Trip 39 / Entry 16 / DTS Friends

Saturday, September 27, 2014

This is the part I most dislike. I hate the day when it is all over, I pack up again, say our goodbyes and go to the next city. It is hard to imagine the bonding that can take place in one week. It was a small group but such nice students and staff. Can I say it? Yes, these are my friends (brothers and sisters) now and though we may never see each other again on this side of glory, we have shared the divine privilege of meeting and this will make the reunion so much sweeter.

Trip 38 / Entry 8 / Ljubljana, Slovenia

Sunday, April 27, 2014

As is my custom I preached at Binkoštna cerkev Center, a church of about 130 people. Though there are couple of similar size, this is the largest evangelical congregation in the capital city of Ljubljana with a population of 300,000 people. In all Ljubljana only has about five hundred practicing Christians. Soon they will be dwarfed by a completely paid for mosque of some twelve million Euros. Though most claim to be Roman Catholic, Slovenia is only nominally Christian and is highly secularized.

This is the reason why Islam sees European Christianity bankrupt and immoral. It is easy for the taking and predict that the Muslim “call to prayer” will spiritually characterize most major cities of Europe within the next fifty years. 

It is a small gain but this church was only about thirty people ten years ago with one small service but now the room is filled with two Sunday morning services.

Trip 38 / Entry 3 / Milan, Italy

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

It didn’t go as I had hoped. Once and a while jet-lag will really leave me spinning. Arriving at Malpensa Airport at 7:30 in the morning, I took my own advice and tried to stay up all day until a reasonable time to go to bed. This should allow me to get onto the Italian clock.  I checked at my hotel by 10:30 but since my room wasn’t ready, I left my case and took to the street. I kept my eyes pried open by going for walks, drinking coffee, having gelato and eating supper.

At nine I turned in but to no avail. It was three in the afternoon, Charlotte time. I tossed, I turned, opened the balcony door, closed the balcony door and took benedryl but my mind raced. I suddenly felt completely isolated and even worse – stupid. Why am I doing this?  I could be in my own room at home. This bed is hard, the room small and the streets are loud. This isn’t a new experience for me but no many times you go through it, it never gets better. I should know the drill by now. I have often had moments of regret and anxiety.

Around one in the morning Italian time, I made the decision to call Jeanne and get her in my corner. She answered, we talked, she prayed, I hung up, put on my clothes and went down to the small lobby.

I had seen him earlier. Even in the brief encounter I recognized this young Filipino to be a believer so I asked him. Lionel was as bright as a penny while answering my question. He had been converted in Milan about two years before and attends the “Jesus is Lord” church, a largely Filipino congregation of some seven hundred people. The fellowship proved to be just the shot in the arm Io needed and an answer to prayer.

I realized that I had heard of this church before from Filipino friends that attend Smyra Bible Institute in Norway where I teach. As I mentioned one of the Filipino student’s names he looked it up on Facebook to discover that while Lhyn (yep, with an “h”) was in Norway and he in Milan, they had between them forty-eight mutual friends.

With this nice visit (better than benedryl) I went to my bed and fell asleep. I felt assured that all was well and that the morning would look different.

Ann and Wendy’s first video blog from Italy

North Street Band arrives in England

Arriving at Gatwick

If you’ve kept up with my blogs you will have, by now, heard of North Street Band from Perth, Ontario and my plans to bring them over for concerts in England, Italy and Slovenia. Planning and fund-raising for this took the better part of a year, so we were excited to see how things might unfold after all of the dreaming and preparation.

Pastor John and Daniel showed up at Gatwick to meet us while we waited together for the five to show up. We carefully watched people come and go until after an hour, out of the doors they came. For the young guys, this was their first international trip so they were “eyes wide open.”

After greeting and loading the mini-bus, off we went to Eltham where we would be serving Eltham Green Community Church for the next week.

They took a day or so to bounce back from jet lag and then it was concert time. They performed three times. First, they performed in the open air on High Street with many of us handing out invitations to the concert on Friday night and Worship Party at the church on Sunday morning.

