I arrived in Dublin around 9:00 Wednesday morning, following an uneventful, though two hours late, flight from Greensboro via Newark. The Clerk of the Session of Adelaide Road Presbyterian Church met me, and he and another man, Stuart Ferguson (the Treasurer-Guardian of the church) treated me to my first Irish Breakfast. After sitting on a plane for so many hours I can’t say I was hungry, but the fried eggs, sausage, bacon, fried tomato, beans, toast and jam tasted good and the company was gracious and informative.
After breakfast I was taken around the corner from the restaurant to the church itself, then escorted up three flights of stairs to The Attic, one of four apartments in the church and what will be Nancy and my home for the next two months. The apartment is wonderfully light and airy, with a fully equipped kitchen, a living area, a bedroom and a bath. The Youth Worker of the church and his family (wife and twins), who had been living in the apartment, had vacated it on Monday and moved out to the larger empty manse, and in the short span between their move and my arrival the apartment had been completely painted, cleaned and the kitchen stocked with new dishes, pots and pans, cutlery, etc. The apartment has an internet connection, and two days ago Stuart rolled a television and satellite connector in—what more could you ask for!


Wednesday night, after dinner at the Clerk of Session’s home, I went to the mid-week prayer meeting where I was introduced to about ten members of the church for the first time. I also toured the church building and saw not only the worship center but the crèche (child-care area) where a full-time day care program operates and the area where the DoleBusters, a government sponsored program to help people become emotionally and financially independent, operates. Both of these programs are seen as outreach ministries of the church.


Saturday morning Nancy arrived and joined me in the apartment—so our Dublin life has begun. Sunday morning at 11:00 I led the first of nine worship services I will be leading, with a focus on the book of Philippians. Then Wednesday evening I began a mid-week series on the Parables of Jesus, a series that will also go on for two months.
Dublin is a very cosmopolitan city, and the church and apartment are in the center of it all. Just two blocks away from St. Stephen’s Green, the central park of the city, and just a few blocks farther along from the Liffey River, the church has defined its mission as ministering to the city and committed to that definition by a radical renovation of the entire facility. The pastor who completed that renovation left the church for a call in Belfast just last month, and in the Irish Presbyterian Church the call of a new pastor will take nine months to a year. I am here for the summer, taking his place, as part of that transitional period.
In the months ahead I will try to communicate some of the impressions I get of Ireland and some of the experiences Nancy and I are having. I will also try to reflect on the ministry of this church and the church of Christ in this part of the world. For today, however, I will just give this introduction plus post a couple pictures of this, now our, part of the world…


The first two photos above are photos of St. Stephen’s Green, the central park of Dublin. Given as a gift to the city by the Guiness family in the 1850’s…

The next ones are of a typical Dublin day on Grafton, the walking street on the south side of the Liffey…Note the umbrellas...

In just a few days Nancy and I leave for Dublin. I will be going straight from Greensboro and Nancy will go there via Washington DC, after the annual Fulbright Orientation. For two months this blog will be coming from the Emerald Isle and introduce people and places from Adelaide Presbyterian Church to the Aran Islands (a place I have wanted to visit for years). After that, God willing, it will come from the cycle road as a couple of us hit the trail from Barcelona to Brussels and, possibly, on to Berlin. Then a return to Albania and friends and ministry in Tirana and Erseke. It will be hard to be away from family (especially granddaughter) for four months, but it is a privilege to have an opportunity to experience and minister in so many places.



Before leaving Greensboro, though, I should share a few photos of cycling places right around our home. In Seattle cycling is wonderful: the Burke Gillman trail along the shores of Lake Washington, the ferry ride over to the Peninsula and the quiet roads there, the snow-capped peaks east and west and the beauty of the Sound. I knew I would miss these and sure enough, there is none of that here and I do miss it. But there is a beauty and tranquility about this place, and cycling is a wonderful way to experience it—and many people do just that. It is not uncommon to see individuals, groups or families cycling on the roads around our home. And just behind us is a long and beautiful cycle/jogging path through the woods, past ponds and a lake, and over roads. Every day I see more people wearing cycling clothes, or just recreational clothes, on their bikes going out for a ride, than I would see on an average day in Seattle.


From our front door there are various rides, all different and most with both historical sites along the way. So, this is a cycling city—and I am glad!...Now let’s see about Dublin next….

When we first moved to Greensboro I wondered what kind of a city it was. I soon learned that it was a city with a long history, one dating back to revolutionary days and before. It was a place of battle in the Revolutionary War, as I noted last week. It was a city with a history of the Civil War—there is a monument indicating the place where Jefferson Davis twice met with his cabinet. It was a city with a history of the Civil Rights movement—the Woolworth still stands where four young black men sat down at the counter and refused to leave until served, thus beginning the sit-in movement that changed the face of America in the ‘60s.
But I was curious about one phenomenon which seemed out of place—trash. As I drove along city streets I could not help noticing household furnishings piled along the way. Sofas, mattresses, microwaves, cabinets, doors, lamps—all sorts of used and abused furnishings were a common sight on the side of many of the streets. And the same was true in every neighborhood. I was curious.
Then I learned the rest of the story, a story that has interesting counterparts in every place we have lived. It is the story of trash and how it is dealt with. I was used to the custom in Seattle and became used to the custom in Albania—now it is Greensboro’s turn.



What I learned was this—that there are five clearly understood ways of getting rid of household waste, and that together they work very well. First there is the scavenger. That explained the furnishings by the side of the road. People put out things they do not want or need any longer, and anybody passing by is free to take it. And they do. Most of the things put out disappear within a day or two—the old adage one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.

