Trying to catch a thief

In SA with it high levels of criminality and corruption we often find ourselves in situations where we have to choose between actively confronting and resisting the “evil” or, on the other hand, accepting the inevitable, letting go and allowing some problems to resolve themselves. Put differently: we are faced with the decision to engage, to hit back or to simply back off.

That we need to engage with our unique kinds of problems and actively help to counter atrocities and misdeeds in our society, speaks for itself. This is an ongoing responsibility we as members of civil society have. The question is how to be really creative and effective in curbing careless, offensive and even criminal behaviour and in helping our society to become more peaceful and whole. There are many examples of attempts to resist unpalatable, anti-social behaviour, of standing up against crime, that are unhelpful and damaging. It is possible that in standing up for what is right one may yourself be exhibiting less ethical behaviour, or a kind of foolishness that puts not only one’s own life at risk, but also the lives of others. In fact, in close encounters with criminal activity, we should be watchful that our well intended acts of resistance do not boomerang, or have the opposite effect and thus cause unnecessary pain and even embarrassment - like the day when I tried to catch a thief.
I surprised an intruder in our home one morning, having returned from town earlier than he expected. I can still recall my stunned shock, looking into his bewildered eyes, realizing the potential danger I was in. So, sensibly, I backed off and calmly offered him an escape route … which he took. However, the moment he had left and was out in the garden, my anger and annoyance surfaced and I found myself shouting, chasing after him. I wanted him to know that this was unacceptable and that he should never ever try this again.

In going after the culprit I became so intent on apprehending him that I stirred up a number of neighbours, and ended up a couple of streets away with an outcome that I could hardly have anticipated. In front of a home where some who had joined me in the chase said the thief was hiding, a voice from across the road suddenly announced that he had dogs that he would send over to help. So the next moment two keen, agitated German Weimaraners were let out. But - listen to this - instead of going after the thief, they went for me!

This shifted the attention in such a way that the thief got away while I ended up in the doctor’s rooms having to receive 12 stitches for my wounds. If the absconding youngster had not already skipped another fence and was actually still in the vicinity, he surely would have had something to smile about. I, on the other hand, learnt some important lessons about confronting criminality in our country. In honesty, I didn’t have too many regrets about my reaction. I think my thief got the message. However, I am not sure that my behaviour contributed significantly to diminishing criminal activity in our community. One place to start with a more lasting solution, would be to ask where the bewilderment that I initially had noticed in the eyes of the rather shabby young man, had come from.

Carel Anthonissen

This too shall pass

Not long ago someone made an awkward request to her friends. She asked them to consider joining her in what can be only be called a venture into the sometimes ambiguous art of tattooing, that is to have a tattoo made or painted on some part of their bodies. Not having expected such an indulgence from their friend into what seemed a way-out and slightly exhibitionist exercise, practised only by weirdos and hippies, most of those invited reacted with surprise, if not open alarm.

This however did not put the friend off. Responding to their inquiring and puzzled look she went on calmly and informed them that she had actually already had her tattoo done. She also revealed that there had been a purpose in her little madness - that her tattoo was not only a fleeting idea, but something which would continue to serve as an important reminder, a piece of wisdom, a motto for life, ingrained in her body and mind and which she will carry with her as a permanent sign of hope.

Having informed them about her surprising venture she then turned her wrist to them so that they could see for themselves. And lo and behold, there it was, neatly written in curly letters on her slender wrist, the words: “This too shall pass”. The astonishment of her friends grew, but when they saw the excited and proud look she had, they realized how important this was for her and, considering her history, how profound the words actually were.

By this she was telling herself and the world out there that most things that happen to us, things which are bad and deeply upsetting, which seem extremely devastating, are in the end always relative, provisional, transient - that they eventually shall pass, that the tide will turn again, harbouring new opportunities, new joys. Her motto of course also has a ring of realism to it - reminding us that we must also reckon with the fact that our happiness, our moments of joy are also transient, that they can and shall also pass…and that we must embrace them as precious gifts as long as we have them.

There are off course other ways, less public and unconventional, to carry and proclaim our truths. This does not necessarily demean the truth of the woman’s tattoo. In fact for those who profess to be Christians the content of her motto is a call not only to faith, but also to realism.

Because this too - whatever is part of your life now - shall surely pass!

Carel Anthonissen

An unusual Experiment

This week a friend of mine sent me this true story. It is about a man who sat at a metro station in Washington DC, playing 6 pieces of Bach on his violin for 45 minutes. Since it was the rush hour, thousands of people, most of them on their way to work, passed him. With the exception of a few who briefly paused to look and listen - some were even gracious enough to put money in his hat - the majority just rushed passed, almost as if they were swept along by a mighty river.

The one group of people who did, however pay some attention were the children. One three-year old in fact became so intrigued by this strange musician, that he instantly stopped and tagged at his mother to join him…but she just kept pushing him along. According to the story, this happened to several children.

