The Magic of
Christmas Is not in the presents But in
His presence
The Eight O’Clock
News December 2018 8 am Service, Christ Church Kenilworth 021-797-6332
in response to Charlie Brown’s lament, Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about? Mendelson and Melendez both voiced their concern ‘Christmas is a season not only of rejoicing but of about the reading, with Melendez telling Schulz, It’s reflection’. (Winston Churchill). very dangerous for us to start talking about religion So… I have been reflecting on the true meaning of now. Schulz answered him by saying, Bill, if we don’t, Christmas and have come up rather disappointed. ‘We have commercialized it, super-sized it, downgraded who will? In the end, the scripture reading was retained, and the CBS special was the second-most it, and for most people, ignored the real meaning of watched show of the week when it debuted on Christmas’. (C.P. Lewis) Would it rather be true that when Jesus was born in the December 9, 1965. manger in Bethlehem Linus’ King James scripture reading from Luke 2: 8-14, read: it was because: And there were in the same country shepherds abiding ‘This is how much God loved the world: in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. He gave His Son, His And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they one and only Son. were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear And this is why: so not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, that no one need be which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this destroyed; by day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the believing in Him, Lord. And this [shall be] a sign unto you; You shall find anyone can have a the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a Why can’t my birthday be about me? whole and lasting manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a That’s my wish, Santa. Is that too much life. God didn’t go to multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and all the trouble of to ask ? saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth sending His Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how peace, good will toward men. That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown. bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right So in the words of Ray Stannard Baker: I sometimes again. Anyone who trusts in Him is acquitted; anyone think we expect too much of Christmas Day. We try to who refuses to trust in Him has long since been under crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and the death sentence without knowing it. And why? Because of that person’s failure to believe in the one-of- humanity of the whole year. As for me, I like to take my a-kind Son of God when introduced to Him’. (John 3:16, Christmas a little at a time, all through the year. And thus I drift along into the holidays, let them overtake The Message). me unexpectedly, waking up some fine morning and This week I read an end of year message from the president of my company wishing us all Happy Holidays suddenly saying to myself: Why this is Christmas Day! And on this Christmas Day, I’ll say to my Lord in the and saying, As the calendar year draws to a close, many countries and many cultures celebrate important words of this Celtic Prayer, ‘Be present with me: holidays… What exactly does he mean? There is no ‘The earth is Your dwelling, mention of Christmas! I recall that in the course of the Live in us Lord, year, other celebrations are mentioned by name—so Let us live in You. why not Christmas? Settle in our hearts, During the making of the animated Christmas classic A At home in our wills, Charlie Brown Christmas, Peanuts’ creator Charles At rest in our minds, Schulz had a meeting with Lee Mendelson, the show’s At ease in our strength, producer, and Bill Melendez, its lead animator. The That we may reside in peace, discussion concerned Schulz’s insistence about including a New Testament scripture reading of the Live in joy, Christmas story from the Bible. The scripture reading Abide in love, was to be spoken by Peanuts’ character Linus Van Pelt And inhabit eternity.’
Christmas Presence
December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
- Cheryl Anderson
They Don’t Award Nobel Prizes to Dead People
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It was a privilege for Ronnie and I to interview Richard van-Zyl
Smit about his recently launched book with interesting title (see above!) We were intrigued as to the motivation behind writing this book. Richard shared deeply about his struggles with anxiety and feeling of not coping in a competitive medical research post as Professor and Head of the Lung Research Unit. As explained to us and in his book, the immense pressure of motivating for research grant approvals, to meet the needs of his patients, registrars and students, be a good father figure and husband and researcher of excellence took its toll on him. Richard has found balance and healing in seeking professional help for his anxiety and his near breakdown as he faced up to his struggle. His story resonates with so many but was not written to give counsel. Richard has learnt that it is ‘OK’ to recognise and verbalize that one may not be coping too well. His profound hope is that sharing his experience will resonate with others and encourage counselling, looking at our lives and if needs be getting