Soul enterprise

Witness while you work?

The workplace can play a big role in spreading the gospel. It’s a great place to bear witness to faith in Christ, since that’s where many people spend the bulk of their waking hours.

Notice the term “bear witness.” Some would use the word “evangelism,” but that can be confusing.

Some people see evangelism as verbal proclamation of the gospel — preaching with words — in an effort to “win converts.” Others see it more broadly as a whole-life demonstration of the love of God. Some church growth leaders describe evangelism as “whatever you do that makes Christ a meaningful option in people’s lives.” In that case, a lot of what you do is a demonstration of the power of God within you. That makes all Christians evangelists. Even at work. Even if they don’t have a Bible in their toolkit or on their offi ce desk.

Personal demonstration, like doing a great job, ranks as the best form of workplace witness. People aren’t attracted to Christ by incompetent co-workers or inept supervisors. Ethics preach loud sermons. People are turned off by shoddy ethics or mistreatment of co-workers.

Someone has likened workplace witness to selling real estate. Not all have a gift to “close the sale,” but all Christians can “show the property.” That’s what we do all day long, know it or not.

In today’s pluralistic society, there are limits to acceptable religious behavior in the workplace, especially if you’re a manager or employer. But that doesn’t mean you have to take a vow of silence.

“From a biblical perspective, work is meant to be about more than earning a living,” write Christopher Crane and Mike Hamel in Executive Infl uence: Impacting Your Workplace for Christ. “It’s an expression of who we are and what we value. It’s more than a job; it’s how we refl ect the image of a creative Creator. For some, their work is to provide meaningful employment for others. Such entrepreneurs become owners and their companies become places where people can fi nd and fulfi ll their vocations.

“Now, if a company is an expression of an entrepreneur’s faith in God, why shouldn’t that faith be visible? And if Christian business owners care deeply about their people, how can those owners not share the love of God with them?”

Crane and Hamel point out that business leadership is a form of power, and power must be wielded gently. A verbal witness by an owner or manager can become coercion. An in-your-face testimony can be seen as an abuse of power.

William Diehl, a leader in the Ministry of Daily Life movement, offers these comments: • Yes, you can keep a copy of the Scriptures on your desk. • It’s okay to ask a co-worker about their faith, but don’t fl ood them with religious literature. • Employees can hold lunchtime prayer sessions, but the boss can’t call an important meeting that happens to be preceded by a Christian prayer session. • It’s okay to chat about faith at coffee break, but it’s not okay to schedule a company religious retreat with compulsory attendance.

Excerpted from You’re Hired! Looking for work in all the right places, a career guide from MEDA. Available for free download at www.meda.org

An elevated life

What’s an elevator — a box of limbo to be endured on the way somewhere?

For Bruce Renfroe, an eight-by-eight cubicle was where he spent his days as an elevator operator in a New York City offi ce tower. Every day he encountered the same people — and the same blank stares. Somber passengers rarely spoke or even acknowledged each other.

Renfroe decided to spice things up. He hung pictures in his elevator. He played jazz. He even kept his Bible there. In an eight-by-eight space, he tried to build community.

“It worked,” says Howard Butt Jr. of Laity Lodge. “Riding up in the mornings and back down after fi ve, people began to talk to each other and to share parts of their lives with their small elevator family.”

In a few short minutes each day, this elevator operator made a difference in people’s lives.

“What about you?” asks Butt. “Where can you make a difference in the lives you touch?” — The High Calling: Everyday Conversations about Work, Life and God

How I got my snack

Soft answer from above

Overheard:

What would you do if your boss wanted you to cheat? Ed Silvoso relates an incident from his early business career in Argentina. He worked for a large international hotel that routinely inflated long-distance charges when American guests made calls to the United States. “This was before computerized phones and billing systems became available, so the opportunity for overcharging was there,” writes Silvoso. “I found myself caught between this rule and my Christian principles, so I avoided taking any phone-call requests. But one day I could not evade taking one. All of a sudden my colleagues’ eyes were riveted on me, wondering what I was going to do. When I told them that I would charge the exact amount, a female employee, who was also the boss’s mistress, warned me that she would turn me in. Nonetheless, I did the right thing.” Two hours later the boss stormed in, furious. He called Silvoso every bad name in the book. While trying to cope with the cannonade of abuse, Silvoso prayed for help. “Why did you disobey my order?” the boss fumed. Silvoso answered calmly: “Sir, if I am willing to risk my position by refusing to steal from an American who will never know what I did for him, can you imagine how much more certain you can be that I will never steal from you?” The irate boss stomped out. But three hours later he invited Silvoso to dinner. Not long after he invited Silvoso to join the management team. As for his quick answer, Silvoso says, “Only the Holy Spirit could have come up with something like ”[C]onsider all of the effort that goes into a humble peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. It’s relatively easy for me — I simply go to the cupboard, open a couple jars, and slap two slices of bread together. But it’s so convenient only because hundreds, perhaps thousands, of others have faithfully fulfilled their personal vocations on my behalf. “I can’t possibly list them all, but there are the growers of the peanuts, strawberries, wheat, and whatever other ingredients go into making peanut butter, jelly, and bread. Then there are the factories and mills that process the ingredients, the truckers who haul the loaves and jars to town, and a store full of stockers and cashiers who sell them to me. I might add those organizations that mined and smelted the stainless steel for my knife and processed the paper for my plate, together with their transportation systems. Each of these groups represents businesses with administrators, secretaries, financial officers, purchasing and marketing agents, and human resource personnel. If I could somehow add it all up, I’d probably be dumbfounded by the number of hands that either directly or indirectly contributed to my midmorning snack.” — Michael E. Wittmer in Heaven Is a Place on Earth that under the circumstances.” — Quoted from Anointed for Business: How Christians Can Use Their Influ- “You cannot connect the dots of ence in the Marketplace to Change your life going forward; you can only the World connect them backwards.” — The late Steve Jobs, speaking to Stanford University graduates in 2005

Ali’s Place

After years of prison and torture, Ali Saeed moved forward as an entrepreneur and human rights activist.

