When (and how) do people come to Jesus?

While attending the funeral of a seminary colleague's mother last week, I got chatting afterwards to one of the members of the local congregation, and the subject got around to the time and circumstances in one's life when one accepts Jesus as Lord.

This raises a number of questions - the first one being the influence of one's surroundings on a decision to come to Christ.  Take ministers, for instance.  Most of the ministers I know grew up in Christian homes, many being "sons / daughters of the manse", which is a churchy term for those whose fathers were ministers.  Note too my use of "father", since most churches did not ordain women until fairly recently (the first in the MCSA being in 1976).

However, my friend Shane, who has been in the ministry for around 12 years, did not grow up with Christian parents, and nor did I.  What's also interesting in our case is that both of us were brought up by our mothers alone (with our parents getting divorced while we were young); both of us became Christians in our late teens; and both of our mothers accepted Christ shortly after our own conversion.

In the absence of a Christian influence in the home, what then brought us to salvation?  In Shane's case, it was the weekly tutelage of a faithful Sunday School teacher (which he attended because all of his friends did), while for me it was the result of a long struggle in coming to understand what the "Duty to God" line of the Scout promise really meant.  As time went by, an overwhelming sense that "being Christian" was far more than mere attendance at church resulted in an eventual encounter with the living Christ.

Contrast this image of our upbringing with the picture in our homes now that we have families of our own.  Shane married a "daughter of the manse" and ministered for a number of years with his father-in-law.  Belinda and I met shortly after we had both accepted Jesus as Lord.  Shane's two children have stood at the front of the church chanting "pwaise the Lord" from the time they began to walk, while our son James does not recall any particular day on which he decided to invite Jesus into his heart since, as he told his tearful parents some five years ago, "Jesus has always been my Lord".

The second question is around the nature of people's conversion experiences.  John Wesley, for instance, speaks of a "heart strangely warmed".  Shane's conversion was a classical "spiritual U-turn", leaving behind a lifestyle of drinking and fast motorcycles to follow Jesus.  Mine was an "intellectual" conversion - a point came in my life when the life and teaching of Jesus was "made sense", and it therefore seemed pointless to any longer resist following Him.  James had no conversion experience at all, since for him there were no "BC days".

What, then, does all this say about people and their relationship with Christ?  Those who subscribe to Calvinist theology would cite the events described in this blog post as evidence of "predestination" - a doctrine that stipulates that God predetermines who will be saved, and who won't be.  Somehow, though, I cannot buy this line of thinking.  Freedom of choice is too large a factor.  Continuing with the parallels between my friend Shane and I, both of us are the most stubborn so-and-so's to walk on God's great earth.  We change when we want to change, not when someone else says we must.  Only if things make sense to us will we go along with things.

I can therefore only deduce that God's infinite wisdom and prevenient grace (now there's a good Wesleyan word for you!) means that not only is each individual presented with an opportunity to accept Jesus as Lord, but that such opportunity is presented to each according to where they are.  So why, then, was Shane, to quote Chris Rea's lyrics, on "The Road To Hell" when he encountered Christ?  Why did it happen to me in the cold, intellectual environment of a university lecture hall?  How is it that James was effectively born saved?  And why did John Wesley spend umpteen years as an Anglican priest and a lecturer in theology before his understanding of who Jesus is moved from his head to his heart?

None of us will ever know the answer.  But just as Jesus called His first disciples from an assortment of different characters, so Jesus continues to call different people in different ways.  For me, this points to two things: Firstly, in the words of John Wesley, "all can be saved".  And secondly, if this is true, the Gospel message cannot be presented in a "one size fits all" package if we are to be truly effective for Christ.

The tank is full again

There's nothing like a few weeks' leave and a long drive to re-fill the tank and to get one ready for a new year.  I've been reading on Pete Grassow's blog about how he has turned his relocation from Cape Town to Pietermaritzburg into a road trip (read here, here, here, here, here, here, and here for an account of his trip thus far), and having driven nearly 2 500 km these holidays (Pietermaritzburg to Uitenhage; Uitenhage to Johannesburg; then from Johannesburg back to Pietermaritzburg again), I can identify with Pete's experiences of using driving time to think, reflect, pray, and all sorts of random but necessary things to get one's mental "filing cabinet" sorted out and order restored.