Eltham is tough ground. The community is riddled with social dysfunction. Many children come from broken, abusive homes. Some leave home early so there are many teenage mothers and girls living on social assistance. Public drunkenness is rampant.  Drop out rates are high and large numbers of young people are involved in delinquent activities. It is within the context of this chaos that Eltham Community Church tries to make a difference.

North Street went ahead as best they could and though attendance at the events were not as high as we had hoped, the band was well received everywhere they played.

A performance hall was rented for Friday night . It was cold and raining when the band finally took the stage. This turned out to be a good event seeing that so many in the church had no idea of who the band was or the music they played.

The church on Sunday morning was packed where the band played a worship concert and I preached the gospel.

Kendal (sort of) and Kirkby-Lonsdale in The Lake District

Ruskin’s most beautiful view. What do you think?

After driving into Kendal and then driving out again, I wanted to show Jeanne something a little more quaint. About seven or eight years ago I came up this way  and friends drove me around to the prettiest villages. I remember one little hamlet with a beautiful, wide stream, a small castle turret and gate on the other side with this old stone arching bridge surrounded by massive trees on both sides. This is what I had hoped to find.

The authentic Lonsdale Bakery

We back-tracked and eventually wound up at lovely Kirkby Lonsdale. Though it was spitting rain and threatening more to come, we took a long walk first around the village. We were told by S. that we needed to see and experience several things. The first, he said, you must have lunch at the Lonsdale Bakery and he was right. Then, he advised us to take a walk through the St. Mary’s church yard and behind the church on a pathway, you will overlook what Ruskin called “The most beautiful view in all of England.” No doubt about it, it’s a good one but, in our opinion, there are many contenders for this title. I took the picture above pictures so I’ll let you decide.

The Ellerwaite

At about four, we drove on to Windermere  where we took a room at the Ellerwaite Lodge. The truth is, we didn’t shop very hard. Being off-season, if we would have just driven a little farther we would have found plenty of vacancies closer to the lake. We advise the reader to do this. Stopping at almost the first hotel that came into view, we looked at the room (perhaps one of the three nicest we had) and took it.

Jeanne likes our room

Unfortunately, in so doing we had somehow landed on another planet. The hostess was the oddest person we have ever encountered. Most of the service people working in the UK are from India or eastern Europe, but here was an authentic English or Scottish person with the strangest demeanor in the world. First, she began with, “May I please have your passport?” This always happens in Italy but never once in the UK, so I inquired, “Why would you want my passport?  It’s in the car, no one else has asked for it.” She countered with a stern, “It is the law. It is the law in England that I must see your passport.” Well, I have nothing to hide so with my eyebrows raised and eyeballs rolling, I went out to the car and got my suitcase and dug out my passport. So I gave it to her. She seemed satisfied for the moment, that is, until we stepped toward the door. That was when she said in rather wooden diction, “Most people want to know.” I turned to ask, “Most people want to know what?” She responded with a steely eyed, “Most people want to know what time breakfast will be served.” I was relieved that it wasn’t something more threatening. “Oh, what time is breakfast served?” I asked and once we had the answer, we were out of the door, shaking our collective heads and looking at one another in disbelief.

In spite of this journey into the middle kingdom of Never-Never Land, the room turned out to be a good one, though more flights up than I would have liked.

Jeanne took a bath and relaxed while I walked the streets, going into a pub to experience the village life.

Trekking through Snowdonia National Park of Wales

Out of our window

I wanted to get on the road, thinking that it might take more time than it did to reach Wales. We briskly swung up the M4, around and then across the Bristol Channel. Turning up the A449 we went off for the night at Ragland and found the Beaufort Inn. Jeanne loved the room with a nice view of a church out the window. After settling in we went downstairs to the dining room for supper.

