tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26455293260710024342024-03-12T17:39:05.758-07:00Post PastoralMeditations and media by the Rev. David A. Denoon, Pastor of the First Congregational Church of Webster Groves, United Church of ChristPastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-21500950027136273892024-02-01T12:32:00.000-08:002024-02-01T15:45:43.166-08:00Charles Luther Kloss, pastor 1896-1904 and 1911-1918<p></p><h3 style="text-align: center;">“Genuine Authority”</h3><h4 style="text-align: center;"><i>sermon for Sunday, January 28, 2023 - Heritage Sunday<br />including thoughts on the life and ministry of<br /></i><i>the Rev. Dr. Charles Luther Kloss</i></h4><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div><blockquote><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Jesus and his new disciples went into their home town of Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. </i></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. </i></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Just then there was in their synagogue a man with a spirit of uncleanness, which cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” </i></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>But Jesus rebuked the spirit, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” </i></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>And the unclean spirit, convulsing the man and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. </i></p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” </i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee. (Mark 1:21-28)</i></div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div><p style="text-align: left;">Jesus taught, the gospel of Mark says about him, “as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” What exactly did the author mean by that?</p></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It might be that, for the scribes, one’s highest understanding of an encounter with the scriptures meant diving into a debate about the meaning of a passage. The true scholar would defer to wiser interpreters. Authority, in that case, would indicate it was based in the strongest argument or, perhaps, the one that most agreed with your perspective. Authority was in the text but had to be teased out.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Possibly, Mark was saying that Jesus’ understanding of Torah was precise and spot-on. His authority was not like that of the scribes.</div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the evangelist continues with another example of Jesus’ unexpected version of authority. Suddenly, a man possessed by a spirit of ritual uncleanness confronts Jesus. The rabbi commands the spirit to silence and casts it out of the poor soul.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now the observers are even more amazed than they were at the end of Jesus’ message. They perceive that he is possessed of an authority that not only states with precision the meaning of the Law and the Prophets, but he can command spirits. He not only won’t take guff from human opponents, he won’t take it from supernatural opponents either.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It is tempting to read this passage and imagine that Jesus was some kind of an authoritarian, insisting on his interpretation of scripture and his alone (not as the scribes). Or one might be persuaded that his authority was some kind of supernatural endowment that he’d been bestowed.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Personally, I don’t think either option is correct. I am persuaded that Jesus’ authority, which wasn’t like that of the scribes and which could cause even unclean spirits to comply, was rooted in the way he interacted with others. He met people where they were and as they were. He, and his truest disciples after him, would be faithful to others and seeking to live the love of God.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As an indication of what I mean by this, consider what Paul said to the Corinthians:</p><blockquote><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I came to you, siblings, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you with lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. (1 Corinthians 2:1-2)</p></blockquote><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In short, Paul wanted Christians to be acquainted with Jesus has he had been, confronted by an individual who could know them and who had lived as they would hope to - the most faithful and gracious life they could. He knew that human beings are the best example of their own religion, not doctrine or dogma.</p><div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHhKPjeiNG5iR6UY5qDiJtY1t4__T2Gx9EPBfp8lNCUwFriQmRjqX71XAXFSex7S-UccX0feq6Cr0ob9ih1ny8aM5ouO7IOMlETgUwKwAciJREH9qUvtm5PFPxX9KRNlwi0ZMKqHhZKjX-Pb-C1v-KGwPYLRArBsN_mQ2Dp5_UVKOtyJIcG0rFBWmLpkK/s4200/Portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4200" data-original-width="3041" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHhKPjeiNG5iR6UY5qDiJtY1t4__T2Gx9EPBfp8lNCUwFriQmRjqX71XAXFSex7S-UccX0feq6Cr0ob9ih1ny8aM5ouO7IOMlETgUwKwAciJREH9qUvtm5PFPxX9KRNlwi0ZMKqHhZKjX-Pb-C1v-KGwPYLRArBsN_mQ2Dp5_UVKOtyJIcG0rFBWmLpkK/w178-h246/Portrait.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Kloss in 1896</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />This is Heritage Sunday, as we’ve said, and the individual I want to talk with you about was the eighth pastor of the church, Charles Luther Kloss (which may have been pronounced, “close”). Dr. Kloss published a tract not long after he arrived here as pastor in 1898. It was titled, “Personality and Truth,” and it was a meditation on this very matter I’m discussing with you now. He would write:</div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It would be a document of surpassing value to go through history and disclose how men surrendered, not so much to the moral theories and teachings of Jesus, as to His personality, something greater than any word He said. He is the Way, the Truth and the Life.</div></blockquote><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was how Jesus incarnated the Word of God that made Christianity a movement. It was who he was – for others – that drew his followers close and caused them to want to be like him. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Any doctrine or dogma, theologic or economic, no matter how valuable, is bound to moulder on the shelf unless it captures a living person. To have power it must be incarnate.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That is what Jesus did for the Word, and – Kloss was convinced – what every individual Christian must endeavor to do as well.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Kloss would identify a grand series of examples of this – the apostle Paul, Dante, Martin Luther, and (lest you think he would shy from controversy) Charles Darwin – each of these men striving bravely to make what they understood into what they lived. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, Dr. Kloss could be very enthusiastic about human potential, particularly Christian human potential. Indeed, another tract he published, this one at the start of his pastorate in Philadelphia, was taken from four sermons he, no doubt, had preached here. “Four Studies in Optimism,” he called it. In it he identified how the qualities of enthusiasm, self-sacrifice, fearlessness, and prompt blessings are essential to genuine Christian living. All of them make the practitioner better and incline them to still greater works.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://emuseum.tempe.gov/internal/media/dispatcher/27032/preview" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="500" height="259" src="https://emuseum.tempe.gov/internal/media/dispatcher/27032/preview" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rev. Daniel Kloss</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Charles Luther Kloss was of the generation that came of age after the Civil War who were optimistic, perhaps out of necessity, perhaps as a balance to the grief that was teeming around them due to a war that had claimed more lives than just those who had died. Born in 1862, in New Berlin, Pennsylvania, he was the middle son of Daniel and Rebecca Kloss. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://emuseum.tempe.gov/internal/media/dispatcher/27033/preview" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="500" height="225" src="https://emuseum.tempe.gov/internal/media/dispatcher/27033/preview" width="159" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rebecca Kloss</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Both his parents were descended from Germans who had settled Pennsylvania in the late 1700s, and they kept their family traditions, to a point. Daniel was a Lutheran pastor who left that tradition in the 1870s to become a Congregationalist. His first assignment as a Congregationalist was the new church start in Axtell, Kansas, a refueling and water station for trains on the Western Pacific Railroad, about parallel with St. Joseph, Missouri, and not far south from the Nebraska state line. Axtell was the town where Charles Luther Kloss spent his youth.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After high school in Axtell, Charles went to Highland College in Highland, Kansas. He earned a B.A. there in 1882, a B.D. from Yale Divinity School in 1885, after which he was ordained, and a master’s degree from Highland in 1886. He also attended a course of study at the Universities of Berlin and of Heidelberg, in 1886 and 1887. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Upon his return to the States and his return to the church at Axtell, he met Mary Phillips. She was the church organist. After marrying in 1888, they moved to Argentine, Kansas, where he served a church until 1891. He served the Tabernacle Church in Kansas City from 1891 to 1897, and our church from 1898 to 1904. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://velvethummingbee.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/jwstarseries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="509" height="232" src="https://velvethummingbee.files.wordpress.com/2016/12/jwstarseries.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rev. Dr. John Watson</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />In 1900, the Congregational Union called for its churches across the U.S. to adopt a lengthy creed as part of our process for receiving new members. Dr. Kloss (he received honorary degrees from Highland College and Drury College during his first pastorate here) wrote a creed of his own. It was based on a document penned by the Rev. Dr. John Watson (who wrote had the pseudonym Ian MacLaren). Watson an English theologian, lecturer, and ecumenist who devised in 1896 what he called “A Creed of Christian Life.” Dr. Watson’s creed went:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><blockquote>I believe in the Fatherhood of God. I believe in the words of Jesus. I believe in a clean heart. I believe in the service of love. I believe in the unworldly life. I believe in the beatitudes. I promise to trust God and follow Christ; to forgive my enemies, and to seek after the righteousness of God.</blockquote></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSM5Cpn97TruDThOSuMp7QmLjOK-Bn4VsTkNlF02zGEZhAYih7nEd3HURfry4GkAHSMjDqYDeo1yvY_8U8_lb2jB26OJrGJEaKrXuCIoXExSJqM6XTHpnMci0cZ0UdjUe7n-jba_-92BBbi9_7jXPlqqy1ecX2JKi6i_w811jjpVaPp9HeAHXggOPfO0kC/s3014/Webster%20Thermometer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3014" data-original-width="2066" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSM5Cpn97TruDThOSuMp7QmLjOK-Bn4VsTkNlF02zGEZhAYih7nEd3HURfry4GkAHSMjDqYDeo1yvY_8U8_lb2jB26OJrGJEaKrXuCIoXExSJqM6XTHpnMci0cZ0UdjUe7n-jba_-92BBbi9_7jXPlqqy1ecX2JKi6i_w811jjpVaPp9HeAHXggOPfO0kC/s320/Webster%20Thermometer.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><br />Dr. Kloss’s adaptation of this statement included a familiar opening line of the affirmation of the International Order of Odd Fellows. Their opening line expanded Dr. Watson’s sentiment to “I believe in the Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man.” This addition was crucial to Dr. Kloss’s optimistic estimation of a Christian’s potential. Thus, Webster Groves’s Creed said,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><blockquote>I believe in the Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. I believe that Jesus Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. I believe in the clean heart, the unworldly life, and the service of love that Jesus taught and exemplified. I accept His Spirit and His teaching.</blockquote></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">He wanted his people to become attached not to mystical statements of faith but to ideas they could actually accomplish, which had been Dr. Watson’s intention also. </p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The words found favor here, and I have little doubt that their universality and Dr. Kloss’s winning personality set our church off with success that would not abate for three-quarters of a century. We would continue to repeat the Creed in worship until 1984, and I adapted a form of it into the reception of new members ritual we use.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcxAbmXdcuYP_gvZQBb_vXYELRwGJQLOUuQk0cAZqfzuPy_d0kF9NDEizG5y7t50qTPBrZjhYHvjrvCe5tMZqD30nhMAjFqN9jLrgaJxLtsn-2HNpMybsHcFyj_FpZcxbByCIO4OJ9ybVzrTr0NHlLoXF1wjp_jfg9ZAtCKT1_RXsfTsmh37n4jHt5e1H/s3344/Plymouth%20Thermometer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3344" data-original-width="2258" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcxAbmXdcuYP_gvZQBb_vXYELRwGJQLOUuQk0cAZqfzuPy_d0kF9NDEizG5y7t50qTPBrZjhYHvjrvCe5tMZqD30nhMAjFqN9jLrgaJxLtsn-2HNpMybsHcFyj_FpZcxbByCIO4OJ9ybVzrTr0NHlLoXF1wjp_jfg9ZAtCKT1_RXsfTsmh37n4jHt5e1H/s320/Plymouth%20Thermometer.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><br />Dr. Kloss carried the Creed with him to all of his subsequent churches. It was featured on the covers of bulletins in Philadelphia and San Mateo, as it had been here.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">His sermons were peppered with optimistic references, calling upon individuals to take responsibility. He often quoted the Sam Foss poem “Bring Me Men,” which imagines the voice of God saying:</div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bring me men to match my mountains;</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bring me men to match my plains;</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Men with empires in their purpose,</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And new eras in their brains.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bring me men to match my prairies,</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Men to match my inland seas,</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Men whose thought shall pave a highway</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Up to ampler destinies;</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pioneers to clear Thought’s marshlands,</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And to cleanse old Error’s fen;</div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bring me men to match my mountains –</div></div></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bring me men!</div></div></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">His confidence in the authority of personality over the authority of doctrine, for convincing others of the value of our religion did not rest solely on the shoulders of men, however.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When he arrived here, one of the first actions he took was to prevent the women’s groups, whose primary purpose at the time seemed to be fundraising to offset the interest on the church’s mortgage, from scheduling any more dinners or socials or any other “entertainments.” Catherine Twining Moody, who would become one of the pastor’s dearest friends, would write of this,</div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Woman’s Association gave one sigh of relief, but so great a change was this new order of things that the busy women who had for years racked their brains and nerves over devices for putting their mite into the treasury, seemed suddenly to have lost their natural occupation… [I]n due time the space vacated by entertainments was filled with useful work for charitable institutions… (<i>A Brief History of First Congregational Church of Webster Groves</i>, 1906)</div></blockquote><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In January 1902, Kloss told church members that he was frustrated with only having presided twelve weddings in 1901. He asserted that he wanted women who were ready to marry to go ahead and propose. He said, he thought that by doing this he would be bound to preside at least 50 weddings in 1902. He printed this suggestion in the weekly bulletin, and a member of the church who was a journalist with the daily newspaper, the <i>St. Louis Republic,</i> published his opinion paragraph there. Next, the <i>Post-Dispatch</i> picked it up. The idea seemed to shake some people to their cores, and his testimony got picked up by papers across the country! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelJsa393VJMDYJpyx23lj71cX97c5tY_HUls8C7ydZSRBqxIA536Zp-rnI3KSItyMAVDmZglC9LVmnpXwlIQQoniTH5-lkYtenft_Fw7ka1O4-uuZOc_kEjRUpO0NhW7SQgtNdSvu27HvhxkXLYKftPMt-0W08r42knagUpEe7YkmKaTdRUVnmLgOlFaQ/s3404/One_Marriage_a_Week.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3404" data-original-width="1419" height="648" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjelJsa393VJMDYJpyx23lj71cX97c5tY_HUls8C7ydZSRBqxIA536Zp-rnI3KSItyMAVDmZglC9LVmnpXwlIQQoniTH5-lkYtenft_Fw7ka1O4-uuZOc_kEjRUpO0NhW7SQgtNdSvu27HvhxkXLYKftPMt-0W08r42knagUpEe7YkmKaTdRUVnmLgOlFaQ/w269-h648/One_Marriage_a_Week.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The item as described, in the </i>Republic<br />January 3, 1902</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Piles of letters, pro and con, filled the church mailbox in response.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwcVSGVTHlF666HhH3mvQzLPeZPmTsKBebpLWL0Rkk8qlvd7aRFsq5p43aMKFw4RgIqQqMH8Msnio65ozL1XAnWnifaW6QAJEJ43o67LFok8waeEqd8bX6UOr0wmmDW6dhlzz8wv-63oy9H3YtAVD4ebURGsgfzIUZiAeGJCkV6l4cuqR559YH5aiQ-TZ/s1954/1902_01_17_Marthasville_Record___Kloss_s_mailbag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1954" data-original-width="652" height="732" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLwcVSGVTHlF666HhH3mvQzLPeZPmTsKBebpLWL0Rkk8qlvd7aRFsq5p43aMKFw4RgIqQqMH8Msnio65ozL1XAnWnifaW6QAJEJ43o67LFok8waeEqd8bX6UOr0wmmDW6dhlzz8wv-63oy9H3YtAVD4ebURGsgfzIUZiAeGJCkV6l4cuqR559YH5aiQ-TZ/w245-h732/1902_01_17_Marthasville_Record___Kloss_s_mailbag.jpg" width="245" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow-up story in the January 17<br /><i>Marthasville Record</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shortly after arriving to begin his second pastorate here, in 1912, Dr. Kloss – still inspired by his understanding of “Personality and Truth” – would spearhead an effort to fill what is now the north end of our east parking lot with a recreational facility for youth. He struggled until 1916, trying to pull together the $16,000 he said the church would need to make the vision a reality, but it never came to pass. This was by all indications his sole disappointment in his work here as pastor.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I read the rest of his history among us, I perceive that he considered the recreational facility effort at best as a personal failure. At worst, he considered it a vote of no confidence on the part of the church. And by the end of 1917, he had set his sites on California. Charles Kloss concluded his service at churches in Oakland and San Mateo.</p><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But he never lost his sense of optimism. He never lost his belief in the truth of Christ expressed through the human spirit, which draws us in, impels us onward, and holds us… close (Kloss?) – winning hearts and spirits for the good news of God’s love. For there lies reliable authority, not in doctrine, not in dogma, but in “Christ, and him crucified.” (1 Cor 2:2)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Amen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><p></p>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0Webster Groves, MO, USA38.5925524 -90.357338910.282318563821157 -125.5135889 66.902786236178855 -55.2010889tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-25179559945511695542023-11-18T07:05:00.000-08:002023-12-11T08:47:38.937-08:00Bonds Home Historic Status Achieved<p>I have been in the news, lately, with my new friend Gayle
Jones. Links to the news reports – both print and television – are included at
the end of this article.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On January 29 of this year, I delivered a sermon<a href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
which used as an illustration church members Melvin and Thyra Bonds who in 1965 had sued the city of
Webster Groves for having changed the zoning around their home from residential
to light industrial. The lawsuit ended in 1968 when, after losing on appeal,
the Bondses were denied any further appeal or a transfer of the case to the
state Supreme Court. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Learning a few weeks after delivering the sermon that the Bondses’ daughter Gayle Jones lives in her childhood home, I sent Gayle a letter
along with a copy of my sermon. Shortly afterward, she and I determined that
we would seek a protected status for her home, for a number of reasons of
historic import:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>First and foremost, her home was the demonstration model of a 13-unit development called “Marvin Court,” which had been conceived by Bennie Gordon, Jr., in 1955 and marketed specifically to middle-class African Americans in 1956;</li><li>Mr. Gordon did this at a time when Webster Groves had was seeking to restore and revitalize areas historically owned and occupied by its Black population (North Webster / Webster Heights);</li><li>In 1957, white neighbors literally said, “Not in my back yard,” in some cases selling their homes that adjoined the development, and threatened Roosevelt Federal Savings & Loan, the lender for the project, with boycott. This caused the financial institution to withdraw its funding going forward and scuttled any further hope for the development; and</li><li>In 1964, in pursuit of an Urban Renewal Plan established by the city’s Land Clearance for Reclamation Authority in 1960 (shortly after annexing Webster Heights), the City Council rezoned all 13 acres adjoining the Bonds home to the west and the north, including land platted for the Marvin Court development (Bennie Gordon’s Subdivision); </li><li>Gayle and I wanted to prevent the possible future purchase of the home by an adjoining business and its subsequent rezoning to match properties around it; and, finally,</li><li>We hoped to affirm her parents’ courage and Bennie Gordon’s vision.</li></ul><p></p><div><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrUG6Dj7RSh7Gp8NyGqNkoDnFLne97ZH8ee44c21n0GYYPrT8NJCX4ElYfD6BgG33EcXpK7gyS6CxEfyhyphenhyphenZkvThEoaKvBkZc1LojzRMK3oeu2YNLEj4iZkJSJwy-y9wfkPqBrnxM2OAzX1IoJnhU96zCByvphUKQX7FupzWG5vCJJVXPKGIKMtMBsYMbtA/s1603/20231121_203643.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1603" data-original-width="1335" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrUG6Dj7RSh7Gp8NyGqNkoDnFLne97ZH8ee44c21n0GYYPrT8NJCX4ElYfD6BgG33EcXpK7gyS6CxEfyhyphenhyphenZkvThEoaKvBkZc1LojzRMK3oeu2YNLEj4iZkJSJwy-y9wfkPqBrnxM2OAzX1IoJnhU96zCByvphUKQX7FupzWG5vCJJVXPKGIKMtMBsYMbtA/w203-h244/20231121_203643.jpeg" width="203" /></a></div>On November 21, the Webster Groves
City Council, upon unanimous recommendation of the Historic Preservation Commission,
voted to declare 15 Marvin Court as a historic building, for all it
represents. Gayle Jones and her son Nathan were presented by Mayor Laura Arnold with a plaque to attach to their home and a framed display of ads and articles about their home. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">My personal opinion is that this recognition ought to be just the "tip of the iceberg" along the way toward restorative justice for the residents of an historic neighborhood replaced for the most part by an industrial park... All of those whose homes were cleared away by the City in the name of urban renewal deserve to have their stories told and historic wrongs reversed in their favor. There will be more to come.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><u>LINKS THAT TELL THE STORY</u> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://r20.rs6.net/tn.jsp?f=0017MmPFHLh3JcWM9wcMIbsSAHyzdtp-OUSWuS7LGPEnvDPY0B46r5idCzAZJL8T56QqU27DnXuYPy4rxpqFw1psn52k_U3HtjlbhNUEUsCuZ2rIJD7uojgkJROtKp_x3psLNihoPTushXzDo3qOjeUkwCTN4qoDTmuIfRMRiittzhJtEL5rd5CPEBXLaEEKSJH&c=8IiXLXYhWAMVE1ojP3XYF07QrQu-zigboRaeTB-p5L56wZKzKAfYxw==&ch=8fMxppPKWayF5HDsCX7Cr4yIeifbPFWJiJakVBOb2pbn3xz9bBquSA==" target="_blank">My Testimony at Oct 11 Historic Preservation Commission Meeting</a></p><p class="MsoNormal">Webster-Kirkwood Times – Nov 16, 2023 – <a href="https://www.timesnewspapers.com/webster-kirkwoodtimes/the-hidden-history-of-webster-groves-15-marvin-court/article_59ac84a8-7f08-11ee-a5d2-0b9c7719e715.html">https://www.timesnewspapers.com/webster-kirkwoodtimes/the-hidden-history-of-webster-groves-15-marvin-court/article_59ac84a8-7f08-11ee-a5d2-0b9c7719e715.html</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">KMOV – Nov 7, 2023 – <a href="https://www.kmov.com/2023/11/08/should-bring-shame-us-city-webster-groves-takes-first-steps-correcting-mid-20th-century-racial-wrongdoing/">https://www.kmov.com/2023/11/08/should-bring-shame-us-city-webster-groves-takes-first-steps-correcting-mid-20th-century-racial-wrongdoing/</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">KMOV – Oct 18, 2023 – <a href="https://www.kmov.com/video/2023/10/18/webster-groves-home-clears-first-hurdle-becoming-historic-site-after-racist-past/">https://www.kmov.com/video/2023/10/18/webster-groves-home-clears-first-hurdle-becoming-historic-site-after-racist-past/</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">KTVI – Oct 11, 2023 – <a href="https://fox2now.com/news/missouri/webster-groves-woman-continues-parents-fight-to-get-historic-status-for-home/">https://fox2now.com/news/missouri/webster-groves-woman-continues-parents-fight-to-get-historic-status-for-home/</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->Webster-Kirkwood Times – Nov 30, 2023 – <a href="https://www.timesnewspapers.com/webster-kirkwoodtimes/city-establishes-marvin-court-home-as-historic-landmark/article_e535dba2-8f91-11ee-bd17-a3747005ff1e.html">https://www.timesnewspapers.com/webster-kirkwoodtimes/city-establishes-marvin-court-home-as-historic-landmark/article_e535dba2-8f91-11ee-bd17-a3747005ff1e.html</a></div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> Read the
sermon at <span style="background: white; color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="https://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/2023/11/balancing-act.html">https://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/2023/11/balancing-act.html</a>
or view it at <a href="https://youtu.be/NBKFmN45maA?si=Yrf9cV4ssk0bNKDh&t=1478">https://youtu.be/NBKFmN45maA?si=Yrf9cV4ssk0bNKDh&t=1478</a>
</span></span><o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div></div>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-74901259274945951562023-11-17T10:16:00.000-08:002023-11-18T06:29:06.540-08:00Balancing Act - What is the balance of nostalgia and justice?<p style="text-align: center;"> <u style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Scriptures<br /></span></u><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Micah 6:1-8; Matthew 5:1-12</span><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">When I named this message, I called it, “Balancing
Act,” because I was thinking about today being our Heritage Sunday<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>,
and about the temptation I find myself answering when I’m doing genealogical
research or just thinking about my grandparents and great-grandparents, to feel purely nostalgic.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s not as though things were better, back then,
and the problem also isn’t balancing nostalgia with hope. So, what I’m going to
say may not have a whole lot to do with that title. (As my friend the Rev. Janice
Barnes</span><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; mso-footnote-id: ftn2; text-indent: 0.5in;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">
has told me, the title you give to a sermon in advance is often a placeholder
until you can get an actual message together.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">To begin, I want to acknowledge, this morning, that
we are a violent people in a violent society wrapped up in a violent world. And
I want to say what I believe: that this need not be the condition in which we
must, or our children must, or our descendants beyond our children and their
loved ones must, live. We live in a violent world, but this world need not
remain this way. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">It is also simply and plainly true that, to prevent
such violence, we will have to get to work. And hard work! Work that infringes
upon our comfort, our daily comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Friday, the Memphis Police Department released
video of the lethal beating of Tyre Nichols by police officers and the evident
compliance of other first responders with the brutality of those officers.
Media have played back audio and video of the incident, and it is difficult to
argue with the insistence of many Americans that the culture of policing in the
United States must be fundamentally changed, so that incidents like this no
longer occur. Yes, we have some hard work before us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Last Sunday, I mentioned two incidents in
California of gun violence against multiple people celebrating the Lunar New
Year, and yesterday in Los Angeles there was another such incident. In just the
first three weeks of 2023 there were 40 mass shootings (shootings in which at
least 4 people were shot). Also, an average of 110 Americans die each day
because of gun violence. We and all the people of this planet must come to
believe genuinely that we cannot successfully solve our problems through force
of arms.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">No one has said this clearly enough: You </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">do not win</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> by force of arms. You subdue, perhaps, or you
tyrannize, or you terrorize. But you do not win. Haiti is besieged from within
by gangs. In Myanmar the government outlaws voices of freedom, but those same
freedom voices when in power persecuted the Rohingya ethnic group. Holocaust
Remembrance Day was this past week, recalling the state-sponsored murder in
German-occupied territories of 6 million Jews and Roma and LGBT people during
World War II; and somehow, anti-Semitic hate and racism and homophobia and
transphobia are on the rise. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">And Russia remains intent upon taking over Ukraine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">So you see… This is going to be hard work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Where shall we begin? Because, you know the problem
isn’t just angry people or fearful people or people who will take unfair
advantage. There are also problems like poverty and disenfranchisement which so contribute to conditions of violence that they may be identified with violence themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">There is a movement among people of faith in
Webster Groves not just to ignore red-lining and racial covenants anymore but to
get actual legislation passed stating that discrimination is illegal. In
Evanston, Illinois, a city in which I served two different churches and
attended another, programs are being created and administered today for the
sake of restorative justice (call it, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">reparations</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">) for
people of African descent who experienced Jim Crow laws between 1919 and 1969.
This justice is available to their descendants if they themselves are no longer living. The
City government is funding this municipal initiative through a marijuana sales
tax, but there is also an initiative of the Evanston Interfaith Action Council
in which churches and synagogues are committing major portions of their
endowments, or just making commitments, to a central fund being administered by
Black Evanstonians.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Poverty is violence, and economic development can
mean healing and restoration.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">What does our God require of us?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be
called children of God.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">What does our God require of us? Where should </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">we</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">
begin?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Dare I say, we ought to begin by remembering.
Ancient Europeans believed that memory resides in the heart. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We’ve</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> put it in the head, but I want to ponder with you
for a moment the possibility that your memory is heart-centered. Just rest in
that idea for a moment: that the same place prayer comes from, the same place
that healing comes from, the same place that will identify for you whether or
not you feel whole, is the place where your memories live.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">I’m not saying that this is the perfect way to
address our problems, but I want to put you in your hearts. I mean, most of us
have at least some European blood in us, however it got there, so why not take
advantage of that perspective. You know the saying that goes with this: “Home
is where the heart is…”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t"
path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_s1026" type="#_x0000_t75"
alt="A picture containing balloon, vector graphics, accessory, aircraft Description automatically generated"
style='position:absolute;left:0;text-align:left;margin-left:316.65pt;
margin-top:4.55pt;width:140.65pt;height:140.65pt;z-index:-251658240;
visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;
mso-height-percent:0;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;
mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;
mso-position-horizontal:absolute;mso-position-horizontal-relative:text;
mso-position-vertical:absolute;mso-position-vertical-relative:text;
mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;mso-width-relative:page;
mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/DaveD/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.png"
o:title="A picture containing balloon, vector graphics, accessory, aircraft Description automatically generated"/>
<w:wrap type="tight"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhfZjBR5grHOiPhINAmYxzzJeYs708Sn0_zPuu9GgiLh8rkU43D2FsQgjOKSXcYH0usFu-holmaDJYXU_S-4ls15P2aQt5HJgDT0yN6Dn2OYN4IxgZr57yJUDRFe0sWhTPX3MqumtIW7X87FNnmSHlpJ0QEyosRItCG3EiEdhSM2mXr9JR_vDiD2c_wNHg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="293" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhfZjBR5grHOiPhINAmYxzzJeYs708Sn0_zPuu9GgiLh8rkU43D2FsQgjOKSXcYH0usFu-holmaDJYXU_S-4ls15P2aQt5HJgDT0yN6Dn2OYN4IxgZr57yJUDRFe0sWhTPX3MqumtIW7X87FNnmSHlpJ0QEyosRItCG3EiEdhSM2mXr9JR_vDiD2c_wNHg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Now, while
you’re contemplating that, let me take you a little south from Europe, to a
place where people actually have a saying about the importance of remembering
in order that we may imagine a generative and productive future. The Akan
people of what is now Ghana in West Africa have a concept – </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">sankofa</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> – which is depicted on the cover of this morning’s
bulletin. As Cliff Aerie<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
explained in his August edition of last year’s <i>Jazz for the Journey</i> series, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">sankofa</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> means, “look to the past to inform the future.”
This is symbolized by a bird, sometimes flying and looking back over its
shoulder. In our depiction, the bird has reached back to take up its egg which
will become a new life. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">You have to see what’s behind you, in order to
decide your most positive direction. </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Sankofa</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">There is so much about Christian faith, and the
Jewish faith before it, and the Islamic faith as well, that is centered in
remembering. Our major holidays are rooted in studying memories – Passover,
Holy Week, Ramadan. The past informs the future for us, by reminding us of the
faithfulness of our Creator and Sustainer, our Savior and Redeemer. The Holy
One has brought us up out of bondage and given us the word of life. And we are
thankful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">One hundred fifty-seven years we have been meeting
here in Webster Groves, as this manifestation of the Body of Christ. And
practically every year we have sat ourselves down, and we have remembered –
William Plant and the Porters and the Martlings and the Helfensteins and the
Monroes and the Studleys and the Prehns<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn4;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
and Jennie Davis<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn5;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> and
the Moodys<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn6;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[6]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>,
and Dr. Kloss who wrote Our Creed, and Edward Hart<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn7;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[7]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
and whoever those women were who modeled for Sylvester Annan, the stained glass
artist who created our “Sermon on the Mount” window, and Dr. Inglis and the
Obatas<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn8;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[8]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a>
and Robert Parker<a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn9;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[9]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> and
Arno Haack who led the Board of Deacons when the Obatas and Rev. Parker asked
to join the church so that this white church didn’t say no. And so many we’ve
bade farewell just since I’ve been here – Tremayne and Parker and Morley and
Patterson and Davis and so many others who helped us define who we are.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">These all remind us </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">why we are as we are</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">.
And in the cases of the Obatas and Robert Parker and Jennie Davis Sharp, we
have come to recognize people who stood out from the main group but who called
us to stand by our principles and follow our Savior’s example of humbleness and
humility. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">A few months ago, I became acquainted with another
such person – Thyra Johnson Bonds, who was a member here from 1957 when she and
her husband moved to Webster, until her death in 2005. It was up until the early 1970s that she was active, especially teaching Sunday School. Her
daughters Kassandra and Gayle were active too, right up to about 8<sup>th</sup>
Grade.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Mrs. Bonds made her mark on Webster history when
she brought suit against the City of Webster Groves. The Bonds had bought their
house – a sweet little ranch with a carport – in 1957, in a neighborhood which
was on the other side of the tracks from Tuxedo Park. Homes to the east and
south of where they built had been popping up for 20 or 30 years. The Bonds,
however, had built in the very southeast corner of a 13-acre tract of land
slated for “redevelopment.” Now, when the Bonds heard “redevelopment,” they thought
what any of us might have thought: that the houses to the north and west of
them would be rehabbed or torn down </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">and
new houses put in their place</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">You see, that 13-acre tract contained a
neighborhood about as rundown as any you might ever see in Webster Groves.
Directly across Kirkham Avenue from First Baptist Church, the homes there were
either owned or rented by low-income African American families and individuals.
Many of these homes had no indoor plumbing<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(meaning that, yes, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">there
were still housing units in our fair city as late as the mid-1960s with
standing privies!)</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">. So, yes,
redevelopment was needed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">But the City’s idea of redevelopment, flush as it
was with new federal Community Redevelopment funds, was not the same as the
Bonds. The City’s newly formed Land Clearance for Redevelopment Commission determined to
clear out those homes, and the City Planning Commission elected to rezone that
entire 13-acre tract from “residential” to “light industrial”… well, all 13
acres, that is, except for that sweet little, brand new ranch home with a
carport.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">And so, from 1964 through to the end of 1968, Mrs.
