share with your intended readers.

But diaries and journals present some problems.  The first is, that they could be read by others whom you didn’t intend, and most likely they will be, if the diary or journal is left behind when you die. Your diary will be part of the belongings that your executor needs to sort through, and dispose of.  It may well fall into the hands of someone whom you would not want to read what you have written.  If you are worried about that, then you will want to dispose of it while you are alive… either give it to someone whom you would like to have it, or destroy it.

 The second problem is that a diary can be used against you while you are alive, if you are ever charged with a criminal offense.  Although diaries and journals are private, they generally are admissible in court.  I have heard of more than one person who was convicted of a crime because of what they wrote in their diary. You say, “that’s not a problem because I didn’t do anything wrong?”  Well apparently even if you do not document a crime, the diary can still be used to trace your whereabouts by the events that you mention. So even if you feel like you want to kill someone – you might want to keep that sentiment to yourself.  And worse, what you have written is subject to interpretation by others – the interpretation of those who wish to use the diary against you, and the interpretation of the court or jury.

I haven’t yet decided what I will do with the sporadic diary/journal that I have kept; whether I will continue to write in it, or whether I will destroy it.  Since mine is a locked electronic file, I guess I can still edit it. For those who don’t keep a diary,  you’ve got nothing to worry about.  For those that do – it is something you might want to think about.

Pastors’ Appreciation Month

October is Pastors Appreciation Month. I’m not sure where we got that innovation from, but I suspect it is North America, for I have seen or heard no mention of it here in Africa.  Now I believe that everyone deserves to be appreciated for who they are and what they do.  But of course, we tend to put all that appreciation into nice neat little packages:  Mothers Day, Father’s Day, Children’s Day, Family Day, Secretaries Day, Nurses Day, and the list goes on and on.

Now the churches that observe Pastor’s Appreciation Day or Month, (and not all of them do) go about it different ways.  Sometimes there is a presentation during a worship service to the pastor and spouse, that may include flowers, comments by the chair of the official board, and maybe  a gift or a gift card or some such token.  I have heard about churches sending their pastor and spouse away on an exotic trip, possibly even the Holy Land, but I have never been the recipient of such a gift, nor would I feel comfortable receiving it.

However I wonder how many pastors sigh like many mothers on Mothers Day, and silently wish that some of these appreciative sentiments could be spread out through the year.  I’ve spoken to many mothers who say that the effusion of affection, the breakfast in bed, or the special flowers or gifts don’t mean a whole lot when you are taken for granted, or even forgotten the rest of the year.  How many lonely mothers receive no visits from their grown children throughout the year, and then get picked up from the nursing home on Mother’s Day to be taken to a sumptuous dinner that does more to soothe the conscience of the children than it does to bring joy to the mother. 

The same with pastors.  Showing appreciation should not be relegated to a particular Sunday or month. The cards (yes Christian bookstores have to make a living) are nice, and so are the gifts, but they are not absolutely necessary.

Something I have said to all of my congregations at one time or another is that the greatest honour and tribute that you can pay me is to walk in the ways of God, by putting into practice the things that you have heard me teach.  I don’t necessarily need the “lovely sermon Reverend” comment at the door, but I will accept anything that involves a simple ‘thank-you’ or ‘I appreciated what you said about  …. “.

Mind you, I’m not fishing for compliments.  I serve in a tradition (Baptist) where we have not only the freedom of the pulpit but the freedom of the pew.  In other words, it is your choice whether to accept or believe my message, and it is OK to disagree with me, and also to tell me so, or to engage me in discussion.  But there is a proper way to do that.  After the service at the church door is not the best time or place.  Why?  Because by the time I get there, I am tired. Preaching, whether you believe it or not is hard work.  The sudden increase and then loss of adrenalin makes you emotionally drained, and even vulnerable.  While I have always been willing to minister to peoples’ spiritual needs after  a service, and have been willing to stay as long as there are people wanting to see me, I never liked formal meetings after church in order to make difficult decisions.   And if you must speak to me about a disagreeable matter, then the best way is to make an appointment that suits us both so we can sit down and discuss whatever you have on your mind about my sermon or whatever issue you disagree with.  If you can’t come to my office, I will meet you at your home or wherever is convenient to you.  But sounding off on me at the door is unlikely to bring a good outcome for either of us.  I have been lambasted, even yelled at at the door for all kinds of things, that usually had nothing to do with my sermon.  Seriously.  A man once yelled at me because the air conditioning in the church was set too low for his comfort.  He was wearing shorts, and he shouted at me that he didn’t appreciate that the a/c was so cool that he couldn’t feel comfortable wearing shorts in his own church!

