Money makes the world go round…

A saying made famous by the 1966 Broadway musical Caberet, but irrespective of its origin, the phrase came to mind the other day when I was reading a news article about the political demise of Silvio Berlusconi, late Prime Minister of Italy.

He’s quite the character, old Silvio. Elected to the highest office in the nation on 3 separate occasions for a total of about 8 years, he also owns AC Milan football club and is Italy’s answer to Rupert Murdoch, owning the largest media organisation in the country.

Controversy has followed him closely for very many years. Allegations of criminal activity associated with the mafia have never been proved, but hang around him like a bad smell; allegations of conflicts of interest associated with his media ownership and its freedom (or lack thereof) to report politics were so self-evident that he even promised to sell his interests if elected as Prime Minister – but didn’t; and then there’s all the sexual scandal, some of which involved underage girls and some involved prostitution and some involved allegations of blackmail or other forms of corruption.

His wife finally left him after he attended the 18th birthday party of a girl he is alleged to have had sexual relations with. She complained that he had not attended his own son’s 18th and stated that she could not stay with a man who, “consorts with minors”.

But none of this brought him down, in the end.  What brought him down was money. Apparently almost any kind of sin, except financial mismanagement, could be forgiven and he could ride out the political storm. Well, actually, even financial (mis?)management could be forgiven – the electorate and the wider European community were prepared to look the other way while Silvio netted enough to make it into the top 120 on the Forbes rich list with a personal fortune of approximately US$6.2billion; but finally, the thing that got him in the end, was that the nations finances were stuffed.

Was this merely the straw that broke the camel’s back? Or would it have been enough, on its own, even without all the preceding doubts about Berlusconi’s character and behaviour, to topple his political supremacy?

To be honest, I don’t know. That’s probably a question that we simply can’t answer, because it would easier to catch the wind in your hand that to try to imagine the electorate’s and the European community’s reactions to the financial collapse of Italy without all the history that had gone before; but at a guess, I would suggest that the national financial mismanagement on its own would have been enough.

Berlusconi could have been the nicest man you would meet, everybody’s favourite Papa, without a hint of scandal or controversy behind him, the perfect clean-skin politician (I know such a thing doesn’t exist, but roll with me on this one!) and he would still have been forced out on his economics alone.

He could have been the greatest politician in Italy, willing and able to cobble together a coalition government with a whole range of new policies to fix the financial problems, but I suspect he still wouldn’t have saved his political skin. The taint of financial mismanagement (of the country – nobody cares about his personal affairs) ran so deep that I doubt the power-that-be around Europe would have been satisfied with anything short of his demise.

The proverbial blind eye is turned, by both electorate and his European partners, to every kind of sin imaginable, except the sin of financial mismanagement. Money sure does make the world go round!

Post Christian…

It might be nothing, or it might be everything.

Earlier in the week Alison, Duncan and I went to the Art Gallery and Museum in Glasgow with friends who had driven up from the South of England just to see us for a day – a 3 day trip for them, with a solid day of driving at each end.

We were really impressed with most of the exhibits, although I do find most museums and their superficial, uncritical presentation of squillions of years of evolution quite tedious. They really should apply the same critical scientific method to their own theories that they insist we apply to any theory of creationism or intelligent design.

Anyway, that’s not my reason for writing this post. What struck me as most disappointing was that the Christian faith was utterly absent from a rather large room of “Scotish Identity in Art”. It was supposed to be a presentation of the history and culture of what makes Scotland Scotland and the images that present Scotland both seriously and humorously to the rest of the world.

Lots of tartan and bagpipes and self deprecating humour; the Scottish enlightenment; the inventiveness of the Scots (steam engine, penecilin, television, telephone, etc); highland estates and game shooting (deer and grouse); the clearances (when your forebears were banished to Australia!); etc; etc; etc. But not a mention of the Reformation and the Presbyterian church, exported around the world together with its provision of health, education and social welfare in every community where the missionaries went.