professional help. We and many have been encouraged by Richard’s book, his honesty and vulnerability. We were fortunate to attend the launch of his book at Cavendish Square where Richard was very well supported by family, friends, colleagues and his beloved Heather and boys. He acknowledges the support of Heather, professional support and of course, God. The foreword of the book is particularly poignant as Bongani Mayosi, Dean of the University at UCT had been asked to write the foreword to the book. His untimely death to suicide has resulted in a blank page instead of the intended written foreword. Ronnie and I feel this book is a helpful resource to many as we cope with the pressures of life, stress and work, whatever those pressures may be… coping with a young family, severe illnesses, financial difficulties, getting older. Happily, Richard has learnt to balance work and family, relaxation and still provide the excellence he strives to achieve. He shared with us how he has implemented a good ‘tea break’ for his team between medical sessions to enjoy a well deserved break! As much as this book is written through the eyes of a medical practitioner it should resonate with many of us who want to do better than just cope! The book is an easy and excellent read and available from Richard, or at our resource centre. Below are some comments from readers: * ‘I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciated your book and the openness with which you shared the challenges of your journey.’ ‘I can very much relate (as can many achievement oriented people like us), particularly with the drive to always appear ‘unfazed’ as we seek to overcome ever more frequent/higher hurdles. My reflection on this was frankly one of the key things that led me to take a step back from the work I was doing as a management consultant, because I finally realized that I was pushing myself too hard to achieve professional objectives and missing a lot of life around me at the same time.’ ‘Just like you, when I started to open up to friends about these challenges, I realized how many of them were silently struggling through challenges of their own, including the friends who seemed to have everything together and were on a successful path. Anyhow, thanks again for your words!’ ‘Just finished reading your book and as expected it was fantastic. December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
While I'm so sorry that you went through such a dark time, your willingness to be so open and unafraid to share your ‘weaknesses’ is an incredible strength and frankly a gift that you have given everyone who has heard and will hear of your story. And I love your recommendation to readers to put up warning lights in strategic and visible places. While I feel like I'm in a good professional and emotional place right now, I'm definitely going to reflect on this so that I can quickly recognize (and help family and friends to let me know) if I'm getting in over my head if and when things change. I am planning to recommend your book to several friends who could potentially benefit from your story. Some are in medicine, while others are in fields that are similarly stressful. ‘And I'm sure I'm not the first person to suggest it to you, but I think that your story and speaking style would be perfect for a TED talk—not sure how one goes about getting invited to do a TED talk though?’ ‘I decided to write this short message to more effectively communicate my deep admiration of your book, and to extend my sincerest gratitude for your courage to lay it all bare. I read the book while my fiance hovered close by, curious about what had gripped my attention so firmly in such a short period of time. Eventually, she was swept in with me as we devoured page after page, weeping and then sighing with relief in quick succession. I wept, not because of any deep sense of sadness but mostly from relief—the deep gnawing in my stomach that had become a pervasive feature of my daily routine seemed to ease a little with each new chapter. The words penetrated with an intimate familiarity, and I could not help but feel like the book was written just for me. I am sure that this, paradoxically, will be part of the book's universal appeal, that it is able to make the text feel deeply personal. I could identify with so much of your own experience, but more importantly, I was relieved that my own experience no longer felt singular, desperate, or incompatible with the experiences of others. Your reflections on the unrelenting pressure to succeed, and the unwillingness of the system to accept our human imperfection is sure to resonate with many, as it did with me. The entire text reads as a reminder to not forsake an understanding of our humanness in the pursuit of excellence, to recognise our own imperfections, and to be awake to the reality that we are all likely to find ourselves swimming against the current of our own lives at some point or the other. It is a recipe, a liberating rather than prescriptive one, for adjusting our expectations of ourselves and of others. You offered a genuine and sympathetic voice of support amidst the otherwise painful silence. For the first time in a long while I felt like I was offered permission to feel human again, to be released from the vicious cycle of unending expectation. Thank you for being a warning in the distance for so many, and for the gentle radiance of your guiding light.’
