Purpose in the Process

Mark 6:45-51 (NKJV)
Jesus Walks on the Sea

45 Immediately He made His disciples get into the boat and go before Him to the other side, to Bethsaida, while He sent the multitude away. 46 And when He had sent them away, He departed to the mountain to pray. 47 Now when evening came, the boat was in the middle of the sea; and He was alone on the land. 48 Then He saw them straining at rowing, for the wind was against them. Now about the fourth watch of the night He came to them, walking on the sea, and would have passed them by. 49 And when they saw Him walking on the sea, they supposed it was a ghost, and cried out; 50 for they all saw Him and were troubled. But immediately He talked with them and said to them, “Be of good cheer! It is I; do not be afraid.” 51 Then He went up into the boat to them, and the wind ceased. And they were greatly amazed in themselves beyond measure, and marveled.

Jesus "made His disciples get into the boat" (v45), and yet half way through their journey, they find themselves in distress with no Jesus in sight. He even "saw" (v48) them as they struggled against the wind and the sea, and it was in the midst of their struggle that he "came to them" (v48) though they didn't see Him initially. When they saw Him they were troubled until he spoke to them, calming both their fears and the stormy sea.

What God desires for you is for you to see "Him walking on the sea" with...

No shore in sight...
No outcome that you have planned...
No goal that you can see...

...and STILL have absolute certainty that everything will be all right because you see "Him walking on the sea."

Oftentimes following God is not about reaching a specific destination.
Oftentimes its about learning that in our obedience to His instructions, He meets us and makes us in the midst of the storm.

Written by Frederick A Hanna

A Blessed Gift From My Kindred Brother in South Africa

This is a the cover of a book given to me by my South African brother Glen Samaai.



This is what he wrote on the inside cover:

Dear Fred,

The author of this book gave me this copy as a present at the funeral of my minister, the Rev. Abe Moart. Rev. Moart was a great man who was locked up several times by the Apartheid government.

Jama's autobiography tells the stories of the freedom fighters activities in and around Paarl. I am sure that he would approve of me giving you this book - in doing so, his story will spread to other parts of the world as well.

Many of the people in this book are familiar to me:

- Patrick Ricketts is the brother of one of my colleagues at school. We all attended Noorden Paarl High School.
- Vivian Matthee, murdered by Apartheid forces, was a classmate of mine in grade 8.
- Lloyd Fortuiu lives 2 streets from me. His wife served on our school governing body.
- The Essup family is also a tennis playing family in Paarl. Their daughter Shamiela was a member of the provincial team I captained in the 1980's. This team was awesome - we won the provincial tennis tournament, and were crowned South Africa's best team six times in a row!!

Enjoy reading this book.

Glenn Samaai

I'll be reading it on the flight home... can't wait!

South Africa – Day 14, The Bergendal School

Today was an interesting day at Bergendal. We got to meet the staff in a more personal setting, and to get a glimpse of what life is like for a teacher on the quaint campus of a school in the middle of a farming community. The children are poor, the teachers are not rich, the classrooms are cold, resources are limited, but the school is an escape from the harsh realities of life as many of these children know it here in Paarl. Its an oasis of hope and love in the middle of a valley of uncertainty.



I started off my day by befriending a group of youngsters ranging in age from 6-10 years old. I asked them to show me around. They grabbed my hands and begin taking me to each classroom, and pointing out significant landmarks on the campus ... like the basketball court, the computer lab, and the library to me.



I started off in the 9th grade class. I was hoping to get a glimpse of what a typical classroom session looks like for a 9th grader in Paarl, South Africa. Instead I was told that this class would be a free session and no instruction would take place; thus, I was invited to lead an “inspirational chat” with the learners. This would be the 1st of 2 such chats today where we talked about violence, sex, suicide, race, dreams, goals, vision, and the importance of education. I told them my story… how I grew up in Jersey City, NJ in the midst of drugs and poverty, and how I watched my mother struggle to make a better life for me. To this day, I can’t say that I grew up poor. I was surrounded by poverty, we had hard times occasionally, but I never went without. I don’t know what it is like to not have food; what it is like to not have shoes and proper clothing, coats and such; what it is like to not be able to see a doctor when you are sick; what it is like to not have school supplies; what it is like to not have proper housing… I told them about how irresponsible I was during my undergrad years… I told them about my abuse of alcohol and the promiscuity and violence that was often associated with it… I told them about how I took school for granted and how much I value the opportunity to earn a doctorate today… I told them about having a vision and a dream and a hope… I told them that the next president of South Africa could come from Bergendal… I told them to dream big... I told them that there is nothing that is beyond their ability.