St Andrew’s Nairobi or Scots’ Church Melbourne are but drops in the ocean of Scotland’s worldwide influence through its religion both local and exported, but not a peep in our own national gallery / museum. It’s a disgrace. No matter what one believes Scotland has become now, such an exhibition is a revisionist and hypocritical view of history. Just as scientists should apply their own scientific rationale to their theories, historians should be a bit more objective and accurate in their portayal of history.

What made it worse was that the next section of the gallery, entitled “Every Picture Tells a Story” began with an ancient Islamic shield with an interactive computerised book underneath it, telling (in brief) the story of Mohamed as an oppressed hero, forced out of Mecca and forced to defend himself in Medina from the ravages of evil men who were jealous of him.

Of course there were Christian religious works of art elsewhere in the gallery – Salvador Dali’s “Christ of St John of the Cross” has been for thirty years the most famous work held there – but nowhere could I find such a sympathetic or extensive presentation of the life of Jesus nor any description of how that faith has shaped and moulded the current character of Scotland.

The Church of Scotland…

I’ve decided to seperate out some commentary on the Church of Scotland, and especially its decision to induct a practicing homosexual man into the office of ministry. You can see the tab above called (very imaginatively!) The Church of Scotland, which will take you to a different “page” rather than a “post” on this page and there will gradually appear several other pages under that one, each commenting on different aspects of the situation.

But by way of general comment, let me say that I enjoyed the experience of being at the Church of Scotland General Assembly after an absence of 10 years. It was good to catch up with many old friends, both ministers and elders; and to learn of a lot of news, both personal and concerning the church.

Notwithstanding the decision that overshadowed every aspect of this Assembly, it was encouraging to hear in private conversation as well as on the floor of the Assembly so many expressions of solid, conservative evangelical theology, not least of all from the most surprising of positions, the Lord High Commissioner.

For those of you unfamiliar with Church of Scotland pomp and ceremony, the Queen has no special constitutional position in the GA but is invited annually either to attend, or if that is not possible, to send a representative – the LHC – who then undertakes a handful of formal duties on her behalf. He or she gets the chance to make a speech at both the opening and closing of the Assembly and these speeches have varied wildly in their quality and content. Most are deliberately bland to try to avoid embarrassing anyone, especially the Queen; some are much more political, such as when Princess Anne fulfilled the role in 1999, the last time I attended, and she spoke up powerfully in support of the new Scottish parliament that had only just been inaugurated after an absence of 300 years.

This year’s LHC was George Reid, former Presiding Officer (i.e. ‘speaker’) of the Scottish Parliament and a longstanding MP first in Westminster (UK Parliament) and then in Edinburgh (the Scottish one) representing the Scottish National Party. He’s an old friend of my in-laws, who have been deeply involved in the SNP since the 1950s, but that’s  incosequential to the point of this post!

Being a political man, I expected either the usual bland, non-descript, inoffensive offering, such as we were later to get from the Scottish First Minister (i.e. Premier) Alex Salmond when he was invited to address the Assembly, or something resembling a blatantly party political broadcast. He did neither.

Instead, he spoke meaningfully and articulately of the need for evangelical faith to re-ignite the passions and the mission of the church. He spoke about it without political bias, as the only salvation left for a country whose economy was stuffed and whose politicians, across all parties, have now been caught red handed with their snouts in the pigs trough of greed and self-grandisement. It was refreshing and encouraging.

Quick update….

It’s been a strange old week, not least of all because of lack of access to the internet!

During two weeks in Kenya we didn’t quite have unlimited access, but it was amazingly good, even in remote Lokichoggio; but since we got to Edinburgh last Wednesday (it’s now the following Tuesday), we have (a) not had the time during the day and (b) not been staying at accomodation with any access. And it’s taken me this long to finally search out the access points provided at the Assembly Hall!

Anyway, I’m not going to write much just now, even though you will realise if you’ve been following the news, that there is much to write. I need to check my email too, and there are only 2 computers here and 800 missioners who probably all want a shot, so I can’t take too much time.