Bonds and her attorney offered objection after objection, first to the City
Council and then to whatever court would hear her, expressing her concern that
the value of her property would tank, because what she and Mr. Bonds had
imagined for themselves and their daughters – a neighborhood with actual
neighbors </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">all around them</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> – had been prevented. She sued, for the sake of
recapturing the value of that house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">And she lost. And then she lost on appeal. And
finally, she couldn’t get a hearing before the Missouri Supreme Court.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Now that you know about Thyra Bonds, what do you
think we might be able to do – as a city, as a church, as individuals – that
can take the reality of being Black in Webster Groves, or wherever you may
live, and empower restoration? Or is there something like this that we might be
doing, individually or together, for the sake of making safe the lives of
people of Asian descent in our country? Or of children and youth? Can we
actually enable economic development, maybe even make sure that “</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">redevelopment</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">” means the same thing to everyone?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: right 467.95pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">And before someone goes off and says that what I’m
doing is preaching politics, remember what we read in Micah – that litany of
instances in which God (unbidden!) turned things around for Israel and then
asked, “What ought to be required of you?” And then Jesus in Matthew recited a
similar litany of vulnerable people whom God is blessing (And I do believe that
the unstated comment there from Jesus is, “God is blessing these… if only the
world would too!”). Blessed are the poor in spirit; blessed are the peacemakers;
blessed are you when you are persecuted and reviled. All of that, I want to
believe, he said because he knows how hard our work is going to be –
individually and together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Are
we relegated to a future that resembles the past? Or shall we be able to open
our theological imaginations, our evangelistic hope, our remembering and
expectant hearts, to a new future – a true and faithful future in which we
study war and violence no more?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Amen.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><br clear="all" />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<!--[endif]-->
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[1]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> The
First Congregational Church of Webster Groves was founded on January 31, 1866,
by the signing of a covenant by ten residents of the village.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn2" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[2]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> The Rev.
Janice Barnes is retired clergy, a former staff member at First Church, and
currently an esteemed member of the Congregation.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn3" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[3]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Director
of First Church’s Ministry of Imagination, Creativity, and the Arts (MICA), the
Rev. Cliff Aerie is an ordained minister in our denomination, the United Church
of Christ. MICA produced a series of musical, worshipful programs in 2022 which
were called, “Jazz for the Journey.” It is also the creative force behind our
Good Friday Blues services and Jazz Noel.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn4" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn4;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[4]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Some of
the church’s founding members.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn5" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn5;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[5]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> A First
Church member from 1878 to 1883, and first African American schoolmistress of
what would become Douglass School in North Webster, Jennie Davis would emigrate
to Liberia and become the founder of the Women’s Department of Liberia College. She returned to the United States in 1903, including a stop in Webster Groves, to raise funds for a new, industrial arts education project at Mount Coffee, Liberia. The project was touted by such luminaries of the time as the writers Edward Everett Hale and Pauline Elizabeth Hopkins.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn6" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn6;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[6]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> A
prominent family of the church, now, for six generations.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn7" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn7;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[7]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> Mayor of
Webster Groves at the turn of the Twentieth Century, in whose memory the
“Sermon on the Mount” window is dedicated. Of the characters depicted in the
window, all are female except for Jesus.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn8" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref8" name="_ftn8" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn8;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[8]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> A
Japanese-American family sponsored by the church, 1943-1945, after being
relocated to Webster Groves from the Topaz Mountain internment camp in Utah.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
<div id="ftn9" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<p class="MsoFootnoteText"><a href="https://d.docs.live.net/3a2bf9559c01cb89/Worship/2022-2023%20A/2023-01-29/2023-01-29%20Message.docx#_ftnref9" name="_ftn9" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn9;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><!--[if !supportFootnotes]--><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">[9]</span></span><!--[endif]--></span></span></a> First
African American ordained in a Missouri Congregational church, in 1951.<o:p></o:p></p>
</div>
</div>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-79643118319074249042023-01-15T15:02:00.004-08:002023-01-15T15:02:54.886-08:00Memories of Joyce Berger<p>I am sad to announce the death of our dear sister Joyce Berger, age 97 years and 51 weeks. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">EARLY YEARS</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">She was the youngest of three daughters born to William & Mabel (Wyatt) Ingram. She grew up in Wellsville, Missouri, where her father was a postal clerk and her mother ran the household. The family moved to the near north side of St. Louis in the late 1930s, where Joyce’s father became a letter carrier and she attended Soldan High School. She married Soldan classmate Robert P. Ferguson, Jr., in 1945. He was a pilot in the Air Corps and Air Force, flying missions in the Pacific theater in WWII and in Korea. During this time, she and their two children – Robert III and Lucia – lived in Michigan, Arizona, and Florida, before Joyce returned permanently to St. Louis with the children.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div><div>LIFE IN WEBSTER GROVES</div><div>Joyce joined First Church with her second husband Allen on December 11, 1960. The newsletter then, <i>The Word</i>, records the two of them and their son Bob becoming members – Allen and Joyce by letter of transfer from Presbyterian churches nearby.</div><div><br /></div><div>When she and Allen married, his parents lived in a large house on Mason Avenue in Webster Groves, not far from First Congregational, and the newlyweds were looking for “a neutral church” to be a part of. They had each been attending other churches in Webster, and the great stone church at the top of the hill from his parents’ house intrigued them. Once they were introduced to Dr. Inglis and First Webster, she liked to say, it was an immediate match.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JePpN3UTWZXfOZTqtlHg5I03w4r01w7cqDwNg5WhlYTtUVaJI6_tvQ5j81jeMy5MBs5JtO6fkZKBCVhUi6kQggm2ZIoE3ad5fyTTWO6IaksRu9bp6Ff__u4oUed8QZhKTeigARNd5Xl0-m0f9Pko65M33EQl296Nob1aySgaSBdVUer5ncNYKamz/s3349/2003%20Directory.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Photo of Allen & Joyce" border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="3349" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JePpN3UTWZXfOZTqtlHg5I03w4r01w7cqDwNg5WhlYTtUVaJI6_tvQ5j81jeMy5MBs5JtO6fkZKBCVhUi6kQggm2ZIoE3ad5fyTTWO6IaksRu9bp6Ff__u4oUed8QZhKTeigARNd5Xl0-m0f9Pko65M33EQl296Nob1aySgaSBdVUer5ncNYKamz/w320-h258/2003%20Directory.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>They had met through mutual friends. Allen was a widower with a daughter Judy who was 5 and twins David and Kathy who were 2 (The children’s mother Helen tragically had died while birthing the twins.). Joyce’s son Bob was 13 by this time, and her daughter Lucia was 12. In setting up their new home, the two parents would adopt each other’s children. </div><div><br /></div><div>Allen was a salesman who traveled a lot. Joyce made a career locally with the Republican party. In 1972, she ran the St. Louis County campaign of gubernatorial candidate Christopher “Kit” Bond whose emphasis on government reform was the great attractor for her. When Mr. Bond was unable to attend local campaign events, Joyce went in his place. This, she said, was her favorite job. Her least favorite had been working with the County Election Board, which she said was filled with people who were, in her opinion, “unqualified political appointees.”</div><div><br /></div><div>Joyce spoke very fondly of the days when Allen taught the 5th and 6th grade boys Sunday School class and she the girls. After a few years, she opted for the 2nd and 3rd graders, and enjoyed that assignment even more.</div><div><br /></div><div>She was an adult chaperone for the 1968 youth mission trip to Rough Rock, Arizona. She told me that she didn’t particularly like being stationed on the floor in a sleeping bag in front of the exterior door of the girls’ quarters, but Joyce was the preventer of liaisons and other mischief! The work of assisting others and guiding youth in how to do so was very gratifying and made the overnight conditions somewhat excusable. Joyce would quote another parent on one of these excursions who complained that “If I never hear another Beatles song, it will be too soon.” Joyce would laugh at this and said that the other parent was too rough on the Beatles.</div><div><br /></div><div>She and Allen were fixtures at First Church for as long as they lived. Allen died in 2004 with an untreatable cancer. They were married for almost 44 years.</div><div><br /></div><div>AT THE ALGONQUIN</div><div>Joyce moved from their home on Wilshire Terrace, to The Algonquin apartments across Gore Avenue from the church, in 2013. Not long afterward, she got a new next door neighbor, Jean Tarkington. Jean’s mother, Della Bobbitt, had worked as one of First Church’s cooks in 1950s and 60s, in the days before potluck luncheons and dinners were served here. Jean had fond memories of the church, from helping out her mother as a kitchen assistant. Joyce was fascinated by Jean, who is almost six feet tall with a broad smile and a quiet demeanor. They loved that they had the church in common, even if neither of them had known the other from before.</div><div><br /></div><div>During their years as neighbors, Jean and Joyce became quite close. In August of 2014, Jean appeared in tears at Joyce’s door. “What’s wrong?” Joyce asked her. “They’re killing our babies!” Jean cried, and Joyce brought her sobbing friend inside and sat her down. She made them some tea, and spent the afternoon listening and finding her heart opening up to concerns she had never even considered. Jean was reacting to the killing of Michael Brown, Jr., and the desecration of his body which lay in the open for four hours in the heat of that summer Saturday in Ferguson. Hostile reaction arose among African Americans and allies across the region; Jean’s response was despair.</div><div><br /></div><div>“What could I do?” Joyce asked me, when we visited a few days later. “What <i>can</i> I do?” Joyce realized, that day and for the rest of her relationship with Jean, how powerless anyone can feel who has come to recognize that the world’s people cannot afford the distances we’ve poised between ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>One Sunday in late 2017, not long after the announcement of the engagement of Prince Harry to Meghan Markle, Joyce appeared at my office door with a thin package which she said she thought my daughter Gwen ought to have. It wasn’t a Christmas present, she said, but something Joyce had found when out shopping, and the inspiration hit her. Inside, Gwen found a book of paper doll cutouts of the couple which she absolutely cherished. Gwen was 11 at the time, and Mrs. Berger thereafter was one of her favorite adults at church.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was around this time that Joyce’s attendance began to flag. “It’s hard to get moving in the morning,” she confessed to me. Thus I would come to visit her more often than she would get to worship. </div><div><br /></div><div>CAPE ALBEON</div><div>Joyce was my first in-person visit since the COVID pandemic began. She moved from The Algonquin to an assisted living setting at Cape Albeon Senior Living, in the spring of 2020. Her friend Jean moved out of The Algonquin at about the same time, to be closer to her daughter in Springfield, Missouri. </div><div><br /></div><div>The move came after the pandemic forced lockdowns, but Joyce, as a newcomer, still had to be isolated in her room for two weeks before she could circulate among other residents. Her room was just a few doors down from the residence of church members Carol and Bob McCoy, and Joyce had decided that Cape Albeon would be a good setting for here because Bob and Carol would be living there, too. Carol died in December 2020, however, and Bob moved back to independent living. Prior to his death seven months after Carol’s, Bob would sometimes pop over for a visit, but afterward she was left without any close friends nearby. </div><div><br /></div><div>For this reason, she was thankful for other church friends. There had been a time when she played bridge weekly with Janet Fales and Elaine Coe (and another friend she said I wouldn't know), and those friends would still stop over, though minus the bridge. Kay Roush and Marilyn Claggett were dear Friend-to-Friend visitors. Tracey Harris looked her up while doing her Clinical Pastoral Education course at Cape Albeon. Her son David came by about daily; Lucia brought her home for suppers weekly, and the other children were similarly attentive. She always fantasized with David about attending worship, some Sunday, and I would occasionally get voicemail messages from him reporting upcoming weekends when they thought they would try.</div><div><br /></div><div>Joyce was satisfied with her living situation – “great staff,” she said, “good food, and everything on one level.” She kept bird feeders outside her patio door to watch nature’s activity. “I have it pretty good,” she reflected often.</div><div><br /></div><div>David called me in February of this year, and reported that his mother wished I would stop by to talk about matters regarding death. It wasn’t the first time I’d visited for this reason. Joyce had asked me over, a couple of times when she was at The Algonquin, with similar requests. “I just need to talk this out,” she would say.</div><div><br /></div><div>In February, she ventured to say that she was confused about what happens when we die. She said, she thought she agreed with one friend “that heaven isn’t a bunch of little people dancing around on clouds,” as she put it, “but I don’t know what it is.” I stated my opinion to her that anybody who says that they do know what death is, is lying to you. We talked for a little while about God as a great mystery. The theologian Paul Tillich said that God is the Ground of all being, not being itself, not A being, but that Source from which all existence springs. We both said that we felt satisfied by this way of thinking, even if it didn’t concretely answer her questions about death.</div><div><br /></div><div>“I’ve had a good life,” she would say. There was a way that she inflected this statement that would cause me to think that she maybe was saying she didn’t deserve life to have been as good as it has been. She was troubled by ways in which she felt that she’d failed as a daughter or as a mother, maybe even as a friend. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I prayed with her at the end February’s visit, I found myself expressing to God the profound mystery that we experience about the Divine and what the future holds in store, even beyond this life. As I spoke the “Amen,” with tears in her eyes she said, “Thank you. That hit the spot.”</div><div><br /></div><div>My final visit with Joyce was a couple of weeks ago. I had just presided another church member’s memorial service, and Pastoral Assistant Halley Kim appeared at my door with a note. Joyce’s son Bob had called to inform me that the family was transitioning Joyce to hospice care. I rang him back, and we both shed tears, aware that she was about to know what she had previously only pondered about death and afterlife. He and I were alternately sad for ourselves and joyous for her. I told Bob that I would go to see her, and I did just a few moments later. </div><div><br /></div><div>In that call with him, I heard him reflecting the way his mother would, about life and love. Days later I spoke with Lucia and thought I heard Joyce’s voice – the same inflection and cadence. And David and I texted back and forth about those Sunday visits that never quite were able to happen.</div><div><br /></div><div>Joyce was weak when I got to her room on January 3. She was reclining on the couch, asleep, so I roused her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled to see me. I stayed only about five minutes, until she told me she was ready to take another nap. As I prepared to go, her demeanor suddenly brightened. “Have a great time!” she exclaimed. “Thank you,” I said, “and a happy new year to you.” She replied, “Much love!” and waved ever so slightly. “Love to you too,” I answered and left her to her nap.</div><div><br /></div><div>There won’t be a memorial service for Joyce, nor a burial. Like Allen, she donated her body to science, and those who benefit academically from her contribution will see that she is honored properly. In the springtime a stonecutter will come and etch her name just below Allen’s on a stone in the churchyard, and her family will gather to make a dedication of that token to her memory. All of us who knew her will carry forward the love and joy, caring and concern, and maybe just a hint of doubt and guilt, to keep us humble as she was.</div><div><br /></div><div>Peace.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>< <a href="https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/stltoday/name/joyce-berger-obituary?id=38657793" target="_blank">Link to Joyce's newspaper obituary</a> ></div></div>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-41451685274925253392020-04-01T09:36:00.000-07:002020-04-01T09:47:29.128-07:00A Message from the Pastor - April 1, 2020Some thoughts about courage and loveGrace and peace to you.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
You may have noticed that none of us leading worship, these past few Sundays, has done more than offer caution and a few prayers about how to face these anxious times. And I have to tell you, you’re right.<br />
<br />
My own practice for these past few weeks has been to observe an abundance of caution and to help our lay leadership to make decisions in our congregation’s and wider community’s best interest. I have sat down with other religious leaders (through a variety of live and live-stream media platforms), to discuss ways to make sure that the life of our faith communities continues unabated and undaunted. I have been learning through trial-and-error the ins and outs of video and audio production, so that all of us might still feel connected with God and one another. It has been my central purpose to assure that we are not prevented from maintaining our organizational integrity and, even, outreach.<br />
<br />
I am a pragmatist at heart, and pragmatism has been my primary mode of operation: to keep on keeping on and to assure you by this, that our institution is going to be OK, that we will get through this moment, and that we may even be stronger for having endured it.<br />
<br />
Still, there’s something of a proverbial elephant in our virtual room which we’ve been shifting ourselves around but never really acknowledging.<br />
<br />
You see, there was this conversation among staff members, yesterday, about how we are all experiencing a lack of sleep, dreams that indicate new levels of stress in us, and something like that twitchiness that comes with spring fever (though we are well past the equinox) as we ride out this time in isolation and quarantine. Our anxieties are high, our families’ anxieties are high, our friends’ anxieties are high.<br />
<br />
We have been told that the next couple of weeks will include a spike in the rates of infection and death that baffle the imagination. And though it may not be as severe as past epidemics, like the flu that struck the world in 1918 and 1919 or the smallpox that obliterated entire Native American communities during the time of colonization, not one of us will be unaffected by the loss of life. It is not out of the question that we will have loved ones or others in our spheres of acquaintance who will have died with COVID-19.<br />
<br />
How do we remain dauntless in the face of such a threat?<br />
<br />
I’ll be honest: I’m not sure we do.<br />
<br />
My faith tells me, however, that answering anxiety with fear and hiding, responding to intimidation with paralysis, will not accomplish the high goal of love to which we are bound by the grace of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. That said, following medical and scientific advice by remaining sheltered in place is not the same as fear and hiding. Isolation and quarantine are not paralysis. Exercising caution and following protocols we’ve been given are reasonable and proper measures for us.<br />
<br />
But we really must not give in to fear.<br />
<br />
A while back in one worship setting, I mentioned the popular understanding that there are 365 occasions in the Bible in which something like the words, “Be not afraid,” are spoken. The sentiment is that there is one such saying for every day of the year.<br />
<br />
The command is not repeated that often, I observed, but “Be not afraid” or something like it is repeated around half that many times and it’s a simple project just to repeat the reminder every six months. It becomes a year, and doing so we will have more than accommodated any perceived lack on the part of the Bible.<br />
<br />
We can use that kind of encouragement, can’t we.<br />
<br />
Why is that admonition, “Fear not,” repeated so often in our holy scriptures?<br />
<br />
The only conclusion I can draw is that the anxiety making us so restless now was even more common in the days when the Bible’s books were written – from 4000 to 2000 years ago. You know that we have enjoyed ourselves a privilege of ease and contentment that our spiritual ancestors did not, thanks to so many innovations of medicine and hygiene and expectations of civility and loving kindness.<br />
<br />
I would go further. You know as well as I that there are entire communities, entire strata of human society in fact, who have before this time experienced anxious pains like those that beset us and trouble our sleep and interrupt our daily routines. People living in poverty, people living as refugees, people whose physical existence is threatened or curtailed by persistent perils everyday, and people enduring mental illness or addiction, know exactly this sort of dread. How might my next interpersonal encounter harm me? we wonder now... with them!<br />
<br />
I also consider that the threats we have named, the ways in which people do harm to one another, deserve to be taken seriously and treated seriously... including exposing each other unnecessarily or unintentionally to infection with COVID-19. To take these anxieties seriously will be to acknowledge our own unsuspected privilege.<br />
<br />
We must be courageous. Our God insists on it.<br />
<br />
For those who are experiencing fear and anxiety, that courage will most likely come by facing our certain vulnerabilities but not surrendering to them. We are being told over and over again how to limit the spread of this virus – stay home, wash your hands for 20 seconds or more at a time, if you must go out then maintain a distance of six feet between yourself and others and disinfect when you return.<br />
<br />
For those who are resentful of the abundance of caution being required of us, who don’t see what all the fuss is about, or who are frustrated by the curtailing of our accustomed freedoms, to you I say, practice the courage of wisdom and humility. Acknowledge that there are at least a few people out there who know more than you do about what’s best for you and your neighbor in this moment. And learn how a new commandment is repeated so often by Jesus of Nazareth that it easily equals the command to be fearless. His command, “Love one another,” is only best accomplished when we put aside our own desires or attitudes, and consider the care of others foremost.<br />
<br />
We are living in a challenging time. We will endure this fearsome time. As the apostle has said, “God’s grace is sufficient for us.” Love for God and for one another has been the bedrock of faith for so many before us and around us, and it will be our firm foundation as well.<br />
<br />
It will.<br />
<br />
So, be safe. Be well. Be of good courage.<br />
<br />
May blessings abound for you.<br />
<br />
And peace be upon you.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-12320174481268389082019-04-18T02:00:00.000-07:002019-09-07T14:16:08.727-07:00Not Many People Write of Jesus Kneeling<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>A poem by David Denoon</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not many people write of Jesus kneeling<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not to pray, or perhaps to pray,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But to wash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To bear the water and the pour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stripped to the waist as he will be again<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All too soon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This time, though, because<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is what the servant does<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To wash the feet<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One bends<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One kneels<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Half-naked before the splash and the mess,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A day’s walking is a filthy thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not many people accept Jesus kneeling<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not to pray, or perhaps to pray,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But to wash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peter, yes, but Judas too –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Neither understanding servanthood,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leadership –<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Disquieted by troubled water<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Disoriented by him<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Down on his knees<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both stop<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both stare<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Disrobed themselves, but not obviously,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Denial and betrayal hidden.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not many people recall Jesus kneeling<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not to pray, or perhaps to pray,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But to wash<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The basin’s clouding contents show<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No Savior, no, instead a woman bowed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flask of nard<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her hair uncovered <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Immodestly wiping his feet<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not six days past<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once there<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once here<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She clothed the moment in adoration<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Disquieting parallels, the two.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-7783263619939435962019-03-16T07:08:00.001-07:002019-03-16T07:08:48.407-07:00Loving the Stranger Prevents Complicity in HatredLet's Get to It!I propose something new for us as a Christian community at the First Congregational Church of Webster Groves. Really, it's just something to be renewed, but we need to approach it as if we have never done it before. That is, <i>to fearlessly and actively seek new opportunities for hospitality and love with people who do not believe or practice faith in the same ways we do.</i><br />
<br />
We need to recognize and energize around the understanding in our sacred texts that <i>loving the stranger</i> is our greatest goal for faithfulness.<br />
<br />
On Friday afternoon in New Zealand, you know by now, an armed white nationalist entered mosques in Christchurch and murdered dozens of people. On Friday afternoon in Ballwin, Missouri, I went to the Daar Ul-Islam mosque of the Islamic Foundation of Greater St. Louis for <a href="https://www.stltoday.com/news/local/metro/st-louis-faith-leaders-rally-around-muslim-community-after-new/article_9f8964a5-5776-51e6-bc3c-b9a3bc0b0f40.html" target="_blank">an interfaith gathering reacting to the Christchurch attacks</a>. After about half an hour of greetings from leaders of Jewish and Christian communities and acknowledgments from the host imam and other Islamic religious leaders from the area, those of us gathered adjourned to a series of informal greetings and embraces with tears and words of affirmation for one another. Circulating around the room I ended up hugging my friend Imam Ibrahim Hasic twice, catching up briefly about our families and communities, and realizing that we don't make nearly enough time for each other outside of work.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nk9JLH7_9sQ/XI0BAOeHS8I/AAAAAAAAC0s/OEpyEmv2Bx09goZoHi88ldGNoXjlGB5JACLcBGAs/s1600/Sprouts-of-Peace-1024x576%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="415" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nk9JLH7_9sQ/XI0BAOeHS8I/AAAAAAAAC0s/OEpyEmv2Bx09goZoHi88ldGNoXjlGB5JACLcBGAs/s320/Sprouts-of-Peace-1024x576%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
As I left the mosque, I was keenly aware of the three uniformed men who were providing security and traffic control. It reminded me of a conversation I'd had, two days before. I had attended a clergy meeting in which a Christian minister and a Jewish rabbi reflected about their communities' experiences with an Islamic center, the three communities together developing a program for little children to teach them about their traditions' mutual values and different ways of expressing those values. The Christian mentioned the importance of a security guard, something he had not considered when he had first imagined the program. At every gathering of the "Sprouts of Peace" program, there is uniformed, armed peace officer for everyone's protection.<br />
<br />
There came to my mind my words with church members, after shootings at churches that happened a couple of months ago, that arming our greeters would be foolhardy and that keeping our building's doors unlocked and unguarded is part of our hospitality. I am not sure I was ever quite so profoundly clear about the privilege my religion and my religious community's historic identity (as a liberal Christian group, dreaming of diversity but definitely white in the overwhelming majority).<br />
<br />
At least as far as being targeted for being counter to the culture of the mainstream is concerned, First Church is safe from the threat of terrorism. The only possibility I see, of a need for a guard at the door, would be in a case like that which our presenters were providing, in which we might be sharing programming with a predictably targeted group.<br />
<br />
On that Wednesday, I reflected about how, on Monday, I had spent the morning in a gathering of leaders from many faith traditions around a table sponsored by the Jewish Community Relations Council. We were discussing with Prof. David Oughton of St. Louis University the history of Christian anti-Semitism and just how intractable it can be. I ached to have a similar discussion among the people of my church and, by extension, my community generally. I longed to remind them that we are not blameless, even if we have distanced ourselves over the past many decades from the vilification or demonization of these others. The mere statement of suspicion by one faith-based voice against another implicates the first in the persecution of the other.<br />
<br />
First Church has concentrated a lot, over the last few years, on anti-racism and the importance of recognizing our unintended complicity in the preservation of racism and racist expectations. We have heralded our church's history of promoting civil rights for people of different colors and cultures than our own. We haven't, however, looked as long and hard lately at the ways in which we perpetuate prejudice against other religious groups, either actively or passively.<br />
<br />
Oh, I make our Confirmation students, their mentors, and teachers attend worship, prayer, and meditation gatherings at Jewish, Islamic, Baha'i, and Buddhist meeting places nearby; I assign them the task of attending services in at least two other Christian communities. (And I know some of the adults of my church go to bar and bat mitzvah celebrations, and many attended services at nearby synagogues, the Shabbat after the Tree of Life massacre.) But there needs to be a voice and example coming from among us, active and fearless (even if that fearlessness is based in entitlement and privilege). This voice <i>may be, sometimes, even prophetic</i> in affirming to our wider community those people who believe or practice faithfully, but differently, than we do.<br />
<br />
We can face hatred and ignorance with love. We are privileged enough to be able to do this without fear. When we establish new love, when we cultivate our friendships across religions as well as across race, when we invite others into new relationships and networks of care and concern, we generate a process that can bridge the chasm of cruelty, of fear, of hate.<br />
<br />
If we are silent and if we do nothing, we are implicated in the murderous actions of terrorist cowards. We can and must fearlessly and actively seek new opportunities for hospitality and love. We can and must change the course of our culture because we change our own expectations of ourselves and of others. We know the price that will continue to be paid if we do nothing.<br />
<br />
Loving the stranger is our greatest goal for faithfulness.<br />
<br />
Yes, the best way forward is to generate relationships and networks of care and concern that prevent Fridays and other days like the one Christchurch just experienced. This was true on Wednesday, as my clergy meeting heard about those Abrahamic young people in the "Sprouts of Peace" program. It is just as true on Mondays, as my colleagues and I are discovering monthly. It is true, every day, and will be always.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-20461524172729698932019-02-21T06:10:00.000-08:002019-02-21T06:10:40.561-08:00When No News Is Good News (February 17, 2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">READINGS</span></u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=112#hebrew_reading" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Jeremiah 17:5-8</span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=112#gospel_reading" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Luke 6:20-26</span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">COMMENTARY: <i>The prophet Jeremiah was convinced that the overthrow of his nation’s
government by a foreign power was no accident: it was God’s judgment. His
people, he announced as speaking for God, had chosen to ignore mercy and to
favor wealth. Their greed got them into the political mess they faced and the
historical exile they experienced, as the nation’s ruling and merchant classes
were carted off to Babylon for discipline and servitude. Six centuries later,
Jesus was able to draw parallels between Jeremiah’s humiliated government and
Jewish leaders in his own time who cooperated with the power of Rome in
occupied Galilee and Judea. Note in the Luke passage the intentional linking by
Jesus between the successful of his own time with those who were the cause of
Judah’s judgment in Jeremiah’s time. He does this by referring to the
cooperators as if their ancestors were those who were sent into exile, six
hundred years before. Indeed, the Beatitudes as spoken in the gospel according
to Luke when laid side-by-side with Jeremiah’s preaching ring very familiar.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=112#epistle_reading" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">1 Corinthians 15:12-20</span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">COMMENTARY: <i>Written
in or about the year 54 CE, what we call Paul’s first letter to the Church at
Corinth is actually the third that Paul wrote to the Corinthians. The first two
having been lost to the ages, this one offers correction to misperceptions or
misconceptions those Christians had had about their new faith. In the letter
Paul demonstrates their misapplication of what he had written before. </i><i>In
this passage the misapplication has to do with the central tenet of the
Christian faith – Christ’s resurrection. Paul weaves an argument together out
of Jewish thought and Greek thought. His argument is sublimely logical, like
arguments of Plato or Aristotle, but his premise and his conclusion are like
those of the ancient rabbis. </i><i>He
focuses on a predicted end-of-history event, the raising of the dead, when God
will pass judgment on all people. This resurrection will provide for the
righting of historic wrongs. It will reverse the fortunes of those who lived
unjustly but without punishment and those who lived righteously but without
mercy. Jesus’ own resurrection has been proof that the day is coming, Paul
says, and the arrival of that day is the lynchpin of Christian faith and
proclamation.</i><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"> This claim was as
problematic for his Corinthian audience as it may be for us today. There is no
physical evidence of Christ’s resurrection, no glorified Jesus who is visible
anymore. There is only testimony and theological imagination. Paul counters those
who claim to practice this faith without believing in a coming resurrection by
suggesting that the dubious are calling him a liar.</span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;">A sound file of this sermon may be found at <a href="https://soundcloud.com/firstchurchwg/when-no-news-is-good-news" target="_blank">soundcloud.com/FirstChurchWG</a></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Today is the Sunday of Presidents
Day weekend. Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin were both born near this day.
Darwin and Lincoln, those two voices which have had the most defining effect
for America in our history, were born on exactly the same day – February 12,
1809.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>It’s also African American History
Month, and today is our special observance of Science and Technology Sunday.
And even though it may seem as though we’re forcing an issue just because of
the confluence of those coincidences, I still was inspired to consider that
confluence. After all, all of life can seem sometimes as if it’s just a
confluence of coincidences that we’re trying to make sense out of – as if the
combination of circumstances in our environment are forming a vortex, and we
are at the center of it, trying to imagine what all of the randomness means,
like Alice in the Rabbit Hole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Our scriptures for today seem like
part of it. Jeremiah and Luke offer beatitudes and curses; Paul scolds the
Corinthians (interestingly) not for not believing but for not believing enough!
And, I’ll tell you, the Psalm of the day, which doesn’t appear at all in this
worship service, is <a href="https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=112#psalm_reading" target="_blank">the first of the Psalms</a> exalting the faithful for being
like well-watered trees full with leaves. Four disjoint sayings, except that
Jeremiah and the Psalm both share similar tree imagery, and Jeremiah and Luke
share a similar motif of blessing and cursing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So
you can imagine, I find that reading scripture passages together can be kind of
confusing and feel kind of random unless they can be considered with a certain
topic. And with the timeliness of considering together <i>both </i>how some of
our citizens have been historically mistreated (because of Black History Month
and Lincoln’s birthday) <i>and </i>what we do with what we know (because of
Science and Technology Sunday and Darwin’s birthday), I thought I might be
seeing a glimmer of something meaningful shining through Paul’s remonstrance of
Corinth and Jesus’ beatitudes in Luke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Blessed are you
when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on
account of the Human One.</span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 521.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s what Jesus
said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If the dead are not
raised, then Christ has not been raised. If Christ has not been raised, your
faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have died
in Christ have perished. If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are
of all people most to be pitied. </span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 521.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That’s Paul.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Those two portions really stuck out to me
with their emphases of </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">suffering and death and breaking their strangle holds
on our existence</i><span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">. I thought, </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s where I want to go with this.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 521.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 521.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So, on Facebook I asked how other people
encounter Paul’s assertions in First Corinthians 15 about Jesus’ resurrection
and the coming resurrection of the righteous.<i> Where and how have you met
(are you meeting) the Messiah?</i> I asked.<i> Another way to put this, </i>I
said,<i> might be to ask, What is real for you about your faith?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 521.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Here are some of the answers I got:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If Jesus was not
physically and spiritually resurrected he is not Jesus the Christ, the Messiah!
I, because of the witness of those who where there, believe in the full
resurrection of Jesus. And that the promise of eternal life in Christ is real
because God’s promises are real. I have a faith that says that those who die in
Christ shall live again and that this spiritual place is a communal gathering
of those who have also lived and died in Christ. So to answer the question, it
is important because I believe in a faithful God, who has never failed, lied or
not come through. I believe that there are many metaphors in the Bible, but
that the bodily and spiritual resurrection was testified to by the Apostles and
to their followers whom I believe to this day.</span></i></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: garamond, serif;">A medical
professional said, </span><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is a major difference between resurrection and
resuscitation. Resuscitations occur frequently in ambulances and hospitals
around the world. Jesus’ resurrection is important because it set a precedent.
