The miracle of touch

An Anglican colleague this week told me an interesting story of an invitation he had several years ago to stay with friends in America. During this time he was asked by the local priest to help with the morning services. And so it happened that one specific morning he was sharing from the gospels, talking about Jesus’s ministry of healing. In his sermon he told the congregation how healing was one of the sure signs of the coming of God’s kingdom – also of how Jesus, while healing different people, made a special effort to embrace and touch them with compassion and love.

To make his own sermon more tangible, my friend, who is a very warm and approachable person, on this specific morning left the pulpit and started to walk from person to person, touching and embracing them just as he imagined Jesus would have done. As a stranger among them he felt more free and entitled to take this risk than he perhaps otherwise would have.

For him it was immediately clear that the people in the congregation were not used to this kind of expression of affection, but that they were also not overly suspicious of his unconventional action. In fact, from their warm and appreciative expressions he could see that they were willing to receive his unexpected and spontaneous gift of loving touch and to embrace it with open arms and hearts.

However, to his surprise the local minister came to him afterwards with an almost bewildered look on his face. Although not angry or overly upset – he was more surprised and uncertain about what had happened - he informed my friend that what he had done had been a total novelty in the church. He also explained clearly why such a thing had never happened before. Apparently many, even within the safe space of the church, felt reluctant to reach out and touch indiscriminately for fear of - listen to this - trespassing a law that protected people from sexual harassment or harm.

My friend, coming from a context where sharing in a personal way was part and parcel of the service, was completely taken aback by the minister’s reaction and especially by the reasons he offered. This however did not inhibit him. It also did not change his conviction that what he had done in a moment of spontaneity, was important and also uplifting and healing for the members of the congregation. So the following Sunday he repeated the ritual. This time, according to him, the reaction was even more positive, if not overwhelming.

In fact when he left after a month there was a visible change in the atmosphere of the service, as well as the attitude and well-being of the members. Apart from showering him with goodwill and affection, his perception was that they were also more free and relaxed in relating to one another. Even the minister eventually came to give him a hug and thank him for what he observed as his invaluable contribution to a significant change in the life and culture of the congregation. And that: because one person simply dared to follow the example of Christ … to reach out and embrace.

While we are cautious not to intrude or abuse another’s personal space or privacy, as Christians who believe in the power of love, we should also be brave enough to reach out and draw others close, especially where the other person’s eyes tell us that they need to be healed.

Carel Anthonissen

Remembering the rythm of our togetherness

For a long time people in our country, we have been able to find far too many reasons for excluding, for keeping things and people apart. We have emphasised almost solely the differences between people. But this has caused devastation as it broke people’s lives into millions of pieces – it caused widespread fragmentation and destruction in our society. Today we want to choose differently – we are seeking a new vision: we are remembering the rhythm of our togetherness.

We come from a beautiful but troubled mother Africa. The gift that we received from this mother of ours is a gift of wholeness, of being one with the whole world. But beyond the good gift, our mother also carries the scars of distortion and fear. She has almost forgotten her dream of ubuntu; her passion has devoured her; she has all but forgotten her beauty.

In traditional African cultures and religions one finds appreciation for community. Harvey Sindima of Malawi says: “The African idea of community refers to bondedness, the act of sharing and living in the one common symbol – life – which enables people to live in communion and communication with each other and with nature”.

How necessary it is in our time to re-find this rhythm of togetherness – of that which needs to be held together rather than be kept apart. Things like body and spirit, male and female, humanity and nature. Drawing strict lines between these things causes pain. We’ve just seen it again being played out in references to the body of a young athlete, one who deserves to be embraced - Caster Semenya.

A biographer writes about Brother Roger, the founder of the Taizé community in France, that he "always thought that Christians would be reconciled by broadening their horizons, by going out to those who differed from themselves, by being open to non-believers, by carrying the preoccupations of those who were in difficulty and by being attentive to the poorest of the poor. It was the vision of reconciliation of the whole of humanity which made the effort of striving for reconciliation between Christians worthwhile".