I must however confess that my thoughts on Mthatha were not quite as romantic as Pete's, since the traffic mayhem meant that it took us an hour to get through the city.  In fairness to Pete, though, he has memories from his childhood of having been born there, whereas I have memories of sitting in Sandton traffic for hours trying to get to and from work - which might cause our attitudes towards traffic congestion differ somewhat!

It was also good to catch up with the folks in Uitenhage again.  They say that Phase One can either make or break one's ministry, and in this caseI'm most grateful to have sat under the ministry of Bill Thompson, who has recently retired ("gone supernumerary" in MCSA-speak).  I had the privilege of attending his retirement service in Uitenhage, and although it was a long trip to make (seeing as we then went on to Joburg), it was worth every kilometre to be able to honour a man who has not only served God and the MCSA well in his ministry, but has also played a huge role in my own fledgeling ministry - far larger than he probably realises - which will stand me in good stead for years to come.  I know that these words are insignificant coming from my lips - Bill is not one for earthly praises, and would want to hear them only from the lips of Jesus - but I want to say nonetheless, "well done, good and faithful servant".

And as the holiday winds down, I feel re-charged and raring to go.  But in the meantime, there is the vitally important matter of a cricket match between SA and India at Kingsmead this week, which we will be going to complete with silly hats and the like (we wanted to go to the Pro20 at Moses Mabida, but at R350 a pop my stipend would have come up a bit short!).  I mean, after all, cricket is not a matter of life and death - it's FAR more important than that!

Whooooooshhh .... Pfffffffffffffffffffffft......

I haven't been blogging since last year thanks to a dubious decision on my part to change to Cell C's "Whoooooooshh" promotional package for my mobile internet access.  I say "dubious", not because the speeds are poor (they're not - in fact, they're great), and also not because there's any problem with the pricing (at R149 per month for 2GB, it's the cheapest in SA at the moment), but because of the disbolical service from the Pietermaritzburg branch of Cell C.

At the risk of being branded as a complete sexist, I have to choose words that best describe the sales "assistants" at the store - bimbos chewing their cud like cows in the meadows, possessing similar levels of unwillingness to provide anything remotely closely resembling customer service.  The manager wasn't much help, either, having either "popped out for a few moments" or, to use that old classic, "in a meeting".

All this means that I only got connected a couple of hours ago - and then, only once I'd called Cell C head office and comprehensively thrown my toys out of the cot.

However, the following thought crossed my mind as I pondered on this experience.  The one gum-chewing girlie had a permanently-pained expression on her face, as though she is currently working in the worst possible job she could find, which she no doubt hates with a passion.  Now admittedly it can't be too glamorous being a sales assistant in a cellphone outlet, and I wouldn't imagine that the pay is too great, either.  However, it is only grave-diggers and deep-sea divers that get to start at the top - the rest of us need to begin at the bottom, and the only way to progress to higher stations in life is to prove oneself at the lower levels.

So it must be soul-destroying to spend 8 hours a day, six days a week, dragging one's lip around the shop all day (when one isn't busy doing one's bit for the chewing-gum maker's share price, that is).  Sadly, with that attitude, this young woman will still be in the same dead-end job in 20 years' time, wondering what became of her life.

The thought that scares me most, though, is that this should ever happen to me in ministry.  I'm thankful to God that I have always had interesting jobs to do during my "first career", and I'm even more thankful that god has set me aside to do, on a full-time basis, what most lay people give up time to do sacrificially in obedience to God through the local church.  Yet I'm also aware that much (if not most) of ministry involves service - the image of Jesus washing the disciples' feet comes to mind here.