Many people go into a convenience store for a carton of milk or a bag of chips. At this corner store, however, they may be after more urgent provisions — like refugee advice or settlement assistance.

Ali Saeed is ready for both kinds of customers. His Quick Convenience Store in Winnipeg is like a community center for new immigrants. Many call it “Ali’s Place.”

He sells the usual convenience store fare, with a few immigrant tweaks like worldwide money transfers and ethnic foods.

The store had belonged to a large chain, but was abandoned because the inner city was seen as too poor and too dangerous. To Ali, however, the location spelled opportunity.

“It’s a core area for immigrants, many from Africa,” he says. “Most newcomers eventually get to hear about this place.”

He gets two or three people a day coming in for some kind of help or counselling.

And then there are kids. “There are a lot of single parents in the area, and a lot of needy kids,” says Ali. “If they have problems, if their apartment is empty when they come home from school and they don’t feel safe, or if they are cold, this is where they can come.”

One regular customer says Ali is a father figure to her child who comes in Saturdays to sweep the floor. Ali gives the kid a few bucks, which he is saving for school.

“I don’t want to see anyone suffer,” says Ali. He’s seen enough of that himself.

Thousands of people were exterminated in the Red Terror. Ali Saeed came close to being one of them.

Back in Ethiopia many years ago Ali Saeed

was caught up in the swirl of violence that blighted his homeland after long-time emperor Haile Selassie was deposed in the mid-1970s and replaced by a Marxist military junta called the Derg.

In a purge that became known as the Red Terror, the Derg abolished parliament, suspended civil liberties and terrorized suspected opponents. Arbitrary arrests, torture and human rights atrocities became the order of the day. Estimates of the number of people

killed run as high as 500,000.

Suspected of being part of a resistance organization, Ali was snatched from his life as a textile designer and

Ali Saeed with his wife Ayni, who has become Winnipeg’s major supplier of injera, the fabled Ethiopian flatbread.

thrown in jail without benefit of lawyer or court appearance.

Ali insists he was innocent of any offense but that didn’t matter during the days of the Red Terror. He was politically outspoken; he marched; he protested the abuse of women by the ruling regime. Every neighborhood had its snitch and all it took to get on the Derg’s black list was to be photographed or seen at the wrong meeting. The net of suspicion was cast broadly and Ali was caught up in it.

In jail Ali was tortured severely (think elec-

trodes) to make him admit to various offenses. He refused.

“They wanted me to sign a confession, and said that if I did I would be released immediately,” he says. “I said no. I knew from previous experience that if I signed, I would be killed.”

Ali spent more than five years in Ethiopian prisons. When he got out, everything had changed and he could not return to his previous work. He decided to leave for neighboring Somalia, hoping life would be better. So he started walking — 400 kilometers in nine days.

But he had guessed wrong. Unrest between Ethiopia and Somalia was running high. Skittish Somali authorities,

thinking Ali was there to spy, arrested him again and sent him to the country’s worst prison.

“I went from the frying pan into the fi re,” he says.

Ali was tortured some more and sentenced to death. He and his fellow death row inmates received a daily allotment of 120 grams of rice, a mere handful. “If they were feeling very kind maybe I would get some tea twice a week.” He remembers being desperate for any kind of relief. A smoker in those days, he traded his trousers for four cigarettes. By a coincidence that would later seem amazing, even providential, two Mennonites in the region hailed from the same congregation in Winnipeg. One was Arthur DeFehr, a longtime MEDA supporter who had taken a break from his family’s furniture business in Winnipeg to pursue diplomatic interests and was serving as the United Nations high commissioner for refugees in Somalia (198283). The other was Henry J. Rempel, a young volunteer with Mennonite Central Committee who had been seconded to the UNHCR. Back home, both men were members of River East Mennonite Brethren Church, which sponsored refugees.

Though he did not then know Ali Saeed personally, DeFehr had been using his position to agitate on behalf of people who had been imprisoned unjustly, and had gotten thousands freed.

Ali and his fellow prisoners knew about, and were on the radar of, both the UNHCR and Amnesty International. But how could they make contact from behind prison walls? Word slipped out that a guard could be bribed to take a letter to the UNHCR offi ce. One prisoner gave up his wristwatch and soon a note was on its way report-

ing that there were people in prison who did not belong there. That note ended up with an offi cial in DeFehr’s offi ce. One day there was a knock at the cell door. “I was told to go with this guy,” Ali says. “I thought they were going to kill me.” To his enormous relief, he was given a letter which “We need to turned out to be a document of freedom. “It said I was to go to the airport. They were going start a business. to send me to what I was told was a ‘pagan country’ — Canada.” That’s the only And off he went, with no shoes or trousers, to the airport. There he was connected with his wife, Ayni way to make Ahemed, whom he had met in a Somali refugee camp, and they were fl own to Rome. enough money “We got there with no documents, with no one waiting for us,” Ali recalls. “At fi rst, immigration authorities wanted to send me back. But after an hour and a half a to get going.” Canadian offi cial showed up with a residence permit. He told us, ‘You are safe now’.” Ali and Ayni fl ew to Toronto, then on to Winnipeg where word had gotten out that “the barefoot man is coming.” “I became a free person,” says Ali. When he touched down, a pair of shoes and trousers were waiting.