When the man eventually finished, only 6 people had stopped and stayed for a while. About twenty gave him money, but then continued to walk at their normal pace. No-one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

What nobody realised at the time, was that they were part of a social experiment on perception, taste and priorities, organised by the Washington Post - the aim being to observe whether people can still perceive and appreciate beauty and talent in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour.

Because - and that’s the ironic, if not sad part of the story - the man they walked past without really attending or listening to, was one of the best musicians in the world, the violinist Joshua Bell. Not only was Bell at that moment playing one of the most intricate pieces ever written on a violin worth 3.5 million dollars, but two days earlier seats, averaging $100 each, were sold out for one of his many concerts.

Listening to the story made me realise again to what extent the compulsions and speed of our modern day society had blunted our senses and impoverished our lives. And how we need to take more time, practise more patience and especially regain the eyes and attitude of children to really see and discover the infinite richness of life. Because the most sacred moments and events are usually much closer to us than we realise. Just like Joshua Bell and his violin.

Carel Anthonissen

Why do we pray?

Why do we pray? This is a question that has returned to me more than once during the past months. The reason being that I come across more and more people who simply do not practice this ancient ritual, or even explicitly do not find it of value in a pragmatic society where people want immediate results instead of vague promises. And prayer does not fall in a category of practices that deliver promptly.
So why then pray? To pray is first of all to acknowledge and trust that we are not alone in the universe, that there are some things bigger and more mysterious than we are able to understand, see or control. Karl Barth, under the impression of what he called the qualitative difference between an eternal God and temporal man, wrote: “God is in heaven and we as humans are on earth”. By praying we confirm this in a simple, elegant way.

In prayer we also confess that we are dependant on something outside of ourselves, that as humans we need a higher source to support and guide us and to endow our lives with meaning. Prayer is based on the trust that this God in heaven, is also a benevolent power who not only created life, but sustains it daily by holding and nurturing it with love and kindness.

Frederick Bauerschmidt, in a wonderful article on the thoughts of Meister Eckhardt, reminds us that humans are quite simply not an appropriate centre for the universe; that we cannot bear the burden of endowing the world with its significance. And this is because we are not suited to be sources; rather, we are receptacles. We are not first givers, but receivers; not first of all seekers, but as the gospels tell us, the ones who need to be found.

Once we overcome the illusion of self-sufficiency and detach ourselves from the ego and its desire to be its own source, we discover that life is fundamentally a gift and that we may thank and praise God for that. We find that we may pray. In the words of Bauerschmidt: “Once our egos accept their fundamentally receptive nature, a new world is opened to us…We do not master the world with our ideas and concepts, but receive the world as God’s gift, just as we receive ourselves as God’s gift and even receive God as God’s gift…”

Prayer therefore finally expresses the faith that God is a personal being with whom we may converse, share our deepest fears and joys, ask for help and support when needed and also joyfully praise and thank because we have discovered God’s goodness. Is this not what Jesus invited and encouraged us to do when he taught us the Lord’s prayer (Luke 11). And did Jesus not also promise us that God will vindicate those who cry out to God day and night (Luke 18:7).

So why not take the courage today to kneel down, lift up your eyes (and hands) and start praying to God. Dostoevsky identified prayer as education, the best education you can get.

Carel Anthonissen

To be young at heart and to live graciously

Of the many people I will never forget, I am thinking today of oom Outie
and tannie Margaret, as we used to call them. They were our next-door
neighbours when we came to live in Stellenbosch during the 1980s. I had
just started out in the student ministry and was looking forward to
working with young people and sharing in their worlds. Fragile and
slightly inquisitive old people were not an immediate part of my agenda.
And our neighbours were really ageing - both were in their eighties; they
had difficulty walking and taking basic care of themselves became
burdensome. There were hints of decay in accumulated rubble and a rather
musty scent of decay that struck one on entering their home. In many
things there was a subtle reminder that they were becoming increasingly
dependent and were battling to cope.

What I had completely underestimated was our older neighbours’ own brand
of youthfulness and the impact this would have on our family. Quite soon
we realised that in spite of their age, these were two extraordinary and
endearing people with an enduring zest for life and a keen, open interest
in other people. To them, having us as new neighbours not only offered a
new adventure, it was also a new opportunity to engage and share the
beauty of life with strangers.

Oom Outie, educated as a veterinarian, had been a university professor for
the larger part of his working life. He was an intelligent person who
could ask critical questions without being brutal or destructive. Auntie
Margaret had been a champion in doing fine knitting and embroidery, in
housekeeping and entertaining; she still carried the traces (and
confidence) of the remarkable beauty she had been in her younger days.

But it was their unique spirit and the gracious way in which they
approached life, that made the lasting impression. Having had their share
of heartache in their own family, they knew the pain of loss and
disappointment. But in a wonderful way they managed to overcome this,
refusing to become negative and cynical, remaining almost innocent in
their enjoyment of small pleasures like an outing to an exhibition and in
their appreciation of what they experienced as the undeserved richness
that life had to offer in things like their garden, the achievements of
friends, or the chatter of their neighbours’ two-year-old.