More will follow anon, although the photos won’t be as exciting as the Masai Mara…..

No millionaries in this slum…

Wikipedia has an article on Kibera that is worth looking at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kibera

Our photographs are here: http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/moderator08.09/NoMillionairesInThisSlum?feat=directlink

On Wednesday 13th we had the privilege of being taken into a Bible school in the heart of Kibera, where some faithful souls seek to train and support pastors who minister not just in Kibera but throughout all the slums of Nairobi. They have two campuses with over a hundred enrolled pastors at the other one and about 50 at this one.

Many of these pastors have not even completed secondary education, so the classes are often very simple Bible studies to cover the basics. Language is also a problem as most of the literature (what little they can get hold of) is in English and is often quite technical, so it is hard to understand for someone whose grasp of English is rudimentary.

David Leek, who is the HR manager for MAF Kenya, teaches at the school occasionally and it was he who organised for us to visit. We parked our cars in a neighbouring suburb, behind the security fence/gate/guard that I’m begining to get familiar with but still find cultrually very challenging.

A young man called Dixon kindly came to meet us and lead us through the maze of lanes for a walk of perhaps 20 minutes through some of the worst mud and garbage mixture that I’ve ever experienced! Poor Duncan and David (Pearce, that is, not Leek, who knew better) both had just sandals on their feet and had to wash off in the bath once we got home.

Despite the social depravity, it’s not like folk were just sitting around doing nothing. Quite the reverse. The laneways were a buzz of activity, stall upon stall of everything imaginable – household goods, clothes, shoes, furniture, small electical goods, etc, etc – not unlike the Vic Market, but bathed in mud and visibly much poorer.

The Bible school meets in a decent enough room above a modest church, but the children’s school next door, a ministry of the church, was really quite heartbreaking. About 30 kids are taught in a single classroom with almost no equipment or books and outside, their playground resembled the worst kind of farmyard. I know we saw it at its worst in the mud, but even dried out it couldn’t be much better.

Yet, the welcome we received, both in the Bible school and in the children’s school, where we poked our heads in to say hello, was incredibly warm and friendly. They even help to wash and brush the mud off our shoes (in Duncan and David’s case, off their feet) when we arrived.

Class began at 8am with about 20 minutes of sponteneous African praise. Beautiful, enthusiastic, enrestrained praise of God Almighty from the heartfelt gratitude of people saved by grace.

I was then invited to lead a 15 minute devotion before they began their studies. I spoke from the story of Lazarus about the utter inability of a dead person to obey the commandment, ‘Lazarus, come out’. Salvation is a miraculous work of God in the life of one who is spiritually dead in his sins. I wanted to encourage these pastors with the knowledge that the success of the gospel is not about their own efforts or abilities but that God in his grace as called us to partner with him in his work.

I then had a breif discussion with the leader of the school about their needs, but to be honest their was nothing he could tell me that I couldn’t guess. They desperately need financial support and decent Bible literature. Many of the students can’t even afford the 500KES (less than A$10) per term fees, but the school never turns them away.

Despite their obvious hardship, they hope to open a third school in another slum sometime soon.

Turkana Village…

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/moderator08.09/TurkanaVillage?feat=directlink

On Tuesday 12th, David had originally hoped to take us to a Turkana village about 20k out of town, where the indigenous culture is more ‘pure’. One of his MAF staff has an uncle living in the village and he was willing to take us to visit, but unfortunately, due to heavy storms the day before and overnight, our guide was stranded on the wrong side of a swollen river and couldn’t get back to Loki in time.

Instead, we went looking for Pastor Francis who himself lives in one of the villages that make up Loki. He wasn’t at home, he was in class at the PCoS Mobile Bible School, but we arrived just as they broke for their mid morning interval and when we went and explained to Pastor David (who’s in charge of the school) what we wanted Francis for he said he could leave, as long as he wasn’t too late back for the next lecture!