He was the “first fruit” and because Jesus did we have the testimony of this
happening in God’s Word, we have faith that we will rise again after death too
new life (and not just be resuscitated to live the same old life).</span></i></span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">[A Japanese pastor
said that she asked] for help with [her] sermon on Twitter! </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: garamond, serif;">She
asked the question, </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>“How do you believe in the resurrection of Jesus?” </i>and
got 73 responses to her multiple choice answers. </span><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><u>Answer 1</u>: I believe
ultimately in the resuscitation of the Jesus body – 30%. <u>Answer 2</u>: I
believe in only idea of the resurrection of Jesus – 15%. <u>Answer 3</u>: Not
exactly sure what happened but believe in the meaning of the resurrection of
Jesus – 55%.</span><span style="font-family: garamond, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: garamond, serif;">One church member
replied, </span><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I honestly don’t have a clue about whether there was a
resurrection... Jesus presented to us a way of living. </span></i></span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I think the bedrock
fact of the resurrection is that Jesus showed up and changed people... And the
bedrock meaning is that God is ultimately on Christ’s side, evidence to the
contrary sometimes notwithstanding.</span></i></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">To me, it doesn't
matter if Jesus rose bodily or in Spirit. What matters is Christ made known
that he conquered death itself and that there is life beyond what we know on
Earth.</span></i></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in .5in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 503.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: garamond, serif;">Quoting an Easter
sermon I preached about five or six years ago, one church member said, </span><i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I
think of the resurrection as “Jesus loose in the world.” It had a big impact on
me and how I think about the resurrection.</span></i></span></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: -.25in; margin-top: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I find Christ’s
presence in the often surprising evidences of guidance and providence in my and
other's lives. A person can be clever and far-sighted in planning one’s own
life, but the way things fall into place (or don’t) outside of one’s control
does create story-arcs that, to me, are amazing examples of Christ's presence. </span></i></blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I think about the resurrection this way: I
think that, as I’ve said at other times, <i>If it could happen for Jesus, it
can happen for us.</i> Resurrection, whatever it is or means, indicates the
possibility of new and glorified life in God.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">We claim to have good news. We use the
word gospel a lot, but it can sound mysterious. So, let me remind you that,
when Paul or Jesus said the word we say when we say </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">gospel</i><span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">, they said,
“good news.” So, that’s what we have: good news bringing meaning and relief,
salvation and life, despite the strangle holds of suffering and death. That is
the meaning of resurrection.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even so, even for all his concentration on
our good news, Paul points out that it really is <i>no news</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Because of the resurrection of Jesus, he
says, and Christ’s glorification by God, we don’t have a Jesus with whom we can
make physical contact anymore, the way the apostles once did. This can be a
problem, he admits, because we may then believe in <i>Jesus’ </i>actual
resurrection, but we may imagine that it was a one-off and that he would have
been the only one who gets that treatment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span><i>No</i>, Paul insists, <i>Jesus was only
the first</i>. A day is coming... and you can read about what he envisioned for
the rest of us in my commentary. But people then weren’t believing it. They
were coming up with rationalizations and explanations for their loved ones
dying and not being raised. They were doing the things that we do: insisting
that people live in our hearts long past their earthly lives, and that this is
what lends them eternity. Or that their spirits are still among us, and that
this is what proves their eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Paul said, <i>No, that isn’t enough</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>And you and I know: Our sentiments are
sweet, but they’re cold comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>When you think about what he saw in daily
life – its cruelty, its futility, and itscrushing effects on some, while others
either take for granted their affluence or didn’t take it for granted and
insulated and isolated themselves from the suffering that is so often the
expense of their luxury. Paul was not satisfied with some sort of “pie in the
sky when you die by and by.” Paul insisted that, if there was going to be
justice, it had to be real. If, therefore, resurrection happened for Jesus, it
has to happen for us too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Paul, not having lived through the Dark
Ages or the Enlightenment, hadn’t come to any sort of notion about democracy or
anti-slavery or workers outnumbering their masters and casting off their
chains. He didn’t know about such things, except that invariably, when he saw
the underclasses rebelling, they were subdued and subjugated again and again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>What he knew was that there came now this
good news from on high, a good news that he preached: that the Creator was
redeeming the world and that, eventually, those same sufferers and their
suffering children would be saved and justified, and their oppressors and all
those who did nothing to ease their burdens made to suffer for the sins they
committed in this life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And even without Jesus in his former flesh
restored to assert the authority and glory of God, that measure of <i>no news, </i>that
He’s not here, still was good news for Paul and other Christians. <i>Keep your
eyes on the prize</i>, Paul instructed the Corinthians. <i>Accept no
substitutes.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; tab-stops: -6.0pt 0in .25in 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in 2.5in 3.0in 3.5in 4.0in 4.5in 5.0in 5.5in 6.0in 6.5in 7.0in 539.9pt; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>No news is good news.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">This was a problematic assertion back
then, and it is a problematic assertion in our own time. No news can be
dangerous in a world that is growingly more disposed to evidence. The
development of science in human history has led us to draw our most assured
conclusions about the patterns around and among us. We do this through evidence
and, in particular, measurable, quantifiable, repeatable evidence which reveals
to us laws of nature and of physics which are only ever poetically referred to
in scripture, if they are referred to at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Religion, meanwhile taking the
sometimes-deadly combination of a lack of evidence (no news) and an abuse of
the evidence we do have, has often faced contradiction (and continues often to
face contradiction) either with force or with denial. Our refusal to submit to
science’s superior knowledge has always led to exactly the suffering </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">we are
supposed to prevent</i><span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">And a share of that suffering is beginning
to affect not only poor people but affluent people also. Up to now, we’ve been
able to keep the world pretty well divided between the poor and the affluent
(I’m not going to say rich, because most of us don’t think of ourselves as
rich). We have been able to isolate ourselves from the kind of despair and
misery that exists in two-thirds of the world, and maybe even more than that.
We have been able, through our advances, technological and otherwise, to
separate ourselves from the pain of existence that people suffer through
starvation and famine, or through war and suffering, or through corruption. But
now we’ve got global warming. There was a time when affluence could provide
insulation from suffering, but no more. Now, we’ve really done it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Poverty has always been accompanied by
violence or destruction, but even what we might consider a small amount of
affluence has provided protection from misery. Technology, even the simplest or
most basic, has borne the evidence of this. The generation and widespread
distribution of electricity, as well as the development of the internal
combustion engine, of batteries, and the host of means of providing energy to
masses of people have lifted humanity up, as far as our relative standards of
living are concerned. But they have brought with them war and corruption and
pollution. The advancements in medicine and hygiene, the purification of water,
and the development of chemicals for use in everyday life have likewise made
possible longer life expectancies. But what is the value of a longer life if
violence continues and injustice persists?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Let me be clear. If you are poor, the best
you can hope for in the face of violence and corruption and pollution is that
you might be able just to live with it. But if you’re affluent, you have the
choice of either fighting it or fleeing it. You can get away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">But the way things are today, fight or
flight may not exist as an option much longer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">The rabbi Jesus and the apostle Paul call
to us with the voice of the Holy Spirit, reminding us that </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">no news is good
news</i><span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">! We may not have physical evidence by which to prove our faith, but
the truth of our faith is undergirded in a belief that the impossible for one
is possible for all.</span><br />
<i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">If it could happen for Jesus, it can
happen for us.</i><span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Resurrection, whatever it is or means, indicates the
possibility of new and glorified life in God. And God did this, intervened,
raised Jesus. And God will raise us too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">And whether that’s a day of justice at the
end of time, or today when we presume to follow in Christ’s footsteps and seek
new and glorified life in God: that’s our choice. Resurrection, whatever it is,
whatever it means, indicates the possibility of new and glorified life in God.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll tell you why I think this way. If
there are so many who are suffering in this life, especially young lives being
wasted as Pilate intended to waste Jesus’ young life as an example for others,
then certainly in that way </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">if it could happen for Jesus, it can happen for
anyone.</i><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">So, it may be that our only hope is
resurrection.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">And here, we soar beyond the limits of
what science can tell us. Here in Christianity, we soar beyond the limits of
what science can tell us! From science you will only get facts and figures from
which you can make premises and assumptions about future outcomes. From
religion, and especially Christianity, you get promises of life and truth and
beauty in love. Oh, so much love!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">That’s when no news is good news, by the
way... when you don’t have the slightest evidence in the world and its
quantifiable, measurable results, but you have a promise, a promise you can
trust. That’s when no news is good news.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">And so, I don’t have the evidence to give
you, to show you that Jesus was bodily resurrected and lives glorified at the
right hand of God. God sort of prevented this, and yet we have that knowledge
and understanding that, once it did happen. And it can happen again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">No, it </span><i style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">will </i><span style="font-family: garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">happen again.</span></div>
<br />Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-8002349844251251542019-02-14T14:12:00.000-08:002019-02-14T14:20:37.701-08:00How Faith, Hope, and Love May Abide (February 3, 2019)<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Readings</u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=110#epistle_reading" target="_blank">1 Corinthians 13</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=110#gospel_reading" target="_blank">Luke 4:14-30</a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
How may faith, hope, and love abide?<br />
<br />
First, I think that it may be important for us to have some definitions in common – the meanings of faith and hope and love. For the purposes of this sermon, therefore, let me just observe to you that when I say “faith and hope and love,” I am meaning this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Faith </b>= I am bound to you, either by promise or by grace.<br />
<b>Hope </b>= Better things are coming, and redemption is near.<br />
<b>Love </b>= Unconditional, undifferentiated embrace with no requirement of reciprocation.</blockquote>
When I started researching for this sermon, I was intrigued by the insight that the name of the town where Jesus’ home was throughout most of his ministry, Capernaum, is a word in Aramaic (the language Jesus spoke) now associated with chaos and meaninglessness. I was fascinated that he should have moved from Nazareth to Capernaum, from the place where he spent his childhood to that haven of insanity.<br />
<br />
And then we read the passage Erick and I just shared with you from Luke... and you have to realize that Nazareth was pretty crazy too. So, what Jesus proposed to do was to introduce the God who first ordered creation to the chaotic world in which we live. Into this world he would bring<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Faith = I am bound to you.<br />
Hope = Better things are coming.<br />
Love = Unconditional, undifferentiated embrace with no requirement of reciprocation.</blockquote>
But because “the greatest of these is love,” that’s where I am going to try and concentrate most of our focus, today.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Faith = I am bound to you.<br />
Hope = Better things are coming.<br />
Love = Unconditional, undifferentiated embrace with no requirement of reciprocation.</blockquote>
It’s kind of nice to have so much in our readings concerning love, here so close to Valentines Day. I can’t find evidence that that is why we just read 1 Corinthians 13, but it feels almost as if we’re reading this in order to prepare for February 14.<br />
<br />
Love, Paul argues, is the necessary basis of every spiritual gift he has mentioned in chapter 12. He continues by asserting that, if you have any spiritual gift but you lack love, then you don’t actually have the spiritual gift. If all that is happening is some kind of personal gratification or reward, then what you have cannot possibly be love.<br />
<br />
Love is a divine quality, rooted in the Holy Spirit – <i>chesed</i>, lovingkindness – a product of grace, a byproduct of promises kept, pointing toward a potential in human beings that we rarely achieve.<br />
<br />
Love (what Paul called, <i>agapé</i>) is the stuff of heaven, abundantly available on earth, and fundamentally irreplaceable, but scarcely employed.<br />
<br />
When it happens, it is so unusual that it stands out. Being selfless and unconditional, it is starkly different from what one is accustomed to seeing produced from out of human beings. When love is accomplished successfully, it draws amazed attention. For example, the real estate developer Candice Payne in Chicago, this past week, <a href="https://www.cbsnews.com/news/candice-payne-homeless-in-chicago-candice-payne-hotel-rooms-polar-vortex-cold/" target="_blank">recruited other merchants to provide housing to people who had been living in tents</a> but whose propane fuel had run out. Together, Ms. Payne and those other citizens put up eighty or so people in sixty hotel rooms on the South Side. She and her husband paid for a third of them... and not just for one extremely cold night but for three.<br />
<br />
That’s a nice example of how to remedy a situation in the immediate. But what if you know that remedying the immediate doesn’t actually fix the problem? What if you know that the problem really is rooted more deeply? You know, the old metaphor of pulling drowning people out of the river and then realizing that the solution is to prevent them from being thrown in, in the first place..?<br />
<br />
In Utah and New York City, and other places, agencies are dealing with a level of homelessness in our country the rate of which is only exceeded by that which existed during the Great Depression. There are two prominent ways of dealing with homelessness: Housing Ready is the most common, but there’s also a new concept called, Housing First.<br />
<br />
Housing Ready provides homes to homeless people who have undergone training on how to maintain a healthy and stable household. They learn skills like balancing a checkbook and cooking simple meals and interviewing for jobs, sometimes responsible parenting, and those sorts of things. Some are given avenues toward becoming sober. There will usually be some transitional living situation provided as a first step toward affordable or even free housing. But the idea is that, once you have completed such life skills development, then you can qualify for a place to live. Such programs can have as much as a 40% success rate among the chronic homeless, but it is usually considerably lower both for the chronic and the persistent homeless person.<br />
<br />
Housing First puts people in stable housing situations regardless of whether they have been taught or acquired life skills for stable living, before their drug or alcohol use is abated, providing condoms and clean needles if needed, even before their mental health care may have been normalized for them. <a href="https://www.strongtowns.org/journal/2018/5/14/can-utahs-approach-to-homelessness-work-everywhere" target="_blank">St. Louis journalist Aubrey Byron reports</a> that a Housing First program in the state of Utah reduced chronic homelessness there by more than ninety percent in the decade from 2005 to 2015. It hasn’t had a similar effect in other homeless populations, such as those who are persistently homeless – say, for more than three months but less than a year – but the results of this type of intervention for the lives of chronically homeless people, newly housed after perhaps dozens of years, are really remarkable over the long term. They are shown to result in sobriety, lower per capita living costs (most notably because of a lesser need for emergency services and intervention of law enforcement), stabilized mental health, and reunion with estranged family.<br />
<br />
Housing First requires a strong investment of volunteer and professional attention and time in those being housed, but as the Utah-based initiative’s founder <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/lloyd_pendleton_the_housing_first_approach_to_homelessness#t-813838" target="_blank">Lloyd Pendleton likes to say</a>,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I have learned over and over again that when you listen to somebody’s story with an open heart, walk in their shoes with them, you can’t help but love and care for them and want to serve them.</i></blockquote>
Now, the model isn’t a panacea. It has a magnificent success rate for the fifteen percent of homeless people who are the chronic homeless. But it’s an amazing start.<br />
<br />
Persistently homeless people benefit from somewhat different approaches. Utah’s latest initiative for persistent homelessness, which they are boldly calling “Homes Not Jail,” was begun in 2017 by the state with the cooperation of a major shelter in Salt Lake City. It’s still too early to estimate its level of success, but you get a sense in the naming of the project what will be the measure of its success.<br />
<br />
Just to make sure you’re remembering with me, here are our definitions again:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Faith = I am bound to you.<br />
Hope = Better things are coming.<br />
Love = Unconditional, undifferentiated embrace with no requirement of reciprocation (which provides a basis for the other two).</blockquote>
In consideration of Paul’s encouragement to other Christians to practice the unconditional love they have received from God, and to base their faith and hope upon it, it should come as no surprise that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, the Mormon church, has been a major funds provider and advocate for these initiatives in Utah. The Mormons are proving to be significantly pragmatic in their approaches to homelessness and addiction, not placing restrictions, impediments, or expectations upon the recipients of their benevolences.<br />
<br />
I wonder what it could be like for UCC churches to associate and move ahead in a similar way for the benefit of our own communities...<br />
<br />
Can we love like that? Would it be possible for us, even as individuals, so to set aside our concerns about appearances, or our presumption about others’ laziness and lack of motivation or lack of will, that we might love others in the way that God loves us?<br />
<br />
Think about that!<br />
<br />
There is something in the way that God has acted toward us, something in our life that has caused us to perceive God’s favor, something in what we have been taught (maybe) that says that God loves everybody and therefore God loves us.<br />
<br />
Even if we are not entirely satisfied with the present outcomes of our lives or the circumstances in which we may be living at the present, there has been a time, a blessed time that we cherish, when the goodness, the love of God was so readily apparent that we ended up here.<br />
<br />
Or else, we’ve been told that if and when we’re in trouble, we ought to show up here, because this is where God will be. This space and this place, what I say, what we do, how we experience time here are designed to mitigate, to remove the usual daily obstructions and seemingly endless distractions of our attention from the Source of blessing.<br />
<br />
We know that, and this is why we are here.<br />
<br />
So, what about not only here? If<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Faith = I am bound to you.<br />
Hope = Better things are coming.<br />
Love = Unconditional, undifferentiated embrace with no requirement of reciprocation.</blockquote>
then, mustn’t there be some kind of something that we could do that would move those qualities of faith and hope and love from within these walls to beyond them!<br />
<br />
This is a challenging proposition, I know, because when we read that story from Luke, about when Jesus upsets those other worshipers from his hometown, we may be led to wonder at just why they got so angry. But it has something to do with what he was saying to them.<br />
<br />
When he says, “This prophecy is fulfilled in your hearing,” Jesus directs the attention of his audience to the Isaiah scroll he has just read, about the year of the Jubilee – the poor have good news, the captives are released, the blind now see, the oppressed are free.<br />
<br />
But they don’t listen, fixated as they are on what has become of their native son.<br />
<br />
So he points out to them that they have become distracted from the message of the prophet: They are potentially the fulfillment of God’s longing for all people to enjoy the benefits of the earth’s abundance.<br />
<br />
You’ll recall, they had just requested that he do among them the kind of things that he had done in other places, especially in Capernaum where he had taken up residence. His response, which was based on what he had just read to them from the prophet Isaiah, was to say, in effect, that he didn’t belong to them; his hometown was heaven. And so was theirs. And if they would just act like it, imagine what would be possible! He was proclaiming the Good News, and this was to be good news for everyone.<br />
<br />
Because heavenly love cannot be localized. What we do here on Sunday mornings celebrates faith, hope, and love that have to abide as heaven abides – in, with, and through the earth. What happens in Vegas may stay in Vegas, as they say, but what happens in First – that stuff of the Spirit, the Holy Spirit – must not stay here. How may faith and hope abide without love? And how may love possibly abide in just one place?<br />
<br />
<br />
I want to go back to what I said at the beginning of this little talk and reassert it, because it really is at the heart of what we are about – as individuals, as an organization, as the Church – and that’s love. Love is the necessary basis of every spiritual gift. If you have the gift but you lack love, then you don’t actually have the gift.<br />
<br />
If all that is happening is some kind of personal gratification or reward, then what you have cannot possibly be love. The people around us, the community around us have to see some benefit from what happens here. Or else we’re useless. “If I have the faith that removes mountains but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give everything away, even give my life away, but I have no love, nothing is gained.”<br />
<br />
So, how shall any of these abide – faith, hope, or love?<br />
<br />
I promise you, the only possible way is that we keep returning to the Source of all three, and that we return persistently to the One who introduced us to them in the first place, introduced us so that they consisted of reality and meaning.<br />
<br />
This is how you do it. You find it here and then share it. You take it out, and then you bring it back, over and over again.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com010 W Lockwood Ave, Webster Groves, MO 63119, USA38.592341 -90.35769319999997213.521057999999996 -131.66628719999997 63.663624 -49.049099199999972tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-80227792698922151512018-02-18T14:35:00.000-08:002018-02-18T14:37:14.324-08:00A Moment of Pastoral PrivilegeI’m going to take a moment of pastoral privilege here. Please, grant me your patience and grace.<br />
<br />
I think that it ought to be impossible, this week, for preachers across our country to address the good news of Jesus Christ without also addressing the matter of mental illness, and especially the matter of mental illness combined with the ready accessibility of military-style firearms.<br />
<br />
Here is how I am facing the matter of mental illness in the light of the gospel, today. This I offer as a person of faith – and by that I mean not only faith in God but also faith toward other human beings as children of God. I also offer it as your loving pastor.<br />
<br />
You can imagine, because you have probably heard from me before, that I strongly question the right of a very few individuals to keep and bear firearms that are designed either for killing large numbers of human beings at a time, or else for killing only a few in a spectacular way. (Well, you know what I really question, but for now let’s stick with this.)<br />
<br />
We are seeing over and over again in the media what happens if an opportunity to do serious harm to others is not prevented. We see over and over again in our personal experiences what happens when mentally ill people decide to do harm to themselves. We are repeatedly broken and heartbroken on the individual, communal, and societal levels.<br />
<br />
Statistics have proven futile for making this point. And the present blaming of the FBI for the incident in Florida rings of scapegoating societal sin rather than facing our actual problem. Furthermore, more accurate recordskeeping and registry, by now, will likely only create another futile bureaucracy. So, to me, much of this moment in history seems simply absurd.<br />
<br />
If mounting numbers of dead schoolchildren and churchgoers and countless others in public venues only serve to polarize us, making the resolution of our collective problem still more improbable, then perhaps we deserve what we are facing. But concerns should not remain unspoken.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
We organize educational opportunities around what to do when an “active shooter” enters our schools, public spaces, and places of worship. Meanwhile, newscasts report about mental health professionals active in our schools, seeking to soothe the anxiety students are having just showing up for class.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
It is incumbent upon Christians that we offer mercy, compassion, and healing. These are the qualities given example in the Pioneer and Perfecter of our faith; indeed, these are examples of faith itself – not belief, but truth, faithfulness, mutuality, love. However these qualities may take form in any of us – as simple comfort and the binding of wounds, or as personal examination and action, or as advocacy for political and societal change, or even as ones preparing our communities for what feel like inevitable emergencies – our consciences should be telling us that such suffering as we are witnessing on the part of victims and perpetrators needs to come to an end.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
The potential gifts of troubled people should not be underestimated. Poets and playwrights, preachers and activists and politicians, indeed the foremost among us in every walk of life, have often been the same who have experienced or are experiencing challenges with perception and acuity, or depression and addiction.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
As I have spoken with many of you in the past, and as I found myself mentioning to one of you, this very week before the incident on Wednesday took shape, our religion has such a rich history of the positive contributions of people who obviously experienced serious episodes of mental illness, breaks from what the rest of us consider reality, but who were brought back from the brink not only by their faith in God but by the faith of their God in them and by the love of their families and friends! I refer to people like Noah the alcoholic and Abraham who heard voices telling him to do harm to his own child and Mary Magdalene who was relieved by Jesus of seven demons. How can we refuse to make our world safer for such people and our care of them better?<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
The obvious answer to me is that, if our rights and privileges are endangering ourselves and others, then we make sacrifices of those rights and privileges for the sake of ourselves and those whom we love, or at least of those for whom we are responsible. You may draw other conclusions, and I am prepared to understand that some compromise would be necessary, but – in the interest of mercy, compassion, and healing – at this moment I say, I am prepared to part with a right that, admittedly, I have never exercised in order to protect the innocent.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
As a private citizen I will pursue this course. As a person of faith I will persist in that faith based in mercy, compassion, and healing. As a clergy person I will invoke the Spirit of God to act on our behalf to help us together discover the path through this valley of the shadow of death. And as your pastor pledge to you that I will keep and bear you, lovingly and without judgment, for neither of us can live without the other... at least not genuinely.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
So, now I’ve mentioned the matter, I’ve taken my moment of pastoral privilege, and that is all for now, except my request of all of you that – no matter whether or not you agree with me, please treat one another gently in speaking of this together, bearing in mind your oneness in the Holy Spirit, the loving heart of Jesus Christ, and the grace of the Creator in whom you are working out your salvation.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-85628626921179192512017-10-28T07:25:00.001-07:002017-10-28T07:25:55.548-07:00Sabbatical Day 15<b>Monday, 19 June 2017</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>A Day on the Volta - River Tour and Akosombo Dam</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rn8RSCxCpg8/WacyGpP2vsI/AAAAAAAACac/P7ij4gPQacYY8XUIP_7Af7SHz25s9YiVACLcBGAs/s1600/3onthevolta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="1202" height="261" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rn8RSCxCpg8/WacyGpP2vsI/AAAAAAAACac/P7ij4gPQacYY8XUIP_7Af7SHz25s9YiVACLcBGAs/s400/3onthevolta.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denoons on the Volta</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sunday night at dinner, the hospitality manager of the Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm noted to me that the Denoons had not yet had the pleasure of a boat tour of the Volta River. I knew that Gwen had been looking forward to it and we adults were interested. But I also knew that Gershon wanted to get on the road early on Monday, because on our way to his hometown of Hohoe we were scheduled to tour the Akosombo Dam - the first hydroelectric power plant in West Africa which yet today provides electricity to almost all of Ghana and Togo.<br />
<br />
I told the observant staff member that we had hoped to have a boat tour, but that we needed to be able to eat breakfast early and get on the road immediately, to our next destination. He then suggested that we combine breakfast with the boat tour. So, how could we say no! We packed our things on Sunday night and rolled our baggage out to the Reception Desk by 7:45. We skipped the coffee machine so that we could get underway by 8... and we were.<br />
<br />
The pilot of the catamaran and the manager seated us and wedged a table between us with three English breakfasts, fruit, three liter-size bottles of Bel Aqua (the local drinking water), and a tea service equipped with many packets of coffee.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VDGq6xsw4QE/WacsTFvv4eI/AAAAAAAACZs/fvlksHcnzpYJr_-mqPxDoXE0McmHyjTcgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VDGq6xsw4QE/WacsTFvv4eI/AAAAAAAACZs/fvlksHcnzpYJr_-mqPxDoXE0McmHyjTcgCLcBGAs/s320/20170619_IMG_2852.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Next, Amos was properly introduced. He would be our pilot. He was a native of Sogakope and had grown up on the river. He appeared to be about 60 or 70 years old. If he wasn't, then his knowledge of the river and the state of the local environment downstream from the Akosombo Dam must have been gained from the lore of those who were that age and older. Once we were out in the river and a mile or two south of the Spa, Amos cut the engine, stood from his seat at the wheel, and offered us a natural history of the Volta.<br />
<br />
It is not certain, he said, how the Volta River got its name. The word <i>volta</i> in Portuguese means "twist" or "turn." But most think that, in this case, "turn" is actually "return," since the Volta provided the only navigable way to or from the trading posts and villages that provisioned the Portuguese merchant ships in the days when the Portuguese were the primary Europeans in West Africa. It is fed by three major tributaries - the White, Red, and Black Volta rivers. The headwaters of all three are in Burkina Faso (formerly called, Upper Volta);<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vJ9imooxwHs/WacvReTzYcI/AAAAAAAACZ8/QQAmVFYl_BIIb6LGk2nebEYKd50LwWsKQCLcBGAs/s1600/seaweed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="1600" height="243" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vJ9imooxwHs/WacvReTzYcI/AAAAAAAACZ8/QQAmVFYl_BIIb6LGk2nebEYKd50LwWsKQCLcBGAs/s640/seaweed.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A floating island of seaweed makes its way downstream</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Amos reminded us of the series of tilapia farms we had seen along the way to our current location. Tilapia is the favorite freshwater fish of Ghanaians, he said. It is easily reared and bred, and grown and fed cheaply, and so it is very popular as well among those who farm them. Sadly, tilapia is not grown in the best or cleanest environment, since the Volta after damming became muddy and, in places, infested with strains of bacteria that can be harmful to animals and plants. "There was a time before the dam when, anywhere along the river, the water was so clear you could see straight to the bottom at any depth. After it became muddy, the English brought the water plants you see floating in the river to prevent erosion and absorb the toxins from the bacteria. These plants included or attracted species of snails that kept the weed from overwhelming the river but which brought with them new, more virulent bacteria. The English also set up water treatment plants, but these have not been maintained to the highest standards. You may notice that there is an odor to the Volta, and this is why. This is what the Dam has done. The other problem the dam has brought us is sudden flooding when rains upstream make it necessary to open the sluice gates. Entire villages have been washed away at times, but every rainy season somebody suffers."<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sxlJx38VG5A/WacwJJab1MI/AAAAAAAACaE/QW8Ad0OfRMgmbueLG6eSu3As7KtFQUykQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sxlJx38VG5A/WacwJJab1MI/AAAAAAAACaE/QW8Ad0OfRMgmbueLG6eSu3As7KtFQUykQCLcBGAs/s320/20170619_IMG_2846.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gwen enjoys a piece of fruit near the expanse of the<br />
Lower Volta Bridge at Sogakope</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This bleak natural history at an end, Amos resumed his seat at the helm, piloted us past "the longest bridge in Ghana," turned us around, and headed us back to the Holy Trinity. Despite this sad testimony, we had to admit that this was nevertheless a lovely day and that the sights and sounds around us were fascinating.<br />
<br />
Gershon was waiting for us when we came ashore and, after having a good laugh when the hospitality manager offered hospitality to the Spa's flock of ducks, again in the form of a large loaf of white bread, he spirited us away to Evans and the waiting van already loaded.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2QJC1L3V1go/Wacxcu_MsiI/AAAAAAAACaU/C51iML2u854eppcn1czygN2UJ1oD76SWQCLcBGAs/s1600/htspa-water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2QJC1L3V1go/Wacxcu_MsiI/AAAAAAAACaU/C51iML2u854eppcn1czygN2UJ1oD76SWQCLcBGAs/s640/htspa-water.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Holy Trinity Spa from out in the Volta</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0sRWglLUN4U/WacwJYsVdVI/AAAAAAAACaM/xy-4lZNhaq0qustpdPN8flhir1Pt3gQAQCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170619_IMG_2847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0sRWglLUN4U/WacwJYsVdVI/AAAAAAAACaM/xy-4lZNhaq0qustpdPN8flhir1Pt3gQAQCEwYBhgL/s400/20170619_IMG_2847.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x8RJm3pbvLg/WacyTVZCs8I/AAAAAAAACag/FFP41AFrD8wVciJWSUsuo2-CLqJkCm3FwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_090435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x8RJm3pbvLg/WacyTVZCs8I/AAAAAAAACag/FFP41AFrD8wVciJWSUsuo2-CLqJkCm3FwCLcBGAs/s640/20170619_090435.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A resort named "Eden" on the opposite bank from the Holy Trinity Spa and slightly downstream<br />
(I thought that colleagues at Eden Seminary near our home in Webster Groves<br />
might appreciate the idea of a potential international campus!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D5yd-0mfXZY/Wac-zz4sQNI/AAAAAAAACaw/SEOHtgFrfaYVhvCFPnbE5y-FHsaqBgmAQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D5yd-0mfXZY/Wac-zz4sQNI/AAAAAAAACaw/SEOHtgFrfaYVhvCFPnbE5y-FHsaqBgmAQCLcBGAs/s400/20170619_IMG_2883.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ducks enjoying their breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Three hours later, we were upriver enjoying lunch at the Volta Hotel on a bluff in full view of Akosombo Dam.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/S2w--k4AGxo/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S2w--k4AGxo?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
This would set the scene for the next portion of our day - a tour of the very dam Amos had been damning, that morning.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