I have also seen others who have been in the ministry for many years who have simply grown tired.  They have lost their passion for ministry.  Sure, they still love Jesus, and they still have a heart for people, but somehow the spark has gone - and so they end up simply going through the motions, just like the woman at the Cell C store.  And so my prayer is that we do not "grow weary in doing good" in the service of the Lord.

Not unravelling, just unwinding

One of the joys of having a long period of leave after what has been a rather arduous year is that there is time to unwind, then time to wind oneself up again (this time, in a good way).  So things have been a bit quiet for the past few weeks, and are likely to be quiet for a little while longer.

Good news though is that I managed to pass another semester at seminary - just one more to go, then the anticipation of where we will be sent at the beginning of 2012.  Not too long until I can get cracking with some "real" ministry!  Can't wait!

Another semester ... another 9 subjects down ... another set of results

Although last Friday was the "official" end of the year at the Seminary, in reality it has only come to an end today with the receipt of our academic transcripts.  I'm glad to say that, with God's help, the results have been good.  Only another 6 months now to complete the BTh, then its onto the PhD.  Talk about being a sucker for punishment!

PS: I wonder if one's brain can REALLY explode? :-)

Anyone can make a baby - but it takes a REAL man to be a father!

After reading this article written by Democratic Alliance leader Helen Zille (posted on the Moneyweb website here), I have but two questions:

• Where are the real men?
• Where is the Church?

My aim during this 16 Days of Activism for No Violence Against Women and Children is not to attempt to provide answers, but to post various articles that I've found to be of interest in order to stimulate debate.



Anyone can make a baby - but it takes a REAL man to be a father!
Helen Zille

The 25th of November saw the start of the annual "16 Days of Activism against Gender Violence", an international campaign started in 1991 by the Centre for Women's Global Leadership at Rutgers University in the United States.


The 16 days begin on November 25 (International Day against Violence against Women) and end on December 10 (International Human Rights Day). The linking of these two dates is to emphasise that violence against women is a violation of human rights. The campaign is observed, in various ways, in some 156 countries around the world.


In South Africa we have added an extra dimension - children's rights. We call this campaign the "16 days of activism for no violence against women and children". It is an essential addition in our context.


This point was driven home when I participated in the national launch of the campaign in Khayelitsha (a township on the outskirts of Cape Town) on 25 November. I visited a shack in Site B, Harare, where I met Pumla (not her real name). My interaction with this young woman will remain with me for the rest of my life.


In a small shack, about two by three metres, without any basic services, she was raising seven children. The youngest was still on her breast. Three others clung to her skirt. The daily struggle for survival was etched on her face. It was clear that she must have started having children as a teenager.


It was difficult to have a meaningful conversation with her, as (apart from the children) her tiny dwelling was crammed with officials involved in the launch. She was also slightly overwhelmed by the occasion. I failed to establish with certainty whether she was receiving grants for her children. It was also impossible to establish why the children of school-going age were not at school. She maintained the officials had told her to keep them at home for the launch, but they vehemently denied it.


I did manage to establish that her seven children have four different fathers, who live in Khayelitsha. They are all married to other women. And none contributes to the upkeep of any of Pumla's children. I also know that Pumla's story is by no means unique.


I have always been slightly sceptical of some of the statistics relating to child abuse, such as the reported estimate of the White Ribbon Campaign (an advocacy group against child abuse) that out of South Africa's 18.5 million children, about nine million have been abused. But if you include abandonment and neglect in the definition of abuse (as indeed we should), this statistic becomes horrifyingly real.


In the Western Cape, we have made it a priority of this year's "16-days" campaign to track down fathers who do not pay maintenance for their children. Every day, throughout the 16 days, we will publish the names of maintenance defaulters in the media, conducting door-to-door searches and road-blocks, and calling on communities to help us track down the thousands of men who make babies but refuse to accept the responsibility of being fathers.


A single mother with seven children in an unserviced shack demonstrates the campaign's relevance in a way nothing else can. Theirs is literally a daily battle to survive. Their prospects of lifting themselves out of poverty are hampered by the sheer size of the family, the absence of a stable father figure and the lack of maintenance money forthcoming from the various absentee fathers.