Then there is the garbage truck. It comes around predictably every week and empties the bins that every person has and every person puts out on the street every week on the appointed day. Then there is the recycle truck, another truck that comes by weekly and empties the recycle bins that every person puts out on the appointed day. Then after that comes the yard waste truck. This truck picks up limbs and leaves and whatever that is left ou the side of the street by gardeners, pruners or whomever. Finally, after these have passed, comes the buck truck. This truck picks up anything and everything that is left. If a mattress has not been spoken for, it is thrown on the buck truck. If debris from a remodel has not been claimed, that goes into the buck truck. When I asked Roy, the fellow helping with some home changes for us, whether he would haul away the debris from our work, he looked at me somewhat strangely and told me about the buck truck. That is its forte—everything else…
So, I guess that the periodic trip to the dump is no longer part of my world, here in Greensboro. Here there is a different system, and it seems like a good one. Useable things are re-used, and the rest disappear. An elaborate system, with five different parts to it, and it works. What a deal!

And as I write this it has made me start thinking about two ways the theme of trash could be applied to our lives. The first is that each of us has something or things in our lives that we need to get rid of—I mean sins. There are things we keep hold of but need to get rid of. And I wonder what mechanisms or systems we have accessed that can help in the removal process… God has provided several ways of dealing with our failures and temptations, the things we ought to discard—but do we utilize them or do hold tightly to the things that ought to be left on the side of the street to be picked up.

The second is very different, it is the wonder of grace. That is grace that picks up the pieces of our broken lives and redeems them, and us. Grace means that God discards no one. All people, no matter how broken or used are invited into his presence and can be transformed by his grace. Maybe, following through with the thought, God is the scavenger…or maybe the buck truck—picking us up when no one else wants to… Who knows. Just a thought…

The skies looked dark to the revolutionary troops the morning of the Battle of the Guilford Courthouse. The 1900 British troops under General Lord Cornwallis were well trained and successful—and they were on the march north. A victorious conclusion to Cornwallis’ campaign, a prelude to an invasion of Virginia, would end the uprising and the colonies in the Americas would remain within the British fold.

The colonists’ troops, regulars and militia, were commanded by Major General Nathaniel Greene, a leader who was held in the highest respect by General George Washington. Greene’s army consisted of 4400 men, a superior number to the British but not nearly as well seasoned or equipped as the enemy.

Cornwallis had been pursuing Greene and his army for some time, and Greene had managed to stay ahead of his adversary, but on March 14, 1781 Greene halted his troops at the Guilford Courthouse, formed them into three lines and waited for dawn. On March 15 Cornwallis saw his chance to rid himself of Greene and went on the attack. His troops, though tired and hungry, marched on in lines, up the road which is today New Garden Road. The first line of American militia did its damage against the British wave, then disappeared into the forest. The same happened with the second line so that when the British faced the strongest and most professional enemy, General Greene’s Continental Infantry, they had already suffered serious losses. But the British were still stronger than the colonists, and while the third encounter deteriorated into such a fierce melee of hand to hand combat that at one point General Cornwallis ordered his canon to fire grapeshot into the mass of humanity, cutting down both American and British alike, in the end Greene’s army retreated.

Cornwallis did not follow, however, as while the battle was technically his victory the cost had been too great. Five hundred and fifty British troops had been killed or wounded, including some of the finest leaders, and the remaining troops were exhausted. Following the battle at Guilford Courthouse, after a short pause, Cornwallis did continue north into Virginia, but now discouraged and with his ranks depleted, instead of victory he marched to Yorktown and his surrender. Some historians would say that Cornwallis’ surrender really was a consequence of what happened at Guilford Courthouse, where an American victory was for the first time in sight.

We now live about one mile from where that important battle took place, a site now preserved as the Guilford Courthouse National Military Park. Every March 15 weekend there is a reenactment of the battle, and on certain other occasions history buffs come to relive and reenact some of the elements of life in that area at the time of the battle. Last weekend was one of those weekends, and Nancy and I took advantage of the opportunity to learn and experience this bit of history.

Living in this part of the country, where the nation was birthed, is fascinating. It shines a new light on the miracle that our country is and on the price that was paid to make it possible for us to have what we now have. Perhaps we all have something to learn from that bit of history, and perhaps we should ask ourselves whether we sometimes take for granted what is ours only because over 200 years ago some people chose to risk their lives. Perhaps we should be more grateful to them, and to those who continue to take the risks and make the sacrifice for us all...

Moving to a new state, in fact to what seems like a whole new part of the world, means leaving behind many loved ones, regular routines, important responsibilities, and familiar places. That is hard to do... But it also means searching for God's call in the new place and with new people--something that can be both hard and rewarding.

For us this has meant a call to spend time with a daughter, son-in-law and grandhild--a gift and a joy that we are making the most of! But there is almost always more than family to God's call, and we continue to seek the other parts. So this past week has been spent on one that we know is part of this new stage in life, the mundane but important task of making a house into a home.

The home we bought is just right for us: small, functional, near the kids, and in an extremely pleasant setting. But it looks like it had been used as a short-term rental and was prepared to sell by a surface treatment. The result is a house with plenty of cretive possibilities--and because it is not a large house those possibilities are not onerous but an achievable challenge. Beides that, we have moved to the furniture capital of the world (near us is Furnitureland South, the world's largest furniture store), so furnishing our home (we brought nothing with us except pieces of furniture that fit well in Emily's house) should be interesting.