We remember very fondly how oom Outie and tannie Margaret celebrated
birthdays, bringing together numerous good and loyal friends who loved
them and enjoyed being with them. And we were lucky…even as newcomers, we
were always invited. We also remember with amazement the sincere interest
they took in our children who were busy, noisy, relatively selfish little
beings at the time. To this day I can still hear auntie Margaret
commenting on how sweet, how charming, how delightful they were. She had
the astonishing ability to pick up on positive energy, to focus on the
pleasurable, to remain oblivious to meanness or testiness.

I often think about our former neighbours at the start of the new year.
They were not pious or outspokenly religious, and yet they were living
examples of what I would call Christian values, of an almost childlike
capacity for happiness, care, hope and dignity. Their lives truly
expressed the title of a book I learnt to know in my parents’ home:
“Growing lovely, growing old”. May this also be true of our lives in SA
this coming year.

Carel Anthonissen

God is with us, next to us, all the time

We are currently moving through the period of the liturgical year known as epiphany. The word originally means “appearance”; in the Christian tradition this points to the mysterious revelation, appearance or presentation of God in unexpected places. During this time we very specifically recall and celebrate the amazing, almost breathtaking, testimony of the apostles, that God who had revealed himself in many ways during the past, presented himself to us in an extraordinary new way through the birth of Jesus, by coming to us as a man from Nazareth (Hebr. 1: 1-2).

He is the one, so we are told by the first witnesses, in whom we discover the visible likeness of the invisible God (Col 1:15), the key to recognising all the hidden treasures of God’s wisdom and knowledge (Col 2:3), the glory and light of God shining on us all, the brightness of his presence (Isaiah 60:1-2). Working with the image of Christians as pilgrims, in this time we are invited to interrupt our tiresome journey, to come to rest, to attend more closely to this Jew from Nazareth and to reflect on the meaning his life has for us.

In the gospel the meaning of Jesus’ life is depicted in many ways, but in essence it points to one constant truth - that the God of heaven and earth entered into our human condition, declaring unequivocally that he is on our side. This means that as humans we are never lost or alone. We are constantly being cared for, safeguarded and kept by God’s unfathomable love and faithfulness, especially in times of darkness when we feel fragile and fearful.

There is a story which illustrates this truth in a moving way: as part of an initiation ritual a young native American boy was blindfolded and left alone in the darkness of the forest for a night. Before that night the boy had never left the safety his home, so it was a frightening, disconcerting experience. Each faint crackle of a twig or falling leaf sounded like a wild animal approaching. When the sun eventually came up and his blindfold was removed he was surprised to find that his father had been there all night long, standing next to him with his bow and arrows, quietly guarding and protecting him from any possible danger.

Entering the new year with all its dark uncertainties, as believers we may also count on this - that the God of Christ is there for us. In our darkest night God will constantly hold guard over us, protecting us from evil and kindling in us that fire of love and faith that will never die…

Carel Anthonissen

A Christmas that was different

As a child, Christmas time was mostly spent at home with my family in Calvinia. I can still recall the spirit of good will and expectation that was such a central part of our celebrations: we would listen to music, sing together, enjoy a special meal and eventually gather around a Christmas tree to receive our gifts.

One year, however, I had a different Christmas with relatives in Cape Town. In the days before the 25th my cousin and I had been partners in a junior tennis tournament in the city, and since the trip back to Calvinia was rather long the family invited me to stay over with them for Christmas. In an unexpected way it became an extraordinary occasion during which I learnt an important lesson.

At the time I was carrying a very special gift I had bought for myself, in my luggage. It was a record with songs by the remarkable Jewish-German tenor, Joseph Schmidt. I had discovered recordings of Schmidt’s music shortly before, found his voice very special, and so had been looking for this particular record for quite some time. I had saved my pocket money for whenever the opportunity may arise to buy it. And then in Cape Town, during a break in our tennis schedule, I got the chance. I can still recall my delight and excitement when, among the hundreds of records that Stuttafords had on offer at the time, I discovered the Joseph Schmidt I had wished for. Like a precious treasure I carefully wrapped and packed it away - I could not wait to return to the Karoo to enjoy listening to my long awaited gift.

But on that specific Christmas morning my little dream took an unexpected turn. Not knowing my relatives’ rituals, it came as a surprise when very early on Christmas morning I was woken up by my cousins entering my room, wishing me well and each giving me a gift they had specially sought out. This surprise was also a bit embarrassing, revealing how preoccupied and self-centred I had been; I had completely forgotten to buy any Christmas presents. All I had was my cherished Schmidt record. And although extremely painful, I knew instantly that if I really wanted to honour the spirit of Christmas, I had to give it away.

To this day my relatives do not know what sacrifice I made that morning; they had no idea how difficult and costly it was to give up my most precious belonging. But then the delight on their faces and the way they received and appreciated the gift from me, convinced me that I had done the right thing. That day I learnt that the true message and joy of Christmas is not as much in receiving, as in giving.

In fact, Christmas started when God gave us his only begotten son, so that we may enjoy abundant love, forgiveness and mercy. And also share it with others.

Carel Anthonissen