After lunch, Evans drove us to the offices of the Volta River Authority (VRA). The VRA is an independent company established by the government of Ghana for the purpose of administering the Akosombo Dam (and other energy projects throughout the country). It was established in 1961, when the dam project was in its early stages, and has a multiplicity of roles. One of those is the oversight of the population displaced by the creation of Lake Volta on the north side of the dam. Social workers are therefore a primary human resource of the VRA, and one of them - Kweku - provided us a tour of the dam. - see FOOTNOTE ON NAMES, below -<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F-3F_gzMom0/Wah39OaXv9I/AAAAAAAACbM/p9Og5NXn4eMr5JqSgB4arxiAPCmToIsJgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F-3F_gzMom0/Wah39OaXv9I/AAAAAAAACbM/p9Og5NXn4eMr5JqSgB4arxiAPCmToIsJgCLcBGAs/s400/20170619_IMG_2928.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Akosombo Dam with Lake Volta beyond it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kweku told us that Akosombo Dam was one of a number of water-powered projects along the rivers Volta conceived in the early 20th Century by the geologist and naturalist Sir Albert Kitson who had just previously also discovered bauxite deposits in the region and imagined that the dam could be used to power an aluminum smelter. Interest in such a project was invigorated during the 1940s when Kitson's notes were rediscovered by the Gold Coast government, Ghana's British colonial administration. Just after independence, Ghana's first president Kwami Nkrumah discussed with our own President Eisenhower the potential for an American aluminum company to work with Ghana to fulfill Sir Albert's imagining. The company Kaiser Aluminum was eventually recruited, forming a new company, Valco, which built the smelter at Tema. When the turbines began turning in 1965, eighty percent of the power was directed at the smelter. The remaining twenty percent was distributed through high tension wires across southern Ghana, Togo, and Benin. Ghana's portion provides about sixty percent of the electric power required by the country.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ENWGgqU5FI8/Wah7Qlr8W8I/AAAAAAAACbY/A4NEjEbAlxkSKdU6I0-foJa8D-mRdsnRgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1308" data-original-width="1600" height="261" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ENWGgqU5FI8/Wah7Qlr8W8I/AAAAAAAACbY/A4NEjEbAlxkSKdU6I0-foJa8D-mRdsnRgCLcBGAs/s320/20170619_IMG_2953.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road atop the dam is built on the rubble that is<br />
the primary component of the dam structure.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kweku told us all this, while seated beside me in our van. The rainy season of Ghana was having its way. There was a gentle but persistent downpour, and we decided to wait it out before touring the top of the dam - a road across which light vehicles and maintenance equipment could travel with ease but which we had to traverse on foot. About twenty minutes later, the steady rain became a sprinkle, and we proceeded out, to see this wonder of engineering.<br />
<br />
Sir Albert Kitson had recognized that the steep and narrow gorge formed by the river at Akosombo, if dammed, could harness the power needed to industrialize the Gold Coast. Some enterprising Italian contractors recognized that this could be achieved cost effectively and simply by filling the river's channel with rubble blasted from the walls of the gorge.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zXPLAI8vPV4/Wah9W4x02BI/AAAAAAAACbw/i1frd-CPb9QuDRvBgrioh0fZ0AZJ1HypACLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zXPLAI8vPV4/Wah9W4x02BI/AAAAAAAACbw/i1frd-CPb9QuDRvBgrioh0fZ0AZJ1HypACLcBGAs/s400/20170619_IMG_2938.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water intakes are visibly active at two of the generating stations.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The power plant includes six turbines that when combined can generate as much as 1,020 megawatts of electricity. Customarily, only two or three are online at any given time, to allow for maintenance on the others. Kweku noted that low water levels may sometimes limit output and observed further that global climate change, including diminished rainfall in West Africa, has contributed to this decrease.<br />
<br />
I wondered at this, since Amos that morning had indicated that high water levels on Lake Volta were what had triggered approximately annual spills into the lower Volta and had frequently ruined villages downstream. Kweku responded that the last massive spill had happened after an unusually heavy rainy season in 2010, followed by the highest Lake Volta water levels ever recorded. This had done some harm especially to the villages where displaced people had relocated - a painful irony, since they had been moved to their new settlements in order to avoid the flooding above the dam. But the VRA, he insisted, was on the job, and the spills since had all been done in a carefully controlled fashion, to avoid the kind of hardship that was created in 2010.<br />
<br />
Kweku told us that his primary job as a social worker with the VRA was to help people get the best educations they could. Because most of those displaced had been farmers or fishers, and the economy was already (shall we say) awash downriver with people who were similarly employed, virtually all the inhabitants of the upriver towns now had to be trained for new fields of work... or else placed on the government dole. The latter had been mostly the case for the generation immediately affected, but now their descendants are growing up in crushing poverty. (According to the <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3516308/" target="_blank"><i>American Journal of Tropical Medicine and Hygiene</i> in 2010</a> the mean annual household income in Accra was $950, while the median income was $730.) - see FOOTNOTE ON POVERTY IN GHANA, below -<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dc/Kwame_Nkrumah_(JFKWHP-AR6409-A).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="320" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dc/Kwame_Nkrumah_(JFKWHP-AR6409-A).jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Osagyefo Dr. Kwasi Nkrumah</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we walked the road across the top of the dam, Kweku pointed out a number of things visible from our position. There was Peduase Lodge, a presidential retreat built on the mountain that was facing us in 1959 for Osagyefo Dr. Kwasi Nkrumah - isolated and accessible only by a military road or by helicopter. Peduase Lodge fell into disrepair with disuse during times when reform was the central focus of government, but in 2001 it came to be recognized again as a potential resource for diplomacy (as it had been in 1967 the site of negotiations to end the Biafran War in Nigeria) and as a safe retreat for Presidents and their staffs. Kweku said that he very occasionally sees the presidential helicopter alighting there and knows "the eagle is in his nest."<br />
<br />
There was a bright yellow pier jutting out from Dodi Island just north of us. It was emptied about five years ago of its pleasure boat, the Dodi Princess, which would cruise Lake Volta full of tourists and party-goers. Sadly, the boat caught fire while docked and had to be towed away for repairs. All the Ghanaians in our group spoke of their high hopes for its return soon.<br />
<br />
After our tour, we returned Kweku to his office and continued on our journey, to Hohoe - our host Gershon's hometown - where he would be united with his bride Pamela and we would be introduced to her, and the Kikis Court Hotel would our next home away from home.<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>FOOTNOTE ON NAMES</u><br />
In some countries, the practice is often to name your children according to birth order (Primo, Secondo, etc.). In Ghana the practice is to give your children names that you wish to name them, but more often than not everyone calls them according to the day of the week on which they were born. Thus, our VRA tour guide Kweku we knew had been born on a Wednesday. The first president of Ghana had been born on a Saturday, because he was called Kwame. Born on a Monday, I was sometimes called Kojo and Gwen, who is also a Monday birth, the feminine Jojo. Here is a helpful list of names, according to days of the week:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Sunday: Akwasi, Kwasi, Kwesi, Akwesi, Sisi, Kacely, Kosi.</li>
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Monday: Kojo, Kwadwo, Jojo, Joojo, Kujoe.</li>
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Tuesday: Kwabena, Kobe, Kobi, Ebo, Kabelah, Komla, Kwabela.</li>
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Wednesday: Kwaku, Abeiku, Kuuku, Kweku.</li>
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Thursday: Yaw, Ekow.</li>
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Friday: Kofi, Fifi, Fiifi, Yoofi.</li>
<li 0px="" 4px="" disc="" list-style-type:="" margin:="" padding:="">Saturday: Kwame, Kwamena, Kwamina</li>
</blockquote>
<u><br /></u>
<u>FOOTNOTE ON POVERTY IN GHANA</u><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="note1"></a>A bit more about the intractability of poverty in Ghana: Ghana's economy has not exactly skyrocketed since the completion of Akosombo Dam 1965. Instead, this first constitutional democracy in the movement of sub-Saharan African independence has been repeatedly thwarted at almost every turn toward post-colonial success, despite their corner on the market for electricity. (Indeed, in the most recent presidential election (December 2016), the incumbent John Dramani Mahama was defeated by Nana Addo Dankwa Akufo-Addo, in part because of a series of blackouts that struck the Ghanaian power grid in 2015 and 2016. In response, a Turkish-owned temporary generator for the sake of keeping the aluminum smelter online was set up on a barge in Tema harbor, at the government's expense.)<br />
<br />
President Nkrumah was unseated in a 1966 military coup, and the resulting government was propped up by Western powers bent on profiting as much as they could from the country's raw materials and natural resources, like the bauxite, manganese, and diamonds Kitson had discovered but also the gold, tropical fruits, exotic animals, cocoa, coffee, and sugar for which Ghana was already famously exploited. The corruption in government grew to such an extent that only a reform-minded military officer could have hoped to overthrow it, and Jerry Rawlings did exactly that in 1981. But Rawlings has repeated, in and out of office, the lament that Western industrial countries have consistently through economic isolation prevented Ghana (and the rest of West Africa) from developing profitable working economies of their own.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/Jerry_Rawlings_2.jpg/320px-Jerry_Rawlings_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/Jerry_Rawlings_2.jpg/320px-Jerry_Rawlings_2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jerry Rawlings, President of Ghana, 1981-2001</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
African countries may sell raw materials, President Rawlings has noted, but these sales are at prices the Western companies set. And when manufactured goods made of those same raw materials (fabric, appliances, automobiles, canned goods, and so on) are sold to Africa, they come at steep prices associated with the labor and other manufacturing costs of the West.<br />
<br />
Between Africa's precipitously low wages and cost of materials and the contrastingly inflated prices associated with manufactured goods they must buy if they expect to go from place to place, communicate electronically, or even just to wear clothes, the people of these countries which make possible the rest of the world's useful goods are crippled in their household finances and their governments hobbled and their economies left in ruins.<br />
<br />
Then, any corresponding step Africans may take to remedy the situation (for example, restructuring their systems of government and consolidating or centralizing economic power through the nationalization of commodity production), President Rawlings continues, is interpreted by Western governments as totalitarian or communistic and therefore anathema to democracy or capitalism. Cries of corruption are lodged and African states are destabilized by globalist corporations, and truly corrupt politicians or military leaders are ushered back into power for the sake of maintaining stability of Western businesses.<br />
</div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0Volta River, Ghana6.0471515 0.366802699999993825.5418675 -0.27864430000000617 6.5524355 1.0122496999999937tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-22964908058087749342017-08-30T12:52:00.000-07:002017-08-30T13:13:58.373-07:00Sabbatical Day 14<b>Sunday, 18 June 2017</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b><i>Worship at the Evangelical Presbyterian Church at Sogakope</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<u>Prelude - Breakfast on the Pier</u><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l68S2cIobTc/WabaHprKPXI/AAAAAAAACYI/_awSWSv78OIUlNw_oKVNhiB3t8Yi_gmQACLcBGAs/s1600/20170619_IMG_2881-pier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="890" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l68S2cIobTc/WabaHprKPXI/AAAAAAAACYI/_awSWSv78OIUlNw_oKVNhiB3t8Yi_gmQACLcBGAs/s320/20170619_IMG_2881-pier.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dining pier in background,<br />
the hospitality manager<br />
prepares to feed some ducks<br />
with bread from the fridge<br />
visible on the pier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Breakfast at the Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm, just as at the Coconut Grove in Elmina, is served at an open-air dining space. Unlike the Coconut Grove, however, the Holy Trinity's dining area has a television mounted on a bracket just inside the entryway and, while we were there, piping CNN news or the Federations Cup. Also unlike the Coconut Grove, breakfast was always pre-assembled and waiting for us under cover.<br />
<br />
On the Saturday we arrived we had not yet had breakfast, so the hospitality manager asked us what we would like, perhaps a full English breakfast. We said yes then, and on Sunday and Monday also, sensing by then that we really did not have very many options. The Holy Trinity full English breakfast would include a two-egg omelet seasoned with what appeared to be scallion and bell pepper. This was served beside baked beans and what passed for sausages but looked like hot dogs that had been scored for effect. As I write this now, some weeks later, I seem to recall there being a small serving of sauteed mushrooms also. A side plate included a selection of fresh mango and orange slices, sometimes papaya or watermelon.<br />
<br />
Additionally on the main plate would be two perfect slices of white bread, slightly stale, as if stiff bread was somehow the same thing as toast. Driving about we would almost always see at street corners women selling the kind of loaves from which these slices had been cut - long and rectangular (or square if you looked at them edge-on) and with a faint yellow crust in clear plastic, stacked in piles impossibly deep either at the roadside or in massive basins on the women's heads. The Holy Trinity had a refrigerator situated on the pier between tables overlooking the river and facing the television. Its top shelves were populated by loaf after loaf of the stuff. I only ever saw it served for breakfast until this morning, so why they needed so much was a bit of a mystery.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VEPDE4KauRU/WabbKM4UZlI/AAAAAAAACYU/iiYlsy_s6fkVbyYQpFdh2iSnQ3e4mFfQwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170625_075920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VEPDE4KauRU/WabbKM4UZlI/AAAAAAAACYU/iiYlsy_s6fkVbyYQpFdh2iSnQ3e4mFfQwCLcBGAs/s320/20170625_075920.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nestle breakfast beverages</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then, there was the matter of the coffee. The day we arrived we had been greeted by an office worker who asked whether we would perhaps like an espresso or cappuccino after such a torturous night and subsequently long morning on the road from Tema. Coco and I gratefully accepted, and Gwen was provided hot cocoa, from a machine that seemed very similar to the coffee machine that had greeted us at our hotel in Paris. It took a while for the beverages to arrive, though arrive they did and happily. Strangely enough, we learned that the pause was due to the fact that the machine had not been turned on until we arrived. This morning, as we passed through the lobby on our way to breakfast, I asked whether we might again enjoy a cup of cappuccino. After a similarly long period, it was served - again, I presume, because they had not turned on the machine before I made the request. Once we were on the pier and seated, we discovered that our table was supplied with a plate full of Nescafe packets and a pot of hot water. A small pot of semi-skimmed milk was there also and a bowl with sachets of sugar. From this moment forward in Ghana, this sufficed as coffee.<br />
<br />
Each morning but this one, we would have breakfast as a family alone on the pier. This morning, however, a rather important looking man appeared. He wore a white dress shirt open at the collar, slacks, and loafers. Attending him were two members of the staff. Once he had been seated, at the table on the other side of the refrigerator from us, the first staff member exited after a quiet exchange of words. As soon as the first was gone, the second - a man who did not appear to be Ghanaian but, rather, Indian or Sri Lankan as I observed his skin tone and hair texture - produced from behind his back a small tray with items for shaving on it. There was a soap for making foam and a brush for mixing and applying it, as well as a straight razor and a towel. He placed the towel over the other man's shoulders, mixed the foam, and applied it to his head and face. He then proceeded to shave the important looking man. When he was done, he wiped the remaining foam with the towel until the man was gleaming and stood aside at comparative ease. In a moment, the first staff member appeared with the important looking man's breakfast.<br />
<br />
As you may have seen from yesterday's post-ending video, there are ducks - white and mallard (?) - that live at the Holy Trinity. They are very interested in the human breakfasts that happen on the pier, since, it appears, one of the reasons for having meals in that open-air, watery setting is to provide for an easy method of waste disposal. Servers empty unfinished plates over the railing of the pier and into the Volta River. These ducks are very fond of this practice. I noticed, they seemed very well acquainted with the important looking man, and made quite a fuss in the water while he was being shaved. During his breakfast, he looked over at me with a twinkle in his eye and said something in the local dialect to the first man, who went to the refrigerator and withdrew two of the loaves of bread from it. He handed one loaf to the important looking man and unwrapped his own, as the important looking man unwrapped his and stood up from his chair with his napkin still attached at his collar. This now got Gwen's attention because the waterfowl were making such a racket. Each of the men broke their loaves and chucked first one half and then the other as far as they could out into the river. A huge commotion ensued as the ducks swarmed upon sinking loaves. Laughing at the sight, the important looking man sat back down and returned to his breakfast.<br />
<br />
Gershon arrived, a moment later, to take us to church with him. We lingered for a bit, waiting for Gwen to finish her breakfast and Coco and me to empty our coffee cups. Then, Gershon said that he learned worship had already started at the church in Sogakope. So, we exchanged waves with the man and his attendants, and off we went.<br />
<br />
"By the way. Do you know who that was having breakfast on the pier?" I asked Gershon when we were in the van.<br />
<br />
"No, I haven't any idea," he said. "But he seemed to recognize me."<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vzC6o95O2LI/Wabb-WEYpCI/AAAAAAAACYc/M5PMOyu0DZMoADM_p44KFQdBwcnqGNPbgCLcBGAs/s1600/anyah.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="520" data-original-width="526" height="197" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vzC6o95O2LI/Wabb-WEYpCI/AAAAAAAACYc/M5PMOyu0DZMoADM_p44KFQdBwcnqGNPbgCLcBGAs/s200/anyah.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The important looking man, dressed<br />
more formally than when we saw him.<br />
Source: starrfmonline.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LZ1Lrkl1PXc/Wabb-Z8jvUI/AAAAAAAACYg/XOFuoW0KxGsJvnIP6iWHpliwzsS-cQOWgCLcBGAs/s1600/akufo-addo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="300" height="176" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LZ1Lrkl1PXc/Wabb-Z8jvUI/AAAAAAAACYg/XOFuoW0KxGsJvnIP6iWHpliwzsS-cQOWgCLcBGAs/s200/akufo-addo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pres. Akufo-Addo<br />
Source: www.ghanaweb.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I said that I had thought he might be a local chief or, perhaps, a government executive. His round features and gleaming face reminded me of President Akufo-Addo. "No, I don't think so. I don't know who he is, but I am pretty certain he isn't in government," said Gershon, and we continued on to join Sogakope's Evangelical Presbyterian Church already in progress.<br />
<br />
The next night at dinner, the hospitality manager asked me, "Are you a pastor?"<br />
<br />
I said, "Yes, I am. And so is Rev. Dotse who has been showing us around."<br />
<br />
"My boss thought you might be," he said. "He thought you had the look of a pastor."<br />
<br />
"Your boss? Dr. Anyah? How am I acquainted with him?"<br />
<br />
"Why, you and he both had breakfast at the same time, yesterday. That was when he saw you and your friend. He said to tell you he is honored to have you stay at the Holy Trinity."<br />
<br />
"Well, please tell him that I am sorry we had to leave in such a hurry. But we are honored as well, to be here."<br />
<br />
<u>Worship</u><br />
We did indeed arrive about fifteen minutes after worship had begun at Sogakope's E. P. Church. Music was playing and the congregation singing as we approached the building's covered porch. Deacons stood at either side of the door to the worship space which was barred with a two-by-six plank until they saw us and removed it. The custom is to hold the crowd during the individual movements of the service, but to seat latecomers only when an informal moment arises after the opening of worship; hence, the board. Gershon said that he did not plan to ask for a place of prominence since we were late arriving, but did I want to be seated in the chancel? I said no, I agreed with him, and so one of the deacons showed us to a pew slightly more than halfway up that was empty enough to accommodate us. It had three women seated in it, who moved to the other end as first Coco, then Gwen, then I made our way in. Gershon sat next to me near the end.<br />
<br />
Evans had dropped us off in the lot and then gone on to find parking. He appeared, a few minutes later. But by this time, our pew had taken on a couple more people at Gershon's end, so he stepped up to the next pew, where he was invited to sit between a couple of apparently eligible women who seemed delighted to have our handsome young driver crowded in the midst of them. At one point in the service, one of them even put her arm around him over the pew back, one supposed in order to make more room but maybe not.<br />
<br />
The congregation was singing a hymn when we arrived which seemed familiar. When it ended, I remarked to Gershon that, had I been singing it back home, it would have been "Higher Ground." He said that, had I been able to sing in Ewe, I would have been singing that also.<br />
<br />
A tall young woman stepped to the lectern and read a prayer. Gershon told me all the different purposes for which she was praying. After she said "Amen," Gershon told me that she was inviting the choirs of the church to sing. The first choir to assemble was the chancel choir - about thirty men and women, all in liturgical robes. Some of the women wore turbans, some scarves, and some wore mortar boards. I asked Gershon whether they were students. He said, "No. In the E. P. Church we try to emphasize the equality of all people regardless of gender. As a result we have many women in prominent positions in the church. You noticed that the liturgist here is a woman, and her head is uncovered. But we have not been able to shake the idea from some that, despite Paul's admonition in First Corinthians, they do not have to have their heads covered. And in every church choir I know, the women wear head coverings. If they do not arrive at church with something on their heads, we always have mortar boards available for them to put on. And so that is why they're wearing mortar boards."<br />
<br />
"No kidding," I said.<br />
<br />
"No, no kidding," he said.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/CQO13zI91SM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/CQO13zI91SM?feature=player_embedded" style="clear: right; float: right;" width="320"></iframe></div>
And, I will tell you, sure enough: All but two church choirs I heard and saw which included women did indeed have every female member with her head under wrap. The two choirs that did not were contemporary music choirs whose female members, in their twenties, had forgone either scarf or mortar board. A recording of the contemporary music choir at Sogakope is included at right. You can't see them, but these women are uncovered.<br />
<br />
During the anthem, a tall thin woman suddenly appeared in the aisle at the other end of our pew. By now, most latecomers such as ourselves had arrived, and most of the seating was taken but not all of it. Certainly, our pew was full. She nevertheless indicated to the three women at the far end that she desired to take a seat between the nearest of them and Coco. She was quite insistent, wedging her thin self into the scant space and practically sitting on my wife as a result. I scooted closer to Gershon and Gershon to the men at his right, and Coco with a look of bewilderment and frustration did her best to make room as the woman proceeded to assume as much space as she could.<br />
<br />
When the chancel choir had finished, four more choirs were invited to sing their portions of the service - a junior women's choir, a mixed choir of young women and men, a senior women's choir, and a men's choir. In the case of the first, not only did they sing, but as they sang, the congregation came to their feet, clapping the rhythm along with the drum and tambourine. And then one of the senior women began dancing. Others stood and joined her. First, they danced in their places, then they emptied out into the aisles and danced in front of the choir. Before long, they persuaded a young couple dressed in white and seated on the front row to get up up and dance with them. Soon, more people in the pews were dancing and making their way into the aisles. For ten or fifteen minutes this went on. The dancers returned to their seats after this, although much dancing ensued during the time of offering as people brought gifts forward.<br />
<br />
Looking to my left as I stood with my fellow pew members, I saw what I expected: Gwen overwhelmed with the volume of the song, as surreptitiously as she was able, working her hands up to her ears to dampen the sound. Seeing this too, Coco drew her close so that only one hand might be needed. When the song was over and we were seated again, Gwen seemed a bit more comfortable, but I noted to Gershon that when an opportunity presented itself we ought to see if Gwen and Coco might be able to observe the rest of the service from outside. It was heating up with all the energy and the process of the day toward noon, not to speak of the unwelcome worshiper who was practically on Coco's lap, and even with ceiling fans turning at full I knew Coco probably would need to step aside too. Gershon said that the offering, which was coming up after the men's choirs had sung, would provide such an opportunity. We would walk up with our offerings, and we could exit out the side.<br />
<br />
The E. P. Church is not a big denomination, and it suffers from a lack of ordained ministers according to the number of churches there are to be served. This combination of circumstances results in the fact that, when an ordained minister visits a congregation, it is not unusual for him to be recognized. Here in Sogakope, if the Rev. Gershon Dotse was hoping to avoid notice he was bound to be grossly disappointed. For the pastor of the Sogakope church was a classmate of his at Trinity Theological Seminary in Accra. Therefore, proceeding to the front for the sake of making an offering, Gershon was noticed. The pastor, who also arrived late for the service (He had been elsewhere for the morning, present at one of the three other churches he also has charge of.), was entering as Gershon and I were escorting Coco and Gwen out to a shade tree in a courtyard near the church. To Gwen, we offered the chance to attend Sunday School in a nearby out building, but she elected to stay with Mom in the shade. Meanwhile, Gershon and his friend were falling all over each other with joy at meeting again. It appeared that our host's return had not been much publicized. Now, it would be impossible for us to return to the row behind Evans and his bevy of interested eligibles.<br />
<br />
The pastor insisted that we must sit up front with him. Chairs were brought, and there we sat, as the music for the offering ended and the stands for the offering were removed from the center. The liturgist announced, by Gershon's translation, that scripture would be read. As she announced the names of the readers, four rather confused looking people came forward. "Apparently, they didn't know they were expected to read," I was told, but I was also assured that, finally, I would be able to hear something in English, since the third reading of the day was to be in a biblical version other than Ewe. The confused readers persevered through their readings, even the one who was not reading in Ewe. Unfortunately for me, however, the passage was not in English but in Twi.<br />
<br />
As the readings continued, more chairs were added to the chancel, and now people who looked like dignitaries were seated with us - a middle aged man in robes of kente cloth, an older woman decked in pale blue whom another man presented almost ceremoniously with a paperback book that had his picture on the back of it.<br />
<br />
Now, the preacher - a lay member of the congregation - arose. And, although his sermon was surprisingly brief (perhaps ten minutes) and although he infused his message with much humor, and although Gershon said that he thought for sure there would be some translation provided, the Spirit's guidance was offered in Ewe only. "I will tell you later what he said," Gershon promised.<br />
<br />
The service drew to an end. Community announcements were made, including an invitation, as I understood it, for people to remain for a talk by an inspirational author who was present. The pastor was introduced by the liturgist, and he then introduced "Osofo Gershon 'Doochay'" to the congregation, who immediately applauded with much enthusiasm. <i>Osofo</i> means "Pastor"; <i>Doo-chay</i>, it turns out, is how Gershon's surname (Dotse) is actually pronounced. Gershon, in turn, invited me to join him and introduced me, "Osofo David Denoon." This elicited a surprisingly widespread intake of breath and subsequent "Aaaah!" and a fair amount of murmuring. Gershon and the pastor both explained to me at the same time that there is a very popular minister in the E. P. Church with the same last name as mine. Now it was my turn to gasp and say, "Aah." I said that I had not known I had relatives in Ghana but that I would be interested to know him and find out whether we are in fact related. Then, I turned to the church and with Gershon's help (translating) told them the purpose of my visit - renewal and a bit of adventure. Everyone seemed very approving of my interest in adventuring, especially in Sogakope. Gershon then excused us, and we bade a hasty exit as the pastor introduced the speaker.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, out under the shade tree, Coco and Gwen had been amused by a little girl who was playing near them. She was maybe three years old and, after much wandering around the grounds but refusing to attend Sunday School, she had become much enamored of a pile of rubble just on the other side of my family. Mother and daughter, it turned out, were seated just beyond the worksite where a new parsonage was being constructed in the church compound. So, the stuff in this pile were odds and ends from the building. Eventually the allure of the rubble wore off, and Coco caught her attention. Or, it would probably be more precise to say, Coco's relative pallor caught her attention. Coco says that, while in conversation with Evans who had managed to give the slip to the women in his pew, she suddenly became aware of a presence beside her. It was the little girl, staring at her arm with her mouth gaping. "Hello," Coco said gently.<br />
<br />
The girl now looked up at her face, still reflecting a fearsome awe. As she did so, Coco turned her right arm over to reveal the still more pale underside of it and stroked it with the fingers of her left hand. The girl seemed genuinely alarmed, possibly wondering what affliction would cause her to become so pale and her hair to straighten. Evans at first tried to explain that Coco was from a far away country where many people are her color, but he was speaking in Twi rather than the local Ewe. So his explanation made no sense to her.<br />
<br />
By this time, the girl had been in my family's vicinity for almost an hour, and no one had come to check on her. Coco wondered aloud whether her parents might be in the sanctuary but didn't know how to call for them. Evans tried to ask around about the girl, but no one seemed to know who her parents might be. At the same time, no one appeared worried, either, especially not the little girl... except about Coco's frightful lack of melanin! I, of course, want to be able to say that Christian community can include everybody, enough to rest assured that belonging will be a quality ascribed to all among you on any given day. Still, it would have been nice to find her parents or older siblings or somebody who knew her, just to ease our consciences from having driven off at the end of worship.<br />
<br />
Gwen would spend the rest of this day with her new friend Jennifer. Jennifer would take her around the grounds, showing her the stables and the snack bar (which includes a wet bar that not surprisingly overlooks a threatening-looking crocodile enclosure!). Jennifer even served her an orange Fanta - Gwen's staple beverage during our time away.<br />
<br />
Gershon offered to take me to an evening service at Sogakope's E. P. Church but, upon finding out from his friend that the night would just be a lay-led music service, elected instead to take advantage of the pastor's hospitality and grant me a quiet evening.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gKvE9-kUerk/WacXNcCLK5I/AAAAAAAACZQ/vIIlFj6o__EI9EAFjSgVoyWOXXBNAOcKACLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_120707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gKvE9-kUerk/WacXNcCLK5I/AAAAAAAACZQ/vIIlFj6o__EI9EAFjSgVoyWOXXBNAOcKACLcBGAs/s320/20170618_120707.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PCR7OyZxYSo/WacXNb2LOII/AAAAAAAACZM/MAEGZglfEC4lF9SwzqtMUBlnZ1hXb_HvQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_120725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PCR7OyZxYSo/WacXNb2LOII/AAAAAAAACZM/MAEGZglfEC4lF9SwzqtMUBlnZ1hXb_HvQCLcBGAs/s320/20170618_120725.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y46VpQwOSHU/WacXNZ2ikcI/AAAAAAAACZI/3tDpCZH2Xq8b30UH-Jnoy3tEC6vaUwlMwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_120857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y46VpQwOSHU/WacXNZ2ikcI/AAAAAAAACZI/3tDpCZH2Xq8b30UH-Jnoy3tEC6vaUwlMwCLcBGAs/s320/20170618_120857.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-84YCfXDVGCQ/WacXPH50p9I/AAAAAAAACZU/udchw0X-RGIspy4TqGEh-SIc1y2T7LTUQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_IMG_2830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-84YCfXDVGCQ/WacXPH50p9I/AAAAAAAACZU/udchw0X-RGIspy4TqGEh-SIc1y2T7LTUQCLcBGAs/s320/20170618_IMG_2830.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eUb82cx4K1o/WacXPs_bPTI/AAAAAAAACZY/849phhtqkMgYQDDfR3qnv26idmhJ257fgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_IMG_2836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eUb82cx4K1o/WacXPs_bPTI/AAAAAAAACZY/849phhtqkMgYQDDfR3qnv26idmhJ257fgCLcBGAs/s320/20170618_IMG_2836.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dlzW19WCPiA/WacXP9jLdUI/AAAAAAAACZc/8mmQaGU-JG4d8vy72TdDIDDOPo31GHl2ACLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_IMG_2837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dlzW19WCPiA/WacXP9jLdUI/AAAAAAAACZc/8mmQaGU-JG4d8vy72TdDIDDOPo31GHl2ACLcBGAs/s320/20170618_IMG_2837.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0Sogakope, Ghana5.9987998 0.596736899999996245.9672163 0.55639639999999624 6.0303833 0.63707739999999624tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-16727215302115803952017-08-29T09:56:00.000-07:002017-08-29T09:56:00.429-07:00Sabbatical Day 13<b>Saturday, 17 June 2017<br />Sogakope, Volta Region, Ghana</b><br />
<i><b><br /></b>
<b>The Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm</b></i><br />
<b><br /></b>
I did not know this before I went to Ghana: It is a very ostentatiously religious country! I've called it <i>religiose</i> and <i>pietistic</i> at different times, but there was no moment we spent in Ghana in which we were not reminded of God's sovereignty and Christ's lordship and the Spirit's abiding presence... and the people's reverence in their regard.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RTR8NrVBvmk/WaQ79jrCNMI/AAAAAAAACWo/px3OJZnC7qcjDf6DTVdTdq-CgSA_ntjOQCLcBGAs/s1600/WindshieldView.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="391" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RTR8NrVBvmk/WaQ79jrCNMI/AAAAAAAACWo/px3OJZnC7qcjDf6DTVdTdq-CgSA_ntjOQCLcBGAs/s320/WindshieldView.jpg" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />The right side of Evans' windshield </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have not mentioned yet that, wherever we drove with Emmanuel, his radio was usually tuned to a station playing Christian music. I recall, on the day we went to Cape Coast, he rolled the dial round to a program that sounded at first like someone preaching. Then the preacher began singing, and he sang and he sang and he sang! Belted, really. Emmanuel turned down the volume, but it was never lost on any of us that this preacher, who surely sang this same song for half an hour as we drove, was pouring out his heart in praise of the work of Christ and the Holy Spirit in his life. As I recall now, I think that this song also accompanied us for a long stretch, as we traveled that first night from the airport in Accra to the resort in Elmina.<br />
<br />
Evans did not have nearly as much religious music playing, but the windshield of the van was decorated with a decal portrait of Jesus and more decals expressing satisfaction with the workings of God. And an Israeli flag; I never got much of an explanation about that. Virtually every other car or taxi or bus carries some message of Christian encouragement. Those that did not, and they were few, expressed an Islamic sentiment.<br />
<br />
It is not unusual to hear Christian music playing at restaurants during meals, or at poolside. Everywhere we went were eateries (chop bars) and drinking establishments (spots) and shops with names like "God Is Good Grocery" or "God Did It All Fashion" and other businesses, like "Bride of Christ Aluminum Works" or "Blessed Assurance Car Repair." By far, one of the best I've heard of is in the image at right, "Jesus Is Above All Liquors."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qbx3z9yvWrA/WaQ8Yeq850I/AAAAAAAACWs/0Uy243E5V_gCz2cv6lSjf4YtnQz7QU1ogCLcBGAs/s1600/SogakopeMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="920" height="229" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qbx3z9yvWrA/WaQ8Yeq850I/AAAAAAAACWs/0Uy243E5V_gCz2cv6lSjf4YtnQz7QU1ogCLcBGAs/s320/SogakopeMap.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Google Maps</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, I guess it should have come as no surprise that the place where we would stay in Sogakope - a place that Gershon described as a spa and which we chose over the resort he also recommended - should have been called, "<a href="http://holytrinityspa.com/" target="_blank">The Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm</a>." In the accompanying YouTube video (scroll to the end of this entry to view it) you will discover, as we did, that our home away from home for the next three days was not only dedicated to the pleasure, health and well-being of its clients but also to the glory of God. Our room, named rather than numbered, was the Royalty Room in the Queen Esther building, which adjoins the King David building. Nearby is the Bezaleel building, which seems to serve as their main storage unit. One lovely enclosed garden is called, the Vineyard of En-Gedi (Song of Songs 1:1). Other locations are the Valley of Beracah (2 Chronicles 20:26), a "block" featuring smaller guest rooms and apartments. And there is the Abishag building, notable for being as Abishag was for David, a comfort from the strains of life. This was where Gwen and Coco went for massages and facials and mani-pedis; it was also the site of the Ruth and Boaz Conference Rooms.<br />
<br />
In much the same way as music seemed to be constantly playing in the cars and restaurants wherever we were, at the Holy Trinity there was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfpOvM5OcuY" target="_blank">a constant loop of instrumental gospel music</a> playing in the main courtyard. At first I had thought that I was hearing someone at a piano or electric piano, but - as with the classic jazz music playing in the lobby of our Paris hotel - I became used at certain times of day to hear the same pieces playing. This, I am sure, is intended to direct the mind and spirit but also to provide a measure of relaxation and healing.<br />
<br />