- Ed and Ronnie Morgan
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Dear 8 am Congregation I wanted to write a thank you letter to all of you. Thank you for
accepting me into your midst with the warmest of hearts, and loveliest cups of tea. I have cherished being part of the choir and your service on and off for the last number of years. It has been a massive time of healing and growing, crying and loving, whilst sitting right behind the preacher. As I am now embarking on yet another adventure, I thought I would give you a little insight into what God has done in my life recently, and where He is taking me now. Some of you may know that I was in Canada in 2017, working at a Christian Summer Camp, which was a lot harder than I expected. Near the end of my year there I was very conflicted about whether I should come home. I had felt that God was calling me to Vancouver, but things were just not working out. After a lot of deliberation and prayer I decided to pack up and return home. I believe that God wants me to be in Canada, but I am still young and my journey has never followed a straight path. I have loved being home this year—being with my parents and back in the church community that I adore has been like healing balm to my soul. Sadly, I was doing a job that was not very fulfilling and not in a direction that I wanted to stay in long term. So, I have been praying to find work in a field where God can use me and the unique skills with which He has blessed me. Our God works in mysterious ways. The details of the story are laborious, but in essence God ‘pounced’ an opportunity on me to work for PricewaterhouseCoopers in sustainability, climate change and integrated reporting. I did not apply for the position, nor did I know I was going to be interviewed for it, but because it encompasses my passions (environmental, economic and social responsibility) all I had to do was speak from the heart. I could not have designed a better position if I’d tried! The sad part, however, is that this will be in Johannesburg. When I found that out I got mad at God. I said to Him; ‘But God, I’ve just came home!’ to which He replied; ‘This is not your home, none of this is. Stop holding on so tightly to an earthly home.’ It seems that this is my lesson for the season—God is sovereign, not only of Cape Town and Canada, but of Jo’burg too. So once again I pack up my life, and go where He sends me—at least this time it is in the same time zone. I carry you all in my heart and in my prayers. Please hold me in yours too—it is a big new city with many new challenges and dangers. Thankfully, I never walk alone. God Bless, Melissa Lubbe - Melissa and boyfriend, Mike Swann, in front of PwC headquarters where Melissa will be based.
December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
HAPPY SPECIAL BIRTHDAY Patrick Swan (2 December) Sheila Kaschula (23 December) Margaret Clark (30 December) For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and His name shall be called Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6
Two Miracles from God We thank God for the
many blessings He has bestowed on us this year, especially two ‘miracles’. 1. When Andy took so very ill and was in ICU with septicaemia, we were all very concerned that he would survive. He is now restored to full health. 2. Our grandson Matthew, who is in matric, took violently ill before the first Matric examination on a Tuesday in October. After spending the night in hospital, where he was diagnosed with appendicitis, the doctors managed to stabilize him so that he could write his exam. After the exam, he went straight back to the hospital and was operated on in the afternoon. We praise God for his recovery and that the next exam was only on the Friday. What a wonderful Lord and Saviour we have In Jesus. We know His Hand was hovering over us all. Our grateful thanks for all at CCK for their prayers. My gratitude and love to my Bible Study group who were by my side with their love and prayers through all this. I am so fortunate to have been invited to be part of these amazing women who have made such a difference to my life.
- Pam Andrew
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The Pastor : A Personal Tribute Last week Alison Bourne asked me to write something about
Eugene Peterson (EP). I think she meant this in the context of his life as a Pastor as we had been discussing the needs of practical pastoral care in the church. As I have thought about her request, I have found myself wanting more and more to write something about my experience of the impact of EP on my own life; and rather than to be so bold as to offer an extensive biographical piece about him. I wanted to share something of how I feel about EP. Long ago, when a special uncle of mine died in a tiny village in Dorset, I felt compelled to write something about him—to try to capture the essence of him for myself. Perhaps I feel the same about EP. The thoughts and ideas are tumbling in my head as I set to penning these few words; but hopefully, interalia, the picture of a man who was supremely a pastor, will emerge from my text. That said, a thumbnail sketch for purposes of background seems important. Eugene Peterson was born in 1932 in Washington and he grew up in Montana. Interestingly, he died at his home on Flathead Lake in Montana in 2018—the home where he and his wife, Jan had spent their retirement years; also the home where he wrote easily his best known work: The Message. EP’s father was a butcher in Kalispell, Montana and many were the hours that he spent working in that shop engaging in the ordinary stuff of helping his father to put bread on the table in their modest family home. In between the Montana growing up years and the Montana retired years, EP acquired numerous degrees, probably the most notable of which (in terms of his work on The Message) was an MA in Semitic languages from Johns Hopkins University. His fluency in both Hebrew and Greek urged him to write the Scriptures in a form that was both contemporary and accessible to everyone. ‘When Paul of Tarsus wrote a letter, the people who received it understood it instantly; when the prophet Isaiah preached a
Life After Delivery ? In a mother’s womb were two babies.
