Why I left the auditing profession

I was wading through some of my old Toastmasters speeches looking for some sermon illustrations, and came across this speech that I did in about 2005 when I was still under the influence of pineapple beer. When you read this, you will understand why I left the auditing profession...

The story that you are about to hear is absolutely true. No names and places have been changed, since there were no innocent people involved.

This is my job. My name is Steven. I work in an office. I am … an auditor!

There! I said it. Now that you all know, please don’t think any worse of me.
What is an auditor, anyway? Some say that he is someone who arrives after the battle is over, and starts bayoneting all the wounded.

I’m not sure when I started on the long, slippery road to becoming an auditor. Some say that it was that pineapple beer that I imbibed in Standard 8 that started it all. Others believed that my personality was too volatile to become an actuary. Still others believed that I didn’t have a personality at all. And here was me thinking that I didn’t have any friends because I was too busy working.

It all started in 1990, when I decided that I wanted to enter this so-called noble profession. Someone told me that auditors earn obscene amounts of money. If I had actually done my homework properly, I would have spent the first two years of my articles packing beer trucks at SA Breweries instead of playing “accountant – accountant”. That is because those fine folks at SAB were earning a lot more than I was during my first two years, and besides, they didn’t have to drink the tea in our office, either.

Speaking of the tea, the venerable gentleman who made the tea in our office each day was the only man on earth who could burn water. I’m convinced that our tea was of the 1-2-3 variety – one part tea, two parts water, and three parts Cremora. It was such beverages that fortified us for our attack on the big bad world.

And a bad world it was, too. The inappropriately named South African Revenue Service was known as the Receiver of Revenue in those days. At least that was its official name. We used to call it the “Deceiver of Robbin’ You”, and this may have had something to do with the name change.

Their offices were in that dark, dingy hovel at the top of Rissik Street (in downtown Johannesburg) in those days, and there must have been about a hundred doors in that place. The perfect environment for a bit of fun – at the expense of one of our first-year clerks. One fine day, we decided to send her down there for a “Tax Evasion Form”, which resulted in her spending a rather fruitless afternoon exploring the building. “No, sorry, Ma’am, we doesn’t have dose forms, dey must be at Counter Free.” She would then go to Counter Three and be told, “No, youse can’t get dem here, you will have to go to Room 101.”

I haven’t heard anything from her since her arrest, but I understand that she will be let out of prison any day now.

We had some rather interesting clients as well – like old Mr Beinashowitz at Thistledown Knitwear, or Tinseltown as we used to call it. He was a wonderful old soul, but there was one thing that you NEVER asked old Mr B – especially at about twenty past four in the afternoon, when you were packing up to leave: “So how was your recent holiday in Israel?” “Ahh ... Israel is a very interesting country,” he would reply, and then go on to tell you about his latest holiday. The record was about a quarter to seven that we left the one night, courtesy of the Israeli Tourism Bureau.

Then there was Mr Chaim Goldsmith of SA Weatherwear. This company made those baby poo brown safari suits that the Boere used to wear on the railways. We arrived at his factory the one day to check the stock, and the conversation went something like this:
SJ: “Good morning, Mr Goldsmith. Do you have the stock figures for us, please”
CG: “You vant ze stock figures?”
SJ: “Yes, please.”
CG: “You vant to know vot ze stock figure should be?”
SJ: “Yes, please.”
CG: “Vot do you vont it to be?”

Another clerk was doing the petty cash audit, and asked Mr Goldsmith for some vouchers. “Aah, some vouchers?” He opened his desk drawer, and hauled out a pile of vouchers, gave them to the clerk, who started beavering away at them. He then came back, and asked for some more vouchers. “Aah, some more vouchers?” said Mr Goldsmith, who then opened the second drawer and hauled out another pile of vouchers – this pile smelling a bit musty. Two hours later, the clerk sidled across to my desk, and said, “The old bugger’s given me too many vouchers. What do I do now?”

Worse still was the stock audit at a client in rural Swaziland. The client was ostensibly a hardware store, but they in fact sold anything, ranging from tractor tyres to wooden coffins, and it was with one of the coffins that I had a rather unfortunate encounter. Clambering up onto one of the shelves, I lost my footing, and fell on top of the coffin, split the lid lengthways, and came to rest right inside the coffin.