Ali and Ayni arrived in Winnipeg on July

26, 1984. Ali had spent a total of seven years and four months in prison.

They had the good fortune to come in contact with DeFehr and Rempel’s congregation. To this day Ali is effusively grateful for the refugee sponsorship efforts of the church and Mennonite Central Committee. “Those people gave me hope,” he says. They also gave him a platform to speak publicly and share his story with others. The resulting network of connections enabled him to bring over 17 other people who had had similar experiences.

Ali had little experience to equip him for his new life. Besides his work as a textile designer, his abiding passions had been human rights and writing poetry.

Some who helped Ali when he arrived in Winnipeg did not think his prospects were strong. “No one thought he would make it,” says one. “He had been tortured so badly he was a psychological wreck. We thought he was destined for a life on public welfare.”

Ali would prove them wrong. Once he got settled he studied at a local college and got a job with a social service agency. But it was not enough to feed his family and get a foothold.

Ayni told him, “We need to start a business. That’s the only way to make enough money to get going.”

So she started making injera, the spongy sourdough flatbread that is part of every Ethiopian’s DNA. It became a thriving business, and today Ayni is the major injera supplier to Winnipeg markets and eateries.

She and Ali then opened an Ethiopian restaurant. They carefully leveraged their earnings for other investments, like apartments and a commercial building. They bought an abandoned convenience store in the inner city. As a storekeeper, Ali reached out to needy folk, tailoring products and services to their specific needs, and becoming known as something of a community bishop. He enjoys being able to help others. “When I go home at night I feel free and happy,” he says. “I sleep nicely.”

Today Ali and Ayni are models of immigrant entrepreneurship, but Ali gives all the credit to his wife.

“We’re in business because of Ayni,” he says. “Her

In a perverse twist, one of his old torturers wound up in the same city. But Ali is not interested in revenge.

brain is very sharp, especially when it comes to business. She is the pillar of our family. She is the backbone of our struggle. Without her, I would not be here.”

Ali Saeed continues his human rights

work alongside his work as a poet and entrepreneur. His business card describes him as “Human rights activist & refugee advocate.”

This does not make him popular among everyone in the Ethiopian community. As recently as this January he received a death threat if he didn’t cease his human rights activity.

In 2009 he was the subject of an award-winning film documentary by filmmaker Aaron Floresco. Titled Memories of a Generation: The Story of Ali Saeed and Other Ethiopian Political Victims, it won the Audience Choice Prize at the Films for Peace Festival in Italy, sponsored by UNESCO.

Shortly thereafter Ali was awarded the 2009 Human Rights Commitment Award of Manitoba by the Manitoba Human Rights Commission for his ongoing efforts to free political prisoners in Ethiopia and aid refugees in Canada. In commenting to the local media, Arthur DeFehr said, “I think he’s a terrific example of a successful refugee. Also, one who doesn’t forget his past — he takes other people with him.”

Ali’s daughter, Misalee, credits her father’s example for her own commitment to human rights. In 2009 father and daughter jointly presented a petition to Canada’s Parliament in an attempt to raise awareness about abuse of women in Ethiopian refugee camps.

Whenever he gets a chance, Ali sponsors others — 104 at last count — who have been suffering in prisons. When they get to Winnipeg he helps them find jobs and schooling.

All this activity keeps him unwelcome in Ethiopia, even though the regime has changed. When his mother died there in late 2013 at the age of 101, Ali could not attend her funeral.

Now a Canadian citizen, Ali says he would love to visit his homeland if they had a free and democratic government.

By a quirk of fate, one of Ali’s tormentors from back home — one of the same people who tortured him in prison — also ended up in Winnipeg, and Ali sees him around town. But Ali is not interested in revenge, at least not what he calls the Red Revenge of blood for blood, an eye for an eye.

“My revenge is Green Revenge,” he says. “My revenge is to teach the younger generation that they don’t need to kill each other, that instead they should work for the best, to change what happened.”

As with any enduring conflict, he says, finally somebody has to say no. “Somebody has to say, let’s move forward.” ◆

Lessons at 60

MEDAThe creation of MEDA gave the Mennonite business community a way to flex its muscles, globally and theologically.

Last December marked the 60th birthday of Mennonite Economic Development Associates (MEDA). Such a sobering milestone is a time to review lessons learned and tease out areas where this upstart organization may have taught a few things to the larger Mennonite communion. How is the church, or the world, better off because of MEDA?

The early MEDA photo archives show white-faced (maybe sunburned) Mennonite men riding on pickups, trudging through jungles and sitting under trees eating watermelon with indigenous Paraguayans. Back home in California, Ohio and Manitoba these men were seldom seen in public without a suit and tie. They employed hundreds, maybe thousands, of people and did business worth millions of dollars.