The Holy Trinity Spa is, as it turns out, an outreach of the Department of Integrative Medicine of Holy Trinity Hospital in Sogakope. Both institutions are owned and operated by Dr. Felix Anyah. The Spa, for a great part like our own First Congregational Center for Counseling and Healing, is a ministry of healing. It is designed to offer treatments but also introductions to healthier living. Its Ten Health Pillars are announced throughout the complex:<br />
<ol>
<li>Regular and appropriate exercises (sic)</li>
<li>Scientific relaxation and restful sleep</li>
<li>Health diet</li>
<li>Detoxification (including fasting)</li>
<li>Management of stress and stress disorders</li>
<li>Supplements</li>
<li>Positive attitudes</li>
<li>Spirituality</li>
<li>Health through water (SPA) (C.A.M.)</li>
<li>Medical, surgical, and dental treatments</li>
</ol>
<div>
All but the last of these are provided onsite by a sizable, capable and competent staff. Probably our favorite staff member was Jennifer, a college student from Accra who was able to provide care and companionship for Gwen from lunchtime until bedtime daily. On the 17th when the two of them were introduced, Jennifer offered to put together a team of staff to play basketball with Gwen after Gwen said that this was her favorite sport (actually, softball at that point probably was her favorite game, but they don't play much softball in Ghana). Having seen the Holy Trinity bill of fare for various treatments and treatment programs, I worried a bit that the formation of a staff basketball team might be more than the Lilly Endowment might be prepared to provide for, financially. However, Jennifer just took Gwen out and shot hoops with her, later giving her a tour which included the building which housed a gym with basketball and squash courts. Tennis courts are outside, but Gwen doesn't play tennis. So they rambled round to the stables, where there are horses and camels, and to the bar which overlooks a crocodile pool and (separately) an enclosure with tortoises. After supper, Jennifer took Gwen to the gym building to play a couple rounds of ping-pong and some badminton. Before they left, I handed Gwen a GHc20 note to give to Jennifer as thanks for being Gwen's company. Jennifer delivered Gwen back to our room, looking a bit serious. Gwen reported, after Jennifer left, that Jennifer wished we wouldn't tip her. "She says it's her job to do that," Gwen reported, "and tipping her feels like we're paying her twice."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Coco and Gwen enjoyed facials and mani-pedis, this day (the therapists providing these did not flinch at being tipped). Coco noted that the products used were not the high-end creams and polishes that one might expect at a salon in America or Europe; the most expensive products were by l'Oreal and Oil of Olay. Coco noted that the Holy Trinity Spa's merchandise at the gift shop was somewhat different than what one might expect to see in a typically evangelical place of business - including not only sunglasses, books, and supplements but also sex-enhancing oils and edible panties. When she brought these to my attention, I looked online at the resort's website and found that it is promoted as a honeymoon and marriage enrichment destination. And, certainly, among the very few guests there present with us were couples who appeared to be very much in love and taking full advantage of the provision for relief from the stresses of getting married (just as the website promises).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was the bathroom of the Abishag building that gave Coco her first clue, however, that the Holy Trinity at least had a different sense of humor from most evangelical institutions with which we are acquainted. There, she was greeted by a sign when she closed the door of the stall she was using:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E1HuB8tqFj8/WaGnKWwmkSI/AAAAAAAACWI/Bx_ZTH6CHwcr1kZNjDsub1cOz92Ks--CwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170618_IMG_2810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E1HuB8tqFj8/WaGnKWwmkSI/AAAAAAAACWI/Bx_ZTH6CHwcr1kZNjDsub1cOz92Ks--CwCLcBGAs/s320/20170618_IMG_2810.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Bc383KaFs/WaWbs4c7o3I/AAAAAAAACXY/sCg4HgS5FrwmPcekK5jBFxUsFsm8ouY3ACLcBGAs/s1600/spa.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="214" data-original-width="349" height="121" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Bc383KaFs/WaWbs4c7o3I/AAAAAAAACXY/sCg4HgS5FrwmPcekK5jBFxUsFsm8ouY3ACLcBGAs/s200/spa.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Holy Trinity logo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But such was the entire place, full of unexpected things. The cable television provided to our room had fourteen channels, of which eleven provided actual programming and only three of those non-religious programs. Of the religious programming, I discovered one channel with the symbol for the spa pasted in the upper right corner. It ran only the preaching of someone who seemed to be a popular speaker, talking about how just about all medical science agrees with the Bible. Of the few times I tuned in and watched for five minutes or more, I watched a channel with the Spa's logo on it and which featured the Singapore-based evangelist <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Prince" target="_blank">Joseph Prince</a>. He seemed like a curious choice for Ghanaian TV viewers to be watching, considering that he is not even African, but the owner of the Holy Trinity may have found in Rev. Prince's sermons' blending of science and Christianity some resonance with Dr. Anyah's holistic approach to medicine.<br />
<br />
That said, Joseph Prince was just one more voice among many on television and radio and promoted on billboards spouting <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prosperity_theology" target="_blank">Prosperity Gospel</a> themes and promising miracles. I'll try and address my feelings about this in another article, but let it suffice for me to say here that - seeing the conditions of life in Ghana, which are much like the conditions of its infrastructure and the practices of drivers and pedestrians there - people there as everywhere are simply wanting to make ends meet, and it may indeed require a miracle for most of them to do it!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/nvCJplANJmk/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nvCJplANJmk?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0Sogakope, Ghana5.9987998 0.596736899999996245.9672163 0.55639639999999624 6.0303833 0.63707739999999624tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-78845019509310878632017-08-06T08:01:00.001-07:002017-08-29T08:57:25.196-07:00Sabbatical Day 19<b>Friday, 23 June 2017</b><br />
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b>An Open Letter to My Friends in the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My dear AME Zion friends:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KaSuZmdOWaw/WYcq5q5nrBI/AAAAAAAACTQ/7SRHs6J9DOE38qDhoJk6BQNaMWcZEYhhwCLcBGAs/s1600/TheLanes2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="126" data-original-width="200" height="201" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KaSuZmdOWaw/WYcq5q5nrBI/AAAAAAAACTQ/7SRHs6J9DOE38qDhoJk6BQNaMWcZEYhhwCLcBGAs/s320/TheLanes2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: 12.8px;">
Janice & H. E. Lane, foreground (from <a href="http://evanstonroundtable.com/main.asp?SectionID=4&SubSectionID=4&ArticleID=8961" target="_blank">an article</a> in the</div>
<div style="font-size: 12.8px;">
<i>Evanston Round Table</i>, 18 July 2014)</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div>
When I was serving a congregation in Evanston, Illinois, I became aware of the amazing work of the Rev. Hardist E. Lane, retired pastor of the Fisher Memorial AME Zion Church, through his H. E. Lane Center for Positive Change. Rev. Lane and his wife Mrs. Janice Lane along with numerous friends and colleagues, eventually including myself, worked with ex-prisoners in order to reconnect them with society following their incarceration. It was with the help of Rev. Lane that I learned to refer to recently released individuals as "ex-prisoners" and not as "ex-offenders," since those who occupy prisons seem often to have been placed there more for the purpose of justifying the prison's existence than because they need to be separated from society because they pose a safety risk to the general public.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rev. Lane was succeeded as pastor by the Rev. Warren E. Smith, who has taken up work as a pastor as a second career complementing his service as a social worker. It was Rev. Smith who, upon learning that I was about to exit my own Evanston post, insisted unblinkingly that he hoped I would consider entering the AME Zion as a pastor next. And although I had wondered then at his encouragement, despite my own heart for justice and witness, upon reflection of his career(s) and the passion and work of Rev. and Mrs. Lane and what I have just seen today, I can say honestly that I should have taken his words more seriously. This is not to say that I am unhappy in the UCC or unsatisfied with my work now, but that with today I have a greater sense of the impact and vision of the AME Zion and its outreach.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This morning, my family and I attended a cultural festival in Ho, Ghana. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IaKcUN2Sbps/WYcOYJBjfrI/AAAAAAAACR0/3TVAFChsmRgyX7gHw3Kj-jiAkAzjLcOsgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170623_093740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="113" data-original-width="1600" height="44" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IaKcUN2Sbps/WYcOYJBjfrI/AAAAAAAACR0/3TVAFChsmRgyX7gHw3Kj-jiAkAzjLcOsgCLcBGAs/s640/20170623_093740.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Panorama of the (Ho) Sacred Heart Senior High School grounds as we gathered for the festival competition</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Such cultural festivals, I have learned, are often the culmination of the academic year, as elementary and high school students from across a locality participate in competition based on culture. Participants dress in their native clothing, singing familiar songs and choruses, drum or dance as groups, pairs, and individuals, and compose, memorize, and present poems and essays. Local winners go on to city or district wide competitions, then to regional competitions, and eventually they compete on a national level. The area schools represented at this local competition included, of course, our hosts' E. P. (Evangelical Presbyterian) schools, and the public, Catholic, Seventh Day Adventist, and AME Zion schools.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Outstanding in every category were the AME Zion competitors. And this turned out for me not to have to do with the content... at least, not at first. All the content of each group presentation was the same, after all - the same dances were danced, the same songs were sung. This was necessary for the group competitions to be on a level playing field. Where the AME Zion children and their directors really stood out was in the pride and expertise with which they presented their pieces and themselves. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Throughout our time in Ghana, I have seen dedicated individuals who are determined to make a sincere and concerted effort to have an impact on their society and country. One cannot doubt the sacred conviction that lies in the hearts of the church leaders - both clergy and lay - whom we met. And the children and teachers we saw and with whom we interacted in a practice competition at the Seeger Memorial E. P. Church and School in Hohoe certainly impressed us with their abilities and talents. There was a moderating sense of caution among them, though. Maybe they just hadn't practiced quite enough to feel thoroughly comfortable and at ease.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Until this moment, however, I do not think I had realized quite the fullness of spirit and purpose that are contained in the AME Zion's motto, "Black Liberation and Evangelism," or how completely this gospel call is meant by the church. But this is what I saw on display, today, in Ho. Your vision encompassed and encompasses the plight of Black people everywhere - those who were enslaved, yes, but those as well who were the subjects of colonial empires. The AME Zion has recognized throughout its history the damage that has been done, rendering Black folk powerless and oppressed, and the critical importance of making a stand by the grace of God through Jesus Christ and in the Holy Spirit. Only by accepting for oneself the power made available from heaven for one's work on earth can one hope to overcome the vast array of stumbling blocks in one's way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dca3dz7dAQ8/WYccj5Cm1BI/AAAAAAAACSQ/s6e0-y7-0XgVDykcA0pgCX3-KDpOMCvKgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dca3dz7dAQ8/WYccj5Cm1BI/AAAAAAAACSQ/s6e0-y7-0XgVDykcA0pgCX3-KDpOMCvKgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3175.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
After the elementary and high school groups had sung their pieces, it was time for the girls' speaking competition. Most of the girls reciting stood front and center and presented pieces that offered unalloyed praise for traditions and practices that have made their culture a reflection of wider Ghana. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then came the last presenter. I don't know whether the Z in Zion brought the AME Zion school's students to perform last. But this was the final competitor in her category and the most memorable for me. She was a high school student mindful not only of the past but of her future. This I knew because I was fortunate enough to be seated beside a woman who had come to see my hosts Gershon and Pamela. She is Gershon's late father's third wife, who was also the mother of Gershon's youngest sister whom we had met yesterday in Hohoe. As the speaking competition began, "Mama" decided to interpret to me what the girls were saying.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I noticed immediately that, in addition to folded swaths of cloth that formed a belt around the high school student's waist, she also had tucked a cellular phone. It was barely visible, and I haven't been able to locate a photo that reveals it; you'll just have to trust me. But it was curious and almost humorous to me that someone dressed so traditionally should have missed such an anachronism as that, or that her coach should have missed it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IpFT5_pIljk/WYclak05IFI/AAAAAAAACSw/_JDLTuCZTBstXrLWkx6lOMpNNQFvYecYwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3182b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="825" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IpFT5_pIljk/WYclak05IFI/AAAAAAAACSw/_JDLTuCZTBstXrLWkx6lOMpNNQFvYecYwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3182b.jpg" width="165" /></a></div>
<div>
My interpreter told me that the girl was talking about how she had always been taught that the old ways were important and must not be lost. To know who we are, we must first know who we have been. Hence, the fabrics with their traditional prints and patterns. But, the young woman continued, we must not forget that our ancestors were young once, and the voice of youth then has formed our traditions today. Therefore, we must not reject new things like technology and other innovations out of hand (she now took the cell phone from her belt and made a grand, sweeping gesture with it, eventually setting it on a large stone near her). Now, she pointed a finger at the crowd listening and said, we must balance our traditions made by voices that were young once with the developments of young voices today. We must encourage our youth, not only tell them to respect the old ways.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Her confidence and poise, her inflection and carriage, all communicated to those of us listening a sense of prophecy and purpose. I reflected with my interpreter how this was typical of the AME Zion clergy and communities I have come to know in the U.S. I told her that I had not previously known that the AME Zion had established missions and schools in Ghana but that it made sense that they should have. It seemed further to me in keeping with the witness of that church to inspire their youth to say that they must have a voice, and a voice respected, in the growing traditional future of their culture and society. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pqQy1-cml44/WYclalHhezI/AAAAAAAACS0/WdOqjdW571gbsBwL60UKXtYz0oRgBYnfwCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_3181b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="910" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pqQy1-cml44/WYclalHhezI/AAAAAAAACS0/WdOqjdW571gbsBwL60UKXtYz0oRgBYnfwCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_3181b.jpg" width="181" /></a></div>
<div>
There was one moment in the speech when she took a long pause. I thought for a moment that she was simply composing herself in the midst of an impassioned address. But then something familiar became obvious, from my own high school recitations - and many since: she'd "gone up." She'd forgotten part of her speech. She paced, trying to remember. Then, I watched as she retraced her steps and what must have been sense memory loaded in, as the location and position of her decorated body, traditional dress, and fascinating belt (with respect to that cell phone) reminded her what came next. I imagine that the judges subtracted points for that, and, though we could not stay to the end of the competition to find out what her outcome was, I doubt she won... but maybe. Maybe the power and encouragement of that message and its messenger were still enough.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I thought you would want to know what I saw, today. And I wanted to say that I know more about you now than I knew when the day began, thanks to a girl and her schoolmates at a cultural competition in Ho. I thought you should know (even though you undoubtedly knew already) about the legacy of witness and purpose you established with your schools and churches in Ghana. You deserve to know of the success being realized with your international outreach funds in Africa. All of these bear a very similar, empowering witness to the one I have experienced here. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Black Liberation and Evangelism," preach on!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Your friend and admirer,</div>
<div>
Dave Denoon</div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-58882894659590103792017-08-06T07:00:00.000-07:002017-08-23T15:36:58.104-07:00Sabbatical Day 12<b>Friday, 16 June 2017<br />From Elmina (Central Region), to Accra and then to Tema (Greater Accra Region)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Over-speeding and Standing Still</span></i></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The calls from Gershon began mid-morning, but by this time my cell phone was again needing to be topped up. So, the front desk sent someone down at 9AM to tell us that he had called to say, he and the driver had just left Accra. That should put them in Elmina at noon.<br />
<br />
About an hour later, another message came: Traffic was slowing them down. Much as they might try, Gershon did not think that they would reach us much before 2.<br />
<br />
<u>Meditation on a Cash-based Economy</u><br />
We took the luggage to the front desk at 2 o'clock, and I settled up with the receptionist on duty. She told me the total, which accounted for the food and drink of our meals charged to the room over the last four days. I handed her the church's debit card, and she said, "Thank you, but I should inform you that using a card entails a five percent usage fee." Although I was a little shocked at the up charge, nevertheless I had no other means of payment, and costs otherwise were remarkably inexpensive, so I told her all right.<br />
<br />
It now began to dawn on me that I had paid in cash for literally everything else in Ghana, thus far. Furthermore, when I had received the bill for our first non-breakfast meal at the Coconut Grove Beach Resort, which included breakfast in the room charge, the bill had only listed the charges for food. There was a space at the bottom for one to calculate the 15% of taxes and any tip (unlike in Paris or London where the value added tax and service fee were calculated into the bill). So, I calculated 15% more and another 15% for Moses our server, signed it with our room number, and handed him back the folder with the bill in it. He looked at the paper in something like horror and said that, if I simply charged the bill to the room, he would not receive from the management the full amount of the tip. So, I subtracted out the tip from the total and told Moses that, once I had some cash on hand the next day, I would tip him. He served us at supper also, and I kept my promise on Wednesday with regard to both meals, after we returned from Cape Coast Castle.<br />
<br />
Having done so, I could not help but notice that the staff, which was already quite attentive and helpful, became much more attentive and helpful. My grandfather's old saying, that "tip" stands for "to insure promptness," began echoing in my head. But moreso than just the matter of tipping was my realization, at the front desk with the receptionist demanding five percent extra, that we were experiencing in its blooming fullness a truly cash-based economy. (By the end of our two weeks, it would be obvious that this was really a paper-based economy, but more about that later.)<br />
<br />
<u>The Road East</u><br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
Gershon arrived at 2:45, apologetic and concerned about our timing for arrival at our next destination, a spa near the city of Sogakope which ought to be - in good traffic - about five hours away. The hope had been to arrive in time for supper, but obviously we were looking at a very late supper if that would be the case.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YEddwBP7WuY/WZ4BqDqz4JI/AAAAAAAACVo/aJJMvD4eEfMf4PZ4OLl4Bjd3YOicE8tjwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170626_072555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YEddwBP7WuY/WZ4BqDqz4JI/AAAAAAAACVo/aJJMvD4eEfMf4PZ4OLl4Bjd3YOicE8tjwCLcBGAs/s320/20170626_072555.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our driver makes a point.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Gershon introduced us to our driver. "This is E-vonce," I heard him say. I repeated the driver's name and shook his hand. I imagined that his name would have been spelled, "Yvonce," but pronounced as if there is a plural to the Russian pronunciation of <i>Ivan</i>. Yvonce was about five feet and eight or nine inches tall, probably in his early twenties, and fit. He wore his hair close cropped (not shaved like Gershon), and looked neat in a t-shirt and jeans. Yvonce's command of English was arguable, and he was a bit shy about it. English is taught in school, and in most schools it becomes the language of instruction. I never asked Yvonce about his schooling, but I have come to assume that he must not have finished high school.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mU7aanXmq3A/WZ4AlOFBnzI/AAAAAAAACVc/swce19c_5s0EHcBNeZShPLIz0dpVDgaGwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170626_IMG_3317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mU7aanXmq3A/WZ4AlOFBnzI/AAAAAAAACVc/swce19c_5s0EHcBNeZShPLIz0dpVDgaGwCLcBGAs/s320/20170626_IMG_3317.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our transportation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yvonce came with a 9-passenger van, a 2008 Ford E-Series that had been made in the U.S. I'm sure of this, since its speedometer was marked in miles per hour, rather than kilometers. It had seen better days, and the interior was worn in places and not terribly comfortable, but the air conditioning worked and was zoned, according to the control panel, front and back. It seemed a bit large for our needs. But we knew that Gershon's wife Pamela would be joining us for a portion of the tour, and, besides, it would be nice to be able to stretch out should we need naps between destinations. It was also remarkably inexpensive, coming at a cost - including Yvonce's services, food, and lodging - of only $110 a day, plus fuel. (Gershon said that the merchant who rented him the vehicle was a member of his home church, so that may explain the bargain.)<br />
<br />
Once all our luggage had been loaded - Gershon and Yvonce very impressively making it fit in a space that seemed more designed for seating than storage - we were off!<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Yvonce took a different route away than we had seen with
Emmanuel, through a more affluent-looking section of Elmina. As we rounded the
first corner, in fact, we passed a palatial estate on a hill overlooking the
resort. Gershon pointed out that this was the residence of a former Ghanaian
presidential candidate, Papa Kwesi Nduom, the owner of the GN (Groupe Nduom)
Bank from which I had conducted my first ATM transaction. Emmanuel, pointing at
the home from a different direction a few days before, had noted that this was
the home of the owner of the Coconut Grove Beach Resort but had said nothing
about Mr. Nduom also owning the resort.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Rather than taking us through Elmina, as I say, Yvonce circled
around it. The point was to avoid delays. And, indeed, the moment an
opportunity presented itself to hasten our journey on its way, Yvonce <i>most
certainly did! </i>I am comfortable saying without reservation that I have
never traveled at quite that rate of speed before. In areas in which there were
no vehicles in front of us, our driver seemed to have no qualms at all
increasing our speed to 80, 90, even 100 miles an hour!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Yvonce was in the driver’s seat, of course. And although Gershon
had offered me the front passenger seat (shotgun), I elected to sit in the
first row in back. This was a couch designed for two people – one at the window
and the other in the center of the vehicle (where I was). Gwen and Coco sat in
the row behind me, also designed for two, while some of the luggage inhabited
the final, three-person row and the rest took up the narrow space for storage
between the back row and the back doors.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
When Yvonce would hit top speed, the second or third time, he did
so passing another vehicle and with oncoming traffic visible maybe a quarter
mile ahead. He would duck in front of the car we had just passed and continue
on, his velocity unslowed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Now I will tell you, I have passed many a vehicle on a two-lane
highway, and no few of those times I have accelerated to a speed I thought
unwise – especially if there was oncoming traffic, but always I would decrease
speed once past the vehicle I was rounding. Not Yvonce. No. And just when I
would convince myself that, in fact, he had found a new, more reasonable speed
at which to travel, the engine would surge and the pointer would swing round.
And I would look back at Coco with a helpless look, as she looked at me
questioningly and with maybe a hint of panic. Thankfully, Gwen either slept
through all this or became so concentrated in a video game on her iPod that it
seemed she was not paying attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
All the while, he and Gershon carried on what seemed like a
carefree conversation in (I learned later) Yvonce’s native Twi dialect.
(Gershon, it turns out, is quite the Ghanaian polyglot!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
It may be helpful at this point to note a few things about driving
in Ghana. The first is the sign I noticed on that night journey from Accra to
Elmina. As I watched Emmanuel’s speedometer slip past the 80 kph speed limit,
there came a roadside warning, “OVERSPEEDING KILLS.” (“Not just speeding,” said
one American breathlessly when I spoke about it with them there, “<i>over</i>speeding!”)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The second thing is that one of the first stories I heard about
Ghanaian drivers was in the documentary on PBS about Maya Angelou. There, it is
told that her son was injured horribly in an accident in which he was the
passenger on the back of a motorcycle in Accra. That someone might be injured
riding a motorcycle comes as no surprise, considering the way bikers bob and
weave through traffic whether it is standing still or moving. Trust me, that he
survived was practically miraculous.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The third thing that it is helpful to bear in mind is that
Gershon’s father – and the loved ones of many with whom I spoke – died in an
auto accident in Accra. In Gershon’s father’s case, his death came just three
weeks before Gershon was set out for Eden Seminary. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Needless to say, I suppose, between Yvonce’s overspeeding and an almost complete lack of police barricades, though speed bumps and humps tended to slow us somewhat near intersections and villages, we arrived in Accra in much less than the standard three and a half hours. On the east side of Accra, amid industrial sites and new home developments, the highway became four lanes, divided, and limited access, like an Interstate. And for about ten miles, it seemed as though we were going to make it to Sogakope in time for a late supper. In fact, Gershon called ahead for just that purpose. ("We'll arrive around 9PM," he told them when he placed the order.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Then, we began noticing that traffic was slowing and becoming heavier. Gershon attributed this to the usual Friday migration from out of the cities to the country, where Ghanaian funerals customarily take place. I had heard of the opulence of Ghanaian funerals, often with special, personalized coffins and celebrations that can last for days. Gershon lamented that funerals, even for poor people, will be like this. As we drove, he noted billboards and posters memorializing people with phrases like "A Life Well-lived" or "Gone Too Soon." Such words usually were accompanied by a photo of the deceased and occasionally a brief biography or obituary. The printing and display of these announcements could themselves run the family of the deceased hundreds of dollars. Add in the cost of embalming, coffin, transportation of the body, venue, catering, music, and sundry other additions, and a funeral could cost you a year's wages or more!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The average life expectancy of a Ghanaian is between 66 and 67 years. Add to that the number of accidental deaths, and the desire to pay exorbitant tribute to the dead, and you have quite the funeral industry. And quite a migration on the weekends, when the celebrations of life would take place.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
At Tema, a major port and a city immediately adjoining Accra, traffic simply stopped. We had just passed through a toll plaza. Between that bottleneck and an unidentified event ahead, the road to Sogakope became a parking lot. Yvonce attempted to skirt the traffic on a couple of occasions. Familiar with Tema, on one occasion he followed an exit only to rejoin the standing traffic, entering again after crossing the road at the end of the exit. On another, he actually followed some other ambitious drivers through what may or may not have been an actual, designated roadway, then through the neutral roadside area of a filling station where he re-entered the roadway, a bit farther along. There is truly nothing like cutting off another driver (or two or three) on your way through a truck stop! But nothing worked to shake us loose of the standing traffic.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
An hour passed, and we had not moved. Yvonce dutifully kept the car idling and the air conditioning on. Eventually, at 8:45, he determined that he would take advantage of his knowledge of Tema's streets. Waving to other drivers, especially a couple of buses alongside us, Yvonce cut across the snarl of cars, motorcycles, trucks, and buses, from our position in the right lane. At the encouragement of some pedestrians in the median, he found a bit of pavement. Across, he waited for the westbound traffic to clear and sped off back in the direction of a major intersection we had crossed, a couple of miles back. Once there, he took us into Tema.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
I think I have mentioned before that the major thoroughfares in Ghana tend to be well-paved and fairly passable. Side streets, however, are another story entirely. And so it was now, as we bounced and rocked our way through neighborhoods on our way first to the north, then meandering to the east where Yvonce hoped to find another cross street beyond the traffic jam. The next one was blocked with traffic trying to enter the highway and backed up. And the one after that.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
It was now 9:30, and Gershon turned to me. "I think we need to stop for the night and try to get to Sogakope in the morning, because I am sure, no matter how we try we will not get there before midnight. And it might be later. Is that all right?"</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Coco and I shrugged, to say that if they thought that this was our best choice, that's what we would do. "Can we get some food?" Coco asked, as Gwen complained of being hungry.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
"Oh, yes. We will find a hotel with a restaurant," Gershon assured us. That turned out to be the Kowa Naso. And notwithstanding <a href="http://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/2017/07/a-perspective-on-beds-and-baths.html" target="_blank">an unfortunate lack of sheets there</a>, we were all grateful for the grace of a place to end the day and stay and sleep.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I spoke with Gershon before Yvonce arrived with the van, and expressed my concern about his speeding as lightly as I could. "You know, I noticed yesterday that Yvonce was driving much faster than I feel comfortable. I'm clear that the van must have been made in America, because it has a speedometer that measures miles rather than kilometers per hour. He is clear, isn't he, that the speed limit signs are in kph, not mph, right?"<br />
<br />
Gershon followed my jest and laughed. "Yes, I am sure he just wanted to make up for the lost time in traffic," he said.<br />
<br />
"I think if it was just me," I said, "I would have been concerned about his speed but could have overlooked it. But my family is with us in the car, and I'd appreciate it if he would drive what's posted, even if we are running late."<br />
<br />
There was no point at which I could identify that the two of them discussing Yvonce's speeding, and maybe Gershon was right and Yvonce simply wanted us to arrive on time. But I can say that he drove the posted speed limits, everywhere we went thereafter, and thereafter I think I have never felt safer or more confident in anyone's driving than I did Yvonce's.<br />
<br />
Oh. And it turns out his name is Evans<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">.</span></div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-46763271918347293972017-08-02T15:39:00.000-07:002017-08-02T15:40:42.328-07:00Sabbatical Day 11<b>Thursday, 15 June 2017</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b>After a morning at Kakum National Park and the arrival of a group of students from Texas at the resort, Gwen offers some insights about slave castles and how captives were treated, and what it's like to be an African American in Africa</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
On Wednesday afternoon, the Coconut Grove gained a new energy as a dozen or so students from Texas State University and their professor, Dr. Rose Pulliam of TSU's School of Social Work, settled in for a few days. Dr. Pulliam annually brings a class of graduate and undergraduate students to Ghana for field study and consultation with Social Work instructors and students across the country.<br />
<br />
Dr. Pulliam and I became acquainted at breakfast on Thursday morning, as we each enjoyed breakfast with coffee and glasses of bissap. Bissap is hibiscus tea made very strong to a consistency not unlike grape juice, then sweetened and chilled. It is popular as a drink, any time of day, but the Coconut Grove served it on occasional mornings in place of a fruit juice, probably because of its high anti-oxidant and vitamin C content.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eCSuYC6Jslw/WYIV_ZVmRbI/AAAAAAAACQY/FDItLwhOCpYaLXjcpkKXEUme0ZSFfPEnACLcBGAs/s1600/RosePulliam.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eCSuYC6Jslw/WYIV_ZVmRbI/AAAAAAAACQY/FDItLwhOCpYaLXjcpkKXEUme0ZSFfPEnACLcBGAs/s200/RosePulliam.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dr. Rose Pulliam<br />
photo from her Twitter account -<br />
@workingforpeace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was interested to know about her program and the students' experiences, and she seemed interested in an American family that would go on vacation to Ghana. We both reflected on the gladsome history of Ghana - first West African country to declare independence, one of the few African governments to witness decades of successive peaceful transitions of power, the hub of the electrical grid for most of Ghana and virtually all of neighboring Togo. But we were also concerned about the fact that this coastal region was the locus of most of North America's slave-based economics (Angola being the most common location of South America's), and wondered aloud about the long-term effects of colonialism and post-colonialism on Ghana's infrastructure, economy and people. Just as the conversation was getting good, it was time for Dr. Pulliam to board the van for Cape Coast. So, she suggested that she and I might talk with the students, that evening, about our observations and concerns and hear from them. I'm sad to say that the events of the rest of the day and into the evening didn't really allow for that, but I still was able to have a fascinating conversation about the conditions in Ghana with another American person of color, that evening.<br />
<br />
This was my family's day to go to <a href="http://www.kakumnationalpark.info/" target="_blank">Kakum National Park</a>, an area of hundreds of square miles of rain forest that includes a great deal of wildlife and a canopy walk. A canopy walk is a bridge suspended by ropes and cables between tall trees so that visitors may observe from scores of feet above the forest floor the goings on of the creatures below. And it also affords a spectacular view.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OAnswKBBtQI/WYIzzaQV5LI/AAAAAAAACQo/u9zKBQi0ulU0E-JLec-9dvoyQ9xJ8FHDQCLcBGAs/s1600/R82b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="997" height="235" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OAnswKBBtQI/WYIzzaQV5LI/AAAAAAAACQo/u9zKBQi0ulU0E-JLec-9dvoyQ9xJ8FHDQCLcBGAs/s400/R82b.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">R82 just south of the Kakum NP entrance gate<br />
Note that the road is only about two-thirds paved.<br />
This actually made it so that passage straddling dirt and<br />
pavement was preferable to driving only on pavement.<br />
As a result, the roadbed - designed for two lanes -<br />
only accommodated one lane at a time. Oncoming traffic<br />
either had to pull off the road or veer hard to the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The drive from the resort to the park is about fifty miles long, but in the daytime (which is to say, without police checkpoints) that journey takes almost two hours. Everything seemed to be going very smoothly, pavement-wise, until we got just north of Cape Coast. On the outskirts of town, it becomes clear that someone had the inspiration to widen the two-lane Route 82, or maybe just to pave it. But for most of the way, there is pavement either on only one side of the road (and much of that crumbling), or else there is no pavement at all and one is subject to gullies and pits. Where full pavement of two lanes resumes, still there are potholes that threaten to swallow your vehicle. I am quite certain we never exceeded thirty miles and hour during the last sixty minutes of our drive. We left the resort at 10AM. We arrived just a little before noon.<br />
<br />