For the rest of the audit, none of the locals wanted to even come near me.

My most harrowing audit experience, however, was when I was sent to a flour mill in Bronkhorstspruit. This client had the ghastliest archive room in the world – old bags of flour, rats running around – and the partner asked me to fetch the Verbal Agreements File. And come hell or high water, I was going to find it!

I have since left the audit profession, deciding instead to settle for a quieter life clearing landmines in Mozambique. However, to those brave men and women, and their proud laptops, I dedicate the following poem:

A man knocked on the Heavenly Gates, his face was lined and old.
He stood before the man of faith to seek admission to the fold.
"What have you done," St. Peter asked, "to seek admission here?"
He said, "Sir, sir, I've been an auditor, for many and many a year."
The Pearly Gates swung open wide, St. Peter rang the bell.
"Come in and choose your harp," he said, "You’ve had your share of hell."

The need to be totally honest

Dear Dr. Ruth,

I am a crack dealer in Kempton Park, Gauteng. I was recently diagnosed as a carrier of the HIV virus. My parents live in Hillbrow and one of my sisters, who lives in Benoni, is married to a transvestite.

My father and mother were recently arrested for growing and selling marijuana. They are financially dependent on my other two sisters, who are prostitutes in Brakpan. I have two brothers; one is currently serving a non-parole life sentence at Leeukop Central Prison for the murder of a teenage boy in 1994. My other brother is currently in jail awaiting charges of sexual misconduct with his three children.

I recently got engaged to marry a former prostitute who lives in Yeoville. She is now a part time "working girl". All things considered, my problem is this. I love my fiancé and look forward to bringing her into the family. I certainly want to be totally open and honest with her .

Should I tell her about my cousin who is a Blue Bull supporter?

Signed,
Worried About My Reputation

Kids in church

Gotta love these ones...

3-year-old Reese: "Our Father, Who does art in heaven, Harold is His name. Amen."

A little boy was overheard praying: "Lord, if you can't make me a better boy, don't worry about it. I'm having a real good time like I am".

After the christening of his baby brother in church, Jason sobbed all the way home in the back seat of the car. His father asked him three times what was wrong. Finally, the boy replied, "That preacher said he wanted us brought up in a Christian home, and I wanted to stay with you guys".

One particular four-year-old prayed, "And forgive us our trash baskets, as we forgive those who put trash in our baskets".

A Sunday school teacher asked her children as they were on the way to church service, "And why is it necessary to be quiet in church?" One bright little girl replied, "Because people are sleeping."

A mother was preparing pancakes for her sons, Kevin 5, and Ryan 3. The boys began to argue over who would get the first pancake.
Their mother saw the opportunity for a moral lesson. "If Jesus were sitting here, He would say, 'Let my brother have the first pancake, I can wait'."
Kevin turned to his younger brother and said, "Ryan, you be Jesus!"

A father was at the beach with his children when the four-year-old son ran up to him, grabbed his hand, and led him to the shore where a seagull lay dead in the sand. "Daddy, what happened to him?" the son asked. "He died and went to Heaven", the dad replied. The boy thought a moment and then said, "Did God throw him back down?"

A wife invited some people to dinner. At the table, she turned to their six-year-old daughter and said, "Would you like to say the blessing?" "I wouldn't know what to say", the girl replied. "Just say what you hear Mommy say", the wife answered. The daughter bowed her head and said, "Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?"

Ancient computing device?

My son James found this rather interesting-looking stone the other day, and the fertile imaginations in the Jones family have been speculating on what it may be.

This morning I think that I have found the answer - a stone-age mouse!

(I am of course open to other suggestions!)

I'm rich!

I've finally cracked the big time!

In my previous post, I indicated that the two-month contract that I am currently busy with would help me to pay some bills and put a bit of cash aside for 2009, but I didn't realise how lucrative it would be. I have recently become a billionaire - 100 times over.

Now I know that the South African currency has taken a hammering over the past week or two, so can someone out there have a look at the note above and tell me just how rich I am at the moment?

What's the difference between choruses and hymns?

An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended the big city church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was. "Well," said the farmer, "it was good. They did something different, however. They sang praise choruses instead of hymns."

"Praise choruses?" said his wife. "What are those?"

