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...

Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, says this about the evil eye: The evil eye is a widely distributed element of folklore, in which it is believed that the envy elicited by the good luck of fortunate people may result in their misfortune, whether it is envy of material possessions including livestock, or of beauty, health, or offspring. In Albania many people believe in the evil eye, and the result is one of the stranger sights one sees—hanging Santas, Smurfs, Teddy Bears, and Disney characters on the corners of buildings.


The way it works is this: when a person has the good fortune of being able to build a new home, the jealousy which this fortune may invoke on others, and the evil eye which may follow, is a real concern. To counteract this the one constructing the home or office or store will hang a doll of some kind from an outer periphery of the construction. That doll is meant to draw the gaze of the onlooker away from the construction and, thereby divert their attention and avert the evil eye.

The net result is strange to me. When I first noticed it, I thought it was kind of cute--until on examination I found Mickey Mouse being hung by the neck until dead. Hardly something you would see in America… Then I learned what it was all about, and chuckled. But while seemingly harmless, this custom could be taken very seriously, and even if not it can make us stop and think about the superstitions we have, their origins, and whether or not they are harmless, and whether or not they are compatible with our faith in the God who is far beyond magic, supersition or the like.

Last time I focused on Korce, a town in the south of Albania. Today my focus is Kruya, a town just north of the capital and which Nancy and I have visited twice. This town’s importance is as the base of operations of Skanderbeg, the hero of Albania. George Kastrioti was born to a prominent family in a small district that included Kruya. His father resisted Ottoman advances but was overwhelmed, and to prove his loyalty allowed his four sons to be taken into the Sultan’s court where they converted to Islam. George proved himself a brave and brilliant warrior in the
Ottoman army, and was given the honorary name Arnavutlu Iskender Bey which means Lord Alexander the Albanian. This became his name—Skanderbeg.

When an opportunity presented itself he rallied the divided Albanian people against the Ottomans. He took control of his ancestral town of Kruya from the Turks and raised his family flag, which today is the national flag of Albania. From Kruya he led a resistance movement that was successful for twenty five years, a movement that defeated much larger Turkish armies and thwarted Ottoman expansion to the north.

At Kruya you can visit the castle from which Skanderbeg led his resistance and a museum to his accomplishments. You can also walk through a marvelous home built in the 1800s by a prominent family, in which you can see the way a wealthy family lived at that time—and it lived quite well…

Today was another nice day, so Nancy and I decided to walk the mile or so south of our apartment to the highest peak around Tirana, the site of a 12-meter statue that overlooks the city and the 28,000 graves comprising the National Martyrs Cemetery. The statue called Mother Albania figuratively represents the country as a mother guarding over those who gave their lives for her during World War II, mostly in the battle to liberate Albania from its German occupiers. The massive statue holds a wreath of laurels and a star.
The complexity of Albania today is reflected in this cemetery, as those buried in it were almost all partisans, which is the party that became the communist party and led the nation into disarray. Albanians want to honor their heroism in liberating the country, but distance themselves from what they did for the next forty years…

Another place where the complexity of Albanian history is represented is in the main city park of Albania. There you can see two small graves, separated only by a monument to three brothers whose writings and deeds formed an important force in the establishment of the Albanian nation in the early 1900s. Both cemeteries are dominated by crosses, but one is to British soldiers who perished liberating Albania from the Germans while the other is to the Germans who died fighting those British.

It is tragic that much of the history of almost every nation is in its wars and warriors. It is particularly tragic when one or even both sides claim that what they are doing is mandated by God. I have always appreciated Abraham Lincoln’s response to the question of whether he believed God was on his side in the civil war, The question is not is God on my side, but am I on God’s side…

All this has made me appreciate that just two days ago I was able to participate with approximately 200 others in a prayer for Albania rally and march down the main boulevard of Tirana. The march began at the statue of the Albanian warrior-hero Skanderbeg but it ended with prayer at the statue of the Albanian compassionate heroine, Mother Teresa. The movement of the march was symbolic to me, and reminded me of the words of Jesus, Blessed are the peacemakers…

Our days in Albania are numbered. In just two weeks we fly to London, then after visiting friends in N. Ireland we head back to our granddaughter and family. How quickly time passes! But in light of that, let me say a few things about scattered topics and places I have not covered.

But before that, a brief comment on the last entry in this blog. There I talked about the lack of electricity in Albania, due partially to unusual drought conditions, partly to long-term infrastructure problems, and partly to politics. I noted that we have come to adjust to electrical outages and the darkness that we are plunged into nightly. On Sundays Nancy and I attend The International Church, a church that is related to the Assemblies of God, where the services are translated into English, and where I now teach a mid-week class on Philippians. Some Saturday evenings we have also attended a church that is perhaps the largest evangelical church in Tirana, and we attended the Orthodox Student Center service one week. But the day after I wrote about light, the International Church’s pastor preached on the topic of light, and focused on the ease with which we become accustomed to darkness. That is what I had said, but he added how true that is in our spiritual life as well—and how disastrous. The darkness of our surroundings, our culture, our communities—how easily we adjust, how easily we fit in, how acceptable it becomes… It was a challenge to me!

Anyway, about Albania. Albania is an ancient land. Settled history begins with the Illyrians, pre-Roman contemporaries of the Etruscans in Italy, and continues on from then. The country has a history of being impacted by foreigners, often as invaders, a history that partly explains the paranoia of its former communist dictator. Each foreign influx, Greek and Roman and Byzantine and Ottoman and Italian and German and French and American, both added something to the land and encountered a civilization that was already developed and defined. In Romans 15:19, Paul notes the extent of his preaching as all the way around to Illyricum, and in Acts 20:2 and 2 Timothy 4:10, reference is made to the area around Macedonia, sometimes called Dalmatia. That is Albania today—a land with a long history and many places to visit that contain reminders of this history.

Nancy and I have made it a point to see some of these places, and some will have to wait until another visit. Among the places we have seen is Korce. Set in a valley on the border with Macedonia and Greece, Korce is dominated on one side by Lake Ohrid, and on the other by rugged Balkan mountains. I visited the town with people from the Torchbearers’ Bible School in Erseke, primarily to watch one of their young men who
plays on one of the professional Erseke teams, play football (soccer). The town retains vestiges of the beauty it once had, before suffering the neglect which the whole country experienced under communism. There is a clear French influence in some
of its old buildings, and it is considered a cultural center.

As early as the 4th century AD Eastern Orthodoxy had a strong presence in the area of Korce, that is present southern Albania, and in the 8th century the Byzantine Emperor Leo III placed the area under the authority of the patriarchate of Constantinople. This Orthodox/Byzantine influence is reflected today in what to me was the most impressive site in the city, the Orthodox Cathedral that dominates the main intersection in town. In stark contrast with the plain church we attend in Tirana, the exterior is striking and the interior beautiful. Of particular note is the interior woodwork, dominated by the stunning front screen and several amazing carved wood chandelier. What happens inside the church I do not know, but
the priest who showed our little party from Erseke around was most gracious and the outside Christmas lights saying Merry Christmas clearly reflected the season.