Break time hasn’t arrived, but the children begin systematically leaving their classrooms around 9:30am to get PB&J sandwiches from a table near the kitchen. I am told that the children have to eat in shifts like this otherwise the little ones get pushed around and don’t get to eat. You see, many of these children haven’t eaten since they had lunch on Friday afternoon (its Tuesday, as Monday was a holiday). I was told by one of the teachers of a father who made R45 a week (around $7 American). This father said that R45 wasn’t enough to feed his family, so he would rather spend it on wine than to be sober and watch his family starve. Some of the children ask for bread to take home on Friday so they will have food on the weekend. Much of the food is donated or provided by some external agency, but at times the teachers will take from their own money to buy food for the children. Most South Africans will never eat in most of the restaurants we’ve eaten in during our visit.

Before lunch I talk with Florina, who shares with me some of the problems with alcohol abuse among the students. "Many of the students here drink wine," she tells me... a byproduct of the areas wine industry. They gather at a place near one of the farms to drink (13-16 year olds). They say they have nothing else to do. 14 year old girls trade sex for wine, or for money for wine. They ask to get birth control shots when the mobile clinic comes around to the school because the don’t want to get pregnant by the older men who have sex with them in exchange for wine and money. I hear stories of girls who are raped and molested by their mother’s boyfriends while the mother turns a deaf ear because she needs the money that the boyfriend brings in. Some mothers simply sell their young daughters like prostitutes. At least one young lady at the school has attempted suicide as a result of her molestation. I even hear of a 14 year old black girl who left school last year to live with a 36 year old white man who she is now pregnant by (because this is South Africa, I felt that the races of the girl and man were important to note). My heart breaks for these children. Tomorrow I will get to see their living conditions, which I am told are often deplorable.

We had a fun lunch with the teachers where we ate “fite cooke,” vegetable soup, and pumpkin fritters. They love to laugh and treated us with warm hospitality.
Amidst all of these horrors, many of the children are bright, intelligent, well behaved, neat, courteous, loving and kind. A parade of little ones crowded around me and piled on top of me as they taught me to count in Afrikaans, and I taught them to count in Spanish. Apparently, numbers, laughter and love are universal. I thank these little ones for the gift of innocence and love, and I pray that God covers them in the vulnerability of childhood.



We ended the evening with a “braai” (BBQ South African style) at Natalie’s. Best lamb I have had in South Africa. The food was superb, and the company was splendid.

Written by Frederick A Hanna

South Africa - Day 13, Chat at Klein Nederberg High School, Wine Tasting and Fair Valley Eco Villiage Project

Day 13 was an interesting day. We started off with a motivational chat for teachers at Klein Nederberg High School. The talk was given by Professor Alex Wiseman of Lehigh University. It was a pep talk on change, and I kind of checked out of the talk fairly early into it. It sounded like your typical "change" talk... positive thinking and a little sermonizing. So I decided to slip into ethnographer mode and started taking field notes. As I looked around the room, I noticed many people had checked out along with me, except instead of being ethnographers, they were staring into space, text messaging, sleeping, and fiddling. My impression was that a few of the teachers were interested, but many tuned out. Probably because it was actually a holiday. Oh well, such is life!



Next I had 2 unexpected treats...