Emmanuel explained that the road conditions in Ghana are often determined by the outcomes of elections. When one party is in power, their inclination may be to strengthen transportation infrastructure, but the next party in power will want to direct money to social services or agriculture or the military or the environment. Ghana is run on a shoestring of tax revenues and foreign aid, and therefore - even though all of those interests may be complementary - they end up competing for the same money. The road to Kakum was a vivid illustration of this.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s3ReLGAgUO0/WYI7Thf2GHI/AAAAAAAACQ4/Pv0J4UUKSiExmUBhTGhpqcB2Xudo0xy2wCLcBGAs/s1600/20170615_114727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s3ReLGAgUO0/WYI7Thf2GHI/AAAAAAAACQ4/Pv0J4UUKSiExmUBhTGhpqcB2Xudo0xy2wCLcBGAs/s400/20170615_114727.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The park was abuzz with the sounds of young people. Just as the youth of France may go on field trips to Versailles, and the youth of east central Missouri to Jefferson Barracks, the youth of Ghana get to go on field trips to this rain forest. There were at least two busloads of high school youngsters, in addition to a young family whom we also had seen at the resort this morning and the family of an American college student just finishing her year of field work in Kumasi. Together, we purchased tickets and were provided lanyards (badges) that authorized us for the Canopy Walk or (in the case of the young family) Nature Walk.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uFbGxkDwT9c/WYI7e9Pw3DI/AAAAAAAACQ8/xEWuSYYNQ40BkH_si9Tn2qxLPMWaYlUgwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170615_121334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uFbGxkDwT9c/WYI7e9Pw3DI/AAAAAAAACQ8/xEWuSYYNQ40BkH_si9Tn2qxLPMWaYlUgwCLcBGAs/s640/20170615_121334.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The Kakum National Park, according to our tour guide, is home to forest elephants, a number of species of monkeys, dozens of bird species, and a wide variety of reptiles and amphibians. Most of these, however, only come out at night. So, she offered that we might want to come and camp in the canopy treehouse sometime. Then, we could see and hear how the forest comes alive. We decided to try our luck in the daytime, instead.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ptoB37UBq-Q/WYJAUIoLGTI/AAAAAAAACRM/5YtBEgsRFMg6OcZyPBZpSmHSMk5SW15OgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170615_122514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ptoB37UBq-Q/WYJAUIoLGTI/AAAAAAAACRM/5YtBEgsRFMg6OcZyPBZpSmHSMk5SW15OgCLcBGAs/s320/20170615_122514.jpg" width="180" /></a>The Canopy Walkway has two routes - the short (or "low") route with only three bridges strung between some impressively massive, and tall trees, and the long (or "high") route with seven such bridges. Coco elected to take the low; Gwen and I went for the high. As it turned out, all of the girls and one boy on the field trip, who started on the Walkway Tour about ten minutes after us, would follow Coco. The rest of the boys, quite a rowdy crew and possibly an explanation of the forest animals' decision to remain nocturnal, were behind Gwen and me. This wasn't an issue, really, until we had crossed the third bridge, which was when the boys entered the first one.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: purple;"><u>Gwen's Journal</u>: "When Dad stepped down on the tall [bridge] it started to sink. That made Mom's mind up: she is going to take the short one. There are seven bridges you have to walk on to get to the end of the top ones. For the short you got to walk on 3. I went with Dad and, believe me, it would roam back and forth each time."</span></i><br />
<br />
You see, when each bridge receives the weight of the first person to enter it, there is a moment when it settles. There is a loud thump that arises, and it can feel for a moment as though the bridge is entirely giving way. But in fact, the wood plank on which you are about to walk is simply setting itself down comfortably on its base of cable and rope. There won't be another such sound until the last of you steps up onto the next junction, and the plank rattles itself back up until the next person can enter it. This series of thumps and rattles and the natural tendency of the very strong netting on either side of those on the Walkway elicited an excitement among that crew of boys that was memorable for its very noisiness! I didn't understand much of anything they said, since, despite them being Catholic students of a school that insisted upon their use of English in the classroom (I'll explain how I knew this in a moment), on this field trip they were carrying on in their local language. But what I understood was the tendency of schoolboys to tease and jostle each other for the sheer fun of it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ak7bCnFVxzA/WYJAgBz8vxI/AAAAAAAACRU/_irUjQybfNw-Q0kozTtcNkDXb4L5giOqwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170615_124329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ak7bCnFVxzA/WYJAgBz8vxI/AAAAAAAACRU/_irUjQybfNw-Q0kozTtcNkDXb4L5giOqwCLcBGAs/s320/20170615_124329.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Gwen, however, was not amused by them and practiced to get as far ahead of them as she could, even as she sought refuge behind me as we passed from station to station. Also not amused were the girls and one boy on the field trip whom we met as we cleared our fifth bridge. The sixth bridge on our walk was the second on theirs, and Gwen and I had paused at the junction. The boy had taken the lead and silently stepped clear of one bridge and sullenly onto the next, as if to get away from everyone. Behind him were all the girls, led by one who looked quite simply terrified. Still on the bridge, which had settled quite a bit due to the weight of all the girls on it, she looked up at me with anxious tears and said, "I am very afraid."<br />
<br />
"You don't have to be," I said as assuringly as I could. "You're just fine." Gwen punctuated my words with her own, smiling, "There's nothing to worry about." I reached out my hand to her, and she took it and stepped up onto the landing, then continued on. When the next bridge settled under her, she shrieked. "Just keep moving," I said. "Being afraid of it only makes it worse!" Gwen warned. And onward she went.<br />
<br />
After the seventh bridge (her third), the girl was so relieved to be on terra firma once more, she began crying, and her classmates all gathered round her to comfort her. Gwen and I stepped off after them. She took off to find Coco, and I walked behind slower. Eventually, I became aware that the girls were following me, as if I was their guide, and to get them on past where I needed to be to meet my family, I paused. The lead girl paused too, and so therefore did the others. I waved them on, telling them that the boy who had been leading them was farther up the path. They went on, each thanking me and bidding me a good day. Meanwhile, the rest of the boys could be heard bouncing and whooping on the bridges behind us.<br />
<br />
When we had been traveling to Cape Coast, the day before, I had pointed out to Emmanuel all the schoolchildren in uniforms. "Different colors designate different schools," he said. "Brown skirts or pants and gold shirts indicate that the students attend a public school. Presbyterian schoolchildren wear green or blue, and Catholic school uniforms are white on top and blue on the bottom." All of the young people we were encountering were Catholic and attended schools often staffed by American or British teachers. As I would learn at Akosombo Dam, in a few days, this can impart to the students a distinctly Western - rather than African - inflected accent.<br />
<br />
It was afternoon, almost 1 o'clock, when we got back to the Reception area and Emmanuel. The park had a "Rainforest Cafe" and a few vendors selling snacks. We decided that we would have a late lunch back at the resort, but to tide us over I bought some popcorn at one of the stands. The woman had popped it in a cast iron cooker over charcoal, and it was some of the best popcorn I've ever eaten, I have to confess.<br />
<br />
It was about 3PM when we arrived at the Coconut Grove, so we turned lunch into dinner and opted for a light, savory snack at about 8 o'clock. The college students returned, shortly after we did, and a few donned swimsuits and walked in the waves while about eight or ten of them followed the lead of one young woman who had gone horseback riding on Wednesday after Gwen's dismount. She rode a spirited filly up front with the wrangler while the rest sat nervously in their saddles and did their best just to keep things under control. After sunset, around 7PM, they all gathered for a buffet. Gwen, Coco, and I claimed another cabana for ourselves and enjoyed grilled calamari, Ghanaian beer, and Fanta (Gwen's beverage of choice since discovering that it was served absolutely EVERYWHERE!).<br />
<br />
Coco asked whether Dr. Pulliam had invited me yet to come and talk with the students. I said, no, but that I figured they needed a chance to unwind and defuse after a day spent in slave castles. Gwen asked what I would have talked about. I told her that the professor and I had spoken briefly in the morning about how Ghana was both more and less than we had imagined it would be. "More and less?" Gwen asked. "Yes," I said, "I've been having a hard time seeing how people live here..." "The bad roads and the shacks and all the trash!" said Coco. "So, the way they live seems like less to me, and the stuff they have to deal with is so much more than we have to. Also," I continued, "my heart tells me that they probably have to live this way because we have it so good where we live."<br />
<br />
Gwen thought about this and said, "Yeah, it doesn't seem fair. The schoolkids all have to wear the same clothes. And all the girls' hair is short. And the roads really are terrible, and there's trash even on the beach. You had to clear a big piece of wood with nails in it that drifted up on the beach so that someone wouldn't step on it."<br />
<br />
Coco told her that Ghana was a great country, because so many of its people came to America and built our economy and a lot of our buildings without being paid. "You mean, slaves?" Gwen said. Yes, said Coco, and furthermore so many able-bodied people, strong people were taken away from here that - although it strengthened us in America - it crippled this country and its neighbors for a long time because they got taken.<br />
<br />
"Slavery was horrible," Gwen responded. "How could people make others live the way they did in those slave castles?! Mom, you didn't hear some of the stuff that guy said they did to the women and girls there. I couldn't believe it. It was disgusting. And they'd put people in cells by themselves and leave them to die, if they tried to escape or rebel. I think I would have died if it had been me, because I couldn't stand it." She continued, "I hadn't expected it would be this sad here. I mean, the people are all really nice, and the national park was good..."<br />
<br />
Gwen took a breath. "What did you think of Kofi calling you, 'My African sister!' when he greeted you, yesterday?" Coco asked.<br />
<br />
"That... was a little weird," Gwen said, "but then everything about that place was a little weird."<br />
<br />
"No," Coco said, "I mean, how does it feel to have brown skin in a place where everybody else is the same color as you?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know," she said. "It doesn't feel like I'm the same. Do you feel different?"<br />
<br />
"I certainly do," Coco answered.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," I said, "so do I. I'm not saying it's like being black in America, but me being a white guy with a gray beard here certainly seems to be setting expectations about me among people here. If I don't remind myself that I'm white, it doesn't take long before something somebody else says or does reminds me!"<br />
<br />
"Like what?" Gwen asked.<br />
<br />
"Like usually they think I ought to spend some money."<br />
<br />
"That reminds me. I've been thinking about what you ought to get me for my birthday..."<br />
<br />
After dinner, the students adjourned to the beach where staff had set up a bonfire for them. And they talked and talked and laughed and sang, long after my family turned in for the night. The sound of the waves overwhelmed their voices, though, and the three of us slept very well.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-57261422568156591172017-08-01T20:00:00.000-07:002017-08-06T14:36:48.307-07:00Sabbatical Day 10 - Part 2<b>Wednesday, 14 June 2017, afternoon</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b>Getting in Touch and Feeling My Age</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nofM0AMeDdQ/WYeDdh-8LyI/AAAAAAAACUM/CJ_2lQ7LKMM_uQDcS8hK16QL5qwcCt47gCLcBGAs/s1600/Gershon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="530" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nofM0AMeDdQ/WYeDdh-8LyI/AAAAAAAACUM/CJ_2lQ7LKMM_uQDcS8hK16QL5qwcCt47gCLcBGAs/s320/Gershon.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rev. Gershon Dotse<br />
and his CPE certificate of completion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What follows is a description of what transpired between the last two paragraphs of the previous Sabbatical Day 10 posting.<br />
<br />
For three days the Rev. Gershon Dotse and I had been finalizing our itinerary for the rest of our stay in Ghana. Gershon, as many of you know, is an ordained minister in the Evangelical Presbyterian Church of Ghana - a church in the Reformed theological tradition which has a partnership with the United Church of Christ through our global ministries. Gershon studied for two years at Eden Theological Seminary, here in Webster Groves, gaining a Master of Theological Studies degree - a degree usually preparatory to doctoral study. Like many other foreign students at Eden, Gershon connected with my own First Congregational Church of Webster Groves because we are close by and therefore accessible on foot from the seminary, on Sunday mornings. And like many other foreign students at Eden, Gershon joined First Church during his time of study so that he could have a pastor and community with whom to connect.<br />
<br />
Gershon's interest was to go on and study for a Ph.D., then to teach at a seminary. And although I have not discussed it with him exhaustively, it would appear that either his three-year student visa or his funding ran short of his anticipated time of study. So, rather than continue on and get that Ph.D. here in the States, Gershon elected to enhance his pastoral and counseling skills by making his third year of study in a Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) program through Laclede Groves Senior Living of Lutheran Senior Services. There, he worked as a chaplain in a rigorous program that included an assignment to a caseload of residents, logging of his work, and discussion with an instructor and other students about the relative successes or "growth opportunities" he experienced. He did brilliantly, of course, but said in retrospect to me one day, "It's very conservative there," referring to the theology of the instructors there which differs by sharp contrast with the liberal theological training he received at Eden and at his first seminary, Trinity Theological Seminary in Accra. "The women in the program had a hard time with the stated expectation that they would not serve as pastors." (Over the next couple of weeks, it would be interesting -in light of his statement - for me to learn that, though theologically liberal, Gershon could be rather traditional in his expectations. I'll save that for a later entry, though. For now, let's talk a bit about communicating in Ghana.)<br />
<br />
My correspondence with Gershon, since his return to Ghana in May, had had its challenges. Gershon's access to wifi turned out to be rather spotty in his hometown of Hohoe. So, he was unable to send documents he wanted us to see. Meanwhile, we were having some trouble connecting by phone with him.<br />
<br />
We knew, by the time we left the U.S., that our Consumer Cellular SIM cards would not connect with systems in France. When we arrived in Paris, our orienteer Shannon offered us her wisdom about cellular SIM cards. She suggested that we go to a <i>tabac. </i>A tabac is what we would otherwise call a quick shop, except that their quick shops often include a full bar from which you can often order not only drinks but sandwiches and other fare. Most of them sell prepaid phones and SIM cards which you can "top up" online. Shannon offered suggestions about companies she thought offered really good bargains.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aP1tER5YPX4/WYeG239NUjI/AAAAAAAACUc/Y_pko51R3I8vcszH0vnuYY1dhvi1vbawgCLcBGAs/s1600/market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1355" data-original-width="1600" height="271" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aP1tER5YPX4/WYeG239NUjI/AAAAAAAACUc/Y_pko51R3I8vcszH0vnuYY1dhvi1vbawgCLcBGAs/s320/market.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MTN and Vodafone marketing is everywhere in Ghana!<br />
Photo from https://gwuoid.wordpress.com/tag/ghana/</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our French SIM cards, however, would not connect with Ghanaian cellular systems, so we knew that we would eventually have to buy new ones. And although I had learned in my first few days in Elmina that there were two very strongly represented mobile telephone service providers - MTN and Vodafone (you could see them advertised on umbrellas and the sides of buildings, almost as much as promotions for Milo and Miksi chocolate milk powders). By Wednesday, Gershon had finally been able to send his latest draft of our itinerary, and I wanted to be able to speak with him about it. He suggested that we have someone on the resort staff run out and get me a SIM card.<br />
<br />
They don't have tabacs in Ghana. You can purchase a SIM card from an authorized dealer, however. Sometimes, they're found in storefronts. Usually, however, they're either standing in an intersection or sitting under a roadside umbrella. The guys I connected with at the front desk were very enthusiastic about getting me a SIM card. They told me that SIM cards are usually free but come with coupons in a variety of denominations. I handed them a 10-cedi bank note (GH¢10, worth about $2.50), and one of them called another staffer whose shift would begin at 3PM to stop at a kiosk.<br />
<br />
At 3 o'clock, a messenger from the front desk came to our lunch table to say that the employee had been delayed but was still going to pick up my SIM card. I was assured that it wouldn't be much longer. Indeed, about a half an hour later I was still at lunch and received word that my SIM card was waiting at the front desk.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmYyoZSd4Lk/WYd_o9MK5gI/AAAAAAAACTs/RGBLiOyrrw48gpSA2OVt-A3J4It75uCgwCLcBGAs/s1600/Vodafone_Ghana_top_up_card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1406" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wmYyoZSd4Lk/WYd_o9MK5gI/AAAAAAAACTs/RGBLiOyrrw48gpSA2OVt-A3J4It75uCgwCLcBGAs/s320/Vodafone_Ghana_top_up_card.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Examples of Vodafone top up cards</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The young man who handed it to me asked whether I wanted him to set up my phone. But since I had successfully installed two French SIM cards (and those instructions were in French!), I figured a Ghanaian SIM card (in English) should be a snap! As it turned out, he ended up doing it for me anyway.<br />
<br />
Vodafone, you see, has a number of different ways to connect with their system. You can connect with a contract, the way most affluent Ghanaians do it. You can connect without a contract, by having them send you the SIM card after you register for it online. Or you can do what we had done, which is to get the card from a guy under an umbrella who is actually giving them away to young people like the staffer who had just arrived at work.<br />
<br />
I got the SIM card installed myself and immediately tried to call Gershon. The call went through, but before we had spent thirty seconds in conversation, we were cut off: I had only installed the card, I hadn't topped it up. I tried to read the instructions on the accompanying piece of paper, but the print was so small and difficult to read, I concluded that I ought to go to my computer for advice.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6YVuwXmsoZQ/WYeCjUz3UMI/AAAAAAAACUE/fatOgs21BHAJmd65B5X1X-bxVFXkjls6gCEwYBhgL/s1600/Vodafone_Ghana_top_up_card_back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="1600" height="177" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6YVuwXmsoZQ/WYeCjUz3UMI/AAAAAAAACUE/fatOgs21BHAJmd65B5X1X-bxVFXkjls6gCEwYBhgL/s320/Vodafone_Ghana_top_up_card_back.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The business side of a Vodafone top up card,<br />
just about actual size.<br />
(Source: Wikipedia)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I looked online and learned that with the SIM card had come a cardboard folder with a code that needed to be entered via text before the GH¢5 of call and data time could be mine. I entered every number on the card that I could find. The online article said that topping up would require a 14-digit code, but the only numbers on the little folder I could find had 16 digits. Exasperated after my fifth try at this, and the time now approaching 3 o'clock, I went to the front desk with the phone and the folders. I handed them to the receptionist, who took them from me, reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin, and proceeded to scratch off a gray bar I had up to now ignored.<br />
<br />
Lo and behold, below the gray bar had been the 14-digit code all the time! As he entered the code, a second receptionist now took the remaining card, unsealed it, and scratched off the second code.<br />
<br />
I don't remember ever feeling quite so old or so ignorant as I felt watching these two men in their twenties quietly and smilingly enter the codes I had somehow missed entirely.<br />
<br />
Never mind, now I could call Gershon with my GH¢10, and I did.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-80334831681855365632017-08-01T18:10:00.002-07:002017-08-01T18:10:41.294-07:00Sabbatical Day 10<b>Wednesday, 14 June 2017</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Cape Coast Castle, and Germaine the Bostonian</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
We met Emmanuel at 10AM for our tours of Cape Coast and Elmina Castles. He said that he thought we should go first to Cape Coast, which is the larger of the two and which has an extensive, new museum as part of it. It would turn out to be the only one we would go to see.<br />
<br />
I'll describe the castle and our reactions to it, in a bit. First, let me tell you about Elmina.<br />
<br />
I have already described the surprisingly poor conditions of the streets in Elmina. From the moment we got outside the resort's gate they confronted us again. The street back to the main road would have been impassable for either of our cars at home. Emmanuel drove a minivan, and I am not sure how he managed. The street out to Liverpool Road, the primary artery into Elmina, was rutted from rain and unpaved. The car had to climb up off of the street onto the Liverpool pavement which still was pocked and pitted and punctuated, occasionally, with speed bumps and humps that had been placed along the way to prevent speeding.<br />
<br />
Daytime made Elmina come alive. All along Liverpool Road there were merchants and peddlers. The merchants were set up in shacks from which they sold everything from fruit, vegetables, and fish, to small appliances and dishes. Some offered auto or electronics repair. It seemed that all of them were busy. Then there were the "spots" and "chop bars." Spots are local drinking establishments, where alcoholic beverages are served. Chop bars are eateries specializing in some local dish. Both kinds of establishments are open air with some seating, usually resin plastic chairs, occasionally under a shelter of some kind. Some have a wall around them. I will admit, I was never quite brave enough to venture forth into one.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3XrbcLCGWQg/WYDmsHvm7wI/AAAAAAAACNI/z5BRMFHxMvUwEhcd6D-dSyrR8dCWQn6mACLcBGAs/s1600/GN%2BBank%2BElmina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1419" height="192" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3XrbcLCGWQg/WYDmsHvm7wI/AAAAAAAACNI/z5BRMFHxMvUwEhcd6D-dSyrR8dCWQn6mACLcBGAs/s320/GN%2BBank%2BElmina.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Google Street View photo of my ATM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Before we could go anywhere, I knew that I needed cash, since that was how Emmanuel would be paid. So, I asked him whether there might be an ATM anywhere nearby. Once we'd crossed what I had assumed the night before was an exit from the highway, we were in Elmina's downtown. He parked along a curb and pointed across the street to a small building painted yellow with a sign over it with the gold letters "GN" in a brown square and the words, "The People's Bank," underneath. Off to the left was a similarly yellow booth with an automatic teller machine mounted on the wall. "Try that," Emmanuel said. I opened my door and stepped out into the heat and hustle of Elmina.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UhYXkxiEICs/WYDnTEl403I/AAAAAAAACNQ/aXHkLIORakEj1wlmFyQgg8I_SWlOkhkmACLcBGAs/s1600/20170624_185131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UhYXkxiEICs/WYDnTEl403I/AAAAAAAACNQ/aXHkLIORakEj1wlmFyQgg8I_SWlOkhkmACLcBGAs/s320/20170624_185131.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The most common<br />denominations of the Ghanaian cedi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember that the ATM, because of all the traffic and the people streaming past it, did not seem very secure. Once across the street, however, I could see that there was a man in uniform standing at the bank entrance not far off. Feeling somewhat more assured, I checked my phone's currency app for how much cash I ought to need today and performed the transaction. Cash emerged in a variety of sizes and colors. I set some aside in a pocket for Emmanuel, for later, and zipped the rest into the travel wallet I was wearing around my waist.<br />
<br />
Now, we continued on to Cape Coast.<br />
<br />
Cape Coast Castle is a solemn place, once you're inside. Outside, we ran a gauntlet of hawkers. In front was Kofi, who introduced himself and asked my name. When we came out, he said, he would be waiting for us and hoped that we would be interested in purchasing some of his paintings. I said, that was not why we were here. He promised me the best deal I could hope for. The moment was reminiscent of my visit to Haiti, when some friends of mine and I took the horseback ride up to the Citadel. I'd grown tired by then of the hawkers who greeted us, it seemed, whenever we emerged from a vehicle, and shouted, "Allez, allez, allez!" In perfect English the man in the lead said, "Why would you just say, 'Allez, allez!' Don't we deserve some respect!" He struck at my Christian conscience then, and here, thirty years later, I tried to be respectful but as swiftly as I could ushered Coco and Gwen inside.<br />
<br />
Emmanuel introduced me to the ticket seller just inside, and we purchased passes for a castle tour and admission to the museum. Emmanuel now said that he would wait for us outside the castle, that the tour would begin in about twenty minutes, and that the museum was open until then for us to browse.<br />
<br />
The museum docent invited us in but warned that we were forbidden to take photographs. The exhibit chronicled the history of the Atlantic Slave Trade and Cape Coast Castle's role in it. The displays seemed very well presented and relatively new, and I wondered whether they perhaps dated to 2010 when President Obama and his family had come for a visit. Not that I thought the exhibit had been constructed only then, but that some renovation might have been done prior to the President's tour.<br />
<br />
There was more to see than we could absorb fully in twenty minutes, though. By the time we were called for the tour, some other visitors had arrived as well, all of them African American men in their twenties and thirties. There were three who were clearly led by a massive fellow who said he had been here before and was bringing along his friends in order to acquaint them with their history. A fourth did not appear to be with them. He was light skinned with a full beard and wore a backpack.<br />
<br />
Our tour guide was Kwesi. He spoke slowly with a rich Ghanaian accent and crisp consonants, often repeating phrases and syllables at the ends of his sentences for the sake of our comprehension. Kwesi started the tour by leading us from room to room - cells perhaps fifteen feet square that housed a few score men at a time on slanted cobble floors with small central trenches down the center for the runoff of human waste. "Feces, urine, vomit," he repeated in his description of each room. He pointed out the ventilation openings high on the stone walls from which not only air but the occasional bucket of water or food would be dumped - water to wash the prisoners and floors of the "feces, urine, vomit," and food for the prisoners to portion among themselves but which, he reminded us, would have first landed on the same floor.<br />
<br />
At some point early in the tour, the big guy who had been on it before excused himself to his friends and Kwesi. Now it appeared as though he and they were scouting locations for a movie or a video he wanted to make, as he said he was pretty familiar with this, having toured Cape Coast Castle before, and was going above to look around there.<br />
<br />
Men were not the only captives, but they were the greatest portion of them. Women and children had separate holding areas, similarly appointed. They were not kept as families, even if they had been captured as families. Instead, women were housed in a setting like the men. Kwesi reminded us that they would have had to stand "not only in feces, urine, vomit, but also in the outflow of their mens-tru-a-tion, menstruation." And I will admit with no small amount of embarrassment that this condition had not occurred to me. Coco, evidently less affected by the course of Kwesi's narrative than I, but clearly feeling the effects of the heat of the day and the poor ventilation of the castle, excused herself from the tour for the sake of a breeze and some water. Our guide pointed her toward the ticket booth where there was shade and company.<br />
<br />
As we exited the women's confines in order to observe the children's quarters, Kwesi noted to us that in the case of young women (or "maidens," as he referred to them), their chamber's ventilation provided also an opportunity for Europeans who were seeking concubines to observe and reserve for themselves "ones they found desirable." He noted also that pregnancy, even that resulting from a European rape, could result in a positive outcome for a woman captive, or at least a delay in her entrance to the Middle Passage. Nevertheless, Cape Coast's castle was nowhere anyone would want to be delivering a baby. It now occurred to me that I had my ten-year-old daughter with me, and my embarrassment and discomfort set in, in earnest.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_4yzCWEpBk/WYEZVU96xgI/AAAAAAAACOM/RyvqQcSMb04N5S9bN0GFmXLZcuz1BEqIgCLcBGAs/s1600/20170614_122940.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o_4yzCWEpBk/WYEZVU96xgI/AAAAAAAACOM/RyvqQcSMb04N5S9bN0GFmXLZcuz1BEqIgCLcBGAs/s320/20170614_122940.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Door of No Return</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In 2017, each room is illuminated with a single, exposed lightbulb, but Kwesi would not turn on the light until we had entered and gathered, so that we could each gain a sense of the darkness the captives would have experienced upon entering. In the last room on this level, he closed the enormous double door behind us. Once the darkness had engulfed us, he turned on the bulb that hung from the middle of the ceiling. It now caused to be illuminated a sign with the words, "Door of No Return," which hung over another door opposite us. He explained that this door we now were seeing was the final one through which the captives would pass, as they would leave Africa behind and, chained hand and foot, board dinghies that would take them to the ships they would enter as human cargo bound for the New World.<br />
<br />
He opened the Door of No Return and invited us out onto the dock. From here we could see beached fishing boats and fishers tending their catches and their nets. The pace of life we had seen all along the coast from Elmina continued uninterrupted. We took photos and talked among ourselves about what we had seen and heard, and then Kwesi called us to where he stood, in the doorway we had exited moments before.<br />
<br />
Above the passage was another sign: "Door of Return." Kwesi told us that, when Cape Coast Castle was established as a national treasure and historic site, the government of Ghana determined that it should be a symbol of hope and reconciliation rather than one only of despair and injustice. "So, they placed on this side of the door, 'Door of Return.' 'Door of Return!' so that no one shall ever walk through that door again and not know that their homeland is ready to receive them back. It was on that side the 'Door of No Return,' but" he insisted, "this is the truer side, for it is for evermore the 'Door of Return.'" We all spoke words of agreement and slapped high fives of joy and solidarity.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4DgiJH3u2Pg/WYEao2kM0RI/AAAAAAAACPM/8zVmbfm6RgcEaAF03a39EAXUiaWkgfuewCLcBGAs/s1600/Door%2Bof%2BReturn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="1259" height="180" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4DgiJH3u2Pg/WYEao2kM0RI/AAAAAAAACPM/8zVmbfm6RgcEaAF03a39EAXUiaWkgfuewCLcBGAs/s640/Door%2Bof%2BReturn.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vUXpPFLLTQM/WYEZVS7gihI/AAAAAAAACPE/QXbX2ebkBa0qAGNb8Wmh1XW2RxGqiRc9QCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170614_122546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vUXpPFLLTQM/WYEZVS7gihI/AAAAAAAACPE/QXbX2ebkBa0qAGNb8Wmh1XW2RxGqiRc9QCEwYBhgL/s640/20170614_122546.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach alongside Cape Coast Castle, as seen from beyond the Door of (No) Return</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One might have thought that this high point would end the tour. But Kwesid now took us all above, to the levels of the castle where the Europeans stayed, where soldiers and the governor of the facility resided - dined and danced and slept and prayed. Yes, prayed. A curious depravity had moved them to locate a chapel directly over the captive men's quarters. As if to underscore the perversion of putting a place of worship above the hellish rooms we had just witnessed, there was even a shaft in the floor just outside the chapel. Through this guards would monitor on Sunday the movements and any conversations the captives might have been able to conduct among themselves. After all, it was the Sabbath and all the Europeans would have been therefore expected to attend worship.<br />
<br />
As near as I could tell, we walked every room of the castle, ending in the courtyard outside the entrance. Coco was there with a collection of docents and tour guides, telling stories and enjoying company. Here at the end, most of our group dispersed, but the young fellow with the beard and I were examining some books that Kwesi had recommended. I told him my name and asked him his.<br />
<br />
"Germaine," he said.<br />
<br />
What brought him here? I asked. "Pilgrimage," he said. Us too, I confessed. I told him that I am a pastor from St. Louis interested in learning more about my country's heritage. He said he was a graduate student at Boston University and had always dreamed of traveling in Africa. "Where are you staying?" I asked.<br />
<br />
He said that he was traveling on his own from city to city in Ghana and finding places to stay as he went. "I think you are a very brave man," I told him.<br />
<br />
"You'd be over-estimating me," he said. "Everywhere I've gone, I've met wonderful people who have provided me with wonderful accommodations. It's felt really very much like home."<br />
<br />
I confessed that it hasn't felt much like home to me. Some of this, I said, may have been because I'm a white guy with a gray beard. (I was thinking of the gauntlet I was going to have to face on my way out of the fortress, and how Kofi was surely going to try to sell me paintings I didn't want and wouldn't take no for an answer.) We wished each other well for our journeys ahead and went on our way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jh804n7eCHY/WYEZUFNbu1I/AAAAAAAACPE/44o9jRr0OvY3__Hb3XspBizhuVGAy4V-QCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170614_120753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jh804n7eCHY/WYEZUFNbu1I/AAAAAAAACPE/44o9jRr0OvY3__Hb3XspBizhuVGAy4V-QCEwYBhgL/s640/20170614_120753.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Germaine and Kwesi in conversation on the castle ramparts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SMIcoS81Zfk/WYEZTcKKyoI/AAAAAAAACPE/gXcclT_jgbc6HOAKTLl8I7pj5TR40CbwgCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170614_120727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SMIcoS81Zfk/WYEZTcKKyoI/AAAAAAAACPE/gXcclT_jgbc6HOAKTLl8I7pj5TR40CbwgCEwYBhgL/s640/20170614_120727.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guns of Cape Coast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ks65PFlrQ50/WYEZYOf389I/AAAAAAAACPE/j-fyneAhs80fex7LOs6pILa86m4DFsbegCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170614_125114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ks65PFlrQ50/WYEZYOf389I/AAAAAAAACPE/j-fyneAhs80fex7LOs6pILa86m4DFsbegCEwYBhgL/s320/20170614_125114.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaque commemorating the visit<br />of the Obama family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Outside, sure enough, there was Kofi rushing up to me. Other sellers accosted Coco and Gwen. Emmanuel watched me in disbelief as I accepted the bracelet with my name on it Kofi said he had made while I was inside and the shell greeting "My American friend DAVE" he placed in my hand with it. I looked up, and Coco had ducked into the minivan but Gwen was near tears running toward me with a peddler close at her heels saying, "Dad, she wants you to buy <i>this!</i>" I ushered Gwen to the car as quickly and effectively as I could, then turned to Kofi and said, "Why would I buy paintings that I don't want, even if you are the one who painted them?" He paused, pointing at two of them which he rolled up and shoved in my hands.<br />
<br />
"Because it would put a smile on my face," he said.<br />
<br />
The one who had chased Gwen over to me said, "You want him to smile, don't you?"<br />
<br />
I looked at Emmanuel, who shrugged, then turned back and handed Kofi eighty cedis (about $18). He did indeed smile.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mzE8Irm62Fo/WYElls0lQ8I/AAAAAAAACPk/Ab-XZ4wW0yAfbUZImrvVcbvqjoGDYz2bQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170614_154109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mzE8Irm62Fo/WYElls0lQ8I/AAAAAAAACPk/Ab-XZ4wW0yAfbUZImrvVcbvqjoGDYz2bQCLcBGAs/s320/20170614_154109.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monitor lizard in palm tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the car again, Emmanuel said, "Elmina Castle next." But I told him that we were pretty exhausted for a day - emotionally and, frankly, financially. "Just take us back to Coconut Grove." He slowed down as we approached Elmina Castle, so that we could snap some photos of it, but drove on through town and back to the resort.<br />
<br />
We had a late lunch, then splashed around in the pool for a bit. The groundskeeper had treed a young monitor in a palm tree, and we all marveled at just how big it was.<br />
<br />
Late in the afternoon, Gwen asked if she could go for a horseback ride. The horses at Coconut Grove are a mix of Arabian and Nigerian, and on the way to the stables, I told Gwen about the Mandinka and other tribespeople of West Africa and their pride in breeding and horsemanship. I told her that keeping horses was a centuries-old practice here and that she was taking up something her genetic ancestors perfected. She rolled her eyes, slipped on her helmet, and let the groom lead her away down the beach.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ndjA_qXSNxM/WYEl4TPl9HI/AAAAAAAACPo/sqtlLUh317YCDZvgS4uRNz7-tXQsRSg9QCLcBGAs/s1600/20170614_143410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ndjA_qXSNxM/WYEl4TPl9HI/AAAAAAAACPo/sqtlLUh317YCDZvgS4uRNz7-tXQsRSg9QCLcBGAs/s640/20170614_143410.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-61781912431369689792017-08-01T12:18:00.004-07:002017-08-01T12:18:50.282-07:00Sabbatical Day 9<b>A Day at the Coconut Grove, Elmina, Ghana</b><br />
<br />
<b>Tuesday, 13 June 2017</b><br />
<br />
