posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
Rev. Gordon Kouwenberg was inducted as the minister at Knox, Sooke, B.C. last September. His brother Hans, the moderator of the 2007 General Assembly was present.
Earlier that month Knox hosted the Vancouver Island Fall Mission Fellowship Day, held by the Vancouver Island Presbyterial. This photo shows the executive and the speakers for the day: Kathy Ball (Co-ordinator Educational Ministries Synod of BC); Barbara Ward (Treasurer VI Exec); Rev. Grant Wilson (Guest Speaker); Mary King (Executive Member); Marlene MacMillan (Secretary); Dorothy Thompson (Executive Member); Rev. Kerry McIntyre (Duncan); and, Hazel Smith (President).
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
They started rehearsals in January for the one performance of Angel, Lambs, Caterpillars and Butterflies on Easter Sunday. And in case the photograph doesn’t tip it for you, we’re talking about an Easter Musical at Gale, Elmira, Ont. Over 25 children were involved, charming and teaching a fully packed church about the Easter story told from the perspective of insects and birds. Adults had the easy job of directing, making costumes, sets and props, and herding.
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
A Century Of Grace, 1905 to 2005
A unique book covering the 100 years of GRACE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH in Calgary, Alberta
This unique book “A Century at Grace” is the story of this Grand Edifice of the Prairies, Grace Presbyterian Church in Calgary. It includes good times, hard times, prosperity along with difficult challenges, Church union (or division), two World Wars, the great depression, an Alberta oil boom and massive population growth 1905 (eight-fold between 1905 & 1936), twelve Senior Ministers and twenty one Organists.
As you turn the over 600 pages of this 9′ X 11″ hard cover book, and view the over 300 rare photographs of the history of Grace, hundreds of amazing, dedicated hard working, Board, Session, Women’s Fellowship & Church members, will come to life. It is the members that are the real backbone and driving force of our Church. The history of Grace is about people, people called by God to bear witness to our Lord, and through him Gods work will continue throughout the next century.
This historical accounting brings forth the fighting determination of Grace’s 1904 founders, three women who would not take no for an answer, or the efforts of our Dr Gunn at Vimy Ridge, of the faith of the 1912 congregation to rise to the challenge of a $3,500,00.00 (today’s dollars) mortgage to build our present building. It is about the faithfulness of past and present members, many of the families still connected after 100 years. It includes the celebration for our 100th anniversary; the missionary work Grace has always extended to our community, city, country and world at large; the events of the history of Grace Presbyterian Church are all presented before you in this book.
“A Century Of Grace” has been written and composed by renowned author Dr. Peter Penner, professor emeritus of history, Mount Allison University, Saskville, New Brunswick. We are deeply indebted to Dr. Peter Penner, teacher, Christian, friend, and author of history, for taking on this formidable challenge and writing this book “A Century Of Grace”.
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
Kay Betts was a faithful member for many years at Argyle, West-Lorne, Ont., and she left her church a bequest, which was used for a new sound system to modernize the building and aid in the worship. From left: Rev. Hugh Appel and members of the Betts family – Rita, Darryl and Lyle, and Ryan and Brandon.
posted on August 1, 2009 in Miscellaneous
The Youth Group of Knox, Teeswater, Ont., took the Sunday School children shopping. The Youth Group used one-tenth of their fund-raising earnings to shop for Evangel Hall Mission in Toronto.
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
The photo depicts Dr. Arneil, archivist at St. Andrew’s, Victoria, with one of the two awards presented to the church by the City of Victoria. The awards are in recognition of the Christian love extended to the Chinese community of Victoria over many years.