Through our real estate agent we made contact with a retired engineer who drives a school bus and does home repair projects. So all last week Roy and Will attacked several small projects and one semi-major one, one of the two bathrooms. When I was a kid my weekend gardening job sometimes expanded into working alongside the homeowner on various tasks. Later as a homeowner myself out of necessity I gradually learned many of the skills necessary for keeping a house going and even improving it. So many of the tasks Roy and I are doing are not new to me, but this time there are two differences: when we left Shoreline I got rid of almost all my tools and I am committed to not collecting them all over again and I have time... Instead of squeezing in the tasks a bit at a time, late at night or on my one day off a week, I can start a task and keep at it until it is finished. That feels like a luxury--and it is.

Now I know that the physical condition of a house does not make it a home in the sense that God defines a home. Sadly, I have known many people whose houses are in excellent condition, outfitted with the newest furnishings and assembled with the finest of taste--but which are more like museums than homes. For these people a house is a fortress, reserved for the pleasure of the owner and, perhaps, a few select others. But to God a house is a tool for ministry, and for most people the most valuable tool they have. Part of that ministry is for the owner--it is a place of security and comfort. But that is not the whole. If a house is a gift from God, then it is given to be used in ministry to others as well as for the one to whom it is given. And I believe that a house truly becomes a home not when the owners feel most satisfied with it, but when God feels most satisfied with the way in which it is being used for him.

What this means to me is that while this time for me is a time to work on the physical aspects of the house God has given us, that work needs to be done with a thought to what the house can be used for in the totality of God's call to Nancy and me. The sophistication and fineness of a house is not the issue, after all a stable once was a house for the most important birth ever to take place. The issue is the availability of the resource called house to the work of God, that is what makes it a home. The work for those blessed enough to own it, and the work through them to others.

In the end, the accountability that God will hold us to includes the use of the gifts he has given us. For most of us one of those gifts is a house, so the question before each of us is the same as that for any gift, how was my house a home? That is, how did I use it not only for myself but for fulfilling the unique call to serve that God gave me?

Today is a rainy day. It was in the 90’s two days ago, and will be again in a couple days. But in the time between it feels a little like Seattle—only there are no mountains to be clouded in the mist. The little lake in our back yard takes on a particular beauty in the rain, and the geese who inhabit the area, often greeting us when we drive in, take to the pond. We are going to have to become somewhat familiar with the birds around this place. Sometimes the red of a cardinal is obvious, but then there is the bright orange beaked little bird and the small brilliant blue one. And there is some beaver-like kind of animal inhabiting the woods behind us. It may be a muskrat or a marmot, both are found in the area and I will have to get a better view or photo to be sure. Or maybe Russ Quackenbush can come visit and take us on a tour…



Most of our time is spent in two activities—getting our new-to-us house inhabitable and spending time with granddaughter and family. The former is a particular challenge as when we left Shoreline we divested ourselves of almost all our furniture, and the things we kept fit well in Emily and Steve’s house. But it is kind of fun to start over…And besides Home Depot and Lowes are only minutes away. The latter, family time, is an absolute joy.

Once again I am reminded of the words of The Preacher, There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

Today it is warm in Greensboro. I was greeted by spring-like weather when I returned from my pastors’ conference at Mt. Hermon, but today is more summer-like than spring-like. I suspect there will be some hot days ahead, but that is just fine with me…


Sunday was a special day in the Ackles and Content families. Our granddaughter Colette was baptized. The non-denominational church that Steve and Emily have become a part of both dedicates and baptizes children, doing one at the first service and another at the second. It goes without saying that for all of us it was a meaningful time, with Nancy and I and Steve’s mom there. I was asked to participate by offering a prayer at the end of the baptism, and there were tears of joy as the ceremony went forward and as slides of Colette and the family passed by on the PowerPoint behind us. A party at the Content home afterwards capped off the day with good friends sharing food and laughter.

The understanding of Emily and Steve’s church regarding baptism is not exactly the same as the Presbyterian way, but I know God hears our hearts and that such little differences only make the whole body of Christ richer. After all it is true that together we are one body—not despite but because of our differences… The only problem differences create is when we believe our way is the only true way, and others are on the wrong path. While there certainly are parameters of truth, points of faith and life that define what a Christian is and outside of which the very word Christian does not apply. But too often the arguing between churches takes place in areas of unclarity and uncertainty, areas where more people ought to be heeding Augustine’s maxim, In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, in all things love.

Monday was another day of celebration in the Content family, but this time for a very different reason. The house in Miami that Emily and Steve had been trying for nearly a year to sell finally closed on Friday, which meant they had enough cash to buy a second car which with his work and their baby they need. Only the car they bought was not just a car, but was the car Steve had wanted for years, a 1991 BMW M5. Now to me travel and cycling mean a great deal, while I am content with driving my 1973 Dodge Van, but I know that cars mean a great deal to some people, and Steve is one of these people. And they say that the M5 is a safe car, a reliable car, and a good car for a growing family… At least that is how it seems or what they say…


So, now Nancy and I are in Greensboro sharing life with a daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. At this point I guess it ought to begin to settle into my spirit that life is really changed for us and 37 years of pastoral/parish ministry has come to an end. There is sadness in that for me, and wondering. But at the same time this new place with its tasks: turning a new-to-us house into our home, sharing in raising a child, finding a place in a local church and community, building new relationships, and whatever God has in store for us is an adventure. It is different and it is a challenge and a joy at the same time—and most of all it is God’s call for this season of life… At least until the end of June when Nancy and I head off to Dublin, Ireland, while I serve the Adelaide Street Presbyterian Church as pastoral supply for two months.

For years they have called them the Three H’s. They are a forest, a lake and a mountain. They are three large independent Christian conference centers in California—Forest Home, Lake Hume and Mt. Hermon.

