Pressing On - towards the Mark

Looking back at 2016 and especially the last three months of an unforgettable Harvest School my heart is just filled with gratitude. As I reminisce about Harvest School there are things I fondly remember and miss such as the beautiful faces, the beautiful smiles and those sparkling eyes. I think of the morning gong, the ubiquitous pao, all two of them and the promise of a brand new day with high expectations. I remember the sounds, the children's laughter and their high pitched "Salama" greeting and the chirping of the sparrow family that nested right above our room door.

How could I forget the morning walk to class with the whiteboard surprise, the hop, skip and jump announcements of Papa T with those jokes as dry as a four day old pao followed by the wild appreciation of his nation of the day. I hold dear the memory of the worship - the spontaneity, the obliviousness, the hunger, the adoration, the intimacy and the sweetness. I miss the predictable unpredictability of class. hearing a seemingly familiar verse/teaching/theology like never before, going from Yes and then to No and then to does this all really matter - when it is ALL really about Him - the one and only - the whole point of our affection - Jesus. There is so much more I do appreciate - the crazy testimonies and stories, the discussions, the skits, the prayers....

The Retrospectoscope - kindly drawn by Katie Barth

I remember an intimate moment during worship where the word disappointment came up - not disappointment in God but more in myself, some of my choices and why I waited until fifty-something ... when I heard God say "that is why I saved you" and I saw this arm saving me from drowning - an event which happened when I was two and a half years old. I was under the water in the deep end of the Freddies Mine swimming pool in Odendaalsrus when my father spotted me and pulled me up from the deep. I did not hear God audibly but in one moment He erased all the issues of disappointment. Later on in Harvest School I thought of the word "retrospectoscope" - a word doctors sometimes use when a challenging patient's diagnosis becomes so glaringly obvious when one examines the situation with hindsight. The retrospectoscope I imagined was a combination of a submarine's periscope but pointing backwards with a microscope attached and the lost navigator was stuck in the past oblivious of the bright future with a rainbow of Hope.

Pressing On by Bob Dylan - vinyl version

Pressing On as sung by Bob Dylan has always been a favourite sealed with a particular moment - it was the end of 1982 and I was driving my white Golf in Kotze street above the Old Fort towards Medical school in Hillbrow, Johannesburg to write the make or break final Anatomy exam after an all nighter of spotting - despite the gravity of the situation the song took me to another place - far away. The moment was made even sweeter when I heard I passed this massive exam. Thirty Five years later this song still speaks to me - I even found my original vinyl record and listened to Bob Dylan singing the message of Philippians 3:14 with accompanying scratches. As I read the verse again the message of "Pressing On" is so profound but much more than "grin and bare it" or "hang in there".

A personal and incomplete study of a portion Philippians 3

There is so much Truth in these few verses and though I am not a biblical scholar I just stand amazed - Highlighted words - Loss, Garbage, To Know Christ, I Press On, One Thing, Forgetting, I Press On Toward. The contrasts of Loss versus Gain, forgetting the past and embracing the future and so much more. I know I will be chewing on these verses for some time - even the difficult ones of "participation in his sufferings..." It is the last day of 2016 and as incredible as it was I focus now on 2017 with my periscope fixed firmly on the Joy that is before me laying to rest the things of the past.  I have the Prize firmly in my sights - His name is Jesus and nothing compares to Him for it truly is ALL about Him.

Blood, Sweat and Tears

Harvest School 25 is now finished and I have the certificate with some impressive signatures and of course I got the T shirt too - a bright yellow XXXL with the inspiring words "Love looks like Something". What was the bloody point some might ask - taking nearly ten weeks off work and going off to a place to live on rice and beans and take a few photos. How can one begin to describe such a personal life event - these words blood, sweat and tears came to mind.

Blood as in when you finally kill that annoying mosquito in your room and then it occurs to you that the very blood on your hands is probably yours. Blood as in the realisation that that what happened at the Cross is, was and always will be the whole bloody point - it may sound crass and crude but it is the inescapable Truth of the whole Redemption Story - The Most Beautiful Love Story. I saw the Jesus film a few times in Mozambique and this time noticed how tame the crucifixion scene is portrayed - in reality His appearance was so disfigured beyond that of any human being and His form marred beyond human likeness.

Sweat as in Pemba, Mozambique was hot and humid with some rain and often a stiff breeze but most of the time we all had this glowing new countenance. There were sticky situations of the clammy kind and then there were those of enduring kind although we had it good with minimal interruptions of electricity and water. The tough times included those inner struggles - those recurring ones and then the shocking Truth that strips away the layered veneer of lies exposing your new vulnerable identity - the real you. It was difficult to comprehend the poverty and lack with the subsequent redistribution battle amidst huge cultural differences. Then there were those hard times when your erroneous ways come to the Light - when you see your real motives and when He corrects you and shows you His way. 