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
The Sunday School children of St. Andrew’s, Nanaimo, raised $1,650 for the Malawi Orphans through a Garage Sale, making crafts and selling them, and making the congregation aware of the need to help the orphans.
posted on August 1, 2009 in Features
- The Bigger Picture
The assembly truly made a joyful noise.
by Harvey Self
- Lighting Committee Report
A Young Adult Representatives skit
- Try The Unthinkable
The moderator of the 134th General Assembly challenges the Church. Again.
by Cheol Soon Park
- To Suffer For
—Bert Douglas, student representative, Knox College
- The Good Land
—Sarah Thompson, student representative, Presbyterian College
- Servant Leadership
Standing shoulder to shoulder with the parishioners.
—Brigadier General David Kettle, Chaplain General of the Canadian Armed Forces and a Presbyterian minister; Captain Dwight Nelson, Presbyterian chaplain in the Canadian Armed Forces.
- A Child of the Village
—Andy Kuo, student representative, Vancouver School of Theology
- ‘It was wrong’
Help us repent.
—Vivian Ketchum, a residential school survivor and member of the Healing and Reconciliation Advisory Committee of the PCC; Rev. Stewart Folster of the Ojibway people and Director of Saskatoon Native Circle Ministry
- Ah Lazarus!
—Matthew Donnelly
- Indiginous Theology
—Rev. Dr. Namoh Ising,Yu-Shan Theological College and Seminary, Hualien, Taiwan
- Spiritual Questions
—Jayne Self
- A True Partnership
—Rev. Dr. Ubon Bassey Usung, Moderator of the Presbyterian Church of Nigeria
- Beyond Heather and Ploder
—Rev. Bruce Adema, Director of the Christian Reformed Church in Canada and President of the Canadian Council of Churches
- Court Tales
Overtures, resolutions and other business.
by Connie Purvis
- A Man From Galilee
—Archbishop Abuna Elias Chacour of Akka, Haifa, Nazareth and all of Galilee (Melkite Greek Catholic Church) and this year’s recipient of the E. H. Johnson Award
- Baby Moderator
Six-month-old Hannah de Jong was the youngest person to ever moderate the General Assembly
- G.A. Blues
tracks from Some Assembly Required, a CD by Angus Sutherland
- Blogs
Read our exclusive GA2009 blogs by Allyssa de Bruijn, Andrew Faiz and Jayne Self.
The assembly truly made a joyful noise.
posted on August 1, 2009 in Features
For me, the greatest experience in this assembly was to catch a glimpse of the bigger picture of the church. We can all so very easily get totally wrapped up in what we are doing on a congregational level. But at assembly we see the bigger picture. We see what our church continues to do—even though times are tough economically—in mission and in service around the world through Presbyterians sharing and Presbyterian World Service and Development. We meet mission partners and brothers and sisters in Christ from across Canada and around the globe. We were inspired to see and hear what God is doing among the aboriginal peoples of Taiwan, and through Archbishop Elias Chacour and the Melkite Catholic Church in Galilee among Palestinian Christian, Muslim and Israeli children. We were moved to tears by the assembly’s commemoration of the 15th anniversary of the Confession of the Presbyterian Church in Canada to our aboriginal peoples for all the wrongs that were done through the residential schools. I was excited to hear that the Presbyterian Church in Nigeria is planning to grow threefold in the next few years, a pretty amazing goal considering their membership is already near one million. We have indeed a great deal to learn from the faith and the enthusiasm of our African brothers and sisters. We have reason to praise God that Canadian Presbyterians can worship God with the wonderful pipe organ at Redeemer College but also with youthful praise bands from across the Presbytery of Hamilton. The assembly truly made a joyful noise.
—from the sermon delivered by Rev. Harvey Self, Moderator of the 135th General Assembly, to his home congregation of Tweedsmuir, Orangeville, Ont., on June 14, 2009.
Our help comes from the Lord.
posted on August 1, 2009 in For the Journey
Illustration by Barry Falls/Heart Agency
A few years back, Linda, Chelsea, and I went on a fall hunting expedition up to the Peace River country in northeastern British Columbia. Each morning I was up at 3 a.m. and out of camp to meet up with my friend Harold, my hunting partner. Harold and I would spend the whole day blissfully nosing around the Peace Country for moose. Linda and Chelsea slept till about eight and then they would get up and grind away on home schooling until I got back after dark to eat supper, which was also cooked by the girls. I was having loads of fun. They were holed up in camp, working their tails off. They didn’t even have the truck to get them out of the bush if they wanted a break during the long day.