One asked the other: ‘Do you believe in life after delivery?’ The other replied, ‘Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we are here to prepare ourselves for what we will be later.’ ‘Nonsense’, said the first. ‘There is no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?’ The second said, ‘I don’t know, but there will be more light than here. Maybe we will walk with our legs and eat from our mouths. Maybe we will have other senses that we can’t understand now.’ The first replied, ‘That is absurd. Walking is impossible. And eating with our mouths? Ridiculous! The umbilical cord supplies nutrition and everything we need. But the umbilical cord is so short. Life after delivery is to be logically excluded.’ The second insisted, ‘Well I think there is something and maybe it’s different than it is here. Maybe we won’t need this physical cord anymore.’ The first replied, ‘Nonsense. And moreover, if there is life, then why has no one ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and in the after-delivery, there is nothing but darkness and silence and oblivion. It takes us nowhere.’ ‘Well, I don’t know’, said the second, ‘but certainly we will meet Mother and she will take care of us.’ The first replied, ‘Mother? You actually believe in Mother? That’s December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
sermon, I can’t imagine that people went to the library to figure it out’ (Eugene Peterson:The Story behind The Message). But also between Montana and Montana, EP was the founding pastor of Christ our King Presbyterian Church in Maryland in 1962 and where he served for 29 years; when he left Maryland it was to take up the post of Professor of Spiritual Theology at Regent College in Vancouver. EP was a prolific writer whose books covered many topics: Run with the horses (Jeremiah); A Long Obedience in the Same Direction and Under the Unpredictable Plant (Jonah) are among my favourites; but I think that the greatest legacy of EP in my life is what he wrote about using The Psalm language to ‘Answer God’ and to ‘Ask God’. It was he who challenged me over the last five years, to memorise at least one verse from each psalm—to be used as a primary weapon of prayer. I now call it my ‘default liturgy’! I have loved his poetry too—such a master of wordcraft is he and I must share an excerpt from this poem penned while in a dark place: Flash floods of tears, torrents of them… The same sun that decorates each day with colours From arroyos and mesas, also shows Every old scar and cut of lament. Weeping washes the wounds clean And leaves them to heal, which always takes an age or two. No pain Is ugly in past tense, Under The Mercy every hurt is a fossil Link in that great chain of becoming… In these days, I think often of EP and of how lonely I felt on the day after he died. I think of his beloved Jan whose calling it was to be ‘A Pastor’s Wife’; and perhaps most poignant of all, I think of how he told an interviewer that the best and most important part of his life as a Pastor was his marriage, his children and his grandchildren.
- Jessica McCarter [Judy Everingham’s sermon on EP is on the website]
laughable. If Mother exists then where is She now?’ The second said, ‘She is all around us. We are surrounded by her. We are of Her. It is in Her that we live. Without Her, this world would not and could not exist.’ Said the first: ‘Well I don’t see Her, so it is only logical that She doesn’t exist.’ To which the second replied, ‘Sometimes, when you’re in silence and you focus and listen, you can perceive Her presence, and you can hear Her loving voice, calling down from above.’
- Origin unknown. Sent in by Mike Kunz
More Than Peace Annie Kirke would like to have a small group of committed folk who will pray about confidential needs which arise in her work. If God is asking you to be one of these, kindly speak to Gerry Adlard or to Ev Els (contact details on p8) who will email topics as they arise.
Cheryl and Ev wish all our readers a blessed Christmas and a God-filled 2019. Thank you for all your contributions and fellowship in Jesus.