The night that followed proved to be interesting. The lovely room turned out to be a challenge. Somehow the room tilted from foot to head. So, what looked like a good night’s sleep left us feeling like drunken sailors. In the morning we both awoke with the same complaint, “Didn’t you feel like you were sleeping upside down?” As we investigated we found that repairs had been made to the floor but it did slant at the foot. When we asked about it, we were given an explanation that this was a historical building and there were certain things they were not allowed to change when they remodeled the hotel. One of those things was the curvature of the floor. The floor curves.

It just isn’t so anymore!

A BREAK(fast) from the standard fare

There was a time when one would be hard pressed to find a decent meal from any kitchen in England, but that isn’t at all true anymore. Though good food might be more costly than in the United States, one can have some of the grandest meals they’ve ever eaten when they visit in the UK. At least this is my opinion. I am not talking about Fish ‘n Chips, Bangers and Mash, Shepherd’s or Kidney Pie. We sat down in the dining room at the Beaufort next to a couple just about our ages. It was her birthday and they had come back to where they had grown up and met to celebrate. In fact, the fellow told us that he had worked in this very hotel as a lad in the days when it was rundown. He never thought to see the day when the hotel would be restored to its original style. They recommended several dishes, and we ordered up. He promised we wouldn’t be disappointed and we weren’t.

In the morning we joined them for breakfast (which is always included in the room price) and for the first time, there was something beyond the “Full English Breakfast”! After four in a row, Jeanne leapt on the yogurt, fresh fruit, and berries. I took her lead and gave it a try as well.

After packing we drove out and made our way across the southern half of Snowdonia, taking pictures of the  beautiful countryside and stopping at the occasional tea room in a small village here or there. I say it in this way because there were many marvelous photo ops we passed up  simply due to the fact there was no safe place to pull off the road. In fact, it was along one of these narrow roads that I entered a bridge at the same time as a semi trailer truck, going at about sixty miles per hour. I had no choice but to drive onto the sidewalk at my left. He didn’t so much as bat an eye.

Enjoy the picture that we did manage to get.

From Plymouth to Marazion and Mousehole

Since they had other visitors, it would be several days before we could visit with Bethany Fellowship missionaries Nate and Ali, who live at Rhos on Sea, Colwyn Bay, Wales.

So we took a couple of days to explore the southwestern tip of England. We had been told by Jeanne’s brother, should we ever get the chance we should pop into the small port of Mousehole (from what I could tell pronounced Muss Hul), we should check it out. And we did.

On the way, we attempted to get closer to the coast and made the delightful mistake of driving through Seaton. This might work well if one is a Morris Minor but it took everything I had to wrench the VW van through the one ways, around the tight corners and overhangs. I figured, “If buses can do it, I ought to be able to.” In retrospect, it was worth the squeeze as we saw a beautiful seaside village that is in many ways (except for the traffic) just as it once was. The downside turned out to be that it was the last weekend of the seaside holidaying season, so it wound up being a real challenge to negotiate the crowds and cars. We got through it all with a huge sigh of relief.

We had booked a hotel at Marazion, which is a short distance from Mousehole and just aross the bay from Saint Michael’s Mount, a Benedictine monastery that dates from the mid 1200’s.  I was excited about this, not only from the historical point of view but also because I had seen a large number of amazing watercolors of this location and now I could see it for myself! I later learned that there are two of them (almost identical). The other St. Michael’s is in (Normandy) France and perhaps the one with the greatest notoriety.

We booked a nice room overlooking the street. Though chilly, I deaked out for a few photographs in the evening light. In so doing, I saw the evidence of a strong Wesleyan presence in the area with a Wesleyan Church and a Methodist Church on the main thoroughfare.

I rose early in the morning to catch the light for more photographs. I returned within the hour and treated Jeanne to her second “full English breakfast.” All of this food seemed really great…  so far.

In spite of the cold we made our way in the boat taxi across the bay to St. Michael’s and once there, huddled together on a bench in the sunlight out of the way of the brisk wind. Deciding it was too chilly to wait for the monastery to open, we rushed back across on the next boat, checked out of our hotel, and drove on to see the charming village of Mousehole.