On the third day, about five minutes after I joyfully left the campsite, Linda heard a little “plink … plink.” Lying there in her warm cocoon of eiderdown and blissfully half asleep, she wondered what it was. Somehow in her semiconscious state, she remembered me saying the night before that the propane tank was getting real low. It suddenly dawned on her that the propane tank had just run out. The fridge and furnace had just plinked their little safety shutoff devices. Linda knew that to keep the fridge cold and the trailer warm she would have to unscrew the hose from the empty propane tank and screw it on the full one and then re-light the pilot lights. The problem was, she had never done it before.
Muttering unpublishable niceties about her husband, Linda climbed out of bed, slipped her ducky boots on her bare tootsies and armed herself with a 14-inch crescent wrench. She went out to the front of the trailer, ripped off the tank cover,
latched onto the brass hose nut with the crescent wrench and commenced twisting. It wouldn’t budge. She heaved again on the nut; it wouldn’t budge. She heaved some more; it wouldn’t budge. More heaving, more no-budging got the back of an axe involved. Bash, bash on the end of the crescent wrench; it wouldn’t budge. “Ooooh, that husband of mine!” Bash, bash, bash, bash; and the crescent wrench did exactly what crescent wrenches were designed for—it mutilated the brass nut and slipped with a clatter to the frosty ground, after cushioning its fall on Linda’s feet.
“Why hadn’t I been there instead of gallivanting after swamp donkeys at three in the morning with friend Harold?” Linda said when I got home for supper after dark. “And why, why, why, did I always have to tighten every nut until it twisted off or cross-threaded?” Linda said, scowling at me as she cross-examined me.
“Oh!” I said. “Didn’t you know that propane threads go the opposite way to all other threads. I didn’t overtighten the nut, you were just tightening it yourself when you thought you were loosening it. You were twisting your nut the wrong way,” I
said in a calm and quiet voice.
Somehow I made it through dinner. But I couldn’t sleep. My mind got all tangled up with Linda’s experience and a psalm I had been thinking on.
Psalm 121 seemed to me to be all about twisting nuts the wrong way; not propane tank nuts, but life’s nuts. I knew the opening stanza so well: “I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come?”
The psalmist’s question now seemed to me to be a compelling one, yet I had often glossed over it. When I am hard pressed, where will my help come from, or perhaps better put, where will I turn to? I knew that in the context of the psalm, the hills or high places were where the pop religions of the day were practiced, the Baal cult of the Canaanite culture. On the hills altars for child sacrifice were set up to appease the nature deity Baal. On the hills sacred poles or trees were planted to the mother goddess Asherah. On the hills sacred prostitutes were provided to lure the help of the goddess of fertility Ashtereth. When times got tough it was a real temptation to look to the hills, to the pop religion of the culture in which Israel lived.
For me, when life suddenly takes a troubling twist, I cast around crying out for help, help from anywhere. I often catch myself looking to the hills of my culture. and that’s when I commence twisting on life’s nut the wrong way. That’s what Psalm 121 confronts me with. It grabs me by the chin and stares me in the eye and says: “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” My help won’t come from the hills, from the many pop religions of my culture. Jeremiah got it right … the hills are a delusion. (Jeremiah 3:23)
Eugene Peterson names the hills today clearly in his comments on Psalm 121 in, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. there is no help from nature worship or from stargazing. There is no help from crystals or dream catchers. There is no help from the latest fads of mind or body or spirit. There is no help from the hills and all of their patent medicine religions and New age faith. There is no help from the huckster religions of talk show host and dear abby column; the huckster religions of self-hypnosis and metaphysical philosophy; the huckster religions of megavitamin and miracle herb; the huckster religions of mind over matter, and the escapism of lottery tickets and of substance abuse and of promised demon-slayer tv preachers.