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Encouragement From: Gerald Adlard:
5 November 2018 Dearly Beloved I have this feeling that it is time I wrote a letter. I have been thinking of you, and wondering how you are—and perhaps the best way to find out is to tell you a little about how I am ... I spent May, June and July travelling through England and into France and Hungary—searching out friends from 50 years ago and giving ourselves the chance to rediscover each other. With two dear cousins and my American family added to the pot it all became a hugely heart-warming experience. It was also a pilgrimage, for I walked the last three days of the ancient Pilgrims’ Way to Canterbury Cathedral, spent four days in a workshop at Coventry Cathedral and wrapped up my trip in a silent retreat at Lee Abbey on the wild north Devon coast. If you missed my emails I have bundled them up into a little pdf called 'Posts from a Pilgrim', which I will gladly send you if you ask for it. I have been back in Cape Town for exactly three months. Time flies when you're busy—and I have been busy at both poles of this extremely bipolar city (Kirstenbosch and Vrygrond). At the one end I know nothing more enchanting than Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden. It is billed as 'The most beautiful garden in Africa' but to me it is the most extraordinary garden in the world, because it is huge, has Table Mountain as its garden wall, and contains only indigenous plants—because our flora is not only unique, but gloriously diverse. Just google 'Kirstenbosch gardens photos' to see what I mean. As a garden guide I have a reason to discover all I can about the botany—and then I have the opportunity to show it to people from all over the world and share it all with them! I often go there after church on Sunday and spend hours just sitting, walking around, chatting a bit to the flowers and birds and taking a few photos. It is a place of peace, beauty and well being—and I treasure it. My life has changed so much this year. In one sense that was unavoidable, because becoming a widower is a very definite thing. But the most surprising thing about becoming an individual after having been ‘half of a couple’ for half a century is that one is invited to discover oneself. I wasn't old enough to know myself before I fell in love with Gill so many years ago. But now I have a chance to try, if I wish. I am back on my own at home, because Peter and Ros recently bought a house, so they and their two little darlings no longer live with me. But at Coventry Cathedral I was introduced to some simple but profound prose for meditating upon. Here is one little piece—but it only makes sense if you let it explore you: You are not there, you are here. You are not then, you are now. You are not them, you are you. This notion of me being just me takes some getting used to! I could either embrace or try to evade it. If I embrace it I have the option of getting to know myself and perhaps even trying to celebrate this strange creature. I don't think that evasion would be a fruitful option. Henning Menkel, the author of the Wallender detective series, wrote his final book, Quicksand, as a soliloquy about his own process of dying from cancer—in which he came to the point of realising ‘I am myself and no-one else. I am me.’ Prof. Eugene Petersen died last week, after bringing the whole Bible alive in an extraordinary way in The Message, and a phrase that he distilled out of 1 Corinthians 7:17-24 is ‘God, not your marital status, defines your life.’ It is God, our Creator, not any of December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
the many forms of status that we might imagine we possess, who defines our life. So instead of being lonely I have this opportunity to discover myself. And God in me. That's quite a project. I am hoping for an adventure, full of surprises, rather than a deep, dark and serious journey. But every now and then I get anxious and even a bit hopeless, so there is certainly work to be done! No doubt grief will continue to ambush me with a water canon and douse me with resurgences of a very special relationship—but I can gratefully live with that. The greatest news for me is that I need not live life loveless. Instead of my heart becoming freeze-dried or shrivelled up because my darling wife has died I have had the strange experience of God reconstructing my heart into something much bigger so that I can see Him in all sorts of people and enjoy their loveliness without there being anything romantic or unholy about it. And without diminishing my love for and appreciation of Gill. That's a wonderful gift, because it is love that keeps me going. I expect that goes for all of us. I enjoy writing, but one reason why I have been such an inconsistent letter writer is that I spend quite a bit of time writing for other purposes. At the start of each year (for more than 10 now) I have crafted (sounds better than concocted) a few weeks of Bible studies for Closer to God, a a popular annual published by Scripture Union, as one of a panel of writers. It not only makes interesting reading, but an inspiring Christmas gift. If you would like a copy send me R120, and I shall post it to you—and could even write something nice inside the front cover like posh authors do. And you could even add a bit to cover postage if you wish, especially if you live in