This week I am at the mountain—Mt. Hermon. It is a special place, filled with the history of countless camps and conferences with the best speakers and the most moving programs. I am here to attend the 35th annual gathering of Presbyterian pastors called the West Coast Presbyterian Pastors’ Conference. This conference is one that I helped organize as the Young Presbyterian Pastors’ Conference many years ago, but as time passed and reality dawned, the Young was dropped out of the name of the conference. I have attended many years since the first conference—in fact I am considered one of the old timers.

I go to this conference because the place is so beautiful. Located in the redwood hills above Santa Cruz, one could hardly think of a more wonderful place to come and get away for a while. Very near San Jose, with its international airport and the hustle of Silicon Valley, it is in a world all of its own. Over the years the conference facilities have been developed into first-class accommodations, and nestled as they are in the middle of towering redwoods, with a creek flowing through, they compare with any facilities anywhere. Walking in the woods or along the creek, enjoying the beauty of God’s creation, is truly an awesome experience.

I also attend this conference because of the excellent program that has characterized the conference. Part of the program is the inspiring worship, where we sing and pray and present ourselves to God with hearty enthusiasm. Another part of the program is the consistently inspiring presentations by the leaders who are invited to address the group. Each year two people share the speaking times, one in the mornings and one in the evenings. One is usually a pastor who emphasizes the pastoral role that attendees bear, while the other is usually a theologian who brings some particular facet of his or her particular scholarship to the group. This year’s speakers are outstanding—challenging, engaging and thoughtful—which is usually the way it is.


But the main reason I attend this conference is because of the relationships which I rekindle each year. Some of the people who attend this conference, like me, have been coming since their ministries began—since they were young Presbyterian pastors. That means that some of us have shared lives and stories for forty years. We have gone together through deep waters of trials and troubles, and celebrated together the victories of the faith. New people come every year, are greeted and soon become part of the community, so that the conference is today as well attended as it ever has been. But the older relationships have a special significance to me, a special power to encourage, and a special ability to refresh.


The conference has its unusual traditions—the most well known of which is a night of unabashed foolishness and laughter that rings out every Thursday at our dinner and “talent show”. Regulars give variations on expected performances, new people bring the group to tears of laughter, and speakers are routinely humbled as they are made the brunt of skits and jokes. All is good fun and the camaraderie is unexcelled.
As far as anyone knows, this conference is unique. Tonight’s speaker says he knows of nothing like it in the Christian world. That may or may not be true, but most agree that there is nothing like it in the Presbyterian world. For some it is the glue that holds them together in their ministry, and for others it is the glue that holds them in the Presbyterian fold. For all who attend this conference is a microcosm of what the church is supposed to be, and even of what heaven will be—a place of sharing, of encouraging, of listening, of learning and of laughing as the people of God…The week is a reminder of what a privilege it is to be a part of the family of God, a family that is created to sing, share, praise and laugh in the light and love of the Holy One! GK Chesterton said, Joy is the business of heaven. That makes this conference a little bit of heaven--as Isaiah also said 12:6 “Shout aloud and sing for joy, people of Zion, for great is the Holy One of Israel among you."

Our new home in Greensboro--just the right size








and a forest and a lake in the back yard...


I am currently on a plane from Seattle to San Jose, leaving a week of renewing relationships with family and friends from Shoreline and heading towards the 36th annual renewal of relationships at the West Coast Presbyterian Pastors’ Conference. I helped begin this conference all those years ago, although then it was called the West Coast Young Presbyterian Pastors’ Conference. But times do change…
They say you can’t go back. And I guess that is true. In fact I guess it is true about every day and every moment and every place and every relationship. The obvious reason for this is that in a sense we are new every moment—at least every day. Every day is its own new gift, its own new challenge, its own new door to walk through and opportunity or peril to face. And every day we bring the past into the present and make decisions and act on those decisions, and no matter what has happened before or who we have been up until that point, the new decisions and actions have their own profound impact on creating who we are at that new moment and who we will be in the new future. It is that intermixing of the past and the present that creates the now and the future. In the whole thing the only constant is God himself, and I assume that was what the author of Lamentations had in mind when he reminded himself, and us, of this: Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:21-23)

So, going back to Shoreline for the first time since leaving almost a year ago was not going back—it was going forward. It was going forward and building on what had been for twenty years—and on what has been during the last year. It was a time of celebrating and remembering and renewing and catching up and appreciating afresh what twenty years of life together had been, and also of what through the time apart it was becoming. It was a happy time of seeing good friends, of catching up on where God had led them, and at the same time it had sober moments of sharing grief over the losses that some had experienced in the time apart.

One of the great truths of the Christian faith is that when Paul talks about being one body in Christ he is describing an eternal and present reality: we are one. No matter what time or distance separates us, as believers we are together in life and ministry. Even though we are miles or perhaps even continents apart, as each of us continues to follow God’s leading and serve him, we are doing it together. In success and failure, in joy and sorrow, in exhilaration and in fear, we are one. And the work we did when together is continued just as it was when we were “together” when we are apart.

I have always felt that the true measure of the work of a minister is not what happens when that person is “on the job” but rather what is “left behind”, what goes on and grows on. And I celebrate the life and growth that I see in and through the people Nancy and I “left behind” when we left Calvin. I thank God for the faithfulness of his people, the interjection of new life and new ideas by new people, the love, laughter and tears that we can share, and the faithfulness of God.
In short, I thank God for the chance to go back and visit good friends and co-workers in God’s vineyard. I thank God for the chance to celebrate what was. I thank God for the chance to learn about and celebrate what has been since we left. And I thank God for his ongoing work that leads us into the future, a new future that is built on the past but that is truly new every morning… And above all I thank God for his faithfulness—every day, his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

The Lord is risen!
He is risen indeed!