Appreciation that is genuine is welcome anytime, any month of the year, and yes pastors like anyone else are in need of it and usually respond favourably.  It doesn’t have to be elaborate or effusive either.  A genuine squeeze of the hand, a hug (if you go to a ‘hugging’ church), a short email sent after Sunday, can work wonders. 

And finally, remember this.  Pastors are human.  They have bad days like everyone else does.  You have no idea what he might be going through at the moment.  His work involves so much more than what you see and hear on Sunday morning.  So go ahead.  Express appreciation to your pastor. Do it any month of the year.  And don’t wait until his farewell Sunday.
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LOVING CITIES AND PLACES

 Usually when we say or hear the word “love” our thoughts go to a person or group of people. Although we also “love” our cornflakes or a host of other things, its not the same thing.  But what about an emotional attachment, for lack of a better word, to a place, like a country, or a town or city.

A few years ago while I was living in Calgary, Alberta, a fellow pastor moved from Kelowna to one of my neighbouring church in Calgary. He was a friend whom I knew previously, and I looked forward to having him in the same city.  And indeed the time that we were together, involved not only some duties that we shared between our two churches, but also a lot of fun lunches and good fellowship.  My friend told me how hard it was for him to leave Kelowna.  He described a special ritual that he developed for himself: on the day before leaving town, he made a special effort to visit all of his favourite places in the city, including of course the lakeshore from which he would launch his boat for fishing.  He said that he stood at each of these various places, and silently said “good-bye”.  There was an attachment because special memories were associated with each of those places.  His experience intrigued me.  He really did love Kelowna a lot, and it turned out that he went back there ….  To retire and to die.

In the Bible we read that Jesus “approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes”. (Luke 19:41)  Of course one can argue that it was the people living in that city that tugged at his heart, but sometimes we can regard a city and its inhabitants as one and the same,  even as we refer to ourselves as “Torontonians” or whatever city we live in.  And Jesus expressed some thoughts and feelings for some other cities as well: “Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes“. (Matt. 11:21)

So I thought about the places where I have lived and worked, especially the places where I was engaged in ministry.  I won’t mention them all, but my first pastorate was in Toronto, which is about an hour east of where I grew up.  Toronto was the “big” city … the one we went to in order to get or experience anything we couldn’t get in Kitchener.  Now I was the pastor of a church there, and I arrived in the year that the CN Tower was completed.  But I didn’t really enjoy living in that city. It was no fun trying to visit my parishioners who were scattered all over that vast city. I didn’t enjoy the smog and the rush-hour traffic that usually began at 3:00 pm.

My next place of ministry was in Kitchener, my home town, and I soon found out what Jesus meant when He said that a prophet is without honour in his home town. Then later on, I spent a few years in a small town that I didn’t like.  It was an “old money” kind of town where new-comers were viewed with suspicion, and they clearly let you know that “you are not from here.”  The church is well over 100 years old and change of any kind was anathema there. I didn’t last long in that town.  My final 13 years of ministry were in Hamilton, Ont which is known for a lot of things, mainly steel.  Also a famous university, whose medical school is renowned.  Our church was located in walking distance from that church, and over the years some really neat contacts were made with students, and eventually we even had some doctoral candidates, and even a faculty number in the congregation.  Now Hamilton was a city that I never liked, prior to coming there.  Growing up, it was just a short drive from Kitchener, and so occasionally as a family we would go there, mainly for church events.  The one way streets used to drive us crazy.  But nevertheless I was eventually called to serve there, and I experienced something that I hadn’t in any of the previous cities – the church and the city grew on me.  Living there was actually quite enjoyable.  And I intentionally cultivated that, because by then I had learned that you can’t really be effective in a place that you don’t like, whether that is in a particular job, or a locale. And it prepared me for what was to follow.

I am now in Africa, in Kenya to be exact, for the third time.  The first time was a 10 day visit before moving on to Cameroon and then last year and this year a 3 month season of teaching, and some preaching too.  Now if someone would have told me that say five years ago, I would never have believed it.  For one thing, Africa was never a drawing card for me.  The things that we learned about Africa in Social Studies, and in Geography classes at school were things that I hated:  snakes, bugs and other strange animals, hot climate, and more.  But God has his way of dealing with His servants, and asking them where they would “like” to go is not one of them.  More than once in my ministry have I served in places where I didn’t want to be, or at least would not have chosen.  When I confessed this in my first sermon on African soil in 2015, I received applause.  And from that moment on, I began to love the Kenyan people who have been and are so gracious and friendly. And the more I get to know them and learn about them, the more I love them.  Now there are many things to adjust to while living here, but I choose to remind myself that this trip is not about me and my preferences, likes, and desires.  I want to be effective in the things I am called to do, so I put my feelings aside.  Faith is more important than feelings, and if we are faithful, sometimes God lets the feelings follow.