It was the early 1950s. Mennonite refugees from Russia and Germany had been dislocated following the Second World War, and several thousand had ended up in Paraguay. Other church organizations had provided them with food and clothing, but they needed more than temporary housekeeping. Those who had left trades behind needed working capital to set up businesses to serve the Mennonite colonies. South American banks weren’t much help, offering short-term loans at excessively high interest of 15 to 25 percent.

North American Mennonites wanted to help, but there was no structured way to do so.

Mennonite Central Committee did not feel equipped to meet capital needs, but its executive secretary, Orie Miller, himself a businessman, came up with an idea. He invited a number of well-heeled Mennonite businessfolk to visit Paraguay at their own expense to take a look. They quickly caught his vision, and on Dec. 10, 1953, a group of them gathered in Chicago to start MEDA.

Membership did not come cheap. The founders pledged $5,000 each; regular members could join for $1,050. Personal involvement was important. Board members were assigned to sponsor certain projects and visit periodically.

The founders had no assurance their investment would ever be repaid, and most Mennonites back home doubted it would be. “The money they advanced was venture capital which they had to be prepared to lose, and frequently did,” wrote J. Winfield Fretz in his history of MEDA’s first 25 years. While MEDA emerged in direct response to a particular need, it also scratched another itch. The people who were attracted to the new organization were already contributing to other agencies, but mainly with cash. Here was a new avenue for deeper involvement, a way to contribute from the depths of their being. Here was a way to share the skills they used Monday to Friday — managerial talent, entrepreneurship and investment savvy. The new organization got off to a fortuitous start. Call it beginner’s luck, or shrewd planning, but the first MEDA project turned out to be a huge success with lasting impact. It didn’t take long for the northern visitors to find this project. It stared them in the face as they saw native Paraguayan cows gazing at them Sometimes MEDA from local pastures. These bush cattle produced only a quart of milk a day. practiced tough Surely they could do better. Good quality stock was imported love — “If you don’t for some serious cross-breeding. A few birth cycles later, the cows were repay, we can’t lend producing four or five gallons a day. The initial partnership with the to your neighbors.” Paraguayan farmers was called the Sarona Dairy. The name, rife with hope, came from the biblical term Sharon, a bountiful pasture celebrated in 1 Chronicles and Isaiah. From the start, MEDA’s intention was for partnerships to be temporary. As soon as an enterprise was on its feet, the investors were eager to move on. This first project helped transform the local economy. Family farms were strengthened; jobs created; livelihoods enhanced. Today, the Mennonite colonies dominate Paraguay’s dairy industry, furnishing two-thirds of the country’s entire supply of milk products. The next MEDA enterprise was a tannery to process leather, followed by a shoe factory that made work shoes

Affordable credit grew into a brand niche; MEDA became a world leader in fi nancial services.

and cowboy chaps.

The need for this type of assistance was immense, and invitations came from all over. MEDA was soon working in Africa and elsewhere. By the end of its fi rst quarter century MEDA had undertaken 422 projects globally, of which 87 percent were considered successful. considered successful. redressing of economic injustice seen as a natural extension of biblical identity. In 2013 MEDA worked with 223 partners in 49 countries, had an annual budget employed 318 staff worldwide. Its total client reach, including people served by microfi nance institutions in which it is involved, extended to 42 million families. What MEDA lessons have stood out over the years? Insiders may not all agree on what those might be, but here is one stab at it.

Amid the turbulent 1960s, meanwhile, Men-

nonite businessfolk back home were becoming sensitized to a confl ictual gap between business and the church. In 1969 a group of 90 Mennonite businesspeople and educators formed the Church, Industry and Business Association (CIBA), later renamed Mennonite Industry and Business Associates (MIBA). Its purpose was to encourage Christian ethics and stimulate a consistent witness in business.

Both MIBA and MEDA held regular meetings and ended up attracting the same people. In fact, nearly all the members of MEDA were also members of MIBA. In 1981 the organizations merged, keeping the MEDA name because of its tax-exempt history in Canada and the United States.

The new hybrid organization aimed: (1) to help businesspeople see their work as a form of ministry, and thereby integrate their faith with their business; and (2) to use the skills and resources of businesspeople to provide business solutions to poverty. Over the years the “seamless garment” of faith has been central to MEDA, with the

redressing of economic injustice seen as a natural extension of biblical identity. In 2013 MEDA worked with 223 partners in 49 countries, had an annual budget of $41 million and employed 318 staff worldwide. Its total client reach, including people served by microfi nance institutions in which it is involved, extended to 42 million families. What MEDA lessons have stood out over the years? Insiders may not all agree on what those might be, but here is one stab at it.

1. The rigor of business has something to offer

nonite businessfolk back home were becoming sensitized Despite criticism from some quarters, MEDA unapologetically used business principles as central to its global mission. Tanzania, for example, was not exactly ripe for a business-oriented model when MEDA went there in 1965. For one thing, the country’s economy was rooted in Ujamaa, a traditional form of agricultural socialism. Moreover, Tanzanian Christians were suspicious of the business model, thinking it inevitably led to worldliness. (This view was fortifi ed when one successful MEDA project partner used his increased earnings to acquire an additional wife instead of supporting the church more generously.) MEDA persisted, but learned some painful lessons as it sought to create business solutions to poverty. It wasn’t always easy to insist that loans be based on sound principles rather than family connections. MEDA endured criticism as it urged clients to keep careful records of expenses and income, to separate operating and capital costs, and to meet regular repayment dates. Too often, borrowers thought North American money did not have

1. The rigor of business has something to offer

Despite criticism from some

to be repaid. MEDA had to practice some tough love — “If you don’t repay, we can’t lend to your neighbors.”