Surely this gives us an agenda to work for. Like Brother Roger we should have a reconciled world in mind. This means, amongst other things, that peace needs to be made between the sexes and sexual orientations; peace needs to be made between a frustrated Malema-generation of claiming rights and a UDF-generation of non-racialism. Real peace needs to be made when the dangerous rhetoric of “shoot to kill” is doing the rounds as response to a violent society.

We need to piece the fragmented parts of our lives and our world together to bring about the healing which our society desperately yearns for. Perhaps we should start by sharing the stories of spaces where we have encountered or been able to create such healing?

Laurie Gaum

Please go to: http://vuurkairos.wordpress.com to see Laurie's blog

The courage to enter the palace

There is a very strange story in the Bible (Judges 3:12-30) about an extremely fat Moabite king, Eglon, who was brutally killed by Ehud, one of the first Judges in the history of Israel. Eglon was at the height of his reign of terror when this happened, and Ehud had to work in a rather underhand way to succeed in assassinating the king. Although the story is one of extreme violence, it is clear that the writer was very animated in telling and retelling it to a next generation. This partly explains the gruesome detail of how Ehud plunged his sword into the king’s belly…and how the whole sword disappeared, handle and all, because it was covered by the abundance of soft flesh, and also how Ehud did not pull out the sword, which had entered deep enough, humiliatingly to stick out at the back between the king’s legs (v. 21-22).

As a young minister I was intrigued by this strange story, wondering why it had been recorded in the Bible and how one could (or should) present it in a sermon. Recently I had to study the book of Judges in more detail, and then discovered to my surprise that there was indeed a strong message, in fact a challenge in this unusual and rather offensive story – one, which proves to be quite relevant for our time.

To begin with – and this is one of the vital keys to understanding this story – one should remember that Ehud’s story forms part of Israel’s popular folklore. In telling this particular folk tale Israel recalled and commemorated with pleasure one of the truly great moments in their history. It was the time when God lifted the yoke of slavery from their shoulders and restored their dignity as a nation. For eighteen years Israel had been harshly oppressed and exploited by their archenemies the Moabites - and now, through the brave deed of Ehud their woes were brought to an end. God’s people could now celebrate, singing and telling tales that were to inspire a next generation ... also through this story.

This gives another clue as to why Israel loved retelling this story. It reminded them of the surprising and highly creative way in which God had liberated them and changed their destiny. Given that he belonged to the smallest tribe in Israel, the Benjamites, and that to compound things he was left-handed, Ehud must surely have been an unlikely candidate to bring Israel relief from their suffering. But in an unprecedented turn of events God chose him, showing how the course of history can often be dramatically changed by the courage and ingenuity of an ordinary person. By using his apparent weakness as a strategic and secret weapon, he not only succeeded in entering the royal court, but also in eliminating the king. Once their leader was removed the Moabites were helpless and vulnerable to defeat.

It is of course not possible to apply Ehud’s story directly to our context – in that his actions were too violent, committed from a position where Israel felt assured of their status as God’s chosen people and of their right to take revenge. The time and context was vastly different to ours. Nevertheless, the story does pose the age-old question of civil society’s relationship to those in positions of power. Put differently, it obliges us to reflect on our responsibility as ordinary citizens in situations of extreme oppression, exploitation, corruption and suffering – whether this is caused by dictatorial and corrupt political leaders, by an unjust economic and social system, or by criminals who have succeed in intimidating a whole society, causing fear and paralysis by their brutal actions.

According to the Ehud story there are two options when we are faced by improper whims of the powerful. We can take on a victim-mentality and, like most Israelites in the time of Ehud, remain passive, subservient, fearful and fettered. Or we can stand up as Ehud did, “enter the palace” as it were, and confront the powers in new and surprising ways. What we need today as much as ever, is exactly this: courageous people who can come up with creative ideas and solutions that have not been tried or tested before, but that can make a difference in liberating the oppressed and making our society more open, humane and just. What we need are imaginative initiatives – actions that are totally unorthodox and different, deeds that can surprise and shake people up, inspiring them to live – perhaps for the first time - with those traits that Christ introduced: greater modesty, more respect, more kindness, more love, more tolerance. True liberation that we so urgently long for depends on this.