The psalmist provides the corrective: “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; He who keeps you will not slumber. He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.”
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
In May the Ladies Aid of St. Andrew’s, Tillsonburg, Ont., sponsored a plant sale and barbecue to raise funds in support of missions. In the foreground President Dianne MacKeigan can be seen assisting customers while in the background members and friends can be seen enjoying the barbecue.
posted on August 1, 2009 in Features
Most indigenous communities in Taiwan have experienced and continue to experience identity crisis. In the process, some develop a ‘meeting place’ identity in which postcolonial nation-state and economic policies have denied justice for many indigenous communities, leading them to armed resistance. Ethical problems such as corruption, abuse of power, and prostitution, communal problems such as ethnic conflicts, racial tensions and breakdown of family structures and continued marginalization of indigenous people continue to rise in such a ‘meeting place’ identity.
—Rev. Dr. Namoh Ising,Yu-Shan Theological College and Seminary, Hualien, Taiwan
The Canadian Council of Churches discusses faith and the economy.
posted on August 1, 2009 in News
It is the task of the church to proclaim a hopeful imagination for the world. That was the overriding message of Faith and a Sustainable Economy, a forum held by the Canadian Council of Churches in Ottawa in May. The forum was hosted by the council’s Commission on Justice and Peace, and the day was composed of three panel discussions: community and policy, theology, and churches. There were economic and ecological updates to give context to the discussion of current issues facing the world and the Church. There were theological dissections of the role to which the Church is called in this time of global uncertainty and transition. And there were challenging reflections from church leaders, grounding change optimistically in spiritual formation, deep biblical reading and an abiding sense of human dignity.
posted on August 1, 2009 in Letters
In response to the printing of this article, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. As I was reading, “…and I long for God’s releasing word: ‘What I have cleansed, do not call impure or unclean…’ I read how Peter’s peers dropped the barriers and brought their uncircumcised brothers into fellowhip, and I see the possibility of the church today being reconciled and open to change,” I cried tears of hope and joy.
In an effort to try ernestly to believe and live out the concept that homosexuality is a choice, I have lived much of my life ‘choosing’ to be heterosexual. After all, this is what the church was teaching me, and thus I simply believed that it must be true. The result was to live much of my life feeling less than whole, feeling untrue within myself but not knowing why; feeling less than worthy; and as one who is not truly lovable to God. Yet, I trusted in the truths as they were taught to me. As mentioned in the article, I too questioned the promise that Christ told us we would have life, and have it more abundantly. Often I questioned what I was doing wrong. Why did my life feet empty and meaningless when God promises quite the opposite. More recently, my heart was more open to hearing the greater commandments Jesus gives us. I came to understand that I could only love others and love God to the extent that I was able to love myself! Looking back I can see how God prepared my heart and led me to a place where I could hear God say, “yes you are gay, but that’s OK.”
It has only been in accepting this fact; in understanding that inspite of having a wife and kids–choosing to make heterosexual choices, I am still homosexual. My moral lifestyle has not changed other than to live in the honesty of who I am. Buying into the understanding that homosexuality is wrong, I have lived most of my life believing I was impure/unclean. What a gift to finally understand that this orientation that is part of me just is. In accepting this, at long last, I too could fully accept being washed in God’s love. I too can come to God just as I am without one plea. The past two years have been a hard journey, but one full of love and blessing!
It has only been through the acceptance of the homosexual orientation that is such a core part of my being that I have been able to fully accept and embrace God’s love.
And, I am happy to report that as I share this truth with many of my fellow Presbyterian Christians, most are choosing to respond in love rather than judgement. Many don’t understand, some don’t agree; yet they are choosing to love as God would have them love.