Nowadays such principles of accountability are well accepted by development practitioners.

2. Good intentions aren’t enough

MEDA learned — and then modeled — how to translate good intentions into programs that actually work. One of its own hard lessons was a thousand-acre rice plantation developed in Uruguay in the early 1960s. Some members opposed the idea, since no one in MEDA knew anything about rice farming. As it turned out, crossing the border into Uruguay did not automatically produce an increase in knowledge. MEDA plunged ahead, importing a dragline, turbine pumps and diesel engines for irrigation. The project was beset by problems, from equipment breakdowns to erratic markets. Only one good crop was harvested in 11 years. One MEDA leader commented that the rice project nearly “did us in.” MEDA learned an important missiological lesson — if you can’t do it at home, you probably won’t be able to do it overseas, no matter how good your intentions.

Another good intention that easily slips the rails is charity, such as sending used clothing or surplus goods to developing countries. More often than not, these freebies undercut the local market and end up doing more harm than good. MEDA learned, for example, to brace for a rash of loan delinquencies from local textile producers whenever a shipload of used clothing arrived in port. As poor Haitians grabbed up cheap T-shirts, local tailors were idle.

Over the years MEDA sought to teach North Americans that good intentions alone weren’t enough to make a dent in poverty.

3. The poor are bankable

MEDA’s founders grasped a fundamental insight into human poverty — that simple fi nancial services can hold the key to unleashing entrepreneurship and productivity. In the early 1960s MEDA dabbled with small loans to help Mennonite immigrants clear bushland, build fences and start small farming enterprises. Erie Sauder, founder of the famous Sauder woodwork companies in Ohio, extended this feature to Paraguay’s indigenous people so they could establish small woodwork and repair shops. MEDA’s emerging concept of credit began to solidify in Colombia in the early 1970s under Roger Friesen. MEDA’s strategic involvement with microcredit pre-dated Nobel laureate Muhammed Yunus by a few years, but it would not be until the mid-1980s in Haiti that microcredit would gain traction in MEDA.

Providing affordable credit grew into a brand niche. MEDA became a world leader in fi nancial services, proving that the poor are bankable and can be relied on to repay loans, even if they lack conventional metrics like collateral or credit history. Today this trust has been extended to “branchless banking,” savings and microinsurance.

4. Trade trumps aid

MEDA learned — and tried to teach — that if you want to help the poor you should invest in them and with them. Over the years it became a global leader in demonstrat-

People see their faith in a new light when they realize daily work is a chance to express the character of God.

sought to teach North Americans that good intentions alone weren’t enough to make a dent in poverty.

3. The poor are bankable

MEDA’s founders grasped a fundamental insight into human poverty — that services can hold the key to unleashing entrepreneurship and productivity. 1960s MEDA dabbled with small loans to help Mennonite immigrants clear bushland, build fences and start small farming enterprises. Erie Sauder, founder of the famous Sauder woodwork companies in Ohio, extended this feature to Paraguay’s indigenous people so they could establish small woodwork and repair shops. MEDA’s emerging concept of credit began to solidify in Colombia in

ing the power of private equity investment in emerging markets. As the early Paraguay partners repaid their investment, MEDA created a pool of capital to re-invest elsewhere. That pioneer act of sharing risk with the poor was decades ahead of today’s impact investment industry. Thanks to that early vision, many more in the private equity markets today know how the power of investors can be harnessed to improve the financial performance of companies MEDA struck in emerging markets while delivering positive social and environ- a tuning fork mental outcomes. When others could not see beyond donated aid as the way to ad- and pressed it dress global poverty, MEDA showed that long-term solutions demand against the soul growth in production and trade, and that private individuals can play of business; the a vital role by investing their own capital. It pushed the investment vibration keeps envelope, devising new instruments for investment, finding creative new resonating.ways to harness entrepreneurial skills and resources to help others reach their God-given potential.

The prophet wrote, “The Lord looked and was displeased that there was no justice. He was appalled that there was no one to intervene....” (Isaiah 59:15-16). MEDA did intervene. By investing.

5. Business can be a calling

Part of the genius of MEDA is to understand work and faith as a whole piece of cloth. We bring our humble gifts — our talents, our business expertise, our innovative spirits — and we say, “Let’s see how this — our treasure in jars of clay — can help others in need. How can we shine the light of our work, animated by our faith, into the dark places?”

People see their faith in a new light once they realize that daily work can be an opportunity to express the character of God. After all, the first page of the Bible starts off with God at work. People show up on page two, made in the image of God to also work and be God’s junior partners in sustaining creation.

As MEDA matured, members sought to more deliberately honor God in daily toil, serving as “ministers of commerce” who would be active agents of Christian discipleship.

It can be argued that MEDA changed the understanding of business (and work generally) as a legitimate venue for Christian ministry. When it comes to spirituality in the workplace, much of the Christian world has had a moat around its castle. With the help of MEDA, countless Christians in business have seen that ministry is not confined to Sunday, but covers the whole work week. It’s as if MEDA struck a tuning fork and then pressed it against the soul of business, and the vibration keeps resonating over the generations. MEDA did so by providing resources and networking opportunities to help bring faith and workplace closer together (conventions, seminars, publications). Have these resources made a difference? Anecdotally we hear about companies that have broadened their “values footprint” and consciously seek out the “God moments” in their workplace. One assembly line worker told a MEDA staffer what she liked about working for a company owned by MEDA members. “No one yells at me here,” she said. A small thing? Not if you’re used to being abused.