"Oh, they're OK. They are sort of like hymns, only different," said the farmer.

"Well, what's the difference?" asked his wife.

The farmer said, "Well, it's like this - If I were to say to you: "Martha, the cows are in the corn"' - well, that would be a hymn. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

'Martha, Martha, Martha,
Oh Martha, MARTHA, MARTHA,
the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows
the white cows,
the black and white cows,
the COWS, COWS, COWS
are in the corn,
are in the corn, are in the corn, are in the corn,
the CORN, CORN, CORN.'

Then, if I were to repeat the whole thing two or three times, well, that would be a praise chorus."

The next weekend, his nephew, a young, new Christian from the city came to visit and attended the local church of the small town. He went home and his mother asked him how it was. "Well," said the young man, "it was good. They did something different however. They sang hymns instead of regular songs."

"Hymns?" asked his mother. "What are those?"

"Oh, they're OK. They are sort of like regular songs, only different," said the young man.

"Well, what's the difference?" asked his mother.

The young man said, "Well, it's like this - If I were to say to you: 'Martha, the cows are in the corn' - well, that would be a regular song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you:

'Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear thou my cry
Inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth
Turn thou thy whole wondrous ear by and by
To the righteous, inimitable, glorious truth.

For the way of the animals who can explain
There in their heads is no shadow of sense
Hearkenest they in God's sun or His rain
Unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced.

Yea those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight
Have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night
They all my mild Chilliwack sweet corn have chewed.

So look to the bright shining day by and by
Where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn
Where no vicious animals make my soul cry
And I no longer see those foul cows in the corn.'

Then if I were to do only verses one, three and four and do a key change on the last verse, well that would be a hymn.

Why I'm glad I'm not going to kwaZulu-Natal

I am so, so thankful that the Church has not sent me to kwaZulu-Natal.

Not that I have anything against the place - good weather, warm sea, a decent radio station, and all that good stuff. However, I am rather a wimp when it comes to spicy food, and this report that a friend sent me prompted me to fall on my knees and thank God that I have been stationed in the Eastern Cape - after I'd finished crying with laughter, that is...

REPORT OF THE 2008 KWAZULU-NATAL CURRY COOK-OFF CONTEST

(If you can read this whole story without laughing then there's no hope for you. I was crying by the end. I have endeavoured to censor, shall we say, the more "colourful" language. Please take time to read this slowly. For those of you who have lived in KZN, you know how typical this is.)

They actually have a Curry Cook-off about June / July. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the Royal Show in Pietermaritzburg. Judge #3 was an inexperienced food critic named Frank, who was visiting from America.

Frank: "Recently, I was honoured to be selected as a judge at a Curry Cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking for directions to the Beer Garden when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Natal Indians) that the curry wouldn't be all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted".

Here are the scorecard notes from the event:

CURRY # 1 - SEELAN'S MANIAC MONSTER TOMATO CURRY...
Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 -- Nice smooth tomato flavour. Very mild.
Judge # 3 (Frank) -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway. Took me two beers to put the flames out. I hope that's the worst one. These people are crazy.

CURRY #2 - PHOENIX BBQ CHICKEN CURRY...
Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of chicken. Slight chilli tang.
Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavour, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich manoeuvre! They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

CURRY # 3 - SHAMILA'S FAMOUS "BURN DOWN THE GARAGE" CURRY...
Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse curry. Great kick.
Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of chilli peppers.
Judge # 3 -- Call 911. I've located a uranium’s pill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drain Cleaner. Everyone knows the routine by now. Get me more beer before I ignite. Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. I'm getting sloshed from all the beer.

CURRY # 4 - BABOO'S BLACK MAGIC BEAN CURRY...
Judge # 1 -- Black bean curry with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a curry.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it. Is it possible to burn out taste buds? Shareen, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills. That 200kg woman is starting to look HOT...just like this nuclear waste I'm eating! Is chilli an aphrodisiac?

CURRY # 5 LALL'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER...
Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong curry. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Average beef curry, could use more tomato. Must admit the chilli peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes. I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chilli had given me brain damage. Shareen saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher. I wonder if I'm burning my lips off. It really annoys me intensely that the other judges asked me to stop screaming. Screw them.