The 1st was when one of the teachers approached me and said, "I asked God to send you supernaturally to talk to me, but since He didn't send you, I decided to come to you." I was a little surprised at first, but knowing that this is a faith community, and that they had already been acknowledging me as clergy, I was very interested in what she wanted to talk to me about. We ended up having a wonderful conversation about ministry beyond the church, and about how we make the gospel a central part of our communities. It turns out that she and her husband had already found 3 poor families who they were teaching about budgeting, helping to grow their own food, and selling the excess food at different places around town. I suggested that they disciple these families and she was already on board with that. She was also praying with her husband that God would open a door for them to minister to married couples. Unfortunately we were short on time and we hand to end our impassioned talk with me offering a prayer for her and her giving me a word of prophecy. I was so blessed to see God working in her.



The 2nd treat was the driver who took us back to the Bed and Breakfast. He was a coloured man who lived through the Apartheid era and he shared a little of his story with us... until it became too emotional to continue. One of the the exchanges we had that stuck with me went a little like this:

Me:

Do you see yourselves as coloureds and blacks or all the same?

Joe:

We see ourselves as coloureds. We don't mix. What Apartheid did to us makes it hard to be any other way. We don't mix. Some of the younger people in town you may see mixing, but us, no.

This was a powerful exchange for me because it reinforced just how deeply Apartheid had affected the people of South Africa, and just how much pain is unresolved.

Finally we arrived at Fairview Wine and Cheese Estate for a wine and cheese tasting. I'm not a wine drinker so I just smelled. Monique on the other hand was tossing them back! The cheese was not my thing either, but I did enjoy an alcohol free beverage they shared with us called Ega.



Finally we had a lecture and chat led by Ilan Ori. Ori led a spirited talk about the issues faced by the local farm laborers and the farm owners after he discussed a project that he has been working own to build a sustainable, holistic community for the farm workers. More on that at this link: http://fairvalleyecovillage.blogspot.com/?widgetType=BlogArchive&widgetId=BlogArchive1&action=toggle&dir=close&toggle=MONTHLY-1204322400000&toggleopen=MONTHLY-1204322400000

Ori answered some difficult questions for us about the farm workers, and he shared some interesting stories with us about race in South Africa. I can't say that I shared all of his opinions on race, but I appreciated his willingness to engage in a difficult conversation. We all need to be willing to have frank, sometimes irrational conversations about race if we are ever to move beyond our differences as a "human race," or at least to understand one another better.



Written by Frederick A Hanna

South Africa - Day 12, Arriving In Paarl

We arrived in Paarl on Day 12 to continue the relationship that Rutgers University Graduate School of Education has built with the farming communities in this area. There are a number of wine estates in this part of South Africa, and they house the families of farm workers in housing that has been built adjacent to the farms. These workers have families and children who attend some of the schools that we will be working in. The school I will be working in is the Bergendal School. I got to meet some of the teachers and the principal of the school at a welcome ceremony at Bergandal. They all seem to be lovely people. It was my first informal interaction with what South Africa calls "coloureds."

Its hard to define who coloureds are. According to definition, the term "Coloured" is used to distinguish people of mixed ancestry from white South Africans of European descent, and the darker black South Africans. Coloureds run the gamut. Some look like black people and some look like white people... some look like East Indians, Arabs, Asians, etc. It can be very confusing. I'm not 100% sure of whether I would be coloured or black in South Africa. I guess I would be coloured as I have Cuban, white, African, and Native American ancestors. The people we met here in Paarl are "Cape Coloureds."

The term Cape Coloureds refers to the modern-day descendants of slave labourers imported into South Africa by Dutch settlers as well as to other groups of mixed ancestry originating in the present-day Western Cape. They are the predominant population group found in the Western Cape Province. Their population size is roughly 4 million. Most Cape Coloureds are mother tongue Afrikaans speakers, as a result of their cultural development in the Dutch and Afrikaans-speaking areas of South Africa; but a minority are English speaking. Slaves of Malay ancestry were brought from Indonesia, Malaysia, Madagascar, and Mozambique; and from these diverse origins they gradually developed into a grouping; along with coloured people (African and European origin); that was subsequently classified as a single major ethnical grouping under the Apartheid regime. In many cases the slaves were imported to be concubines and wives to single male Dutch settlers. People from India and the islands within the Indian Ocean region were also taken to the Cape and sold into slavery by the Dutch settlers. The Indian slaves were almost invariably given Christian names but their places of origin were indicated in the records of sales and other documents so that it is possible to get an idea of the ratio of slaves from different regions. These slaves were, however, dispersed and lost their cultural Indian identity in the course of time, hence being labelled Cape Coloureds. Much racial mixture has thus occurred over the generations, between the Europeans, Indians, Malays, various Bantu tribes, along with indigenous Khoi and San.