6. Witness includes creating economic shalom

We at MEDA like to think we have helped expand the definition of Christian witness. While we do not proselytize, we bear witness by creating economic shalom. The possibilities for an expanded witness and noticeable “peace dividend” are remarkable, given that economic inequality is at the root of so much global strife. We have been agents of peace by bringing financial strength and hope to small operators in global hotspots such as Yemen and Libya. In Afghanistan, Egypt and Morocco we have worked with a burgeoning youth population, who are restless and unemployed, by boosting financial literacy and job training so they will see other options than being recruited by extremist groups. Another area is women’s empowerment. For years MEDA worked in Pakistan to help homebound women improve their marketing of embroidered fabrics. Because their culture and traditions confined them to their homes, they couldn’t go to market and see for themselves what customers want. MEDA developed creative ways to bring the market to them through intermediary sales agents who link them to the market so they can update their production and get better prices. Many of these women, some in areas that still practice “honor killings,” have been routinely mistreated and abused, but when they improve their economic stake they get more respect and better treatment. A little help, strategically applied, helps them coax out inherent skills, and ends up becoming a trim-tab on the rudder of change by enriching human rights. Our organization has turned 60, but we do not feel long in the tooth. Actually, we feel more vibrant than ever as MEDA enters its next decade. As the psalmist writes of the cedars of Lebanon, “In old age they still produce fruit; they are always green and full of sap” (Psalm 92:14). ◆ Abridged with permission from Vision: A Journal for Church and Theology, published by Anabaptist Mennonite Biblical Seminary and Canadian Mennonite University.

Vintage memories

When you love your work it’s natural to retain warm memories. Sam Wendland of Waldheim, Saskatchewan, has kept tangible souvenirs, too.

For six decades he has fondly tended a personal museum of cars, tractors and memorabilia from his life in business.

His companies included a BA gas station and a John Deere dealership he owned with his brothers. In 1955 he founded what has become Wendland Ag Services, now run by his son, David. The company began as a fuel and excavating company and later branched into fertilizer and agricultural chemicals. Today it is a full-service ag retailer with eight locations throughout central Saskatchewan.

Wendland loved his work, says his wife, Martha. “He enjoyed every bit of it.”

That affection extended to his collection, which comprises 40 tractors and 46 automobiles. One tractor, fully restored, is the first John Deere he drove on his father’s farm when he was 11 years old. His car fleet includes vintage models from the 1930s (like a 1932 Chevrolet Confederate) and a 1956 Meteor Rideau Sunline, one of only 400 made.

The museum also contains rare hood ornaments, license plates, radiator caps, John Deere belt buckles, keychains, hundreds of toy tractors, gas station memorabilia and antique cans of peanut butter and corn syrup.

Over the years Wendland’s cars and tractors regularly appeared in parades and car shows. Now he and Martha are preparing to share them more widely, as it’s time to let them go. The original tractor of Wendland’s youth will stay on the family farm, and each of the children will get to choose a car to keep. The rest, however, are likely to be sold.

“When you get to your 80s, what are you going to do with them?” Martha Wendland told a reporter for the Saskatoon StarPhoenix. “They have to be looked after. Nobody has gone to the cemetery with a U-Haul behind them.”

Known for their generosity, the Wendlands will donate much of the proceeds to charities. ◆

Photos by Richard Marjan, Saskatoon StarPhoenix

Sam Wendland and auto restorer Marty Curtis surrounded by some of the museum’s 46 cars.

Sam Wendland at the wheel of a 1931 Ford Model A Roadster Deluxe.

The first tractor Sam Wendland drove at the age of 11 was this John Deere, now fully restored.

Counting on numbers

A little ode to accountants. Why not take yours out for lunch?

Numbers get a bum rap.

During tax season, just passed, many of us offered prayers of thanks for our favorite bean counters. The rest of the year? Not so much.

Numbers, and those who live by them, are important not only to add and subtract but also for deep reasons of culture, even faith. There’s deep biblical resonance in keeping track systematically. “God is a god of order,” says one bank executive. “Things don’t happen randomly.”

And who else to maintain a running tab of that order but accountants who bring coherence to numbers and organize them in the life of a business, household or church.

Ever wonder who scratched the fi rst clay tablet

or penned history’s fi rst scroll? Was it a musing scribe, overtaken by a brilliant thought that just had to be shared? It seems not, according to William J. Bernstein in his book, Masters of the Word: How Media Shaped History from the Alphabet to the Internet. He concludes, after intensive study of archaeological and paleographical research, that it all started in the accounting department: “the fi rst writing arose not from the desire to record history or produce literature, but rather to measure grain, count livestock, and organize and control the labor of the human animal. Accounting, not prose, invented writing.”

burg Door, a Christian humor magazine) had an accountant whose calling went far beyond taxes and spreadsheets. “Steve is a Tamer of Numbers,” said Mike. “He doesn’t allow numbers to control and frighten all the employees. Rather than net profi ts and accounts payables being allowed to run wild, Steve captures them and tames them, so that the employees feel comfortable around them. Steve has managed to make the numbers of our company an adventure — a story that he tells with wonder and excitement.” Bookkeeper Hilda Pries (who is also MEDA’s database administrator) gets a buzz from numbers. “As each month-end draws near, I get a Steve saw numbers little giddy with excitement,” she says. “It means that in a few days as an adventure I will be receiving numerous bank statements that I will have the — a beast to be joy of reconciling. If I have done my job well, the bank reconciliacaptured and tamed tion will only take a short while, and everything will balance to the penny. This is enough to put a smile on my face, and encourage me for the coming weeks of the daily chore of bookkeeping.”