CURRY # 6 - VERISHNEE'S VEGETARIAN VARIETY...
Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety curry. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulphuric flames. I am definitely going to crap myself if I fart, and I'm worried it will eat through the chair. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Shareen. Can't feel my lips anymore. I need to wipe what’s left of my backside with a snow cone ice-cream.

CURRY # 7 - SELINA'S "MOTHER-IN-LAW'S-TONGUE" CURRY...
Judge # 1 -- A mediocre curry with too much reliance on canned peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chilli peppers at the last moment. (I should take note at this stage that I am worried about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably).
Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing. I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My shirt is covered with curry which slid unnoticed out of my mouth. My pants are full of lava to match my shirt. At least, during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me. I've decided to stop breathing - it's too painful. Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

CURRY # 8 - NAIDOO'S TOENAIL CURLING CURRY...
Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending. This is a nice blend curry. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced curry. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the curry pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. Poor man, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot curry?
Judge # 3 - No Report.

Kids sure say the darndest things, dont they?

I received this little anecdote from a friend of mine, and just HAD to share it with those of you who may be prone to mumbe a bit during baptism services...

TWO LITTLE BOYS

After a hardy rainstorm filled all the potholes in the streets and alleys, a young mother watched her two little boys playing in the puddle through her kitchen window. The older of the two, a five year old lad, grabbed his sibling by the back of his head and shoved his face into the water hole.

As the boy recovered and stood laughing and dripping, the mother runs to the
yard in a panic. "Why on earth did you do that to your little brother?!" she asks as she shook the older boy in anger.

"We were just playing 'church', mommy", he said. "And I was just baptizing him ... in the name of the Father, the Son and in ... the hole-he-goes."

Congratulations to those of us who were born before 1980

I just HAD to throw this one in - it's priceless! (Not that I'm anti-seatbelts, airbags, etc. and I'm not overly keen on smoking or blowing up frogs - just in case any Mother Grundys think I'm being TOO serious about this...)

Congratulations to those who were born before 1980

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us and lived in houses made of asbestos. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese, raw egg products, loads of bacon and processed meat, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes or cervical cancer.

Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets or shoes, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking!!! As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a Bakkie on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle. Take-away food was limited to fish and chips, no pizza shops, McDonalds, KFC, Steers, Nandos. Even though all the shops closed at 6.00pm and didn't open on the weekends, somehow we didn't starve to death!

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this. We could collect old drink bottles and cash them in at the corner store and buy Chappies, Wilson 's Toffees, Wicks Bubble Gum and some crackers to blow up frogs with.

We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soft drinks with sugar in it, but we weren't overweight because ... WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!! We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. We built tree houses and cubby houses and played in river beds with matchbox cars.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on DSTV, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no mobile phones, no personal computers (and no Apple Macs, Dion!), no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no Lawsuits from these accidents.

Only girls had pierced ears!

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.

You could only buy Easter Eggs and Hot Cross Buns at Easter time.......no really!

We were given pellet guns and catapults for our 10th birthdays!!

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just yelled for them!

Mum didn't have to go to work to help dad make ends meet!

RUGBY and CRICKET had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!! Getting into the team was based on MERIT AND NOT DUE TO BLACKMAIL, THREATS AND GUILT FROM THE PAST... strange but true!

Our teachers used to belt us with big sticks and leather straps, and bully's always ruled the playground at school (I hated this part when I was growing up, 'cos I was littler than the other kids).

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law! The parents of the house dished out the punishment to ALL the kids there, whether theirs or not, and if you came home and told your parents that you got a smack, you inevitably got another one!

Our parents didn't invent stupid names for their kids like "Kiora" and "Blade" and "Ridge" and "Vanilla"

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever! The past 70 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas. We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!

And YOU are one of them (except you babies born after 1980)! CONGRATULATIONS!

You might want to share this with others who have had the privilege to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good. And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.

Why men shouldn't take messages

I read an amusing post on Wessel Bentley's blog entitled "Why men don't write advice columns", and it reminded me why men also shouldn't take messages for their wives...

Synod - the lighter side

Talk about flogging a willing horse?! My Circuit decided that seeing as I was required to attend our recent District Synod anyway (because I was appearing before the screening committee as a candidate), I may as well represent the Circuit as a delegate as well. I guess that this means that I will need to present a report from Synod at our next Circuit Quarterly Meeting in July, so I may as well update my blog at the same time.