the Outer Hebrides (£10 or $10 would get it to you by airmail, if there's a tail wind). Lots of love Uncle Gerry On Mon, Nov 5, 2018 Angelika Flegg replied: Dear Gerry, Thank you for your letter. As always, packed with news that’s alive. One of my grandsons spent nearly a year at Lee Abbey and came away as an experienced housekeeper, cook and amuser of children. He is getting engaged to a (lucky) girl in December. Having visited him there, I know Lee Abbey and remember specially that marvellous seat above the steep cliffs, facing the wild Atlantic. I also know just what you are talking about when you describe your sense of wonder at discovering yourself as an individual more and more. My husband Donald died suddenly after 44 years of marriage—I had gone from my parents’ house straight into marriage at 18—no time to do the self-discovery then or for all those years following. After Donald’s death I continued to make tea in his favourite tea pot. I could never finish it all—he loved his tea—and one day I realised that a smaller tea pot would actually do for me so I went out and bought a bright yellow one, the beginning of my acknowledging myself as an individual. That journey is not finished. I was recently diagnosed with cancer of the oesophagus—a whole new ball game—as I have never been seriously ill in my life. Isaiah 54:10 is my rock-scripture! Treatment has not begun at this point but everyone says it’s very tough. Waiting for it I am filled by profound peace and joy. What an experience! I’d like to order two copies of Closer to God—and I’m hoping for ‘something nice inside’… Thank you also for that brief poem—a good lesson for a Mom with a large family. Love from Geka (Angelika Flegg)
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From: Gerald Adlard 05 November 2018
Dear Geka You are a great encouragement and inspiration! Thank you. After I clicked 'send' I immediately wondered if I had used the right words or phrases or whether any readers—including lots of unbelievers—would be offended by my advertising the book (SU asked all its readers, for the first time ever, to help market it ) - and you, even with your oesophagus in disrepair, come whizzing back, full of faith and testimonies, and order two copies!!! I remember Gill telling me what a wonderful person you are—and now I see for myself. I love your story about the teapot, and starting new with yellow. After my son and his family moved out I cleaned the whole house, washed the walls (with some help), and then made it beautiful with our pictures, but hung in different positions, and with two new chairs that I bought to replace some unsuitable ones. And it feels as though I created it in a way that I really like, and I appreciate that. Even though I can't see how I can justify or manage rattling around in a four-bedroomed house. Anyway—one thing at a time. I learned about your cancer in church yesterday. I was obviously very sorry and sad to receive the news—but it is clear from your letter that you are in for an adventure with God and with His people around you. I hope that we'll be able to ride alongside, praying you along, so if you plan to send emails out please include me. Just as the Lord lifts you up your witness and testimony will lift others up. You are certainly starting out from the right place with Isaiah 54:10: ‘Even if the mountains are removed and the hills displaced, my devotion will not be removed from you, nor will my covenant of friendship be displaced,’ because it is God's love which will power you through. I have been astonished by the lengths to which God goes, to practically demonstrate how much He loves me, and in exactly the way I need to be loved. And I'm sure that you have known that for yourself for a long time. He knows us inside out, oesophagus and all! And He will be glorified, and you will be remarkably blessed, in the journey that you are now taking together. Perhaps this next stretch is like the difficult section in a mountain climb—but He knows the way. God bless you, Dear Sister, and as they irradiate you, or whatever they're going to do, remember that He irradiated you first: every cell contains God's mark, and He is with you and in you intensively. With lots and lots of love and prayers Gerry
From: Angelika Flegg, Sent: 06 November 2018
Hi Gerry, I know this thing about being alone in a house that seems too large for one person. It’s a problem I have grappled with (sorry, Churchill) – and discussed with various people. The upshot is: it is a gift, providing space for get-togethers bible studies parties guests but most important of all a space where you can sit in silence with God, quite undisturbed, which would be much more difficult in a smaller place which inevitably would be closer to people. Feel His blessing today! Geka
- Used with permission, shortened slightly
December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
STRETCH! Andy Frieslaar hosts a Fitness League centre in Callow House on Mondays and Wednesdays from 8.45 - 9.45 am. Come and experience movement and exercise to music, incorporating cardio, conditioning and floor work. Energise and strengthen the whole body in an enjoyable, non-judgemental and social space— suitable for men and women of all ages. Put on your leggings and takkies, bring a mat or a towel—Andy would love to see you and your friends! For more information, look at www.thefitnessleague.co.za.