Today’s Easter message at the church Emily and Steve attend was a very good message. The pastor talked about our deep affinity with rescuers, and our desire to see someone come and liberate those who are oppressed. He illustrated his message with video clips from The Gladiator and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And he invited all to see and acknowledge Christ as the ultimate rescuer—through the power of the resurrection. The service was challenging and uplifting—and it was made even better for me as throughout the whole service I was the official holder of Colette, our granddaughter, who spent most of the time asleep in my lap.

But I confess that I did miss certain things that have been part of my life and Easter celebrations for many years. The Sunday before I had missed the children marching down the aisle with palm branches, and I had missed the special services of Holy Week. Today I missed the people with whom I have shared many Easters. I missed the Easter flowers at Calvin. I missed sharing a message myself. I missed singing the Hallelujah Chorus. And I missed starting the service with The Lord is risen! He is risen indeed! Somehow Happy Easter is just not the same…

I guess what it all says is that my roots in a more traditional and liturgical setting, although not as strong as many I know, are a part of me that have value and carry meaning to me. There is something to be said for contemporary worship and new forms, but without the roots in the traditions of the church there is a thin-ness to them that does not do justice to the historical nature of our faith. We did not invent the gospel in this generation, nor should we forget the history which the gospel brings with it…

In any case I am now back in the USA, having finished six weeks in Mexico. My teaching went well, and five days in wonderful Cozumel have ended. I will be leaving tomorrow for the west coast for two weeks, but my life has changed—-I am officially no longer a westerner but am an easterner (south-east) as, after a year of being homeless, Nancy and I are now homeowners once again. We have purchased a small home in Greensboro, North Carolina, just four minutes from Emily, Steve and Colette. Our car even has North Carolina plates now. We feel a bit traitorous, as both our ancestors made the arduous trek west well over a hundred and fifty years ago--seeking a better life. But such is the adventure God has given us today.

But—before I leave Mexico entirely, I said I would make comments on a hacienda visit I took, so I should. The Yucatan Peninsula was one of the wealthiest places on earth from the mid 19th century through the first of the 20th century. The reason was that this era was the heyday of the great sailing ships, when they plied the oceans carrying the world’s cargo. And the ships needed hemp for their riggings—and the Yucatan supplied the hemp. When steamships replaced the sailing ships, and when nylon replaced hemp, everything changed, but for a period the Yucatan produced what the world needed—and it got rich.


At least a few people got rich—that was the landed aristocracy, the hacienda owners, the most direct descendents of the Spanish conquerors. The pattern was standard, and it made money for a few on the sweat of many. A hacienda consisted of a great home for the landowner, the factory necessary to spin the raw hemp into twine or rope, and thousands of very poor, very hardworking commoners living in primitive conditions. It was a kind of slavery, with the workers forced to purchase all they needed from the only local store, a store owned by the hacienda owner. People were not bought and sold, but forever in debt, being paid little or nothing, the effect was the same. And the work was hard. The henequen plant is rough and pointed. The temperatures regularly rose beyond 100 degrees, and the land is dry.

Today the Yucatan is dotted with decaying haciendas. Most of them are abandoned, although a few are being turned into tourist destinations. Around almost all, no matter how decayed, is a small village, a village that houses those who used to labor in the field or their children. The villages are very poor and the people live in them in ways not unlike how they lived when the hacienda was in its glory.

The hacienda I visited kept producing hemp on a very small scale until the 1950’s. Today it is fascinating to see, to learn about, or to stay on site as a Bed and Breakfast guest. One marvels at the ingenuity needed to keep such an operation going, but that emotion is mixed with sadness about the whole system which it represented as well. A part of history.

Last Sunday I had the privilege of preaching at the main downtown Presbyterian Church in Merida, Divino Salvador. The church has an historic presence in the city and has been responsible for planting many other Presbyterian churches in the Yucatan. It has its share of problems right now, but it was a joy to be able to be part of its life, and perhaps what I shared could be helpful in its faith journey.
a I finished my classes at the seminary on Thursday afternoon and left Merida on Friday, taking the bus to Playa del Carmen, south of Cancun on the Mexican Riviera. From there I took a ferry across to Cozumel, the largest island in Mexico. I first visited Cozumel with my parents in 1961 and have returned many times since then. It is one of my favorite places on earth, and each time I arrive I feel like I have come back home.


However, in those many years since my first visit Cozumel has been transformed by the power of the tourist industry and the television. The main (only) village on the island used to be a place where the plaza was the center of community and family life, where people would gather to listen to music, walk around and meet friends. It is now surrounded by t-shirt shops, bars and restaurants that cater to the hoards of people who are disgorged from huge cruise liners that stop for the day so people can say they have visited Mexico. Signs hawking t-shirts 6 for $20 or beer for $1 are everywhere, along with shops selling diamonds and diamond-substitutes, tequila and native handcrafts. I know that for many people cruise travel is a very positive experience, and I am not trying to be critical of it, and I also know that the tourist industry has made this part of the world a place of full employment (albeit mostly low-paying jobs). But it has changed the face and the culture of the island.