However, since I am still trying to gather my thoughts together concerning the proceedings at this year's Synod (not to mention still pinching myself to make sure that being accepted as a probationer minister wasn't a dream), the "heavy stuff" will have to come later. In the meantime, allow me to share some of the lighter moments in these humorous quotes from Synod 2007:

1. In response to my question concerning a Youth Synod resolution proposing the establishment of a Sports Desk aimed at "ensuring that all Methodists participate in sport", which I considered to be a noble sentiment that was however worded rather prescriptively, Bishop Paul Verryn (in reference to my "full Gospel preacher" waistline) remarked that I "needed more participation in sports".


2. "Never trust a preacher who says 'finally'..." - Bishop Verryn, interrupting during a rather long-winded report from a group who shall remain unnamed... (This cartoon first appeared on the website "The Ongoing Adventures of ASBO Jesus" - my kind of humour!)


3. "We are the Grade Noughts of 2008" - a reference to the newly-accepted candidates for the ministry, who will commence Phase One of their probation in 2009.


4. Someone got a bit tongue-tied in an attempt at protocol. Instead of the customary "Bishop and the Synod-at-large", this person addressed us as "Synod and the Bishop-at-large" (sweet revenge for Point 1 above, perhaps?).


5. "Now we are going to enjoy some organised chaos" - Bishop Verryn again, as he invited the whole of Synod to celebrate with the newly-accepted candidates by coming up to greet us. Many hugs, handshakes, and tears followed!


6. At the first mealtime, one of the delegates questioned why there were two queues, one much shorter than the other. Rev Brenda Timmer, superintendent minister of the host Circuit, indicated that the shorter queue was for diabetics and vegetarians. "Goody - that's for me, then", he responded, making for the shorter queue. (To my knowledge he was neither diabetic nor vegetarian!)


7. "You think that now you have been accepted as a candidate, you can come dressed casually?" This was a comment by a disgruntled Phase One probationer wearing a clerical shirt that looked two sizes too small around the neck, which was in response to the fact that while I wore a tie on the Thursday for the candidates' screening, this was dumped smartly in favour of an open-necked shirt on the Friday.


8. "The males in my family have a congenital defect - our bladders are located between our shoulder-blades and connected to our eyes!" (Bishop-elect Peter Witbooi, explaining why the tears flowed so freely when the results were announced confirming his election as Bishop commencing in 2010, and again that evening when he paid tribute to his family in the service that evening.)


9. "Some people will do anything to get out of having to attend Synod!" (a reference to Rev Kym Bishop, who is currently on maternity leave.)


10. "I'm sleeping like a baby at the moment - out like a light for an hour, followed by an hour of crying..." This came from a tired dad, Rev Michael Bishop who, unlike his wife Kym, was not granted dispensation from attending Synod.


11. "I think I'll try that next year!" (the response from a jealous male Phase One probationer to the female Rev Bishop being granted dispensation. A bit of confusion around gender roles, perhaps?)


12. "I have bad news...South Rand Circuit still needs a new Circuit Treasurer next year." This was my response to one of our Circuit Steward, Jane Valla, when I was informed that the screening committee sanctioned my acceptance as a candidate, meaning that I would be leaving the Circuit at the end of the year.


13. "Oh well, Steve ... I tried." These were the first words from Brian Hovelmeier, another of our Circuit Stewards, when he shook my hand during the period of "organised chaos" referred to in 5 above. For the past two years he has been questioning my sanity in giving up a well-paying career in corporate finance to become a full-time minister.


14. "Well, I always said I was called. I never said anything about being sane!" (My response to Brian.)


15. "Wow - talk about confidence! What if you didn't make it?" This was the response from a member of the screening committee who was chatting to me afterwards about the need to purchase clerical clothing once I had been accepted as a candidate, after I had informed her that due to the price of such clothing, I had already started buying one shirt a month from January! (The minister who gave me the advice to stock up early just happens to have the same shirt size as me ... should I read anything into this?)

Am I a suitable candidate?

My previous post referred to the upcoming Synod, in which the delegates will determine whether or not I would be a suitable candidate for the Methodist ministry, and make their recommendations to the Connexional Executive.