As one who has denied my true orientation and and thus hidden so as not to present as an outcast, there has been great spiritual freedom in releasing myself from this dilemma. As one who chooses to continue expressing my faith through the Presbyterian Church, it has been a gift to experience some evidence of “the church today being reconciled and open to change.” It is not just a possibility, it is happening. Amen! Thank you Joyce for sharing this story, sharing our rejection, and sharing this hope for acceptance and change.
posted on August 1, 2009 in Features
Some people might say the words ‘passion’ and ‘Presbyterian’ do not belong together. Perhaps to some, passion might be a bad thing. But the root of the word comes from Latin and means ‘to suffer for,’ and so the cross represents everything God was passionate about. I believe we have seen that Presbyterians can be passionate people. We are passionate about justice. Passionate about hospitality. Passionate about faith, and passionate about the practical implications about being a follower of Christ in this world. Our passions ignite and fuel our actions.
—Bert Douglas, student representative, Knox College
posted on August 1, 2009 in News
Girl Guides of Canada—Emotions flared in late May as adult leaders and parents received an email survey that suggested Girl Guides of Canada may remove a reference to God and faith from its well-known promise.
“People feel very strongly about this issue,” a representative told the Record. She noted that some think such a change would be a positive step to make the organization more inclusive, while others have strong attachments to tradition and the personal meaning of the current promise. Results of the survey should be released in September, but a final decision will probably take longer as the movement struggles with its identity and relevance in the modern world.
The promise was revised 15 years ago to allow members to substitute the word “faith” in place of “God” if they preferred.
About 20,000 adult leaders and 89,000 girls are members of the organization, which will celebrate its centenary next year.
posted on August 1, 2009 in News
The Scotsman—A General Assembly decision has barred clerics in the (Presbyterian) Church of Scotland from speaking publicly about homosexuality for at least two years. The motion followed a controversial decision to uphold the appointment of Rev. Scott Rennie, an openly gay minister living in a relationship, which passed with a vote of 326 to 267 at the May assembly.
In the wake of this decision, clerics worried that further debate about human sexuality could result in a motion that would seek to bar openly homosexual people from entering ministry. Such a move could split the church.
Members agreed to postpone any such vote until a commission has studied the issue and reported back in 2011. During the intervening years, no openly gay ministers can be appointed and members are forbidden to speak in public about openly homosexual ministers.
PWS&D leads a project to send relief to thousands of Pakistani refugees.
posted on August 1, 2009 in News
It is a tale of loaves and fishes. As stories of refugees and other displaced persons in Pakistan hit the newspapers in May, Presbyterian World Service and Development’s Guy Smagghe called the Pakistani branch of Church World Service and asked if there was some way the Presbyterian Church in Canada could help.
There was. The two organizations drew up plans to reach 4,500 families. (An earlier rapid response program reaching 300 families was implemented quickly.)
posted on August 1, 2009 in People & Places
On May 17, 2009, the congregation of St. Andrew’s, Tillsonburg, Ont., gathered to celebrate 160 years of mission in the community. Assisting Rev. Olwyn Coughlin, in the cutting of the traditional cake were four members who have been part of the congregation for over 60 years—Millie Sandham, Tom Sandham, Gene Walsh and Pat More.
And other tasty tales from southern Malawi
posted on August 1, 2009 in Features
A couple of weeks ago we went to a small village in southern Malawi. We met with Pastor Rodney who was in his early sixties and walked with a limp. He met us at the junction off of the main road on his motorcycle to help us navigate the very rough road of about 10 kilometers to the church. I am thankful that the Presbyterian church has donated this motorcycle to him to get around to his five churches and two prayer houses. We go to bed exhausted around 8:30 p.m. and drop swiftly to sleep. But as so often happens, three hours later I lie wide awake in bed, my senses tingling from the day’s events and so I get up to write to try and calm down so that I can go back to sleep. The feeling is sort of like being tickled by someone until it almost hurts.