But the fathers of Pumla's children are not on our "defaulters" list. She has not sued them for child maintenance, so they have not officially "defaulted". Women in Pumla's position rarely know how to begin this process. And even if they do, the logistics are impossible. To begin with, where would she find the money for transport to a magistrate's court (repeatedly over many months) and who would look after her children while she was away? How would the "system" track down their fathers in the absence of any reliable addresses? And even if they were found, and summonsed to court, the entire process would be futile if they could show they did not earn an income and were unable to pay.


My fury against men who neglect their responsibilities overwhelmed me. I managed to ascertain the names of these fathers, and I resolved to track them down and make them take some responsibility for their children.


And then I began to have my doubts. What if my actions triggered unintended consequences for Pumla and her children? What if any of the men subjected her or the children to violence as a result? I resolved to learn more before taking action. I will go back and ascertain all the facts of her case. Only then will I decide on an appropriate course of action.


For someone in my position, the overriding question is this: what is the role of the state in addressing the needs of the millions of women and children in similar situations across South Africa? What does the "opportunity society" mean for Pumla's children? What can society realistically do to ensure that they have a better chance in life than their mother? How do we make sure the cycle doesn't repeat itself over and over again?


Every time I ask myself these questions, I start with the basic equation: there are just over 5 million registered personal taxpayers in South Africa, and about 13 million grant recipients. This ratio, which widens every year, is becoming unsustainable.


So, I go through the check-list of the basic minimum of state services: Does the mother have an identity document?  Do the children have birth certificates? Do they receive their grants? Is there a functional school nearby where they can get free education? Do they have access to free basic services: water, electricity, sanitation, refuse removal? Is there an accessible clinic? Are they getting the medication they need? Is it possible to ensure that the children complete their schooling without becoming teenage parents or drug addicts? If they manage to pass matric in their circumstances, will they be able to acquire the skills they need to find a job and improve their lives? Will our policies encourage the economy to grow at the pace needed to create these jobs?


We cannot turn back the clock for Pumla. But we must try to get a combination of services right to improve the life chances of her children. Even this is by no means certain. Simply getting basic service delivery right is often an insurmountable challenge.


But the sobering truth is this: even if the state is entirely efficient and effective (which it is not), it cannot succeed in transforming children's life chances unless parents fulfil their core responsibilities. Functional families are indeed the bedrock of successful developing societies. Basic services (even if efficiently delivered) have minimal impact in a context of substance abuse, truancy, unprotected sex, child abandonment - and the myriad matters over which individuals must exercise primary choice and personal responsibility.


As Dr Mamphela Ramphele succinctly put it: "It starts with parents taking charge of their children; teachers will build on a foundation laid by the parents; the rest of society can firm up the structure which will become the edifice of what we call a nation."


We have an enormously long way to go. But every day counts. That is why we will spend the "16 days" campaign getting the message across: if you are not there for your children, the least you can do is to pay what you owe.

Farewell, faithful friend

Last night I received the sad news that my Mom had to have our dog put down yesterday.  The vet originally thought that he was just a bit run down, but when he was taken back yesterday the tell-tale signs of cancer in the stomach region were evident, leaving Mom with no real alternative.

I'll never forget that day nearly nine years ago when we brought home this little orange bundle of fluff with his little black tongue.  Yet despite all the warnings from well-meaning friends about how chows tend to get stroppy as they get older, our Kaito was the most benevolent creature one could imagine.  A great watchdog, too - when a chow barks, you get up to investigate, since this breed NEVER barks for no good reason.

I unfortunately haven't seen too much of him during the past two years I've been in ministry, since he's remained in Joburg while I've been gallavanting around the country at the behest of the MCSA, but in that time Kaito and Mom were absolutely devoted to each other.

It'll feel strange to arrive in Joburg in about three weeks' time and not hear that funny whooping bark of his - one that has a different note depending on whose car puls up at the gate.  He will be sorely missed...

(PS: The image on this post is not of Kaito, as I didn't have an electronic picture of him, but he was very similar in appearance)