However, I came across this (supposedly confidential) pre-assessment of the various candidates by one Circuit, which makes me somewhat nervous about next week...

Report from the Circuit Stationing Committee:
We do not have a happy report to give. We have not been able to find a suitable candidate for this church, though we have one promising prospect. Thank you for your suggestions. We have followed up on each one with interviews or by calling at least three references. The following is our confidential report.
ADAM: Good man but has problems with his wife. One reference told us how he and his wife enjoyed walking nude in the woods.
NOAH: Former pastorate of 120 years with no converts. Prone to unrealistic building projects.
JOSEPH: A big thinker, but a braggart; believes in dream interpreting and has a prison record.
MOSES: A modest and meek man, but poor communicator; even stutters at times. Sometimes blows his stack and acts rashly in business meetings. Some say he left an earlier church over a murder charge.
DEBORAH: One word --- Female.
DAVID: The most promising leader of all until we discovered the affair he had with his neighbor's wife.
SOLOMON: Great preacher, but serious woman problems.
ELIJAH: Prone to depression; collapses under pressure.
HOSEA: A tender and loving pastor, but our people could never handle his wife's occupation.
JONAH: Told us he was swallowed up by a great fish. He said the fish later spit him out on the shore near here. We hung up.
AMOS: Too much of a country hick. Backward and unpolished. With some seminary training, he might have promise; but he has a hang-up against wealthy people.
JOHN: Says he is a Baptist, but doesn't dress like one. May be too Pentecostal. Tends to lift both hands in the air to worship when he gets excited. You know we limit to one hand. Sleeps in the outdoors, has a weird diet, and provokes denominational leaders.
PETER: Too blue collar. Has a bad temper, even said to have cursed. He's a loose cannon.
PAUL: Powerful CEO type and fascinating preacher. However, he's short on tact, unforgiving with young ministers, harsh, and has been known to preach all night.
TIMOTHY: Too young.
JESUS: Has had popular times, but once when his church grew to 5000, He managed to offend them all; and his church dwindled down to twelve people. Seldom stays in one place very long. And, of course, he is single.
JUDAS: His references are solid. A steady plodder. Conservative. Good connections. Knows how to handle money. We're inviting him to preach this Sunday in view of a call.

To all those wannabee Bishops

This one's going to get me into trouble...I KNOW it is - but I couldn't resist it!

It was during my daily trawling through some of my favourite blogs that I came across this video of the song, "Start Wearing Purple". The chorus of this ditty goes thus...

Start wearing purple wearing purple (da da da da da)
Start wearing purple for me now
All your sanity and wits they will all vanish
I promise, it's just a matter of time...

It was posted by Paul Martin, a British Methodist minister who has a blog entitled "Turbulent Cleric". This post was entitled "In expectancy of Methodist Bishops", and it got me thinking about the nomination process currently underway for candidates to stand as our next District Bishop.

Judging by the general gossip that one hears among the clergy, it seems that the prospect of holding office as a District Bishop ranges from "life's ambition to wear a purple shirt" to "a punishment surpassed only by hell itself".

Like many offices in the Church, becoming Bishop has to be in response to a call from God, otherwise you would have to be completely insane. A couple of weeks ago I posted a tribute to Paul Verryn, current Bishop of the Central District, and when I think of the workload that he carries, the nonsense that he often has to put up with (sometimes from me), and the fact that despite there being 21 Circuits in this District, he still manages to get round to each Circuit fairly frequently, all things considered, his ministry is nothing short of incredible.

Whether Paul Verryn continues as our Bishop, or someone else steps in to fill what are very large shoes indeed, will only be decided at our upcoming Synod. But if any readers of this blog have designs on wearing the "purple shirt", give this video a quick squizz...

Directions to church?

The story is told of a lady who was rather old-fashioned, always quite delicate and elegant, especially in her language.

She and her husband were planning a week's camping holiday on the KwaZulu-Natal South Coast, so she wrote to a particular caravan park asking for a reservation. She wanted to make sure the caravan park was fully equipped, but didn't quite know how to ask about the toilet facilities. She just couldn't bring herself to write the word "toilet" in her letter.