In today's South Africa, all non whites are categorized as blacks; however, the categorizations thrust upon people by Apartheid are still a huge part of the way that people self identify, and a huge part of the way that they are identified by other South Africans.



I had a great talk with a gentleman who teaches at one of the high schools here. Let's call this gentleman, Mike. Mike told me that he was a teenager before he met and talked to a black man for the first time (Mike is a coloured). He said that he believed the lies that he was taught in school about blacks until he met 2 young black men who educated him. One of these 2 men was a 2 years older than Mike. His name was John and he came to live with Mike's family in order to learn to play tennis from the Mike's father. They shared a room and would stay up late at night exchanging stories about one another's culture. One night John asked Mike what he knew about the Battle at Blood River. Mike recanted the story as the Voortrkkers tell it, and John told Mike that the Voortrekkers lied. John said that he knew this because his great great grandfather was one of the Zulu's who fought at this battle. The Voortrekkers claimed that the Zulu's went back on a deal they made with them for 400 head of cattle and ruthlessly attacked and murdered a number of the Voortrekkers. This was the Voortrekkers' justification for murdering 10-12K Zulus. The truth, according to John was that the Voortrekkers stole the cattle, and under Zulu law, they were to be publicly executed. The Zulus were simply enforcing their law in their land, and for this they were massacred.

Mike also told me that John was an excellent student. He passed every subject with flying colors except history. John failed history because when he was asked questions about the Battle of Blood River, he chose to tell the truth that had been passed down to him by his ancestors through the oral tradition.


Written by Frederick A Hanna

Who is your Deborah? - You need someone who's got your back!

I once heard someone say, "If I have your back, you never need to look behind you." I like that! I lived by that in the streets. If I was your friend, you never needed to wonder if I had your back. I'd be there for you without question. That worked well for a while, until the night I was shot behind Howard University Hospital in Washington, DC. That night made me start to wonder who REALLY had my back.

The one who has your back is your protector, your coverer. They don't let anything sneak up on you.

Who's Deborah? Shame on you! One of only 3 people in the history of Israel to hold the combined offices of prophet, judge, and military leader. The other 2 are Moses and Samuel. "What was that?" "Women can't do what?"

When Deborah brought the word of the Lord to General Barak that he should mount up and ride on those busta Canaanites, Barak said, "Only one way that's gonna happen baby girl... you gotta ride shotgun." He needed a real ride-or-die sister to have his back.

Judges 4:

8 Barak said to her, "If you go with me, I will go; but if you don't go with me, I won't go.9 "Very well," Deborah said, "I will go with you."

Why do you need a Deborah?

1. Because people will stab you in the back. Especially when you are good, gifted, anointed, and have God intentions. Enemies will raise up even from the ranks of friends. The O'Jays put it like this:

A few of your buddies they sure look shady
Blades are long, clenched tight in their fist
Aimin' straight at your back
And I don't think they'll miss.
They smile in your face,
All the time they want to take your place,
The back stabbers...

Len Sweet notes that "the church seems to be especially rampant and flamboyant about its friendly fire." So much of resistance in churches today comes from folk who don't want to change. So while you are trying to move the church forward, they're digging in their heels behind you trying to hold you back. Well, you better have a Deborah behind you fending them off if you want to make any progress.

2. Sometimes your Deborah isn't riding along side you physically because he/she's busy praying for you. Your Deborah knows that all enemies aren't made of flesh and blood, and knows that the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty in God...

Pastor Alister Begg tells the story of the "boiler room" in the lower level of Charles Spurgeon's church. It wasn't an actual boiler room, but a lower level of the church where prayer warriors gathered during every service to cover their pastor in prayer. That's serious rear coverage!