‘God comes to us like the sun in the morning—when it is time.’ —Carlo Carretto, The God Who Comes
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The Rising Tide We had planned this mid-week break for months and, at long
last, here we were in a little corner of paradise. The white-washed fisherman’s cottage was just right. It had four bedrooms; two of them were en-suite plus a third ‘family’ bathroom and a wide covered veranda facing out over the beach, across the ocean to Table Mountain. Although in the distance, such was the clarity of the afternoon air, the mountain seemed to be within arms’ reach. The cottage was set among coastal fynbos which always looks to me as if it has struggled to survive—wind-blown and scrubby. However, here and there were lovely vivid splashes of colour cradled in either deep green or soft grey foliage, some with bright yellow stripes. The beach, which was only a short walk from the cottage porch, was reached by way of a greying wooden boardwalk which stretched out over the dunes and fynbos down to the beach itself. The brilliant white sand stretched away in a long slow curve to the left towards Table Mountain in the distance. On the right it turned sharply out to sea in the shape of a crescent before running back to the right and away up the West coast. The crescent formed a small cove filled with large majestic grey rocks. As the white sand ran down into the sea and met with the big rocks, it was covered in smaller stones and little boulders; white, grey, black and rust-red. Where the sea splashed onto the rocks they turned into shiny whites, blacks and brilliant reds. Having arrived in the mid-afternoon, we swiftly unpacked, stocked the little sunny kitchen and put the white wine and some beers in the fridge. Little Annie, however, was not quite ready to settle down and was making herself clearly understood. Granny Haley said to Peter and Nicky, ’Go on you two, take Ronnie down to the water’s edge while I calm your little princess here.’ Three year-old Ronnie quickly stripped off and slipped on his new blue (blue was ‘his’ colour) swimming costume and pointing at the ocean called to me, ‘Gramps, come!’ I assured him that I’d follow on later after helping Granny Haley. With that he grabbed his Mom and Dads’ hands and pulled them into a half-run as they set off down the boardwalk, their laughter and chatter floating up to us on the light afternoon breeze. Haley, cradling little Annie said, ‘Go on honey, join them, Annie has quietened down and will probably go down in a short while.’ I had no intention of swimming in the cold west coast waters and set off along the boardwalk in my shorts and tee-shirt. Once on the clean white sand I looked to the left along the curve of the beach I could see the three sets of footprints interweaving like a crazy attempt at platted hair. They were by now a fair way off playing at the water’s edge. Ronnie’s laughter and shrieks drifted over the sound of the waves. I was about to step out towards them when I glanced to my right into the cove. There was a tall figure standing on the highest rock in the middle of the curve of the cove. The rising tide was now well above the smaller rocks and pebbles on the beach floor. Intrigued, I felt drawn to the figure. He (I assumed it was a man although the figure had long dark hair) was dressed in what can only be described as very old fashioned creamy-white Middle Eastern robes. He was looking directly at me. I couldn’t, of course, make out any details from that distance but couldn’t resist the invitation his body language projected. I could still hear Ronnie’s high-pitched laughter and his dad’s deeper voice as I made my way gingerly over the pebbles and up towards the figure on the rock. The pebbles were well under water and being of different sizes, tended to shift and move underfoot as December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
I walked through them towards the big rocks. I was looking down and concentrating on my footing as I made my way. Just as I reached the collection of boulders where he stood, his arm came out to me. I grasped his hand which was deep in the folds of his garment. His strength surprised me as he effortlessly lifted me up onto the top of the uppermost rock. As he did so he pulled me close into his embrace, his arms around me and my face buried deep into his flowing robes. They seemed to be of an exquisite linen and smelled clean and fresh. He was taller than me and in any event was standing a little above me so that my face was buried in the middle of his chest. Then I heard his deep baritone rumbling in his chest against my face, ‘Isn’t it a delight to hear the innocent joy and love of a child carried on unrestrained laughter? I know that you have a deep need to be loved by your children and grandchildren and that you rejoice in their love.’ He continued, ‘It has always been my longing to be loved by all my children. Now here you are a son of my father.’ I don’t know quite what happened but I found myself weeping; tears cascading down my cheeks, soaking into his robe. I started to babble on. My concerns, failures, disobedience, omissions, illconsidered actions, selfishness, anger and on and on—it all just poured out. He was silent and held me slightly firmer; his right hand resting on my left shoulder and his left on my back just below my right armpit. After a while, during which time I had calmed down into a wonderful sense of peace, he spoke again, ‘Be still, I know all that. You have told me all of it before. You know it has been dealt with, so don’t let the concerns of your mind linger and overrule the truth of your father-heart. That is what I love about you—your heart is faithful.’ We stood silently for a while and then I turned my head and looked down as I felt the cold water of the ever-rising tide splash over my feet. The bottom of his robe was momentarily in the sea water as it rushed over the rocks towards the beach. He was wearing sandals, the design of which I had never seen before. ‘The tide is rising swiftly now,’ he said as his hand again took mine and let me down from the rock, ‘be careful, mind your footing!’ I stepped over the pebbles the water now up to my waist, my arms out wide for balance against the surging tide, until I made it off the small stones onto the clean, firm sea-washed sand. I relaxed and just as I did so a wave caught me behind my knees. Down I went, face-first into the sand, the water rushing over me. I spluttered to my feet shaking the water out of my hair and started to laugh just as I heard his deep rolling laughter join with mine in a shared moment of easy, unrestrained joy. I turned to face him. He wasn’t there. I stood for some time looking around. I could see the Peter and Nicky slowly zigzagging their way back to the cottage as Ronnie ran hither and thither still enjoying himself immensely. As for my friend, he was nowhere to be seen. I realised that I couldn’t tell you the colour of his eyes or what he looked like. I slowly returned to the cottage. Haley was standing on the porch smiling down at me, ‘You took a bit of a spill there, she called out laughing, ‘don’t you dare’ she said as she evaded my attempt at a hug, ‘you just get dry first!’. ‘My!’ she said, looking into my face as I drew up to her, ’Are you OK? Your eyes are ablaze and you seem all aglow.’ ‘That is a story all of its own’, I answered as she, still regarding me thoughtfully, turned for the kitchen… [regrettably—to be continued]
- Sent in by Barrie Jack
Christmas in the Kitchen I’m in the middle of cooking—I haven’t got time to tell you the story of the first Christmas time! (OH, ALRIGHT!) Away in a manger and far out of sight, a miracle happened some cold winter’s night.