After much deliberation, she finally came up with the old-fashioned term BATHROOM COMMODE. But when she wrote that down, she still thought she was being too forward. So she started all over again, rewrote the entire letter referring to the bathroom commode merely as the BC: "Does the caravan park have it's own private BC?" is what she actually wrote.

Well, the caravan park owner wasn't old-fashioned at all and when he got the letter, he just couldn't figure out what the woman was talking about. That BC business really stumped him. After worrying about it for awhile, he showed the letter to several campers, but they couldn't imagine what the lady meant either.

So the caravan park owner, finally coming to the conclusion that the lady must be asking about the local Baptist Church, sat down and wrote the following reply:

Dear Madam.

I regret very much the delay in answering your letter, but I now take pleasure in informing you that a BC is located nine kilometers north of the caravan park and is capable of seating 250 people at one time. I admit it is quite a distance away, if you are in the habit of going regularly, but no doubt you will be pleased to know that a great number of people take their lunches along and make a day of it.

They usually arrive early and stay late.

It is such a beautiful facility and the acoustics are marvelous...even the normal delivery sounds can be heard.

The last time my wife and I went was six years ago, and it was so crowded we had to stand up the whole time we were there. It may interest you to know that right now a supper is planned to raise money to buy more seats. They are going to hold it in the basement of the BC.

I would like to say it pains me very much not to be able to go more regularly, but it surely is no lack of desire on my part. As we grow old, it seems to be more of an effort, particularly in cold weather.

If you do decide to come down to our caravan park, perhaps I could go with you the first time you go, sit with you, and introduce you to all the other folks. Remember, this is a friendly community.

Sincerely, (Caravan Park Owner)

When does life begin?

As a fairly new ministry candidate, I need to formulate a position on various issues should I ever be questioned on such by a congregant.

One such issue that often raises controversy is the question of "when does life begin". So I asked a few ministers around our Circuit for their views in this regard, and these are some of the answers that I received:

Young male minister

Well, the answer to that question is quite obvious. When the baby emerges from its mother's womb, and cries its first cry - that's when life begins.

Young female minister

Oh, these men! They know nothing about babies! But then again, what can one expect when we are the one's who have to endure nine months of pregnancy. The correct answer is of course at conception - at the point when the sperm fertilises the egg, that's when life begins.

Supernumerary (retired) minister

Ah, the innocence of youth... pity they have it all wrong. Listen to the voice of experience, my son. When the kids have left home, the dog has died, the endowment policy has paid out, and you have dispensation from attending Circuit Quarterly Meetings and Synod, that's when life begins!

Don't touch that offering!

The offering had just been received, and while the congregation was settling down for the sermon, a little boy was playing with some of the coins he had taken as "change" from the offering plate.

Suddenly, the mother started screaming. The congregation turned to see what the commotion was, to find that the boy had swallowed one of the coins that he had been playing with, and was busy choking.

In the midst of all the panic, a quiet unassuming chap walked over to the boy and grabbed him by the testicles. He squeezed gently at first, but gradually increased the pressure until eventually the boy coughed up the coin, which the man caught in mid-air and returned to the offering plate.

The congregation erupted in spontaneous applause as the colour of the boy's face began to return to normal. The mother went over to the man, gave him a huge hug, and said, "You're amazing! I've never seen anyone help a choking person like that. Are you a doctor or a paramedic?"

"No, ma'am," the man replied. "I'm the church treasurer."

Christian one-liners

My friend Reinhold sent me these today - they are classic! Feel free to stick one at the bottom of your church bulletin each week...