We took a short cut, along the walking paths that link the villages across the back of the town, but in truth it was an easier drive than the roads anyway. Having parked the car, we had to walk across a muddy little ravine and Alison duly gave us all a laugh by sliding done a small slope and landing on her backside!

Even with Francis explaining in their own language who we were and why we were there, many of the older Turkana were still reluctant to get into photographs, preferring to hang back and view us with suspicion.

The village elder, however, was happy to get into a picture, but unfortunately he rushed inside his tucal to change out of his traditional tribal garb into a pseudo soldier uniform and came out carrying his rifle. Apparently his appointment as a kind of local policeman was the official stamp on his authority as an elder, so it is really important to him.

The children were incredible, full of laughter and excitement. They were carrying big lumps of mud/clay, which apparently they love to mould into dolls or toys. They were absolutely filthy – but then, my mother has always said that when I was a kid I was the mankiest in the neighbourhood, and I certainly remember the fun playing in the burn (stream / creek) across the road from the house and the wetter it was, the muddier it was, the better!

There was a mixture of clothing styles, with some in western clothes and some in traditional Turkana. It’s difficult to generalise, because on Sunday at church there were certainly plenty of the teenage females in traditional dress, but I think most of the younger generations were in western style, often just t-shirt and trousers or skirt.

I wonder if the native standards and values are dying out; as they have done in so many indigenous communities around the world. I guess it’s kind of inevitable.

 The church has a very strong influence here. Not only does Pastor Francis live amongst them because he is himself Turkana, but we were also introduced to another Turkana Pastor on our way out of the village, who was sharing the gospel with two of the men.

Happy birthday to you…

On Monday 11th, we didn’t do much through the day, but it was David’s 30th birthday and Lisa had planned a little surprise party for him in the evening, so we all went out for dinner (which wasn’t a surprise for him) and met up with half a dozen other friends (that was the surprise).

First we visited a compound called ‘Track Marks’, which is an amazing place. Probably the best way to describe it would be as 4 or 4.5 star country club. Beautifully immaculate, even the dirt surface of the car park was carefully manicured, in stark contrast to the drive to get there. It’s on the edge of the town, well away from the couple of kilometres of tarmac road that run through the middle. The drive to get there was like a genuine off-road 4-wheel track, especially as there had been a heavy fall of rain. It was a bone shaker, with the real possibility of inducing travel sickness!

Since the withdrawal of many of the NGOs from Loki (read about that elsewhere in the blog) Track Marks is really struggling to exist, and the night we were there, there were only a handful of clients, none eating dinner, just getting a beer at the bar. I kind of felt sorry that we hadn’t booked dinner there ourselves, but David and Lisa usually come along on a Sunday afternoon for a swim in the small by luxurious outdoor pool anyway, so they’re doing their bit to give it some business.

When the time was right and Lisa was sure all the friends would be duly assembled for the surprise, we went across the road to the opposition, another country club type place called AfEx (short for African Experience). I still find it culturally challenging that to go literally across the road, we need to stop at one security gate until the guard lets us out, drive 25 metres and then stop at another security gate and wait for a guard to let us it.

David was suitably surprise, humbled and happy to see his friends gathered to help him celebrate. They were all Christian missionaries, one of them also a pilot but with AIM Air, an organisation similar to MAF, transporting various aid agencies in and out of Sudan.

What a multi-cultural lot we were. Obviously there were three Scots there; David’s wife Lisa is Canadian; one of the other couples was a German married to a Brazilian, with a couple of kids; there was another young German bloke who works with them; the ‘elder stateswoman’ of the group (she’s been in Loki since a couple of months after David was born!) was also German; and there was an American couple with a young son, the husband being third generation missionary in the area. Oh, and did I mention that David is Australian.