Every time I think that I must have experienced all that Malawi has to offer me … I again get swept off my feet and out of my mind, with the sensory input that the warm heart of Africa is so stunningly capable of providing. The first surprise at this church was that they couldn’t sing the hymns. Even #1, Holy, Holy, Holy was all over the map. I thought “Wow, this is the first church I’ve been to where they can’t sing.” Wrong. They just couldn’t do old, white, Presbyterian hymns. When the choirs got up and there were many of all ages, they blew me away with their harmony, body movements and freedom. They did “O Come All Ye Faithful” in Chichewa, such a familiar Christmas carol in the heat and in the warmth and deepness of African voices. It was a thrill.
The church is old, the walls cracking, the roof falling down and it had a strong smell of rodent about it. We got a tour of the village. The school with its cracked cement floors, no desks, no books, no chalk, no anything except the will to learn. There is no electricity in this village but the medical clinic was solar powered. The ambulance was a motorcycle with a side cart attached to it. As the pastor showed us around we asked him about the biggest challenges he faced. He said the congregation has about sixty orphans that they support and it is difficult to keep them fed.
Their faces are works of art in their own right. Young, snotty, shining eyes, brilliant smiles and old, wizened, leathery skin with rotten teeth and deep knowledgeable eyes.
A feast for the looking.
The service had its usual amount of excitement, baptism of babies, new elders, visitors, choirs etc. but the part that was like a living portrait of sound, smell, sight, touch and sound was the actual harvest parade. At the appointed time the young people at the back of the church started singing, accompanied by drumming, dancing and clapping. The women and men of the congregation went outside and then a whole procession of people made their way into church. The people themselves are beautiful enough, with their brilliant coloured chitenges and bright coloured head scarves. But today they came in with different coloured buckets and bowls of all sizes; containers balanced on their heads. Orange, blue, green, red, enamel, plastic, tin, large, med, small, tall and short. The buckets were mostly filled with chimanga (corn) and on top of each heap of chimanga there was arranged, a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Mostly Bougainvillea; purple, red, orange and pinks. The women danced and sang to the front of the church and yodelled, while the men would help lift the containers from the women’s heads and then they would toss the corn on to a big pile on the floor of the church. Above the music you heard the constant offering of tinkling chimanga as it fell from the buckets on to the piles on the floor. Sometimes two men would come in carrying a big sack of chimanga and pour out the offering. When the pile got too big another pile began. Bananas, millet, oranges, 12 foot long stalks of sugar cane, cassava, cabbage and sweet potatoes were also brought in. So much joy in the giving.
I have been reading Leviticus for my own devotions and for the first time I could see the sacrifice, sprinkling of blood, incense and music of that time as something to help the Jewish people celebrate. It must have tingled their senses as well. I always thought it was gross, all that butchering and bleating and burning of animals and yet a sensory experience it must have been for the Jewish people, to hear and smell and taste and see all those sights. Our North American culture is so sanitized and so free of sensual experiences.
I write this in the wee hours of the morning but the thankfulness I feel for all I have experienced at worship remains vibrant. Those villages were dirt poor and yet rich beyond belief in how they worship the living Christ with all of their senses.
We were invited to Rev. Maseya’s new manse for supper this week. We ate the usual traditional Malawian meal and talked about Maseya’s time as a missionary in Korea. He couldn’t believe that people actually ate crab. He just couldn’t do it he said. In Malawi only very poor people eat crab and they find them in the rain gutters. On the other hand he couldn’t understand our aversion to mouse on a stick. He said they call it underground sausage and if you are lucky to find someone selling them on the side of the road we should stop and get some because they are very good. Different cultures.
As luck (providence?) would have it, four days later we were driving to Mbevu for an evangelism rally when our vanload of Malawians excitedly told us to quickly pull over. As we pulled to the side of the road, many little boys came running towards us and pushed underground sausage through the window into our van. The sticks, a little over a foot in length, have ten, dried, flat, dead mice in a running position tied to them in a row. Hair and tail included all for 150 kwacha (approximately $1.25). Our van full of Malawians rejoiced in their find, telling us how they would wash the mice, fry them up and how tasty they would be with a little pepper. Different cultures.