We left our hotel in Paris on Monday, 12 June, at about 7AM and arrived finally in our rooms at Elmina, shortly after midnight, which felt to us like 1 o'clock in the morning. So, we decided to take it easy on Tuesday.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7Ci72pl2qOQ/WYDQIW1NJYI/AAAAAAAACLs/QMAu_T2-prwml7oQVrtcVTa91UC2ioroACLcBGAs/s1600/20170613_IMG_2734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7Ci72pl2qOQ/WYDQIW1NJYI/AAAAAAAACLs/QMAu_T2-prwml7oQVrtcVTa91UC2ioroACLcBGAs/s320/20170613_IMG_2734.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view from the dining area of the Coconut Grove</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We set an alarm and arose at about 9:30, having learned our lesson on Tuesday the 6th in Paris, and ate a late breakfast. The Coconut Grove set a full breakfast at 7 o'clock each morning in their outdoor dining area, serving until 10AM. Ghanaian hotels where we stayed were inclined to provide travelers with some semblance of the elements of a full English breakfast - eggs, toast, sausages, baked beans, fruit, fruit juices (including something new to us which they called, <i>bissap</i>). At the Coconut Grove, their eggs are cooked to order as omelettes by a very accommodating cook, offering a variety of fillings but not cheese.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSLg8Yx11N4/WYDQzr5jWjI/AAAAAAAACL8/iUD1st8Z0F4ZsQsrQvD3794XvRtyfmKIwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_3214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZSLg8Yx11N4/WYDQzr5jWjI/AAAAAAAACL8/iUD1st8Z0F4ZsQsrQvD3794XvRtyfmKIwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_3214.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A photo by Coco of what would become the staple of<br />our morning routine in Ghana</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we arrived for breakfast at 9:30, the chief steward, whose name was Moses, and who had been the apparently grouchy fellow behind the counter when we arrived, saw that I was pouring the last of the brewed coffee into a cup. He asked graciously whether he ought to brew some more. <i>Of course, you should brew more!</i> I thought. Then, I noticed that he was subtly indicating at the same time a plenteous set of sachets of Nescafe which were in a small unit of shelves with sugar and coffee whitener. I had poured my coffee from a carafe that had been nested in a fairly inexpensive-looking Mr. Coffee brewer like the ones you see in most American kitchens. This seemed a curious question, at the time. But in the weeks since Moses asked me that, I have come to realize that he and most Ghanaians consider brewed coffee either too much of a bother or else creates a waste - filters, grounds, leftover unconsumed beverage... However, the state of mind I was in at the moment, which is to say that I had experienced insufficient sleep and had not yet begun my consumption of caffeine, rendered me a bit insensitive, and I said, as affably as I could, "Oh, my wife is going to need some, so, yes, it would be good of you to brew some more."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YjtBCMDQdw4/WYDSLqL8KlI/AAAAAAAACMM/DJ6BykVxaCsqMY4gARLhy0Lp-M7SdMdiQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170613_IMG_2736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YjtBCMDQdw4/WYDSLqL8KlI/AAAAAAAACMM/DJ6BykVxaCsqMY4gARLhy0Lp-M7SdMdiQCLcBGAs/s320/20170613_IMG_2736.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ceiling of the dining area was decorated with<br />numerous paintings of sea life, including this mermaid</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the flight from London to Accra, we were introduced to something called half or semi skimmed milk. This is approximately equivalent to American two-percent milk and is the standard for adding to tea or coffee. Semi skimmed milk has 2.5% milkfat by volume. It must make for a wonderful addition to tea, but who drinks tea! Coffee, on the other hand, it turns a brownish gray. It tasted better than the powdered milk or coffee creamer that was offered, however, and I was always glad to see it provided - even if just in a sachet.<br />
<br />
Gwen cooed over the watermelon juice, and she was very pleased to discover that the orange juice had no pulp. She and Coco had full English breakfasts (Coco skipped the baked beans, and Gwen took a double portion.). I concentrated on the fruit and some oatmeal that looked pretty fresh. The mango and the pineapple were amazing, the mango the sweetest I have ever tasted, and the pineapple had white flesh that almost melted in the mouth. this was definitely not the gold or yellow pineapple I had always eaten in the States. I was wrong about the oatmeal, so I turned to the bread case.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ixGlo07qZ6A/WYDRuXdhYaI/AAAAAAAACME/eX85tuFbYgYAiRi33i3_tYSQl5sEhtrzQCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170613_101700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ixGlo07qZ6A/WYDRuXdhYaI/AAAAAAAACME/eX85tuFbYgYAiRi33i3_tYSQl5sEhtrzQCEwYBhgL/s320/20170613_101700.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Coconut Grove has this<br />little guy on staff, too,<br />here attending to guests needs<br />for breakfast fluffiness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In a glass case there was a collection of rolls and muffins that substituted for sliced bread. The muffins were gingery, and I was very happy to have that with my coffee and fruit.<br />
<br />
A consistent ocean breeze prevented mosquitoes (at least, that's what Moses told me), but flies were a bit more resilient. So, at each table there was at least one clove-scented incense coil to deter them, and more than one at the food service tables. Since there was a breeze, the incense never became overwhelming. But the odor of mealtime at Coconut Grove was always preceded slightly by a whiff of clove once you got near, and I anticipate that, someday when I smell that incense again, my sense memory will kick in and I'll hear again the sounds of waves and sea birds and wish for a gingery muffin with white pineapple.<br />
<br />
The day was sunny and unprogrammed, and Gwen wanted to go swimming. Swimming in the rough ocean seemed ill-advised, and - much as the staff tried to keep ahead of the trash that might wash ashore - even wading looked a bit treacherous. So we suited up and headed for the pool, which was just past the dining area and included the wet bar that also served the dining area. It's at this point that I realized just <i>how many</i> people were employed at the Coconut Grove.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kIRs3-mg7hA/WYDTxq55QxI/AAAAAAAACM0/SDuEJRJQJGYmkS3sVyLIKL5MUiIIcPaXACLcBGAs/s1600/20170613_171646.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kIRs3-mg7hA/WYDTxq55QxI/AAAAAAAACM0/SDuEJRJQJGYmkS3sVyLIKL5MUiIIcPaXACLcBGAs/s320/20170613_171646.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gwen at the crocodile enclosure, not genuinely smiling...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By far, the lion's share of workers were at a building the roof of which was being replaced and the interior restored. We had walked past the construction operation when I had gone to the office to work out with our driver Emmanuel tours for Wednesday (to Cape Coast and Elmina castles - two of about thirty slave trading posts built by Europeans along the "Guinea Coast" for the holding of captives intended for sale) and Thursday (to Kakum National Park). But in addition to the ten or so young men attending to the heavy work, there were at least three people at desks in the front office. And Emmanuel was there also, as well as a caddy for the golf course. There were always at least two people in the guard house, and usually three. There were two or three in addition who tended the animals - a petting zoo of parrots and exotic chickens, a couple of very small goats, seven or eight horses in the stables, and a collection of crocodiles living in an enclosed water hazard on the golf course. Housekeeping was run by a tall, older man with two female assistants. At each end of the beach there was a guard monitoring the occasional persons who strolled by - Ghanaian locals who were usually uniformed employees of other resorts, and tourists out for some exercise. There was a licensed peddler, whose wares were set atop the retaining wall overlooking the beach. And then there was the wait staff, Moses and the chef and their respective crews - easily half a dozen people, often more, who covered the kitchen and the dining area. And yet, on this day, the only guests of which I was aware were ourselves and another couple, who were from what I could overhear missionaries on holiday.<br />
<br />
A young man greeted us with towels and arranged the towels on a couple of lounges. Another, one of three or four groundskeepers, was keeping him company. A bartender brought the couple some soft drinks. By my count, then, there must have been a couple dozen people on the premises working. <i>They must do a remarkable business on the weekends! </i>I thought. And just as I thought that, Moses came to the edge of the pool and asked whether we were planning to stay past Friday. "We have a jazz band coming on Friday night, and it promises to be a wonderful evening!"<br />
<br />
"No," I said, "I'm afraid we really must leave on Friday afternoon. We have friends coming to fetch us, and they have things pretty well planned for us. They're going to show us around the Volta Region where they live."<br />
<br />
"It's too bad," he said. "They're really good."<br />
<br />
If the Coconut Grove have entertainment like that, every weekend, it might justify the staff arrangement during the week. And why wouldn't they! The resort was established in Elmina, as were others along this stretch of coast, to provide a haven for business people from Accra and Kumasi from the big city hustle. At least, that's what their website says.<br />
<br />
It worked out pretty nicely for us tourists too, during the week.Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-9713252224118009782017-07-28T13:01:00.000-07:002017-08-01T18:39:49.938-07:00A Retrospective on Beds and BathsI may have learned as much about sleeping arrangements and the culture of sleep as I did about anything else on this journey.<br />
<br />
As a rule, the hospitality industries in Europe and Africa appear to consider children's sleeping accommodations inconsequential. In absolutely every hotel where we stayed, except Elmina, Dakar, and Oslo, Gwen's bed was either a cot or a mat. And, to be fair to the <a href="http://coconutgrovehotelsghana.com/beachhotel/" target="_blank">Coconut Grove Beach Resort</a> and the <a href="http://www.hoteldjoloff.com/welcome.html" target="_blank">Hotel le Djoloff</a>, in Oslo it was almost a fold-away.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TGuG9CsTbJA/WXjrpFy-laI/AAAAAAAACLA/JGqLq8s-_hkoz01fWk9fGGT0OgWcujaQgCLcBGAs/s1600/Fig05-32_DickVanDyle_000013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="641" height="239" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TGuG9CsTbJA/WXjrpFy-laI/AAAAAAAACLA/JGqLq8s-_hkoz01fWk9fGGT0OgWcujaQgCLcBGAs/s320/Fig05-32_DickVanDyle_000013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Earl Theisen for <em class="last" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.008px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;">Look</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.008px; font-style: italic;"> magazine, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.008px;">1963.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we arrived in Paris, the <a href="https://www.millenniumhotels.com/en/paris/millennium-hotel-paris-opera/?cid=gplaces" target="_blank">Millennium Opera</a> receptionist informed us that - despite it being only 12:30 in the afternoon - our room was ready, except that the child's bed hadn't been placed in it yet. The parents' sleeping accommodations were two twin beds with a single head board and a night stand in between, sort of like Laura and Rob Petrie's bedroom (see photo at right).<br />
<br />
When we returned from our introduction to Paris tour with Shannon, Gwen's bed had arrived. It was about two meters long and one wide (if that). The thin mattress was supported by canvas straps strung between wooden rails. In other words, it was a cot - "a Civil War cot," Gwen called it - and it was more than just firm. There were tears in her eyes as she imagined having to sleep on it. "I won't sleep," she sobbed. "I won't be able to. It's too hard!"<br />
<br />
Often when we travel, I'm the one who takes the sofa bed in a hotel room if all we have available is a room with a king size bed. But I had to agree; none of us should be required to sleep on that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
We decided to rearrange the furniture in the room: took out the night stand from between the beds and pushed the beds together. I would use the desk on one side of the beds as my night stand, and Coco would use the repositioned night stand on her side. We untucked the sheets where they met bed-to-bed, and Gwen, as she put it, "got to sleep in the crack." The French love of duvets being apparently what it is, there was occasionally an issue with which duvet Gwen would sleep under, but at least there was a top sheet. I tend to generate a great deal of heat at night, so it was often my pleasure to use just the top sheet and entrust the lion's share of my duvet to Gwen... at least at the start of a night. I have learned now that, although I am no bed hog as far as the amount of space I utilize in recline, I do have a tendency to take my covers with me when I roll over. No matter how much of my duvet Gwen may have started with, my superior strength tended to uncover her as I sought to stay wrapped. I would wake, some mornings, drenched in sweat with half a duvet over me and the other half on the floor.<br />
<br />
The Millennium Opera, for what it lacked in comfort for our child, had probably our favorite bathroom. When you entered it, the bathtub/shower and wash basin greeted you, while the toilet was enclosed in its own room with a door. This was especially convenient for those mornings when one would be performing morning ablutions while another required immediate access to the throne.<br />
<br />
At the Coconut Grove Beach Resort in Elmina, we were provided a "family suite" - two bedrooms (one with a king size bed, one with two twins) on either side of a living room. In this case, the bathtub had its own room with the water heater suspended from the ceiling in a corner. The water heater was to be switched on before use, and off afterward. Unattached to the water heater were the sink and the toilet, which shared a room together.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-av_yjgmpJls/WXkSDMLLfiI/AAAAAAAACLY/ETjJHYiu_GgX7moLnvjow2nPRsmYNQK3gCEwYBhgL/s1600/20170613_130405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-av_yjgmpJls/WXkSDMLLfiI/AAAAAAAACLY/ETjJHYiu_GgX7moLnvjow2nPRsmYNQK3gCEwYBhgL/s320/20170613_130405.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swan towel sculpture decorated with hibiscus blossoms.<br />
Other days saw elephants and peacocks.<br />
The decorative sash under it was arranged <br />
in a different pattern each day also.<br />
Gwen's stuffed owl toy, Pinkie, relaxes against the pillows.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Coconut Grove would introduce us to the Ghanaian mattress, which I would learn is similar to that mattress experienced in most African and Asian countries. This is a mattress with the emphasis on the syllable, "mat," but without the quality of shock absorption that mats of the same thickness or less have in Western countries - for example, exercise mats or tumbling mats or even mats on which a preschooler might take a nap. Four or five inches thick and made of latex foam, these mattresses' consistency is unforgiving. I remember finally getting to my bed at 1:15AM with a prayer of thankfulness and allowing myself to collapse onto the mattress. It nearly knocked the wind out of me. Gwen and Coco took a moment to admire that the bath towels in the other bedroom had been arranged into swan shapes that they felt guilty disassembling in order to use them. This dismay gave way to their dismay at the surprising firmness of the mattress. There would ensue, over the next four days, a rotation from night to night, bed to bed, and a regular assessment of which mattress was harder.<br />
<br />
My guess was that the difference between Eastern and Western mattresses had to do with the much greater humidity in equatorial countries and therefore their need for mattresses without springs which might rust, abbreviating the life span. That may be true, but I found no evidence of it. Instead, those who do not use Western style mattresses insist that the firmer (As Coco would come to refer to it, "Not firm. Hard!") quality of their mattresses cultivate good posture and less back problems.<br />
<br />
They got me, there. Although I felt limbs falling asleep pretty readily, whenever I lay on my side, I experienced no back issues in all of Africa, whatsoever!<br />
<br />
We would not have another Western style mattress, except for (I kid you not!) a waterbed at the City Escape Hotel in Accra, until we arrived in Dakar.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OO8nqmXMgno/WYErRhzbabI/AAAAAAAACQA/UJv3cRmMxFge5ybR1ehesdRkdd2BOJ7YgCLcBGAs/s1600/KowaNaso.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="631" data-original-width="1293" height="193" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OO8nqmXMgno/WYErRhzbabI/AAAAAAAACQA/UJv3cRmMxFge5ybR1ehesdRkdd2BOJ7YgCLcBGAs/s400/KowaNaso.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kowa Naso Hotel, Tema</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On Friday evening, 16 June, after escaping that nightmare of a traffic jam, we spent the night in the Kowa Naso Hotel in Tema. Here, there was again only a king size bed; we decided not even ask for a bed for Gwen. The mattress was comparable to the ones in Elmina, except that this one had no top sheet and a small, flimsy coverlet that would have succeeded <i>perhaps </i>as a decorative drape over the foot of a full size bed. I called the front desk to ask whether we might either have a top sheet or a bigger bed spread.<br />
<br />
The receptionist asked what room we were in. I told her the room number, and she said, "Oh, no."<br />
<br />
Assuming she meant that housekeeping had clearly made a mistake in providing for the room, I said, "Could you have someone bring it, or should I come there to fetch it?"<br />
<br />
"What?" she said.<br />
<br />
"The top sheet. Should I come to get it myself?"<br />
<br />
"No," she said. "No blanket. No sheet."<br />
<br />
Catching her meaning now, I said, "So, you won't supply us a blanket or even a top sheet."<br />
<br />
"No," she said.<br />
<br />
"Not even though therefore we will be sleeping with no covers, myself and my family."<br />
<br />
"No, no, no, no," she said.<br />
<br />
"Really."<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"OK. Thank you, I guess," I said and hung up. I looked with amazement at Coco, over what had just transpired.<br />
<br />
With a shrug Coco replied that she guessed we ought just to be grateful to have somewhere to stay other than the highway. I gathered our supper leftovers and set them in the hall outside the door. We spread extra clothes over ourselves and settled in for the night.<br />
<br />
The Kowa Naso's bathroom included a basin, tub, and toilet. And, for the first time in our travels but not the last, we encountered alongside the tub a curiously large plastic bucket with what looked like a child's beach pail inside it.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mW9JBviGn1Y/WYEryoZQTaI/AAAAAAAACQE/qDuQwAjNuA01U6LNz8XQaJ5g4dmpGpehACLcBGAs/s1600/20170617_125957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mW9JBviGn1Y/WYEryoZQTaI/AAAAAAAACQE/qDuQwAjNuA01U6LNz8XQaJ5g4dmpGpehACLcBGAs/s320/20170617_125957.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the Spa gardens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By noon, the next day, we were guests of the <a href="http://holytrinityspa.com/" target="_blank">Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm</a> in Sogakope. There, in the Royalty Room of the Esther building, we enjoyed a suite that included a large living area with floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the Volta River. This was separated from the bedroom by a door. The bedroom had a king size bed, so we asked whether we might have a smaller bed in addition, for Gwen to sleep on. Half an hour later, an attendant arrived with a mat even smaller in area than the "Civil War cot" we had been provided in Paris. It was already dressed with linens, and the one who brought it set it in a corner on the river side of the bedroom. (In retrospect, we should have simply told him, no. The Holy Trinity charged us an additional 50 cedis a night for it, 200 GhC total = $45.) The most use it got was on Sunday evening when we propped it on one side, to dry our underwear that Coco had washed in the bathroom sink, making it a rather expensive drying rack.<br />
<br />
Since I've raised the issue, you'll be wondering now about the mattress. And this one was equally as hard as the mattresses we had slept on, in Elmina.<br />
<br />
The bathroom, which included that sink I mentioned with an impressive vanity and mirrors including a makeup mirror, was level with the bedroom floor at the vanity end, then sloped up from the door to the platform on which the bathtub was located. The commode, between the sink and the tub, was at the same elevation with the tub.<br />
<br />
In Elmina and Tema and now also in Sogakope, we were provided a tub partially with a shower curtain and a handheld shower head but nowhere to mount the shower head on the wall. The hose for the shower head was wrapped or twisted around the faucet. This accommodation, I assumed, was a water conservation measure; you were expected to lather up, then rinse off, or else to take a bath. In this case, though, the tub formed a seat at the end opposite the faucet. A ledge behind the seat made the fixture so long that it took up the entire wall. On the ledge was a very decorative, plastic bucket that would have held about six or seven gallons and a plastic hand pail the size of a child's beach toy. The entire thing had been mounted atop a base that was easily ten inches tall, perhaps more. There was no obvious way into the tub except either to climb up into it, setting your first foot high in the air and lifting oneself up (an exercise for the tall or youthful), or else to be seated on the edge, lift your feet to your belly, and rotate into the tub. Both Coco and Gwen required assistance getting both in and out - at least the first few times.<br />
<br />
From the Holy Trinity Spa and Health Farm we proceeded to the village of Hohoe, where we stayed at the Kikis Court Hotel. Our room here was spacious with a very high ceiling, a desk, a personal size refrigerator, and a wardrobe with the only mirror (none over the basin in the bathroom). The bath included all fixtures in the same space, this time without the bucket and pail. But here there was a shower only with a bar on which the shower head was mounted, to make its height adjustable. That shower head would prove crucial to cleaning up ourselves and our shoes after the hike to Wli Falls.<br />
<br />
A king size bed was provided, again for the three of us and again hard. (Coco said at one point here, "Isn't there a story in the Bible about sleeping on a rock?" "It's the story of Jacob at Bethel," I answered, "but he at least had the comfort of camping on the soft earth! The stone was his pillow." "Too bad," she answered. "I'd at least hoped I would have the grace of sleeping biblically.") Although a top sheet was provided here, there was again only a full size coverlet. Happily, however, the Kikis Court was inclined to provide us with a second such coverlet - one which I surrendered to Gwen after the first night, when, it would appear, I kept mine and Gwen took Coco's.<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://www.skyplushotel.com/" target="_blank">Skyplus Hotel</a> in Ho again presented us with another evidently rock-hewn mattress. And again we were three to a king size bed. This bathroom began with a little antechamber with its own mirror and vanity. This could be isolated with a door as you entered from the bedroom and/or a door to the bathroom proper. This was appointed with the three standard fixtures - this time, including a tub/bucket/shower. The hotel was set into a hillside overlooking the city, and our bedroom window looked out over Ho but with a view slightly obstructed by its conference facility just below.<br />
<br />
Our last accommodation in Ghana was at the <a href="http://www.cityescapehotels.com/#!/pageAbout_us" target="_blank">City Escape Hotel</a> in Accra, not far from the U. S. Embassy and extension campuses of American institutions of higher education, such as NYU and Webster University. Gershon and we had talked about what we experienced as the unusually stony quality of sleeping arrangements in his country, and he arranged for us there a room with a water bed.<br />
None of the three of us had ever slept on a water bed before, but our next door neighbor in Webster Groves had had one and, on a tour we took of his home shortly before he had sold the house, allowed Gwen to sit on it and experience its gentle undulation. With three of us upon it, this bed did not undulate much, although Coco and I always worried about waking the others when we would rise or return in the night answering nature's call. This was a bit of overreach on our host's part, to soften our experience of his homeland, but it's the thought that counts here, I think.<br />
<br />
Possibly because so many of the guests were European or American, the City Escape did not provide us a bucket and pail for bathing. It did, however, have a very nice living area that extended into a kitchenette with dining table. This was especially helpful to us, for our last day in Accra when we had to get to the airport before the hotel restaurant was open for breakfast.<br />
<br />
I perceive that the accommodations we were provided in Ghana were either local approximations of Western standards (as, I am sure, in the case of the Coconut Grove Resort and City Escape Hotel) or else African standards taken to their luxurious summit (as, I am equally sure, in the cases of the Kowa Naso, Kikis Court, and Skyplus).<br />
<br />
Matters I haven't addressed here, but which deserve mention, are these<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>that each of these places included a guard house, operated twenty-four hours</li>
<li>that all but the Kowa Naso included swimming pools which were little used (no great surprise, considering African hair and skin care which can be sabotaged by swimming) and suffering from insufficient maintenance, the Coconut Grove pool being the sole exception</li>
<li>that the attention we received from staff at each of these places, even the Kowa Naso notwithstanding our short sheeting, was opulent - sometimes to the point of solicitousness</li>
</ol>
<div>
You will read elsewhere (eventually) of the favorable impression I had of Senegal generally and Dakar in particular. One parishioner before I left told me that I must watch Anthony Bourdain's <i>Parts Unknown </i>season 6 episode about Senegal. I viewed it only after I returned but admit that I should have watched it before I left, in order to have gotten some ideas about what to do while there. Nevertheless, I have to say that I resonate completely with Bourdain's esteem of the Senegalese people and culture.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The <a href="http://www.hoteldjoloff.com/welcome.html">Hotel le Djoloff</a>, where we stayed in Dakar, seemed to be designed as a perfect blending of Western and Senegalese. Our suite included two sleeping rooms with a common entryway. Like Elmina, one room included a king size bed, the other two twins. In this case, however, the mattresses - though firm - had springs. Covers included top sheet and bed spread. Each room had its own bath with toilet, sink, and shower. The shower was a walk-in but without a curtain; the shower included a half wall/half window that was the depth of the adjoining basin. The shower head was mounted on a pole, like the one at the Kikis Court. Here was the first bathroom we had encountered since Paris that did not include a wall-mounted water heater. Instead, a passive water heater for the building was included on the roof - a feature I hadn't seen since I lived in Wisconsin!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our itinerary's last foreign destination was Norway. And we must remember, next time, to fly in to Sandefjord, which has an international airport, when visiting our friends there. It's a three-hour drive from their home to Oslo's airport. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sleeping accommodations with friends Maura and Knut were practically like those we find in the States. The difference was that, instead of a top sheet, they provided duvets. I would learn, this time, to remove the batting from the duvet when I would become my nighttime furnace and to reassemble them in the morning so that no one would be the wiser. Also, I suppose there's no surprise here, there was no air conditioning anywhere we stayed in Norway. Rather, windows could be set either slightly ajar or about half open. There was also nowhere we saw or stayed where there were window screens.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the Clarion Hotel Bastion in Oslo, near the Central Station, we were provided a family suite which had not only the king size bed for the parents but a full size bed in an adjoining room decorated so that a child would rest there comfortably. For the first time since we'd left home, Gwen slept alone and gladly! Again there were duvets, and again I gutted mine in order to sleep comfortably but covered. Our common bathroom was similar to the one in Dakar, with an uncurtained shower half of which was enclosed by plexiglass. But the shower was set in a tub raised like the one in Sogakope, though maybe not as high up because I was never asked for assistance there by either of the females in my life, either to ascend or descend. The setting of the shower - in a tub but with only half of it enclosed - could make for a very wet floor regardless who was washing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, there are the beds and baths of Europe and Africa we experienced. I am still contemplating their cultural and theological meanings and considering my responses and understandings of them and the people who provided them. For now, I am simply satisfied to have been so well accommodated in my blessed meanderings and traveling mercies.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Peace.</div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-2351302914405419912017-07-25T10:07:00.001-07:002017-07-25T15:03:00.190-07:00Sabbatical Day 8We <i>arrive</i> in Ghana<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
12 June 2017</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some, including my Kirkwood-based travel agent, have asked just why it was that I had elected to have our itinerary go first to Paris, then to Accra, next to Dakar, and finally to Oslo. This made for an expensive round of airfare. We would spend over $13,000 on flights by the time we would be done, and well near $15,000 including travel insurance! Why not, instead, go first to Accra, then to Dakar, Paris, and Oslo? That itinerary, including the flights out of and back to the States, would have cost closer to $10,000 or even half if we'd done it right.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I had spent a week and a half during January 1985 with other students from the University of Evansville touring Haiti. What I had learned from that experience was that the developing world is sufficiently different by contrast with the condition of the developed world that we would probably need a week in Europe at each end of our three weeks in Africa.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The travel from Kotoka airport in Accra to the resort where we would stay in Elmina was enough for me to feel justified in making the greater expense.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We were picked up from our hotel in Paris, just before 7 o'clock in the morning. It had seemed extraordinarily early to me, when I read it, but travel agents being wise in the ways of traffic and airports, I was grateful. Traffic on the day we arrived (Whitmonday, the day after Pentecost which turns out to be a national holiday in France) there had been comparatively little traffic at noontime. The driver said that this was because of the holiday. But the following Monday at the start of a workday found us moving slowly through the streets until we got to the highway. We arrived at Charles deGaulle, a little before 8.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
British Air put us on a commuter flight to London which left at 10:30 and arrived at 10:55 at Heathrow (London is an hour behind Paris.). For those of you who will be using Heathrow as a connection, or - likely - any airport in Britain, be prepared for a very thorough exam. And, for your own sake, please be sure to <i>empty your pockets entirely(!)</i>, remove your laptop from its case, your belt from your waist, your shoes from your feet, and your pride from your conscience - especially if you have had a hip replacement like Coco's.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Interestingly, although we had prepared for it with official documents, we were never questioned about our family's unusual color scheme. Apparently, if it's on file with the Immigration Department in Washington, you're good to go.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, the layover in London was just under three hours, which turned out to be the perfect amount of time for us to transfer by bus from one terminal to another, go through security, have some lunch and look around (the play equipment is for children up to 9 years old, not 10), render Gwen very uncomfortable about the Dolce & Gabbana ad that played incessantly on what seemed like every video screen in the airport ("Why do they show her starting to pull down his pants?! Why do they think we'd want to see that!"), and stroll somewhat casually to our gate where, as we got closer and closer on that long walk, we became increasingly aware of the shift in perspective and culture we were about to experience, if only because of Gwen becoming more and more in the majority, at least as far as melanin level was concerned.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It may seem as though I am stating the obvious. But I have to be honest with you that the transition from White to Black in London is a genuinely palpable and visual experience. I wish that I had thought to take photographs, because this really is remarkable. More than just the people change. The gates at the Africa end of the terminal have fewer merchants nearby. The surroundings seem more stark. Maybe it's because you are walking to the end of the terminal, but it feels a little as though you're walking to the end of the world.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our flight would take six and a half hours, departing at 1:55PM from London and arriving at 7:25PM in Accra. Accra is an hour behind London for the portion of the year that London is on Daylight Saving Time. Sunlight lasts just about twelve hours a day, no matter where you are in West Africa because you are so close to the equator. So, why observe DST? No reason. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They served us what they called lunch, about an hour into the flight - fish or chicken with jollof rice, a curious pasta salad with a large grain couscous and carrot slivers, and "caramel custard" (flan). I had the fish. Gwen and Coco had the chicken. Gwen didn't seem to eat much of it. Later, they provided a light snack to eat, I guess, as supper. Having left our boulangerie leftovers behind in Paris, I was kind of concerned that we were all going to be hungry by the time we got to Elmina.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had measured the distance between Accra and Elmina, and I knew that there was a new highway running between them, according to Gershon. It is 157 kilometers, about 95 miles; so, I figured we would traverse it in about ninety minutes. But no, said our travel guide, it would be something more on the order of three and a half hours. Ninety minutes was closer to the amount of time it would take to get us through Immigration and Baggage Claim at Kotoka.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was dark in Accra when we arrived. Streetlights glowed a familiar amber or blue below us, and one could see that there were cars and people and buildings down there, but it was darker than most cities and certainly not as illuminated as American cities are at night. Almost regardless of the city in the States, there is a radiance that render the nighttime, especially with monuments and public buildings, as if daylight began from the ground up. In Accra, it was definitely night.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The captain set us down hard, and immediately reversed the engines. If any of us had been sleeping before the landing, we weren't once we'd landed. Slowly we approached the terminal, and then I noticed we'd stopped out in what seemed to be the middle of the tarmac. Trucks now converged on our aircraft, two with staircases on top, others with baggage trailers following behind. I have become so accustomed to the passenger boarding bridges, familiar in developed world airports, that I thought for a moment we had set down hard enough that they were having to unload us with emergency equipment. But no, there were "Cobus" vehicles waiting for us too. And once off board, you could clearly see that Kotoka did not have passenger boarding bridges. This was how you got from the plane to the terminal. And we did.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Stepping out into the night air - 75 degrees and humid so that Coco and I exclaimed that it felt like St. Louis - we could see that there were some wet spots on the tarmac from rain earlier in the day. The air was also pungent with an odor we came to realize was the Volta River. I'll explain more about it in a later post (Day 15, I think), but let it suffice for me to say here that Ghana near the Volta bears a certain, unmistakable funk.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our guidebook advised us that we would be met at the airport by a driver holding a sign with the words, "AFRICA EASY," on it along with our name. Emmanuel would be his name. Exiting Kotoka what we saw was a throng of people, all of whom were very enthusiastic that they should be the ones to drive us somewhere. Off to the right stood one with a sign that said "DENOON Family." That was good enough for us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Are you Emmanuel?" I asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As if he knew that everything we possibly could want would be to get clear of the crowd, he said, "Come on. Walk with me." We pressed through the crowd to his minivan, which was just big enough for our luggage to go in back, Coco and Gwen in the middle, and me up front with him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"We're exhausted," I said as he set the car in reverse. "We've been traveling for fourteen hours now, and the information I have says that this drive is going to take another three and half. Can that be right?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I think I can get you there in three, but it depends on traffic and stops," he said.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I now realized that the highway we would be traveling must be a two-lane, full access highway rather than the four-lane, limited access roads I am used to traveling. Well, yes, that also was the case...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Traffic inched its way from the airport to the main road, winding through what seemed to be markets that lined either side of the street. Women with big basins on their heads rushed toward us at intersections selling everything from soft drinks to snacks to fruit to hair care products, some with children trailing behind them at what seemed an awfully late hour of the night. I mean, forget the fact that the night before we had had Gwen out until midnight in the City of Lights, now she was sleeping with her head in Coco's lap. And the children, besides, seemed very, very little indeed in the lights of the cars and trucks and veering motorcycles. Then, the light would go green, horns would blare (though not at the sellers), and sellers would dodge out of the way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We entered the highway (in Accra, it's four-lane, limited access), and off we went. Street signs posted the speed limit at 40, 70, even 100 kph, and when we finally reached a stretch with that last number on it, I thought we were home free and that the drive would take maybe two hours altogether.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then we came to Buduburam, a small town not far out of Accra. There was a police barricade and a contingent of officers in the Ghana Police Service, all of them with automatic weapons slung over a shoulder and pointed at the ground and one of them gesturing with a downturned palm of the hand that we should stop. My thought when we had seen the nighttime airport tarmac was, <i>What have I gotten us into?</i> That same thought arose again when we exited the airport, looking for our driver. Now, it came a third time.<br />
<br />
But I reassured myself that our host the Rev. Gershon Dotse and the former General Minister and President of the UCC the Rev. Dr. Geoffrey Black and my church's recent former Student Minister and a crew of other students and faculty at Eden Seminary would not have spoken so highly of Ghana were we going to run into hopeless difficulty at a police checkpoint. Surely, that had to be true!<br />
<br />
Emmanuel obeyed the signal of the police officer by slowing down to a crawl, then turned on the dome light to show that he was carrying tourists (I'll leave it to you to guess how it would have been apparent that we were tourists), then that same officer raises the palm that previously was downturned and pointed it with a slight circular motion over the same shoulder, and we proceeded back to 100 kph and on to the next roadblock.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There were easily a dozen such checkpoints between Accra and Elmina. That is the primary reason why a trip that should by my calculations - even with the road two-lane rather than four-lane and full rather than limited access - have brought us to our destination in 90 or so minutes took twice as much time in fact. Occasionally, the slowdown would include a pause on the road as Emmanuel and an officer would chat briefly in a language that was not English. Also, at some of the bigger towns along the way there would be toll booths: always cash followed by a receipt and a resumption of speed like a race horse leaving its starting gate.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Americans with whom I have spoken since this experience have offered the suspicion that the Ghana Police Service is on the take and must have had to be bribed at each roadblock to let us through. But I can say comfortably that this is not the case. Emmanuel explained that roadblocks are set up, especially at night along the better roads, because people will attempt to smuggle valuable goods out of or through the country - especially gold and guns. The vigilance on the part of the police is for the sake of controlling those who are transporting such items. He explained that the Ghanaian government is presently cracking down hard on locals and Chinese whom they have discovered mining and panning for gold without authorization. Gun running in Ghana is like gun running anywhere, and many of them are supplying the unauthorized gold diggers. (It's helpful to remember that Ghana's colonial name was "Gold Coast," and its accumulation and export of gold has continued uninterrupted since independence.) I would learn later that these aren't the only reasons for the GPS needing to be out at night slowing traffic, but I'll let that suffice for now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