We took the advice of the big “P” and parked the van on the edge of town, then walked in the additional twelve hundred meters into the harbor area. I began snapping every image that I thought might be paintable. The scenes were just as great as Jeanne’s brother had promised. Jeanne found a gift for Clara our granddaughter in one of the shops. We ended our time there in a cute little tea shop, where we enjoyed tea, scones, and clotted cream, and then drove on toward Bristol and finally Raglan, Wales.

Shades of “Tell It Like It Is!”

Many of our older friends will remember our early days in evangelism when we bought a Winnebago, procured a small circus tent that seated about two-hundred fifty people and traveled on the weekends from Maniwaki, Quebec to Orillia Ontario preaching the gospel from town to town and farmers field to farmers field. Those were fun but complicated days. I am older now and my life has slowed down a little – at least until last weekend.

The best we can under the prevailing circumstances.

One of the problems with teaching is that your students finally grow up, take on ministries of their own and unfortunately remember the stories that you told in the classroom. Such was the case when I got an email from Stephen Bounds on the other side of Charlotte.

Young people from Child Evangelism present the gospel.

Stephen and his wife Julie were in my evangelism and bible classes at Bethany some six or more years ago. They now have three children, another on the way and have lived in 17 different places since they were married. Stephen wound up overseeing the Plaza Baptist Church in the north Charlotte area dubbed with the regional distinction NO-DA (North Davidson).  NO-DA has an interesting reputation. On one side of the street you have the emmerging arts community. These folks have moved in, buying the older and at one time fashionable art-deco homes, remodeling them while on the other side of the street there remains WW II tract housing where as many as twelve or more African-Americans live with their extended families in two (rather small) bedroom homes. In effect, there are two communites in economic and cultural tension.

Here an unidentified man comes forward to get literature.

Stephen felt that he must do something to reach out to the surrounding neighborhoods so he invited me, Jeanne, eight  area churches and ministries like Child Evangelism Fellowship to join Plaza Baptist in a festival on their parking lot. Stephen went right ahead facing down the ominous weather forcast of rain, rain and more rain. Stephen is English so this may account for his lack of concern.  The weatherman was right. Nevertheless, the churches stood their ground and in the pouring rain continued all afternoon to preach the gospel in a variety of ways from clowning and worship groups to food and clothing give-aways to Hickory Baptist Church and their 2500 grilled wieners. In the picture below, it appears that I have had my fair share of wieners.

Preaching in the rain. Not a good day for drawing.

I did what I always have done when opportunity presents itself. I did drawings of both “Zaccheus” and then later “The Rich Young Ruler” and preached the gospel. I was once asked by a seminary professor of how I preached my last sermon. He inquired, “Was it expositional or topical?” In those days I didn’t know what those words meant so I just replied with the truth, “Loudly.” I preached “loudly” and in spite of the rain I got of attention and “Amen” agreement with what I had to say. The Baptists can be faulted for many things but one thing they are clear about, they know the old-fashioned, Bible gospel when they hear it.

Jeanne trying to stay dry.

I am home now, at least until Jeanne is on the mend. It was great to have her with me. Just like the old days when (it is not her calling) she went with me everywhere, supporting and encouraging. I will never take her for granted again. She has been the Lord’s “help meet” and my help mate.

The Book of Acts BCOM

It’s a good batch of folks.

My sixty-three waiting students.

I manage to pick-up about three gigs a year here at the college where I spent almost ten years. I am teaching Acts but will come back in a month for Corinthians and then in the summer I do two weeks on Apologetics for Evangelism.

There are 28 chapters in Acts. I have been given 24 hours to get through the entire thing and also provide two in class tests. Let me tell you how well I am doing at this. It is Wednesday, I have completed nine hours of my alotted twenty-four and we have just finished chapter 3.

I like these kids (a few adults are sprinkled in among them) and consider it a pleasure to be their instructor for a short time.