There is a Sunday school class in the Netherlands who sent us plastic flags with pictures of the children in their Sunday school class. Pictures of healthy, bright, wealthy, white Dutch kids. Mostly blonde, blue eyed, living in one of the richest countries in the world. We hung these flags up in our Ndirande club. Strung across the dark hall; it was a festive sight. I took photographs of our poor, mentally and physically challenged, black Malawian children. We made flags from construction paper, wrote their names and their ages, decorated them with donated markers and stickers, glued on pictures, strung them together and sent them to Holland. Two very different cultures somehow joined together. When I look at the pictures of the Dutch kids and our Ndirande kids I see many similarities. Beautiful smiles, joy filled eyes, enthusiasm, hope for the future.
We went on a field trip with the Ndirande Club today. We rented mini-buses and drove our own vehicles. The logic was that our Ndirande folk never have a chance to give, they are always getting and being helped. Going to the large, Queen Elizabeth hospital they would have a chance to give instead of always receiving. The women of the club have knitted little sweaters all year long. They get 50 kwacha for every sweater they knit. The tailors have sewn little purses, which we filled with little sweets. When we came to the hospital we visited the newborn wards, where we passed out the sweaters and the children’s wards where we passed out the little bags. We passed out hundreds and wished the mothers and the children well. How do you think they felt? The joy of giving. Deep, satisfied joy. Hallelujah!
Ed—Rev. Ed Hoekstra, and the author’s husband—was at the GEC (General, Administration Conference) and was sitting with some of the other ministers over lunch when he got this lesson in romance. Anyone who knows Ed knows that he needs all the help he can get. This story was relayed to me by Ed the following day. He said that they were eating lunch when Rev. Zangalei pontificated about how he thought he knew his wife, but now he realized he really knows his wife. The other ministers were all ears, since they too have this life mission of “knowing their wives.” Zingalei continued that he thought he would do a really romantic thing for his wife so when he was travelling back from Mbevu he stopped by the side of the road and picked up some mice on a stick. When he came home he lovingly presented the mice on the stick to his wife who promptly told him in an angry voice, “I don’t like mice on a stick!” At this point in the conversation another minister, Rev. Dothi said, “I like mice on a stick.” Ed replied, “Yeah but your not Rev. Zangali’s wife.” “That’s right,” Zangali said. He then reiterated that now he really knows his wife. Ed thought that was the funniest thing and assured me that he has taken this romantic lesson to heart. You never know what important thing you may learn at the GEC.
Today I boarded a mini-bus with 16 other mai mvano members to go to a meeting in Limbe to dedicate the new mai mvano co-ordinator of all of Blantyre. I still get a big kick out of putting on my uniform and being with a whole group of women who look a lot like a bunch of penguins. We sang all the way there and back. The conductor of the mini-bus (the one that collects the money) sang right along with us. The meeting started at 9:00 a.m. and finished at 2:00 p.m. without a break. You can see what a bunch of wimps us Canadians are. Every church that came sang a song. Every church that came danced up to the front, gyrating hips and swaying arms, with gifts for the new co-ordinator; chimanga, plastic buckets, clothe, mattress, pots and pans, rice. The camaraderie, the laughter, the love for God and for each other is enough to give you a real high. These women are a powerful force of good, of reaching out to their neighbours in need. They make me proud to be a woman, proud to be a Christian, glad to be following this path of Jesu Kristu.
Sunday evening was one of those services at St. Michael’s where you feel your soul lifting a little closer to something more. At around 4:00 p.m. when the day has been full; Ed preached his first sermon in Chichewa, we had a cottage come and visit, the last thing I feel like doing is loading up the van with the piano, cello and violin and try to give some logic to the boys (two of the Hoekstra’s five children) about why we are headed to the church again. This is where mere feeling should not come into play. What I feel like doing is making a cup of tea, putting my feet up and watching some TV (if we had one to watch.) Instead, discipline takes over. Mind over emotions. We close most Sundays with worship at the 5:00 o’clock service whether we feel like it or not.