For Christians the call to such initiatives need not be difficult – in fact, our normal way of life should embody these values, because we confess and claim to follow an extremely original and imaginative God – a God who has not only conquered all evil, but has redeemed the world by giving himself in love and humility. The question remains: are we brave and trustful enough to follow the crucified and suffering God on such a journey?

Carel Anthonissen

A community of calm commuters!

A clear symptom of the pressures that we are living under in SA today, the rising fever as one of my friends called it, is illustrated in the way people drive, in how we behave on our roads. Even big trucks and lorries have become part of the hectic and impolite push, weaving and speeding their way through normal traffic.

Perhaps I am oversensitive to this madness or have an overdeveloped sense of what is good ‘crowd behaviour’; perhaps more honestly, I have a hang-up about misbehaviour on the roads. In a time when we desperately need ordinary citizens to be law-abiding and to live according to established values, it seems out of place, even arrogant to speed along without any respect for rules, for road safety, for values or the well-being of other people. My reaction until fairly recently whenever I encountered people who sped past me, jumped a red robot or held their cellphones to their ears while driving, was that I would start to fume and fight, even using my hooter to indicate that their behaviour is unacceptable, that I disapprove…

However, since returning from holiday not long ago where I, almost like during a retreat, could relax and gain new perspective on my own unhealthy habits from a distance, I have made some firm decisions, one of which is to calm down and not allow the bad behaviour of others, however out of line, to determine my mood or actions for the day. I have realised that my main challenge as an ordinary citizen and as a Christian, is to take the gift of quietness and peace that was granted to me during my holidays, into my day-to-day context and very specifically into my manner of driving on our busy roads.

Thus, when I am on the road - which is at least an hour every day - I now deliberately drive in the slow lane, diligently keep to the speed limit and do not allow the Speedy Gonzaleses to distract me too much. Not that I do not notice them or have lost my sense of righteousness, but I don’t allow them to get to me in a way that can spoil my day. Going more slowly has additionally offered me some observations, which currently make my travelling a much bigger pleasure than before.

I have, for instance, noticed that travelling in a slow civilized manner does not necessarily cost you time or cause you to arrive later than the others. In fact I am amazed some days at how, in a strange way, I often reach my destination at exactly the same time as those who passed me along the road at high speed. Sometimes I catch up with them and even pass them where they are held up at a traffic light. Leaving earlier and travelling in a more leisurely fashion, I have also experienced a strange shift in my experience of time. Don’t ask me how it works, but nowadays I have the experience that I travel faster and reach my destinations earlier than I planned.

The biggest surprise, however, is that I have discovered many others that have made a similar choice. In fact by just travelling more slowly you find yourself becoming part of a totally new group of travellers – a community of calm commuters. Once you have joined them you make a next surprising discovery: that this community is not only much bigger than the hectic hoppers, but also much more friendly, patient and civilized. You discover that it is actually a pleasure to share the road with them.

So next time when you take to the road, try this. Leave a little bit earlier than usual, take a deep breath as you turn onto the highway, deliberately move to the slow lane and enjoy the ride. In short, come and join the community of calm commuters. And really, don’t be surprised when you turn up at your work or at whichever destination earlier than you had planned to. It happens, and it does wonders for freeing your attention to things that really matter in life!

Carel Anthonissen

The tender gravity of kindness

In a recent TV programme called Focus, Nico Smith – formerly a professor in theology at Stellenbosch, who left his academic position during the 1980s for a ministry in a black township – expressed his concern that as South Africans coming from different cultural traditions, backgrounds and histories, we have still not met one another with significant trust and understanding. Even after our transition into a so-called non-racial democracy the expectation that we would become one rainbow nation has not really materialised. In fact, it seems that exactly the opposite is currently happening – partly also due to former social and geographical divisions which are still in place.