Some people get turned on by numbers. The late Mike Yaconelli (best known for publishing The Witten-

People in business value numbers. At MEDA

we see this vividly when we watch supporters receive the

annual report — our yearly instrument of public reckoning. The report typically contains compelling photos and crisp narratives depicting exciting projects around the world. It can be defl ating, yet instructive, to watch supporters open their fresh report booklet at the annual meeting. Many businesspeople in the crowd will thumb right past the visuals and prose and dive straight into the stark columns of numbers in the fi nancial summary. That is what speaks to them — the narrative that strikes a chord. To them, numbers are the syntax of accountability. The late Howard Raid, longtime business professor at Bluffton (Ohio) University, used to tell students in

Calling to account

Numbers can be an early clue to how well a company is grappling with threats like population growth or climate change

his beginning accounting class, “You are beginning to learn an entirely new universal language. This will enable you to analyze any institution, be it a business or a church ... or a family.” Some see accounting as a necessary function to save the planet. Robust accounting standards for sustainability data help investors decide which companies are adapting responsibly to challenges like population growth and climate change. Investors can then reward companies that serve society’s needs.

Can we save the world with accounting standards? asks Jean Rogers, founder of the Sustainability Accounting Standards Board (SASB). “Maybe not entirely. But SASB’s standards help get sustainability information into the hands of investors. To address our most pressing challenges, we must change business behavior and investor decisions. We’ll get there through accounting.”

Accounting is a high calling, right up there with a skilled physician or a wise pastor, says Ronald Stoltzfus, head of the accounting program at Eastern Mennonite University, Harrisonburg, Va.

“To run a business, non-profi t or a government agency, you must have properly trained people who know how to collect the right data and present it understandably, giving accurate answers to a host of questions,” he says.

“Good CPAs [Certifi ed Public Accountants] are problem-solvers for their clients. And auditors are like forensic investigators — they have to be very bright and very astute. Behind every major business reporting failure, there was an audit failure.” — EMU Crossroads

Numbers can be the quiet partners of compas-

sion and providential care. Alice complained that she found the fi nancial reports utterly boring when she sat on the board of a Mennonite seniors home. Yet when she thought carefully about it, she realized those “boring spreadsheets” were the spine of her denomination’s organized care for the elderly. It is one thing to declare that we should not be anxious about the future because God looks after the sparrow (and us) but in many cases God chooses to work through junior partners who develop meaningful structures. Those institutions, and the people who sit through boring meetings fi lled with numbers and spreadsheets, are the “hands” that make God’s care happen. ◆

Dream job

Former MEDA staffer now tracks numbers on the gridiron

Winnipeg Free Press photo by Phil Hossack

Jim Bell will never forget Hurricane Andrew.

It was 1992, and Bell, then a member of MEDA’s accounting staff, was in Nicaragua to audit a microfinance program. The hurricane that swept across the Gulf region added to the adventure of his first visit to a developing country.

Today, as a top executive with the Winnipeg Blue Bombers of the Canadian Football League, he sometimes feels like he’s in the eye of a hurricane. When the team recently moved to the new Investors Group Field at the University of Manitoba, it became his job to handle logistical glitches (like parking and transportation) that can raise the temperature of passionate fans.

Bell enjoyed his time with MEDA, but the job was only four days a week and he needed more. He moved on to fulltime work with a property management firm and then the Genesis division of Palliser Furniture.

One day in 2002 a headhunter called out of the blue to invite him to consider a director of finance position for an unnamed organization. “I was happy where I was, and told them so,” recalls Bell, who nonetheless showed up at the interview.

When he eventually found out the position was with the Winnipeg Blue Bombers, the team he had loved since boyhood, he changed his tune. Soon he had the job and began climbing the ranks to his current position as vice-president and chief operating officer. He oversees the areas of accounting and finance, sales, marketing and stadium operations. In addition, Bell keeps an eye on the team’s salary cap to ensure the Bombers are abiding by the CFL rules.

Now in its second year, Investors Group Field is a state-of-the-art showcase with 33,000 seats and abundant amenities such as luxury suites and vast video screens. It is a desirable concert venue for the likes of Taylor Swift and Paul McCartney and has been booked for major sporting events like next year’s FIFA Women’s World Cup and the National Hockey League’s outdoor heritage classic in 2016.