We arrive at 4:00 to practice the music and while we practice dusk creeps up. The little candle shaped lights on the side of the ancient cathedral barely light up the place. People filter in slowly. Maybe they too are marching in to disciplined steps, acts of their will. Usually there are people from all over the world at these services. They come on short term, long term mission trips, holidays etc. Today we have present with us Mrs. Ross an elderly woman and her son who have come to commemorate her husband’s work in Malawi. He worked in the tumultuous time of independence from the turn of dictatorship to multi-power rule.
We sing, “Gloria, Gloria, Glory in the Highest, Gloria, Gloria, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.” Our different voices from different parts of the world rise and blend and seem to soar to the heights of the cathedral ceiling. It seems like many more voices from the past have drifted in and joined ours. It is a fitting setting for the scripture reading from Habbakuk. The scripture reader quips in his Irish accent that if we can’t find the three chapters of Habbakuk it is right between Nahum and Zephaniah. As often happens the scheduled preacher doesn’t show up, but lucky for us Glenn has a barn burner in his back pocket. I wonder what Habbakuk means. I’ve been pondering about names a lot since we have a new grand child coming into the world who will need a name. There are so many rich names in Malawi. Chifundo—Kindness, Chisomo—Grace, Mtendere—Peace. I turn my attention back to the preacher with his North American name, Glenn as he begins to expound Habbakuk.
He reminds us that it is still harvest time here in Malawi. It is easy to be thankful when the harvest is good, when the rains are plenty when things are going well. Habbakuk finds Israel in a hard place, a place of exile, confusion, violence and he cries out “God how long do I cry out for help before you listen?” We too cry out like Habbakuk. “God can’t you see that people are killing each other in the Congo, that women are being raped in Darfur, that Palestinians do not have a home land, that people in Malawi do not have jobs and cannot feed their families. This is when God speaks to Habbakuk and tells him to write it out in big block letters so that anyone can read it on the run as they run by. The big block letters say, “Wait, wait for the appointed time.” It points to what’s coming, it aches for the coming. It seems slow in coming but wait. It’s on its way. It will come right on time.
Then Glenn gave examples of generations of people waiting for communism to fall, and it did; waiting for apartheid to end, and it did. We are waiting today, for the Palestinians to have their own homeland; we are waiting for our world economic order to treat the poor countries as equally as the rich. And that’s the faith we live by. Even in hard times, in difficult times we will sing joyful praises to God, we will trust in the appointed time. Anyway I cannot do justice to the sermon, there was a lot more to it but I came away strengthened by the words of Habbakuk.
“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls yet I will rejoice in the Lord. I will be joyful in God my Saviour.” Habbakuk 3
After the sermon we sang, Now The Night Has Fallen. It is inky, black, dark when we leave the church. I leave content, surrendering the day and letting the quiet darkness still my soul. I have been nurtured in worship.
Just so you know, this doesn’t always happen. Sometimes I rant and rave when I come home from worship. The preacher that has just spewed at me for a half an hour has twisted and changed the gospel so much that I feel lacerated, angry and trembling with indignation. I wonder why I go to church, why I spend so much time in worship, why God doesn’t fix all those idiot preachers up double quick. This is when my husband usually calmly tells me the positive parts of the service, the redeeming parts. Ed reminds me that we are all idiots and that’s why we go to church; to acknowledge that we need to change. I don’t know why I so easily forget this. I feel like making myself some huge block letters.
We hope to see many of you in Canada. If not it is not because we do not love you it’s because we are finite. We will let you know what it is. When Nico was born at home it was Jacob’s job to tell us if the baby was a boy or a girl. We primed him up for his job. We told him, “When the baby is born, you say, It’s a boy! Or It’s a girl.” When his brother was born he proudly said, “It’s a boy! Or It’s a girl!”