What we find now is growing concern about crime and corruption, about economic inequality – things that feed into increasing distrust, strengthening of old prejudices, new forms of racism and even hate speech. All of these make our future in this beautiful country precarious and uncertain. In Smith’s words: “We don’t know what can happen tomorrow…anything is possible in Africa”.

Among the many possible solutions that one can think of to counter this problem, Smith went on to suggest a very straightforward and simple one, namely to take the step of deliberately crossing the boundaries that divide us and to meet one other with kindness. In fact the practice of kindness, of reaching out with a smile and embracing the other with goodwill should, according to Smith, become a national project, a long-term campaign. As with the AIDS awareness campaigns where people wear a red slipknot as a sign of empathy and concern, we should consider wearing a similar sign – perhaps a green slipknot – whereby we indicate our intention to be kind to one another.

There is no more timely call than this one today: that South Africans rediscover and deliberately practice the virtue of kindness, and eventually even make it a public and long-term campaign. Perhaps people with the same concern for a peaceful and sheltered future should come together to organise such a campaign. But then we should also remember that real kindness, however simple it may seem, is much more than just a friendly smile. It is a way of life, an act of ongoing understanding and solidarity, which will also involve some sacrifices – the value and richness of which you won’t always be able to calculate immediately.

Nowhere has the profound richness and sacrifice of kindness been expressed more movingly than in Naomi Shihab Nye’s poetic work “Kindness”. She writes:

”Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment, like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness…Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive…Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say it is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you everywhere like a shadow or a friend”.

If kindness is indeed the deepest thing inside, the only thing that makes sense and can secure a peaceful future, why not try it today?

Carel Anthonissen

Between an hasty reaction and a considered response

In appreciation to Richard Martin who reminded me again of this important distinction.

Not long ago I was invited by the Beyers Naude Centre at Stellenbosch to participate in a conference on Culture, Identity and Spirit. My assignment was quite easy, namely to share something of the Centre’s history and work. Although it took me a while to select the content and structure it in an interesting way, so that I felt some pressure in the preparation, in the end I really enjoyed offering a glimpse into the heart of our organization to an audience of mostly ‘outsiders’ – some of whom were visiting academics from the Netherlands. I felt relaxed and was enthusiastic as I took my listeners through our story, highlighting my own involvement as well as some of the very exciting challenges we currently face. From the expressions on people’s faces I could see that the talk was well received.

However, when question time came, it was a different story. I found myself at the receiving end of incisive questions, having to elucidate some of the information I had shared as well as having to explain some of the statements I had made. I knew the questions were asked in honesty and good faith, and yet I felt under attack. Some questions were sharp and critical, forcing me to articulate more clearly – which looking back, I felt I had not done as well as I would have liked to. In fact, some of my answers were vague, incomplete, disputable and far too hastily articulated. This was clear also from the frowns with which some of my answers were received. So, in the end I left the session feeling unsatisfied and a bit annoyed with myself.

Reflecting afterwards on what had happened, I realised that I had in that moment forgotten an important distinction which is often vital in communication, in dialogue with others. That is the distinction between a hasty reaction, (ie. giving an immediate, unconsidered answer to people’s questions, ideas or opinions), and giving a thoughtful and honest response.

Many of our hasty reactions or answers to people’s honest scrutiny come from a place of insecurity – in some instances even from a deep felt woundedness – and come across as overly defensive, if not outrightly aggressive. This is understandable because probing questions that seem to raise dispute, can irritate, put you under pressure and suggest that you don’t know. In turn, a hasty response to such questions and the apparent misunderstanding implied in that, can frustrate and even offend. There is an alternative to this: a considered and honest response that comes from a place of conviction and of quiet assurance.