The stadium also has been selected to host next year’s

Grey Cup game (Canada’s version of the Super Bowl). Patient fans live in hope that their team can also win, and not just host, the Grey Cup. When Bell spoke to an MBA class at the University of Manitoba he observed that many of the students had not yet been born the last time the Blue Bombers won the Cup (1990). Asked if there are crossover values between doing a MEDA field audit and operating a sports franchise, Bell quickly points to the importance of stewardship. Besides caring about fiscal nuts and bolts, both jobs entail accountability for something larger. Jim Bell did much of the heavy lifting for the At the Blue Bombers, that team’s move from its old digs (above) to a quickly morphs into a high value new showcase stadium. on community. When he first joined the Bombers he slept with a grin on his face because he was working with the team he had loved as a kid. “I was proud to join as a numbers guy; that will always be a part of me,” he says. “But now it’s about the community.” Many companies use community language when speaking of clientele, but for the Blue Bombers there’s another layer of meaning since it is, in fact, a communityowned team like the Edmonton Eskimos, Saskatchewan Roughriders and Green Bay Packers. When he spoke to the Manitoba Chambers of Commerce this spring, Bell noted that key goals for his sports franchise included being competitive, winning on the field, bringing home a championship and maximizing revenue streams. But there was also another type of goal — serving the community. “We are a community-owned organization and with that we must be community-minded,” he said. To a former accountant, numbers will always be important, but Bell’s current role brings a richer appreciation for consumers in the marketplace and the value of meaningful connections with them. “Although the bricks and mortar are spectacular with the new stadium and we have an obligation to meet the goals of our bottom line,” he says, “the thing that will sustain this club long term is the relationship/love affair between the team and its passionate, loyal fans.” ◆

From deep convictions to Tall Grass

Bread co-op grew out of church study of food and land issues

by Evelyn Rempel Petkau

Tall Grass Prairie Bread Company is well-known in and around Winnipeg for its gooey cinnamon buns and its organic local baking and preserves, suffusing the marketplace at the Forks and its Wolseley neighbourhood with the aroma of fresh baking.

As Paul and Tabitha Langel sit down to enjoy some of the homemade soup from their Tall Grass Bakery at the Forks, they describe the journey they embarked on nearly three decades ago with their church community and their business partners, Lyle and Kathy Barkman. They don’t highlight the long hours, the incredibly hard work, or the surprising twists and turns, but rather the critical role of faith, prayer and the support of their faith community on this journey.

Tabitha, a former social worker, and Paul, a former teacher, are long-time members of the Grain of Wheat Church-Community. In the late 1980s, the church was studying food and land issues.

“Back then, farmers were still getting the same price for a bushel of wheat that they got a hundred years ago,” Tabitha recalls. “A record number of small farms were being sold and agri-business was taking off.”

A small bread co-op grew out of the church’s concerns and its desire for a more communal life in its neighbourhood. It used a local church’s kitchen and baked bread every Saturday morning. The group of bakers decided to invest in a mill and purchase grain directly from local organic farmers. ”We did this for philosophical reasons, but none of us were prepared for how much better the bread tasted,” says Tabitha.

“The demand for the bread became too overwhelming,” she says. “We were baking up to 100 loaves on Saturday and on Wednesday I baked another 60.”

People began to question whether they should try to form a business and support more farmers, eventually bringing the issue to the church community.

“A group of five of us solidified with not a single busi-

Paul and Tabitha Langel at their bakery in the Forks, an eclectic market in a historic section of downtown Winnipeg.

ness course between us,” says Tabitha, whose resolve for an ethical loaf of bread never wavered. When the bank would not give them a loan to purchase a bakery, many in the bread co-op lent them money and they took out personal loans. “We had a vision for a dreamy kind of neighbourhood bakery,” Tabitha recalls. They would all keep their part-time jobs. “But nobody had prepared us for success,” says Paul. “On opening day, there were at least 200 people and they had baked only 30 loaves of bread, a few dozen muffins and two-dozen cinnamon buns.” At its fifth anniversary, Tall Grass Prairie decided to throw a party and invite all the farmers. About 400 people came, and when the farmers were introduced, people cheered. The farmers were visibly moved. “We never had any idea that the bakery would grow into a medium-sized business,” says Paul.

Together with the Barkmans, who work at the Wolseley site, they employ nearly 60 people. From the beginning, the bakery has always been about doing what is just and what is good for the land and for the people.

“Our philosophy is hugely shaped by the community and our faith,” Paul says. “It is a challenge how to be fair to everyone, to ensure that farmers and everyone get paid a fair living, and that we still make a decent living.”

Tall Grass Prairie farmers get 14 cents for every loaf, and every couple of years Tall Grass staff try to visit their farm suppliers.

“By far the greatest challenge as owners is to stay on the same page, stay honest and still meet for communion with each other on Sundays,” says Paul. “Any time human beings do things this intense together, there are rough stretches.”

To get them through those stretches, the partners have relied on the help of mediation whenever they felt the need. They have also relied heavily on their church community.

Twelve years ago, when they were invited to open at the Forks, a stipulation was that they had to be open on Sundays. Their church community encouraged and supported them in this.

“It has proven to be the right decision, but it has also been a strain,” Tabitha says. “I knew a rabbi whose family No one prepared shops here and he told us, ‘Remember God made the them for sabbath for us and not us for the sabbath.’ Eleven success: 200 years later, it still is a challenge. people lined up “The rabbi came by a while ago,” she adds, “and said, ‘I hear you miss on opening day church many Sundays. Private prayer and praying with your people are two different things, so my daughter is coming to work on Sundays so you can go to church.’ That germinated the idea that we would experiment with scheduling our Muslim, Jewish and Christian employees according to their religious days. So now we have a Jewish baker who bakes on Sundays. It has made a lot of difference.”

“It is never not a struggle to live your faith in the workplace,” says Paul.

“But the joy is immense,” Tabitha hastens to add. “There is respect in the workplace. You get a sense the staff enjoy coming to work. We guard the culture of the workplace very carefully.” ◆

Reprinted with permission from Canadian Mennonite.