After arriving on Friday I spent all day Saturday in Cancun, a one hour bus ride north of the ferry dock at Playa del Carmen. There I had lunch with Rafael Sanchez, who was involved at Calvin several years ago, and who now lives in Cancun and is married to Valya, who is Ukrainian but was at Calvin for two years. Small world when Mexico and Ukraine meet in Shoreline! Rafael is a graduate of the music school at the seminary in Merida, and now teaches music plus is starting a church in his home. After a long lunch, catching up on many things, I spent several hours with the people of his church talking to them about leadership and church growth. The church is small but has enthusiasm and is seeking God’s guidance in its founding and moving out.
Sunday I was invited by the current pastor, a former student of mine, to preach at the main Presbyterian church in Cozumel. The church is alive and full of the Spirit, and it was a joy to share with them on Palm Sunday. The main service was in the evening and I had been asked to share out of Philippians 2:1-11. As I studied this passage I recognized the emphasis of Paul was not on the exaltation of Christ but on his humiliation—as an example of the humility which is to be at the heart of any healthy relationships—in the family, community or church. While here in Mexico, partly by teaching 1 Corinthians and partly by reflecting on the various situations I have seen in the churches, I have been reminded of the call of Christ to move beyond the most common motives for fallen human interaction, pride and power, to Christ’s motives—love expressed in actions of caring rooted in a deep sense of humility. As Paul says it in Philippians 2:3 and 4, Do nothing from selfishness or conceit, but in humility count others better than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Simple, yet so difficult!

Oh, of course I had to make a circle tour around the island on my bicycle, and did that yesterday as well. The west side of the island is a string of large resort hotels with beautiful beaches, while the east is wild, windswept (the next land to the east is probably N. Africa) and beautiful, while the land between the coasts is desert. The circle tour was only about 40 miles, but very interesting, and always very hot and windy…

I knew it would happen some day, but it happened today. As my class on Las Epistolas Paulinas (The Pauline Epistles) was letting out, after five weeks and the final session I will have with the students, one of the students asked me how old I am. I told her I am 63 years old, and she then informed me, “That’s why you remind me of my grandfather.”… Yes, the bloom of youth has wilted—and long ago!

What do I do here in Merida? Actually I am pretty busy. First, I need to get adjusted to the language, as all I do is in Spanish. People ask me where I learned Spanish, and I truthfully do not know. My high school Spanish classes were helpful, I am sure, and spending a school year in Mexico City while in college, although the classes were in English and all my friends there were Americans, was also helpful. But I just like the language and have gravitated towards people and places where it is used. My facility right now is certainly not perfect, but I am grateful that I seem to be able to be understood in both the classes I teach and the churches I preach in. And I know that each time I am forced to interact in the language I learn a little more. From time to time, like when I order at a fast-food eating place, people talk so fast that I can be completely lost. But I do pretty well talking about justification by faith and the like…And in the sermon I have used here several times this visit, my marvelous imitation of the honking of Canadian Geese crosses any and all language barriers…

So, every morning I rise and greet my friend who sits on the fence outside my window. Then after breakfast I venture forth to one of the two classes I am teaching—one on Monday and Tuesday, the other on Wednesday and Thursday. The first is on the Pauline Epistles, the second on preaching. The Epistles class lasts 4 hours, the other 5 hours, and they really do take a lot of preparation. Fortunately the Legters have a high-speed internet connection and a printer, so I can get information and print out worksheets, Bible manuscripts (I always use manuscripts rather than the Bibles themselves), and class notes. That helps much!

So the mornings Monday-Thursday are spent in the classroom teaching. Then there is the late lunch, from 1:30-2:30, and time for study and preparation. Late in the afternoon, as the sun is getting ready to set, I take about an hour for a cycle ride in the area. My usual route is 12 miles, most of it on a new highway that is being constructed but that is not yet open to traffic--except for the occasional tricitaxi (three wheel vehicle of choice in the Yucatan)which plies the same route. A perfect place to ride, one that reminds me of years ago when Nancy and I were living in Pasadena. Our home was about 3 miles from Fuller Seminary, where I worked, and they were building a new freeway directly on the route from about a block away from the house to a block from the seminary. What a delight it was to ride several feet above the mad traffic of Pasadena each day—looking down on the stopped cars while enjoying 6 lanes all to myself… That stopped a couple days before they opened the freeway—I got a ticket. There were several police cars parked by my exit and one of the officers motioned me
over and gave me a ticket for riding on a freeway. I was incredulous, and frustrated at this show of bureaucratic foolishness, so went to court. The judge asked me if I planned on riding on the freeway any more, to which I replied, of course not since it is now open for traffic. The ticket was upheld, the fine was $1 and the judge suspended it… I am glad the Mexican police do not concern themselves with cyclists on my empty road here.

Anyway, in the evenings I may study or visit friends here. Then the day repeats. On weekends I have been busy doing various things, including preaching in different churches.

All in all, the time here goes by very quickly, and the days seem to be filled with things that count. Which is what I like! Ecclesiastes 3:1 For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven..

Tuesday evening Kathi and Judy arrived in Merida, their plane coming to rest next to Air Force One. The Ahinas and I met them at the airport, had dinner then left them to rest. The next day was interesting—particularly in the evening. The Legters had informed us of a special concert of Yucatecan choral music which was to be held in the Opera House and was to be directed by an ex-seminary professor whom I know, so we all decided to attend. Just before leaving the Legters’ home, as the sun began to set the sky filled with the brilliant colors of a tropical sunset. Hard to capture in a photo, but as you can see, I tried.