A sincere response would entail the willingness to listen carefully, to understand deeply and then to respond cautiously; giving brief and clear answers, acknowledging where one does not know and indicating an openness to new perspectives. Such a response can disarm those who interrogate, can help us overcome a feeling of being under threat and can take forward useful discussion.

In a wider context, in our country and in other than the spiritual domain, there are far too many of us who do not recognize this important distinction. Many in positions of leadership react blindly and much too hastily to honest questions, projecting their own fears, anxieties and prejudices onto others, defending what is indefensible and stubbornly maintaining their own viewpoints. We could really do with growing numbers of ordinary people who can discern, who can listen carefully and respond thoughtfully and honestly. Then we may discover that the questioning voice is the voice of a friend from whom we can learn, rather than the voice of a foe with whom we need to do battle.


Carel Anthonissen

Between the rabbits and the snobs

I love to watch a game of tennis as is currently possible with the US Open championships. For me it offers a glimpse of life where winning and losing is part of the journey and where people are constantly challenged to handle both with dignity. And then of course it always remains intriguing to see the good players construct a point – outmanoeuvering their opponents, playing delicate angles and then, when they seem stranded, clinching the point with a spectacular winner.

Until some injuries started to hamper me, I enjoyed playing tennis myself. For many years hitting and chasing a tennis ball and competing with passion and commitment, was an important part of my life and my main form of exercise. Tennis also offered a context in which I was privileged to meet many new people and over the years, make some of my very best friends.

Way back, when I was on my way to my first parish in Somerset East, the news of my love for tennis travelled fast, so that shortly before my wife and I arrived there, I received a letter from the chairperson of the local tennis club, welcoming us to their town and inviting me warmly to join their club. I was of course thrilled and appreciated this friendly gesture. What I did not know at the time - and that we only discovered on our arrival - was that the town had two tennis clubs. We also discovered that the clubs used to be united, but had split because of internal differences, jealousy and strife. At the time the split caused a lot of unhappiness, bitterness and anxiety – a history that was reflected in the different names that were used to signify the clubs. The one club was referred to as “rabbits” and the other as “snobs”.

You can imagine the dilemma it created at the time for me as a new minister. Not only was I suddenly drawn into a history of strife and division, forcing me to take sides - it even put my vocation and my deeper motive for playing tennis under scrutiny. Did I play tennis primarily for the sake of competing and developing my own game? Or was it supposed to be for the social good, to meet kindred spirits regardless of the standard of their game? Or could it be both? This was my further problem: most of the so-called rabbits were members of our church, but the standard of their club’s tennis was as their name suggested, pretty average. The so-called snobs on the other hand, were generally very good players, but in terms of commitment to religion and church, many either belonged to another denomination, or were more sceptical and less involved.

It did not take me too long to make my decision. I joined the snobs – not because I felt snobbish or had any missionary intention, but simply because I wanted to be able to relax and enjoy my tennis - and for me strong, honest competition had always been part of this enjoyment. In making the choice I felt I remained true to myself, living out one of my keener passions and also acknowledging and honouring what I saw as a God-given talent – that is, to play a good game of tennis and enjoy it with others.

Looking back today I know that, in terms of Ignatian wisdom, deciding for any of the two clubs had benefits and would have been a good choice, but that taking everything into account and especially who I was as a person and player, I had made the better choice. What I soon found out, was that most people in the weaker, so-called rabbit-club did not blindly project the snob-image onto me; in fact, many with whom I had played the odd privately organised game, accepted and respected my choice, some even saying that they felt I fitted there. What is more, most of the so-called snobs – whom I soon discovered were never really that arrogant – became very good friends. Some also became interested in my spiritual work and moved closer to the church, which again helped to break down many of the prejudices and skewed perceptions that informed the enmity between the clubs.

This, together with the growing conviction that one should never ignore or compromise the voice of your inner and deeper passions, made the four years we spent in Somerset-East an outstandingly happy and blessed period of our lives.


Carel Anthonissen