• Don't let your worries get the best of you; remember, Moses started out as a basket case.
• Some people are kind, polite, and sweet-spirited until you try to sit in their pews.
• Many folks want to serve God, but only as advisers.
• It is easier to preach ten sermons than it is to live one.
• The good Lord didn't create any thing without purpose, but mosquitoes come close!
• When you get to your wit's end, you'll find God lives there.
• People are funny; they want the front of the bus, middle of the road, and back of the church.
• Opportunity may knock once, but temptation bangs on the front door forever.
• Quit griping about your church; if it was perfect, you couldn't belong.
• If a church wants a better pastor, it only needs to pray for the one it has.
• God Himself doesn't propose to judge a man until he is dead. So why should you?
• Some minds are like concrete, thoroughly mixed up and permanently set.
• Peace starts with a smile.
• I don't know why some people change churches; what difference does it make which one you stay home from?
• A lot of church members singing 'Standing on the Promises' are just sitting on the premises.
• We're called to be witnesses, not lawyers or judges.
• Be ye fishers of men. You catch 'em - He'll clean 'em!
• Coincidence is when God chooses to remain anonymous.
• Don't put a question mark where God put a full stop.
• Don't wait for 6 strong men to take you to church.
• Forbidden fruits create many jams.
• God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called.
• God loves everyone, but probably prefers ‘fruits of the spirit’ over ‘religious nuts’.
• God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage.
• He who angers you, controls you.
• If God is your Co-pilot, swap seats.
• Don't give God instructions - just report for duty.
• The task ahead of us is never as great as the Power behind us.
• The Will of God never takes you to where the Grace of God will not protect you.
• We don't change the message, the message changes us.
• You can tell how big a person is by what it takes to discourage them.
• The best mathematical equation I have ever seen: 1 cross + 3 nails = 4 given.

Early rising, exercising...

One of the many requirements when entering the ministry is that you need to go for a medical examination in order to join the Methodist Church's medical aid scheme. Presumably they want to make sure that you are fit and strong before your future congregations put you through the wringer?!


Be that as it may, in my case my doctor told me in no uncertain terms that I am overweight and need to do something about it. So with the zeal of a new convert, I joined a gym. Now previous experience has told me that the "work out - get fit" progression is not true! It's more like "work out - sweat a lot - half die - slow recovery - EVENTUALLY get fit".


So it is with a measure of empathy that I read this story about some other hapless gym victim...

A WEEK AT THE GYM: ONE MAN'S STORY...

If you read this without laughing out loud, there is something wrong with you. This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into a regular work-out routine.


Dear Diary:

For my 44th birthday this year, my good friend Werner purchased a week of personal training at the Virgin health club for me. Although I am still in great shape since playing for my varsity Rugby team 18 yrs ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.

I called the club and made my reservation with a personal trainer named Belinda, who identified herself as a 26 yr. old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swimwear.

Werner seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY:
Started my day at 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for me. She was something of a Greek goddess with blonde hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile.

Woo Hoo!!!!!

She took my pulse after 5 minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast, but I attributed it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobics outfit. I enjoyed watching the skilful way in which she conducted her aerobics class after my workout today.

Very inspiring, Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air, and then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile.

Belinda's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by lying on the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a moped in the club parking lot.



Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered the other club members. Her voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when she scolds, she gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.

My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. She said some other rubbish, too.

THURSDAY:
Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late; it took me that long to tie my shoes.

Belinda took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking, I ran and hid in the men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the rowing machine – which I sank.

FRIDAY:
I hate that Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anaemic little cheerleading cow. If there were a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it. Belinda wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if she didn't want dents in the floor, she shouldn't have handed me the barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.

The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

SATURDAY:
Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her made me want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY:
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank God that this week is over. I will also pray that next year, Werner (the rotten jerk), will choose a gift for me that is fun – like a root canal or a vasectomy!!

Load shedding blues

Like many fellow bloggers, I too have had to suffer the inconvenience of load-shedding of late. Thankfully the battery on my trusty Dell laptop tends to just about last the 2 hours that we are without power, while my wife has virtually stripped our caravan in the quest for appliances that do not rely on Eskom so that my family and I can remain "full Gospel preachers" in a physical sense.


These ongoing power interruptions are a stark reminder of how our ever-increasing hunger for power-consuming toys has contributed to the current shortages. We all need to take responsibility in trying to save power wherever we can, while big business also needs to come to the party - those tall buildings with their lights ablaze 24 hours per day cannot POSSIBLY be full of people nose-down at their desks, hard at work, at 10 o'clock on a Saturday night!


But it also helps to keep our sense of humour, as shown by this letter sent to me recently that is (apparently) from Eskom management...


Just a little note to let you know we understand your anger in the recent price hike and power interruptions. But it should be noted that you have no choice. We are a big company and you will pay what we tell you. You have no choice. We HAVE the power, you NEED the power. So sad, too bad. Sucks to be you. We have enclosed a little picture to help outline our response. Have a nice day and keep those cheques coming, losers!!! Regards, ESKOM.