3. You don't have eyes in the back of your head. Since you can't see every attack, you need a Deborah to keep watch when you're not looking.

A good Deborah is a CYB, not a CYA. I had a Deborah who I thought had my back until I realized that she used her relationship with me to get the spotlight she coveted for herself. I'm not even sure that she was fully aware of her need to shine until the day the knives came out of the sheaths for me and I saw her fall in with the enemy ranks. She looked innocent enough falling back, but I could see in her eyes that she knew she was leaving me to fend for myself. Maybe she was deceived because it was friendly fire. I'm not sure... BUT from that day on, whenever she's supposed to have my back, I keep my hand on my gun. Metaphorically of course.

My advice, get as many Deborah's as you can, then look for one more.

Written by Frederick A Hanna

South Africa - Days 9 ,10 & 11

Days 9, 10 and 11 have come and gone swiftly.

Day 9
We rushed out of the Hilton a few days ago and grabbed a flight to Cape Town. Cape Town is roughly a 2 hour plane ride from Johannesburg. We arrived in the Cape and headed to our accommodations at an upscale guesthouse called the African Villa: http://capetowncity.co.za/villa/.



Very nice accommodations once again. We ate out at the Africa Cafe the first night. It was a wonderful authentic dining experience complete with African dance, song, and drumming. There was no menu at this restaurant. They bring you bowls of 12 or so different dishes... you taste everything... and you ask for more of what you like until you get full. The food was good, but the fellowship was great.

Day 10



We visited the District Six Museum today. We heard the awful yet fascinating story about how the coloured people of Cape Town were removed from their homes, their homes were demolished, and they were relocated to a flatlands area outside of the city. Their entire lives were uprooted and many were never the same. It was eminent domain to a degree that even poor inner city dwellers in America have seldom known. The tour was especially poignant as told by our museum guide, a member of the community that was uprooted: http://www.districtsix.co.za/frames.htm.

Here is something that especially struck me... Our guide said that the whites justified displacing the coloureds because this section of the city was in disrepair and it was a "slum." Our guide told us of the rich history of the area and the people. and showed us the beautiful architecture on the buildings that were once there. He commented that the place was a little run down, but it just needed renovation, not displacement and demolition. My question to him was, "What were the conditions in the community prior to the displacement that led to the community falling into such disrepair?" I asked this question because I have seen this happen in many minority neighborhoods in the U.S. and not all of them poor. The people in District Six were working class people as near as I can tell. Our guide said that it was white landlords who didn't care about the properties because it was "just blacks" living there. I thought to myself, "With South Africa's history, that's a fact, but there's more." Feel free to post your thoughts on that one.

The rest of Day 10 was spent at the African Market and at the waterfront. I found my knobkerrie, a Zulu weapon I was coveting for my collection, and my lion count is up to 6. The wife says, "No more lions for me this trip." It was a nice day.

Day 11



This was shark diving day. It started EARLY, 5:30am. I had no anxiety whatsoever, and was looking forward to the experience. We drove 2 hours out to a township who's name I can't pronounce or spell. We got on a 32 ft. boat and went out to a point between Dyer Island and Geyser Rock, a place frequented by juvenile Great White sharks... and that's where it all went wrong for me. I have never been seasick before and never want to experience it again. The boat anchored, started rocking, and my stomach went queasy. I tried to throw up, but couldn't get anything to come up. A few other folk threw up, but I was left to sit there holding my head for most of the trip. I did manage to look up and see a number of Great Whites attempting to take bait from the boat. Even though they were small (for Great Whites), they were pretty big and exciting to see that close. I finally got to a point where I was able to squeeze into my wetsuit and get into the cage to see the sharks up close. It wasn't exactly diving. The cage was tethered to the side of the boat and it was 1 meter above the water. You basically stood up in the cage with your head above water, and when a shark came near the cage to take the bait, a dive master yelled "down." At that point, you took a deep breath and ducked under the water to see the sharks. I'm happy to be able to say, "I did that," but more happy that I am no longer seasick.

After a nice dinner with Cienai, DC, and the wife... I'm off to bed!

Written by Frederick A. Hanna