Catching up…

This isn’t going to be easy, because the eight days from Sunday May 10 to yesterday (Sunday May 17) were probably the most intense, packed, interesting eight day period of my life. There is so much to write up, and we’ve not got long before we need to head to Nairobi airport and catch a fight to Dubai, where we’ll have 24 hours rest before flying to Scotland.

I’ve decided that placing pictures in each post is making the ‘home page’ of my blog far too cumbersome to download, so I’m going to do it differently from now on… and if I ever get the chance I might even fix previous posts retrospectively. Pictures will be on Picasa Web (it’s a Google thing) and the blog post will include a link to a folder full of them. This way I can share many more photographs, but they’re not all being downloaded on one page.

To kick us off, I haven’t written the blog yet for our amazing safari on the Masai Mara reserve, but I’ve uploaded about 50 pics… out of more than 1000 we took, so think yourselves lucky to be spared them all! Try these links to have a look:

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/moderator08.09/MasaiMara?feat=directlink

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/moderator08.09/MasaiMara2?feat=directlink

The good food guide…

camel hotel - anther sign on the roadside called it 'luxury'

After church on Sunday, David and Lisa took us out for lunch. The ‘Camels Luxury Hotel’ is on Loki main street, but it is neither a hotel nor luxurious, especially in its lavatory facilities but you’ll be glad to know we have no photographs of that part of the business.

The menu is very limited, but the food surprisingly pleasant. Duncan had an egg chapati, Alison had bean chapati and I had meat chapati. A bit on the chewy side, but tasty nonetheless.

david under a blessing

The proprietor is clearly a Christian, of the Roman Catholic variety, as the place was decorated with various religious sayings and icons.

the 'kitchen'

The real treat was the kitchen area, if you could really call it that at all. It was very open to the public, especially if you braved the walk across the back yard to the toilets. Having taken Duncan to pee against an outside wall (sorry, but that’s how it is) I encouraged Alison to slip out and take some pics of the kitchen, if the staff would let her, but to avoid going any further as the female version of peeing against an oustide wall really didn’t look pleasant at all.

The staff were not only happy to let her take pics, but were also happy to pose, as we have found most Kenyans are.

Health and safety at work and restuarant hygiene laws really are the preserve of the rich!

 

The house of the Lord (2)…

the turkana youth

After the PCoS, we headed to the MERF (Middle East Reformed Fellowship) compound for another church service where I would again preach through an interpreter, this time Pastor Francis, a local Turkana man translating into Swahili.

Pastor David of the PCoS is also the director of the MERF Bible School, which is different to the PCoS Mobile Bible School in that it only runs a 3 month curriculum and doesn’t offer any formal qulification in ministry. There are about 40 students at the moment, mostly Sudanese but some local Turkana as well. They live 10 to a dormitory on-site.

The service was once again a great cacophany of African music and the sounds of children. Some of the choirs from the PCoS performed again, although the Sunday School group did a different collection of songs an included a lot more movement – not quite dancing, as such, but the stepping and swaying and clapping that only Africans appear to be able to do so effortlessly while singing as well.

A Turkana youth group also sang, accompanied only by a drum. It is amazing the volume and beauty of sound that can come from just a few young people. Their enthusiasm for praise and worship spilled over after the service when they sang and danced in the sanctuary of the church (actually the Bible school lecture hall) for another half an hour.

Most of the PCoS congregation also attend here, so I couldn’t reuse the same sermon! From John 20, I spoke about the peace that Jesus wished for his disciples, peace that came through his sacrifice and forgiveness and that we can continue to minister to the world through our sacrifices and forgiveness.

duncan getting squeezed out by eager African kids

After church, as the congregation comes out and shakes the ministers’ hands, they then join the line beside the ministers to shake the hands of folk coming out after them. At the end of it all, I think everybody has shaken everybody else’s hands, young and old, male and female, from all the different tribes, villages and families represented. It’s a very touching moment.

And then, don’t these kids just love to have their photograph taken! It was almost imossible to get a posed pic before 5 or 10 kids would jump in front with broad grins and waving hands.