About two-thirds of the way along our route, Gwen needed a bathroom break. Remembering the roadside urination and defecation that I had seen in 1985 Haiti and the peeing that seemed ubiquitous along this highway, I was afraid that my daughter's first Ghanaian rest area would be a ditch. I was pleasantly surprised to have Emmanuel pull into a well-lit filling station. The experience of the trough in the slanted concrete floor behind a cement w all but under the stars of Ghana was disorienting enough for the girl ("Mom, what am I supposed to do?" she asked. "I was glad," Coco told me later, "that I'd been to Italy in the 1980s, because the accommodations were very familiar.").</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Forty-five minutes later, we left the highway by a surprising little off ramp in Elmina that took us to the seaside road. It was surprising because it was so steep. Two days later, when we traveled to Cape Coast, I discovered that it was so steep because it crossed over an inlet that provided for a fishmarket where boats were moored. But at night only the ramp itself was lighted, and the boats that I would see below on Wednesday either were not there now (and they might not have been), or else they were invisible in the darkness.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The remainder of the trip was not long. This pavement led to a dirt road with a directional sign at its head pointing to our resort and others. I will tell you now, up to this point in my life, I had only ever encountered roads this bad in rural Colorado, and even there I don't remember them being this rutted. Emmanuel seemed to inch the vehicle to the gate of our resort. There, with the gate still closed, two security guards in full uniform inspected the vehicle under and through, then waved us on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here we were, at midnight, arriving at our residence for the next four days. Emmanuel, evidently familiar with the facility, upon finding the door to the office locked, disappeared down a walkway and reappeared at the door to let us in. A rather grouchy seeming fellow, whom I would later learn was named Moses, found our reservation and some key cards for us, then signaled for Emmanuel and one of the security guards to accompany us to our room.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We had entered the resort from the northeast. Our accommodations were at the southwest corner of the resort. Emmanuel and the guard hauled our luggage on a cart with our backpacks, as Coco, Gwen, and I followed them. Now, we could hear the ocean pounding against a beach; Gwen thought for a moment it was a thunderstorm and worried that now she wouldn't be able to get to sleep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Emmanuel told us that breakfast would be served from 7:30 until 10:30 in the morning, and that we could find him at the office, any time we wanted a tour. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fumbling for money but having only euros, not the local currency, I said, "After that trip, Emmanuel, I have to tell you that I have no idea how to begin to tip you. We are all so grateful to you for getting us here safely, I don't know if this is too much or too little, but here are thirty euros. I doubt we will be feeling like driving anywhere tomorrow, but I will see you in the afternoon, and we'll talk about where and when we might go on Wednesday and Thursday."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"And you will go to Accra, in a couple of weeks," he said. "Do you have a ride from your hotel to the airport?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Our friends who are meeting us on Friday will be delivering us to the airport in a couple of weeks. But if there is a problem, I know I have your number. I'll see you, tomorrow."<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/p/sabbatical.html">Read my Sabbatical 2017 postings</a>.</i></div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-34286399833533552372017-07-21T18:04:00.001-07:002017-07-25T15:03:30.087-07:00My Summer Reading ListThe reading I am doing this summer is intended to enhance my Clergy Renewal experience (sabbatical).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img.huffingtonpost.com/asset/scalefit_600_noupscale/58b44a812800002100630c98.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="280" height="320" src="https://img.huffingtonpost.com/asset/scalefit_600_noupscale/58b44a812800002100630c98.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div>
<b>The Souls of Black Folk</b><br />
The first book I wanted to be sure and read was W. E. B. DuBois' <i>The Souls of Black Folk</i>, a collection of essays and sociological studies he wrote at the turning of the 20th Century. I would be visiting the home in which he lived when he died and his adjoining tomb, in Accra, Ghana.<br />
<br />
Biographically speaking it is interesting to note that <a href="http://duboiscentergb.org/w-e-b-du-bois-in-great-barrington/" target="_blank">he attended the First Congregational Church of Great Barrington, Massachusetts, during his childhood</a>. Dr. DuBois was the first African American graduate of Harvard University (B.A. cum laude, 1890; M.A., 1891; Ph.D., 1895). His expertise was in government and history, but his sociological examination of the condition of African Americans brought America news of the gulf between Black and White.<br />
<br />
In 1903, the date of publication, the United States as a country was 38 years out of the Civil War and 40 years under the Emancipation Proclamation. <i>The Souls of Black Folk </i>would identify in no uncertain terms the gross inequities of systems in the United States and the inequalities of its citizens. Seven years had been spent at Reconstruction. Now, Jim Crow was gaining ground. The slavery system had been replaced in the South with a system of what would become known as sharecropping. Dr. DuBois was able in this book, through statistics and individual testimonies, to present the ways in which Black tenant farmers were driven gradually into debt and obligation not unlike the slavery they had known just a few decades before. This revision of Southern life was generating an inevitable displacement of Black people from farms and rural life to the cities. Once in the urban environment the social and economic isolation of segregation, as well as aggressive policing which Dr. DuBois notes in the South was initiated for the purpose of keeping slaves under control, seemed designed to further oppress.<br />
<br />
It was not only White America preventing African American advancement. Dr. DuBois begins <i>The Souls of Black Folk</i> with his critique of the trajectories for Black America pioneered by Marcus Garvey (complete separatism even to the extent of relocation to Africa) and Booker T. Washington (capitulation with the unequal systems in place, so that Black people even though oppressed might at least be left alone to make a living). He would coin the term "talented tenth" to reinforce his own demands for rights and opportunity and dignity for African Americans. "Talented tenth" referred to the educated African Americans at the time of his writing rising to prominence, especially in Northern states, who could serve through example and the respect that they would earn in the wider society, to forge paths for others to enter mainstream America and reverse the downturn of the South.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/0/03/How_Europe_Underdeveloped_Africa%2C_front_cover%2C_revised_edition%2C_1981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="297" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/0/03/How_Europe_Underdeveloped_Africa%2C_front_cover%2C_revised_edition%2C_1981.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b>How Europe Underdeveloped Africa</b><br />
At the W. E. B. DuBois Memorial Centre for Pan African Culture in Accra, there was put in my hands a book that seemed to me to summarize in its title the mentality that I was formulating through my two weeks in Ghana - <i>How Europe Underdeveloped Africa</i> by Walter Rodney (Washington, DC: Howard University Press, 1972, although my edition was published by Panaf Press of Abuja, Nigeria, in 2009). Prof. Rodney was a Guyanan revolutionary intellectual and author convinced of the importance of Socialism's rise for the salvation of what has come to be known as the Developing World. Only, he called it "the underdeveloped world" because of his impression that European colonialism had ruined Africa's opportunities for development. Europe (including the United States) demanded cheap raw materials from colonies or former colonies while selling to them manufactured goods made from the same raw materials. The value of the manufactured goods would so outdistance the low cost of the materials that Africa was left in an endless cycle of debt and poverty.<br />
<br />
Former Ghanaian President Jerry Rawlings repeated this complaint throughout his term of office and continues to rail against the disadvantages that Capitalism has placed upon Ghana and other former colonies. I note that, every time an "underdeveloped" country has attempted to consolidate its industrial base by nationalizing or called for a single party system in order to prevent outright political chaos, the West has cried, "Totalitarianism!" or "Communism!" and even imposed economic sanctions in order to prevent tyranny. The effective result has also been to support global businesses and networks (capitalists) already unfairly exploiting depressed African economies.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sbUbioZgp9c/WXKd8LBit9I/AAAAAAAACIM/3fZLfTh4l_8bxkfMQenLqLQGupPtE0_CACLcBGAs/s1600/Walter_Rodney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="281" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sbUbioZgp9c/WXKd8LBit9I/AAAAAAAACIM/3fZLfTh4l_8bxkfMQenLqLQGupPtE0_CACLcBGAs/s200/Walter_Rodney.jpg" width="158" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walter Rodney</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To illustrate how such an imbalance of power came to predominate the world's economies, the book begins by the author painting with some rather broad strokes the history of interrelationship between Africa and Europe. Along the way, he observes that Europe progressed from family-based and tribal systems of production through feudalism and onward to industrial capitalism, especially because of advances in the production of steel and gunpowder. The equipment and firearms enabled colonization and overwhelmed established political and trading systems in Africa, southern Asia, and the Americas still centered on more local connections and networks. This is not to say, he points out, that no widespread or even transoceanic trade existed in any of these places, or that means of production were not advancing there. They simply could not be defended in the long run from the encroachment of colonial powers with superior armaments desiring raw materials and seemingly limitless sources of forced labor. The West found it in its interest to subdue its colonies' ambitions and to further disable them through economic and political coercion, once the colonies had gained "independence."<br />
<br />
The government of Guyana, a South American/Caribbean British post-colony, saw in Prof. Rodney a persuasive dissident who was having growing influence on not only his students but large swaths of Guyana's impoverished people. It therefore sought to silence his voice in 1980 by assassinating him with a car bomb. Two of the author's friends and colleagues from the United States, who had tried to convince him not to return to his home country, introduce Prof. Rodney's life and thought in the foreword of the book by relating the circumstances of the end of his life. Despite the Guyanan government's effort to silence Walter Rodney, given evidence by the fact that the edition I purchased of <i>How Europe Underdeveloped Africa</i> was published by a Nigerian publisher in 2009, his words continue to resonate.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0gwHTdZmAQ4/WXKeVUM6xlI/AAAAAAAACIQ/K3JiZA18CLcMDv7_3Orxp5b4CDCzat9ZgCLcBGAs/s1600/Frantz_Fanon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="330" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0gwHTdZmAQ4/WXKeVUM6xlI/AAAAAAAACIQ/K3JiZA18CLcMDv7_3Orxp5b4CDCzat9ZgCLcBGAs/s200/Frantz_Fanon.jpg" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frantz Fanon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>The Wretched of the Earth</b><br />
Walter Rodney mentions other revolutionary authors of his time with whom he corresponded and by whom he was influenced. He cites Frantz Fanon in particular, a psychologist born in Martinique but crucial to the advancement of the Algerian revolution through the 1960s and 70s. This has prompted me to check out an English translation of Fanon's <i>Les damnés de la terre </i>(<i>The Wretched of the Earth</i>), 1961. It details especially the deleterious psychological effect of colonialism on the colonized and the warping of the psyche of colonizers. Fanon concludes that violence, as in the case of the Algerian revolution, is inevitable for the effective overthrow of colonial power. The book is introduced by Jean-Paul Sartre, a friend and devotee of Fanon's and a longtime advocate for Algerian independence from France.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OtZqwuqRGXk/WXKeuSKd-RI/AAAAAAAACIU/tbLTEYbf4OU8tXJ5PFT914vr-PlEOdMowCLcBGAs/s1600/wretched.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="440" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OtZqwuqRGXk/WXKeuSKd-RI/AAAAAAAACIU/tbLTEYbf4OU8tXJ5PFT914vr-PlEOdMowCLcBGAs/s200/wretched.jpg" width="135" /></a><br />
Fanon would influence such other revolutionaries as Malcolm X, Steve Biko, and Che Guevara. He also would participate in the armed rebellion against the French in Algeria and Morocco. Frantz Fanon only lived to the age of 36 (Walter Rodney also was 38 when he was murdered). One might assume that he had died in a battle or at the hands of some undercover operative. In fact, he died of leukemia at a National Institutes of Health facility in Bethesda, Maryland, in 1961.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWOLAD4mGf4/WXKjUtFK6AI/AAAAAAAACIk/7OwVrifizQ0ICTxNr5M7VnNCYKMCr6OhQCLcBGAs/s1600/NewEnglandBound.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="710" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWOLAD4mGf4/WXKjUtFK6AI/AAAAAAAACIk/7OwVrifizQ0ICTxNr5M7VnNCYKMCr6OhQCLcBGAs/s320/NewEnglandBound.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<b>New England Bound: Slavery and Colonization in Early America</b><br />
The book I am reading currently is <i>New England Bound: Slavery and Colonization in Early America</i> by Wendy Warren (New York: Liveright Publishing, 2016). This Princeton University history professor has built her reputation on her in depth and insightful study of the 500-year history of chattel slavery in the Americas and the Caribbean.<br />
<br />
No one's hands were clean in this, not even the Puritans of New England who were some of the earliest to outlaw the practice of slavery. Although 1638 is recognized as the year of the arrival of the first African slaves to the British colonies in North America, the production of sugar cane and tobacco on the land of English possessions in the Caribbean and the commonplace of household slaves had already made chattel slavery (the practice of not only an individual as another's property but that person's offspring as well, all of whom could be sold at will by the owner) a part of everyday life throughout the Western world.<br />
<br />
Further complicating matters was the common decision of New Englanders not to keep captive their Native American prisoners of war but to enslave them, almost always transporting them away from their homeland to foreign buyers. Dr. Warren points out that Squanto, who assisted the Pilgrims through their first winter and showed them native farming techniques, was able to speak English so fluently because he had been spirited away as a young man to England by a merchant who had induced him and about a half dozen other young men of his village to board a ship, then hoisted anchor before they knew what was happening. Squanto and the others were sold as slaves in England, but he managed to escape and found someone sympathetic to return him home. Back in America, he found his village wiped out by a European illness and the only people who would receive him the colonists of Plymouth. (That's how very early an effect slavery had on the development of New England Congregationalist society!)<br />
<br />
Dr. Warren addresses throughout the book just how very much chattel slavery had already permeated the daily life of early America and, literally, the world. She offers a powerful sense of why the inequities and inequalities of our society have proved to be so unshakable.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Prayer by W. E. B. DuBois, epilogue to </i>The Souls of Black Folk:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Hear my cry, O God the Reader; vouchsafe that this my book fall not still-born into the world-wilderness. Let there spring, Gentle One, from out its leaves vigor of thought and thoughtful deed to reap the harvest wonderful. (Let the ears of a guilty people tingle with truth, and seventy millions sigh for the righteousness which exalteth nations, in this drear day when human brotherhood is mockery and a snare.) Thus in thy good time may infinite reason turn the tangle straight, and these crooked marks on a fragile leaf be not indeed</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
The End.</blockquote>
<br />
<i><a href="http://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/p/sabbatical.html">Read all my Sabbatical 2017 postings</a>.</i>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-10093427328323250342017-07-21T14:56:00.000-07:002017-07-25T15:03:50.358-07:00Sabbatical Day 6, Part 1 - Morning at the LouvreSaturday, 10 June 2017<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I6c32V13vXg/WW-SgrxRQsI/AAAAAAAACG0/jk1F9v4kW4YhywLr9W6vLD9MAHhWbrGPwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170606_152536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-I6c32V13vXg/WW-SgrxRQsI/AAAAAAAACG0/jk1F9v4kW4YhywLr9W6vLD9MAHhWbrGPwCLcBGAs/s320/20170606_152536.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<u>Treasure Hunt</u><br />
We returned to the Louvre, this morning, and I got to make my "Everybody spells it wrong, the first time" joke about the Denon Pavilion with some new people. Coco and Gwen seemed to be taking deep breaths as the guide for our museum treasure hunt chuckled politely.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/29/Entr%C3%A9e_Pavillon_Denon_Louvre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="800" height="217" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/29/Entr%C3%A9e_Pavillon_Denon_Louvre.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We were one of two families participating. The other, also from America, included a dad and very competitive mom, a boy about 8 and another about 14, the latter son seeming distinctly disinterested in this project.<br />
<br />
The object of the hunt was to locate and photograph (with one of your group in the photo) artworks described in a pictorial guide. The group was required to stay together; if your opponent group should see anyone in your group more than ten feet from the rest, they could take a photo of the gap in order to dock you 10 points per foot apart! No running, no internet, no GPS, no asking Louvre employees for directions. We agreed to a 90-minute hunt; overtime would cost 2 points per minute.<br />
<br />
Maps were essential for locating the works. Gwen thought that a selfie stick (sold for €1 from vendors ALL OVER the grounds) would be another essential. But, no, we couldn't stop to purchase one on our way in. We had "skip the line" tickets and were descending the Pyramid into the museum before anything could even be argued about it.<br />
<br />
The matter of a selfie stick was not something that was introduced, today. We had argued several times daily about it, ever since Gwen had seen them for sale on a loop of a hawker's belt when we took that long walk with the longer pause in Notre-Dame on Tuesday. In weaker moments, she would insist that a selfie stick would be all she would ask for, for her birthday - which, admittedly, would have made for a very, very affordable birthday, but her mother said I couldn't take her up on it.<br />
<br />
Coco and I explained that we thought selfie sticks, though maybe helpful for people her size to extend their arms for a good image, nevertheless were making the teeming others who owned them look rather self-absorbed. And unstable: I personally saw numerous folk tripping or stumbling, ignorant of their immediate surroundings, as they would try to take personal snapshots. Sometimes, they even struck others as they would swing around to find the perfect angle.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Id9pHOzyZ1I/WXJqtnRgLGI/AAAAAAAACHQ/PyHInzWiETUpM5z1Yob3JNNFDVpSaMw8wCLcBGAs/s1600/20170610_112648B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="683" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Id9pHOzyZ1I/WXJqtnRgLGI/AAAAAAAACHQ/PyHInzWiETUpM5z1Yob3JNNFDVpSaMw8wCLcBGAs/s320/20170610_112648B.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
We did fine without a selfie stick, by the way.<br />
<br />
We spotted enough artworks on our list to get ourselves 110 points. The opposing family got 20 more points. This was in part because they were missing a couple of pages from their guidebook and, although they didn't find as much as we did, we elected to disregard the works on the pages they were missing from our own part of the hunt. It was also because the 14-year-old, catching the spirit of the snapshot rally, decided that he would pose as different characters in the paintings when the photos were snapped. His pose as one of the dogs in Caliari's <i>The Wedding Feast at Cana</i> pushed them over the top. (All I did was to wave hello from beyond the gathered crowd.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ToAVSgDjxdc/WXJweGlOnrI/AAAAAAAACHg/CP8_JaEyeYQamLl3RBKEaSF46ID4lHy6wCEwYBhgL/s1600/Leonardo_da_Vinci_-_Saint_John_the_Baptist_C2RMF_retouched-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1326" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ToAVSgDjxdc/WXJweGlOnrI/AAAAAAAACHg/CP8_JaEyeYQamLl3RBKEaSF46ID4lHy6wCEwYBhgL/s320/Leonardo_da_Vinci_-_Saint_John_the_Baptist_C2RMF_retouched-small.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
The works that were listed in our guidebook were certainly interesting. It was downright exciting to share space with the Mona Lisa and several other works that we had only seen in textbooks or on coffee tables.<br />
<br />
One in particular, Leonardo's <i>St. John the Baptist</i>, smiles like the Mona Lisa. But, unlike her smile which I have always perceived as flirtatious, John's causes him to seem bemused by the attention of the artist. He points with his right hand over his left shoulder as if to say, "You think I'm something? You ought to get a load of the guy who's coming up behind me!"<br />
<br />
An old TV series I had watched recently on YouTube, Basil Davidson's <i>Africa</i>, noted that the depiction of Africans in medieval and Renaissance art had usually presented them in ways that indicate that Africans and Europeans of that era simply regarded one another as people from different parts of the world. People with dark skin are shown as authority figures and servants and everything in between. Coco decided to make the tour of the Louvre galleries something of an exploration of the Black figure in art. She found numerous examples, in 90 minutes. The following photos are not an exhaustive representation of her discoveries:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vOPKl-7PM7I/WXJxVUBABuI/AAAAAAAACHo/cEeSjA6-p10EjSzB_xL2LYNorL54YFWOACLcBGAs/s1600/20170610_IMG_2644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vOPKl-7PM7I/WXJxVUBABuI/AAAAAAAACHo/cEeSjA6-p10EjSzB_xL2LYNorL54YFWOACLcBGAs/s320/20170610_IMG_2644.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Moor</i>, restored in the early 1600s<br />
by Nicolas Cordier from an ancient Roman statue</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-H0opoKkow/WXJxe21REVI/AAAAAAAACHs/xUrxM7Hu3wgQvvUzuxQlXb2hkm7keS3EQCLcBGAs/s1600/20170610_IMG_2652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X-H0opoKkow/WXJxe21REVI/AAAAAAAACHs/xUrxM7Hu3wgQvvUzuxQlXb2hkm7keS3EQCLcBGAs/s320/20170610_IMG_2652.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Study: <i>Adoration of the Magi</i>, Bernardino Luini, 1520</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ncdMU7QKWLg/WXJxfK_kvhI/AAAAAAAACHw/JXcTetfeDRciraS_jwQhPX13H-NBtB8owCLcBGAs/s1600/20170610_IMG_2660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ncdMU7QKWLg/WXJxfK_kvhI/AAAAAAAACHw/JXcTetfeDRciraS_jwQhPX13H-NBtB8owCLcBGAs/s320/20170610_IMG_2660.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Study: <i>Christ Carrying the Cross</i>, Biagio d'Antonio, 1466</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H_px49LsIb4/WXJxfLSodtI/AAAAAAAACH0/-A1sWha-HlsAASPp5_I-bIbRiqfEs4YvACLcBGAs/s1600/20170610_IMG_2670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H_px49LsIb4/WXJxfLSodtI/AAAAAAAACH0/-A1sWha-HlsAASPp5_I-bIbRiqfEs4YvACLcBGAs/s320/20170610_IMG_2670.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Study: <i>Women of Algiers</i> (Eugene Delacroix, 1834)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><div>
<i><a href="http://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/p/sabbatical.html">Read all my Sabbatical 2017 postings</a>.</i> </div>
Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-67840732677268280362017-07-16T11:47:00.001-07:002017-07-25T15:04:01.213-07:00Sabbatical Day 5Friday, 9 June 2017<br />
<br />
This was the day that included, in tours anyway, the underlying justification for including Paris on my sabbatical itinerary. Today and tomorrow would be the days crowded with tours and a comparatively tight schedule. And today's schedule, I'll tell you now, got the best of us.<br />
<br />
By now we were getting the hang of using the Metropolitan transit system. We had used it quite effectively (though perhaps not so efficiently; you can ask me about that, sometime) on Thursday, to get to the palace of Versailles and back. Today, we took the Metro to Montmartre - a Paris neighborhood built on this curious outcropping, a hill which is the highest point in the city but which rises without any remaining geological indication. It is simply there.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm9GQn2vUGs/WXN7HPLNvTI/AAAAAAAACJQ/6U0Gn1uE05cf2r0SB_l8Splu1W6KG-dbwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170609_IMG_2593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm9GQn2vUGs/WXN7HPLNvTI/AAAAAAAACJQ/6U0Gn1uE05cf2r0SB_l8Splu1W6KG-dbwCLcBGAs/s320/20170609_IMG_2593.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Montmartre from the ascent to Sacré-Cœur</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Our hotel was located in the heart of tourist territory, on boulevard Haussmann near boulevard des Italiens and surrounded by restaurants serving mostly east Asian fare - Japanese, Korean, Chinese. There was an occasional brasserie, coffee house, or other restaurant, but if we wanted French regional cuisine (like the crepes we enjoyed on Tuesday evening at a Bretagne-themed restaurant near the Pompidou, the rib steak we would consume in quantity on Saturday evening not far from the Eiffel Tower, or the <i>croques</i> we would have in a pinch) then we had to escape the gravity of l'Opéra.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
Montmartre is more of a residential section of the city, also an enclave of artists and Bohemians. Streets are tree-lined and narrower than the boulevards near us. They contained similarly less traffic. And some portions just seemed dedicated to stairways for the sake of scaling the steep incline.<br />
<br />
It was a cool breeze, a breath of fresh air for all three of us. And it was our first destination of the day.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mka0oiSUPbM/WXN5lJHZ-NI/AAAAAAAACJE/VZu3mActy9AYE7uFFf4Vj3Bq1P3_uKB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/20170609_101233B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1119" height="205" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mka0oiSUPbM/WXN5lJHZ-NI/AAAAAAAACJE/VZu3mActy9AYE7uFFf4Vj3Bq1P3_uKB_wCLcBGAs/s320/20170609_101233B.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Display case at Le Grenier à Pain Coulaincourt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We found our guide near the <i>boulangerie</i>, Le Grenier à Pain Coulaincourt (one of eleven Paris locations of Le Grenier à Pain), and were treated to a delightful bakery tour as baguettes and croissants and a variety of other breads and pastries were being prepared.<br />
<br />
At the conclusion of the tour, we were given each a baguette and a croissant to take with us. And these we stored in my backpack so that our hands would be free for the railings and banisters necessary when we accepted the challenge of the hill's ascent. We could see Sacré-Cœur above us and decided to make our approach, fully knowing that we were expected in Montparnasse at two o'clock for our tour of Paris Noir but rejoicing in a Paris that was such a far cry from Versailles in almost every way.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qgSIGaF0Rs4/WXN59Uk9k_I/AAAAAAAACJI/mPUE0GlPLxMcWeUzIz3amViSKwecw4ONwCLcBGAs/s1600/20170609_IMG_2604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qgSIGaF0Rs4/WXN59Uk9k_I/AAAAAAAACJI/mPUE0GlPLxMcWeUzIz3amViSKwecw4ONwCLcBGAs/s320/20170609_IMG_2604.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sacré-Cœur from the garden behind</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The basilica of Sacré-Cœur is a wonder to behold, not only because of it being so unlikely situated atop that curious hill but because - with its domes and whitewashed exterior - it is ecclesial architecture unlike any other church in Paris. We knew that lunch might end up being our baguettes and some water from a street merchant, but such a fast would be well worth the witness.<br />
<br />
Near the top of the hill, we realized that we were approaching from behind the basilica. Like Notre Dame, Sacré-Cœur has a small park just to its south and east. This day, there was a young father stretching after a run while his very little daughter enjoyed "tummy time" on a blanket in the grass, and some women enjoying a conversation under a vine-covered pergola. We rested for a moment on a bench in the shade of a grand old, spreading tree and made a snack of some pieces of one of our baguettes.<br />
<br />
Recovered from our climb, we continued on to the church... which, once we circled round to the front, was ANYTHING but the idyllic, gentle setting where we had taken our tour eaten our snack. There were hawkers and street performers and so many tourists! Granted, there was also a magnificent view of the city, but there were so many distractions that, had it not been for Coco snapping photos, I think I might have abandoned the moment.<br />
<br />
Seeing the queue in front of the church and the hew of the crowd all around, at about 12:15 we fled Sacré-Cœur, vowing someday to return to Montmartre but realizing that we were likely going to be late for the start of our Paris Noir tour.<br />
<br />
The Metro deposited us at the Opéra. Coco was indicating by then that the heat was taking its toll, and she might not be fit for a three- to four-hour walking tour. Then, as we made our way single file down a particularly narrow stretch of sidewalk along the rue Laffitte, I at the front heard a cry and looked back about ten yards, to see Gwen seated on the curb holding her knee and rocking. Coco said, "Didn't you hear her go down?!" and sat beside her to comfort her.<br />
<br />
I confessed that I had not heard her fall and rushed back to offer comfort and whatever first aid I might. The knee was indeed swollen, but it wasn't bleeding and didn't seem broken. My first thought was that we were going to need some ice for that knee (and, as it turned out, her hip too). My second thought was that our afternoon tour was about to be scrapped.<br />
<br />
Coco and I gathered Gwen up. We were only about a block and a half from the hotel, and she was able with moderate assistance to limp herself there.<br />
<br />
I sent the two of them up to the room, while I went to the bar to solicit some ice. The bartender, upon hearing the need, hurried to the kitchen and emerged with a towel which he filled without any sort of lining. I moved as swiftly as I could, to keep ahead of dripping and deliver it as much intact as I could to my injured daughter.<br />
<br />
When I got to the room, Coco volunteered that the afternoon was not going to go as planned. She and Gwen would stay behind and entertain themselves while I raced to the Place du Panthéon.<br />
<br />
I called ahead to our afternoon tour guide, Kevi, using my phone (down to about an 8% charge), to say that we were down to one in our group and that this one would be late. "Signal me when you reach Panthéon," he said, "and I will let you know where we are."<br />
<br />
By the end of the call, my phone was at 4%. So, I grabbed our charging stick, turned off the phone, and plugged it into the stick as I ran to the Metro.<br />
<br />
I needed to take the No. 9 train to get to the Panthéon. If I could catch one in the next five minutes, I might be able to arrive at Place du Panthéon before Kevi had finished his first description. But I ran straight down the nearest descent to the tracks and found myself at the No. 8. Looking on a map, it appeared as though I could catch a No. 9 just a few blocks down. I resurfaced, and hustled farther east on boulevard Haussmann - not the direction I needed to go (south), but I wanted simply to board the 9 rather than have to transfer, some distance away.<br />
<br />
Half a mile and ten minutes later, I still hadn't found a stop for the 9. So, I went ahead and caught the 8, backtracking to the Opéra where I could transfer. By the time I was aboard the 9, it was half an hour later. There was no way to catch Kevi and the group at the Panthéon. Now, I put all my faith in the phone.<br />
<br />
The stick wasn't lighting up the charging indicator, and it was difficult to tell whether the outflow indicator on the stick was glowing blue (as it should have been, if it was charging the phone). So, I turned on the phone to see how much charge it had. It read 8%. And now, here came my stop.<br />
<br />
I alighted, surfaced, and walked a quarter mile or so to the Place, trying my best to remember a map I'd seen almost an hour ago and to follow street signs. Forty-five minutes late, I found the Place almost empty but certainly with no sign of a group of English-speaking people on a Paris Noir tour.<br />
<br />
The phone now at 6%, I tapped out a message to Kevi that I had arrived and began walking around the neighborhood.<br />
<br />
4%<br />
<br />
A notification sounded on the phone to indicate that I had received a text message. <i>Thank heaven!</i> I thought. I was going to be able to find them!<br />
<br />
The message was from Coco, reporting minutes after I'd left that my passport and wallet were still with her in the room. I had taken off the belt that contained them when settling Gwen down and applying the ice and had exited in such a flurry that I hadn't put it back on.<br />
<br />
As quickly as I could, I put the phone in "Ultra Power Saving" mode. The screen became almost unreadable, but I thought, <i>At least I'm going to be able to receive Kevi's reply.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>No reply.<br />
<br />
I widened my search to the next ring of blocks around the Panthéon. I saw no one, and the phone reported nothing from Kevi.<br />
<br />
I wondered whether Ultra Power Saving mode might not only render the screen dark but might also turn off sound alarms. The sun was so bright that I decided to try one last time to turn up the brightness of the screen to see whether I'd received his reply. Power read "2%" as I went to my Messages app.<br />
<br />
Then the screen went black.<br />
<br />
A mix of despair and anger settled in me, with surrender too, though, but also a measure of relief that I would have more time with Coco and Gwen than the day was allowing up to now. Gradually I wended my way back to the stop for the No. 9 Metro.<br />
<br />
Back at the room, when I plugged the phone back into its wall charger and turned it on, it immediately rang with a notification from Kevi: "We are at Luxembourg garden." That evening as I spoke with my Paris tour agent, she said, "You were probably right going back to the hotel, anyway. You'd have likely had a hard time finding him at the Garden; it's a big place."<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>UPDATE, 16 July</u><br />
Fittingly on the evening of Bastille Day, 14 July, I had another a conversation with Julia Browne - the agent who arranged, and for a great part conceived of, the Paris Noir tour we were to have taken a little over a month ago. She said she was newly returned to Toronto after a Boston screening of her agency's new film about the tour, which had won an award for Best Documentary. Julia said that she and Kevi were corresponding, to be able to supply me with the notes they use for their tours so that I could develop a presentation for my congregation. She further offered to bring the film to St. Louis, if the church would foot the bill for her to bring it here... "Next year, though," she said. "I've already booked it for as much as I can this year."<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/p/sabbatical.html">Read all my Sabbatical 2017 postings</a>.</i>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0Paris, France48.856614 2.352221900000017748.6894645 2.0294984000000178 49.0237635 2.6749454000000177tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2645529326071002434.post-20046747236967500982017-07-15T05:59:00.000-07:002017-07-25T15:04:18.233-07:00Sabbatical Day 4Thursday, 8 June 2017<br />
<br />
If we learned one thing, today, it is that Versailles is not our cup of tea... at all. I don't know why Coco and I didn't suspect this previously, but maybe seeing the Rick Steves episode about day trips from Paris a few days before we left caused us to doubt our perspective.<br />
<br />
Of course, in Steves' video the Hall of Mirrors there was not teeming with thousands of tourists and schoolchildren so that you couldn't get a descent snapshot without somebody either walking through or photo bombing.<br />
<br />
Yes, I did say schoolchildren! And now a confession: For as much as my own sensibilities may have been offended by the degree of opulence Louis XIV added to his father's hunting lodge and the way that this offense was surely hoisted on the backs of the poor of his country, my student-of-history conscience was swathed by the fact that Versailles is today a destination for local public schools. There were fourth and fifth graders <i>everyplace</i> seated in groups, listening to speakers, and making drawings <i>at Versailles!</i> the way that Gwen's fourth grade class did for learning about the Civil War at the Jefferson Barracks Museum. Can you imagine?!<br />
<br />
With the help of a very patient and well-mannered guide, Clothilde, whose ironic sense of humor was not our own but who nevertheless was very helpful and pleasant, we walked through the public bedchambers of the king and queen and learned that the private bedchambers were where the real action took place.<br />
<br />
Evidently, Louis would have a ceremonial bedtime, each evening, for the sake of visiting dignitaries and guests. Once tucked in, he would nick off to a mistress's bedroom or his own. Then, in the morning he would be wakened by an attendant who would guide him back to his own bedroom again, where a ceremonial rising would be orchestrated for the same crowd... because who wouldn't want to see the Sun King set and rise with the sun itself! (It would be a wonder of creation, wouldn't it.)<br />
<br />
The day was hot - in the 80s Fahrenheit with a northern hemisphere summer season sun (and did I mention the thousands of tourists and schoolchildren?) making the interiors simmer, despite their open windows. We found ourselves wondering that, even considering the expense, the French government has not figured out a way to air condition Louis's country residence.<br />
<br />
We had purchased a tour of the gardens as well, but the heat - now climbing toward 90 degrees with not a cloud in the sky or a breeze - made the outdoor touring unbearable. French nobility in the 17th Century bore no love for shade trees, and the gardens at Versailles reflect that. After the first stage of the outdoor tour, we handed back our companion tourist the parasol he had loaned to Coco, and hoofed it through the palace entrance to the front. I sent Coco and Gwen to the shade of an adjoining building and - after a school group of at least forty 11-year-olds - retrieved my backpack and the lunches we had stored there, from the palace guards.<br />
<br />
Just beyond the palace grounds, near a park where we should have gone and could have sat on benches under spreading trees rather than on a curb where we were actually seated, we had our lunches and then walked slowly back to the train.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://pastordavedenoon.blogspot.com/p/sabbatical.html">Read all my Sabbatical 2017 postings</a>.</i>Pastor Dave Denoon's "Post Pastoral"http://www.blogger.com/profile/05738536652302294706noreply@blogger.com0