It was rather exciting for those who were there. But you and I weren’t—so why should we care? It’s tradition you know, like a cake, (but less fun). So, let’s quickly recite this old tale and move on. There were two or three kings who looked up to the skies and they saw a great star and ... WHO BURNED THE MINCE PIES?!!! I guess we’ll just have to pop off to the shops. Let’s pray there’s some Christmas treats still left in stock. Moving along, next up we’ve got shepherds. They were watching their sheep…CAN YOU PASS ME THE PEPPERS? And the sky filled with light, and they heard angels singing, And the angel said …IS THAT THE CAKE ALARM RINGING?? No of course that’s not what they actually said! If you’ll stop interupting I might move ahead. They said ‘Glory to God and peace to all men A Saviour’s been born in an animal pen.’
It’s Who You Know During the American Civil War, as a result of a family tragedy,
a soldier was granted permission to seek a hearing from the President. He wanted to request exemption from military service. However, when he arrived at the White House, he was refused entry and sent away. He went and sat in a nearby park. A young boy came across him and remarked how unhappy he looked. The soldier found himself telling the young boy everything. Eventually the boy said, ‘Come with me.’ He led the dejected soldier back to the White House. They went around the back, none of the guards stopped them. Even the generals and high-ranking government officials stood to attention and let them pass through. The soldier was amazed. Finally, they came to the presidential office. Without knocking, the young boy opened the door and walked straight in. Abraham Lincoln, standing there, turned from his conversation with the Secretary of State and said, ‘What can I do for you, Tad?’ Tad said, ‘Dad, this soldier needs to talk to you.’ The soldier had access to the President ‘through the son’. According to the New Testament, in an even more amazing way, you have access to God ‘through the son’ – Jesus. Many people pray, but not all prayer is Christian. Christian prayer is distinctive—it is Trinitarian. St Paul writes, ‘Through Him [Jesus] we have access to the Father by one Spirit’ (Ephesians 2:18).
- Nicky Gumbel, Bible in One Year - Sent in by Barrie Jack
I know it’s a twist—that’s what makes a good story. It feels disconnected if it’s all about glory. So, a Saviour was born, just as human as us. But what did He do and why all the fuss? If I can recall, it’s about you and me, And the animal droppings… sound messy enough? It was just like THIS HOUSE, with the grease on the stove, And the chewed bits of cracker and the half-eaten bones! At Christmas we’re supposed to put on our best show. It’s meant to be about HAPPINESS, TINSEL AND SNOW. But it’s not... I give up... I’ve been run off my feet! Not all of us live in a luxury suite. Come to think of it now, I guess Jesus didn’t either. He was born round the back. He was born an outsider. A baby who seemed not to care much at all, that He hung out in a place like an animal stall. In fact, as He grew, His style seemed to get worse. He increasingly chose all the dodgy types first. His friends were unlikely, their lives were a mess. When they tried cleaning up, He couldn’t care less. So that’s jolly well it. Let’s throw out the dessert. This Christmas it’s Jesus who’s coming in first. He can sit in my mess. I won’t clean any more. I’m sick of appearances, tinsel and chores. This year for Christmas I’ve made a new plan. It’s Jesus, and me coming just as I am. So, welcome Him in. He is standing quite close … This year I choose Him to matter the most.
- Sarah Crowther (CHS). Sent in by Lindy Tomalin
December 2018 Eight O’Clock News
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Editorial Team Tel/e-mail Ev Els
021 696 0336 emichael@iafrica.com
Cheryl Anderson
083 272 1530 canderson@beckman.com