A Mozambican great grandmama

Tears as in those of Joy and those of Brokenness. Those times when you come undone, when He wrecks your heart and that word that Bishop Garlington refers to as "mucous", flows freely - yet you don't care a hoot. Up until three weeks before the end of school I was doing okay - there were tender times but nothing like the one Sunday church service where the floodgates opened - what exactly happened I don't know - yet it did feel like open heart surgery had taken place with some anaesthesia I suspect. In all of this there were tears of sheer gratitude and I think of that precious hymn that is a favourite of mine since childhood - Turn your eyes upon Jesus

Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace

The Mieze Tree

Village Visit, Three Barbers & Van Persie and a lesson in cultural differences

It was our turn to do village immersion which involves a group of four or five students going with a mama into the village and spending time with her and her family. We walked out of the Iris base and then into the village market where we bought some rice, oil, mangoes, tinned tomatoes and a frozen chicken. The mama was a widow and had seven children and after quite some walking we arrived at her home. She kindly made us feel at ease as we sat under the shade of a large tree and ate some delicious mangoes. We met some of her children and we listened to her story though it was difficult because of the language barrier, fortunately a young man Salemo had joined us with permission and he translated for us. Brian and Cathy from Hawaii were playing games with the kids and Brian even made a swing whilst I took plenty of photos of the beautiful children and they enjoyed seeing their funny expressions. Andrea and Kelly chatted to the mama and older girls while the process of preparing lunch had begun.

The beautiful eyes of the children

Village Mama portrait and family

We heard intermittent loud music from a small bamboo stall which we could see not too far away and Kelly said that it was a barber shop. I went over to have a look, asked to take a photo of Joam who was the barber and as I was in need of a haircut asked how much it would cost. There was a considerable delay with the issue of language and at one stage I heard the word from his friend Ibrahim "complicado" - I should have known. The bamboo stall was rather tiny and many children had by now gathered but after a reasonable price of 100 meticas I agreed and was seated down. On the walls were several haircut styles with numbers and I chose number 11 which was shortish on the side with plenty of hair on top, not unlike Joam and Ibrahim. Before me was a massive Manchester United Poster with all of the famous football players above the golden mirror and loud music coming from a speaker box at my feet and soon a clean looking white sheet was draped around me - what can possibly go wrong. 

My Three Barbers Joam,  young Salemo and Ibrahim 

Before I knew it young Salemo had the clippers and quite literally let rip and a large chunk of hair seemed to be missing from the left hand side of my head. Joam stepped in, took over and it felt like hair was flying in all directions and I could hear Brian standing outside chuckling. Totally at the mercy of the barbers I tried to make a bit of small talk and obviously started talking about Manchester United and spotted Wayne Rooney then Salemo said they would make me look like Van Persie - well he was just above the mirror on the right hand side and I felt rather honoured - I am a Van Persie fan and still sad that Holland lost to Spain in the 2010 World Cup final in South Africa.

Salemo with the opening shave with Van Persie on the top right of the mirror and an photo inset too. Joam taking over and lastly a photo taken by Salemo of the transformation

There was some brushing of my head and I was now aware that the clippers were very close to my scalp although I couldn't quite picture the Van Persie interpretation. Now the third barber Ibrahim stepped in and he was vigorously tracking the outline of my head and I was wondering if I was finally going to become a monk. They switched to another clippers and the shaving was getting even closer now and rather uncomfortable. I was asked about my stubble and eyebrows and politely refused - I think Van Persie still had his eyebrows. They kindly warned me about some solution they were about to apply to my scalp and neck and my goodness did it burn - the haircut was also now finally finished. I thanked my barbers and plucked up the courage to face the world outside knowing that somehow everything hadn't exactly gone to plan - probably much like the Dutch team's 2010 world cup final.

The finished look and a selfie with young Salemo who probably performed his first haircut

In all of the chaos the mama had actually stormed into the barber stall and took my camera away out of concern that the children would steal it - we later heard that some of these children often ridicule her as she is a widow. A little while later we all had a delicious chicken lunch together and realised that a lot more was going on that we were unaware of. Not only is our hair physically different but our ways too and something that seems so obviously appropriate to us is not in another culture. There were some other events during the day that made us realise how similar we are and yet how diverse we are too. I do believe we all have an inherent sense of what is good and what is evil however culture displays itself in it's own unique way in each people's group and how wonderful it is when one starts to celebrate and value the beauty of the nations. I lost plenty of hair that day but gained so many nuggets regarding the sheer beauty of the human race - there is indeed so much more going on.

Rope skipping fun - a common joy