Then, just as we were leaving the house, something I have heard of all my life but never experienced happened—the locust came. The only sound was the sound of their wings beating, but the sky darkened as a cloud of who knows how many millions descended. About five inches long, an ugly brown, and unstoppable, they landed on everything. For some reason they were not eating, but had they been in the mood the vegetation of the area would have disappeared. Deuteronomy 28 records the warning of God for disobedience, You shall carry much seed into the field, and shall gather little in; for the locust shall consume it…. All your trees and the fruit of your ground the locust shall possess. Joel 1 prophesied, What the locust swarm has left the great locusts have eaten; what the great locusts have left the young locusts have eaten; what the young locusts have left other locusts have eaten. And in Exodus 10 we read, So Moses stretched out his staff over Egypt, and the Lord made an east wind blow across the land all that day and all that night. By morning the wind had brought the locusts; they invaded all Egypt and settled down in every area of the country in great numbers. Never before had there been such a plague of locusts, nor will there ever be again. They covered all the ground until it was black. They devoured all that was left after the hail-- everything growing in the fields and the fruit on the trees. Nothing green remained on tree or plant in all the land of Egypt.

The next day the locust were here until around 11:00 am. Then, rising together in the same way they had arrived, they left—swarming in a cloud and moving on to another part of the city or suburbs. Having experienced this I can see clearly how horrific their appearance must have been in times long gone by, and in parts of the world today. Merciless, uncontrollable and devastating…

We left the seminary grounds that evening and went to the Ahina’s home for a wonderful meal of a typical Yucatecan dish which Antonio’s mother had spent most of the day preparing. Hollowed out mounds of Edam cheese filled with ground beef and a cheese sauce. Then mango cheesecake for desert. Delicious, but filling is not an adequate word to describe it…

Then to the concert, which was excellent. An acapella choir singing Yucatecan love songs. Some Cuban influence, some indigenous, some sounding a bit like Gilbert and Sullivan. Then greeting the director afterwards.

Quite a mixture and quite an evening… In a few hours the experiences of beauty, despair, friendship in Christ, fine food and fine art. Inescapably present, but probably always there if we stop to open our eyes to see what God puts in front of us… Psalm 78:12 In the sight of their fathers he wrought …

Last night presidents Bush and Calderon drove by. The Ahinas, Kathi, Judy and I were having dinner at a taqueria along the main boulevard of Merida, Avenida Montejo, when we looked out the window and saw several police cars leading several large black limousines with small flags of the United States and Mexico flying from the front corners. They were on their way from dinner in the campo (agricultural areas) to their hotel just off the Avenida. They did not stop to say hello, but we were engrossed in conversation and would probably have been rude hosts anyway.
When Nancy and I were in Albania, Donald Rumsfeld visited. Living right next to the embassy, for several days prior to and during his visit we noticed lots of large men dressed in slacks and sport coats standing on the street corners. I had to go to the hotel he was staying in during his visit, and the same men were there—and more of them. Being a very staunch supporter of the United States, the visit was a happy occasion and Mr. Rumsfeld was clearly an honored and welcomed guest.
It is hard to say how Mr. Bush was greeted. The press played up demonstrations and protests, but they were in fact negligible. People say that the protesters were not from the area, but were sent in by outside groups. Whether they represented the feelings of many I do not know, but my guess is that most of them were “regulars” who show up and make their presence known anywhere the president goes. Mexicans are very positive towards America, and towards Americans in particular. They are sensitive about not being seen or treated like an appendage to the United States, which makes sense—both historically and currently. They want and deserve to be treated as an equal and as a good neighbor and are insulted by the fence we are constructing along the border. But the number of Mexicans living in the United States and the economic assets they pour into Mexico, plus the money tourists and business add to the economy, are realities that most Mexicans recognize and appreciate.
For some Meridians the presidents’ visit was a slight inconvenience, as police and soldiers blocked off certain roads at certain times, and as from time to time checkpoints were set up. But for most it was just an interesting event, or a non-event. When I went to the airport to greet Kathi and Judy I noticed a line of cars stopped by the runway fence, a vantage point from which to see Air Force 1. Other than that views of the presidents were rare and life went on as usual. I hope they had a good meeting, and that something positive came out of it.
I have attached a couple of photos to this blog. One is of the land around the seminary, the front lawn of the Legters’ home. It is typical Yucatecan in being flat, with low trees or shrubs. The landscape has no hills, there are almost no rises of any kind to be seen. This makes cycling easy, but the 95+ temperature and the constant winds make up for the lack. There are no rivers or streams at all in the area, as the whole peninsula is a limestone slab and water flows beneath the surface in tunnels it has carved over the centuries. From time to time the rock which has been undermined will cave in and create a cenote, that is a natural well or pool. In such a case the water in the cenote is not on the surface, but at the level of the stream that created it—meaning the water level of the “well” is a ways down…
The other photo is of the car I usually drive—a loan from the Legters. Albania was a country or Mercedes, Mexico has traditionally been a country of the VW “bug”. Long after new bugs stopped being sold in the United States, they continued to be produced in Mexico and Brazil, and sold in large quantities in Mexico. I understand they were even subsidized by the government. In any case those days have now passed, and a greater variety of cars and many larger ones now fill the roads. But the trusty bug is everywhere—reminding me of my first car, a 1965 VW bug that I bought in Texas and drove in Mexico… Ahhhh the memories… And good ones.
Isn’t it wonderful that God has given humans the capacity to remember? Sometimes there are things we would like to forget, and sometimes there are things we should forget or need to forget. But memories also give us the capacity to relive the good times of life, and they challenge us to build on both the good times and the hard times to move into the future. The Bible consistently urges the people of God to remember. It reminds them to remember the past and its failures, and not repeat them. But even more it reminds them to remember the faithfulness of God—how he rescued and led and provided. Perhaps intentionally remembering would be a good thing to do every day. Perhaps it would be good to spend a few moments reflecting on the past and on the blessings of God, and on the hard times and the lessons in them. The Judeo-Christian faith is one of history. It is about God’s movement in history, and his moving history towards a climax. Perhaps it would be good to spend some time each day putting our unique place in history into focus—and particularly our history with God and his history and call to us. Numbers 15:40 says it this way, So you shall remember and do all my commandments, and be holy to your God.

In the next couple days I think we should go on a trip to a hacienda…How’s that for an idea??

Today is March 1, and looking back I see that the just-ended month of February was one of the more change-filled months for Nancy and Will in a long time. We left Tirana, Albania, on the first day of February, after heartfelt farewells in Albania, including a visit to a place where Paul preached and Nancy’s class goodbyes…From Albania it was on to London,
where we spent two days, including a trip to the

theater, then it was off to Lisburn, N. Ireland arriving in time for my 63rd birthday. After several very delightful days seeing friends and visiting the north coast of Ireland, plus making a contact that has now turned into a decision to serve as Summer Supply in a church in Dublin, we returned to London and were escorted to our hotel by police who had cordoned off our block due to a murder across the street. Next we were on to Greensboro, N. Carolina, for a wonderful time with our granddaughter, daughter and son-in-law—a time which included most importantly time with the granddaughter, but also a quick decision and purchase of a home very near to them. Then I flew off to Merida, Yucatan, where I will be spending the next six weeks teaching two classes, one on the Pauline Epistles and one on Preaching.
Nancy will not be with me as granddaughter, a Shoreline visit, a TESOL convention in Seattle, and a family reunion (sisters only) are scheduled in March. That amount of change will be hard to beat! But let me try to illustrate…
I am living in the new home of Dave and Jean Legters, which is on the seminary campus, so commuting is no problem. The home is a wonderful retreat, and nearly completed—except the floors are mostly rough cement. And the assistance Calvin gave to make it a reality is much appreciated.


Long ago a friend made this observation, Christ gives us cat’s feet, so that wherever we land we are right-side up. In the midst of all our changes, and they are very good changes, that sentiment is true. It is only 8 months since Nancy and I took the very difficult step of leaving Calvin and the wonderful people there, but our prayer that God would use this new phase in our lives seems to be becoming a reality. We are exceedingly grateful for the health and resources God has given us, but we are equally grateful for the places and people among whom those gifts can be used for the building of the kingdom. After all, that is what life is about—at this stage or at any stage.

Albanian Students' Farewell to Nancy

Nancy and I both arrived safely in Greensboro on Thursday. Our time in London was wonderful, as was our time with friends in N. Ireland. Now we are here, with Emily, Steve and Collette, for some time. I leave Saturday for Mexico and the Seminario do San Pablo, where I will be teaching for 5 weeks. Nancy will not be joining me as she has grandmother duties plus a TESOL conference in Seattle in March. I will try to add more to this blog as the days go on, particularly as I get to Mexico. But here are a couple photos from N. Ireland and London--perfect time to visit, tho a bit brisk...
The north coast of N. Ireland and St. James Park, London

After a wonderful week visiting friends in N. Ireland, and relaxing on the Antrim Coast, Nancy and I are heading back to London Monday, then to Greensboro NC on Thursday. It was a joy to see the health and life at Elmwood Presbyterian Church, the church we spent two months in three yers ago. Tonight we attended their "Connect" service, a monthly event designed as a safe and comfortable place for non-believers in the community. Leaflets had been taken door to door yesterday, and there were a number of people who responded, setting foot in the church for the first time. The event was low-key, with a bit of singing, chairs set in circles around tables, lots of refreshments, a game of "name that tune" and an interview focusing on love and marriage (the theme was Valentines Day) with a couple in the church. The pastor gave a message on love and the love of God. All in all it was well done and effective. The church is trying new things to reach out, while it is at the same time drawing up a strategy for addressing the opportunity which will be presented by the 5,000 new homes that are being built near the church.
The North Coast of N. Ireland is spectacular. Nancy and I went there to look at birds, but most were away for the season. Nevertheless we enjoyed views of the islands, small towns, bays and beaches--all tempered by gray skies and strong, cold winds. We borrowed the cottage of a friend, and marveled at the opportunities God has given us as we sat cozily under the thatched roof and watched the beauty and power of God at work. I will put some photos up soon, but with my computer dead I can not just now.
Our basic question at this point is where we will be after my time teaching in Mexico. Several options are developing, and we only want to be sensitive to God's leading as we discern the call for the months ahead.

Just a quick update. With mixed emotions and several heartfelt thank-yous and goodbyes, Nancy and I left Tirana on Thursday. A significant chapter in our lives closed as we flew out, but the departure was with hopes that our time was meaningful to some of the people we had contact with, gratitude for what they had meant to us, and an anticipation of a short return some time this fall.

The flight to London deposited us in a completely different world, and Friday as we walked through James and Regents Parks in the beautiful cold of the day, then in the evening attended a performance of the musical Wicked (the other side of the story of the fearsome witch of Oz), we sensed the difference. Today we flew to Belfast and we will spend the next few days enjoying the hospitality of friends in Lisburn. Then back to London and to N. Carolina to be with Emily, Steve and Colette--then on to Mexico for me.

Nancy describes our life in terms that readers of the Chronicles of Narnia may recognize, as a life in the woods between the worlds. In the Chronicles this is a half-way place between the world as most people know it and the magical world of Narnia--a place of transition and of options, each somewhat undefined and each important. That is where we are. A time of pausing with gracious friends as we leave one world and journey into the next... I guess life is always like that to some degree, each day is a step beyond the day before and towards the day to come--but sometimes we see this reality more clearly than others. And this is such a time for us...